"Philip, my son," said he to him, one day, "why have you not confided in me, your oldest and dearest friend? I have penetrated your secret, Philip, and I honour you for endeavouring to confine it to your own bosom; but you must rouse all your energies to shake off the tyranny of a passion which your high sense of principle must tell you cannot safely be indulged in, and is only likely to be productive of sorrow and disappointment." He then proceeded to remind him delicately of the cloud that hung over his birth, of his want of means to maintain the woman of his choice in comfort, and of the absolute necessity for his strenuous exertions to rise in his profession, as the only chance of bettering his condition in life; "for though," added the generous man, "it is my intention to make some provision for you in my will, yet there are so many claims of relationship upon me, that your proportion will, I fear, be but small."
Philip's heart swelled, and his eye glistened, as he pressed the old man's hand, in mute acknowledgment of his kindness; and some moments elapsed ere he could sufficiently command his feelings to give expression to them in words. At length, in broken and hurried accents, he expressed his heartfelt gratitude; he confessed that he had long loved Catherine, but said that he had never "told his love," hoping that his prospects might brighten, and that he might then be enabled to prove himself worthy of the happiness he sought. He acknowledged the justice and propriety of all Mr Douglas had said, and expressed his conviction that it was his duty, however painful it might be to his feelings, to tear himself from the society of one whose presence was so dangerous to his peace, and to endeavour, however vain that endeavour might be, for her sake as well as for his own, to conceal, though he could not stifle, the passion which reigned in his heart. It was agreed upon between the two friends that Philip should employ his time while on shore in travelling, till his ship was again ready for sea, and that he should then join her, without taking leave a second time of his friends, except by letter. Poor Philip could hardly command his feelings, when taking what he considered to be his final farewell of Catherine. He knew that, when he next returned home, Eskhall would have lost its principal charm in his eyes—that she would no longer be there, and that, in all human probability, they might never meet again. Catherine only felt, or appeared to feel, the uneasiness attending a temporary parting; but her voice trembled slightly as, with a pale but steady countenance, she bade him adieu; and, leaving the room, with a calm though melancholy manner, she hurried to her chamber, and, securing the door, gave way to the sorrow which in his presence she had successfully endeavoured to restrain. Time passed slowly and heavily with Philip during a rambling tour which he made through different parts of England and Wales. He fought manfully against the sorrow that oppressed him, and endeavoured, by rapidity of motion, and constant variation of scene, to turn his thoughts into another channel; but in vain—the arrow was fixed too deeply in his heart. He hurried from place to place, and from change to change; but he could not fly from himself. In vain did nature present her varied beauties to his eyes; he gazed listlessly and vacantly upon all he beheld—he looked as though he saw not, for his heart was elsewhere, and he felt that for him the charm of existence was over. In the meantime, Catherine's father had arrived at Eskhall, and had been informed by Gavin Douglas of Philip's noble struggle with his unfortunately-placed passion, and of the anguish of mind which his resolution had cost him.
"Generous young man!" exclaimed Edward Douglas; "he deserves a happier fate. Would that I could favour his suit! But, poor, unknown, and perhaps basely born as he is, it is my duty as a father to oppose it."
Shortly before Philip's ship came afloat, Edward Douglas was obliged to go to London on business; and there he found out and introduced himself to our young friend. Few young men of his age possessed greater powers of pleasing than Philip; there was a frank ingenuousness in his manner and address which, seconded by the remarkable beauty of his features, immediately made a favourable impression upon a stranger—an impression which a further intimacy seldom failed to strengthen into affection and esteem. Such was the effect of his introduction to Edward Douglas. They were mutually pleased with each other, and every hour that Philip could spare from professional duties was devoted to his new friend, rendered doubly dear to him by his near connection with her whose name he dared not mention, though ever in his thoughts.
"My dear fellow," said Douglas to him one day, "I am aware of the sacrifice you have made of feeling to principle, and I honour and esteem you for it. Would to heaven your circumstances and my own were different! Situated as you are, without the means of supporting even yourself, I think I know you too well already to imagine that you would willingly expose her you love to poverty and humiliation. Were my circumstances such as to enable me to enrich my daughter, and to follow the inclinations of my own heart, I know no one for whom I would more willingly use a father's influence than yourself."
Philip's heart was too full for words; yet, though he felt the hardship, he acknowledged the justice, of Edward Douglas's objections, and felt greatly affected by his kind expressions of friendly feeling towards him. They parted with mutual regret; Edward to return to Eskhall, and Philip to join his ship at Gravesend.
"Ah!" said Gavin Douglas, one morning, about a fortnight after the above parting, as the family were seated round the breakfast-table, "there is the post-bag. Bring it here, James" (to the servant). "It looks too thin to contain anything, I am afraid. Yes; here is a letter from dear Phil."
"When is he to return, grandfather?" asked Emma, now a full-grown woman.
Catherine was seized with a sudden curiosity to look at a pamphlet which lay upon the table, and which she held very close to her eyes.
"Return, my love!" said Gavin; "when his voyage is over, I hope. This letter was sent on shore by the pilot, and is dated 'Off Scilly.' But, mercy upon us! what is the matter with Catherine?"