"Sister," said Thomas Seyton, "I am in a terrible perplexity; one word from
me, perhaps, will restore you to life--perhaps will send you to your tomb."
"I have already told you that I have no more emotions to dread."
"One alone, however--"
"Which?"
"If it concerned your child?"
"My child is dead."
"If she were not?"
"We have exhausted this supposition already. Enough, brother, my remorse
suffices."
"But if it were not a supposition? if by chance--an incredible chance--your
daughter had been rescued from death; if she lived?"
"You alarm me; do not talk thus."
"Well, then, may God pardon me and judge you! she lives still."
"My daughter?"
"She lives, I tell you. The prince is here with a clergyman. I have sent
for two of your friends for witnesses; the wish of your life is at length
realized--the prediction is fulfilled--you are a sovereign."
Thomas Seyton pronounced these words while fixing on his sister a look of
anguish, watching for each sign of emotion. To his great astonishment, the
features of Sarah remained almost impassible; she placed her hand upon her
heart, and falling back in her chair, suppressed a slight cry, which
appeared to have been caused by some sudden and excruciating pain, after
which her face became composed and calm.
"What is the matter, sister?"
"Nothing--surprise--unhoped-for joy. At length my wishes are crowned.
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