In a few minutes she returned to the room.
“My dear madam,” said Trevelyan, rising and advancing to meet her, “you already know that I love your daughter Agnes—that I adore her?”
“And you have already divined how the letter which you must have missed, came to be lost?” returned Mrs. Sefton, with a smile.
“Yes, madam—and I likewise observed the trace of a tear upon the portrait which I painted from memory,” continued the young nobleman.
“Oh! then you can make allowance for the feelings of a mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, with enthusiasm: “and you will forgive me that act of apparent ingratitude—nay, of treachery—I mean the purloining of a document so sacred as a sealed letter—and at a moment, too, when I sought your aid, and you so generously afforded it?”
“It is for me to implore your pardon as a mother for having dared to address such a letter to your daughter,” said Trevelyan, with some degree of embarrassment.
“Then let us accord mutual forgiveness,” exclaimed the lady, extending her hand, which was immediately pressed with the fervour of gratitude. I am well aware that my conduct in taking that letter was improper to a degree,” she continued, after a short pause: “but pray consider all the circumstances.”
“I do—I do,” interrupted Trevelyan; “and you have nothing to explain. Oh! I am delighted at the discovery that the beautiful and much-loved Agnes is your daughter—delighted also to think that, by the perusal of that letter, you have acquired the certainty of the ardent and honourable feelings which animate me with regard to her.”
“And Agnes is deserving of your affection, my lord,” said Mrs. Sefton: “I am convinced that she is in heart and soul all she appears to be—ingenuousness, amiability, candour, and virtue!”
“Oh! I am well assured of the value of that jewel which, in due time, I shall implore you to bestow upon me!” exclaimed the generous and impassioned young nobleman: “and I rejoice that you not only observed the letter in my apartment, but that you also took it; for it has—”