Mrs. D. [hastily]. Here you are mistaken—
Mr. D. [much affected]. From me her heart is entirely alienated——
Mrs. D. [sits down]. Oh! you tear my heart with these reproaches!
Mr. D. [taking her hand]. Forgive me, my dear! I am deeply afflicted, I know no more how to speak to her.—Her heart bleeds; advice is unwelcome. With sufficient grounds for real unhappiness, she increases it by imaginary misfortunes. It was my first care to shew her the world as it is; to dispose her mind to bear her part with fortitude. But she dreams of a world, that does not exist; of a husband, as he never will, never dare be——What comfort can she bring to a husband in his misfortunes? What a mother can she be to her children, who meets affliction with tears instead of courage, and who regards the common pleasures of life as scarcely worthy of a smile?
Mrs. D. What shall I answer? I see too well I cannot satisfy you.
Mr. D. No! you cannot.—I see her fade and wither in the bloom of youth; I see her pining after an imaginary happiness, which she cannot attain.—I see myself, her father, once her best friend, avoided, shunned, distrusted. When she shall have wept till she can weep no more, when her grief shall be terminated in untimely death—oh! then, when I mourn over the grave of my only child, what consolation can you give me in my despair?
(Pause——Enter AUGUSTA.)
Mr. D. Come to my arms, Augusta. We have a long account to settle together [they embrace]: closer! as you used to do! from the bottom of your heart: so [he kisses her, and gently lets her go].
Augusta. Oh! my father!
Mr. D. You have behaved to me, Augusta, as if I were a stranger. God knows, it is not my fault. Whether awake, or in my dreams, I never cease to bless you.