A SIMPLE STORY BY MRS. INCHBALD WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY G. L. STRACHEY LONDONHENRY FROWDE1908 OXFORD: HORACE HARTPRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY CONTENTS INTRODUCTION PREFACE VOLUME II-CHAPTER I 5I-CHAPTER II 8I-CHAPTER III 13I-CHAPTER IV 14I-CHAPTER V 17I-CHAPTER VI 22I-CHAPTER VII 25I-CHAPTER VIII 31I-CHAPTER IX 34I-CHAPTER X 38I-CHAPTER XI 42I-CHAPTER XII 47I-CHAPTER XIII 53I-CHAPTER XIV 57I-CHAPTER XV 63I-CHAPTER XVI 69I-CHAPTER XVII 78 VOLUME IIII-CHAPTER I 85II-CHAPTER II 90II-CHAPTER III 94II-CHAPTER IV 102II-CHAPTER V 112II-CHAPTER VI 117II-CHAPTER VII 121II-CHAPTER VIII 131II-CHAPTER IX 138II-CHAPTER X 146II-CHAPTER XI 153II-CHAPTER XII 164 VOLUME IIIIII-CHAPTER I 173III-CHAPTER II 177III-CHAPTER III 179III-CHAPTER IV 187III-CHAPTER V 188III-CHAPTER VI 194III-CHAPTER VII 201III-CHAPTER VIII 204III-CHAPTER IX 205III-CHAPTER X 214III-CHAPTER XI 218III-CHAPTER XII 227III-CHAPTER XIII 233III-CHAPTER XIV 244 VOLUME IVIV-CHAPTER I 247IV-CHAPTER II 250IV-CHAPTER III 255IV-CHAPTER IV 261IV-CHAPTER V 266IV-CHAPTER VI 270IV-CHAPTER VII 277IV-CHAPTER VIII 283IV-CHAPTER IX 285IV-CHAPTER X 288IV-CHAPTER XI 291IV-CHAPTER XII 293 INTRODUCTION _A Simple Story_ is one of those books which, for some reason or other, have failed to come down to us, as they deserved, along the current oftime, but have drifted into a literary backwater where only theprofessional critic or the curious discoverer can find them out. "Theiniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy;" and nowhere moreblindly than in the republic of letters. If we were to inquire how ithas happened that the true value of Mrs. Inchbald's achievement haspassed out of general recognition, perhaps the answer to our questionwould be found to lie in the extreme difficulty with which the mass ofreaders detect and appreciate mere quality in literature. Their judgmentis swayed by a hundred side-considerations which have nothing to do withart, but happen easily to impress the imagination, or to fit in with thefashion of the hour. The reputation of Mrs. Inchbald's contemporary, Fanny Burney, is a case in point. Every one has heard of Fanny Burney'snovels, and _Evelina_ is still widely read. Yet it is impossible todoubt that, so far as quality alone is concerned, _Evelina_ deserves tobe ranked considerably below _A Simple Story. _ But its writer was thefamiliar friend of the greatest spirits of her age; she was the authorof one of the best of diaries; and her work was immediately andimmensely popular. Thus it has happened that the name of Fanny Burneyhas maintained its place upon the roll of English novelists, while thatof Mrs. Inchbald is forgotten. But the obscurity of Mrs. Inchbald's career has not, of course, been theonly reason for the neglect of her work. The merits of _A Simple Story_are of a kind peculiarly calculated to escape the notice of ageneration of readers brought up on the fiction of the nineteenthcentury. That fiction, infinitely various as it is, possesses at leastone characteristic common to the whole of it--a breadth of outlook uponlife, which can be paralleled by no other body of literature in theworld save that of the Elizabethans. But the comprehensiveness of viewshared by Dickens and Tolstoy, by Balzac and George Eliot, finds noplace in Mrs. Inchbald's work. Compared with _A Simple Story_ even thenarrow canvases of Jane Austen seem spacious pictures of diversifiedlife. Mrs. Inchbald's novel is not concerned with the world at large, orwith any section of society, hardly even with the family; its subject isa group of two or three individuals whose interaction forms the wholebusiness of the book. There is no local colour in it, no complexity ofdetail nor violence of contrast; the atmosphere is vague and neutral, the action passes among ill-defined sitting-rooms, and the most poignantscene in the story takes place upon a staircase which has never beendescribed. Thus the reader of modern novels is inevitably struck, in _ASimple Story_, by a sense of emptiness and thinness, which may wellblind him to high intrinsic merits. The spirit of the eighteenth centuryis certainly present in the book, but it is the eighteenth century ofFrance rather than of England. Mrs. Inchbald no doubt owed much toRichardson; her view of life is the indoor sentimental view of the greatauthor of _Clarissa_; but her treatment of it has very little in commonwith his method of microscopic analysis and vast accumulation. If shebelongs to any school, it is among the followers of the French classicaltradition that she must be placed. _A Simple Story_ is, in its smallway, a descendant of the Tragedies of Racine; and Miss Milner may claimrelationship with Madame de Clèves. Besides her narrowness of vision, Mrs. Inchbald possesses anotherquality, no less characteristic of her French predecessors, and no lessrare among the novelists of England. She is essentially a stylist--awriter whose whole conception of her art is dominated by stylisticintention. Her style, it is true, is on the whole poor; it is oftenheavy and pompous, sometimes clumsy and indistinct; compared with thestyle of such a master as Thackeray it sinks at once intoinsignificance. But the interest of her style does not lie in itsintrinsic merit so much as in the use to which she puts it. Thackeray'sstyle is mere ornament, existing independently of what he has to say;Mrs. Inchbald's is part and parcel of her matter. The result is thatwhen, in moments of inspiration, she rises to the height of heropportunity, when, mastering her material, she invests her expressionwith the whole intensity of her feeling and her thought, then sheachieves effects of the rarest beauty--effects of a kind for which onemay search through Thackeray in vain. The most triumphant of thesepassages is the scene on the staircase of Elmwood House--a passage whichwould be spoilt by quotation and which no one who has ever read it couldforget. But the same quality is to be found throughout her work. "Oh, Miss Woodley!" exclaims Miss Milner, forced at last to confess to herfriend what she feels towards Dorriforth, "I love him with all thepassion of a mistress, and with all the tenderness of a wife. " No younglady, even in the eighteenth century, ever gave utterance to such asentence as that. It is the sentence, not of a speaker, but of a writer;and yet, for that very reason, it is delightful, and comes to us chargedwith a curious sense of emotion, which is none the less real for itselaboration. In _Nature and Art_, Mrs. Inchbald's second novel, theclimax of the story is told in a series of short paragraphs, which, forbitterness and concentration of style, are almost reminiscent ofStendhal: The jury consulted for a few minutes. The verdict was "Guilty". She heard it with composure. But when William placed the fatal velvet on his head and rose to pronounce sentence, she started with a kind of convulsive motion, retreated a step or two back, and, lifting up her hands with a scream, exclaimed-- "Oh, not from _you!_" The piercing shriek which accompanied these words prevented their being heard by part of the audience; and those who heard them thought little of their meaning, more than that they expressed her fear of dying. Serene and dignified, as if no such exclamation had been uttered, William delivered the fatal speech, ending with "Dead, dead, dead". She fainted as he closed the period, and was carried back to prison in a swoon; while he adjourned the court to go to dinner. Here, no doubt, there is a touch of melodrama; but it is the melodramaof a rhetorician, and, in that fine "She heard it with composure", genius has brushed aside the forced and the obvious, to express, withsupreme directness, the anguish of a soul. For, in spite of Mrs. Inchbald's artificialities, in spite of her lackof that kind of realistic description which seems to modern readers thevery blood and breath of a good story, she has the power of doing what, after all, only a very few indeed of her fellow craftsmen have ever beenable to do--she can bring into her pages the living pressure of a humanpassion, she can invest, if not with realism, with something greaterthan realism--with the sense of reality itself--the pains, the triumphs, and the agitations of the human heart. "The heart, " to use theold-fashioned phrase--there is Mrs. Inchbald's empire, there is thesphere of her glory and her command. Outside of it, her powers are weakand fluctuating. She has no firm grasp of the masculine elements incharacter: she wishes to draw a rough man, Sandford, and she draws arude one; she tries her hand at a hero, Rushbrook, and she turns out aprig. Her humour is not faulty, but it is exceedingly slight. What animmortal figure the dim Mrs. Horton would have become in the hands ofJane Austen! In _Nature and Art_, her attempts at social satire aresuperficial and overstrained. But weaknesses of this kind--and it wouldbe easy to prolong the list--are what every reader of the following pageswill notice without difficulty, and what no wise one will regard. "Il nefaut point juger des hommes par ce qu'ils ignorent, mais par ce qu'ilssavent;" and Mrs. Inchbald's knowledge was as profound as it waslimited. Her Miss Milner is an original and brilliant creation, compactof charm and life. She is a flirt, and a flirt not only adorable, butworthy of adoration. Did Mrs. Inchbald take the suggestion of a heroinewith imperfections from the little masterpiece which, on more sides thanone, closely touches her's--Manon Lescaut? Perhaps; and yet, if this wasso, the borrowing was of the slightest, for it is only in the fact thatshe _is_ imperfect that Miss Milner bears to Manon any resemblance atall. In every other respect, the English heroine is the precise contraryof the French one: she is a creature of fiery will, of high bearing, ofnoble disposition; and her shortcomings are born, not of weakness, butof excess of strength. Mrs. Inchbald has taken this character, she hasthrown it under the influence of a violent and absorbing passion, and, upon that theme, she has written her delicate, sympathetic, andartificial book. As one reads it, one cannot but feel that it is, if not directly andcircumstantially, at least in essence, autobiographical. One findsoneself speculating over the author, wondering what was her history, andhow much of it was Miss Milner's. Unfortunately the greater part of whatwe should most like to know of Mrs. Inchbald's life has vanished beyondrecovery. She wrote her Memoirs, and she burnt them; and who can tellwhether even there we should have found a self-revelation? Confessionsare sometimes curiously discreet, and, in the case of Mrs. Inchbald, wemay be sure that it is only what was indiscreet that would really beworth the hearing. Yet her life is not devoid of interest. A briefsketch of it may be welcome to her readers. Elizabeth Inchbald was born on the 15th of October, 1753, atStandingfield, near Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk;[1] one of the numerousoffspring of John and Mary Simpson. The Simpsons, who were RomanCatholics, held a moderate farm in Standingfield, and ranked among thegentry of the neighbourhood. In Elizabeth's eighth year, her fatherdied; but the family continued at the farm, the elder daughters marryingand settling in London, while Elizabeth grew up into a beautiful andcharming girl. One misfortune, however, interfered with her happiness--adefect of utterance which during her early years rendered her speech soindistinct as to be unintelligible to strangers. She devoted herself toreading and to dreams of the great world. At thirteen, she declared shewould rather die than live longer without seeing the world; she longedto go to London; she longed to go upon the stage. When, in 1770, one ofher brothers became an actor at Norwich, she wrote secretly to hismanager, Mr. Griffith, begging for an engagement. Mr. Griffith wasencouraging, and, though no definite steps were taken, she wassufficiently charmed with him to write out his name at length in herdiary, with the inscription "Each dear letter of thy name is harmony. "Was Mr. Griffith the hero of the company as well as its manager? That, at any rate, was clearly Miss Simpson's opinion; but she soon had otherdistractions. In the following year she paid a visit to her marriedsisters in London, where she met another actor, Mr. Inchbald, who seemsimmediately to have fallen in love with her, and to have proposed. Sheremained cool. "In spite of your eloquent pen, " she wrote to him, with atouch of that sharp and almost bitter sense that was always hers, "matrimony still appears to me with less charms than terrors: the blissarising from it, I doubt not, is superior to any other--but best not tobe ventured for (in my opinion), till some little time have proved theemptiness of all other; which it seldom fails to do. " Nevertheless, thecorrespondence continued, and, early in 1772, some entries in her diarygive a glimpse of her state of mind:-- _Jan. 22. _ Saw Mr. Griffith's picture. _Jan. 28. _ Stole it. _Jan. 29. _ Rather disappointed at not receiving a letter from Mr. Inchbald. A few months later she did the great deed of her life: she steppedsecretly into the Norwich coach, and went to London. The days thatfollowed were full of hazard and adventure, but the details of them areuncertain. She was a girl of eighteen, absolutely alone, andastonishingly attractive--"tall, " we are told, "slender, straight, of thepurest complexion, and most beautiful features; her hair of a goldenauburn, her eyes full at once of spirit and sweetness;" and it was onlyto be expected that, in such circumstances, romance and daring wouldsoon give place to discomfort and alarm. She attempted in vain to obtaina theatrical engagement; she found herself, more than once, obliged toshift her lodging; and at last, after ten days of trepidation, she wasreduced to apply for help to her married sisters. This put an end to herdifficulties, but, in spite of her efforts to avoid notice, her beautyhad already attracted attention, and she had received a letter from astranger, with whom she immediately entered into correspondence. She hadall the boldness of innocence, and, in addition, a force of characterwhich brought her safely through the risks she ran. While she was stillin her solitary lodging, a theatrical manager, named Dodd, attempted touse his position as a cover for seduction. She had several interviewswith him alone, and the story goes that, in the last, she snatched up abasin of hot water and dashed it in his face. But she was not to gounprotected for long; for within two months of her arrival in London shehad married Mr. Inchbald. The next twelve years of Mrs. Inchbald's life were passed amid the roughand tumble of the eighteenth-century stage. Her husband was thirty-sevenwhen she married him, a Roman Catholic like herself, and an actor whodepended for his living upon ill-paid and uncertain provincialengagements. Mrs. Inchbald conquered her infirmity of speech and threwherself into her husband's profession. She accompanied him to Bristol, to Scotland, to Liverpool, to Birmingham, appearing in a great varietyof rôles, but never with any very conspicuous success. The record ofthese journeys throws an interesting light upon the conditions of theprovincial companies of those days. Mrs. Inchbald and her companionswould set out to walk from one Scotch town to another; they would thinkthemselves lucky if they could climb on to a passing cart, to arrive atlast, drenched with rain perhaps, at some wretched hostelry. But thiskind of barbarism did not stand in the way of an almost childish gaiety. In Yorkshire, we find the Inchbalds, the Siddonses, and Kemble retiringto the moors, in the intervals of business, to play blindman's buff orpuss in the corner. Such were the pastimes of Mrs. Siddons before thedays of her fame. No doubt this kind of lightheartedness was the bestantidote to the experience of being "saluted with volleys of potatoesand broken bottles", as the Siddonses were by the citizens of Liverpool, for having ventured to appear on their stage without having ever playedbefore the King. On this occasion, the audience, according to a letterfrom Kemble to Mrs. Inchbald, "extinguished all the lights round thehouse; then jumped upon the stage; brushed every lamp out with theirhats; took back their money; left the theatre, and determined themselvesto repeat this till they have another company. " These adventures werediversified by a journey to Paris, undertaken in the hope that Mr. Inchbald, who found himself without engagements, might pick up alivelihood as a painter of miniatures. The scheme came to nothing, andthe Inchbalds eventually went to Hull, where they returned to their oldprofession. Here, in 1779, suddenly and somewhat mysteriously, Mr. Inchbald died. To his widow the week that followed was one of "grief, horror, and almost despair"; but soon, with her old pertinacity, she wasback at her work, settling at last in London, and becoming a member ofthe Covent Garden company. Here, for the next five years, she earned forherself a meagre living, until, quite unexpectedly, deliverance came. Inher moments of leisure she had been trying her hand upon dramaticcomposition; she had written some farces, and, in 1784, one of them, _AMogul Tale_, was accepted, acted, and obtained a great success. This wasthe turning-point of her career. She followed up her farce with a seriesof plays, either original or adapted, which, almost without exception, were well received, so that she was soon able to retire from the stagewith a comfortable competence. She had succeeded in life; she was happy, respected, free. Mrs. Inchbald's plays are so bad that it is difficult to believe thatthey brought her a fortune. But no doubt it was their faults that madethem popular--their sentimentalities, their melodramatic absurdities, their strangely false and high-pitched moral tone. They are written ina jargon which resembles, if it resembles anything, an execrable prosetranslation from very flat French verse. "Ah, Manuel!" exclaims one ofher heroines, "I am now amply punished by the Marquis for all my crueltyto Duke Cordunna--he to whom my father in my infancy betrothed me, and towhom I willingly pledged my faith, hoping to wed; till Romono, theMarquis of Romono, came from the field of glory, and with superiorclaims of person as of fame, seized on my heart by force, and perforcemade me feel I had never loved till then. " Which is the moresurprising--that actors could be found to utter such speeches, or thataudiences could be collected to applaud them? Perhaps, for us, the mostmemorable fact about Mrs. Inchbald's dramatic work is that one of heradaptations (from the German of Kotzebue) was no other than that_Lovers' Vows_ which, as every one knows, was rehearsed so brilliantlyat Ecclesford, the seat of the Right Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, and which, after all, was _not_ performed at Sir Thomas Bertram's. Butthat is an interest _sub specie aeternitatis_; and, from the temporalpoint of view, Mrs. Inchbald's plays must be regarded merely asmeans--means towards her own enfranchisement, and that condition ofthings which made possible _A Simple Story. _ That novel had beensketched as early as 1777; but it was not completely written until 1790, and not published until the following year. A second edition was printedimmediately, and several more followed; the present reprint is takenfrom the fourth, published in 1799--but with the addition of thecharacteristic preface, which, after the second edition, was dropped. The four small volumes of these early editions, with their large type, their ample spacing, their charming flavour of antiquity, delicacy, andrest--may be met with often enough in secluded corners of secondhandbookshops, or on some neglected shelf in the library of a countryhouse. For their own generation, they represented a distinguished titleto fame. Mrs. Inchbald--to use the expression of her biographer--"wasascertained to be one of the greatest ornaments of her sex. " She waspainted by Lawrence, she was eulogized by Miss Edgeworth, she wascomplimented by Madame de Stael herself. She had, indeed, won forherself a position which can hardly be paralleled among the women of theeighteenth century--a position of independence and honour, based upontalent, and upon talent alone. In 1796 she published _Nature and Art_, and ten years later appeared her last work--a series of biographical andcritical notices prefixed to a large collection of acting plays. Duringthe greater part of the intervening period she lived in lodgings inLeicester Square--or "Leicester Fields" as the place was still oftencalled--in a house opposite that of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The oeconomywhich she had learnt in her early days she continued to practise;dressing with extraordinary plainness, and often going without a fire inwinter; so that she was able, through her self-sacrifice, to keep fromwant a large band of poor relatives and friends. The society she mixedwith was various, but, for the most part, obscure. There were occasionalvisits from the now triumphant Mrs. Siddons; there were incessantpropositions--but alas! they were equivocal--from Sir Charles Bunbury;for the rest, she passed her life among actor-managers and humbleplaywrights and unremembered medical men. One of her friends was WilliamGodwin, who described her to Mrs. Shelley as a "piquante mixture betweena lady and a milkmaid", and who, it is said, suggested part of the plotof _A Simple Story. _ But she quarreled with him when he married MaryWollstonecraft, after whose death she wrote to him thus--"With the mostsincere sympathy in all you have suffered--with the most perfectforgiveness of all you have said to me, there must nevertheless be anend to our acquaintance _for ever. _ I respect your prejudices, but Ialso respect my own. " Far more intimate were her relations with Dr. Gisborne--a mysterious figure, with whom, in some tragic manner that wecan only just discern, was enacted her final romance. His name--often incompany with that of another physician, Dr. Warren, for whom, too, shehad a passionate affection--occurs frequently among her papers; and herdiary for December 17, 1794, has this entry:--"Dr. Gisborne drank teahere, and staid very late: he talked seriously of marrying--but not_me_. " Many years later, one September, she amused herself by making outa list of all the Septembers since her marriage, with brief notes as toher state of mind during each. The list has fortunately survived, andsome of the later entries are as follows:-- 1791. London; after my novel, Simple Story ... Very happy. 1792. London; in Leicester Square ... Cheerful, content, and sometimes rather happy.... 1794. Extremely happy, but for poor Debby's death. 1795. My brother George's death, and an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Gisborne--not happy.... 1797. After an alteration in my teeth, and the death of Dr. Warren--yet far from unhappy. 1798. Happy, but for suspicion amounting almost to certainty of a rapid appearance of age in my face.... 1802. After feeling wholly indifferent about Dr. Gisborne--very happy but for ill health, ill looks, &c. 1803. After quitting Leicester Square probably for ever--after caring scarce at all or thinking of Dr. Gisborne ... Very happy.... 1806.... After the death of Dr. Gisborne, too, often very unhappy, yet mostly cheerful, and on my return to London nearly happy. The record, with all its quaintness, produces a curious impression ofstoicism--of a certain grim acceptance of the facts of life. It wouldhave been a pleasure, certainly, but an alarming pleasure, to have knownMrs. Inchbald. In the early years of the century, she gradually withdrew from London, establishing herself in suburban boarding-houses, often among sisters ofcharity, and devoting her days to the practice of her religion. In herearly and middle life she had been an indifferent Catholic: "Sunday. Rose late, dressed, and read in the Bible about David, &c. "--this is oneof the very few references in her diary to anything approaching areligious observance during many years. But, in her old age, her viewschanged; her devotions increased with her retirement; and her retirementwas at last complete. She died, in an obscure Kensington boarding-house, on August 1, 1821. She was buried in Kensington churchyard. But, if herghost lingers anywhere, it is not in Kensington: it is in the heart ofthe London that she had always loved. Yet, even there, how much nowwould she find to recognize? Mrs. Inchbald's world has passed away fromus for ever; and, as we walk there to-day amid the press of the living, it is hard to believe that she too was familiar with Leicester Square. G. L. STRACHEY. [1] The following account is based upon the _Memoirs of Mrs. Inchbald, including her familiar correspondence with the most distinguishedpersons of her time_, edited by James Boaden, Esq. --a discursive, vague, and not unamusing book. A SIMPLE STORY, IN FOUR VOLUMES, BY MRS. INCHBALD. VOL. I. _THE FOURTH EDITION. _ LONDON: Printed for G. G. And J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1799. PREFACE. It is said, _a book should be read with the same spirit with which ithas been written. _ In that case, fatal must be the reception of this--forthe writer frankly avows, that during the time she has been writing it, she has suffered every quality and degree of weariness and lassitude, into which no other employment could have betrayed her. It has been the destiny of the writer of this Story to be occupiedthroughout her life, in what has the least suited either her inclinationor capacity--with an invincible impediment in her speech, it was her lotfor thirteen years to gain a subsistence by public speaking--and, withthe utmost detestation to the fatigue of inventing, a constitutionsuffering under a sedentary life, and an education confined to thenarrow boundaries prescribed her sex, it has been her fate to devote atedious seven years to the unremitting labour of literaryproductions--whilst a taste for authors of the first rank has been anadditional punishment, forbidding her one moment of those self-approvingreflections, which are assuredly due to the industrious. But, alas! inthe exercise of the arts, industry scarce bears the name of merit. Whatthen is to be substituted in the place of genius? GOOD FORTUNE. And ifthese volumes should be attended by the good fortune that hasaccompanied her other writings, to that divinity, and that alone, sheshall attribute their success. Yet, there is a _first cause_ still, to whom I cannot here forbear tomention my obligations. The Muses, I trust, will pardon me, that to them I do not feel myselfobliged--for, in justice to their heavenly inspirations, I believe theyhave never yet favoured me with one visitation; but sent in theirdisguise NECESSITY, who, being the mother of Invention, gave me allmine--while FORTUNE kindly smiled, and was accessory to the cheat. But this important secret I long wished, and endeavoured to conceal; yetone unlucky moment candidly, though unwittingly, divulged it--I franklyowned, "That Fortune having chased away Necessity, there remained noother incitement to stimulate me to a labour I abhorred. " It happened tobe in the power of the person to whom I confided this secret, to sendNECESSITY once more. Once more, then, bowing to its empire, I submit tothe task it enjoins. This case has something similar to a theatrical anecdote told (I think)by Colly Cibber: "A performer of a very mean salary, played the Apothecary in Romeo andJuliet so exactly to the satisfaction of the audience, that this littlepart, independent of the other characters, drew immense houses wheneverthe play was performed. The manager in consequence, thought it butjustice to advance the actor's salary; on which the poor man (who, likethe character he represented, had been half starved before) began tolive so comfortably, he became too plump for the part; and being of noimportance in any thing else, the manager of course now whollydischarged him--and thus, actually reducing him to the want of a piece ofbread, in a short time he became a proper figure for the part again. " Welcome, then, thou all-powerful principle, NECESSITY! THOU, who art theinstigator of so many bad authors and actors--THOU, who from my infancyseldom hast forsaken me, still abide with me. I will not complain of anyhardship thy commands require, so thou dost not urge my pen toprostitution. In all thy rigour, oh! do not force my toil to libels--orwhat is equally pernicious--panegyric on the unworthy! A SIMPLE STORY. CHAPTER I. Dorriforth, bred at St. Omer's in all the scholastic rigour of thatcollege, was, by education, and the solemn vows of his order, a RomanCatholic priest--but nicely discriminating between the philosophical andthe superstitious part of that character, and adopting the former only, he possessed qualities not unworthy the first professors ofChristianity. Every virtue which it was his vocation to preach, it washis care to practise; nor was he in the class of those of the religious, who, by secluding themselves from the world, fly the merit they mighthave in reforming mankind. He refused to shelter himself from thetemptations of the layman by the walls of a cloister, but sought for, and found that shelter in the centre of London, where he dwelt, in hisown prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. He was about thirty, and had lived in the metropolis near five years, when a gentleman above his own age, but with whom he had from his youthcontracted a most sincere friendship, died, and left him the soleguardian of his daughter, who was then eighteen. The deceased Mr. Milner, on his approaching dissolution, perfectlysensible of his state, thus reasoned with himself before he made thenomination:--"I have formed no intimate friendship during my whole life, except one--I can be said to know the heart of no man, except the heartof Dorriforth. After knowing his, I never sought acquaintance withanother--I did not wish to lessen the exalted estimation of human naturewhich he had inspired. In this moment of trembling apprehension forevery thought which darts across my mind, and more for every actionwhich I must soon be called to answer for; all worldly views here thrownaside, I act as if that tribunal, before which I every moment expect toappear, were now sitting in judgment upon my purpose. The care of anonly child is the great charge that in this tremendous crisis I have toexecute. These earthly affections that bind me to her by custom, sympathy, or what I fondly call parental love, would direct me to studyher present happiness, and leave her to the care of those whom shethinks her dearest friends; but they are friends only in the sunshine offortune; in the cold nipping frost of disappointment, sickness, orconnubial strife, they will forsake the house of care, although the veryhouse which they may have themselves built. " Here the excruciating anguish of the father, overcame that of the dyingman. "In the moment of desertion, " continued he, "which I now picture tomyself, where will my child find comfort? That heavenly aid whichreligion gives, and which now, amidst these agonizing tortures, cheerswith humbler hope my afflicted soul; that, she will be denied. " It is in this place proper to remark, that Mr. Milner was a member ofthe church of Rome, but on his marriage with a lady of Protestanttenets, they mutually agreed their sons should be educated in thereligious opinion of their father, and their daughters in that of theirmother. One child only was the result of their union, the child whosefuture welfare now occupied the anxious thoughts of her expiring father. From him the care of her education had been with-held, as he keptinviolate his promise to her departed mother on the article of religion, and therefore consigned his daughter to a boarding-school forProtestants, whence she returned with merely such ideas of religion asladies of fashion at her age mostly imbibe. Her little heart employed inall the endless pursuits of personal accomplishments, had left her mindwithout one ornament, except such as nature gave; and even they were notwholly preserved from the ravages made by its rival, _Art. _ While her father was in health he beheld, with extreme delight, hisaccomplished daughter, without one fault which taste or elegance couldhave imputed to her; nor ever enquired what might be her otherfailings. But, cast on a bed of sickness, and upon the point of leavingher to her fate, those failings at once rushed on his thought--and allthe pride, the fond enjoyment he had taken in beholding her open theball, or delight her hearers with her wit, escaped his remembrance; or, not escaping it, were lamented with a sigh of compassion, or acontemptuous frown, at such frivolous qualifications. "Something essential, " said he to himself, "must be considered--somethingto prepare her for an hour like this. Can I then leave her to the chargeof those who themselves never remember such an hour will come?Dorriforth is the only person I know, who, uniting the moral virtues tothose of religion, and pious faith to native honour, will protect, without controlling, instruct, without tyrannizing, comfort, withoutflattering; and, perhaps in time, make good by choice, rather than byconstraint, the dear object of his dying friend's sole care. " Dorriforth, who came post from London to visit Mr. Milner in hisillness, received a few moments before his death all his injunctions, and promised to fulfil them. But, in this last token of his friend'sesteem, he still was restrained from all authority to direct his ward inone religious opinion, contrary to those her mother had professed, andin which she herself had been educated. "Never perplex her mind with an idea that may disturb, but cannotreform"--were his latest words; and Dorriforth's reply gave him entiresatisfaction. Miss Milner was not with her father at this affecting period--somedelicately nervous friend, with whom she was on a visit at Bath, thoughtproper to conceal from her not only the danger of his death, but evenhis indisposition, lest it might alarm a mind she thought toosusceptible. This refined tenderness gave poor Miss Milner the almostinsupportable agony of hearing that her father was no more, even beforeshe was told he was not in health. In the bitterest anguish she flew topay her last duty to his remains, and performed it with the truestfilial love, while Dorriforth, upon important business, was obliged toreturn to town. CHAPTER II. Dorriforth returned to London heavily afflicted for the loss of hisfriend; and yet, perhaps, with his thoughts more engaged upon