Chapter 13

_An Apartment in the Castle._

SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD _discovered_--MISS BLANDFORD _reading._

_Miss B._ Shall I proceed to the next essay?

_Sir Philip._ What does it treat of?

_Miss B._ Love and friendship.

_Sir Philip._ A satire?

_Miss B._ No, father;--an eulogy.

Sir _Philip._ Thus do we find, in the imaginations of men, what we in vain look for in their hearts.--Lay it by. [_A knocking at the door._] Come in--

_Enter_ EVERGREEN.

_Everg._ My dear master, I am a petitioner to you.

_Sir Philip._ [_Rises._] None possesses a better claim to my favour--ask, and receive.

_Everg._ I thank you, sir. The unhappy Henry--

_Miss B._ What of him?

_Sir Philip._ Emma, go to your apartment.

_Miss B._ Poor Henry!

_Sir Philip._ Imprudent man!

_Everg._ [SIR PHILIP _turns from hint with resentment._] Nay, be not angry; he is without, and entreats to be admitted.

_Sir Philip._ I cannot, will not, again behold him.

_Everg._ I am sorry you refuse me, as it compels me to repeat his words: "If," said he, "Sir Philip denies my humble request, tell him, I demand to see him."

_Sir Philip._ Demand to see me! well, his _high_ command shall be obeyed then [_Sarcastically_]. Bid him approach. [_Exit_ EVERGREEN.

_Enter_ HENRY.

_Sir Philip._ By what title, sir, do you thus intrude on me?

_Henry._ By one of an imperious nature, the title of a creditor.

_Sir Philip._ I _your_ debtor!

_Henry._ Yes; for you owe me justice. You, perhaps, withhold from me the inestimable treasure of a parent's blessing.

_Sir Philip._ [_Impatiently._] To the business that brought you hither.

_Henry._ Thus then--I believe this is your signature. [_Producing a bond._

_Sir Philip._ Ah! [_Recovering himself._] it is--

_Henry._ Affixed to a bond of 1000_l_. which, by assignment, is mine. By virtue of this I discharge the debt of your worthy tenant Ashfield! who, it seems, was guilty of the crime of vindicating the injured, and protecting the unfortunate. Now, Sir Philip, the retribution my hate demands is, that what remains of this obligation may not be now paid to me, but wait your entire convenience and leisure.

_Sir Philip._ No! that must not be.

_Henry._ Oh, sir! why thus oppress an innocent man?--why spurn from you a heart, that pants to serve you? No answer, farewell. [_Going._

_Sir Philip._ Hold--one word before we part--tell me--I dread to ask it [_Aside._]--How came you possessed of this bond?

_Henry._ A stranger, whose kind benevolence stepped in and saved--

_Sir Philip._ His name?

_Henry._ Morrington.

_Sir Philip._ Fiend! tormenter! has he caught me!--You have seen this Morrington?

_Henry._ Yes.

_Sir Philip._ Did he speak of me?

_Henry._ He did--and of your daughter. "Conjure him," said he, "not to sacrifice the lovely Emma, by a marriage her heart revolts at. Tell him, the life and fortune of a parent are not his own; he holds them but in trust for his offspring. Bid him reflect, that, while his daughter merits the brightest rewards a father can bestow, she is by that father doomed to the harshest fate tyranny can inflict."

_Sir Philip._ Torture! [_With vehemence._] Did he say who caused this sacrifice?

_Henry._ He told me you had been duped of your fortune by sharpers.

_Sir Philip._ Aye, he knows that well. Young man, mark me:--This Morrington, whose precepts wear the face of virtue, and whose practice seems benevolence, was the chief of the hellish banditti that ruined me.

_Henry._ Is it possible?

_Sir Philip._ That bond you hold in your hand was obtained by robbery.

_Henry._ Confusion!

_Sir Philip._ Not by the thief who, encountering you as a man, stakes life against life, but by that most cowardly villain, who, in the moment when reason sleeps, and passion is roused, draws his snares around you, and hugs you to your ruin.

_Henry._ On your soul, is Morrington that man?

_Sir Philip._ On my soul, he is.

_Henry._ Thus, then, I annihilate the act--and thus I tread upon a villain's friendship. [_Tearing the bond._

_Sir Philip._ Rash boy! what have you done?

