Again they have escaped me—"The infant died with its mother"—This agony of doubt is insupportable.
Enter Evergreen.
Everg. Henry, well met.
Henry. Have you seen strangers?
Everg. No!
Henry. Two but now have left this place—They spoke of a lost child—My busy fancy led me to think I was the object of their search—I pressed forward, but they avoided me.
Everg. No, no; it could not be you; for no one on earth knows but myself, and——
Henry. Who? Sir Philip Blandford?
Everg. I am sworn, you know, my dear boy; I am solemnly sworn to silence.
Henry. True, my good old friend; and if the knowledge of who I am can only be obtained at the price of thy perjury, let me for ever remain ignorant—let the corroding thought still haunt my pillow, cross me at every turn, and render me insensible to the blessings of health and liberty—yet, in vain do I suppress the thought—who am I? why thus abandoned? perhaps the despised offspring of guilt—Ah! is it so?