the trustwhich that friend had reposed in him. He knew the life Miss Milner hadbeen accustomed to lead; he dreaded the repulses his admonitions mightpossibly meet; and feared he had undertaken a task he was too weak toexecute--the protection of a young woman of fashion. Mr. Dorriforth was nearly related to one of our first Catholic Peers;his income was by no means confined, but approaching to affluence; yetsuch was his attention to those in poverty, and the moderation of hisown desires, that he lived in all the careful plainness of oeconomy. Hishabitation was in the house of a Mrs. Horton, an elderly gentlewoman, who had a maiden niece residing with her, not many years younger thanherself. But although Miss Woodley was thirty-five, and in personexceedingly plain, yet she possessed such an extreme cheerfulness oftemper, and such an inexhaustible fund of good nature, that she escapednot only the ridicule, but even the appellation of an old maid. In this house Dorriforth had lived before the death of Mr. Horton; norupon that event had he thought it necessary, notwithstanding hisreligious vow of celibacy, to fly the roof of two such innocent femalesas Mrs. Horton and her niece. On their part, they regarded him with allthat respect and reverence which the most religious flock shews to itspastor; and his friendly society they not only esteemed a spiritual, buta temporal advantage, as the liberal stipend he allowed for hisapartments and board, enabled them to continue in the large andcommodious house which they had occupied during the life of Mr. Horton. Here, upon Mr. Dorriforth's return from his journey, preparations weremade for the reception of his ward; her father having made it hisrequest that she might, for a time at least, reside in the same housewith her guardian, receive the same visits, and cultivate theacquaintance of his companions and friends. When the will of her father was made known to Miss Milner, shesubmitted, without the least reluctance, to all he had required. Hermind, at that time impressed with the most poignant sorrow for his loss, made no distinction of happiness that was to come; and the day wasappointed, with her silent acquiescence, when she was to arrive inLondon, and there take up her abode, with all the retinue of a richheiress. Mrs. Horton was delighted with the addition this acquisition to herfamily was likely to make to her annual income, and style of living. Thegood-natured Miss Woodley was overjoyed at the expectation of their newguest, yet she herself could not tell why--but the reason was, that herkind heart wanted a more ample field for its benevolence; and now herthoughts were all pleasingly employed how she should render, not onlythe lady herself, but even all her attendants, happy in their newsituation. The reflections of Dorriforth were less agreeably engaged--Cares, doubts, fears, possessed his mind--and so forcibly possessed it, that upon everyoccasion which offered, he would inquisitively endeavour to gainintelligence of his ward's disposition before he saw her; for he was, asyet, a stranger not only to the real propensities of her mind, but evento her person; a constant round of visits having prevented his meetingher at her father's, the very few times he had been at his house, sinceher final return from school. The first person whose opinion he, withall proper reserve, asked concerning Miss Milner, was Lady Evans, thewidow of a Baronet, who frequently visited at Mrs. Horton's. But that the reader may be interested in what Dorriforth says and does, it is necessary to give some description of his person and manners. Hisfigure was tall and elegant, but his face, except a pair of dark brighteyes, a set of white teeth, and a graceful fall in his clerical curls ofbrown hair, had not one feature to excite admiration--yet such a gleam ofsensibility was diffused over each, that many people mistook his facefor handsome, and all were more or less attracted by it--in a word, thecharm, that is here meant to be described, is a _countenance_--on _his_you read the feelings of his heart--saw all its inmost workings--thequick pulses that beat with hope and fear, or the gentle ones that movedin a more equal course of patience and resignation. On this countenancehis thoughts were pourtrayed; and as his mind was enriched with everyvirtue that could make it valuable, so was his face adorned with everyexpression of those virtues--and they not only gave a lustre to hisaspect, but added a harmonious sound to all he uttered; it waspersuasive, it was perfect eloquence; whilst in his looks you beheld histhoughts moving with his lips, and ever coinciding with what he said. With one of those interesting looks which revealed the anxiety of hisheart, and yet with that graceful restraint of all gesticulation, forwhich he was remarkable, even in his most anxious concerns, he addressedLady Evans, who had called on Mrs. Horton to hear and to request thenews of the day: "Your Ladyship was at Bath last spring--you know theyoung lady to whom I have the honour of being appointed guardian. Pray, "-- He was earnestly intent upon asking a question, but was prevented by theperson interrogated. "Dear Mr. Dorriforth, do not ask me any thing about Miss Milner--when Isaw her she was very young: though indeed that is but three months ago, and she can't be much older now. " "She is eighteen, " answered Dorriforth, colouring with regret at thedoubts which this lady had increased, but not inspired. "And she is very beautiful, that I can assure you, " said Lady Evans. "Which I call no qualification, " said Dorriforth, rising from his chairin evident uneasiness. "But where there is nothing else, let me tell you, beauty is something. " "Much worse than nothing, in my opinion, " returned Dorriforth. "But now, Mr. Dorriforth, do not from what I have said, frightenyourself, and imagine your ward worse than she really is--all I know ofher, is merely, that she's young, idle, indiscreet, and giddy, with halfa dozen lovers in her suite; some coxcombs, others men of gallantry, some single, and others married. " Dorriforth started. "For the first time of my life, " cried he with amanly sorrow, "I wish I had never known her father. " "Nay, " said Mrs. Horton, who expected every thing to happen just as shewished, (for neither an excellent education, the best company, or longexperience had been able to cultivate or brighten this good lady'sunderstanding, ) "Nay, " said she, "I am sure, Mr. Dorriforth, you willsoon convert her from all her evil ways. " "Dear me, " returned Lady Evans, "I am sure I never meant to hint at anything evil--and for what I have said, I will give you up my authors ifyou please; for they were not observations of my own; all I do is tomention them again. " The good-natured Miss Woodley, who sat working at the window, an humble, but an attentive listener to this discourse, ventured here to sayexactly six words: "Then don't mention them any more. " "Let us change the subject, " said Dorriforth. "With all my heart, " cried Lady Evans; "and I am sure it will be to theyoung lady's advantage. " "Is Miss Milner tall or short?" asked Mrs. Horton, still wishing forfarther information. "Oh, tall enough of all conscience, " returned she; "I tell you againthat no fault can be found with her person. " "But if her mind is defective"--exclaimed Dorriforth, with a sigh---- "That may be improved as well as the person, " cried Miss Woodley. "No, my dear, " returned Lady Evans, "I never heard of a pad to makestraight an ill-shapen disposition. " "Oh, yes, " answered Miss Woodley, "good company, good books, experience, and the misfortunes of others, may have more power to form the mind tovirtue, than"---- Miss Woodley was not permitted to proceed, for Lady Evans rising hastilyfrom her seat, cried, "I must be gone--I have an hundred people waitingfor me at home--besides, were I inclined to hear a sermon, I shoulddesire Mr. Dorriforth to preach, and not you. " Just then Mrs. Hillgrave was announced. "And here is Mrs. Hillgrave, "continued she--"I believe, Mrs. Hillgrave, you know Miss Milner, don'tyou? The young lady who has lately lost her father. " Mrs. Hillgrave was the wife of a merchant who had met with severelosses: as soon as the name of Miss Milner was uttered, she lifted upher hands, and the tears started in her eyes. "There!" cried Lady Evans, "I desire you will give your opinion of her, and I am sorry I cannot stay to hear it. " Saying this, she curtsied andtook her leave. When Mrs. Hillgrave had been seated a few minutes, Mrs. Horton, wholoved information equally with the most inquisitive of her sex, askedthe new visitor--"If she might be permitted to know, why, at the mentionof Miss Milner, she had seemed so much affected?" This question exciting the fears of Dorriforth, he turned anxiouslyround, attentive to the reply. "Miss Milner, " answered she, "has been my benefactress and the best Iever had. " As she spoke, she took out her handkerchief and wiped awaythe tears that ran down her face. "How so?" cried Dorriforth eagerly, with his own eyes moistened withjoy, nearly as much as her's were with gratitude. "My husband, at the commencement of his distresses, " replied Mrs. Hillgrave, "owed a sum of money to her father, and from repeatedprovocations, Mr. Milner was determined to seize upon all oureffects--his daughter, however, by her intercessions, procured us time, in order to discharge the debt; and when she found _that_ time wasinsufficient, and her father no longer to be dissuaded from hisintention, she secretly sold some of her most valuable ornaments tosatisfy his demand, and screen us from its consequences. " Dorriforth, pleased at this recital, took Mrs. Hillgrave by the hand, and told her, "she should never want a friend. " "Is Miss Milner tall, or short?" again asked Mrs. Horton, fearing, fromthe sudden pause which had ensued, the subject should be dropped. "I don't know, " answered Mrs. Hillgrave. "Is she handsome, or ugly?" "I really can't tell. " "It is very strange you should not take notice!" "I did take notice, but I cannot depend upon my own judgment--to me sheappeared beautiful as an angel; but perhaps I was deceived by thebeauties of her disposition. " CHAPTER III. This gentlewoman's visit inspired Mr. Dorriforth with some confidence inthe principles and character of his ward. The day arrived on which shewas to leave her late father's seat, and fix her abode at Mrs. Horton's;and her guardian, accompanied by Miss Woodley, went in his carriage tomeet her, and waited at an inn on the road for her reception. After many a sigh paid to the memory of her father, Miss Milner, uponthe tenth of November, arrived at the place, half-way on her journey totown, where Dorriforth and Miss Woodley were expecting her. Besidesattendants, she had with her a gentleman and lady, distant relations ofher mother's, who thought it but a proper testimony of their civility toattend her part of the way, but who so much envied her guardian thetrust Mr. Milner had reposed in him, that as soon as they had deliveredher safe into his care, they returned. When the carriage, which brought Miss Milner, stopped at the inn gate, and her name was announced to Dorriforth, he turned pale--something likea foreboding of disaster trembled at his heart, and consequently spreada gloom over all his face. Miss Woodley was even obliged to rouse himfrom the dejection into which he was cast, or he would have sunk beneathit: she was obliged also to be the first to welcome his lovelycharge. --Lovely beyond description. But the natural vivacity, the gaiety which report had given to MissMilner, were softened by her recent sorrow to a meek sadness--and thathaughty display of charms, imputed to her manners, was changed to apensive demeanor. The instant Dorriforth was introduced to her by MissWoodley as her "Guardian, and her deceased father's most belovedfriend, " she burst into tears, knelt down to him for a moment, andpromised ever to obey him as her father. He had his handkerchief to hisface at the time, or she would have beheld the agitation--the remotestsensations of his heart. This affecting introduction being over, after some minutes passed ingeneral conversation, the carriages were again ordered; and, biddingfarewell to the relations who had accompanied her, Miss Milner, herguardian, and Miss Woodley departed for town; the two ladies in MissMilner's carriage, and Dorriforth in that in which he came. Miss Woodley, as they rode along, made no attempts to ingratiate herselfwith Miss Milner; though, perhaps, such an honour might constitute oneof her first wishes--she behaved to her but as she constantly behaved toevery other human creature--that, was sufficient to gain the esteem of aperson possessed of an understanding equal to Miss Milner's--she hadpenetration to discover Miss Woodley's unaffected worth, and was sooninduced to reward it with the warmest friendship. CHAPTER IV. After a night's rest in London, less violently impressed with the lossof her father, reconciled, if not already attached to her newacquaintance, her thoughts pleasingly occupied with the reflection thatshe was in that gay metropolis--a wild and rapturous picture of which heractive fancy had often formed--Miss Milner waked from a peaceful andrefreshing sleep, with much of that vivacity, and with all those airycharms, which for a while had yielded their transcendent power to theweaker influence of her filial sorrow. Beautiful as she had appeared to Miss Woodley and to Dorriforth on thepreceding day, when she joined them this morning at breakfast, re-possessed of her lively elegance and dignified simplicity, they gazedat her, and at each other alternately, with astonishment!--and Mrs. Horton, as she sat at the head of her tea-table, felt herself but as amenial servant: such command has beauty if united with sense and virtue. In Miss Milner it was so united. Yet let not our over-scrupulous readersbe misled, and extend their idea of her virtue so as to magnify itbeyond that which frail mortals commonly possess; nor must they cavil, if, on a nearer view, they find it less--but let them consider, that ifshe had more faults than generally belong to others, she had likewisemore temptations. From her infancy she had been indulged in all her wishes to the extremeof folly, and started habitually at the unpleasant voice of control. Shewas beautiful; she had been too frequently told the high value of thatbeauty, and thought every moment passed in wasteful idleness duringwhich she was not gaining some new conquest. She had a quicksensibility, which too frequently discovered itself in the immediateresentment of injuries or neglect. She had, besides, acquired thedangerous character of a wit; but to which she had no real pretensions, although the most discerning critic, hearing her converse, might fallinto this mistake. Her replies had all the effect of repartee, notbecause she possessed those qualities which can properly be called wit, but that what she said was delivered with an energy, an instantaneousand powerful conception of the sentiment, joined with a real or awell-counterfeited simplicity, a quick turn of the eye, and an archsmile. Her words were but the words of others, and, like those ofothers, put into common sentences; but the delivery made them pass forwit, as grace in an ill-proportioned figure will often make it pass forsymmetry. And now--leaving description--the reader must form a judgment of her byher actions; by all the round of great or trivial circumstances thatshall be related. At breakfast, which had just begun at the commencement of this chapter, the conversation was lively on the part of Miss Milner, wise on the partof Dorriforth, good on the part of Miss Woodley, and an endeavour at allthree on the part of Mrs. Horton. The discourse at length drew from Mr. Dorriforth this observation: "You have a greater resemblance of your father, Miss Milner, than Iimagined you had from report: I did not expect to find you so like him. " "Nor did I, Mr. Dorriforth, expect to find you any thing like what youare. " "No?--pray what did you expect to find me?" "I expected to find you an elderly man, and a plain man. " This was spoken in an artless manner, but in a tone which obviouslydeclared she thought her guardian young and handsome. He replied, butnot without some little embarrassment, "A plain man you shall find me inall my actions. " "Then your actions are to contradict your appearance. " For in what she said, Miss Milner had the quality peculiar to wits, ofhazarding the thought that first occurs, which thought, is generallytruth. On this, he paid her a compliment in return. "You, Miss Milner, I should suppose, must be a very bad judge of what isplain, and what is not. " "How so?" "Because I am sure you will readily own you do not think yourselfhandsome; and allowing that, you instantly want judgment. " "And I would rather want judgment than beauty, " she replied, "and so Igive up the one for the other. " With a serious face, as if proposing a very serious question, Dorriforthcontinued, "And you really believe you are not handsome?" "I should, if I consulted my own opinion, believe that I was not; but insome respects I am like Roman Catholics; I don't believe upon my ownunderstanding, but from what other people tell me. " "And let this convince you, " replied Dorriforth, "that what we teach istruth; for you find you would be deceived did you not trust to personswho know better than yourself. But, my dear Miss Milner, we will talkupon some other topic, and never resume this again--we differ in opinion, I dare say, on one subject only, and this difference I hope will neverextend itself to any other. Therefore, let not religion be named betweenus; for as I have resolved never to persecute you, in pity be grateful, and do not persecute me. " Miss Milner looked with surprise that any thing so lightly said, shouldbe so seriously received. The kind Miss Woodley ejaculated a shortprayer to herself, that heaven would forgive her young friend theinvoluntary sin of religious ignorance--while Mrs. Horton, unperceived, as she imagined, made the sign of the cross upon her forehead as a guardagainst the infectious taint of heretical opinions. This pious ceremonyMiss Milner by chance observed, and now shewed such an evidentpropensity to burst into a fit of laughter, that the good lady of thehouse could no longer contain her resentment, but exclaimed, "Godforgive you, " with a severity so different from the idea which the wordsconveyed, that the object of her anger was, on this, obliged freely toindulge that impulse which she had in vain been struggling to suppress;and no longer suffering under the agony of restraint, she gave way toher humour, and laughed with a liberty so uncontrolled, that soon lefther in the room with none but the tender-hearted Miss Woodley a witnessof her folly. "My dear Miss Woodley, " (then cried Miss Milner, after recoveringherself) "I am afraid you will not forgive me. " "No, indeed I will not, " returned Miss Woodley. But how unimportant, how weak, how ineffectual are _words_ inconversation--looks and manners alone express--for Miss Woodley, with hercharitable face and mild accents, saying she would not forgive, impliedonly forgiveness--while Mrs. Horton, with her enraged voice and aspect, begging heaven to pardon the offender, palpably said, she thought herunworthy of all pardon. CHAPTER V. Six weeks have now elapsed since Miss Milner has been in Londonpartaking with delight all its pleasures, while Dorriforth has beensighing with apprehension, attending to her with precaution, and prayingwith zealous fervour for her safety. Her own and her guardian'sacquaintance, and, added to them, the new friendships (to use theunmeaning language of the world) which she was continually forming, crowded so perpetually to the house, that seldom had Dorriforth even amoment left him from her visits or visitors, to warn her of herdanger:--yet when a moment offered, he caught it eagerly--pressed thenecessity of "Time not always passed in society; of reflection; ofreading; of thoughts for a future state; and of virtues acquired to makeold age supportable. " That forcible power of genuine feeling, whichdirects the tongue to eloquence, had its effect while she listened tohim, and she sometimes put on the looks and gesture of assent--sometimeseven spoke the language of conviction; but this the first call ofdissipation would change to ill-timed raillery, or peevish remonstrance, at being limited in delights her birth and fortune entitled her toenjoy. Among the many visitors who attended at her levees, and followed herwherever she went, there was one who seemed, even when absent from her, to share her thoughts. This was Lord Frederick Lawnly, the younger sonof a Duke, and the avowed favourite of all the most discerning women oftaste. He was not more than twenty-three; animated, elegant, extremelyhandsome, and possessed of every accomplishment that would captivate aheart less susceptible of love than Miss Milner's was supposed to be. With these allurements, no wonder if she took pleasure in his company--nowonder if she took pride in having it known that he was among the numberof her devoted admirers. Dorriforth beheld this growing intimacy withalternate pain and pleasure--he wished to see Miss Milner married, to seehis charge in the protection of another, rather than of himself; yetunder the care of a young nobleman, immersed in all the vices of thetown, without one moral excellence, but such as might result eventuallyfrom the influence of the moment--under such care he trembled for herhappiness--yet trembled more lest her heart should be purloined withouteven the authority of matrimonial views. With sentiments like these, Dorriforth could never disguise hisuneasiness at the sight of Lord Frederick, nor could the latter helpdiscerning the suspicion of the guardian, and consequently each wasembarrassed in the presence of the other. Miss Milner observed, butobserved with indifference, the sensations of both--there was but onepassion which then held a place in her bosom, and that was vanity;vanity defined into all the species of pride, vain-glory, self-approbation--an inordinate desire of admiration, and an immoderateenjoyment of the art of pleasing, for her own individual happiness, andnot for the happiness of others. Still had she a heart inclined, andoftentimes affected by tendencies less unworthy; but those approaches towhat was estimable, were in their first impulse too frequently met andintercepted by some darling folly. Miss Woodley (who could easily discover a virtue, although of the mostdiminutive kind, and scarce through the magnifying glass of calumnycould ever perceive a fault) was Miss Milner's inseparable companion athome, and her zealous advocate with Dorriforth, whenever, during herabsence, she became the subject of discourse. He listened with hope tothe praises of her friend, but saw with despair how little they weremerited. Sometimes he struggled to subdue his anger, but oftener stroveto suppress tears of pity for her hapless state. By this time all her acquaintance had given Lord Frederick to her as alover; the servants whispered it, and some of the public prints had evenfixed the day of marriage;--but as no explanation had taken place on hispart, Dorriforth's uneasiness was increased, and he seriously told hisward, he thought it would be indispensably prudent in her to entreatLord Frederick to discontinue his visits. She smiled with ridicule atthe caution, but finding it repeated, and in a manner that indicatedauthority, she promised not only to make, but to enforce the request. The next time he came she did so, assuring him it was by her guardian'sdesire; "Who, from motives of delicacy, had permitted her to solicit asa favour, what he could himself make a demand. " Lord Frederick reddenedwith anger--he loved Miss Milner; but he doubted whether, from thefrequent proofs he had experienced of his own inconstancy, he shouldcontinue to love--and this interference of her guardian threatened anexplanation or a dismission, before he became thoroughly acquainted withhis own heart. --Alarmed, confounded, and provoked, he replied, "By heaven, I believe Mr. Dorriforth loves you himself, and it isjealousy that makes him treat me in this manner. " "For shame, my Lord!" cried Miss Woodley, who was present, and whotrembled with horror at the sacrilegious idea. "Nay, shame to him if he is not in love"--answered his Lordship, "for whobut a savage could behold beauty like her's without owning its power?" "Habit, " replied Miss Milner, "is every thing--Mr. Dorriforth sees andconverses with beauty, but from habit he does not fall in love; as you, my Lord, from habit, so often do. " "Then you believe that love is not in my nature?" "No more of it, my Lord, than habit could very soon extinguish. " "But I would not have it extinguished--I would rather it should mount toa flame, for I think it a crime to be insensible of the divine blessingslove can bestow. " "Then you indulge the passion to avoid a sin?--this very motive detersMr. Dorriforth from that indulgence. " "It ought to deter him, for the sake of his oaths--but monastick vows, like those of marriage, were made to be broken--and surely when yourguardian looks at you, his wishes"---- "Are never less pure, " she replied eagerly, "than those which dwell inthe bosom of my _celestial_ guardian. " At that instant Dorriforth entered the room. The colour had mounted intoMiss Milner's face from the warmth with which she had delivered heropinion, and his accidental entrance at the very moment this praise hadbeen conferred upon him in his absence, heightened the blush to a deepglow on every feature--confusion and earnestness caused even her lips totremble and her whole frame to shake. "What's the matter?" cried Dorriforth, looking with concern on herdiscomposure. "A compliment paid by herself to you, Sir, " replied Lord Frederick, "hasaffected your ward in the manner you have seen. " "As if she blushed at the untruth, " said Dorriforth. "Nay, that is unkind, " cried Miss Woodley; "for if you had been here"---- "--I would not have said what I did, " replied Miss Milner, "but left himto vindicate himself. " "Is it possible that I can want any vindication? Who would think itworth their while to slander so unimportant a person as I am?" "The man who has the charge of Miss Milner, " replied Lord Frederick, "derives a consequence from her. " "No ill consequence, I hope, my Lord?" said Dorriforth, with a firmnessin his voice, and with an eye so fixed, that his antagonist hesitatedfor a moment in want of a reply--and Miss Milner softly whispering tohim, as her guardian turned his head, to avoid an argument, he bowedacquiescence. And then, as if in compliment to her, he changed thesubject;--with an air of ridicule he cried, "I wish, Mr. Dorriforth, you would give me absolution of all my sins, for I confess they are many, and manifold. " "Hold, my Lord, " exclaimed Dorriforth, "do not confess before theladies, lest, in order to excite their compassion, you should be temptedto accuse yourself of sins you have never yet committed. " At this Miss Milner laughed, seemingly so well pleased, that LordFrederick, with a sarcastic sneer, repeated, "From Abelard it came, And Eloisa still must love the name. " Whether from an inattention to the quotation, or from a consciousness itwas wholly inapplicable, Dorriforth heard it without one emotion ofshame or of anger--while Miss Milner seemed shocked at the implication;her pleasantry was immediately suppressed, and she threw open the sashand held her head out at the window, to conceal the embarrassment theselines had occasioned. The Earl of Elmwood was at that juncture announced--a Catholic nobleman, just come of age, and on the eve of marriage. His visit was to hiscousin, Mr. Dorriforth, but as all ceremonious visits were alikereceived by Dorriforth, Miss Milner, and Mrs. Horton's family, in onecommon apartment, Lord Elmwood was ushered into this, and of coursedirected the conversation to a different subject. CHAPTER VI. With an anxious desire that the affection, or acquaintance, between LordFrederick and Miss Milner might be finally dissolved, her guardianreceived with infinite satisfaction, overtures of marriage from SirEdward Ashton. Sir Edward was not young or handsome; old or ugly; butimmensely rich, and possessed of qualities that made him worthy of thehappiness to which he aspired. He was the man whom Dorriforth would havechosen before any other for the husband of his ward, and his wishes madehim sometimes hope, against his cooler judgment, that Sir Edward wouldnot be rejected--he was resolved, at all events, to try the force of hisown power in the strongest recommendation of him. Notwithstanding that dissimilarity of opinion which, in almost everyinstance, subsisted between Miss Milner and her guardian, there was ingeneral the most punctilious observance of good manners from eachtowards the other--on the part of Dorriforth more especially; for hispoliteness would sometimes appear even like the result of a system whichhe had marked out for himself, as the only means to keep his wardrestrained within the same limitations. Whenever he addressed her therewas an unusual reserve upon his countenance, and more than usualgentleness in the tone of his voice; this appeared the effect ofsentiments which her birth and situation inspired, joined to a studiedmode of respect, best calculated to enforce the same from her. Thewished-for consequence was produced--for though there was an instinctiverectitude in the understanding of Miss Milner that would have taughther, without other instruction, what manners to observe towards herdeputed father; yet, from some volatile thought, or some quick sense offeeling, which she had not been accustomed to subdue, she wasperpetually on the verge of treating him with levity; but he wouldimmediately recall her recollection by a reserve too awful, and agentleness too sacred for her to violate. The distinction which bothrequired, was thus, by his skilful management alone, preserved. One morning he took an opportunity, before her and Miss Woodley, tointroduce and press the subject of Sir Edward Ashton's hopes. He firstspoke warmly in his praise, then plainly said that he believed shepossessed the power of making so deserving a man happy to the summit ofhis wishes. A laugh of ridicule was the only answer; but a sudden frownfrom Dorriforth having put an end to it, he resumed his usualpoliteness, and said, "I wish you would shew a better taste, than thus pointedly to disapproveof Sir Edward. " "How, Mr. Dorriforth, can you expect me to give proofs of a good taste, when Sir Edward, whom you consider with such high esteem, has given sobad an example of his, in approving me?" Dorriforth wished not to flatter her by a compliment she seemed to havesought for, and for a moment hesitated what answer to make. "Reply, Sir, to that question, " she said. "Why then, Madam, " returned he, "it is my opinion, that supposing whatyour humility has advanced be just, yet Sir Edward will not suffer bythe suggestion; for in cases where the heart is so immediatelyconcerned, as I believe Sir Edward's to be, taste, or rather reason, hasno power to act. " "You are in the right, Mr. Dorriforth; this is a proper justification ofSir Edward--and when I fall in love, I beg that you will make the sameexcuse for me. " "Then, " said he earnestly, "before your heart is in that state which Ihave described, exert your reason. " "I shall, " answered she, "and not consent to marry a man whom I couldnever love. " "Unless your heart is already given away, Miss Milner, what can make youspeak with such a degree of certainty?" He thought on Lord Frederick when he said this, and he riveted his eyesupon her as if to penetrate her sentiments, and yet trembled for what heshould find there. She blushed, and her looks would have confirmed herguilty, if the unembarrassed and free tone of her voice, more than herwords, had not preserved her from that sentence. "No, " she replied, "my heart is not given away; and yet I can venture todeclare, Sir Edward will never possess an atom of it. " "I am sorry, for both your sakes, that these are your sentiments, " hereplied. "But as your heart is still your own, " (and he seemed rejoicedto find it was) "permit me to warn you how you part with a thing soprecious--the dangers, the sorrows you hazard in bestowing it, aregreater than you may be aware of. The heart once gone, our thoughts, ouractions, are no more our own, than that is. " He seemed _forcing_ himselfto utter all this, and yet broke off as if he could have said much more, if the extreme delicacy of the subject had not prevented him. When he left the room, and she heard the door shut after him, she said, with an inquisitive thoughtfulness, "What can make good people soskilled in all the weaknesses of the bad? Mr. Dorriforth, with all thoseprudent admonitions, appears rather like a man who has passed his lifein the gay world, experienced all its dangerous allurements, all itsrepentant sorrows; than like one who has lived his whole time secludedin a monastery, or in his own study. Then he speaks with such exquisitesensibility on the subject of love, that he commends the very thingwhich he attempts to depreciate. I do not think my Lord Frederick wouldmake the passion appear in more pleasing colours by painting itsdelights, than Mr. Dorriforth could in describing its sorrows--and if hetalks to me frequently in this manner, I shall certainly take pity onLord Frederick, for the sake of his adversary's eloquence. " Miss Woodley, who heard the conclusion of this speech with the tenderestconcern, cried, "Alas! you then think seriously of Lord Frederick!" "Suppose I do, wherefore that _alas!