"You are weeping!" cried he, "you are pale!--Oh Miss Beverley! is this
your happiness!"

"I am very well,--" cried she, not knowing what she answered, "I am
quite well,--pray go,--I am very--" her words died away inarticulated.

"O what a voice is that!" exclaimed he, "it pierces my very soul!"

Mrs Delvile now came to the parlour door, and looked aghast at the
situation in which she saw them: Cecilia again moved on, and reached
the stairs, but tottered, and was obliged to cling to the banisters.

"O suffer me to support you," cried he; "you are not able to stand,--
whither is it you would go?"

"Any where,--I don't know,--" answered she, in faltering accents, "but
if you would leave me, I should be well."

And, turning from him, she walked again towards the parlour, finding by
her shaking frame, the impossibility of getting unaided up the stairs.

"Give me your hand, my love," said Mrs Delvile, cruelly alarmed by this
return; and the moment they re-entered the parlour, she said
impatiently to her son, "Mortimer, why are you not gone?"

He heard her not, however; his whole attention was upon Cecilia, who,
sinking into a chair, hid her face against Mrs Delvile: but, reviving
in a few moments, and blushing at the weakness she had betrayed, she
raised her head, and, with an assumed serenity, said, "I am better,--
much better,--I was rather sick,--but it is over; and now, if you will