“Arthur—and you, too, dear Esther,” murmured Lady Hatfield, in a tone indicative of deep emotions, “I thank you for these assurances. All my earthly ambition—my sole hope, would be accomplished on the day that such an union took place. Alas! poor boy—it is distressing—Oh! it is distressing to be compelled to veil from him the real secret of his parentage—to hear him at times question me relative to his parents—his supposed parents, who are represented to be no more! Yes—and it is cruel, too, to be forced to deceive him—to hear him call me his aunt—I, who am his mother!”
“Georgiana—dearest Georgiana, do not thus afflict yourself!” murmured Esther, pressing Lady Hatfield’s hand in a tender manner, and speaking in a tone of consolation and sweet sympathy.
But almost at the same instant a piercing scream burst from Georgiana’s lips; and she fell senseless into the arms of the Countess of Ellingham—while the Earl, turning mechanically and hastily round, beheld Charles standing close behind him,—pale—astounded—petrified! For the young man had advanced unperceived—and his tread unheard on the thick, soft carpet—towards the group formed by Lady Hatfield, the nobleman, and the Countess: and his ears had caught these words—“to hear him call me aunt—I, who am his mother!”
For a few instants he stood motionless—amazed and stupefied by what he had heard:—but, suddenly recovering the power of movement and yielding to the ineffable sensations which were excited in his breast, he sprang forward—and catching his still insensible parent in his arms, he cried, “Oh! my dearest mother—my beloved, my adored mother—open your eyes—look upon me——”
“His mother!” exclaimed Lady Frances, overwhelmed with surprise, and unable, in the innocence of her virgin heart, to form even the slightest notion that might serve as a clue to what was still so deep a mystery to her.
“Yes—my dearest Fanny,” said the Earl, hastily drawing his daughter aside and speaking to her in a low and rapid tone: “Charles is indeed the son—and not the nephew—of Mr. Hatfield and Lady Georgiana. But reasons of an imperious necessity—reasons which you are too young to comprehend, and too discreet to enquire into——”
“My dear father, I seek to know no more than it may please you to tell me,” interrupted the young lady, with a decision as amiable as it was dutiful and re-assuring: “and my behaviour shall henceforth be as if I had not been accidentally made the spectatress of this scene.”
“You are my own beloved—darling daughter!” exclaimed the Earl enthusiastically, as he pressed his lips to the pure and chaste forehead of the charming countenance that was upturned so lovingly towards his own.
By this time Lady Hatfield had been recovered through the kind attentions of Esther; and, awaking to consciousness, she clasped her son to her bosom, murmuring in a faint tone and broken voice, “Now you have learnt my secret, Charles—a secret which—But another time—another time, you shall know all! Oh! Charles—I feel so much happiness and so much sorrow—strangely blended—at this moment——”
“Compose yourself, dearest—dearest parent!” exclaimed the young man, his tears flowing freely. “I now know that you are my mother—and I care to know nothing more! Never—never shall I question you concerning the past: the enjoyment of the present, and the hope which gilds the future—these are enough for me!”