_ Miss Woodley?" "Because I fear you will never be happy with him. " "That is plainly telling me he will not be happy with me. " "I do not know--I cannot speak of marriage from experience, " answeredMiss Woodley, "but I think I can guess what it is. " "Nor can I speak of love from experience, " replied Miss Milner, "but Ithink I can guess what it is. " "But do not fall in love, my dear, " (cried Miss Woodley, with heraccustomed simplicity of heart, as if she had been asking a favour thatdepended upon the will of the person entreated, ) "pray do not fall inlove without the approbation of your guardian. " Her young friend smiled at the inefficacious prayer, but promised to doall she could to oblige her. CHAPTER VII. Sir Edward, not wholly discouraged by the denial with which Dorriforthhad, with delicacy, acquainted him, still hoped for a kind reception, and was so often at the house of Mrs. Horton, that Lord Frederick'sjealousy was excited, and the tortures he suffered in consequence, convinced him, beyond a doubt, of the sincerity of his affection. Everytime he beheld the object of his passion, (for he still continued hisvisits, though not so frequently as heretofore) he pleaded his causewith such ardour, that Miss Woodley, who was sometimes present, and evercompassionate, could not resist wishing him success. He nowunequivocally offered marriage, and entreated that he might lay hisproposals before Mr. Dorriforth, but this was positively forbidden. Her reluctance he imputed, however, more to the known partiality of herguardian for the addresses of Sir Edward, than to any motive whichdepended upon herself; and to Mr. Dorriforth he conceived a greaterdislike than ever; believing that through his interposition, in spite ofhis ward's attachment, he might yet be deprived of her. But Miss Milnerdeclared both to him and to her friend, that love had, at present, gained no influence over her mind. Yet did the watchful Miss Woodleyoftentimes hear a sigh escape from her unknown to herself, till she wasreminded of it, and then a sudden blush would instantly overspread herface. This seeming struggle with her passion, endeared her more thanever to Miss Woodley, and she would even risk the displeasure ofDorriforth by her compliance with every new pursuit that might amuse thetime, which else her friend passed in heaviness of heart. Balls, plays, incessant company, at length roused her guardian from thatmildness with which he had been accustomed to treat her. Night afternight his sleep had been disturbed by fears for her when abroad; morningafter morning it had been broken by the clamour of her return. Hetherefore gravely said to her one forenoon as he met her accidentallyupon the staircase, "I hope, Miss Milner, you pass this evening at home?" Unprepared for the sudden question, she blushed and replied, "Yes. "--Though she knew she was engaged to a brilliant assembly, forwhich her milliner had been consulted a whole week. She, however, flattered herself that what she had said might be excusedas a mistake, the lapse of memory, or some other trifling fault, when heshould know the truth. The truth was earlier divulged than sheexpected--for just as dinner was removed, her footman delivered a messageto her from her milliner concerning a new dress for the evening--the_present evening_ particularly marked. Her guardian looked astonished. "I thought, Miss Milner, you gave me your word that you would pass thisevening at home?" "I mistook--for I had before given my word that I should pass it abroad. " "Indeed!" cried he. "Yes, indeed; and I believe it is right that I should keep my firstpromise; is it not?" "The promise you gave me then, you do not think of any consequence?" "Yes, certainly, if you do. " "I do. " "And mean, perhaps, to make it of more consequence than it deserves, bybeing offended. " "Whether or not, I _am_ offended--you shall find I am. " And he looked so. She caught his piercing eyes--her's were immediately castdown; and she trembled--either with shame or with resentment. Mrs. Horton rose from her seat--moved the decanters and fruit round thetable--stirred the fire--and came back to her seat again, before anotherword was uttered. Nor had this good woman's officious labours taken theleast from the awkwardness of the silence, which, as soon as the bustleshe had made was over, returned in its full force. At last, Miss Milner rising with alacrity, was preparing to go out ofthe room, when Dorriforth raised his voice, and in a tone of authoritysaid, "Miss Milner, you shall not leave the house this evening. " "Sir!" she exclaimed with a kind of doubt of what she had heard--asurprise, which fixed her hand on the door she had half opened, butwhich now she shewed herself irresolute whether to open wide indefiance, or to shut submissively. Before she could resolve, he rosefrom his chair, and said, with a force and warmth she had never heardhim use before, "I command you to stay at home this evening. " And he walked immediatelyout of the apartment by another door. Her hand fell motionless from that which she held--she appearedmotionless herself--till Mrs. Horton, "Beseeching her not to be uneasy atthe treatment she had received, " made her tears flow as if her heart wasbreaking. Miss Woodley would have said something to comfort her, but she hadcaught the infection, and could not utter a word. It was not from anyreal cause of grief that she wept; but there was a magnetic quality intears, which always attracted her's. Mrs. Horton secretly enjoyed this scene, though the real well meaning ofher heart, and ease of her conscience, did not suffer her to think so. She, however, declared she had "long prognosticated it would come tothis;" and she "only thanked heaven it was no worse. " "What could be worse, Madam?" cried Miss Milner; "am not I disappointedof the ball?" "You don't mean to go then?" said Mrs. Horton; "I commend your prudence;and I dare say it is more than your guardian gives you credit for. " "Do you think I would go, " answered Miss Milner, with an eagerness thatfor a time suppressed her tears, "in contradiction to his will?" "It is not the first time, I believe, you have acted contrary to that, Miss Milner, " replied Mrs. Horton, and affected a tenderness of voice, to soften the harshness of her words. "If you think so, Madam, I see nothing that should prevent me now. " Andshe flung out of the room as if she had resolved to disobey him. Thisalarmed poor Miss Woodley. "My dear aunt, " she cried to Mrs. Horton, "follow and prevail upon MissMilner to give up her design; she means to be at the ball in oppositionto her guardian's will. " "Then, " said Mrs. Horton, "I'll not be instrumental in detering her--ifshe does it may be for the best; it may give Mr. Dorriforth a clearerknowledge what means are proper to convert her from evil. " "But, my dear Madam, she must be preserved from the evil ofdisobedience; and as you tempted, you will be the most likely todissuade her. But if you will not, I must endeavour. " Miss Woodley was leaving the room to perform this good work, when Mrs. Horton, in imitation of the example given her by Dorriforth, cried, "Niece, I command you not to stir out of this room this evening. " Miss Woodley obediently sat down--and though her thoughts and heart werein the chamber of her friend, she never marked by one impertinent word, or by one line of her face, the restraint she suffered. At the usual hour, Mr. Dorriforth and his ward were summoned to tea:--heentered with a countenance which evinced the remains of anger; his eyegave testimony of his absent thoughts; and though he took up a pamphletaffecting to read, it was plain to discern that he scarcely knew he heldit in his hand. Mrs. Horton began to make tea with a mind as intent upon something elseas Dorriforth's--she longed for the event of this misunderstanding; andthough she wished no ill to Miss Milner, yet with an inclination bentupon seeing something new--without the fatigue of going out of her ownhouse--she was not over scrupulous what that novelty might be. But forfear she should have the imprudence to speak a word upon the subjectwhich employed her thoughts, or even to look as if she thought of it atall; she pinched her lips close together, and cast her eyes on vacancy, lest their significant regards might expose her to detection. And forfear any noise should intercept even the sound of what might happen, shewalked across the room more softly than usual, and more softly touchedevery thing she was obliged to lay her hand on. Miss Woodley thought it her duty to be mute; and now the gingle of a teaspoon was like a deep-toned bell, all was so quiet. Mrs. Horton, too, in the self-approving reflection that she was not in aquarrel or altercation of any kind, felt herself at this momentremarkably peaceful and charitable. Miss Woodley did not recollect_herself_ so, but was so in reality--in her, peace and charity wereinstinctive virtues, accident could not increase them. The tea had scarce been made, when a servant came with Miss Milner'scompliments, and she "did not mean to have any tea. " The pamphlet shookin Dorriforth's hand while this message was delivered--he believed her tobe dressing for her evening's entertainment, and now studied in whatmanner he should prevent, or resent her disobedience to his commands. Hecoughed--drank his tea--endeavoured to talk, but found itdifficult--sometimes read--and in this manner near two hours were passedaway, when Miss Milner came into the room. --Not dressed for a ball, butas she had risen from dinner. Dorriforth read on, and seemed afraid oflooking up, lest he should see what he could not have pardoned. Shedrew a chair and sat at the table by the side of her delighted friend. After a few minutes' pause, and some little embarrassment on the part ofMrs. Horton, at the disappointment she had to encounter from thisunexpected dutiful conduct, she asked Miss Milner, "if she would nowhave any tea?" She replied, "No, I thank you, Ma'am, " in a voice solanguid, compared with her usual one, that Dorriforth lifted up his eyesfrom the book; and seeing her in the same dress that she had worn allthe day, turned them hastily away from her again--not with a look oftriumph, but of confusion. Whatever he might have suffered if he had seen her decorated, andprepared to bid defiance to his commands, yet even upon that trial, hewould not have endured half the painful sensations he now for a momentfelt--he felt himself to blame. He feared that he had treated her with too much severity--he admired hercondescension, accused himself for having exacted it--he longed to askher pardon--he did not know how. A cheerful reply from her, to a question of Miss Woodley's, embarrassedhim still more--he wished that she had been sullen, he then would havehad a temptation, or pretence, to have been sullen too. With all these sentiments crowding fast upon his heart, he still read, or seemed to read, as if he took no notice of what was passing; till aservant came into the room and asked Miss Milner at what time she shouldwant the carriage? to which she replied, "I don't go out to-night. "Dorriforth then laid the book out of his hand, and by the time theservant had left the room, thus began: "Miss Milner, I give you, I fear, some unkind proofs of my regard. It isoften the ungrateful task of a friend to be troublesome--sometimesunmannerly. Forgive the duties of my office, and believe that no one ishalf so much concerned if it robs you of any degree of happiness, as Imyself am. " What he said, he looked with so much sincerity, that had she beenburning with rage at his late behaviour, she must have forgiven him, for the regret which he so forcibly exprest. She was going to reply, butfound she could not, without accompanying her words with tears, therefore, after the first attempt, she desisted. On this he rose from his chair, and going to her, said, "Once more shewyour submission by obeying me a second time to-day. Keep yourappointment, and be assured that I shall issue my commands with morecircumspection for the future, as I find how strictly they are compliedwith. " Miss Milner, the gay, the vain, the dissipated, the haughty Miss Milner, sunk underneath this kindness, and wept with a gentleness and patience, which did not give more surprise than it gave joy to Dorriforth. He wascharmed to find her disposition so tractable--prophesied to himself thefuture success of his guardianship, and her eternal as well as temporalhappiness from this specimen. CHAPTER VIII. Although Dorriforth was the good man that he has been described, therewere in his nature shades of evil--there was an obstinacy which hehimself, and his friends termed firmness of mind; but had not religionand some opposite virtues weighed heavily in the balance, it wouldfrequently have degenerated into implacable stubbornness. The child of a sister once beloved, who married a young officer againsther brother's consent, was at the age of three years left an orphan, destitute of all support but from his uncle's generosity: but thoughDorriforth maintained, he would never see him. Miss Milner, whose heartwas a receptacle for the unfortunate, no sooner was told the melancholyhistory of Mr. And Mrs. Rushbrook, the parents of the child, than shelonged to behold the innocent inheritor of her guardian's resentment, and took Miss Woodley with her to see the boy. He was at a farm house afew miles from town; and his extreme beauty and engaging manners, wantednot the sorrows to which he had been born, to give him fartherrecommendation to the kindness of her, who had come to visit him. Shelooked at him with admiration and pity, and having endeared herself tohim by the most affectionate words and caresses, on her bidding himfarewell, he cried most pitiously to go along with her. Unused at anytime to resist temptations, whether to reprehensible, or to laudableactions, she yielded to his supplications, and having overcome a fewscruples of Miss Woodley's, determined to take young Rushbrook to town, and present him to his uncle. This idea was no sooner formed thanexecuted. By making a present to the nurse, she readily gained herconsent to part with him for a day or two, and the signs of joy denotedby the child on being put into the carriage, repaid her beforehand forevery reproof she might receive from her guardian, for the liberty shehad taken. "Besides, " said she to Miss Woodley, who had still her fears, "do younot wish his uncle should have a warmer interest in his care thanduty?--it is duty alone which induces Mr. Dorriforth to provide for him;but it is proper that affection should have some share in hisbenevolence--and how, hereafter, will he be so fit an object of the lovewhich compassion excites, as he is at present?" Miss Woodley acquiesced. But before they arrived at their own door itcame into Miss Milner's remembrance, that there was a grave sternness inthe manners of her guardian when provoked, the recollection of whichmade her a little apprehensive for what she had done--her friend, whoknew him better than she did, was more so. They both became silent asthey approached the street where they lived--for Miss Woodley having oncerepresented her fears, and having suppressed them in resignation to MissMilner's better judgment, would not repeat them--and Miss Milner wouldnot confess they were now troubling her. Just, however, as the coach stopped at the door, she had the forecastand the humility to say, "We will not tell Mr. Dorriforth the child ishis nephew, unless he should appear fond, and pleased with him, and thenI think we may venture without any danger. " This was agreed; and when Dorriforth entered the room just beforedinner, poor Harry Rushbrook was introduced as the son of a lady whofrequently visited there. The deception passed--his uncle shook handswith him, and at length highly pleased with his engaging manner, andapplicable replies, took him on his knee, and kissed him with affection. Miss Milner could scarce restrain the joy it gave her; but unluckily, Dorriforth said soon after to the child, "And now tell me your name. " "Harry Rushbrook, " replied he, with force and clearness of voice. Dorriforth was holding him fondly round the waist as he stood with hisfeet upon his knees; and at this reply he did not _throw_ him fromhim--but he removed his hands, which had supported him, so suddenly, thatthe child, to prevent falling on the floor, threw himself about hisuncle's neck. Miss Milner and Miss Woodley turned aside to conceal theirtears. "I had like to have been down, " cried Harry, fearing no otherdanger. But his uncle took hold of each hand which had twined aroundhim, and placed him immediately on the ground. The dinner being thatinstant served, he gave no greater marks of his resentment than callingfor his hat, and walking instantly out of the house. Miss Milner cried for anger; yet she did not shew less kindness to theobject of this vexatious circumstance: she held him in her arms whileshe sat at table, and repeatedly said to him, (though he had not thesense to thank her) "That she would always be his friend. " The first emotions of resentment against Dorriforth being passed, shereturned with her little charge to the farm house, before it was likelyhis uncle should come back; another instance of obedience, which MissWoodley was impatient her guardian should know; she therefore enquiredwhere he was, and sent him a note for the sole purpose of acquaintinghim with it, offering at the same time an apology for what had happened. He returned in the evening seemingly reconciled, nor was a wordmentioned of the incident which had occurred in the former part of theday; yet in his countenance remained a perfect remembrance of it, without one trait of compassion for his helpless nephew. CHAPTER IX. There are few things so mortifying to a proud spirit as to suffer byimmediate comparison--men can hardly bear it, but to women the punishmentis intolerable; and Miss Milner now laboured under this humiliation to adegree which gave her no small inquietude. Miss Fenton, young, of exquisite beauty, elegant manners, gentledisposition, and discreet conduct, was introduced to Miss Milner'sacquaintance by her guardian, and frequently, sometimes inadvertently, held up by him as a pattern for her to follow--for when he did not saythis in direct terms, it was insinuated by the warmth of his panegyricon those virtues in which Miss Fenton excelled, and in which his wardwas obviously deficient. Conscious of her own inferiority in thesesubjects of her guardian's praise, Miss Milner, instead of beinginspired to emulation, was provoked to envy. Not to admire Miss Fenton was impossible--to find one fault with herperson or sentiments was equally impossible--and yet to love her wasunlikely. That serenity of mind which kept her features in a continual placidform, though enchanting at the first glance, upon a second or third, fatigued the sight for want of variety; and to have seen her distortedwith rage, convulsed with mirth, or in deep dejection, had been to heradvantage. But her superior soul appeared above those emotions, andthere was more inducement to worship her as a saint than to love her asa woman. Yet Dorriforth, whose heart was not formed (at least noteducated) for love, regarding her in the light of friendship only, beheld her as the most perfect model for her sex. Lord Frederick onfirst seeing her was struck with her beauty, and Miss Milner apprehendedshe had introduced a rival; but he had not seen her three times, beforehe called her "The most insufferable of Heaven's creatures, " and vowedthere was more charming variation in the plain features of MissWoodley. Miss Milner had a heart affectionate to her own sex, even where she sawthem in possession of superior charms; but whether from the spirit ofcontradiction, from feeling herself more than ordinarily offended by herguardian's praise of this lady, or that there was a reserve in MissFenton that did not accord with her own frank and ingenuous disposition, so as to engage her esteem, certain it is that she took infinitesatisfaction in hearing her beauty and virtues depreciated or turnedinto ridicule, particularly if Mr. Dorriforth was present. This waspainful to him upon many accounts; perhaps an anxiety for his ward'sconduct was not among the least; and whenever the circumstance occurred, he could with difficulty restrain his anger. Miss Fenton was not only aperson whose amiable qualities he admired, but she was soon to be alliedto him by her marriage with his nearest relation, Lord Elmwood, a youngnobleman whom he sincerely loved. Lord Elmwood had discovered all that beauty in Miss Fenton which everycommon observer could not but see. The charms of her mind and of herfortune had been pointed out by his tutor; and the utility of themarriage, in perfect submission to his precepts, he never permittedhimself to question. This preceptor held with a magisterial power the government of hispupil's passions; nay, governed them so entirely, that no one couldperceive (nor did the young Lord himself know) that he had any. This rigid monitor and friend was a Mr. Sandford, bred a Jesuit in thesame college at which Dorriforth had since been educated, but before histime the order was compelled to take another name. Sandford had been thetutor of Dorriforth as well as of his cousin, Lord Elmwood, and by thisdouble tie seemed now entailed upon the family. As a Jesuit, he wasconsequently a man of learning; possessed of steadiness to accomplishthe end of any design once meditated, and of sagacity to direct theconduct of men more powerful, but less ingenious, than himself. Theyoung Earl, accustomed in his infancy to fear him as his master, in hisyouthful manhood received every new indulgence with gratitude, and atlength loved him as a father--nor had Dorriforth as yet shaken offsimilar sensations. Mr. Sandford perfectly knew how to influence the sentiments andsensations of all human kind, but yet he had the forbearance not to"draw all hearts towards him. " There were some whose hatred he thoughtnot unworthy of his pious labours; and in that pursuit he was more rapidin his success than even in procuring esteem. It was an enterprise inwhich he succeeded with Miss Milner even beyond his most sanguine wish. She had been educated at an English boarding school, and had no idea ofthe superior and subordinate state of characters in a foreignseminary--besides, as a woman, she was privileged to say any thing shepleased; and as a beautiful woman, she had a right to expect thatwhatever she pleased to say, should be admired. Sandford knew the hearts of women, as well as those of men, though hehad passed little of his time in their society--he saw Miss Milner'sheart at the first view of her person; and beholding in that littlecircumference a weight of folly that he wished to eradicate, he began totoil in the vineyard, eagerly courting her detestation of him, in thehope he could also make her abominate herself. In the mortifications ofslight he was expert; and being a man of talents, whom all companies, especially her friends, respected, he did not begin by wasting thatreverence so highly valued upon ineffectual remonstrances, of which hecould foresee the reception, but wakened her attention by his neglect ofher. He spoke of her in her presence as of an indifferent person, sometimes forgetting even to name her when the subject required it; thenwould ask her pardon, and say that he "Really did not recollect her, "with such seeming sorrow for his fault, that she could not think theoffence intended, and of course felt the affront more acutely. While, with every other person she was the principle, the cause uponwhom a whole party depended for conversation, cards, musick, or dancing, with Mr. Sandford she found that she was of no importance. Sometimes shetried to consider this disregard of her as merely the effect ofill-breeding; but he was not an ill-bred man: he was a gentleman bybirth, and one who had kept the best company--a man of sense andlearning. "And such a man slights me without knowing it, " she said--forshe had not dived so deeply into the powers of simulation, as to suspectthat such careless manners were the result of art. This behaviour of Mr. Sandford had its desired effect--it humbled her inher own opinion more than a thousand sermons would have done preached onthe vanity of youth and beauty. She felt an inward shame at theinsignificance of these qualities that she never knew before, and wouldhave been cured of all her pride, had she not possessed a degree ofspirit beyond the generality of her sex--such a degree as even Mr. Sandford, with all his penetration, did not expect. She determined toresent his treatment; and, entering the lists as his declared enemy, give to the world a reason why he did not acknowledge her sovereignty, as well as the rest of her devoted subjects. She now commenced hostilities against all his arguments, his learning, and his favourite axioms; and by a happy talent of ridicule, in want ofother weapons for this warfare, she threw in the way of the holy Fatheras great trials of his patience, as any that his order could havesubstituted in penance. Many things he bore like a martyr--at others, hisfortitude would forsake him, and he would call on her guardian, hisformer pupil, to interpose with his authority: she would then declarethat she only had acted thus "to try the good man's temper, and that ifhe had combated with his fretfulness a few moments longer, she wouldhave acknowledged his claim to canonization; but that having yielded tothe sallies of his anger, he must now go through numerous otherprobations. " If Miss Fenton was admired by Dorriforth, by Sandford she wasadored--and, instead of placing her as an example to Miss Milner, hespoke of her as of one endowed beyond Miss Milner's power of imitation. Often, with a shake of his head and a sigh, would he say, "No; I am not so hard upon you as your guardian: I only desire you tolove Miss Fenton; to resemble her, I believe, is above your ability. " This was too much to bear composedly--and poor Miss Woodley, who wasgenerally a witness of these controversies, felt a degree of sorrow atevery sentence which like the foregoing chagrined and distressed herfriend. Yet as she suffered too for Mr. Sandford, the joy of herfriend's reply was abated by the uneasiness it gave to _him. _ But Mrs. Horton felt for none but the right reverend priest; and often did shefeel so violently interested in his cause, that she could not refraingiving an answer herself in his behalf--thus doing the duty ofan adversary with all the zeal of an advocate. CHAPTER X. Mr. Sandford finding his friend Dorriforth frequently perplexed in themanagement of his ward, and he himself thinking her incorrigible, gavehis counsel, that a suitable match should be immediately sought out forher, and the care of so dangerous a person given into other hands. Dorriforth acknowledged the propriety of this advice, but lamented thedifficulty of pleasing his ward as to the quality of her lover; for shehad refused, besides Sir Edward Ashton, many others of equalpretensions. "Depend upon it then, " cried Sandford, "that her affectionsare engaged; and it is proper that you should know to whom. " Dorriforththought he did know, and mentioned Lord Frederick; but said that he hadno farther authority for the supposition than what his observation hadgiven him, for that every explanation both upon his and her side hadbeen evaded. "Take her then, " cried Sandford, "into the country, and ifLord Frederick should not follow, there is an end of your suspicions. " "I shall not easily prevail upon Miss Milner to leave town, " replied he, "while it is in the highest fashion. " "You can but try, " returned Sandford; "and if you should not succeednow, at least fix the time you mean to go during the autumn, and be firmto your determination. " "But in the autumn, " replied Dorriforth, "Lord Frederick will of coursebe in the country; and as his uncle's estate is near our residence, hewill not then so evidently follow her, as he would if I could induce herto go now. " It was agreed the attempt should be made. Instead of receiving thisabrupt proposal with uneasiness, Miss Milner, to the surprise of allpresent, immediately consented; and gave her guardian an opportunity ofsaying several of the kindest and politest things upon her readycompliance. "A token of approbation from you, Mr. Dorriforth, " returned she, "Ialways considered with high estimation--but your commendations are nowbecome infinitely superior in value by their scarcity; for I do notbelieve that since Miss Fenton and Mr. Sandford came to town, I havereceived one testimony of your esteem. " Had these words been uttered with pleasantry, they might have passedwithout observation; but at the conclusion of the period, resentmentflew to Miss Milner's face, and she darted a piercing look at Mr. Sandford, which more pointedly expressed that she was angry with him, than if she had spoken volumes in her usual strain of raillery. Dorriforth was confused--but the concern which she had so plainly evincedfor his good opinion throughout all that she had been saying, silencedany rebuke he might else have given her, for this unwarrantable chargeagainst his friend. Mrs. Horton was shocked at the irreverent manner inwhich Mr. Sandford was treated--and Miss Woodley turned to him with abenevolent smile upon her face, hoping to set him an example of themanner in which he should receive the reproach. Her good wishes did notsucceed--yet he was perfectly unruffled, and replied with coolness, "The air of the country has affected the lady already--but it is acomfortable thing, " continued he, "that in the variety of humours towhich some women are exposed, they cannot be uniform even in deceit. " "Deceit!" cried Miss Milner, "in what am I deceitful? did I ever pretendthat I had an esteem for you?" "That would not have been deceit, Madam, but merely good manners. " "I never, Mr. Sandford, sacrificed truth to politeness. " "Except when the country has been proposed, and you thought itpoliteness to appear satisfied. " "And I _was_ satisfied, till I recollected that you might probably be ofthe party--then, every grove was changed into a wilderness, every rivuletinto a stagnated pool, and every singing bird into a croaking raven. " "A very poetical description, " returned he calmly. "But, Miss Milner, you need not have had any apprehensions of _my_ company in the country, for I understand the seat to which your guardian means to go, belongs toyou; and you may depend upon it, Madam, that I shall never enter a housein which you are the mistress. " "Nor any house, I am certain, Mr. Sandford, but in which you areyourself the master. " "What do you mean, Madam? (and for the first time he elevated hisvoice, ) am I the master here?" "Your servants, " replied she, looking at the company, "will not tell youso; but I do. " "You condescend, Mr. Sandford, " cried Mrs. Horton, "in talking so muchto a young heedless woman; but I know you do it for her good. " "Well, Miss Milner, " cried Dorriforth, (and the most cutting thing hecould say, ) "since I find my proposal of the country has put you out ofhumour, I shall mention it no more. " With all that quantity of resentment, anger, or rage, which sometimesboiled in the veins of Miss Milner, she was yet never wanting in thatrespect towards her guardian, which with-held her from ever uttering oneangry sentence, directed immediately to him; and a severe word of his, instead of exasperating, was sure to subdue her. This was the case atpresent--his words wounded her to the heart, but she had not the asperityto reply to them as she thought they merited, and she burst into tears. Dorriforth, instead of being concerned, as he usually was at seeing heruneasy, appeared on the present occasion provoked. He thought herweeping was a new reproach to his friend Mr. Sandford, and that tosuffer himself to be moved by it, would be a tacit condemnation of hisfriend's conduct. She understood his thoughts, and getting the betterof her tears, apologised for her weakness; adding, "She could never bear with indifference an unjust accusation. " "To prove that mine was unjust, Madam, " replied Dorriforth; "be preparedto quit London, without any marks of regret, in a few days. " She bowed assent; the necessary preparations were agreed upon; and whilewith apparent satisfaction she adjusted the plan of her journey, (likethose who behave well, not so much to please themselves as to vex theirenemies, ) she secretly triumphed in the mortification she hoped that Mr. Sandford would receive from her obedient behaviour. The news of this intended journey was of course soon made public. Thereis a secret charm in being pitied, when the misfortune is but ideal; andMiss Milner found infinite gratification in being told, "That her's wasa cruel case, and that it was unjust and barbarous to force so muchbeauty into concealment while London was filled with her admirers; who, like her, would languish in consequence of her solitude. " These things, and a thousand such, a thousand times repeated, she still listened towith pleasure; yet preserved the constancy not to shrink from herresolution of submitting. Those involuntary sighs, however, that Miss Woodley had long agoobserved, became still more frequent; and a tear half starting in hereye was an additional subject of her friend's observation. Yet thoughMiss Milner at those times was softened into melancholy, she by no meansappeared unhappy. Her friend was acquainted with love only by name; yetshe was confirmed from these increased symptoms, in what she before onlysuspected, that _love_ must be the foundation of her care. "Her senseshave been captivated by the person and accomplishments of LordFrederick, " said Miss Woodley to herself, "but her understanding compelsher to see his faults, and reproaches her passion. --And, oh!" cried she, "could her guardian and Mr. Sandford know of this conflict, how muchwould they have to admire; how little to condemn!" With such friendly thoughts, and with the purest intentions, MissWoodley did not fail to give both gentlemen reason to believe, acontention of this nature was the actual state of Miss Milner's mind. Dorriforth was affected at the description, and Sandford urged more thanever the necessity of leaving town. In a few days they departed; Mrs. Horton, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner, and Mr. Dorriforth, accompanied byMiss Fenton, whom Miss Milner, knowing it to be the wish of herguardian, invited, for three months before her marriage, to her countryseat. Elmwood House, or rather Castle, the seat of Lord Elmwood, wasonly a few miles distant from this residence, and he was expected topass great part of the summer there, with his tutor, Mr. Sandford. In the neighbourhood was also (as it has been already said) an estatebelonging to an uncle of Lord Frederick's, and most of the partysuspected they should soon see him on a visit there. To that expectationthey in great measure attributed Miss Milner's visible content. CHAPTER XI. With this party Miss Milner arrived at her country house, and for nearsix weeks, all around was the picture of tranquillity; her satisfactionwas as evident as every other person's; and all severe admonition beingat this time unnecessary, either to exhort her to her duty, or to warnher against her folly, she was even in perfect good humour with MissFenton, and added friendship to hospitality. Mr. Sandford, who came with Lord Elmwood to the neighbouring seat, abouta week after the arrival of Miss Milner at her's, was so scrupulouslyexact in the observance of his word, "_Never to enter a house of MissMilner's, _" that