fficulty 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 circumstanced, 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 incumbrance 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 chee