“You meet my thoughts,” said Edmund; “I had resolved, before you spoke, to visit her, and to interrogate her on the subject; I will ask my Lord’s permission to go this very day.”

“That is right,” said Oswald; “but be cautious and prudent in your enquiries.”

“If you,” said Edmund, “would bear me company, I should do better; she might think herself obliged to answer your questions; and, being less interested in the event, you would be more discreet in your interrogations.”

“That I will most readily,” said he; “and I will ask my lord’s permission for us both”

“This point is well determined,” said Joseph; “I am impatient for the result; and I believe my feet will carry me to meet you whether I consent or not.”

“I am as impatient as you,” said Oswald; “but let us be silent as the grave, and let not a word or look indicate any thing knowing or mysterious.”

The daylight began to dawn upon their conference; and Edmund, observing it, begged his friends to withdraw in silence.  They did so, and left Edmund to his own recollections.  His thoughts were too much employed for sleep to approach him; he threw himself upon the bed, and lay meditating how he should proceed; a thousand schemes offered themselves and were rejected; But he resolved, at all events, to leave Baron Fitz-Owen’s family the first opportunity that presented itself.

He was summoned, as before, to attend my lord at breakfast; during which, he was silent, absent, and reserved.  My Lord observed it, and rallied him; enquiring how he had spent the night?

“In reflecting upon my situation, my Lord; and in laying plans for my future conduct.”  Oswald took the hint, and asked permission to visit Edmund’s mother in his company, and acquaint her with his intentions of leaving the country soon.  He consented freely; but seemed unresolved about Edmund’s departure.

They set out directly, and Edmund went hastily to old Twyford’s cottage, declaring that every field seemed a mile to him.  “Restrain your warmth, my son,” said Oswald; “compose your mind, and recover your breath, before you enter upon a business of such consequence.”  Margery met them at the door, and asked Edmund, what wind blew him thither?

“Is it so very surprising, said he, “that I should visit my parents?”

“Yes, it is,” said she, “considering the treatment you have met with from us; but since Andrew is not in the house, I may say I am glad to see you; Lord bless you, what a fine youth you be grown!  ’Tis a long time since I saw you; but that is not my fault; many a cross word, and many a blow, have I had on your account; but I may now venture to embrace my dear child.”

Edmund came forward and embraced her fervently; the starting tears, on both sides, evinced their affection.  “And why,” said he, “should my father forbid you to embrace your child? what have I ever done to deserve his hatred?”