Camilla again changed colour, and strove to withdraw her hands.
'Take courage, my dear love, and let one final explanation relieve us both at once. If Edgar has merited well of you, why are you parted?—If ill—why this solicitude my opinion of him should be unshaken?'
Her head now dropt upon Mrs. Tyrold's shoulder, as she faintly answered, 'He deserves your good opinion, my dearest Mother—for he adores you—I cannot be unjust to him,—though he has made me—I own—not very happy!'
'Designedly, my Camilla?'
'O, no, my dearest Mother!—he would not do that to an enemy!'
'Speak out, then, and speak clearer, my dearest Camilla. If you think of him so well, and are so sure of his good intentions, what—in two words,—what is it that has parted you?'
'Accident, my dearest Mother,—deluding appearances, ... and false internal reasoning on my part,—and on his, continual misconstruction! O my dearest Mother! how have I missed your guiding care! I had ever the semblance, by some cruel circumstance, some inexplicable fatality of incident, to neglect his counsel, oppose his judgment, deceive his expectations, and trifle with his regard!—Yet, with a heart faithful, grateful, devoted,—O my dearest Mother!—with an esteem that defies all comparison, ... a respect closely meliorating even to veneration!... Never was heart ... my dearest Mother, so truly impressed with the worth of another ... with the nobleness....'
A buzzing noise from the adjoining parlour, sounding something between a struggle and a dispute, suddenly stopt her, ... and as she raised her head from the bosom of her Mother, in which she had seemed seeking shelter from the very confidence she was pouring forth, she saw the door opened, and the object of whom she was speaking appear at it.... Fluttered, colouring, trembling, ... yet with eyes refulgent with joy, and every feature speaking ecstasy.
Almost fainting with shame and surprise, she gave herself up as disgraced, if not dishonoured evermore, for a short, but bitter half moment. It was not longer. Edgar, rushing forward, and seizing the hands of Mrs. Tyrold, even while they were encircling her drooping, shrinking, half expiring Camilla, pressed them with ardent respect to his lips, rapidly exclaiming, 'My more than Mother! my dear, kind, excellent, inestimable friend!—Forgive this blest intrusion—plead for me where I dare not now speak—and raise your indeed maternal eyes upon the happiest—the most devoted of your family!'
'What is it overpowers me thus this morning?' cried Mrs. Tyrold, leaning her head upon her clinging Camilla, while large drops fell from her eyes; 'Misfortune, I see, is not the greatest test of our philosophy!... Joy, twice to-day, has completely demolished mine!'