"Sir John being by this time at leisure, we returned to Soho-square. He had not mentioned the name of Lady Corbet; and now, without any previous intimation respecting her, conducted him into the room where she was. "I never beheld surprise more strongly expressed in the countenance of any one, than in Sir Henry's, on perceiving his mother; it approached indeed nearly to horror. As for Lady Corbet--a scream of mingled surprise and delight escaped her lips, as she hastened to clasp him in her arms; but springing on one side, he eluded her embrace, and murmuring some inarticulate sounds, attempted to rush out of the room. In this he was prevented by Sir John, who, catching him by the arm, said--'Not so fast, young gentleman. Your mother has suffered too much unhappiness by your first elopement: I shall not so easily permit you to quit her a second time. Justice has delivered you into my hands, and I resign you to her. Recollect, as your mother and sole guardian, she has an unlimited authority to control your actions?' "Sir Henry answered, but with a groan, and clasping his hands on his forehead, seemed for some moments to struggle with contending passions; then hastily asked what was required of him? "'Not wilfully to destroy the peace of your mother!' replied Sir John, pointing to Lady Corbet, who had sunk nearly lifeless on a sofa. "The sight appeared to rouse Sir Henry. He flew to her, and, by the tenderest appellations, endeavoured to recall her senses. Recollection soon returned, when, clasping his hand-- "'Oh, Harry!' she cried, 'I needed not this last instance of your indifference to show how little claim I had to your regard. The ties to a mother with you are now forgotten; it once was otherwise: but Corbet will follow the steps of his father!' "Sir Henry regarded her wildly--'My father, Lady Corbet!----' he stopped, his lip trembled, and quitting her, he paced the room with agitated steps. Lady Corbet burst into tears--. "'Harry, do not, I entreat you, torture me with this behaviour, I have not merited it. To you I have looked for that consolation and support which, as a widow and a mother, I had a right to expect. How it has been rendered, I need not say. Silence and mystery have been the return to my solicitude--your desertion in the hour of sorrow, the reward of my tenderness!' "Sobs impeded her utterance--she could not proceed; but Sir John, with great strength of reasoning, endeavoured to convince Sir Henry, how wrong his conduct had been, and to persuade him to act consistently with the duty he owed his mother, and to his own character, in the eyes of the world. The young gentleman listened to him some time in silence; a sigh only now and then swelled his bosom. At last, on Sir John urging him to return to Wales, with his mother, he looked earnestly in his face, and with a tone of voice highly impressive, pronounced the simple denial--'I cannot, Sir John, return to the seat of my forefathers!'