This infant pa.s.sion must be crushed. Poor wench! some artless boy has caught thy youthful fancy.--Thy arm, my child. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Lawn before the Castle._

_Enter_ HENRY _and_ ASHFIELD.

_Ash._ Well! here thee'rt going to make thy bow to Sir Philip. I zay, if he should take a fancy to thee, thou'lt come to farm, and zee us zometimes, wo'tn't, Henry?

_Henry._ [_Shaking his hand._] Tell me, is that Sir Philip Blandford, who leans on that lady's arm?

_Ash._ I don't know, by reason, d'ye zee, I never zeed'un. Well, good bye! I declare thee doz look quite grand with thic golden prize about thy neck, vor all the world like the lords in their stars, that do come to theas pearts to pickle their skins in the zalt zea ocean! Good b'ye, Henry! [_Exit._

_Henry._ He approaches! why this agitation? I wish, yet dread, to meet him.

_Enter_ SIR PHILIP _and_ MISS BLANDFORD, _attended._

_Miss B._ The joy your tenantry display at seeing you again must be truly grateful to you.

_Sir Philip._ No, my child; for I feel I do not merit it. Alas! I can see no orphans clothed with my beneficence, no anguish a.s.suaged by my care.

_Miss B._ Then I am sure my dear father wishes to show his kind intentions. So I will begin by placing one under his protection [_Goes up the stage, and leads down_ HENRY. SIR PHILIP, _on seeing him, starts, then becomes greatly agitated._]

_Sir Philip._ Ah! do my eyes deceive me! No, it must be him! Such was the face his father wore.

_Henry._ Spake you of my father?

_Sir Philip._ His presence brings back recollections, which drive me to madness!--How came he here?--Who have I to curse for this?

_Miss B._ [_Falling on his neck._] Your daughter.

_Henry._ Oh sir! tell me--on my knees I ask it! do my parents live!

Bless me with my father's name, and my days shall pa.s.s in active grat.i.tude--my nights in prayers for you. [SIR PHILIP _views him with severe contempt._] Do not mock my misery! Have you a heart?

_Sir Philip._ Yes; of marble. Cold and obdurate to the world--ponderous and painful to myself--Quit my sight for ever!

_Miss B._ Go, Henry, and save me from my father's curse.

_Henry._ I obey: cruel as the command is, I obey it--I shall often look at this, [_Touching the medal._] and think on the blissful moment, when your hand placed it there.

_Sir Philip._ Ah! tear it from his breast. [SERVANT _advances._

_Henry._ Sooner take my life! It is the first honour I have earned, and it is no mean one; for it a.s.signs me the first rank among the sons of industry! This is my claim to the sweet rewards of honest labour! This will give me competence, nay more, enable me to despise your tyranny!

_Sir Philip._ Rash boy, mark! Avoid me, and be secure.--Repeat this intrusion, and my vengeance shall pursue thee.

_Henry._ I defy its power!--You are in England, sir, where the man, who bears about him an upright heart, bears a charm too potent for tyranny to humble. Can your frown wither up my youthful vigour? No!--Can your malediction disturb the slumbers of a quiet conscience? No! Can your breath stifle in my heart the adoration it feels for that pitying angel?

Oh, no!

_Sir Philip._ Wretch! you shall be taught the difference between us!

_Henry._ I feel it now! proudly feel it!--You hate the man, that never wronged you--I could love the man, that injures me--You meanly triumph o'er a worm--I make a giant tremble.

_Sir Philip._ Take him from my sight! Why am I not obeyed?

_Miss B._ Henry, if you wish my hate should not accompany my father's, instantly begone.

_Henry._ Oh, pity me! [_Exit._

[MISS BLANDFORD _looks after him_--SIR PHILIP, _exhausted, leans on his servants._

_Sir Philip._ Supported by my servants! I thought I had a daughter!

_Miss B._ [_Running to him._] O you have, my father! one that loves you better than her life!

_Sir Philip._ [_To_ SERVANT.] Leave us. [_Exit_ SERVANT. Emma, if you feel, as I fear you do, love for that youth--mark my words! When the dove wooes for its mate the ravenous kite; when nature's fixed antipathies mingle in sweet concord, then, and not till then, hope to be united.

_Miss B._ O Heaven!

_Sir Philip._ Have you not promised me the disposal of your hand?

_Miss B._ Alas! my father! I didn't then know the difficulty of obedience!

_Sir Philip._ Hear, then, the reasons why I demand compliance. You think I hold these rich estates--Alas, the shadow only, not the substance.

_Miss B._ Explain, my father!

_Sir Philip._ When I left my native country, I left it with a heart lacerated by every wound, that the falsehood of others, or my own conscience, could inflict. Hateful to myself, I became the victim of dissipation--I rushed to the gaming table, and soon became the dupe of villains.--My ample fortune was lost; I detected one in the act of fraud, and having brought him to my feet, he confessed a plan had been laid for my ruin; that he was but an humble instrument; for that the man, who, by his superior genius, stood possessed of all the mortgages and securities I had given, was one Morrington.

_Miss B._ I have heard you name him before. Did you not know this Morrington?

_Sir Philip._ No; he, like his deeds, avoided the light--Ever dark, subtle, and mysterious. Collecting the scattered remnant of my fortune, I wandered, wretched and desolate, till, in a peaceful village, I first beheld thy mother, humble in birth, but exalted in virtue. The morning after our marriage she received a packet, containing these words: "The reward of virtuous love, presented by a repentant villain;" and which also contained bills and notes to the high amount of ten thousand pounds.

_Miss B._ And no name?

_Sir Philip._ None; nor could I ever guess at the generous donor. I need not tell thee what my heart suffered, when death deprived me of her.

Thus circ.u.mstanced, this good man, Sir Abel Handy, proposed to unite our families by marriage; and in consideration of what he termed the honour of our alliance, agreed to pay off every inc.u.mbrance on my estates, and settle them as a portion on you and his son. Yet still another wonder remains.--When I arrive, I find no claim whatever has been made, either by Morrington or his agents. What am I to think? Can Morrington have perished, and with him his large claims to my property? Or, does he withhold the blow, to make it fall more heavily?

_Miss B._ 'Tis very strange! very mysterious! But my father has not told me what misfortune led him to leave his native country.

_Sir Philip._ [_Greatly agitated._] Ha!

_Miss B._ May I not know it?

_Sir Philip._ Oh, never, never, never!

_Miss B._ I will not ask it--Be composed--Let me wipe away those drops of anguish from your brow.--How cold your cheek is! My father, the evening damps will harm you--Come in--I will be all you wish--indeed I will. [_Exeunt._