he would not even call upon his friend Dorriforththere--but in their walks, and at Lord Elmwood's, the two parties wouldoccasionally join, and of course Sandford and she at those times met--yetso distant was the reserve on either side, that not a single word uponany occasion was ever exchanged between them. Miss Milner did not like Mr. Sandford; yet as there was no cause ofinveterate rancour, admiring him too as a man who meant well, and beingbesides of a most forgiving temper, she frequently felt concerned thathe did not speak to her, although it had been to find fault as usual--andone morning as they were all, after a long ramble, drawing towards herhouse, where Lord Elmwood was invited to dine, she could not restraindropping a tear at seeing Sandford turn back and wish them a "Good day. " But though she had the generosity to forgive an affront, she had not thehumility to make a concession; and she foresaw that nothing less thansome very humble atonement on her part would prevail upon the haughtypriest to be reconciled. Dorriforth saw her concern upon this lasttrifling occasion with a secret pleasure, and an admiration that she hadnever before excited. She once insinuated to him to be a mediatorbetween them; but before any accommodation could take place, the peaceand composure of their abode were disturbed by the arrival of Sir EdwardAshton at Lord Elmwood's, where it appeared as if he had been invited inorder to pursue his matrimonial plan. At a dinner given by Lord Elmwood, Sir Edward was announced as anunexpected visitor; Miss Milner did not suppose him such, and she turnedpale when his name was uttered. Dorriforth fixed his eyes upon her withsome tokens of compassion, while Sandford seemed to exult, and by hisrepeated "Welcomes" to the Baronet, gave proofs how much he was rejoicedto see him. All the declining enmity of Miss Milner was renewed at thisbehaviour, and suspecting Sandford as the instigator of the visit, shecould not overcome her displeasure, but gave way to it in a manner shethought the most mortifying. Sir Edward, in the course of conversation, enquired "What neighbours were in the country;" and she, with anappearance of high satisfaction, named Lord Frederick Lawnly as beinghourly expected at his uncle's. The colour spread over Sir Edward'sface--Dorriforth was confounded--and Mr. Sandford looked enraged. "Did Lord Frederick tell _you_ he should be down?" Sandford asked ofDorriforth. To which he replied, "No. " "But I hope, Mr. Sandford, you will permit _me_ to know?" said MissMilner. For as she now meant to torment him by what she said, she nolonger constrained herself to silence--and as he harboured the same kindintention towards her, he had no longer any objection to make a reply, and therefore answered, "No, madam, if it depended upon my permission, you should _not_ know. " "Not _any thing_, Sir, I dare say; you would keep me in utterignorance. " "I would. " "From a self-interested motive, Mr. Sandford--that I might have a greaterrespect for you. " Some of the company laughed--Mrs. Horton coughed--Miss Woodleyblushed--Lord Elmwood sneered--Dorriforth frowned--and Miss Fenton lookedjust as she did before. The conversation was changed as soon as possible, and early in theevening the party from Milner Lodge returned home. Miss Milner had scarce left her dressing room, where she had been takingoff some part of her dress, when Dorriforth's servant came to acquainther that his master was alone in his study, and begged to speak withher. She felt herself tremble--she immediately experienced aconsciousness that she had not acted properly at Lord Elmwood's; for shefelt a presentiment that her guardian was going to upbraid her, and herheart whispered that he had never yet reproached her without a cause. Miss Woodley just then entered her apartment, and she found herself somuch a coward, as to propose that she should go with her, and aid herwith a word or two occasionally in her excuse. "What you, my dear, " returned Miss Woodley, "who not three hours ago hadthe courage to vindicate your own cause before a whole company, of whommany were your adversaries; do _you_ want an advocate before yourguardian alone, who has ever treated you with tenderness?" "It is that very tenderness which frightens me; which intimidates, andstrikes me dumb. Is it possible I can return impertinence to thelanguage and manners which Mr. Dorriforth uses? and as I am debarredfrom that resource, what can I do but stand before him like a guiltycreature, acknowledging my faults. " She again entreated her friend to go with her; but on a positiverefusal, from the impropriety of such an intrusion, she was obliged atlength to go by herself. How much does the difference of exterior circumstances influence notonly the manners, but even the persons of some people! Miss Milner inLord Elmwood's drawing room, surrounded by listeners, by admirers, (foreven her enemies could not look at her without admiration) animated withapprobation and applause--and Miss Milner, with no giddy observer to giveher actions a false éclat, destitute of all but her own understanding, (which secretly condemns her) upon the point of receiving censure fromher guardian and friend, are two different beings. Though stillbeautiful beyond description, she does not look even in person the same. In the last-mentioned situation, she was shorter in stature than in theformer--she was paler--she was thinner--and a very different contourpresided over her whole air, and all her features. When she arrived at the door of the study, she opened it with atrepidation she could hardly account for, and entered to Dorriforth thealtered woman she has been represented. His heart had taken the mostdecided part against her, and his face had assumed the most severeaspect of reproach; but her appearance gave an instantaneous change tohis whole mind, and countenance. She halted, as if she feared to approach--he hesitated, as if he knew nothow to speak. Instead of the anger with which he was prepared to begin, his voice involuntarily softened, and without knowing what he said, hebegan, "My dear Miss Milner. "-- She expected he was angry, and in her confusion his gentleness was lostupon her. She imagined that what he said might be censure, and shecontinued to tremble, though he repeatedly assured her, that he meantonly to advise, not upbraid her. "For as to all those little disputes between Mr. Sandford and you, " saidhe, "I should be partial if I blamed you more than him--indeed, when youtake the liberty to condemn him, his character makes the freedom appearin a more serious light than when he complains of you--and yet, if heprovokes your retorts, he alone must answer for them; nor will Iundertake to decide betwixt you. But I have a question to ask you, andto which I require a serious and unequivocal answer. Do you expect LordFrederick in the country?" Without hesitation she replied, "I do. " "One more question I have to ask, madam, and to which I expect a replyequally unreserved. Is Lord Frederick the man you approve for yourhusband?" Upon this close interrogation she discovered an embarrassment, beyondany she had ever yet betrayed, and faintly replied, "No, he is not. " "Your words tell me one thing, " answered Dorriforth, "but your looksdeclare another--which am I to believe?" "Which you please, " was her answer, while she discovered an insulteddignity, that astonished, without convincing him. "But then why encourage him to follow you hither, Miss Milner?" "Why commit a thousand follies (she replied in tears) every hour of mylife?" "You then promote the hopes of Lord Frederick without one seriousintention of completing them? This is a conduct against which it is myduty to guard you, and you shall no longer deceive either him oryourself. The moment he arrives, it is my resolution that you refuse tosee him, or consent to become his wife. " In answer to the alternative thus offered, she appeared averse to bothpropositions; and yet came to no explanation why; but left her guardianat the end of the conference as much at a loss to decide upon her truesentiments, as he was before he had thus seriously requested he might beinformed of them; but having stedfastly taken the resolution which hehad just communicated, he found that resolution a certain relief to hismind. CHAPTER XII. Sir Edward Ashton, though not invited by Miss Milner, yet frequently didhimself the honour to visit her at her house; sometimes he accompaniedLord Elmwood, at other times he came to see Dorriforth alone, whogenerally introduced him to the ladies. But Sir Edward was either sounwilling to give pain to the object of his love, or so intimidated byher frowns, that he seldom addressed her with a single word, except theusual compliments at entering, and retiring. This apprehension ofoffending, without one hope of pleasing, had the most awkward effectupon the manners of the worthy Baronet; and his endeavours to insinuatehimself into the affections of the woman he loved, merely by not givingher offence either in speaking to her or looking at her, formed acharacter so whimsical, that it frequently forced a smile from MissMilner, though his very name had often power to throw a gloom over herface: she looked upon him as the cause of her being hurried to theelection of a lover, before her own mind could well direct her where tofix. Besides, his pursuit was troublesome, while it was no triumph toher vanity, which by the addresses of Lord Frederick, was in the highestmanner gratified. His Lordship now arrives in the country, and calls one morning at MissMilner's; her guardian sees his carriage coming up the avenue, and givesorders to the servants, to say their lady is not at home, but that Mr. Dorriforth is: Lord Frederick leaves his compliments and goes away. The ladies all observed his carriage and servants. Miss Milner flew toher glass, adjusted her dress, and in her looks expressed every sign ofpalpitation--but in vain she keeps her eye fixed upon the door of theapartment; no Lord Frederick appears. After some minutes of expectation, the door opens and her guardian comesin;--she was disappointed; he perceived that she was, and he looked ather with a most serious face;--she immediately called to mind theassurance he had given her, "That her acquaintance with Lord Frederickin its then improper state should not continue, " and between chagrin andconfusion, she was at a loss how to behave. Though the ladies were all present, Dorriforth said, without thesmallest reserve, "Perhaps, Miss Milner, you may think I have taken anunwarrantable liberty, in giving orders to your servants to deny you toLord Frederick; but until his Lordship and I have had a privateconference, or you condescend to declare your sentiments more fully inregard to his visits, I think it my duty to put an end to them. " "You will always perform your duty, Mr. Dorriforth, I have no doubt, whether I concur or not. " "Yet believe me, madam, I should perform it more cheerfully, if I couldhope that it was sanctioned by your inclinations. " "I am not mistress of my inclinations, Sir, or they should conform toyours. " "Place them under my direction, and I will answer for it they will. " A servant came in--"Lord Frederick is returned, Sir, and says he shouldbe glad to see you. " "Shew him into the study, " cried Dorriforth hastily, and rising from hischair, left the room. "I hope they won't quarrel, " said Mrs. Horton, meaning, that she thoughtthey would. "I am sorry to see you so uneasy, Miss Milner, " said Miss Fenton, withperfect unconcern. As the badness of the weather had prevented their usual morning'sexercise, the ladies were employed at their needles till the dinner bellcalled them away. "Do you think Lord Frederick is gone?" then whisperedMiss Milner to Miss Woodley. --"I think not, " she replied. --"Go ask of theservants, dear creature. " And Miss Woodley went out of the room. Shesoon returned and said, apart, "He is now getting into his chariot; Isaw him pass in violent haste through the hall; he seemed to fly. " "Ladies, the dinner is waiting, " cried Mrs. Horton, and they repaired tothe dining room, where Dorriforth soon after came, and engrossed theirwhole attention by his disturbed looks, and unusual silence. Beforedinner was over, he was, however, more himself, but still he appearedthoughtful and dissatisfied. At the time of their evening walk heexcused himself from accompanying them, and they saw him in a distantfield with Mr. Sandford in earnest conversation; for Sandford and heoften stopped on one spot for a quarter of an hour, as if the interestof the subject had so engaged them, they stood still without knowing it. Lord Elmwood, who had joined the ladies, walked home with them;Dorriforth entered soon after, in a much less gloomy humour than when hewent out, and told his relation, that he and the ladies would dine withhim the next day if he was disengaged; and it was agreed they should. Still Dorriforth was in some perturbation, but the immediate cause wasconcealed till the day following, when, about an hour before thecompany's departure from the Castle, Miss Milner and Miss Woodley weredesired, by a servant, to walk into a separate apartment, in which theyfound Mr. Dorriforth with Mr. Sandford waiting for them. Her guardianmade an apology to Miss Milner for the form, the ceremony, of which hewas going to make use; but he trusted, the extreme weight whichoppressed his mind, lest he should mistake the real sentiments of aperson whose happiness depended upon his correct knowledge of them, would plead his excuse. "I know, Miss Milner, " continued he, "the world in general allows tounmarried women great latitude in disguising their mind with respect tothe man they love. I too, am willing to pardon any little dissimulationthat is but consistent with a modesty that becomes every woman upon thesubject of marriage. But here, to what point I may limit, or you mayextend, this kind of venial deceit, may so widely differ, that it is notimpossible for me to remain unacquainted with your sentiments, evenafter you have revealed them to me. Under this consideration, I wishonce more to hear your thoughts in regard to matrimony, and to hear thembefore one of your own sex, that I may form an opinion by herconstructions. " To all this serious oration, Miss Milner made no other reply than byturning to Mr. Sandford, and asking, "If he was the person of her ownsex, to whose judgment her guardian was to submit his own?" "Madam, " cried Sandford angrily, "you are come hither upon seriousbusiness. " "Any business must be serious to me, Mr. Sandford, in which you areconcerned; and if you had called it _sorrowful_, the epithet would havesuited as well. " "Miss Milner, " said her guardian, "I did not bring you here to contendwith Mr. Sandford. " "Then why, Sir, bring him hither? for where he and I are, there must becontention. " "I brought him hither, Madam, or I should rather say, brought you tothis house, merely that he might be present on this occasion, and withhis discernment relieve me from a suspicion, that my own judgment isneither able to suppress nor to confirm. " "Are there any more witnesses you may wish to call in, Sir, to removeyour doubts of my veracity? if there are, pray send for them before youbegin your interrogations. " He shook his head--she continued. "The whole world is welcome to hear what I say, and every differentperson is welcome to judge me differently. " "Dear Miss Milner, "--cried Miss Woodley, with a tone of reproach for thevehemence with which she had spoken. "Perhaps, Miss Milner, " said Dorriforth, "you will not now reply tothose questions I was going to put?" "Did I ever refuse, Sir, " returned she with a self-approving air, "tocomply with any request that you have seriously made? Have I everrefused obedience to your commands whenever you thought proper to laythem upon me? If not, you have no right to suppose that I will do sonow. " He was going to reply, when Mr. Sandford sullenly interrupted him, andmaking towards the door, cried, "When you come to the point for whichyou brought me here, send for me again. " "Stay now, " said Dorriforth. "And Miss Milner, " continued he, "I notonly entreat, but command you to tell me--have you given your word, oryour affections to Lord Frederick Lawnly?" The colour spread over her face, and she replied--"I thought confessionswere always to be in secret; however, as I am not a member of yourchurch, I submit to the persecution of a heretic, and I answer--LordFrederick has neither my word, nor any share in my affections. " Sandford, Dorriforth, and Miss Woodley looked at each other with adegree of surprise that for some time kept them silent. At lengthDorriforth said, "And it is your firm intention never to become hiswife?" To which she answered--"At present it is. " "At present! do you suspect you shall change your sentiments?" "Women sometimes do. " "But before that change can take place, your acquaintance will be at anend: for it is that which I shall next insist upon, and to which you canhave no objection. " She replied, "I had rather it should continue. " "On what account?" cried Dorriforth. "Because it entertains me. " "For shame, for shame!" returned he; "it endangers your character andyour happiness. Yet again, do not suffer me to interfere, if thebreaking with Lord Frederick can militate against your felicity. " "By no means, " she answered; "Lord Frederick makes part of my amusement, but could never constitute my felicity. " "Miss Woodley, " said Dorriforth, "do you comprehend your friend in thesame literal and unequivocal sense that I do?" "Certainly I do, Sir. " "And pray, Miss Woodley, " said he, "were those the sentiments which youhave always entertained?" Miss Woodley hesitated--he continued. "Or has this conversation alteredthem?" She hesitated again, then answered--"This conversation has alteredthem. " "And yet you confide in it!" cried Sandford, looking at her withcontempt. "Certainly I do, " replied Miss Woodley. "Do not you then, Mr. Sandford?" asked Dorriforth. "I would advise you to act as if I did, " replied Sandford. "Then, Miss Milner, " said Dorriforth, "you see Lord Frederick nomore--and I hope I have your permission to apprize him of thisarrangement. " "You have, Sir, " she replied with a completely unembarrassed countenanceand voice. Her friend looked at her as if to discover some lurking wish, adverse toall these protestations, but she could not discern one. Sandford toofixed his penetrating eyes upon her, as if he would look through hersoul, but finding it perfectly composed, he cried out, "Why then not write his dismission herself, and save you, Mr. Dorriforth, the trouble of any farther contest with him?" "Indeed, Miss Milner, " said Dorriforth, "that would oblige me; for it iswith great reluctance that I meet him upon this subject--he was extremelyimpatient and importunate when he was last with me--he took advantage ofmy ecclesiastical situation to treat me with a levity and ill breeding, that I could ill have suffered upon any other consideration than acompliance with my duty. " "Dictate what you please, Mr. Dorriforth, and I will write it, " saidshe, with a warmth like the most unaffected inclination. "And while you, Sir, " she continued, "are so indulgent as not to distress me with theimportunities of any gentleman to whom I am averse, I think myselfequally bound to rid you of the impertinence of every one to whom youmay have objection. " "But, " answered he, "rest assured I have no material objection to myLord Frederick, except from that dilemma, in which your acquaintancewith him has involved us all; and I should conceive the same against anyother man, where the same circumstance occurred. As you have now, however, freely and politely consented to the manner in which it hasbeen proposed that you shall break with him, I will not trouble you amoment longer upon a subject on which I have so frequently explained mywishes, but conclude it by assuring you, that your ready acquiescencehas given me the sincerest satisfaction. " "I hope, Mr. Sandford, " said she, turning to him with a smile, "I havegiven _you_ satisfaction likewise?" Sandford could not say yes, and was ashamed to say no; he, therefore, made answer only by his looks, which were full of suspicion. She, notwithstanding, made him a very low courtesy. Her guardian then handedher out of the apartment into her coach, which was waiting to take her, Miss Woodley, and himself, home. CHAPTER XIII. Notwithstanding the seeming readiness with which Miss Milner hadresigned all farther acquaintance with Lord Frederick, during the shortride home she appeared to have lost great part of her wonted spirits;she was thoughtful, and once sighed heavily. Dorriforth began to fearthat she had not only made a sacrifice of her affections, but of herveracity; yet, why she had done so, he could not comprehend. As the carriage moved slowly through a lane between Elmwood Castle andher own house, on casting her eyes out of the window, Miss Milner'scountenance was brightened in an instant, and that instant LordFrederick, on horse-back, was at the coach door, and the coachmanstopped. "Oh, Miss Milner, " cried he, (with a voice and manner that could givelittle suspicion of the truth of what he said) "I am overjoyed at thehappiness of seeing you, even though it is but an accidental meeting. " She was evidently glad to see _him_; but the earnestness with which hespoke, put her upon her guard not to express the like, and she said, ina cool constrained manner, she "Was glad to see his Lordship. " The reserve with which she spoke, gave Lord Frederick immediatesuspicion who was in the coach with her, and turning his head quickly, he met the stern eye of Dorriforth; upon which, without the smallestsalutation, he turned from him again abruptly and rudely. Miss Milnerwas confused, and Miss Woodley in torture, at this palpable affront, towhich Dorriforth alone appeared indifferent. "Go on, " said Miss Milner to the footman, "desire the coachman to driveon. " "No, " cried Lord Frederick, "not till you have told me when I shall seeyou again. " "I will write you word, my Lord, " replied she, something alarmed. "Youshall have a letter immediately after I get home. " As if he guessed what its contents were to be, he cried out with warmth, "Take care, then, Madam, how you treat me in that letter--and you, Mr. Dorriforth, " turning to him, "do you take care what it contains; for ifit is dictated by you, to you I shall send the answer. " Dorriforth, without making any reply, or casting a look at him, put hishead out of the window on the opposite side, and called, in a very angrytone, to the coachman, "How dare you not drive on, when your Lady ordersyou?" The sound of Dorriforth's voice in anger, was to the servants sounusual, that it acted like electricity upon the man, and he drove on atthe instant with such rapidity, that Lord Frederick was in a moment leftmany yards behind. As soon, however, as he recovered from the surpriseinto which this sudden command had thrown him, he rode with speed afterthe carriage, and followed it, till it arrived at the door of MissMilner's house; there, giving himself up to the rage of love, or to rageagainst Dorriforth for the contempt he had shewn to him, he leaped fromhis horse when Miss Milner stepped from her carriage, and seizing herhand, entreated her "Not to desert him, in compliance with theinjunctions of monkish hypocrisy. " Dorriforth heard this, standing silently by, with a manly scorn upon hiscountenance. Miss Milner struggled to loose her hand, saying, "Excuse me fromreplying to you now, my Lord. " In return, he lifted her hand eagerly to his lips, and began to devourit with kisses; when Dorriforth, with an instantaneous impulse, rushedforward, and struck him a violent blow in the face. Under the force ofthis assault, and the astonishment it excited, Lord Frederick staggered, and letting fall the hand of Miss Milner, her guardian immediately laidhold of it, and led her into the house. She was terrified beyond description; and with extreme difficulty Mr. Dorriforth conveyed her to her own chamber, without taking her in hisarms. When, by the assistance of her maid, he had placed her upon asofa--covered with shame and confusion for what he had done, he fell uponhis knees before her, and earnestly "Entreated her forgiveness for theindelicacy he had been guilty of in her presence. " And that he hadalarmed her, and had forgot the respect which he thought sacredly herdue, seemed the only circumstance which then dwelt upon his thoughts. She felt the indecorum of the posture he had condescended to take, andwas shocked. To see her guardian at her feet, struck her with a sense ofimpropriety, as if she had seen a parent there. All agitation andemotion, she implored him to rise, and, with a thousand protestations, declared, "That she thought the rashness of the action was the highestproof of his regard for her. " Miss Woodley now entered; her care being ever employed upon theunfortunate, Lord Frederick had been the object of it: she had waited byhis side, and, with every good purpose, had preached patience to him, while he was smarting under the pain, but more under the shame, of hischastisement. At first, his fury threatened a retort upon the servantsaround him (and who refused his entrance into the house) of thepunishment he had received. But, in the certainty of an _amendehonorable_, which must hereafter be made, he overcame the manytemptations which the moment offered, and re-mounting his horse rodeaway from the scene of his disgrace. No sooner had Miss Woodley entered the room, and Dorriforth had resignedto her the care of his ward, than he flew to the spot where he had leftLord Frederick, negligent of what might be the event if he stillremained there. After enquiring, and being told that he was gone, Dorriforth returned to his own apartment; and with a bosom torn by moreexcruciating sensations than those which he had given to his adversary. The reflection that struck him first with remorse, as he shut the doorupon himself, was:--"I have departed from my character--from the sacredcharacter, and the dignity of my profession and sentiments--I havedeparted from myself. I am no longer the philosopher, but the ruffian--Ihave treated with an unpardonable insult a young nobleman, whose onlyoffence was love, and a fond desire to insinuate himself into the favourof his mistress. I must atone for this outrage in whatever manner he maychoose; and the law of honour and of justice (though in this oneinstance contrary to the law of religion) enjoins, that if he demands mylife in satisfaction for his wounded feelings, it is his due. Alas! thatI could have laid it down this morning, unsullied with a cause for whichit will make but inadequate atonement. " His next reproach was--"I have offended and filled with horror, abeautiful young woman, whom it was my duty to have protected from thosebrutal manners, to which I myself have exposed her. " Again--"I have drawn upon myself the just upbraidings of my faithfulpreceptor and friend; of the man in whose judgment it was my delight tobe approved--above all, I have drawn upon myself the stings of myconscience. " "Where shall I pass this sleepless night?" cried he, walking repeatedlyacross his chamber; "Can I go to the ladies? I am unworthy of theirsociety. Shall I go and repose my disturbed mind on Sandford? I amashamed to tell him the cause of my uneasiness. Shall I go to LordFrederick, and humbling myself before him, beg his forgiveness? He wouldspurn me for a coward. No"----(and he lifted up his eyes to Heaven) "Thouall great, all wise and omnipotent Being, Thou whom I have mostoffended, it is to Thee alone that I have recourse in this hour oftribulation, and from Thee alone I solicit comfort. And the confidencein which I now address myself to Thee, encouraged by that longintercourse which religion has effected, repays me amply in this onemoment, for the many years of my past life devoted with my best, thoughimperfect, efforts to thy service. " CHAPTER XIV. Although Miss Milner had not foreseen any fatal event resulting from theindignity offered to Lord Frederick, yet she passed a night verydifferent from those to which she had been accustomed. No sooner was shefalling into a sleep, than a thousand vague, but distressing, ideasdarted across her imagination. Her heart would sometimes whisper to herwhen she was half asleep, "Lord Frederick is banished from you forever. " She shakes off the uneasiness this idea brings along with it--shethen starts, and sees the blow still aimed at him by Dorriforth. Nosooner has she driven away this painful image, than she is againawakened by beholding her guardian at her feet sueing for pardon. Shesighs, she trembles, and is chilled with terror. Relieved by tears, towards the morning she sinks into a slumber, butwaking, finds the same images crowding all together upon her mind: sheis doubtful to which to give the preference--one, however, rushes theforemost, and continues so. She knows not the fatal consequence ofruminating, nor why she dwells upon that, more than upon all the rest, but it will give place to none. She rises languid and disordered, and at breakfast, adds fresh pain toDorriforth by her altered appearance. He had scarce left the room, when an officer waited upon him with achallenge from Lord Frederick. To the message delivered by thisgentleman, he replied, "Sir, as a clergyman, more especially of the church of Rome, I know notwhether I am not exempt from answering a demand of this kind; but nothaving had forbearance to avoid an offence, I will not claim anexemption that would only indemnify me from making reparation. " "You will then, Sir, meet Lord Frederick at the appointed hour?" saidthe officer. "I will, Sir; and my immediate care shall be to find a gentleman whowill accompany me. " The officer withdrew, and when Dorriforth was again alone, he was goingonce more to reflect, but he durst not. Since yesterday, reflection, forthe first time, was become painful to him; and even as he rode the shortway to Lord Elmwood's immediately after, he found his own thoughts wereso insufferable, that he was obliged to enter into conversation with hisservant. Solitude, that formerly charmed him, would, at those moments, have been worse than death. At Lord Elmwood's, he met Sandford in the hall, and the sight of him wasno longer welcome--he knew how different the principles which he had justadopted were to those of that reverend friend, and without hiscomplaining, or even suspecting what had happened, his presence was asufficient reproach. He passed him as hastily as he could, and enquiringfor Lord Elmwood, disclosed to him his errand. It was to ask him to behis second;--the young Earl started, and wished to consult his tutor, butthat, his kinsman strictly forbade; and having urged his reasons witharguments, which at least _he_ could not refute, he was at lengthprevailed upon to promise that he would accompany him to the field, which was at the distance only of a few miles, and the parties were tobe there at seven on the same evening. As soon as his business with Lord Elmwood was settled, Dorriforthreturned home, to make preparations for the event which might ensue fromthis meeting. He wrote letters to several of his friends, and one to hisward, in writing which, he could with difficulty preserve the usualfirmness of his mind. Sandford going into Lord Elmwood's library soonafter his relation had left him, expressed his surprise at finding hewas gone; upon which that nobleman having answered a few questions, andgiven a few significant hints that he was entrusted with a secret, frankly confessed, what he had promised to conceal. Sandford, as much as a holy man could be, was enraged at Dorriforth forthe cause of the challenge, but was still more enraged at his wickednessin accepting it. He applauded his pupil's virtue in making thediscovery, and congratulated himself that he should be the instrumentof saving not only his friend's life, but of preventing the scandal ofhis being engaged in a duel. In the ardour of his designs, he went immediately to MissMilner's--entered that house which he had so long refused to enter, andat a time when he was upon aggravated bad terms with its owner. He asked for Dorriforth, went hastily into his apartment, and pouredupon him a torrent of rebukes. Dorriforth bore all he said with thepatience of a devotee, but with the firmness of a man. He owned hisfault, but no eloquence could make him recall the promise he had givento repair the injury. Unshaken by the arguments, persuasions, andmenaces of Sandford, he gave an additional proof of that inflexibilityfor which he had been long distinguished--and after a dispute of twohours, they parted, neither of them the better for what either hadadvanced, but Dorriforth something the worse; his conscience gavetestimony to Sandford's opinion, "that he was bound by ties more sacredthan worldly honour. " But while he owned, he would not yield to theduty. Sandford left him, determined, however, that Lord Elmwood should not beaccessory in his guilt, and this he declared; upon which Dorriforth tookthe resolution of seeking another second. In passing through the house on his return home, Sandford met, byaccident, Mrs. Horton, Miss Milner, and the other two ladies returningfrom a saunter in the garden. Surprised at the sight of Mr. Sandford inher house, Miss Milner would not express that surprise, but going up tohim with all the friendly benevolence which in general played about herheart, she took hold of one of his hands, and pressed it with a kindnesswhich told him more forcibly that he was welcome, than if she had madethe most elaborate speech to convince him of it. He, however, seemedlittle touched with her behaviour, and as an excuse for breaking hisword, cried, "I beg your pardon, madam, but I was brought hither in my anxiety toprevent murder. " "Murder!" exclaimed all the ladies. "Yes, " answered he, addressing himself to Miss Fenton, "your betrothedhusband is a party concerned; he is going to be second to Mr. Dorriforth, who means this very evening to be killed by my LordFrederick, or to kill him, in addition to the blow that he gave him lastnight. " Mrs. Horton exclaimed, "if Mr. Dorriforth dies, he dies a martyr. " Miss Woodley cried with fervour, "Heaven forbid!" Miss Fenton cried, "dear me!" While Miss Milner, without uttering one word, sunk speechless on thefloor. They lifted her up and brought her to the door which entered into thegarden. She soon recovered; for the tumult of her mind would not sufferher to remain inactive, and she was rouzed, in spite of her weakness, toendeavour to ward off the impending disaster. In vain, however, sheattempted to walk to her guardian's apartment--she sunk as before, andwas taken to a settee, while Miss Woodley was dispatched to bring him toher. Informed of the cause of her indisposition, he followed Miss Woodleywith a tender anxiety for her health, and with grief and confusion thathe had so carelessly endangered it. On his entering the room Sandfordbeheld the inquietude of his mind, and cried, "Here is your _Guardian_, "with a cruel emphasis on the word. He was too much engaged by the sufferings of his ward to reply toSandford. He placed himself on the settee by her, and with the utmosttenderness, reverence, and pity, entreated her not to be concerned at anaccident in which he, and he alone, had been to blame; but which he hadno doubt would be accommodated in the most amicable manner. "I have one favour to require of you, Mr. Dorriforth, " said she, "andthat is, your promise, your solemn promise, which I know is ever sacred, that you will not meet my Lord Frederick. " He hesitated. "Oh, Madam, " cried Sandford, "he is grown a libertine now, and I wouldnot believe his word, if he were to give it you. " "Then, Sir, " returned Dorriforth angrily, "you _may_ believe my word, for I will keep that which I gave to _you. _ I will give Lord Frederickall the restitution in my power. But my dear Miss Milner, let not thisalarm you; we may not find it convenient to meet this many a day; andmost probably some fortunate explanation may prevent our meeting at all. If not, reckon but among the many duels that are fought, how few arefatal: and even in that case, how small would be the loss to society, if----" He was proceeding. "I should ever deplore the loss!" cried Miss Milner; "on such anoccasion, I could not survive the death of either. " "For my part, " he replied, "I look upon my life as much forfeited to myLord Frederick, to whom I have given a high offence, as it might inother instances have been forfeited to the offended laws of the land. Honour, is the law of the polite part of the land; we know it; and whenwe transgress against it knowingly, we justly incur our punishment. However, Miss Milner, this affair will not be settled immediately, and Ihave no doubt, but that all will be as you could wish. Do you think Ishould appear thus easy, " added he with a smile, "if I were going to beshot at by my Lord Frederick?" "Very well!" cried Sandford, with a look that evinced he was betterinformed. "You will stay within then, all this day?" said Miss Milner. "I am engaged to dinner, " he replied; "it is unlucky--I am sorry forit--but I'll be at home early in the evening. " "Stained with human blood, " cried Sandford, "or yourself a corpse. " The ladies lifted up their hands!