The racking misery which tortured the mind of Mr. Somerset was not
borne with equal resignation. Conscious of his having inflicted fresh
wounds on the breast of his truest friend, his spirits were so ill
adapted to any conversation, that he was pleased rather than
disappointed when he found the supper-room at the Castle quite
vacant, and only one cover on the table awaiting his arrival.
He asked a few questions of the servants, who informed him that it
was past twelve o'clock, and that Sir Robert, who had become worse,
had retired to bed early in the evening.
"And where are my aunt and cousin?" demanded Pembroke.
One of the men replied that, in consequence of Miss Beaufort having
been taken suddenly indisposed, both the ladies left the saloon
before eleven. Pembroke readily guessed the cause of her disorder; he
too truly ascribed it to Mary's anxiety respecting the reception
which the noble Sobieski would give to his disgraceful proposition.
Sighing bitterly, he said no more but went to his chamber.
The restless state of his mind awoke Mr. Somerset by times. Anxious
for the success of an application which he intended to make to his
beloved cousin, whose pure and virgin heart he believed did indeed
here sympathize with his own, he traversed the terrace for an hour
before he was summoned to breakfast. The baronet continuing too ill
to leave his room, the ladies only were in the parlor when he
entered.
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