Adieu! for a moment.
Fitzgerald!--I scarce respire--the tumult of my joy--this
daughter whom I have refused--my Emily--could you have believed--my
Emily is the daughter of Colonel Willmott.
When I announced him to her by that name, her color changed; but
when I added that he was just returned from the East Indies, she
trembled, her cheeks had a dying paleness, her voice faltered, she
pronounced faintly, "My father!" and sunk breathless on a sofa.
He ran to her, he pressed her wildly to his bosom, he kissed her
pale cheek, he demanded if she was indeed his child? his Emily? the
dear pledge of his Emily Montague's tenderness?
Her senses returned, she fixed her eyes eagerly on him, she kissed
his hand, she would have spoke, but tears stopped her voice.
The scene that followed is beyond my powers of description.
I have left them a moment, to share my joy with you: the time is too
precious to say more. To-morrow you shall hear from me.
Adieu! Yours,
Ed. Rivers.