Thaddeus endured a suspense which was almost
insupportable.
"What is the direful matter, dear Pembroke? Is any we honor, and
love, ill unto death?" His pale face showed that he apprehended it,
and he thought it might be Mary.
"No, no," returned Pembroke; "everybody is well, excepting myself and
my father, who, I verily believe, has lost his senses; at any rate he
will drive me mad."
The manner in which this reply was uttered astonished Thaddeus so
much, that he could only gaze with wonder on the convulsed feature of
his friend. Pembroke observed his amazement, and laying his hand on
his arm, said, "My dear, dear Sobieski! what do I not owe to you?
Good Heaven! how humbled am I in your sight! But there is a Power
above who knows how intimately you are woven with every artery of
this heart."
"I believe it, my kind Pembroke," cried Thaddeus, yet more alarmed
than before; "tell me what it is that distresses you? If my counsel
or my sympathy can offer anything to comfort or assist you, you know
I am your own."
Pembroke burst into tears, and covering his streaming eyes with his
handkerchief, exclaimed, "I am indeed distressed--distressed even
beyond your comfort. Oh! how can I speak it! You will despise my
father! You will spurn me!"
"Impossible!" cried Thaddeus with energy, though his flushed cheek
and fainting heart immediately declared that he had anticipated what
he must hear.
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