'O yes, my dearest Mother,' said the blushing Camilla, 'of that—and of every—and of all things—you have only—you have merely—'
'If it distresses you, my dear child, we will leave it to another day,' said Mrs. Tyrold, whose eyes Camilla saw, as she now raised her own, were swimming in tears.
'My Mother! my dearest Mother!' cried she, with the tenderest alarm, 'has any thing new happened?—Is Eugenia greatly affected?'
'She is all, every way, and in every respect,' said Mrs. Tyrold, 'whatever the fondest, or even the proudest Mother could wish. But I do not at this instant most think of her. I am not without some fears for my Camilla's strength, in the immediate demand that may be made upon her fortitude. Tell me, my child, with that sincerity which so long has been mutually endearing between us, tell me if you think you can see here, again, and as usual, without any risk to your health, one long admitted and welcomed as a part of the family?'
She started, changed colour, looked up, cast her eyes on the floor; but soon seeing Mrs. Tyrold hold an handkerchief bathed in tears to her face, lost all dread, and even all consciousness in tender gratitude, and throwing her arms round her neck, 'O my Mother,' she cried, 'you who weep not for yourself—scarcely even in the most poignant sorrow—can you weep for me?—I will see—or I will avoid whoever you please—I shall want no fortitude, I shall fear nothing—no one—not even myself—now again under your protection! I will scarcely even think, my beloved Mother, but by your guidance!'
'Compose yourself, then, my dearest girl: and, if you believe you are equal to behaving with firmness, I will not refuse his request of re-admission.'
'His request?' repeated Camilla, with involuntary quickness; but finding Mrs. Tyrold did not notice it, gently adding, 'That person that—I believe—you mean—has done nothing, my dear Mother, to merit expulsion!—'
'I am happy to hear you say so: I have been fearfully, I must own, and even piercingly displeased with him.'
'Ah, my dear Mother! how kind was the partiality that turned your displeasure so wrong a way! that made you,—even you, my dear Mother, listen to your fondness rather than to your justice!—'
She trembled at the temerity of this vindication the moment it had escaped her, and looking another way, spoke again of Eugenia: but Mrs. Tyrold now, taking both her hands, and seeking, though vainly, to meet her eyes, said, 'My dearest child, I grow painfully anxious to end a thousand doubts; to speak and to hear with no further ambiguity, nor reserve. If Edgar—'