"I see," cried Pembroke, regarding the altered features of his friend
with a glance of agony--"I see that you think it is possible that my
father can sink me below my own contempt."
The benumbing touch of ingratitude ran through the veins of Thaddeus;
his frame was chilled--was petrified; but his just affection and
calmed countenance proclaimed how true a judgment he had passed on
the whole. He took the burning hand of Mr. Somerset in his own, and,
with a steady and consoling voice, said, "Assure yourself, dear
Pembroke, whatever be the commands of your father, I shall adhere to
them. I cannot understand by these generous emotions that he objects
to receive me as your friend. Perhaps," added he,--a flash of
suspicion gleaming through his mind,--"perhaps Miss Beaufort may have
perceived the devotedness of my heart, and disdaining my--"
"Hush, for Heaven's sake!" cried Pembroke, starting from his chair;
"do not implicate my poor cousin! Do not add to her disappointment
the misery that you suspect her! No, Thaddeus," continued he, in a
calmer tone; "Mary Beaufort loves you: she confessed it in an agony
of grief on my bosom, just before I came away; and only through her I
dare ever expect to meet forgiveness from _you_. In spite of my
father, you may marry her. She has no curse to dread; she need not
sacrifice all that is most precious in her sight to the obstinate
caprice of criminal resentment.
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