--Miss Milner rose from her seat, andthrew herself at her guardian's feet. "You kneeled to me last night, I now kneel to you, " (she cried) "kneel, never desiring to rise again, if you persist in your intention. I amweak, I am volatile, I am indiscreet, but I have a heart from whichsome impressions can never--oh! never, be erased. " He endeavoured to raise her, she persisted to kneel--and here theaffright, the terror, the anguish, she endured, discovered to her, herown sentiments--which, till that moment, she had doubted--and shecontinued, "I no longer pretend to conceal my passion--I love Lord FrederickLawnly. " Her guardian started. "Yes, to my shame I love him:" (cried she, all emotion) "I meant to havestruggled with the weakness, because I supposed it would be displeasingto you--but apprehension for his safety has taken away every power ofrestraint, and I beseech you to spare his life. " "This is exactly what I thought, " cried Sandford, with an air oftriumph. "Good heaven!" cried Miss Woodley. "But it is very natural, " said Mrs. Horton. "I own, " said Dorriforth, (struck with amaze, and now taking her fromhis feet with a force that she could not resist) "I own, Miss Milner, Iam greatly affected and wounded at this contradiction in yourcharacter. "-- "But did not I say so?" cried Sandford, interrupting him. "However, " continued he, "you may take my word, though you have deceivedme in your's, that Lord Frederick's life is secure. For your sake, Iwould not endanger it for the universe. But let this be a warning toyou"---- He was proceeding with the most austere looks, and pointed language, when observing the shame, and the self-reproach that agitated her mind, he divested himself in great measure of his resentment, and said, mildly, "Let this be a warning to you, how you deal in future with the friendswho wish you well. You have hurried me into a mistake that might havecost me my life, or the life of the man you love; and thus exposed _you_to misery, more bitter than death. " "I am not worthy of your friendship, Mr. Dorriforth, " said she, sobbingwith grief, "and from this moment forsake me. " "No, Madam, not in the moment you first discover to me, how I can makeyou happy. " The conversation appearing now to become of a nature in which the restof the company could have no share whatever, they were all, except Mr. Sandford, retiring; when Miss Milner called Miss Woodley back, saying, "Stay you with me; I was never so unfit to be left without yourfriendship. " "Perhaps at present you can dispense with mine?" said Dorriforth. Shemade no answer. He then, once more assured her Lord Frederick's life wassafe, and was quitting the room--but when he recollected in whathumiliation he had left her, turning towards her as he opened the door, he added, "And be assured, Madam, that my esteem for you, shall be _the same asever. _" Sandford, as he followed him, bowed, and repeated the same words--"And, Madam, be assured that my esteem for you, shall be the same as ever. " CHAPTER XV. This taunting reproof from Sandford made little impression upon MissMilner, whose thoughts were all fixed on a subject of much moreimportance than the opinion which he entertained of her. She threw herarms about her friend the moment they were left alone, and asked, withanxiety, "What she thought of her behaviour?" Miss Woodley, who couldnot approve of the duplicity she had betrayed, still wished to reconcileher as much as possible to her own conduct, and replied, she "Highlycommended the frankness with which she had, at last, acknowledged hersentiments. " "Frankness!" cried Miss Milner, starting. "Frankness, my dear MissWoodley! What you have just now heard me say, is all a falsehood. " "How, Miss Milner!" "Oh, Miss Woodley, " returned she, sobbing upon her bosom, "pity theagonies of my heart, my heart, by nature sincere, when such are thefatal propensities it cherishes, that I must submit to the grossestfalsehoods rather than reveal the truth. " "What can you mean?" cried Miss Woodley, with the strongest amazement inher face. "Do you suppose I love Lord Frederick? Do you suppose I _can_ love him?Oh fly, and prevent my guardian from telling him such an untruth. " "What can you mean?" repeated Miss Woodley; "I protest you terrify me. "For this inconsistency in the behaviour of Miss Milner, appeared as ifher senses had been deranged. "Fly, " she resumed, "and prevent the inevitable ill consequence whichwill ensue, if Lord Frederick should be told this falsehood. It willinvolve us all in greater disquiet than we suffer at present. " "Then what has influenced you, my dear Miss Milner?" "That which impels all my actions--an unsurmountable instinct--a fatality, that will for ever render me the most miserable of human beings; and yetyou, even you, my dear Miss Woodley, will not pity me. " Miss Woodley pressed her closely in her arms, and vowed, "That while shewas unhappy, from whatever cause, she still would pity her. " "Go to Mr. Dorriforth then, and prevent him from imposing upon LordFrederick. " "But that imposition is the only means of preventing the duel, " repliedMiss Woodley. "The moment I have told him that your affection was butcounterfeited, he will no longer refuse accepting the challenge. " "Then at all events I am undone, " exclaimed Miss Milner, "for the duelis horrible, even beyond every thing else. " "How so?" returned Miss Woodley, "since you have declared you do notcare for Lord Frederick?" "But are you so blind, " returned Miss Milner with a degree of madness inher looks, "as to believe I do not care for Mr. Dorriforth? Oh! MissWoodley! I love him with all the passion of a mistress, and with all thetenderness of a wife. " Miss Woodley at this sentence sat down--it was on a chair that was closeto her--her feet could not have taken her to any other. She trembled--shewas white as ashes, and deprived of speech. Miss Milner, taking her bythe hand, said, "I know what you feel--I know what you think of me--and how much you hateand despise me. But Heaven is witness to all my struggles--nor would I, even to myself, acknowledge the shameless prepossession, till forced bya sense of his danger"---- "Silence, " cried Miss Woodley, struck with horror. "And even now, " resumed Miss Milner, "have I not concealed it from allbut you, by plunging myself into a new difficulty, from which I know nothow I shall be extricated? And do I entertain a hope? No, Miss Woodley, nor ever will. But suffer me to own my folly to you--to entreat yoursoothing friendship to free me from my weakness. And, oh! give me youradvice, to deliver me from the difficulties which surround me. " Miss Woodley was still pale, and still silent. Education, is called second nature; in the strict (but not enlarged)education of Miss Woodley, it was more powerful than the first--and theviolation of oaths, persons, or things consecrated to Heaven, was, inher opinion, if not the most enormous, yet among the most terrific inthe catalogue of crimes. Miss Milner had lived so long in a family who had imbibed thoseopinions, that she was convinced of their existence; nay, her own reasontold her that solemn vows of every kind, ought to be sacred; and themore she respected her guardian's understanding, the less did she callin question his religious tenets--in esteeming him, she esteemed all hisnotions; and among the rest, venerated those of his religion. Yet thatpassion, which had unhappily taken possession of her whole soul, wouldnot have been inspired, had there not subsisted an early difference, intheir systems of divine faith. Had she been early taught what were thesacred functions of a Roman ecclesiastic, though all her esteem, all heradmiration, had been attracted by the qualities and accomplishments ofher guardian, yet education, would have given such a prohibition to herlove, that she would have been precluded from it, as by that barrierwhich divides a sister from a brother. This, unfortunately, was not the case; and Miss Milner loved Dorriforthwithout one conscious check to tell her she was wrong, except that whichconvinced her--her love would be avoided by him with detestation, andwith horror. Miss Woodley, something recovered from her first surprise, andsufferings--for never did her susceptible mind suffer soexquisitely--amidst all her grief and abhorrence, felt that pity wasstill predominant--and reconciled to the faults of Miss Milner by hermisery, she once more looked at her with friendship, and asked, "Whatshe could do to render her less unhappy?" "Make me forget, " replied Miss Milner, "every moment of my life since Ifirst saw you--that moment was teeming with a weight of cares, underwhich I must labour till my death. " "And even in death, " replied Miss Woodley, "do not hope to shake themoff. If unrepented in this world"---- She was proceeding--but the anxiety her friend endured, would not sufferher to be free from the apprehension, that, notwithstanding the positiveassurance of her guardian, if he and Lord Frederick should meet, theduel might still take place; she therefore rang the bell and enquired ifMr. Dorriforth was still at home?--the answer was--"He had rode out. Youremember, " said Miss Woodley, "he told you he should dine from home. "This did not, however, dismiss her fears, and she dispatched twoservants different ways in pursuit of him, acquainting them with hersuspicions, and charging them to prevent the duel. Sandford had alsotaken his precautions; but though he knew the time, he did not know theexact place of their appointment, for that Lord Elmwood had forgot toenquire. The excessive alarm which Miss Milner discovered upon this occasion, wasimputed by the servants, and by others who were witnesses of it, to heraffection for Lord Frederick; while none but Miss Woodley knew, or hadthe most distant suspicion of the real cause. Mrs. Horton and Miss Fenton, who were sitting together expatiating onthe duplicity of their own sex in the instance just before them, had, notwithstanding the interest of the discourse, a longing desire to breakit off; for they were impatient to see this poor frail being whom theywere loading with their censure. They longed to see if she would havethe confidence to look them in the face: them, to whom she had so oftenprotested, that she had not the smallest attachment to Lord Frederick, but from motives of vanity. These ladies heard with infinite satisfaction that dinner had beenserved, but met Miss Milner at the table with a less degree of pleasurethan they had expected; for her mind was so totally abstracted from anyconsideration of _them_, that they could not discern a single blush, orconfused glance, which their presence occasioned. No, she had beforethem divulged nothing of which she was ashamed; she was only ashamedthat what she had said was not true. In the bosom of Miss Woodley alonewas that secret entrusted which could call a blush into her face, andbefore her, she _did_ feel confusion--before the gentle friend, to whomshe had till this time communicated all her faults withoutembarrassment, she now cast down her eyes in shame. Soon after the dinner was removed, Lord Elmwood entered; and thatgallant young nobleman declared--"Mr. Sandford had used him ill, in notpermitting him to accompany his relation; for he feared that Mr. Dorriforth would now throw himself upon the sword of Lord Frederick, without a single friend near to defend him. " A rebuke from the eye ofMiss Woodley, which from this day had a command over Miss Milner, restrained her from expressing the affright she suffered from thisintimation. Miss Fenton replied, "As to that, my Lord, I see no reasonwhy Mr. Dorriforth and Lord Frederick should not now be friends. ""Certainly, " said Mrs. Horton; "for as soon as my Lord Frederick is madeacquainted with Miss Milner's confession, all differences must bereconciled. " "What confession?" asked Lord Elmwood. Miss Milner, to avoid hearing a repetition of that which gave her paineven to recollect, rose in order to retire into her own apartment, butwas obliged to sit down again, till she received the assistance of LordElmwood and her friend, who led her into her dressing room. She reclinedupon a sofa there, and though left alone with that friend, a silencefollowed of half an hour; nor when the conversation began, was the nameof Dorriforth once uttered--they were grown cool and considerate sincethe discovery, and both were equally fearful of naming him. The vanity of the world, the folly of riches, the charms of retirement, and such topics engaged their discourse, but not their thoughts, fornear two hours; and the first time the word Dorriforth was spoken, wasby a servant, who with alacrity opened the dressing room door, withoutpreviously rapping, and cried, "Madam, Mr. Dorriforth. " Dorriforth immediately came in, and went eagerly to Miss Milner. MissWoodley beheld the glow of joy and of guilt upon her face, and did notrise to give him her seat, as was her custom, when she was sitting byhis ward and he came to her with intelligence. He therefore stood whilehe repeated all that had happened in his interview with Lord Frederick. But with her gladness to see her guardian safe, she had forgot toenquire of the safety of his antagonist; of the man whom she hadpretended to love so passionately--even smiles of rapture were upon herface, though Dorriforth might be returned from putting him to death. This incongruity of behaviour Miss Woodley observed, and wasconfounded--but Dorriforth, in whose thoughts a suspicion either of herlove for him, or indifference for Lord Frederick, had no place, easilyreconciled this inconsistency, and said, "You see by my countenance that all is well, and therefore you smile onme before I tell you what has passed. " This brought her to the recollection of her conduct, and now with looksill constrained, she attempted the expression of an alarm she did notfeel. "Nay, I assure you Lord Frederick is safe, " he resumed, "and thedisgrace of his blow washed entirely away, by a few drops of blood fromthis arm. " And he laid his hand upon his left arm, which rested in hiswaistcoat as a kind of sling. She cast her eyes there, and seeing where the ball had entered the coatsleeve, she gave an involuntary scream, and sunk upon the sofa. Insteadof that affectionate sympathy which Miss Woodley used to exert upon herslightest illness or affliction, she now addressed her in an unpityingtone, and said, "Miss Milner, you have heard Lord Frederick is safe, youhave therefore nothing to alarm you. " Nor did she run to hold a smellingbottle, or to raise her head. Her guardian seeing her near fainting, andwithout any assistance from her friend, was going himself to give it;but on this, Miss Woodley interfered, and having taken her head upon herarm, assured him, "It was a weakness to which Miss Milner wasaccustomed: that she would ring for her maid, who knew how to relieveher instantly with a few drops. " Satisfied with this, Dorriforth leftthe room; and a surgeon being come to examine his wound, he retired intohis own chamber. CHAPTER XVI. The power delegated by the confidential to those entrusted with theirsecrets, Miss Woodley was the last person on earth to abuse--but she wasalso the last, who, by an accommodating complacency, would participatein the guilt of her friend--and there was no guilt, except that ofmurder, which she thought equal to the crime in question, if it was everperpetrated. Adultery, reason would perhaps have informed her, was amore pernicious evil to society; but to a religious mind, what sound isso horrible as _sacrilege?_ Of vows made to God or to man, the formermust weigh the heaviest. Moreover, the sin of infidelity in the marriedstate, is not a little softened to common understandings, by itsfrequency; whereas, of religious vows broken by a devotee she had neverheard; unless where the offence had been followed by such examples ofdivine vengeance, such miraculous punishments in this world, (as well aseternal punishment in the other) as served to exaggerate thewickedness. She, who could, and who did pardon Miss Milner, was the person who sawher passion in the severest light, and resolved upon every method, however harsh, to root it from her heart--nor did she fear success, resting on the certain assurance, that however deep her love might befixed, it would never be returned. Yet this confidence did not preventher taking every precaution, lest Dorriforth should come to theknowledge of it. She would not have his composed mind disturbed withsuch a thought--his steadfast principles so much as shaken by theimagination--nor overwhelm him with those self-reproaches which his fatalattraction, unpremeditated as it was, would still have drawn upon him. With this plan of concealment, in which the natural modesty of MissMilner acquiesced, there was but one effort for which this unhappy wardwas not prepared; and that was an entire separation from her guardian. She had, from the first, cherished her passion without the most remoteprospect of a return--she was prepared to see Dorriforth, without everseeing him more nearly connected to her than as her guardian and friend;but not to see him at all--for _that_, she was not prepared. But Miss Woodley reflected upon the inevitable necessity of this measurebefore she made the proposal; and then made it with a firmness thatmight have done honour to the inflexibility of Dorriforth himself. During the few days that intervened between her open confession of apassion for Lord Frederick and this proposed plan of separation, themost intricate incoherence appeared in the character of Miss Milner--andin order to evade a marriage with him, and conceal, at the same time, the shameful propensity which lurked in her breast, she was once even onthe point of declaring a passion for Sir Edward Ashton. In the duel which had taken place between Lord Frederick and Dorriforth, the latter had received the fire of his antagonist, but positivelyrefused to return it; by which he had kept his promise not to endangerhis Lordship's life, and had reconciled Sandford, in great measure, tohis behaviour--and Sandford now (his resolution once broken) no longerrefused entering Miss Milner's house, but came whenever it wasconvenient, though he yet avoided the mistress of it as much aspossible; or showed by every word and look, when she was present, thatshe was still less in his favour than she had ever been. He visited Dorriforth on the evening of his engagement with LordFrederick, and the next morning breakfasted with him in his own chamber;nor did Miss Milner see her guardian after his first return from thatengagement before the following noon. She enquired, however, of hisservant how he did, and was rejoiced to hear that his wound was butslight--yet this enquiry she durst not make before Miss Woodley. When Dorriforth made his appearance the next day, it was evident that hehad thrown from his heart a load of cares; and though they had left alanguor upon his face, content was in his voice, in his manners, inevery word and action. Far from seeming to retain any resentment againsthis ward, for the danger into which her imprudence had led him, heappeared rather to pity her indiscretion, and to wish to soothe theperturbation which the recollection of her own conduct had evidentlyraised in her mind. His endeavours were successful--she was soothed everytime he spoke to her; and had not the watchful eye of Miss Woodley stoodguard over her inclinations, she had plainly discovered, that she wasenraptured with the joy of seeing him again himself, after the danger towhich he had been exposed. These emotions, which she laboured to subdue, passed, however, thebounds of her ineffectual resistance, when at the time of retiring afterdinner, he said to her in a low voice, but such as it was meant thecompany should hear, "Do me the favour, Miss Milner, to call at my studysome time in the evening; I have to speak with you upon business. " She answered, "I will, Sir. " And her eyes swam with delight, inexpectation of the interview. Let not the reader, nevertheless, imagine, there was in that ardentexpectation, one idea which the most spotless mind, in love, might nothave indulged without reproach. Sincere love (at least among thedelicate of the female sex) is often gratified by that degree ofenjoyment, or rather forbearance, which would be torture in the pursuitof any other passion. Real, delicate, and restrained love, such as MissMilner's, was indulged in the sight of the object only; and havingbounded her wishes by her hopes, the height of her happiness was limitedto a conversation, in which no other but themselves took a part. Miss Woodley was one of those who heard the appointment, but the onlyone who conceived with what sensation it was received. While the ladies remained in the same room with Dorriforth, Miss Milnerthought of little, except of him. As soon as they withdrew into anotherapartment, she remembered Miss Woodley; and turning her head suddenly, saw her friend's face imprinted with suspicion and displeasure: this atfirst was painful to her--but recollecting that in a couple of hours shewas to meet her guardian alone--to speak to him, and hear him speak toher only--every other thought was absorbed in that one, and sheconsidered with indifference, the uneasiness, or the anger of herfriend. Miss Milner, to do justice to her heart, did not wish to beguileDorriforth into the snares of love: could any supernatural power haveendowed her with the means, and at the same time have shewn to her theills that must arise from such an effect of her charms, she hadassuredly virtue enough to have declined the conquest; but withoutenquiring what she proposed, she never saw him, without previouslyendeavouring to look more attractive, than she would have desired, before any other person. And now, without listening to the thousandexhortations that spoke in every feature of Miss Woodley, she flew to alooking-glass, to adjust her dress in a manner that she thought mostenchanting. Time stole away, and the time of going to her guardian arrived. In hispresence, unsupported by the presence of any other, every grace that shehad practised, every look that she had borrowed to set off her charms, were annihilated; and she became a native beauty, with the artlessarguments of reason only for her aid. Awed thus by his power, fromevery thing but what she really was, she never was perhaps half sobewitching, as in those timid, respectful, and embarrassed moments shepassed alone with him. He caught at those times her respect, herdiffidence, nay, even her embarrassment; and never would one word ofanger pass on either side. On the present occasion, he first expressed the high satisfaction thatshe had given him, by at length revealing to him the real state of hermind. "And when I take every thing into consideration, Miss Milner, " added he, "I rejoice that your sentiments happen to be such as you have owned. For, although my Lord Frederick is not the very man I could have wishedfor your perfect happiness; yet, in the state of human perfection andhuman happiness, you might have fixed your affections with perhaps lesspropriety; and still, where my unwillingness to thwart your inclinationsmight not have permitted me to contend with them. " Not a word of reply did this demand; or if it had, not a word could shehave given. "And now, Madam, the reason of my desire to speak with you--is, to knowthe means you think most proper to pursue, in order to acquaint LordFrederick, that notwithstanding this late repulse, there are hopes ofyour partiality in his favour. " "Defer the explanation, " she replied eagerly. "I beg your pardon--it cannot be. Besides, how can you indulge adisposition thus unpitying? Even so ardently did I desire to render theman who loves you happy, that though he came armed against my life, hadI not reflected, that previous to our engagement it would appear likefear, and the means of bartering for his forgiveness, I should haverevealed your sentiments the moment I had seen him. When the engagementwas over, I was too impatient to acquaint you with his safety, to thinkthen on gratifying him. And indeed, the delicacy of the declaration, after the many denials which you have no doubt given him, should beconsidered. I therefore consult your opinion upon the manner in which itshall be made. " "Mr. Dorriforth, can you allow nothing to the moments of surprise, andthat pity, which the fate impending inspired? and which might urge me toexpress myself of Lord Frederick, in a manner my cooler thoughts willnot warrant?" "There was nothing in your expressions, my dear Miss Milner, the leastequivocal--if you were off your guard when you pleaded for LordFrederick, as I believe you were, you said more sincerely what youthought; and no discreet, or rather indiscreet attempts to retract, canmake me change these sentiments. " "I am very sorry, " she replied, confused and trembling. "Why sorry? Come give me commission to reveal your partiality. I'll notbe too hard upon you--a hint from me will do. Hope is ever apt tointerpret the slightest words to its own use, and a lover's hope isbeyond all others, sanguine. " "I never gave Lord Frederick hope. " "But you never plunged him into despair. " "His pursuit intimates that I never have, but he has no other proof. " "However light and frivolous you have been upon frivolous subjects, yetI must own, Miss Milner, that I did expect when a case of thisimportance came seriously before you, you would have discovered a properstability in your behaviour. " "I do, Sir; and it was only when I was affected with a weakness, whicharose from accident, that I have betrayed inconsistency. " "You then assert again, that you have no affection for my LordFrederick?" "Not enough to become his wife. " "You are alarmed at marriage, and I do not wonder you should be so; itshews a prudent foresight which does you honour--but, my dear, are thereno dangers in a single state? If I may judge, Miss Milner, there aremany more to a young lady of your accomplishments, than if you wereunder the protection of a husband. " "My father, Mr. Dorriforth, thought your protection sufficient. " "But that protection was rather to direct your choice, than to be thecause of your not choosing at all. Give me leave to point out anobservation which, perhaps, I have too frequently made before, but uponthis occasion I must intrude it once again. Miss Fenton is itsobject--her fortune is inferior to your's, her personal attractions areless"---- Here the powerful glow of joy, and of gratitude, for an opinion sonegligently, and yet so sincerely expressed, flew to Miss Milner's face, neck, and even to her hands and fingers; the blood mounted to every partof her skin that was visible, for not a fibre but felt the secrettransport, that Dorriforth thought her more beautiful than the beautifulMiss Fenton. If he observed her blushes, he was unsuspicious of the cause, and wenton. "There is, besides, in the temper of Miss Fenton, a sedateness thatmight with less hazard ensure her safety in an unmarried life; and yetshe very properly thinks it her duty, as she does not mean to secludeherself by any vows to the contrary, to become a wife--and in obedienceto the counsel of her friends, will be married within a very few weeks. " "Miss Fenton may marry from obedience, I never will. " "You mean to say, that love shall alone induce you. " "I do. " "If you would point out a subject upon which I am the least able toreason, and on which my sentiments, such as they are, are formed onlyfrom theory, (and even there, more cautioned than instructed) it is thesubject of love. And yet, even that little which I know, tells me, without a doubt, that what you said yesterday, pleading for LordFrederick's life, was the result of the most violent and tender love. " "The _little you know_ then, Mr. Dorriforth, has deceived you; had you_known more_, you would have judged otherwise. " "I submit to the merit of your reply; but without allowing me a judge atall, I will appeal to those who were present with me. " "Are Mrs. Horton and Mr. Sandford to be the connoisseurs?" "No; I'll appeal to Miss Fenton and Miss Woodley. " "And yet, I believe, " replied she with a smile, "I believe theory mustonly be the judge even there. " "Then from all you have said, Madam, on this occasion, I am to concludethat you still refuse to marry Lord Frederick?" "You are. " "And you submit never to see him again?" "I do. " "All you then said to me, yesterday, was false?" "I was not mistress of myself at the time. " "Therefore it was truth!