Mr. Tyrold saw, at first, the renewed visits of Edgar at Cleves with extreme satisfaction; but while all his hopes were alive from an intercourse almost perpetual, he perceived, with surprise and perplexity, that his daughter became more and more pensive after every interview: and as Edgar, this evening, quitted the house, he observed tears start into her eyes as she went up stairs to her own room.
Alarmed and disappointed, he thought it now high time to investigate the state of the affair, and to encourage or prevent future meetings, as it appeared to him to be propitious or hopeless.
Penetrated with the goodness, while lamenting the indifference of Edgar, Camilla had just reached her room; when, as she turned round to shut her door, Mr. Tyrold appeared before her.
Hastily, with the back of her hand, brushing off the tears from her eyes, she said, 'May I go to my uncle, Sir?... can my uncle admit me?'
'He can always admit you,' he answered; 'but, just now, you must forget him a moment, and consign yourself to your father.'
He then entered, shut the door, and making her sit down by him, said, 'What is this sorrow that assails my Camilla? Why is the light heart of my dear and happy child thus dejected?'
Speech and truth were always one with Camilla; who, as she could not in this instance declare what were her feelings, remained mute and confounded.
'Hesitate not, my dear girl,' cried he kindly, 'to unbosom your griefs or your apprehensions, where they will be received with all the tenderness due to such a confidence, and held sacred from every human inspection; unless you permit me yourself to entrust your best and wisest friend.'
Camilla now trembled, but could not even attempt to speak.
He saw her disorder, and presently added, 'I will forbear to probe your feelings, when you have satisfied me in one doubt;—Is the sadness I have of late remarked in you the effect of secret personal disturbance, or of disappointed expectation?'