_Henry._ An act of justice to Sir Philip Blandford.

_Sir Philip._ For which you claim my thanks?

_Henry._ Sir, I am thanked already--here. [_Pointing to his heart._] Curse on such wealth! compared with its possession, poverty is splendour. Fear not for me--I shall not feel the piercing cold; for in that man, whose heart beats warmly for his fellow creatures, the blood circulates with freedom--My food shall be what few of the pampered sons of greatness can boast of, the luscious bread of independence; and the opiate, that brings me sleep, will be the recollection of the day passed in innocence.

_Sir Philip._ Noble boy!--Oh Blandford!

_Henry._ Ah!

_Sir Philip._ What have I said?

_Henry._ You called me Blandford.

_Sir Philip._ 'Twas error--'twas madness.

_Henry._ Blandford! a thousand hopes and fears rush on my heart. Disclose to me my birth--be it what it may, I am your slave for ever. Refuse me, you create a foe, firm and implacable as----

_Sir Philip._ Ah! am I threatened? Do not extinguish the spark of pity my breast is warmed with.

_Henry._ I will not. Oh! forgive me.

_Sir Philip._ Yes, on one condition--leave me.--Ah! some one approaches. Begone, I insist--I entreat.

_Henry._ That word has charmed me! I obey: Sir Philip, you may hate, but you shall respect, me. [_Exit._

_Enter_ HANDY, _jun._

_Handy, jun._ At last, thank Heaven, I have found somebody. But, Sir Philip, were you indulging in soliloquy?--You seem agitated.

_Sir Philip._ No, sir; rather indisposed.

_Handy, jun._ Upon my soul, I am devilish glad to find you. Compared with this castle, the Cretan labyrinth was intelligible; and unless some kind Ariadne gives me a clue, I shan't have the pleasure of seeing you above once a-week.

_Sir Philip._ I beg your pardon, I have been an inattentive host.

_Handy, jun._ Oh, no; but when a house is so devilish large, and the party so very small, they ought to keep together; for, to say the truth, though no one on earth feels a warmer regard for Robert Handy than I do--I soon get heartily sick of his company--whatever he may be to others, he's a cursed bore to me.

_Sir Philip._ Where's your worthy father?

_Handy, jun._ As usual, full of contrivances that are impracticable, and improvements that are retrograde; forming, altogether, a whimsical instance of the confusion of arrangement, the delay of expedition, the incommodiousness of accommodation, and the infernal trouble of endeavouring to save it--he has now a score or two of workmen about him, and intends pulling down some apartments in the east wing of the Castle.

_Sir Philip._ Ah! ruin!--Within there!--Fly to Sir Abel Handy--Tell him to desist! order his people, on the peril of their lives, to leave the Castle instantly! Away!

_Handy, jun._ Sir Philip Blandford, your conduct compels me to be serious.

_Sir Philip._ Oh, forbear! forbear!

_Handy, jun._ Excuse me, sir,--an alliance, it seems, is intended between our families, founded on ambition and interest. I wish it, sir, to be formed on a nobler basis, ingenuous friendship and mutual confidence. That confidence being withheld, I must here pause; for I should hesitate in calling that man father, who refuses me the name of friend.

_Sir Philip._ [_Aside._] Ah! how shall I act?

_Handy, jun._ Is my demand unreasonable?

_Sir Philip._ Strictly just--But oh!--you know not what you ask--Do you not pity me?

_Handy, jun._ I do.

_Sir Philip._ Why then seek to change it into hate?

_Handy, jun._ Confidence seldom generates hate--Mistrust always.

_Sir Philip._ Most true.

_Handy, jun._ I am not impelled by curiosity to ask your friendship. I scorn so mean a motive. Believe me, sir, the folly and levity of my character proceed merely from the effervescence of my heart--you will find its substance warm, steady, and sincere.

_Sir Philip._ I believe it from my soul.--Yes, you shall hear my story; I will lay before your view the agony, with which this wretched bosom is loaded.

_Handy, jun._ I am proud of your confidence, and am prepared to receive it.

_Sir Philip._ Not here--let me lead you to the eastern part of the castle, my young friend--mark me: This is no common trust I repose in you; for I place my life in your hands.

_Handy, jun._ And the pledge I give for its security is, what alone gives value to life, my honour. [_Exeunt._