--for shame, for shame!" At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Sandford walked in--he startedback on seeing Miss Milner, and was going away; but Dorriforth called tohim to stay, and said with warmth, "Tell me, Mr. Sandford, by what power, by what persuasion, I can prevailupon Miss Milner to confide in me as her friend; to lay her heart open, and credit mine when I declare to her, that I have no view in all theadvice I give to her, but her immediate welfare. " "Mr. Dorriforth, you know my opinion of that lady, " replied Sandford;"it has been formed ever since my first acquaintance with her, and itcontinues the same. " "But instruct me how I am to inspire her with confidence, " returnedDorriforth; "how I am to impress her with a sense of that, which is forher advantage?" "You can work no miracles, " replied Sandford, "you are not holy enough. " "And yet my ward, " answered Dorriforth, "appears to be acquainted withthat mystery; for what but the force of a miracle can induce her tocontradict to-day, what before you, and several other witnesses, shepositively acknowledged yesterday?" "Do you call that miraculous?" cried Sandford; "the miracle had been ifshe had _not_ done so--for did she not yesterday contradict what sheacknowledged the day before? and will she not to-morrow disavow whatshe says to-day?" "I wish that she may--" replied Dorriforth mildly, for he saw the tearsflowing down her face at the rough and severe manner in which Sandfordhad spoken, and he began to feel for her uneasiness. "I beg pardon, " cried Sandford, "for speaking so rudely to the mistressof the house--I have no business here, I know; but where _you_ are, Mr. Dorriforth, unless I am turned out, I shall always think it my duty tocome. " Miss Milner curtsied, as much as to say, he was welcome to come. Hecontinued, "I was to blame, that upon a nice punctilio, I left you so long withoutmy visits, and without my counsel; in that time, you have run the hazardof being murdered, and what is worse, of being excommunicated; for hadyou been so rash as to have returned your opponent's fire, not all myinterest at Rome would have obtained remission of the punishment. " Miss Milner, through all her tears, could not now restrain her laughter. On which he resumed; "And here do I venture, like a missionary among savages--but if I canonly save you from their scalping knives--from the miseries which thatlady is preparing for you, I am rewarded. " Sandford spoke this with great fervour, and the offence of her lovenever appeared to her in so tremendous a point of view, as when thus, unknowingly, alluded to by him. "_The miseries that lady is preparing for you_, " hung upon her ears likethe notes of a raven, and sounded equally ominous. The words "_murder_"and "_excommunication_" he had likewise uttered; all the fatal effectsof sacrilegious love. Frightful superstitions struck her to the heart, and she could scarcely prevent falling down under their oppression. Dorriforth beheld the difficulty she had in sustaining herself, and withthe utmost tenderness went towards her, and supporting her, said, "I begyour pardon--I invited you hither with a far different intention thanyour uneasiness, and be assured----" Sandford was beginning to speak, when Dorriforth resumed, --"Hold, Mr. Sandford, the lady is under my protection, and I know not whether it isnot requisite that you should apologize to her, and to me, for what youhave already said. " "You asked my opinion, or I had not given it you--would you have me, like_her_, speak what I do not think?" "Say no more, Sir, " cried Dorriforth--and leading her kindly to the door, as if to defend her from his malice, told her, "He would take anotheropportunity of renewing the subject. " CHAPTER XVII. When Dorriforth was alone with Sandford, he explained to him what beforehe had only hinted; and this learned Jesuit frankly confessed, "That themind of woman was far above, or rather beneath, his comprehension. " Itwas so, indeed--for with all his penetration, and few even of that schoolhad more, he had not yet penetrated into the recesses of Miss Milner'sheart. Miss Woodley, to whom she repeated all that had passed between herself, her guardian, and Sandford, took this moment, in the agitation of herspirits, to alarm her still more by prophetic insinuations; and atlength represented to her here, for the first time, the necessity, "ThatMr. Dorriforth and she no longer should remain under the same roof. "This was like the stroke of sudden death to Miss Milner, and clinging tolife, she endeavoured to avert the blow by prayers, and by promises. Herfriend loved her too sincerely to be prevailed upon. "But in what manner can I accomplish the separation?" cried she, "fortill I marry we are obliged, by my father's request, to live in the samehouse. " "Miss Milner, " answered Miss Woodley, "much as I respect the will of adying man, I regard your and Mr. Dorriforth's present and eternalhappiness much more; and it is my resolution that you _shall part. _ If_you_ will not contrive the means, that duty falls on me, and withoutany invention I see the measure at once. " "What is it?" cried Miss Milner eagerly. "I will reveal to Mr. Dorriforth, without hesitation, the real state ofyour heart; which your present inconsistency of conduct will but tooreadily confirm. " "You would not plunge me into so much shame, into so much anguish!"cried she, distractedly. "No, " replied Miss Woodley, "not for the world, if you will separatefrom him by any mode of your own--but that you _shall_ separate is mydetermination; and in spite of all your sufferings, this shall be theexpedient, unless you instantly agree to some other. " "Good Heaven, Miss Woodley! is this your friendship?" "Yes--and the truest friendship I have to bestow. Think what a task Iundertake for your sake and his, when I condemn myself to explain to himyour weakness. What astonishment! what confusion! what remorse, do Iforesee painted upon his face! I hear him call you by the harshestnames, and behold him fly from your sight for ever, as an object of hisdetestation. " "Oh spare the dreadful picture. --Fly from my sight for ever! Detest myname! Oh! my dear Miss Woodley, let but his friendship for me stillremain, and I will consent to any thing. You may command me. I will goaway from him directly--but let us part in friendship--Oh! without thefriendship of Mr. Dorriforth, life would be a heavy burthen indeed. " Miss Woodley immediately began to contrive schemes for their separation;and, with all her invention alive on the subject, the following was theonly natural one that she could form. Miss Milner, in a letter to her distant relation at Bath, was tocomplain of the melancholy of a country life, which she was to say herguardian imposed upon her; and she was to entreat the lady to send apressing invitation that she would pass a month or two at her house;this invitation was to be laid before Dorriforth for his approbation, and the two ladies were to enforce it, by expressing their earnestwishes for his consent. This plan having been properly regulated, thenecessary letter was sent to Bath, and Miss Woodley waited withpatience, but with a watchful guard upon the conduct of her friend, tillthe answer should arrive. During this interim a tender and complaining epistle from Lord Frederickwas delivered to Miss Milner; to which, as he received no answer, heprevailed upon his uncle, with whom he resided, to wait upon her, andobtain a verbal reply; for he still flattered himself, that fear of herguardian's anger, or perhaps his interception of the letter which he hadsent, was the sole cause of her apparent indifference. The old gentleman was introduced both to Miss Milner and to Mr. Dorriforth, but received from each an answer so explicit, that left hisnephew no longer in doubt but that all farther pursuit was vain. Sir Edward Ashton about this time also submitted to a formal dismission;and had the mortification to reflect, that he was bestowing upon theobject of his affections, the tenderest proof of his regard, byabsenting himself entirely from her society. Upon this serious and certain conclusion to the hopes of Lord Frederick, Dorriforth was more astonished than ever at the conduct of his ward. Hehad once thought her behaviour in this respect was ambiguous, but sinceher confession of a passion for that nobleman, he had no doubt but inthe end she would become his wife. He lamented to find himself mistaken, and thought it proper now to condemn her caprice, not merely in words, but in the general tenor of his behaviour. He consequently became morereserved, and more austere than he had been since his first acquaintancewith her; for his manners, not from design, but imperceptibly tohimself, had been softened since he became her guardian, by that tenderrespect which he had uniformly paid to the object of his protection. Notwithstanding the severity he now assumed, his ward, in the prospectof parting from him, grew melancholy; Miss Woodley's love to her friendrendered her little otherwise; and Dorriforth's peculiar gravity, frequently rigour, could not but make their whole party less cheerfulthan it had been. Lord Elmwood too, at this time was lying dangerouslyill of a fever; Miss Fenton of course was as much in sorrow as hernature would permit her to be, and both Sandford and Dorriforth inextreme concern upon his Lordship's account. In this posture of affairs, the letter of invitation arrives from LadyLuneham at Bath; it was shewn to Dorriforth; and to prove to his wardthat he is so much offended, as no longer to feel that excessiveinterest in her concerns which he once felt, he gives an opinion on thesubject with indifference--he desires "Miss Milner will do what sheherself thinks proper. " Miss Woodley instantly accepts this permission, writes back, and appoints the day upon which her friend means to set offfor the visit. Miss Milner is wounded at the heart by the cold and unkind manners ofher guardian, but dares not take one step to retrieve his opinion. Alone, or to her friend, she sighs and weeps: he discovers her sorrow, and is doubtful whether the departure of Lord Frederick from that partof the country is not the cause. When the time she was to set out for Bath was only two days off, thebehaviour of Dorriforth took, by degrees, its usual form, if not agreater share of polite and tender attention than ever. It was the firsttime he had parted from Miss Milner since he became her guardian, and hefelt upon the occasion, a reluctance. He had been angry with her, he hadshewn her that he was, and he now began to wish that he had not. She isnot happy, (he considered within himself) every word and action declaresshe is not; I may have been too severe, and added perhaps to heruneasiness. "At least we will part on good terms, " said he--"Indeed, myregard for her is such, I cannot part otherwise. " She soon discerned his returning kindness, and it was a gentle tie thatwould have fastened her to that spot for ever, but for the firmresistance of Miss Woodley. "What will the absence of a few months effect?" said she, pleading herown cause; "At the end of a few months at farthest, he will expect meback, and where then will be the merit of this separation?" "In that time, " replied Miss Woodley, "we may find some method to makeit longer. " To this she listened with a kind of despair, but uttered, she "Was resigned, "--and she prepared for her departure. Dorriforth was all anxiety that every circumstance of her journey shouldbe commodious; he was eager she should be happy; and he was eager sheshould see that he entirely forgave her. He would have gone part of theway with her, but for the extreme illness of Lord Elmwood, in whosechamber he passed most of the day, and slept in Elmwood House everynight. On the morning of her journey, when Dorriforth gave his hand andconducted Miss Milner to the carriage, all the way he led her she couldnot restrain her tears; which increased, as he parted from her, toconvulsive sobs. He was affected by her grief; and though he hadpreviously bid her farewell, he drew her gently on one side, and said, with the tenderest concern, "My dear Miss Milner, we part friends?--I hope we do?--On my side, dependupon it, that I regret nothing so much at our separation, as having evergiven you a moment's pain. " "I believe so, " was all she could utter, for she hastened from him, lesthis discerning eye should discover the cause of the weakness which thusovercame her. But her apprehensions were groundless; the rectitude ofhis own heart was a bar to the suspicion of her's. He once more kindlybade her adieu, and the carriage drove away. Miss Fenton and Miss Woodley accompanied her part of the journey, aboutthirty miles, where they were met by Sir Harry and Lady Luneham. Herewas a parting nearly as affecting as that between her and her guardian. Miss Woodley, who for several weeks had treated her friend with arigidness she herself hardly supposed was in her nature, now bewailedthat she had done so; implored her forgiveness; promised to correspondwith her punctually, and to omit no opportunity of giving her everyconsolation short of cherishing her fatal passion--but in that, and thatonly, was the heart of Miss Milner to be consoled. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. A SIMPLE STORY, IN FOUR VOLUMES, BY MRS. INCHBALD. VOL. II. _THE FOURTH EDITION. _ LONDON: Printed for G. G. And J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1799. A SIMPLE STORY CHAPTER I. When Miss Milner arrived at Bath, she thought it the most altered placeshe had ever seen--she was mistaken--it was herself that was changed. The walks were melancholy, the company insipid, the ball-roomfatiguing--for, she had left behind all that could charm or please her. Though she found herself much less happy than when she was at Bathbefore, yet she felt, that she would not, even to enjoy all that pasthappiness, be again reduced to the being she was at that period. Thusdoes the lover consider the extinction of his passion with the samehorror as the libertine looks upon annihilation; the one would ratherlive hereafter, though in all the tortures described as constituting hisfuture state, than cease to exist; so, there are no tortures which alover would not suffer, rather than cease to love. In the wide prospect of sadness before her, Miss Milner's fancy caughthold of the only comfort which presented itself; and this, faint as itwas, in the total absence of every other, her imagination painted to heras excessive. The comfort was a letter from Miss Woodley--a letter, inwhich the subject of her love would most assuredly be mentioned, and inwhatever terms, it would still be the means of delight. A letter arrived--she devoured it with her eyes. The post mark denotingfrom whence it came, the name of "Milner Lodge" written on the top, wereall sources of pleasure--and she read slowly every line it contained, toprocrastinate the pleasing expectation she enjoyed, till she shouldarrive at the name of Dorriforth. At last, her impatient eye caught theword, three lines beyond the place she was reading--irresistibly, sheskipped over those lines, and fixed on the point to which she wasattracted. Miss Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; she made the slightestmention of Dorriforth; saying only, "He was extremely concerned, andeven dejected, at the little hope there was of his cousin, LordElmwood's, recovery. " Short and trivial as this passage was, it wasstill more important to Miss Milner than any other in the letter--sheread it again and again, considered, and reflected upon it. Dejected, thought she, what does that word exactly mean?--did I ever see Mr. Dorriforth dejected?--how, I wonder, does he look in that state? Thus didshe muse, while the cause of his dejection, though a most serious one, and pathetically described by Miss Woodley, scarce arrested herattention once. She ran over with haste the account of Lord Elmwood'sstate of health; she certainly pitied him while she thought of him, butshe did not think of him long. To die, was a hard fate for a youngnobleman just in possession of his immense fortune, and on the eve ofmarriage with a beautiful young woman; but Miss Milner thought that anabode in Heaven might be still better than all this, and she had nodoubt but his Lordship would go thither. The forlorn state of MissFenton ought to have been a subject for compassion, but she knew thatlady had resignation to bear any lot with patience, and that a trial ofher fortitude might be more flattering to her vanity than to be Countessof Elmwood: in a word, she saw no one's misfortunes equal to her own, because she saw no one so little able to bear misfortune. She replied to Miss Woodley's letter, and dwelt very long on thatsubject which her friend had passed over lightly; this was anotherindulgence; and this epistolary intercourse was now the only enjoymentshe possessed. From Bath she paid several visits with Lady Luneham--allwere alike tedious and melancholy. But her guardian wrote to her, and though it was on a topic of sorrow, the letter gave her joy--the sentiments it expressed were merelycommon-place, yet she valued them as the dearest effusions of friendshipand affection; and her hands trembled, and her heart beat with rapturewhile she wrote the answer, though she knew it would not be received byhim with one emotion like those which she experienced. In her secondletter to Miss Woodley, she prayed like a person insane to be taken homefrom confinement, and like a lunatic protested, in sensible language, she "Had no disorder. " But her friend replied, "That very declarationproves its violence. " And she assured her, nothing less than placing heraffections elsewhere, should induce her to believe but that she wasincurable. The third letter from Milner Lodge brought the news of Lord Elmwood'sdeath. Miss Woodley was exceedingly affected by this event, and saidlittle else on any other subject. Miss Milner was shocked when she readthe words "He is dead", and instantly thought, "How transient are all sublunary things! Within a few years _I_ shall bedead--and how happy will it then be, if I have resisted every temptationto the alluring pleasures of this life!" The happiness of a peacefuldeath occupied her contemplation for near an hour; but at length, everyvirtuous and pious sentiment this meditation inspired, served but toremind her of the many sentences she had heard from her guardian's lipsupon the same subject--her thoughts were again fixed on him, and shecould think of nothing besides. In a short time after this, her health became impaired from theindisposition of her mind; she languished, and was once in imminentdanger. During a slight delirium of her fever, Miss Woodley's name andher guardian's were incessantly repeated; Lady Luneham sent themimmediate word of this, and they both hastened to Bath, and arrivedthere just as the violence and danger of her disorder had ceased. Assoon as she became perfectly recollected, her first care, knowing thefrailty of her heart, was to enquire what she had uttered whiledelirious. Miss Woodley, who was by her bedside, begged her not to bealarmed on that account, and assured her she knew, from all herattendants, that she had only spoken with a friendly remembrance (as wasreally the case) of those persons who were dear to her. She wished to know whether her guardian was come to see her, but shehad not the courage to ask before her friend; and she in her turn wasafraid by the too sudden mention of his name, to discompose her. Hermaid, however, after some little time, entered the chamber, andwhispered Miss Woodley. Miss Milner asked inquisitively "What she said?" The maid replied softly, "Lord Elmwood, Madam, wishes to come and seeyou for a few moments, if you will allow him. " At this reply Miss Milner stared wildly. "I thought, " said she, "I thought Lord Elmwood had been dead--are mysenses disordered still?" "No, my dear, " answered Miss Woodley, "it is the present Lord Elmwoodwho wishes to see you; he whom you left ill when you came hither, _is_dead. " "And who is the present Lord Elmwood?" she asked. Miss Woodley, after a short hesitation, replied--"Your guardian. " "And so he is, " cried Miss Milner; "he is the next heir--I had forgot. But is it possible that he is here?" "Yes--" returned Miss Woodley with a grave voice and manner, to moderatethat glow of satisfaction which for a moment sparkled even in herlanguid eye, and blushed over her pallid countenance. "Yes--as he heardyou were ill, he thought it right to come and see you. " "He is very good, " she answered, and the tear started in her eyes. "Would you please to see his Lordship?" asked her maid. "Not yet, not yet, " she replied; "let me recollect myself first. " Andshe looked with a timid doubt upon her friend, to ask if it was proper. Miss Woodley could hardly support this humble reference to her judgment, from the wan face of the poor invalid, and taking her by the hand, whispered, "You shall do what you please. " In a few minutes Lord Elmwoodwas introduced. To those who sincerely love, every change of situation or circumstancesin the object beloved, appears an advantage. So, the acquisition of atitle and estate was, in Miss Milner's eye, an inestimable advantage toher guardian; not on account of their real value; but that any change, instead of diminishing her passion, would have served only to increaseit--even a change to the utmost poverty. When he entered--the sight of him seemed to be too much for her, andafter the first glance she turned her head away. The sound of his voiceencouraged her to look once more--and then she riveted her eyes upon him. "It is impossible, my dear Miss Milner, " he gently whispered, "to say, what joy I feel that your disorder has subsided. " But though it was impossible to say, it was possible to _look_ what hefelt, and his looks expressed his feelings. In the zeal of thosesensations, he laid hold of her hand, and held it between his--this hedid not himself know--but she did. "You have prayed for me, my Lord, I make no doubt?" said she, andsmiled, as if thanking him for those prayers. "Fervently, ardently!" returned he; and the fervency with which he hadprayed spoke in every feature. "But I am a protestant, you know, and if I had died such, do you believeI should have gone to Heaven?" "Most assuredly, that would not have prevented you. " "But Mr. Sandford does not think so. " "He must; for he means to go there himself. " To keep her guardian with her, Miss Milner seemed inclined to converse;but her solicitous friend gave Lord Elmwood a look, which implied thatit might be injurious to her, and he retired. They had only one more interview before he left the place; at which MissMilner was capable of sitting up--he was with her, however, but a veryshort time, some necessary concerns relative to his late kinsman'saffairs, calling him in haste to London. Miss Woodley continued with herfriend till she saw her entirely reinstated in her health: during whichtime her guardian was frequently the subject of their privateconversation; and upon those occasions Miss Milner has sometimes broughtMiss Woodley to acknowledge, "That could Mr. Dorriforth have possiblyforeseen the early death of the last Lord Elmwood, it had been more forthe honour of his religion (as that ancient title would now after himbecome extinct), if he had preferred marriage vows to those ofcelibacy. " CHAPTER II. When the time for Miss Woodley's departure arrived, Miss Milnerentreated earnestly to accompany her home, and made the most solemnpromises that she would guard not only her behaviour, but her verythoughts, within the limitation her friend should prescribe. MissWoodley at length yielded thus far, "That as soon as Lord Elmwood wasset out on his journey to Italy, where she had heard him say that heshould soon be obliged to go, she would no longer deny her the pleasureof returning; and if (after the long absence which must consequentlytake place between him and her) she could positively affirm thesuppression of her passion was the happy result, she would then take herword, and risk the danger of seeing them once more reside together. " This concession having been obtained, they parted; and as winter was nowfar advanced, Miss Woodley returned to her aunt's house in town, fromwhence Mrs. Horton was, however, preparing to remove, in order tosuperintend Lord Elmwood's house, (which had been occupied by the lateEarl, ) in Grosvenor Square; and her niece was to accompany her. If Lord Elmwood was not desirous Miss Milner should conclude her visitand return to his protection, it was partly from the multiplicity ofaffairs in which he was at this time engaged, and partly from having Mr. Sandford now entirely placed with him as his chaplain; for he dreaded, that living in the same house, their natural antipathy might beincreased even to aversion. Upon this account, he once thought ofadvising Mr. Sandford to take up his abode elsewhere; but the greatpleasure he took in his society, joined to the bitter mortification heknew such a proposal would be to his friend, would not suffer him tomake it. Miss Milner all this time was not thinking upon those she hated, but onthose she loved. Sandford never came into her thoughts, while the imageof Lord Elmwood never left them. One morning, as she sat talking to LadyLuneham on various subjects, but thinking alone on him, Sir HarryLuneham, with another gentleman, a Mr. Fleetmond, came in, and theconversation turned upon the improbability, during the present LordElmwood's youth, that he should ever inherit the title and estate whichhad now fallen to him--and, said Mr. Fleetmond, "Independent of rank andfortune, it must be matter of infinite joy to Mr. Dorriforth. " "No, " answered Sir Harry, "independent of rank and fortune, it must be amotive of concern to him; for he must now regret, beyond measure, hisfolly in taking priest's orders, thus depriving himself of the hopes ofan heir, so that his title, at his death, will be lost. " "By no means, " replied Mr. Fleetmond; "he may yet have an heir, for hewill certainly marry. " "Marry!" cried the Baronet. "Yes, " answered the other, "it was that I meant by the joy it mightprobably give him, beyond the possession of his estate and title. " "How he married?" said Lady Luneham, "Has he not taken a vow never tomarry?" "Yes, " answered Mr. Fleetmond, "but there are no _religious_ vows, fromwhich the sovereign Pontiff at Rome cannot grant a dispensation, asthose commandments which are made by the church, the church has alwaysthe power to revoke; and when it is for the general good of religion, his Holiness thinks it incumbent on him, to publish his bull, and remitall penalties for their non-observance; and certainly it is for thehonour of the Catholics, that this Earldom should continue in a Catholicfamily. In short, I'll venture to lay a wager, my Lord Elmwood ismarried within a year. " Miss Milner, who listened with attention, feared she was in a dream, ordeceived by the pretended knowledge of Mr. Fleetmond, who might knownothing--yet all that he had said was very probable; and he was himself aRoman Catholic, so that he must be well informed on the subject uponwhich he spoke. If she had heard the direst news that ever sounded inthe ears of the most susceptible of mortals, the agitation of her mindand person could not have been stronger--she felt, while every word wasspeaking, a chill through all her veins--a pleasure too exquisite, not tobear along with it the sensation of exquisite pain; of which she was sosensible, that for a few moments it made her wish that she had not heardthe intelligence; though, very soon after, she would not but have heardit for the world. As soon as she had recovered from her first astonishment and joy, shewrote to Miss Woodley an exact account of what she had heard, andreceived this answer: "I am sorry any body should have given you this piece of information, because it was a task, in executing which, I had promised myself extremesatisfaction--but from the fear that your health was not yet strongenough to support, without some danger, the burthen of hopes which Iknew would, upon this occasion, press upon you, I deferred mycommunication and it has been anticipated. Yet, as you seem in doubt asto the reality of what you have been told, perhaps this confirmation ofit may fall very little short of the first news; especially when it isenforced by my request, that you will come to us, as soon as you canwith propriety leave Lady Luneham. "Come, my dear Miss Milner, and find in your once rigid monitor afaithful confidante. I will no longer threaten to disclose a secret youhave trusted me with, but leave it to the wisdom, or sensibility of_his_ heart, (who is now to penetrate into the hearts of our sex, insearch of one that may beat in unison with his own) to find it out. I nolonger condemn, but congratulate you on your passion; and will assistyou with all my advice and my earnest wishes, that it may obtain areturn. " This letter was another of those excruciating pleasures, that almostreduced Miss Milner to the grave. Her appetite forsook her; and shevainly endeavoured, for several nights, to close her eyes. She thoughtso much upon the prospect of accomplishing her wishes, that she couldadmit no other idea; nor even invent one probable excuse for leavingLady Luneham before the appointed time, which was then at the distanceof two months. She wrote to Miss Woodley to beg her contrivance, toreproach her for keeping the secret so long from her, and to thank herfor having revealed it in so kind a manner at last. She begged also tobe acquainted how Mr. Dorriforth (for still she called him by that name)spoke and thought of this sudden change in his destiny. Miss Woodley's reply was a summons for her to town upon some pretendedbusiness, which she avoided explaining, but which entirely silenced LadyLuneham's entreaties for her stay. To her question concerning Lord Elmwood she answered, "It is a subjecton which he seldom speaks--he appears just the same he ever did, norcould you by any part of his conduct, conceive that any such change hadtaken place. " Miss Milner exclaimed to herself, "I am glad he is notaltered--if his words, looks, or manners, were any thing different fromwhat they formerly were, I should not like him so well. " And just thereverse would have been the case, had Miss Woodley sent her word he waschanged. The day for her leaving Bath was fixed; she expected it withrapture, but before its arrival, sunk under the care of expectation; andwhen it came, was so much indisposed, as to be obliged to defer herjourney for a week. At length she found herself in London--in the house of her guardian--andthat guardian no longer bound to a single life, but _enjoined_ to marry. He appeared in her eyes, as in Miss Woodley's, the same as ever; orperhaps more endearing than ever, as it was the first time she hadbeheld him with hope. Mr. Sandford did _not_ appear the same; yet he wasin reality as surly and as disrespectful in his behaviour to her asusual; but she did not observe, or she did not feel his morose temper asheretofore--he seemed amiable, mild, and gentle; at least this was thehappy medium through which her self-complacent mind began to see him;for good humour, like the jaundice, makes every one of its owncomplexion. CHAPTER III. Lord Elmwood was preparing to go abroad, for the purpose of receiving inform, the dispensation from his vows; it was, however, a subject heseemed carefully to avoid speaking upon; and when by any accident he wasobliged to mention it, it was without any marks either of satisfactionor concern. Miss Milner's pride began to be alarmed. While he was Mr. Dorriforth, and confined to a single life, his indifference to her charms was ratheran honourable than a reproachful trait in his character, and in reality, she admired him for the insensibility. But on the eve of being atliberty, and on the eve of making his choice, she was offended _that_choice was not immediately fixed upon her. She had been accustomed toreceive the devotion of every man who saw her, and not to obtain it ofthe man from whom, of all others, she most wished it, was cruellyhumiliating. She complained to Miss Woodley, who advised her to havepatience; but that was one of the virtues in which she was the leastpractised. Encouraged, nevertheless, by her friend in the commendable desire ofgaining the affections of him, who possessed all her own, she, however, left no means unattempted for the conquest--but she began with too greata certainty of success, not to be sensible of the deepest mortificationin the disappointment--nay, she anticipated a disappointment, as she hadbefore anticipated her success; by turns feeling the keenest emotionsfrom hope and from despair. As these passions alternately governed her, she was alternately inspirits or dejected; in good or in ill humour; and the vicissitudes ofher prospect at length gave to her behaviour an air of caprice, whichnot all her follies had till now produced. This was not the way tosecure the affections of Lord Elmwood; she knew it was not; and beforehim she was under some restriction. Sandford observed this, and withoutreserve, added to the list of her other failings, hypocrisy. It wasplain to see that Mr. Sandford esteemed her less and less every day; andas he was the person who most influenced the opinion of her guardian, he became to her, very soon, an object not merely of dislike, but ofabhorrence. These mutual sentiments were discoverable in every word and action, while they were in each other's company; but still in his absence, MissMilner's good nature, and total freedom from malice, never suffered herto utter a sentence injurious to his interest. Sandford's charity didnot extend thus far; and speaking of her with severity one evening whileshe was at the opera, "His meaning, " as he said, "but to caution herguardian against her faults, " Lord Elmwood replied, "There is one fault, however, Mr. Sandford, I cannot lay to her charge. " "And what is that, my Lord?" cried Sandford, eagerly, "What is that onefault, which Miss Milner has not?" "I never, " replied Lord Elmwood, "heard Miss Milner, in your absence, utter a syllable to your disadvantage. " "She dares not, my Lord, because she is in fear of you and she knows youwould not suffer it. " "She then, " answered his Lordship, "pays me a much higher complimentthan you do; for you freely censure _her_, and yet imagine I _will_suffer it. " "My Lord, " replied Sandford, "I am undeceived now, and shall never takethat liberty again. " As Lord Elmwood always treated Sandford with the utmost respect, hebegan to fear he had been deficient upon this occasion; and thedisposition which had induced him to take his ward's part, was likely, in the end, to prove unfavourable to her; for perceiving Sandford wasoffended at what had passed, as the only means of retribution, he beganhimself to lament her volatile and captious propensities; in whichlamentation, Sandford, now forgetting his affront, joined with theheartiest concurrence, adding, "You, Sir, having now other cares to employ your thoughts, ought toinsist upon her marrying, or retiring into the country. " She returned home just as this conversation was finished, and Sandford, the moment she entered, rang for his candle to retire. Miss Woodley, who had been at the opera with Miss Milner, cried, "Bless me, Mr. Sandford, are you not well, you are going to leave us soearly?" He replied, "No, I have a pain in my head. " Miss Milner, who never listened to complaints without sympathy, roseimmediately from her seat, saying, "I think I never heard you, Mr. Sandford, complain of indispositionbefore. Will you accept of my specific for the head-ache? Indeed it is acertain relief--I'll fetch it instantly. " She went hastily out of the room, and returned with a bottle, which, sheassured him, "Was a present from Lady Luneham, and would certainly curehim. " And she pressed it upon him with such an anxious earnestness, thatwith all his churlishness he could not refuse taking it. This was but a common-place civility, such as is paid by one enemy toanother every day; but the _manner_ was the material part. Theunaffected concern, the attention, the good will, she demonstrated inthis little incident, was that which made it remarkable, and immediatelytook from Lord Elmwood the displeasure to which he had been just beforeprovoked, or rather transformed it into a degree of admiration. EvenSandford was not insensible to her behaviour, and in return, when heleft the room, "Wished her a good night. " To her and Miss Woodley, who had not been witnesses of the precedingconversation, what she had done appeared of no merit; but to the mind ofLord Elmwood, the merit was infinite; and upon the departure ofSandford, he began to be unusually cheerful. He first pleasantlyreproached the ladies for not offering him a place in their box at theopera. "Would you have gone, my Lord?" asked Miss Milner, highly delighted. "Certainly, " returned he, "had you invited me. " "Then from this day I give you a general invitation; nor shall any othercompany be admitted but those whom you approve. " "I am very much obliged to you, " said he. "And you, " continued she, "who have been accustomed only tochurch-music, will be more than any one, enchanted with hearing thesofter music of love. " "What ravishing pleasures you are preparing for me!" returned he--"I knownot whether my weak senses will be able to support them!" She had her eyes upon him when he spoke this, and she discovered in his, that were fixed upon her, a sensibility unexpected--a kind of fascinationwhich enticed her to look on, while her eyelids fell involuntarilybefore its mighty force, and a thousand blushes crowded over her face. He was struck with these sudden signals; hastily recalled his formercountenance, and stopped the conversation. Miss Woodley, who had been a silent observer for some time, now thoughta word or two from her would be acceptable rather than troublesome. "And pray, my Lord, " said she, "when do you go to France?" "To Italy you mean;--I shall not go at all, " said he. "My superiors arevery indulgent, for they dispense with all my duties. I ought, and Imeant, to have gone abroad; but as a variety of concerns require mypresence in