FATHER AND SON. 145 



to ciy, and she has had enough to-night to agitate her ; but let 

 her bring me another cup of tea, as I feel rather thirsty." 



" Come, Blanche, don't you follow the example of your 

 foolish old aunt, but take this to William." 



As she handed Beauchamp the cup, he held her hand for a 

 moment, saying, " Dear Blanche, how many will envy Will 

 Beauchamp's scratch this night, which has given him such a 

 cup-bearer ! and how forcibly does your kind attention remind 

 me of those beautiful lines of Scott : — 



' Oh, woman ! in our hours of ease, 

 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 

 * * * * # 



When pain and anguish wring the hrow, 

 A ministering angel thou ! ' " 



The last word had scarcely passed his lips, when a carriage 

 was driven furiously up to the hall door, and a voice heard 

 shouting — 



" Let me out ! Open the door ! " 



" There's no mistaking that voice ! " exclaimed Malcolm, 

 darting from the room. " It is the old squire." 



" How is my dear boy % " inquired Mr. Beauchamp, as he 

 met Malcolm in the hall. 



" Not much the matter, my dear sir, as he is lying on the 

 sofa, drinking tea, and quoting poetry." 



" Quick ! where is he ? " he said to Malcolm, who was now 

 speaking to Constance. 



" In the drawing-room ; here, this way " 



And in a moment, Mr. Beauchamp, regardless of the ladies, 

 was kneeling by his son, ejaculating — 



" Thank God ! thank God ! the Father of all mercies, that 

 you are spared to me, my own darling boy." 



And the old man burst into a flood of tears, still repeating 

 his thanks to God for preserving his son's life. Constance, 

 throwing herself into Blanche's arms, gave vent also to her 

 pent-up feelings, which she had repressed to keep up her father ; 

 but now the tears of all three ladies fell uncontrolled, and even 

 Malcolm was obliged to turn aside to conceal his emotion at 

 witnessing this affecting interview between father and son. 



"Come, come, my dear father," at length said Beauchamp, 

 fi this agitation hurts my side ; and you have not yet spoken a 

 word to dear, kind Mrs. Gordon or Blanche." 



The old man rose slowly from his knees, and going up to 



J 



