“Gracious Heaven!” cried he, “what does Miss Anville mean?”
“Anville,” said I, “is not my real name; Sir John Belmont is my father,-he is your’s,-and I am your sister!-You see, therefore, the claim we mutually have to each other’s regard; we are not merely bound by the ties of friendship, but by those of blood. I feel for you, already, all the affection of a sister; I felt it, indeed, before I knew I was one.-Why, my dear brother, do you not speak?-do you hesitate to acknowledge me?”
“I am so lost in astonishment,” cried he, “that I know not if I hear right!”-
“I have, then, found a brother,” cried I, holding out my hand, “and he will not own me!”
“Own you!-Oh, Madam,” cried he, accepting my offered hand, “is it indeed possible you can own me? -a poor, wretched adventurer! who so lately had no support but from your generosity?-whom your benevolence snatched from utter destruction?-Can you,-Oh, Madam, can you, indeed, and without a blush, condescend to own such an outcast for a brother?”
“Oh, forbear, forbear,” cried I, “is this language proper for a sister? are we not reciprocally bound to each other?-Will you not suffer me to expect from you all the good offices in your power?-But tell me, where is our father at present?”
“At the Hot-Wells, Madam; he arrived there yesterday morning.”
I would have proceeded with further questions, but the entrance of Lord Orville prevented me. The moment he saw us, he started, and would have retreated; but, drawing my hand from Mr. Macartney’s, I begged him to come in.
For a few moments we were all silent, and, I believe, all in equal confusion. Mr. Macartney, however, recollecting himself said “I hope your Lordship will forgive the liberty I have taken in making use of your name.”
Lord Orville, rather coldly, bowed, but said nothing.