Mor. Crawling in the dust, behold a repentant wretch!—
Sir Philip. [Indignantly.] My brother Morrington!
Mor. Turn not away—in mercy hear me!
Sir Philip. Speak!
Mor. After the dreadful hour that parted us, agonized with remorse, I was about to punish home what your arm had left unaccomplished; when some angel whispered—"Punishment is life, not death—Live and atone!"
Sir Philip. Oh! go on!
Mor. I flew to you—I found you surrounded by sharpers—What was to be done? I became Morrington! littered with villains! practised the arts of devils! braved the assassin's steel! possessed myself of your large estates—lived hateful to myself, detested by mankind—to do what? to save an injured brother from destruction, and lay his fortune at his feet! [Places parchments before Sir Philip.]
Sir Philip. Ah! is it possible!
Mor. Oh, is that atonement? No—By me you first beheld her mother! 'Twas I that gave her fortune! Is that atonement? No—But my Henry has saved that angel's life—Kneel with me, my boy—lift up thy innocent hands, with those of thy guilty father, and beg for mercy from that injured saint. [Henry kneels with him.]
Sir Philip. O God! How infinite are thy mercies! Henry, forgive me—Emma, plead for me—There—There. [Joining their hands.]