"Then you are my son!" cried she, rapturously embracing him; "now I
know again my Mortimer! now I see the fair promise of his upright
youth, and the flattering completion of my maternal expectations!"

Cecilia, finding all thus concluded, desired nothing so much as to
congratulate them on their reconciliation; but having only said "Let
_me_, too,--" her voice failed her, she stopt short, and hoping she had
been unheard, would have glided out of the room.

But Delvile, penetrated and tortured, yet delighted at this
sensibility, broke from his mother, and seizing her hand, exclaimed,
"Oh Miss Beverley, if _you_ are not happy---"

"I am! I am!" cried she, with quickness; "let me pass,--and think no
more of me."

"That voice,--those looks,--" cried he, still holding her, "they speak
not serenity!--Oh if I have injured your peace,--if that heart, which,
pure as angels, deserves to be as sacred from sorrow, through my means,
or for my sake, suffers any diminution of tranquility--"

"None, none!" interrupted she, with precipitation.

"I know well," cried he, "your greatness of soul; and if this dreadful
sacrifice gives lasting torture only to myself,--if of _your_ returning
happiness I could be assured,--I would struggle to bear it."

"You _may_, be assured of it," cried she, with reviving dignity, "I
have no right to expect escaping all calamity, but while I share the