Mr. Macartney rejoiced much at finding me alone. He told me he had taken the liberty to enquire for Lord Orville, by way of pretext for coming to the house.
I then very eagerly enquired if he had seen his father.
“I have, Madam,” said he, “and the generous compassion you have shown made me hasten to acquaint you, that, upon reading my unhappy mother’s letter, he did not hesitate to acknowledge me.”
“Good God,” cried I, with no little emotion, “how similar are our circumstances! And did he receive you kindly?”
“I could not, Madam, expect that he would; the cruel, transaction, which obliged me to fly to Paris, was recent in his memory.”
“And,-have you seen the young lady?”
“No, Madam,” said he, mournfully, “I was forbid her sight.”
“Forbid her sight!-and why?”
“Partly, perhaps, from prudence,-and partly from the remains of a resentment which will not easily subside. I only requested leave to acquaint her with my relationship, and to be allowed to call her sister;-but it was denied me! ‘You have no sister,’ said Sir John, ?you must forget her existence.’ Hard and vain command!”
“You have-you have a sister!” cried I, from an impulse of pity, which I could not repress; “a sister who is most warmly interested in your welfare, and who only wants opportunity to manifest her friendship and regard.”