What a comfort would these sensible reflections afford, should you lose your father?
CHARLES.
I hope they would; though it now appears to me, that nothing could afford me comfort, should I be deprived of the best of fathers. Come, let us go in; I would not lose the few moments that still afford me an opportunity of shewing my affection and alleviating his sufferings.
We went immediately into the house. Sir Charles had slept near an hour, and was something better; he called Charles with a faint, yet a distinct voice, as soon as he heard him enter the room; he approached the bed and threw himself upon his knees, he took hold of his father’s hand and kissed it several times with a kind of eager respect; what sensibility, what sincerity and grief, did I not see in his countenance! The tears were rolling fast down his cheeks, it would be impossible to delineate the scene.—What does my father want? asked he; what would he say to his son? I wish, answered Sir Charles, to tell you, that your duty and affection will soften the pangs of death, your mother will still have a friend, your sister a protector, and your past behaviour makes me rely on your future. You weep, grieve not my son, sometime or other we must have been separated, but if you obey your heavenly father we shall meet again, where death has no dominion.
CHARLES.
But, my dear father, if you recover now, I might die before you.
SIR CHARLES.
Would you then, Charles, rather have me suffer, than endure grief yourself? Do you love me?
CHARLES.
Do I love you!—I love you more than I love myself.