He then read aloud from the letter, “Look not like thy unfortunate
mother!”
“Sweet soul, with what bitterness of spirit hast thou written!-Come
hither, Evelina: Gracious Heaven! (looking earnestly at me) never
was likeness more striking!-the eyes-the face-the form-Oh, my child,
my child!” Imagine, Sir,-for I can never describe my feelings, when
I saw him sink upon his knees before me! “Oh, dear resemblance of
thy murdered mother!-Oh, all that remains of the most injured of
women! behold thy father at thy feet!-bending thus lowly to implore
you would not hate him.-Oh, then, thou representative of my departed
wife, speak to me in her name, and say that the remorse which tears
my soul tortures me not in vain!”
“Oh, rise, rise, my beloved father,” cried I, attempting to assist
him; “I
cannot bear to see you thus; reverse not the law of nature; rise
yourself, and bless your kneeling daughter!”
“May Heaven bless thee, my child!-“cried he, “for I dare not.” He
then rose;
and, embracing me most affectionately, added, “I see, I see that thou
art all kindness, softness, and tenderness; I need not have feared
thee, thou art all the fondest father could wish, and I will try to
frame my mind to less painful sensations at thy sight. Perhaps the
time may come, when I may know the comfort of such a daughter;-at
present I am only fit to be alone: dreadful as are my reflections,
they ought merely to torment myself.-Adieu, my child;-be not angry,-I
cannot stay with thee;-Oh, Evelina! thy countenance is a dagger to
my heart!-just so thy mother looked,-just so-”
Tears and sighs seemed to choak him;-and, waving his hand, he would
have left
me;-but, clinging to him, “Oh, Sir,” cried I, “will you so soon
abandon me?-am I again an orphan!-Oh, my dear, my long-lost father,
leave me not, I beseech you! take pity on your child, and rob her
not of the parent she so fondly hoped would cherish her!”
“You know not what you ask,” cried he; “the emotions which now rend
my soul
are more than my reason can endure; suffer me then, to leave
you;-impute it not to unkindness, but think of me as well as thou
canst. Lord Orville has behaved nobly;-I believe he will make thee
happy.” Then, again embracing me, “God bless thee, my dear child,”
cried he, “God bless thee, my Evelina!-endeavour to love,-at least
not to hate me,-and to make me an interest in thy filial bosom,
by thinking of me as thy father.”
I could not speak; I kissed his hands on my knees: and then, with
yet more
emotion, he again blessed me, and hurried out of the room,-leaving
me almost drowned in tears.
Oh, Sir, all goodness as you are, how much will you feel for your
Evelina,
during a scene of such agitation! I pray Heaven to accept the tribute
of his remorse, and restore him to tranquillity!
When I was sufficiently composed to return to the parlour, I
found Lord
Orville waiting for me with the utmost anxiety:-and then a new scene of
emotion, though of a far different nature, awaited me; for I learned
by Mr. Macartney, that this noblest of men had insisted the so-long
supposed Miss Belmont should be considered, indeed, as my sister,
and as the co-heiress of my father; though not in law, in justice, he
says, she ought ever to be treated as the daughter of Sir John Belmont.
Oh! Lord Orville!-it shall be the sole study of my happy life,
to express,
better than by words, the sense I have of your exalted benevolence
and greatness of mind!