Beloved and venerable parent! He
still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood
over the mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my
father's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of
despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was
rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty,
that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a
miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While
I was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and
hastened to welcome me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said he. "Ah! I
wish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us
all joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which
nothing can alleviate; yet you presence will, I hope, revive our
father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions
will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-
accusations.--Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!"
Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal
agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the
wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and
a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more
minutely concerning my father, and her I named my cousin.
"She most of all," said Ernest, "requires consolation; she accused
herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her
very wretched.
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