The fine symmetry of her profile
assured him that she must be the daughter of Lady Tinemouth. She
stooped to gather a china-aster. Knowing that no time should be lost,
Pembroke gently emerged from his recess, but not in so quiet a manner
as to escape the ear of Lady Albina, who instantly looking round,
screamed, and would have fled, had he not thrown himself before her,
and exclaimed, "Stay, Lady Albina! For heaven's sake, stay! I come
from your mother!"
She gazed fearfully in his face, and tried to release her hand, which
he had seized to prevent her flight.
"Do not be alarmed," continued he; "no harm is intended you. I am the
son of Sir Robert Somerset, and the friend of your mother, who is now
at the point of death. She implores to see you this night (for she
has hardly an hour to live) to hear from your own lips that you do
not hate her."
Lady Albina trembled dreadfully, and with faded cheeks and quivering
lips replied, "Hate my mother! Oh, no! I have ever dearly loved her!"
A flood of tears prevented her speaking further; and Pembroke,
perceiving that he had gained her confidence, put the doctor's letter
into her hand. The gentle heart of Lady Albina bled at every word
which her almost blinded eyes perused. Turning to Pembroke, who stood
contemplating her lovely countenance with the deepest interest, she
said, "Pray, Mr. Somerset, take me now to my mother.
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