“Yes; too much so. He has not your elegance, dear Arthur.”
“And do you admire him, Camilla? Has no other caught your heart or your fancy?”
“My dear Arthur,” interrupted Mrs. Beaufort, “you forget that Camilla is scarcely out; and of course a young girl’s affections, if she’s well brought up, are regulated by the experience of her parents. It is time to take the medicine: it certainly agrees with you; you have more colour to-day, my dear, dear son.”
While Mrs. Beaufort was pouring out the medicine, the door gently opened, and Mr. Robert Beaufort appeared; behind him there rose a taller and a statelier form, but one which seemed more bent, more humbled, more agitated. Beaufort advanced. Camilla looked up and turned pale. The visitor escaped from Mr. Beaufort’s grasp on his arm; he came forward, trembling, he fell on his knees beside Arthur, and seizing his hand, bent over, it in silence. But silence so stormy! silence more impressive than all words his breast heaved, his whole frame shook. Arthur guessed at once whom he saw, and bent down gently as if to raise his visitor.
“Oh! Arthur! Arthur!” then cried Philip; “forgive me! My mother’s comforter—my cousin—my brother! Oh! brother, forgive me!”
And as he half rose, Arthur stretched out his arms, and Philip clasped him to his breast.
It is in vain to describe the different feelings that agitated those who beheld; the selfish congratulations of Robert, mingled with a better and purer feeling; the stupor of the mother; the emotions that she herself could not unravel, which rooted Camilla to the spot.
“You own me, then,—you own me!” cried Philip. “You accept the brotherhood that my mad passions once rejected! And you, too—you, Camilla—you who once knelt by my side, under this very roof—do you remember me now? Oh, Arthur! that letter—that letter!—yes, indeed, that aid which I ascribed to any one—rather than to you—made the date of a fairer fortune. I may have owed to that aid the very fate that has preserved me till now; the very name which I have not discredited. No, no; do not think you can ask me a favour; you can but claim your due. Brother! my dear brother!”