England, every necessary ceremony has taken place here. " "Then your Lordship is no longer in orders?" said Miss Woodley. "No; they have been resigned these five days. " "My Lord, I give you joy, " said Miss Milner. He thanked her, but added with a sigh, "If I have given up content insearch of joy, I shall perhaps be a loser by the venture. " Soon afterthis, he wished them a good night, and retired. Happy as Miss Milner found herself in his company, she saw him leave theroom with infinite satisfaction, because her heart was impatient to givea loose to its hopes on the bosom of Miss Woodley. She bade Mrs. Hortonimmediately good night; and, in her friend's apartment, gave way to allthe language of passion, warmed with the confidence of meeting itsreturn. She described the sentiments she had read in Lord Elmwood'slooks; and though Miss Woodley had beheld them too, Miss Milner's fancyheightened the expression of every glance, till her construction became, by degrees, so extremely favourable to her own wishes, that had not herfriend been present, and known in what measure to estimate thosesymptoms, she must infallibly have thought, by the joy to which theygave birth, that he had openly avowed a passion for her. Miss Woodley, therefore, thought it her duty to allay these ecstasies, and represented to her, she might be deceived in her hopes--or evensupposing his wishes inclined towards her, there were yet greatobstacles between them. --"Would not Sandford, who directed his everythought and purpose, be consulted upon this? and if he was, upon what, but the most romantic affection on the part of Lord Elmwood, had MissMilner to depend? and his Lordship was not a man to be suspected ofsubmitting to the excess of any passion. " Thus did Miss Woodley argue, lest her friend should be misled by her wishes; yet, in her own mind, she scarce harboured a doubt that any thing would thwart them. Thesucceeding circumstance proved she was mistaken. Another gentleman of family and fortune made overtures to Miss Milner;and her guardian, so far from having his thoughts inclined towards heron his own account, pleaded this lover's cause even with more zeal thanhe had pleaded for Sir Edward and Lord Frederick; thus at oncedestroying all those plans of happiness which poor Miss Milner hadformed. In consequence, her melancholy humour was now predominant; she confinedherself at home, and yet, by her own order, was denied to all hervisitors. Whether this arose from pure melancholy, or the stilllingering hope of making her conquest, by that sedateness of mannerswhich she knew her guardian admired, she herself perhaps did notperfectly know. Be that as it may, Lord Elmwood could not but observethis change, and one morning thought fit to mention, and to applaud it. Miss Woodley and she were at work together when he came into the room;and after sitting several minutes, and talking upon indifferentsubjects, to which his ward replied with a dejection in her voice andmanner--he said, "Perhaps I am wrong, Miss Milner, but I have observed that you arelately more thoughtful than usual. " She blushed, as she always did when the subject was herself. Hecontinued, "Your health appears perfectly restored, and yet I haveobserved you take no delight in your former amusements. " "Are you sorry for that, my Lord?" "No, I am extremely glad; and I was going to congratulate you upon thechange. But give me leave to enquire, to what lucky accident we mayattribute this alteration?" "Your Lordship then thinks all my commendable deeds arise from accident, and that I have no virtues of my own. " "Pardon me, I think you have many. " This he spoke emphatically; and herblushes increased. He resumed--"How can I doubt of a lady's virtues, when her countenancegives me such evident proofs of them? Believe me, Miss Milner, that inthe midst of your gayest follies, while you thus continue to blush, Ishall reverence your internal sensations. " "Oh! my Lord, did you know some of them, I am afraid you would thinkthem unpardonable. " This was so much to the purpose, that Miss Woodley found herselfalarmed--but without reason--Miss Milner loved too sincerely to reveal itto the object. He answered, "And did you know some of mine, you might think them _equally_unpardonable. " She turned pale, and could no longer guide her needle--in the fondtransport of her heart she imagined that his love for her, was among thesensations to which he alluded. She was too much embarrassed to reply, and he continued, "We have all much to pardon in one another: and I know not whether theofficious person who forces, even his good advice, is not as blameableas the obstinate one, who will not listen to it. And now, having made apreface to excuse you, should you once more refuse mine, I shall ventureto give it. " "My Lord, I have never yet refused to follow your advice, but where myown peace of mind was so nearly concerned, as to have made me culpable, had I complied. " "Well, Madam, I submit to your determinations; and shall never againoppose your inclination to remain single. " This sentence, as it excluded the idea of soliciting for himself, gaveher the utmost pain; and her eye glanced at him, full of reproach. Hedid not observe it, but went on. "While you continue unmarried, it seems to have been your father'sintention that you should continue under my immediate care; but as Imean for the future to reside chiefly in the country--answer me candidly, do you think you could be happy there, for at least three parts of theyear?" After a short hesitation, she replied, "I have no objection. " "I am glad to hear it, " he returned eagerly, "for it is my earnestdesire to have you with me--your welfare is dear to me as my own; andwere we apart, continual apprehensions would prey upon my mind. " The tear started in her eye, at the earnestness that accompanied thesewords; he saw it, and to soften her still more with the sense of hisesteem for her, he increased his earnestness while he said, "If you will take the resolution to quit London for the time I mention, there shall be no means omitted to make the country all you can wish--Ishall insist upon Miss Woodley's company for both our sakes; and it willnot only be _my_ study to form such a society as you may approve, but Iam certain it will be likewise the study of Lady Elmwood----" He was going on, but as if a poniard had thrust her to the heart, shewrithed under this unexpected stroke. He saw her countenance change--he looked at her steadfastly. It was not a common change from joy to sorrow, from content touneasiness, which Miss Milner discovered--she felt, and she expressedanguish--Lord Elmwood was alarmed and shocked. She did not weep, but shecalled Miss Woodley to come to her, with a voice that indicated a degreeof agony. "My Lord, " (cried Miss Woodley, seeing his consternation and tremblinglest he should guess the secret, ) "My Lord, Miss Milner has againdeceived you--you must not take her from London--it is that, and thatalone, which is the cause of her uneasiness. " He seemed more amazed still--and still more shocked at her duplicity thanat her torture. "Good Heaven!" exclaimed he, "How am I to accomplish herwishes? What am I to do? How can I judge, if she will not confide in me, but thus for ever deceive me?" She leaned, pale as death, on the shoulder of Miss Woodley, her eyefixed with apparent insensibility to all that was said, while hecontinued, "Heaven is my witness, if I knew--If I could conceive the means how tomake her happy, I would sacrifice my own happiness to hers. " "My Lord, " said Miss Woodley with a smile, "perhaps I may call upon youhereafter to fulfil your word. " He was totally ignorant what she meant, nor had he leisure, from theconfusion of his thoughts, to reflect upon her meaning; he neverthelessreplied, with warmth, "Do. You shall find I'll perform it. --Do. I willfaithfully perform it. " Though Miss Milner was conscious this declaration could not, indelicacy, be ever adduced against him; yet the fervent and solemn mannerin which he made it, cheered her spirits; and as persons enjoy thereflection of having in their possession some valuable gem, though theyare determined never to use it, so she upon this, was comforted and grewbetter. She now lifted up her head, and leaned it on her hand, as shesat by the side of a table--still she did not speak, but seemed overcomewith sorrow. As her situation became, however, less alarming, herguardian's pity and affright began to take the colour of resentment; andthough he did not say so, he was, and looked, highly offended. At this juncture Mr. Sandford entered. On beholding the present party, it required not his sagacity to see at the first view, that they wereall uneasy; but instead of the sympathy this might have excited in somedispositions, Mr. Sandford, after casting a look at each of them, appeared in high spirits. "You seem unhappy, my Lord, " said he, with a smile. "You do _not_--Mr. Sandford, " Lord Elmwood replied. "No, my Lord, nor would I, were I in your situation. What should make aman of sense out of temper but a worthy object!" And he looked at MissMilner. "There are no objects unworthy our care:" replied Lord Elmwood. "But there are objects on whom all care is fruitless, your Lordship willallow. " "I never yet despaired of any one, Mr. Sandford. " "And yet there are persons, of whom it is presumption to entertainhopes. " And he looked again at Miss Milner. "Does your head ache, Miss Milner?" asked her friend, seeing her hold itwith her hand. "Very much, " returned she. "Mr. Sandford, " said Miss Woodley, "did you use all those drops MissMilner gave you for a pain in the head?" "Yes:" answered he, "I did. " But the question at that moment somewhatembarrassed him. "And I hope you found benefit from them:" said Miss Milner, with greatkindness, as she rose from her seat, and walked slowly out of the room. Though Miss Woodley followed her, so that Mr. Sandford was left alonewith Lord Elmwood, and might have continued his unkind insinuationswithout one restraint, yet his lips were closed for the present. Helooked down on the carpet--twitched himself upon his chair--and began totalk of the weather. CHAPTER IV. When the first transports of despair were past, Miss Milner sufferedherself to be once more in hope. She found there were no other means tosupport her life; and to her comfort, her friend was much less severe onthe present occasion than she expected. No engagement between mortalswas, in Miss Woodley's opinion, binding like that entered into withheaven; and whatever vows Lord Elmwood had possibly made to another, shejustly supposed that no woman's love for him equalled Miss Milner's--itwas prior to all others too; that established her claim to contend atleast for success; and in a contention, what rival would not fall beforeher? It was not difficult to guess who this rival was; or if they were alittle time in suspence, Miss Woodley soon arrived at the certainty, byinquiring of Mr. Sandford; who, unsuspecting why she asked, readilyinformed her the intended Lady Elmwood was no other than Miss Fenton;and that their marriage would be solemnized as soon as the mourning forthe late Lord Elmwood was over. This last intelligence made Miss Woodleyshudder--she repeated it, however, to Miss Milner, word for word. "Happy! happy woman!" exclaimed Miss Milner of Miss Fenton; "she hasreceived the first fond impulse of his heart, and has had thetranscendent happiness of teaching him to love!" "By no means, " returned Miss Woodley, finding no other suggestion likelyto comfort her; "do not suppose that his marriage is the result oflove--it is no more than a duty, a necessary arrangement, and this youmay plainly see by the wife on whom he has fixed. Miss Fenton wasthought a proper match for his cousin, and that same propriety hastransferred her to him. " It was easy to convince Miss Milner that all her friend said was truth, for she wished it so. "And oh!" she exclaimed, "could I but stimulatepassion, against the cold influence of propriety;--Do you think, my dearMiss Woodley, " (and she looked with such begging eyes, it was impossiblenot to answer as she wished, ) "do you think it would be unjust to MissFenton, were I to inspire her destined husband with a passion which shemay not have inspired, and which I believe _she_ cannot feel?" Miss Woodley paused a minute, and then answered, "No:"--but there was ahesitation in her manner of delivery--she _did_ say, "No:" but she lookedas if she was afraid she ought to have said "Yes. " Miss Milner, however, did not give her time to recall the word, or to alter its meaning byadding others to it, but ran on eagerly, and declared, "As that was heropinion, she would abide by it, and do all she could to supplant herrival. " In order, nevertheless, to justify this determination, andsatisfy the conscience of Miss Woodley, they both concluded that MissFenton's heart was not engaged in the intended marriage, andconsequently that she was indifferent whether it ever took place or not. Since the death of the late Earl, she had not been in town; nor had thepresent Earl been near the place where she resided, since the week inwhich her lover died; of course, nothing similar to love could have beendeclared at so early a period; and if it had been made known at a later, it must only have been by letter, or by the deputation of Mr. Sandford, who they knew had been once in the country to visit her; but how littlehe was qualified to enforce a tender passion, was a comfortablereflection. Revived by these conjectures, of which some were true, and others false;the very next day a gloom overspread their bright prospects, on Mr. Sandford's saying, as he entered the breakfast-room, "Miss Fenton, ladies, desired me to present her compliments. " "Is she in town?" asked Mrs. Horton. "She came yesterday morning, " returned Sandford, "and is at herbrother's, in Ormond-street; my Lord and I supped there last night, andthat made us so late home. " Lord Elmwood entered soon after, and bowing to his ward, confirmed whathad been said, by telling her, that "Miss Fenton had charged him withher kindest respects. " "How does poor Miss Fenton look?" Mrs. Horton asked Lord Elmwood. To which question Sandford replied, "Beautiful--she looks beautifully. " "She has got over her uneasiness, I suppose then?" said Mrs. Horton--notdreaming that she was asking the questions before her new lover. "Uneasy!" replied Sandford, "uneasy at any trial this world can send?That would be highly unworthy of her. " "But sometimes women do fret at such things:" replied Mrs. Horton, innocently. Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner--"If she meant to ride, this delightfulday?" While she was hesitating-- "There are different kinds of women, " (said Sandford, directing hisdiscourse to Mrs. Horton;) "there is as much difference between somewomen, as between good and evil spirits. " Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner again--If she took an airing? She replied, "No. " "And beauty, " continued Sandford, "when endowed upon spirits that areevil, is a mark of their greater, their more extreme wickedness. Luciferwas the most beautiful of all the angels in Paradise"-- "How do you know?" said Miss Milner. "But the beauty of Lucifer, " (continued Sandford, in perfect neglect andcontempt of her question, ) "was an aggravation of his guilt; because itshewed a double share of ingratitude to the Divine Creator of thatbeauty. " "Now you talk of angels, " said Miss Milner, "I wish I had wings; and Ishould like to fly through the park this morning. " "You would be taken for an angel in good earnest, " said Lord Elmwood. Sandford was angry at this little compliment, and cried, "I should thinkthe serpent's skin would be much more characteristic. " "My Lord, " cried she, "does not Mr. Sandford use me ill?" Vext withother things, she felt herself extremely hurt at this, and made theappeal almost in tears. "Indeed, I think he does. " And he looked at Sandford as if he wasdispleased. This was a triumph so agreeable to her, that she immediately pardonedthe offence; but the offender did not so easily pardon her. "Good morning, ladies, " said Lord Elmwood, rising to go away. "My Lord, " said Miss Woodley, "you promised Miss Milner to accompany herone evening to the opera; this is opera night. " "Will you go, my Lord?" asked Miss Milner, in a voice so soft, that heseemed as if he wished, but could not resist it. "I am to dine at Mr. Fenton's to-day, " he replied; "and if he and hissister will go, and you will allow them part of your box, I will promiseto come. " This was a condition by no means acceptable to her; but as she felt adesire to see him in company of his intended bride, (for she fancied shecould perceive his secret sentiments, could she once see them together)she answered not ungraciously, "Yes, my compliments to Mr. And MissFenton, and I hope they will favour me with their company. " "Then, Madam, if they come, you may expect me--else not. " He bowed andleft the room. All the day was passed in anxious expectation by Miss Milner, what wouldbe the event of the evening: for upon her penetration that evening allher future prospects she thought depended. If she saw by his looks, byhis words, or assiduities, that he loved Miss Fenton, she flatteredherself she would never think of him again with hope; but if sheobserved him treat her with inattention or indifference, she wouldcherish, from that moment, the fondest expectations. Against that shortevening her toilet was consulted the whole day: the alternate hope andfear which fluttered in her heart, gave a more than usual brilliancy toher eyes, and more than usual bloom to her complection. But vain was herbeauty; vain all her care to decorate that beauty; vain her many looksto her box-door in hopes to see it open--Lord Elmwood never came. The music was discord--every thing she saw was disgusting--in a word, shewas miserable. She longed impatiently for the curtain to drop, because she was uneasywhere she was--yet she asked herself, "Shall I be less unhappy at home?Yes; at home I shall see Lord Elmwood, and that will be happiness. Buthe will behold me with neglect, and that will be misery! Ungrateful man!I will no longer think of him. " Yet could she have thought of him, without joining in the same idea Miss Fenton, her anguish had beensupportable; but while she painted them as lovers, the tortures of therack are but a few degrees more painful than those which she endured. There are but few persons who ever felt the real passion of jealousy, because few have felt the real passion of love; but with those who haveexperienced them both, jealousy not only affects the mind, but everyfibre of their frame; and Miss Milner's every limb felt agonizingtorment, when Miss Fenton, courted and beloved by Lord Elmwood, waspresent to her imagination. The moment the opera was finished, she flew hastily down stairs, as ifto fly from the sufferings she experienced. She did not go into thecoffee-room, though repeatedly urged by Miss Woodley, but waited at thedoor till her carriage drew up. Piqued--heart-broken--full of resentment against the object of heruneasiness, and inattentive to all that passed, a hand gently touchedher own; and the most humble and insinuating voice said, "Will youpermit me to lead you to your carriage?" She was awakened from herrevery, and found Lord Frederick Lawnly by her side. Her heart, justthen melting with tenderness to another, was perhaps more accessiblethan heretofore; or bursting with resentment, thought this the moment toretaliate. Whatever passion reigned that instant, it was favourable tothe desires of Lord Frederick, and she looked as if she was glad to seehim: he beheld this with the rapture and the humility of a lover; andthough she did not feel the least particle of love in return, she feltgratitude in proportion to the insensibility with which she had beentreated by her guardian; and Lord Frederick's supposition was not veryerroneous, if he mistook this gratitude for a latent spark of affection. The mistake, however, did not force from him his respect: he handed herto her carriage, bowed low, and disappeared. Miss Woodley wished todivert her thoughts from the object which could only make her wretched, and as they rode home, by many encomiums upon Lord Frederick, endeavoured to incite her to a regard for him; Miss Milner wasdispleased at the attempt, and exclaimed, "What! love a rake, a man of professed gallantry? impossible. To me, acommon rake is as odious as a common prostitute is to a man of thenicest feelings. Where can be the joy, the pride, of inspiring a passionwhich fifty others can equally inspire?" "Strange, " cried Miss Woodley, "that you, who possess so many folliesincident to your sex, should, in the disposal of your heart, havesentiments so contrary to women in general. " "My dear Miss Woodley, " returned she, "put in competition the languidaddresses of a libertine, with the animated affection of a sober man, and judge which has the dominion? Oh! in my calendar of love, a solemnLord Chief Justice, or a devout archbishop, ranks before a licentiousking. " Miss Woodley smiled at an opinion which she knew half her sex wouldridicule; but by the air of sincerity with which it was delivered, shewas convinced her recent behaviour to Lord Frederick was but the mereeffect of chance. Lord Elmwood's carriage drove to his door just at the time her's did;Mr. Sandford was with him, and they were both come from passing theevening at Mr. Fenton's. "So, my Lord, " said Miss Woodley, as soon as they met in the apartment, "you did not come to us?" "No, " answered he, "I was sorry; but I hope you did not expect me. " "Not expect you, my Lord?" cried Miss Milner; "Did not you say that youwould come?" "If I had, I certainly should have come, " returned he, "but I only saidso conditionally. " "That I am a witness to, " cried Sandford, "for I was present at thetime, and he said it should depend upon Miss Fenton. " "And she, with her gloomy disposition, " said Miss Milner, "chose to sitat home. " "Gloomy disposition!" repeated Sandford: "She has a great share ofsprightliness--and I think I never saw her in better spirits than she wasthis evening, my Lord. " Lord Elmwood did not speak. "Bless me, Mr. Sandford, " cried Miss Milner, "I meant no reflectionupon Miss Fenton's disposition; I only meant to censure her taste forstaying at home. " "I think, " replied Mr. Sandford, "a much heavier censure should bepassed upon those who prefer rambling abroad. " "But I hope, ladies, my not coming, " said Lord Elmwood, "was noinconvenience to you; for you had still, I see, a gentleman with you. " "Oh! yes, two gentlemen:" answered the son of Lady Evans, a lad fromschool, whom Miss Milner had taken along with her. "What two?" asked Lord Elmwood. Neither Miss Milner nor Miss Woodley answered. "You know, Madam, " said young Evans, "that handsome gentleman who handedyou into your carriage, and you called my Lord. " "Oh! he means Lord Frederick Lawnly:" said Miss Milner carelessly, but ablush of shame spread over her face. "And did he hand you into your coach?" asked Lord Elmwood earnestly. "By mere accident, my Lord, " Miss Woodley replied, "for the crowd was sogreat----" "I think, my Lord, " said Sandford, "it was very lucky that you were_not_ there. " "Had Lord Elmwood been with us, we should not have had occasion for theassistance of any other, " said Miss Milner. "Lord Elmwood has been with you, Madam, " returned Sandford, "veryfrequently, and yet--" "Mr. Sandford, " said Lord Elmwood, interrupting him, "it is nearbed-time, your conversation keeps the ladies from retiring. " "Your Lordship's does not, " said Miss Milner, "for you say nothing. " "Because, Madam, I am afraid to offend. " "But do not you also hope to please? and without risking the one, it isimpossible to arrive at the other. " "I think, at present, the risk would be too hazardous, and so I wish youa good night. " And he went out of the room somewhat abruptly. "Lord Elmwood, " said Miss Milner, "is very grave--he does not look like aman who has been passing the evening with the woman he loves. " "Perhaps he is melancholy at parting from her, " said Miss Woodley. "More likely offended, " said Sandford, "at the manner in which that ladyhas spoken of her. " "Who, I? I protest I said nothing----" "Nothing! Did not you say that she was gloomy?" "Nothing but what I thought--I was going to add, Mr. Sandford. " "When you think unjustly, you should not express your thoughts. " "Then, perhaps, I should never speak. " "And it were better you did not, if what you say is to give pain. Do youknow, Madam, that my Lord is going to be married to Miss Fenton?" "Yes, " answered Miss Milner. "Do you know that he loves her?" "No, " answered Miss Milner. "How! do you suppose he does not?" "I suppose that he does, yet I don't know it. " "Then if you suppose that he does, how can you have the imprudence tofind fault with her before him?" "I did not. To call her gloomy, was, I knew, to commend her both to himand to you, who admire such tempers. " "Whatever her temper is, _every one_ admires it; and so far from itsbeing what you have described, she has great vivacity; vivacity whichcomes from the heart. " "No, if it _came_ from thence, I should admire it too; but, if she hasany, it rests there, and no one is the better for it. " "Pshaw!" said Miss Woodley, "it is time for us to retire; you and Mr. Sandford must finish your dispute in the morning. " "Dispute, Madam!" said Sandford, "I never disputed with any one beneatha doctor of divinity in my life. I was only cautioning your friend notto make light of those virtues which it would do her honour to possess. Miss Fenton is a most amiable young woman, and worthy of just such ahusband as my Lord Elmwood will make her. " "I am sure, " said Miss Woodley, "Miss Milner thinks so--she has a highopinion of Miss Fenton--she was at present only jesting. " "But, Madam, a jest is a very pernicious thing, when delivered with amalignant sneer. I have known a jest destroy a lady's reputation--I haveknown a jest give one person a distaste for another--I have known a jestbreak off a marriage. " "But I suppose there is no apprehension of that in the present case?"said Miss Woodley--wishing he might answer in the affirmative. "Not that I can foresee. No, Heaven forbid, " he replied, "for I lookupon them to be formed for each other--their dispositions, theirpursuits, their inclinations the same. Their passions for each otherjust the same--pure--white as snow. " "And I dare say, not warmer, " replied Miss Milner. He looked provoked beyond measure. "My dear, " cried Miss Woodley, "how can you talk thus? I believe in myheart you are only envious, because my Lord Elmwood has not offeredhimself to you. " "To her!" said Sandford, affecting an air of the utmost surprise; "toher! Do you think he received a dispensation from his vows, to becomethe husband of a coquette--a----. "--He was going on. "Nay, Mr. Sandford, " cried Miss Milner, "I believe, after all, my worstcrime, in your eyes, is that of being a heretic. " "By no means--it is the only circumstance that can apologize for yourfaults; and if you had not that excuse, there would be none for you. " "Then, at present, there _is_ an excuse--I thank you, Mr. Sandford--thisis the kindest thing you ever said to me. But I am vext to see that youare sorry you have said it. " "Angry at your being a heretic!" he resumed--"Indeed I should be muchmore concerned to see you a disgrace to our religion. " Miss Milner had not been in a good humour the whole evening--she had beenprovoked several times to the full extent of her patience: but thisharsh sentence hurried her beyond all bounds, and she arose from herseat in the most violent agitation, exclaiming, "What have I done to bethus treated?" Though Mr. Sandford was not a man easily intimidated, he was upon thisoccasion evidently alarmed; and stared about him with so violent anexpression of surprise, that it partook, in some degree, of fear. MissWoodley clasped her friend in her arms, and cried with the tenderestaffection and pity, "My dear Miss Milner, be composed. " Miss Milner sat down, and was so for a minute; but her dead silence wasalmost as alarming to Sandford as her rage had been; and he did notperfectly recover himself till he saw tears pouring down her face. Hethen heaved a sigh of content that all had thus ended; but in his heartresolved never to forget the ridiculous affright into which he had beenthrown. He stole out of the room without uttering a syllable--but as henever retired to rest before he had repeated a long form of eveningprayer, when this evening he came to that part which supplicates "Gracefor the wicked, " he mentioned Miss Milner's name with the most ferventdevotion. CHAPTER V. Of the many restless nights that Miss Milner passed, this was not one. It is true, she had a weight of care upon her heart, even heavier thanusual, but the burden had overcome her strength: wearied out with hopes, with fears, and, at the end, with disappointment and rage, she sunk atonce into a deep slumber. But the more forgetfulness had then prevailed, the more powerful was the force of remembrance when she awoke. At first, so sound her sleep had been, that she had a difficulty in calling tomind why she was unhappy; but that she _was_ unhappy she wellrecollected--when the cause came to her memory, she would have sleptagain--but it was impossible. Though her rest had been sound, it had not been refreshing--she was farfrom well, and sent word of her indisposition, as an apology for notbeing present at breakfast. Lord Elmwood looked concerned when themessage was delivered--Mr. Sandford shook his head. "Miss Milner's health is not good!" said Mrs. Horton a few minutesafter. Lord Elmwood laid down the newspaper to attend to her. "To me, there is something very extraordinary about her!" continued Mrs. Horton, finding she had caught his Lordship's attention. "So there is to me!" added Sandford, with a sarcastic sneer. "And so there is to me!" said Miss Woodley, with a serious face and aheartfelt sigh. Lord Elmwood gazed by turns at each, as each delivered theirsentiments--and when they were all silent, he looked bewildered, notknowing what judgment to form from any of these sentences. Soon after breakfast, Mr. Sandford withdrew to his own apartment: Mrs. Horton, in a little time, went to hers: Lord Elmwood and Miss Woodleywere left alone. He immediately rose from his seat, and said, "I think, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner was extremely to blame, though I didnot chuse to tell her so before Mr. Sandford, in giving Lord Frederickan opportunity of speaking to her, unless she means that he shall renewhis addresses. " "That, I am certain, " replied Miss Woodley, "she does _not_ mean--and Iassure you, my Lord, seriously, it was by mere accident she saw himyesterday evening, or permitted his attendance upon her to hercarriage. " "I am glad to hear it, " he returned quickly; "for although I am not of asuspicious nature, yet in regard to her affections for him, I cannot butstill have my doubts. " "You need have none, my Lord, " replied Miss Woodley, with a smile ofconfidence. "And yet you must own her behaviour has warranted them--has it not beenin this particular incoherent and unaccountable?" "The behaviour of a person in love, no doubt, " answered Miss Woodley. "Don't I say so?" replied he warmly; "and is not that a just reason formy suspicions?" "But is there only one man in the world on whom those suspicions canfix?" said Miss Woodley, with the colour mounting into her face. "Not that I know of--not one more that I know of, " he replied, withastonishment at what she had insinuated, and yet with a perfectassurance that she was in the wrong. "Perhaps I am mistaken, " answered she. "Nay, that is impossible too, " returned he with anxiety--"You share herconfidence--you are perpetually with her; and if she did not confide inyou, (which I know, and rejoice that she does) you would yet beacquainted with all her inclinations. " "I believe I am _perfectly_ acquainted with them, " replied Miss Woodley, with a significance in her voice and manner which convinced him therewas some secret to learn. After a hesitation---- "It is far from me, " replied he, "to wish to be entrusted with theprivate sentiments of those who desire to with-hold them from me; muchless would I take any unfair means to be informed of them. To ask anymore questions of you, I believe, would be unfair. Yet I cannot butlament that I am not as well informed as you are. I wish to prove myfriendship to Miss Milner, but she will not suffer me--and every stepthat I take for her happiness, I take in the most perplexinguncertainty. " Miss Woodley sighed--but she did not speak. He seemed to wait for herreply; but as she made none, he proceeded-- "If ever breach of confidence could be tolerated, I certainly know nooccasion that would so justly authorise it as the present. I am not onlyproper from character, but from circumstances, to be relied upon--myinterest is so nearly connected with the interest, and my happiness withthe happiness of my ward, that those principles, as well as my honour, would protect her against every peril arising from my being trusted. " "Oh! my Lord, " cried Miss Woodley, with a most forcible accent, "_You_are the last person on earth she would pardon me for entrusting. " "Why so?" said he, warmly. "But that is the way--the person who is ourfriend we distrust--where a common interest is concerned, we are ashamedof drawing on a common danger--afraid of advice, though that advice is tosave us. ----Miss Woodley, " said he, changing his voice with excess ofearnestness, "do you not believe, that I would do anything to make MissMilner happy?" "Any thing in honour, my Lord. " "She can desire nothing farther, " he replied in agitation. "Are herdesires so unwarrantable, that I cannot grant them?" Miss Woodley again did not speak--and he continued---- "Great as my friendship is, there are certainly bounds to it--bounds thatshall save her in spite of herself:"--and he raised his voice. "In the disposal of themselves, " resumed he, with a less vehement tone, "that great, that terrific disposal in marriage, (at which I have alwayslooked with fear and dismay) there is no accounting for the rashness ofa woman's choice, or sometimes for the depravity of her taste. But insuch a case, Miss Milner's election of a husband shall not direct mine. If she does not know how to estimate her own value, I do. Independent ofher fortune, she has beauty to captivate the heart of any man; and withall her follies, she has a frankness in her manner, an unaffected wisdomin her thoughts, a vivacity in her conversation, and