“I must ask you a serious question, my child; answer me with the same sincerity you would to Heaven.  You see this young man, the heir of Lovel!  You have known him long; consult your own heart, and tell me whether you have any objection to receive him for your husband.  I have promised to all this company to give you to him; but upon condition that you approve him:  I think him worthy of you; and, whether you accept him or not, he shall ever be to me a son; but Heaven forbid that I should compel my child to give her hand, where she cannot bestow her heart!  Speak freely, and decide this point for me and for yourself.”

The fair Emma blushed, and was under some confusion; her virgin modesty prevented her speaking for some moments.  Edmund trembled; he leaned upon William’s shoulder to support himself.  Emma cast her eye upon him, she saw his emotion, and hastened to relieve him; and thus spoke in a soft voice which gathered strength as she proceeded: 

“My lord and father’s goodness has always prevented my wishes; I am the happiest of all children, in being able to obey his commands, without offering violence to my own inclinations.  As I am called upon in this public manner, it is but justice to this gentleman’s merit to declare, that, were I at liberty to chuse a husband from all the world, he only should be my choice, who I can say, with joy, is my father’s also.”

Edmund bowed low, he advanced towards her; the Baron took his daughter’s hand, and presented it to him; he kneeled upon one knee, he took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom.  The Baron embraced and blessed them; he presented them to Sir Philip Harclay—­“Receive and acknowledge your children!” said he.

“I do receive them as the gift of Heaven!” said the noble knight; “they are as much mine as if I had begotten them:  all that I have is theirs, and shall descend to their children for ever.”  A fresh scene of congratulation ensued; and the hearts of all the auditors were too much engaged to be able soon to return to the ease and tranquillity of common life.

After they had refreshed themselves, and recovered from the emotions they had sustained on this interesting occasion, Edmund thus addressed the Baron: 

“On the brink of happiness I must claim your attention to a melancholy subject.  The bones of both my parents lie unburied in this house; permit me, my honoured lord, to perform my last duties to them, and the remainder of my life shall be devoted to you and yours.”

“Certainly,” said the Baron; “why have you not interred them?”

“My lord, I waited for your arrival, that you might be certified of the reality, and that no doubts might remain.”

“I have no doubts,” said the Baron; “Alas! both the crime and punishment of the offender leave no room for them!” He sighed.  “Let us now put an end to this affair; and, if possible, forget it for ever.”

“If it will not be too painful to you, my lord, I would intreat you, with these gentlemen our friends, to follow me into the east apartment, the scene of my parents’ woes, and yet the dawning of my better hopes.”