_Augusta._ Oh! my father!

_Mr. D._ You have behaved to me, Augusta, as if I were a stranger. G.o.d knows, it is not my fault. Whether awake, or in my dreams, I never cease to bless you.

_Augusta_ [with a downcast look]. My dearest father, can you forgive me?

_Mr. D._ You love. Heaven crown your love with happiness! It is not for that I blame you: love is involuntary.

_Augusta._ But I did not open my heart to you.

_Mr. D._ Yes, there you hurt me severely.

_Augusta._ I love n.o.body as I do yourself and my mother. Speak, dear mother; how often did the confession of my attachment tremble upon my lips!

_Mr. D._ And why not avow it?

_Augusta._ I never had a favourable opportunity.

_Mr. D._ [hastily]. That is the effect of those unhappy books again----

_Mrs. D._ Be gentle, my dear Drave.

_Mr. D._ [composed]. You were not always thus: formerly, you thought me worthy of your confidence.

_Augusta._ I will behave so again.

_Mr. D._ Do I wait for favourable opportunities to love you? Oh, no! in things the most indifferent, I ask myself, will it give pleasure to my Augusta? I close my eyes with prayers for the happiness of my child; and my first thoughts, when I rise, are on the means of gratifying her wishes; while she, for whose sake only I live, waits for opportunities to be good and sincere!

_Augusta_ [leaning on her mother]. Oh! my mother!

_Mrs. D._ Cease, I intreat you!

_Mr. D._ Why turn to your mother? come to this wounded bosom. [She embraces him]. Think no more of what is past; only treat me with sincerity. Believe me, in all your books you will not find a father whose affection for his daughter equals mine.

_Augusta._ Oh! were I dead! then no suspicion of ingrat.i.tude could tear my heart.

_Mr. D._ No, Augusta! not dead--then I could forgive no more. [He presses her affectionately to his heart]. Now my child is restored to me. What happiness can equal mine? Here I hold the only hope of my life, in my arms.

_Mrs. D._ Am not I her mother?

_Mr. D._ Forgive me. What would life be to me, without you? forgive me [takes her hand and kisses it]----Now I will seek your fugitive lover: G.o.d grant I may find him worthy of my Augusta! [Exit Drave.

_Mrs. D._ I wish, Augusta, your future husband may have the heart of your father. He is, indeed, sometimes pa.s.sionate; and in every family, differences will arise; but they have always ended in rendering us more attached to each other.

Enter PHILIP BROOK.

_Philip._ Madam--

_Mrs. D._ Mr. Brook--we----pardon me--why should I deny it?--we were engaged in a conversation--which----

_Philip._ Which I interrupted? I will, therefore, with your permission, take my leave.

_Mrs. D._ Stay, Sir!--We are, indeed, unable to continue--my heart is too full----

_Philip._ Have you had any disappointment, any sorrows I dare not partake?

_Mrs. D._ Neither, Sir.

_Philip._ But you have wept. I will stay: every mourner has a claim upon me; and when I see your tears, Augusta----

_Augusta._ Mr. Brook, the tears you see are tears of joy, shed by a happy daughter, for the tenderness of a father.

_Philip._ Tears of joy? It is long, my dear Madam, since I have been witness to such. Peace be on him for whom they flow! He will never want an epitaph.

_Mrs. D._ Do not mention that: you keep us in our melancholy train of thinking.

_Philip._ Melancholy? I am always cheerful in your company. But Miss Augusta then had a cloud over her eyes.

_Augusta._ Do _you_ reproach me _that_?

_Philip._ I do, and justly. All who are acquainted with you, love and esteem you. You are young and amiable; why then mourn?

_Mrs. D._ Pardon me, Sir, if I repeat my daughter's words; you should be the last to utter such a reproach.

_Philip._ Why so?

_Mrs. D._ Can you ask?

_Philip._ Yes, Madam; for I cannot believe that you have the same opinion of my character, that is generally entertained.

_Mrs. D._ Mr. Brook!

_Philip._ You make no answer. Your opinion is either too favourable, or the contrary.

_Mrs. D._ Be a.s.sured, we esteem you as a man.

_Philip._ I wished not for a polite turn, but for the true judgment of your heart.

_Mrs. D._ [at a loss]. If, perhaps, our ideas may be in some respects different----

_Philip._ Well?

_Mrs. D._ But, my dear Sir! we have just been conversing on a subject so opposite to this! and this moment----

_Philip._ I beg you to bestow upon me. I am unable to give an account of myself, at every moment, and to every body; but now, and to you, I feel myself bound to do it.

_Mrs. D._ But, am I prepared for a cold enquiry?

_Philip._ It is not a cold enquiry I ask [with warmth]. Let your generous friendly mind, [to Augusta] let your pure soul, Augusta, be the judge.