ABSTRACT
Alone with Medora, whom he had so lately considered as lost, seeing her restored to him such as she was when he had first given her his whole heart, or even raised to a superior degree of excellence in his opinion, by the courage and propriety of conduct she had shewn, Delmont was unable to repress or conceal the variety of emotions and affections which now crowded on his heart; he took her hands, and as he kissed them, the tears that fell from his eyes seemed to relieve the oppression he had so long laboured under. ‘Medora,’ cried he, ‘my own, my beloved Medora, have you spirits to relate the strange series of circumstances that have torn you from me? that have separated your mother from us both, at the very moment when I hoped we were to be united for ever? But do not, my angel, make any exertion that may be painful to you; I will repress my curiosity, and seeing you safe, will await for a calmer hour before I desire you to recal these painful scenes; yet it seems to me, my love, as if your description alone could afford us some clue, by which we may discover why and where your dear mother is concealed.’
