‘Oh! do not speak, my father. Do not speak. You alone have cause to reproach me. Spare me; spare your child.’
‘I came to console, not to reproach,’ said Mr. Temple. ‘But if it please you, I will not speak; let me, however, remain.’
‘Father, we must speak. It relieves me even to confess my indiscretion, my fatal folly. Father, I feel, yet why, I know not, I feel that you know all!’
‘I know much, my Henrietta, but I do not know all.’
‘And if you knew all, you would not hate me?’
‘Hate you, my Henrietta! These are strange words to use to a father; to a father, I would add, like me. No one can love you, Henrietta, as your father loves you; yet speak to me not merely as a father; speak to me as your earliest, your best, your fondest, your most faithful friend.’
She pressed his hand, but answer, that she could not.
‘Henrietta, dearest, dearest Henrietta, answer me one question.’
‘I tremble, sir.’
‘Then we will speak to-morrow.’