"Generous young man!" exclaimed Edward Douglas; "he deserves a happier fate. Would that I could favour his suit! But, poor, unknown, and perhaps basely born as he is, it is my duty as a father to oppose it." Shortly before Philip's ship _came afloat_, Edward Douglas was obliged to go to London on business; and there he found out and introduced himself to our young friend. Few young men of his age possessed greater powers of pleasing than Philip; there was a frank ingenuousness in his manner and address which, seconded by the remarkable beauty of his features, immediately made a favourable impression upon a stranger--an impression which a further intimacy seldom failed to strengthen into affection and esteem. Such was the effect of his introduction to Edward Douglas. They were mutually pleased with each other, and every hour that Philip could spare from professional duties was devoted to his new friend, rendered doubly dear to him by his near connection with her whose name he dared not mention, though ever in his thoughts. "My dear fellow," said Douglas to him one day, "I am aware of the sacrifice you have made of feeling to principle, and I honour and esteem you for it. Would to heaven your circumstances and my own were different! Situated as you are, without the means of supporting even _yourself_, I think I know you too well already to imagine that you would willingly expose her you love to poverty and humiliation. Were my circumstances such as to enable me to enrich my daughter, and to follow the inclinations of my own heart, I know no one for whom I would more willingly use a father's influence than yourself." Philip's heart was too full for words; yet, though he felt the hardship, he acknowledged the justice, of Edward Douglas's objections, and felt greatly affected by his kind expressions of friendly feeling towards him. They parted with mutual regret; Edward to return to Eskhall, and Philip to join his ship at Gravesend. "Ah!" said Gavin Douglas, one morning, about a fortnight after the above parting, as the family were seated round the breakfast-table, "there is the post-bag. Bring it here, James" (to the servant). "It looks too thin to contain anything, I am afraid. Yes; here is a letter from dear Phil." "When is he to return, grandfather?" asked Emma, now a full-grown woman. Catherine was seized with a sudden curiosity to look at a pamphlet which lay upon the table, and which she held very close to her eyes. "Return, my love!" said Gavin; "when his voyage is over, I hope. This letter was sent on shore by the pilot, and is dated 'Off Scilly.' But, mercy upon us! what is the matter with Catherine?" The pamphlet had fallen from her hand; the cheek which had flushed to crimson at the mention of Philip's name was now of death-like paleness; and she was leaning back in her chair, with her eyes closed, and panting for breath.