not look thus on me,'
said he, turning away and pressing her hand; 'I cannot bear those
looks.'

'I would ask,' said Emily, in a gentle, but agitated voice, 'the meaning
of your words; but I perceive, that the question would distress you
now. Let us talk on other subjects. To-morrow, perhaps, you may be more
composed. Observe those moon light woods, and the towers, which
appear obscurely in the perspective. You used to be a great admirer
of landscape, and I have heard you say, that the faculty of deriving
consolation, under misfortune, from the sublime prospects, which neither
oppression, or poverty with-hold from us, was the peculiar blessing of
the innocent.' Valancourt was deeply affected. 'Yes,' replied he, 'I
had once a taste for innocent and elegant delights--I had once an
uncorrupted heart.' Then, checking himself, he added, 'Do you remember
our journey together in the Pyrenees?'

'Can I forget it?' said Emily.--'Would that I could!' he replied;--'that
was the happiest period of my life. I then loved, with enthusiasm,
whatever was truly great, or good.' It was some time before Emily could
repress her tears, and try to command her emotions. 'If you wish to
forget that journey,' said she, 'it must certainly be my wish to forget
it also.' She paused, and then added, 'You make me very uneasy; but this
is not the time for further enquiry;--yet, how can I bear to believe,
even for a moment, that you are less worthy of my esteem than formerly?
I have still sufficient confidence in your candour, to believe, that,
when I shall ask for an explanation, you will give it me.'--'Yes,' said
Valancourt, 'yes, Emily: I have not yet lost my candour: if I had, I
could better have disguised my emotions, on learning what were your
sufferings--your virtues, while I--I--but I will say no more. I did
not mean to have said even so much--I have been surprised into
the self-accusation. Tell me, Emily, that you will not forget that
journey--will not wish to forget it, and I will be calm. I would not
lose the remembrance of it for the whole earth.'

'How contradictory is this!' said Emily;--'but we may be overheard. My
recollection of it shall depend upon yours; I will endeavour to forget,
or to recollect it, as you may do. Let us join the Count.'--'Tell
me first,' said Valancourt, 'that you forgive the uneasiness I have
occasioned you, this evening, and that you will still love me.'--'I
sincerely forgive you,' replied Emily. 'You best kn