“Oh! yes—yes,” exclaimed Charles; “and she appeared to me more exquisitely beautiful than ever! Fool that I was—insensate dolt—idiot—madman, ever to place myself in a position which——”
“Do not excite yourself thus, my dear boy,” interrupted Mr. Hatfield. “You admire Lady Frances?” he observed, after a short pause, and now attentively watching his son’s countenance.
“My God! do not ask me that question, my dear father!” ejaculated Charles, with an expression of deep anguish on his features. “I love my beautiful cousin—I love her—and she cannot be mine! Oh! since I have been absent I have pondered on her image—I have cherished it as if it were that of a guardian angel! I have compared the amiability and excellence of Frances with the character of that woman—and you may judge how resplendently the charming girl shines by means of such a contrast!”
“And you may hope—yes, you may hope, Charles,” said Mr. Hatfield, raising himself partially up in the bed. “Happiness yet awaits you.”
“Happiness—hope—my dear father!” ejaculated Charles; “you speak in enigmas—you——”
“Nay—I speak only what I mean; and all I say is intelligible,” interrupted Mr. Hatfield. “I tell you that you may hope for happiness—that Lady Frances may yet become your wife!”
“Is it possible?” cried the young man, clasping his hands in the wildness of his joy. “But how? Is that woman dead?” he demanded, speaking with strange rapidity of utterance.
“No—she is not dead,” responded his father: “but she has married again!”
“Married!” ejaculated Charles. “And yet I do not see how that circumstance will alter my position,” he added, in a desponding tone.
“Listen attentively—and do not excite yourself at one moment, and in the next give way to despair,” said Mr. Hatfield.