Then rising, she drew a chair near her own, and made me sit down by
her, overwhelmed as I was with tears of apprehension of what she had
to say, and of gratitude for her truly maternal goodness to me--sobs
still my only language.

And drawing her chair still nearer to mine, she put her arms round my
neck, and my glowing cheek wet with my tears, close to her own: Let me
talk to you, my child. Since silence is your choice, hearken to me,
and be silent.

You know, my dear, what I every day forego, and undergo, for the sake
of peace. Your papa is a very good man, and means well; but he will
not be controuled; nor yet persuaded. You have sometimes seemed to
pity me, that I am obliged to give up every point. Poor man! his
reputation the less for it; mine the greater: yet would I not have
this credit, if I could help it, at so dear a rate to him and to
myself. You are a dutiful, a prudent, and a wise child, she was
pleased to say, in hope, no doubt, to make me so: you would not add, I
am sure, to my trouble: you would not wilfully break that peace which
costs your mother so much to preserve. Obedience is better than
sacrifice. O my Clary Harlowe, rejoice my heart, by telling me that I
have apprehended too much!--I see your concern! I see your
perplexity! I see your conflict! [loosing her arm, and rising, not
willing I should see how much she herself was affected]. I will leave
you a moment.--Answer me not--[for I was essaying to speak, and had,
as soon as she took her dear cheek from mine, dropt down on my knees,
my hands clasped, and lifted up in a supplicating manner]--I am not
prepared for your irresistible expostulation, she was pleased to say.
I will leave you to recollection: and I charge you, on my blessing,
that all this my truly maternal tenderness be not thrown away upon you.