once her best friend, avoided,
shunned, distrusted. When she shall have wept till she can weep no
more, when her grief shall be terminated in untimely death--oh! then,
when I mourn over the grave of my only child, what consolation can you
give me in my despair?

(Pause----Enter AUGUSTA.)

_Mr. D._ Come to my arms, Augusta. We have a long account to settle
together [they embrace]: closer! as you used to do! from the bottom of
your heart: so [he kisses her, and gently lets her go].

_Augusta._ Oh! my father!

_Mr. D._ You have behaved to me, Augusta, as if I were a stranger. God
knows, it is not my fault. Whether awake, or in my dreams, I never
cease to bless you.

_Augusta_ [with a downcast look]. My dearest father, can you forgive
me?

_Mr. D._ You love. Heaven crown your love with happiness! It is not for
that I blame you: love is involuntary.

_Augusta._ But I did not open my heart to you.

_Mr. D._ Yes, there you hurt me severely.

_Augusta._ I love nobody as I do yourself and my mother. Speak, dear
mother; how often did the confession of my attachment tremble upon my
lips!

_Mr. D._ And why not avow it?

_Augusta._ I never had a favourable opportunity.

_Mr. D._ [hastily]. That is the effect of those unhappy books again----

_Mrs. D._ Be gentle, my dear Drave.

_Mr. D._ [composed]. You were not always thus: formerly, you thought me
worthy of your confidence.

_Augusta._ I will behave so again.

_Mr. D._ Do I wait for favourable opportunities to love you? Oh, no! in
things the most indifferent, I ask myself, will it give pleasure to my
Augusta? I close my eyes with prayers for the happiness of my child;
and my first thoughts, when I rise, are on the means of gratifying her
wishes; while she, for whose sake only I live, waits for opportunities
to be good and sincere!

_Augusta_ [leaning on her mother]. Oh! my mother!

_Mrs. D._ Cease, I intreat you!

_Mr. D._ Why turn to your mother? come to this wounded bosom. [She
embraces him]. Think no more of what is past; only treat me with
sincerity. Believe me, in all your books you will not find a father
whose affection for his daughter equals mine.

_Augusta._ Oh! were I dead! then no suspicion of ingratitude could tear
my heart.

_Mr. D._ No, Augusta! not dead--then I could forgive no more. [He
presses her affectionately to his heart]. Now my child is restored to
me. What happiness can equal mine? Here I hold the only hop