withal, a softnessin her demeanour, that might alone engage the affections of a man of thenicest sentiments, and the strongest understanding. I will not see allthese qualities and accomplishments debased. It is my office to protecther from the consequences of a degrading choice, and I will. " "My Lord, Miss Milner's taste is not a depraved one; it is but toorefined. " "What can you mean by that, Miss Woodley? You talk mysteriously. Is shenot afraid that I will thwart her inclinations?" "She is sure that you will, my Lord. " "Then must the person be unworthy of her. " Miss Woodley rose from her seat--she clasped her hands--every look andevery gesture proved her alternate resolution and irresolution ofproceeding. Lord Elmwood's attention was arrested before; but now it wasfixed to a degree which her extraordinary manner only could occasion. "My Lord, " said she, with a tremulous voice, "promise me, declare to me, nay, swear to me, that it shall ever remain a secret in your own breast, and I will reveal to you, on whom she has placed her affections. " This preparation made Lord Elmwood tremble, and he ran over instantly inhis mind all the persons he could recollect, in order to arrive at theknowledge by thought, quicker than by words. It was in vain he tried;and he once more turned his inquiring eyes upon Miss Woodley. He saw hersilent and covered with confusion. Again he searched his own thoughts;nor ineffectually as before. At the first glance, the object waspresented, and he beheld--_himself. _ The rapid emotion of varying passions, which immediately darted over hisfeatures, informed Miss Woodley that her secret was discovered--she hidher face, while the tears that fell down to her bosom, confirmed thetruth of his suggestion, beyond what oaths could have done. A shortinterval of silence followed, during which, she suffered tortures forthe manner in which he would next address her--two seconds gave her thisreply: "For God's sake take care what you are doing--you are destroying myprospects of futurity--you are making this world too dear to me. " Her drooping head was then lifted up, and she caught the eye ofDorriforth; she saw it beam expectation, amazement, joy, ardour, andlove. ----Nay, there was a fire, a vehemence in the quick fascinating raysit sent forth, she never before had seen--it filled her with alarm--shewished him to love Miss Milner, but to love her with moderation. MissWoodley was too little versed in the subject, to know, this would havebeen not to love at all; at least, not to the extent of breakingthrough engagements, and all the various obstacles that still militatedagainst their union. Lord Elmwood was sensible of the embarrassment his presence gave MissWoodley, and understood the reproaches which she seemed to vent uponherself in silence. To relieve her from both, he laid his hand withforce upon his heart, and said, "Do you believe me?" "I do, my Lord, " she answered, trembling. "I will make no unjust use of what I know, " he replied with firmness. "I believe you, my Lord. " "But for what my passions now dictate, " continued he, "I will notanswer. They are confused--they are triumphant at present. I have neveryet, however, been vanquished by them; and even upon this occasion, myreason shall combat them to the last--and my reason shall fail me, beforeI do wrong. " He was going to leave the room--she followed him, and cried, "But, myLord, how shall I see again the unhappy object of my treachery?" "See her, " replied he, "as one to whom you meant no injury, and to whomyou have done none. " "But she would account it an injury. " "We are not judges of what belongs to ourselves, " he replied--"I amtransported at the tidings you have revealed, and yet, perhaps, I hadbetter never have heard them. " Miss Woodley was going to say something farther, but as if incapable ofattending to her, he hastened out of the room. CHAPTER VI. Miss Woodley stood for some time to consider which way she was to go. The first person she met, would enquire why she had been weeping? and ifMiss Milner was to ask the question, in what words could she tell, or inwhat manner deny the truth? To avoid her was her first caution, and shetook the only method; she had a hackney-coach ordered, rode severalmiles out of town, and returned to dinner with so little remains of herswoln eyes, that complaining of the head-ache was a sufficient excusefor them. Miss Milner was enough recovered to be present at dinner, though shescarce tasted a morsel. Lord Elmwood did not dine at home, at which MissWoodley rejoiced, but at which Mr. Sandford appeared highlydisappointed. He asked the servants several times, what he said when hewent out? They replied, "Nothing more than that he should not be at hometo dinner. " "I can't imagine where he dines?" said Sandford. "Bless me, Mr. Sandford, can't you guess?" (cried Mrs. Horton, who bythis time was made acquainted with his intended marriage) "He dines withMiss Fenton to be sure. " "No, " replied Sandford, "he is not there; I came from thence just now, and they had not seen him all day. " Poor Miss Milner, on this, atesomething; for where we hope for nothing, we receive small indulgencieswith joy. Notwithstanding the anxiety and trouble under which Miss Woodley hadlaboured all the morning, her heart for many weeks had not felt so lightas it did this day at dinner. The confidence that she reposed in thepromises of Lord Elmwood--the firm reliance she had upon his delicacy andhis justice--the unabated kindness with which her friend received her, while she knew that no one suspicious thought had taken harbour in herbosom--and the conscious integrity of her own intentions, though shemight have been misled by her judgment, all comforted her with the hope, she had done nothing she ought to wish recalled. But although she feltthus tranquil, in respect to what she had divulged, yet she was a gooddeal embarrassed with the dread of next seeing Lord Elmwood. Miss Milner, not having spirits to go abroad, passed the evening athome. She read part of a new opera, played upon her guitar, mused, sighed, occasionally talked with Miss Woodley, and so passed the tedioushours till near ten, when Mrs. Horton asked Mr. Sandford to play a gameat piquet, and on his excusing himself, Miss Milner offered in hisstead, and was gladly accepted. They had just begun to play when LordElmwood came into the room--Miss Milner's countenance immediatelybrightened, and though she was in a negligent morning dress, and lookedpaler than usual, she did not look less beautiful. Miss Woodley wasleaning on the back of her chair to observe the game, and Mr. Sandfordsat reading one of the Fathers at the other side of the fire place. LordElmwood, as he advanced to the table, bowed, not having seen the ladiessince the morning, or Miss Milner that day: they returned the salute, and he was going up to Miss Milner, (as if to enquire of her health)when Mr. Sandford, laying down his book, said, "My Lord, where have you been all day?" "I have been very busy, " replied he, and walking from the card-table, went up to him. Miss Milner played one card for another. "You have been at Mr. Fenton's this evening, I suppose?" said Sandford. "No; not at all to-day. " "How came that about, my Lord?" Miss Milner played the ace of diamonds instead of the king of hearts. "I shall call to-morrow, " answered Lord Elmwood; and then walking with avery ceremonious air up to Miss Milner, said, "He hoped she wasperfectly recovered. " Mrs. Horton begged her "To mind what she was about. " She replied, "I ammuch better, Sir. " He then returned to Sandford again; but never, during all this time, didhis eye once encounter Miss Woodley's; and she, with equal care, avoidedhis. Some cold dishes were now brought up for supper--Miss Milner lost herdeal, and the game ended. As they were arranging themselves at the supper-table, "Do, MissMilner, " said Mrs. Horton, "have something warm for your supper; achicken boiled, or something of that kind; you have eat nothing to-day. " With feelings of humanity, and apparently no other sensation--but neverdid he feel his philanthropy so forcible--Lord Elmwood said, "Let me begof you, Miss Milner, to have something provided for you. " The earnestness and emphasis with which these few words werepronounced, were more flattering than the finest turned compliment wouldhave been; her gratitude was expressed in blushes, and by assuring himshe was now "So well, as to sup on the dishes before her. " She spoke, however, and had not made the trial; for the moment she carried a morselto her lips, she laid it on her plate again, and turned paler, from thevain endeavour to force her appetite. Lord Elmwood had always beenattentive to her; but now he watched her as he would a child; and whenhe saw by her struggles that she could not eat, he took her plate fromher; gave her something else; and all with a care and watchfulness inhis looks, as if he had been a tender-hearted boy, and she his darlingbird, the loss of which would embitter all the joy of his holidays. This attention had something in it so tender, so officious, and yet sosincere, that it brought the tears into Miss Woodley's eyes, attractedthe notice of Mr. Sandford, and the observation of Mrs. Horton; whilethe heart of Miss Milner overflowed with a gratitude, that gave place tono sentiment except her love. To relieve the anxiety which her guardian expressed, she endeavoured toappear cheerful, and that anxiety, at length, really made her so. He nowpressed her to take one glass of wine with such solicitude, that heseemed to say a thousand things besides. Sandford still made hisobservations, and being unused to conceal his thoughts before thepresent company, he said bluntly, "Miss Fenton was indisposed the other night, my Lord, and you did notseem half thus anxious about her. " Had Sandford laid all Lord Elmwood's estate at Miss Milner's feet, orpresented her with that eternal bloom which adorns the face of agoddess, he would have done less to endear himself to her, than by thisone sentence--she looked at him with a most benign countenance, and feltaffliction that she had ever offended him. "Miss Fenton, " Lord Elmwood replied, "has a brother with her: her healthand happiness are in _his_ care--Miss Milner's are in mine. " "Mr. Sandford, " said Miss Milner, "I am afraid that I behaved uncivillyto you last night--will you accept of an atonement?" "No, Madam, " returned he, "I accept no expiation without amendment. " "Well, then, " said she, smiling, "suppose I promise never to offend youagain, what then?" "Why, then, you'll break your promise. " "Do not promise him, " said Lord Elmwood, "for he means to provoke you toit. " In the like conversation the evening passed, and Miss Milner retired torest in far better spirits than her morning's prospect had given her theleast pretence to hope. Miss Woodley, too, had cause to be well pleased;but her pleasure was in great measure eclipsed by the reflection, thatthere was such a person as Miss Fenton--she wished she had been equallyacquainted with her's as with Miss Milner's heart, and she would thenhave acted without injustice to either; but Miss Fenton had of lateshunned their society, and even in their company was of a temper tooreserved ever to discover her mind; Miss Woodley was obliged, therefore, to act to the best of her own judgment only, and leave all events toProvidence. CHAPTER VII. Within a few days, in the house of Lord Elmwood, every thing, and everyperson, wore a new face. He, was the professed lover of Miss Milner--she, the happiest of human beings--Miss Woodley partaking in the joy--Mr. Sandford lamenting, with the deepest concern, that Miss Fenton had beensupplanted; and what added poignantly to his concern was, that she hadbeen supplanted by Miss Milner. Though a churchman, he bore hisdisappointment with the impatience of one of the laity: he could hardlyspeak to Lord Elmwood; he would not look at Miss Milner, and wasdispleased with every one. It was his intention, when he first becameacquainted with Lord Elmwood's resolution, to quit his house; and as theEarl had, with the utmost degree of inflexibility, resisted all his goodcounsel upon this subject, he resolved, in quitting him, never to be hisadviser again. But, in preparing to leave his friend, his pupil, hispatron, and yet him, who, upon most occasions, implicitly obeyed hiswill, the spiritual got the better of the temporal man, and hedetermined to stay, lest in totally abandoning him to the pursuit of hisown passions, he should make his punishment even greater than hisoffence. "My Lord, " said he, "on the stormy sea, upon which you areembarked, though you will not shun the rocks that your faithful pilotwould point out, he will, nevertheless, sail in your company, and lamentover your watery grave. The more you slight my advice, the more you wantit; so that, until you command me to leave your house, (as I suppose youwill soon do, to oblige your Lady) I will continue along with you. " Lord Elmwood liked him sincerely, and was glad that he took thisresolution; yet as soon as his reason and affections had once told himthat he ought to break with Miss Fenton, and marry his ward, he becameso decidedly of this opinion, that Sandford's never had the most trivialweight; nor would he even flatter the supposed authority he possessedover him, by urging him to remain in his house a single day, contrary tohis inclinations. Sandford observed, with grief, this firmness; butfinding it vain to contend, submitted--not, however, with a good grace. Amidst all the persons affected by this change in Lord Elmwood'smarriage-designs, Miss Fenton was, perhaps, affected the least--she wouldhave been content to have married, she was content to live single. Mr. Sandford had been the first who made overtures to her on the part ofLord Elmwood, and was the first sent to ask her to dispense with theobligation. --She received both of these proposals with the same insipidsmile of approbation, and the same cold indifference at the heart. It was a perfect knowledge of this disposition in his intended wifewhich had given to Lord Elmwood's thoughts on matrimony, the idea ofdreary winter; but the sensibility of Miss Milner had now reversed thatprospect into perpetual spring; or the dearer variety of spring, summer, and autumn. It was a knowledge also of this torpor in Miss Fenton's nature, fromwhich he formed the purpose of breaking with her; for Lord Elmwoodstill retained enough of the sanctity of his former state to haveyielded up his own happiness, and even that of his beloved ward, ratherthan have plunged one heart into affliction by his perfidy. This, beforehe offered his hand to Miss Milner, he was perfectly convinced would notbe the case--even Miss Fenton herself assured him, that her thoughts weremore upon the joys of Heaven than upon those of earth; and as thiscircumstance would, she believed, induce her to retire into a convent, she thought it a happy, rather than an unhappy, event. Her brother, onwhom her fortune devolved if she took this resolution, was exactly ofher opinion. Lost in the maze of happiness that surrounded her, Miss Milneroftentimes asked her heart, and her heart whispered like a flatterer, "Yes;" Are not my charms even more invincible than I ever believed themto be? Dorriforth, the grave, the pious, the anchorite Dorriforth, bytheir force, is animated to all the ardour of the most impassionedlover--while the proud priest, the austere guardian is humbled, if I butfrown, into the veriest slave of love. She then asked, "Why did I notkeep him longer in suspense? He could not have loved me more, I believe:but my power over him might have been greater still. I am the happiestof women in the affection he has proved to me, but I wonder whether itwould exist under ill treatment? If it would not, he still does not loveme as I wish to be loved--if it would, my triumph, my felicity, would beenhanced. " These thoughts were mere phantoms of the brain, and never, bysystem, put into action; but, repeatedly indulged, they were practisedby casual occurrences; and the dear-bought experiment of being loved inspite of her faults, (a glory proud women ever aspire to) was, atpresent, the ambition of Miss Milner. Unthinking woman! she did not reflect, that to the searching eye of LordElmwood, she had faults, with her utmost care to conceal or overcomethem, sufficient to try all his love, and all his patience. But whatfemale is not fond of experiments? To which, how few do not fall asacrifice! Perfectly secure in the affections of the man she loved, her declininghealth no longer threatened her; her declining spirits returned asbefore; and the suspicions of her guardian being now changed to theliberal confidence of a doating lover, she again professedall her former follies, all her fashionable levities, and indulged themwith less restraint than ever. For a while, blinded by his passion, Lord Elmwood encouraged and admiredevery new proof of her restored happiness; nor till sufferance hadtempted her beyond her usual bounds, did he remonstrate. But she, who, as his ward, had been ever gentle, and (when he strenuously opposed)always obedient; became, as a mistress, sometimes haughty, and, toopposition, always insolent. He was surprised, but the novelty pleasedhim. And Miss Milner, whom he tenderly loved, could put on no change, orappear in no new character that did not, for the time she adopted it, seem to become her. Among the many causes of complaint which she gave him, want of oeconomy, in the disposal of her income, was one. Bills and drafts came upon himwithout number, while the account, on her part, of money expended, amounted chiefly to articles of dress that she sometimes never wore, toys that were out of fashion before they were paid for, and charitiesdirected by the force of whim. Another complaint was, as usual, extremelate hours, and often company that he did not approve. She was charmed to see his love struggling with his censure--hispoliteness with his anxiety--and by the light, frivolous, or resentfulmanner in which she treated his admonitions, she triumphed in shewing toMiss Woodley, and, more especially to Mr. Sandford, how much she daredupon the strength of his affections. Everything in preparation for their marriage, which was to take place atElmwood House during the summer months, she resolved for the short timeshe had to remain in London to let no occasion pass of tasting all thosepleasures that were not likely ever to return; but which, though eageras she was in their pursuit, she never placed in competition with thoseshe hoped would succeed--those more sedate and superior joys, ofdomestic and conjugal happiness. Often, merely to hasten on the tedioushours that intervened, she varied and diverted them, with the manyrecreations her intended husband could not approve. It so happened, and it was unfortunate it did, that a lawsuit concerningsome possessions in the West Indies, and other intricate affairs thatcame with his title and estate, frequently kept Lord Elmwood from hishouse part of the day; sometimes the whole evening; and when at home, would often closet him for hours with his lawyers. But while he was thusoff his guard, Sandford never was--and had Miss Milner been the dearestthing on earth to him, he could not have watched her more narrowly; orhad she been the frailest thing on earth, he could not have been morehard upon her, in all the accounts of her conduct he gave to herguardian. Lord Elmwood knew, on the other hand, that Sandford's failingwas to think ill of Miss Milner--he pitied him for it, and he pitied herfor it--and in all the aggravation which his representations gave to herreal follies, affection for them both, in the heart of Dorriforth, stoodbetween that and every other impression. But facts are glaring; and he, at length, beheld those faults in theirtrue colours, though previously pointed out by the prejudice of Mr. Sandford. As soon as Sandford perceived his friend's uneasiness, "There, my Lord!"cried he, exultingly, "did I not always say the marriage was an improperone? but you would not be ruled--you would not see. " "Can you blame _me_ for not seeing, " replied his Lordship, "when _you_were blind? Had you been dispassionate, had you seen Miss Milner'svirtues as well as her faults, I should have believed, and been guidedby you--but you saw her failings only, and therein have been equallydeceived with me, who have only beheld her perfections. " "My observations, however, my Lord, would have been of most use to you;for I have seen what to avoid. " "But mine have been the most gratifying, " replied he; "for I haveseen--what I must always love. " Sandford sighed, and lifted up his hands. "Mr. Sandford, " resumed Lord Elmwood, with a voice and manner such as heused to put on when not all the power of Sandford, or of any other, could change his fixed determination, "Mr. Sandford, my eyes are nowopen to every failing, as well as to every accomplishment; to everyvice, as well as to every virtue of Miss Milner; nor will I suffermyself to be again prepossessed in her favour, by your prejudice againsther--for I believe it was compassion at your unkind treatment, that firstgained her my heart. " "I, my Lord?" cried Sandford; "do not load me with the burthen--with themighty burthen of your love for her. " "Do not interrupt me. Whatever your meaning has been, the effect of itis what I have described. Now, I will no longer, " continued he, "have anenemy, such as you have been, to heighten her charms, which are tootranscendent in their native state. I will hear no more complaintsagainst her, but I will watch her closely myself--and if I find her mindand heart (such as my suspicions have of late whispered) too frivolousfor that substantial happiness I look for with an object so beloved, depend upon my word--the marriage shall yet be broken off. " "I depend upon your word; it _will_ then, "--replied Sandford eagerly. "You are unjust, Sir, in saying so before the trial, " replied LordElmwood, "and your injustice shall make me more cautious, lest I followyour example. " "But, my Lord----" "My mind is made up, Mr. Sandford, " returned he, interrupting him; "I amno longer engaged to Miss Milner than she shall deserve I should be--but, in my strict observations upon her conduct, I will take care not towrong her as you have done. " "My Lord, call my observations wrong, when you have reflected upon themas a man, and not as a lover--divest yourself of your passion, and meetme upon equal ground. " "I will meet no one--I will consult no one--my own judgment shall be thejudge, and in a few months marry, or--_banish me from her for ever_. " There was something in these last words, in the tone and firmness withwhich they were delivered, that the heart of Sandford rested upon withcontent--they bore the symptoms of a menace that would be executed; andhe parted from his patron with congratulations upon his wisdom, and withgiving him the warmest assurances of his firm reliance on his _word. _ Lord Elmwood having come to this resolution, was more composed than hehad been for several days before; while the horror of domesticwrangles--a family without subordination--a house without oeconomy--in aword, a wife without discretion, had been perpetually present to hismind. Mr. Sandford, although he was a man of understanding, of learning, and acomplete casuist, yet all the faults he himself committed, wereentirely--for want of knowing better. He constantly reproved faults inothers, and he was most assuredly too good a man not to have correctedand amended his own, had they been known to him--but they were not. Hehad been for so long a time the superior of all with whom he lived, hadbeen so busied with instructing others, that he had not recollected thathimself wanted instructions--and in such awe did his habitual severitykeep all about him, that although he had numerous friends, not one toldhim of his failings--except just now Lord Elmwood, but whom, in thisinstance, as a man in love, he would not credit. Was there not then somereason for him to suppose he _had_ no faults? his enemies, indeed, hinted that he had, but enemies he never harkened to; and thus, with allhis good sense, wanted the sense to follow the rule, _Believe what yourenemies say of you, rather than what is said by your friends. _ This ruleattended to, would make a thousand people amiable, who are now thereverse; and would have made _him_ a perfectly upright character. Forcould an enemy to whom he would have listened, have whispered toSandford as he left Lord Elmwood, "Cruel, barbarous man! you go awaywith your heart satisfied, nay, even elated, in the prospect that MissMilner's hopes, on which she alone exists, those hopes which keep herfrom the deepest affliction, and cherish her with joy and gladness, willall be disappointed. You flatter yourself it is for the sake of yourfriend, Lord Elmwood, that you rejoice, and because he has escaped adanger. You wish him well; but there is another cause for yourexultation which you will not seek to know--it is, that in his safety, shall dwell the punishment of his ward. For shame! for shame! forgiveher faults, as this of yours requires to be forgiven. " Had any one said this to Sandford, whom he would have credited, or hadhis own heart suggested it, he was a man of that rectitude andconscientiousness, that he would have returned immediately to LordElmwood, and have strengthened all his favourable opinions of hisintended wife--but having no such monitor, he walked on, highlycontented, and meeting Miss Woodley, said, with an air of triumph, "Where's your friend? where's Lady Elmwood?" Miss Woodley smiled, and answered--She was gone with such and such ladiesto an auction. "But why give her that title already, Mr. Sandford?" "Because, " answered he, "I think she will never have it. " "Bless me, Mr. Sandford, " said Miss Woodley, "you shock me!" "I thought I should, " replied he, "and therefore I told it you. " "For Heaven's sake what has happened?" "Nothing new--her indiscretions only. " "I know she is imprudent, " said Miss Woodley--"I can see that her conductis often exceptionable--but then Lord Elmwood surely loves her, and lovewill overlook a great deal. " "He _does_ love her--but he has understanding and resolution. He lovedhis sister too, tenderly loved her, and yet when he had taken theresolution, and passed his word that he would never see her again--evenupon her death-bed he would not retract it--no entreaties could prevailupon him. And now, though he maintains, and I dare say loves, her child, yet you remember, when you brought him home, that he would not sufferhim in his sight. " "Poor Miss Milner!" said Miss Woodley, in the most pitying accents. "Nay, " said Sandford, "Lord Elmwood has not _yet_ passed his word, thathe will never see her more--he has only threatened to do it; but I knowenough of him to know, that his threats are generally the same as ifthey were executed. " "You are very good, " said Miss Woodley, "to acquaint me of this intime--I may now warn Miss Milner of it, and she may observe morecircumspection. " "By no means, " cried Sandford, hastily--"What would you warn her for? Itwill do her no good--besides, " added he, "I don't know whether LordElmwood does not expect secrecy on my part; and if he does----" "But, with all deference to your opinion, " said Miss Woodley, (and withall deference did she speak) "don't you think, Mr. Sandford, thatsecrecy upon this occasion would be wicked? For consider the anguishthat it may occasion to my friend; and if, by advising her, we can saveher from----" She was going on. ---- "You may call it wicked, Madam, not to inform her of what I have hintedat, " cried he; "but I call it a breach of confidence--if it _was_divulged to me in confidence----" He was going to explain; but Miss Milner entered, and put an end to thediscourse. She had been passing the whole morning at an auction, and hadlaid out near two hundred pounds in different things for which she hadno one use, but bought them because they were said to be cheap--among therest was a lot of books upon chemistry, and some Latin authors. "Why, Madam, " cried Sandford, looking over the catalogue where herpurchases were marked by a pencil, "do you know what you have done? Youcan't read a word of these books. " "Can't I, Mr. Sandford? But I assure you that you will be very muchpleased with them, when you see how elegantly they are bound. " "My dear, " said Mrs. Horton, "why have you bought china? You and my LordElmwood have more now, than you have places to put them in. " "Very true, Mrs. Horton--I forgot that--but then you know I can give theseaway. " Lord Elmwood was in the room at the conclusion of this conversation----heshook his head and sighed. "My Lord, " said she, "I have had a very agreeable morning; but I wishedfor you--if you had been with me, I should have bought a great many otherthings; but I did not like to appear unreasonable in your absence. " Sandford fixed his inquisitive eyes upon Lord Elmwood, to observe hiscountenance--he smiled, but appeared thoughtful. "And, oh! my Lord, I have bought you a present, " said she. "I do not wish for a present, Miss Milner. " "What not from me? Very well. " "If you present me with yourself, it is all that I ask. " Sandford moved upon his chair, as if he sat uneasy. "Why then, Miss Woodley, " said Miss Milner, "_you_ shall have thepresent. But then it won't suit you--it is for a gentleman. I'll keep itand give it to my Lord Frederick the first time I meet with him. I sawhim this morning, and he looked divinely--I longed to speak to him. " Miss Woodley cast, by stealth, an eye of apprehension upon LordElmwood's face, and trembled at seeing it flushed with resentment. Sandford stared with both his eyes full upon him: then threw himselfupright on his chair, and took a pinch of snuff upon the strength of theEarl's uneasiness. A silence ensued. After a short time--"You all appear melancholy, " said Miss Milner: "Iwish I had not come home yet. " Miss Woodley was in agony--she saw Lord Elmwood's extreme displeasure, and dreaded lest he should express it by some words he could not recall, or she could not forgive--therefore, whispering to her she had somethingparticular to say, she took her out of the room. The moment she was gone, Mr. Sandford rose nimbly from his seat, rubbedhis hands, walked briskly across the room, then asked Lord Elmwood in acheerful tone, "Whether he dined at home to-day?" That which had given Sandford cheerfulness, had so depressed LordElmwood, that he sat dejected and silent. At length he answered in afaint voice, "No, I believe I shall _not_ dine at home. " "Where is your Lordship going to dine?" asked Mrs. Horton; "I thought weshould have had your company to-day; Miss Milner dines at home, Ibelieve. " "I have not yet determined where I shall dine, " replied he, taking nonotice of the conclusion of her speech. "My Lord, if you mean to go to the hotel, I'll go with you, if youplease, " cried Sandford officiously. "With all my heart, Sandford--" and they both went out together, beforeMiss Milner returned to the apartment. CHAPTER VIII. Miss Woodley, for the first time, disobeyed the will of Mr. Sandford;and as soon as Miss Milner and she were alone, repeated all he hadrevealed to her; accompanying the recital, with her usual testimonies ofsympathy and affection. But had the genius of Sandford presided overthis discovery, it could not have influenced the mind of Miss Milner toreceive the intelligence with a temper more exactly the opposite of thatwhich it was the intention of the informer to recommend. Instead ofshuddering at the menace Lord Elmwood had uttered, she said, she "Daredhim to perform it. " "He dares not, " repeated she. "Why dares not?" said Miss Woodley. "Because he loves me too well--because his own happiness is too dear tohim. " "I believe he loves you, " replied Miss Woodley, "and yet there is adoubt if----" "There shall be no longer a doubt, " cried Miss Milner, "I'll put him tothe proof. " "For shame, my dear! you talk inconsiderately--what can you mean byproof?" "I mean I will do something that no prudent man _ought_ to forgive; andyet, with all his vast share of prudence, _he_ shall forgive it, andmake a sacrifice of just resentment to partial affection. " "But if you should be disappointed, and he should _not_ make thesacrifice?" said Miss Woodley. "Then I have only lost a man who had no regard for me. " "He may have a great regard for you, notwithstanding. " "But for the love I have felt, and do still feel, for my Lord Elmwood, Iwill have something more than a _great regard_ in return. " "You have his love, I am sure. " "But is it such as mine? _I_ could love _him_ if he had a thousandfaults. And yet, " said she, recollecting herself, "and yet, I believehis being faultless, was the first cause of my passion. " Thus she talked on--sometimes in anger, sometimes apparently jesting--tillher servant came to let her know the dinner was served. Upon enteringthe dining-room, and seeing Lord Elmwood's place at table vacant, shestarted back. She was disappointed of the pleasure she expected indining with him; and his sudden absence, so immediately after theintelligence that she had received from Miss Woodley, increased heruneasiness. She drew her chair, and sat down with an indifference, thatsaid she should not eat; and as soon as she was seated, she put herfingers sullenly to her lips, nor touched her knife and fork, nor spokea word in reply to any thing that was said to her during the wholedinner. Miss Woodley and Mrs. Horton were both too well acquainted withthe good disposition of her heart, to take offence, or appear to noticethis behaviour. They dined, and said nothing either to provoke or soothher. Just as the dinner was going to be removed, a loud rap came at thedoor--"Who is that?" said Mrs. Horton. One of the servants went to thewindow, and answered, "My Lord and Mr. Sandford, Madam. " "Come back to dinner as I live, " cried Mrs. Horton. Miss Milner continued her position and said nothing--but at the cornersof her mouth, which her fingers did not entirely cover, there werediscoverable, a thousand dimpled graces like small convulsive fibres, which a restrained smile upon Lord Elmwood's return, had sent there. Lord Elmwood and Sandford entered. "I am glad you are returned, my Lord, " said Mrs. Horton, "for MissMilner would not eat a morsel. " "It was only because I had no appetite, " returned she, blushing likecrimson. "We should not have come back, " said Sandford, "but at the place wherewe went to dine, all the rooms were filled with company. " Lord Elmwood put the wing of a fowl on Miss Milner's plate, but withoutpreviously asking if she chose any; yet she condescended to eat--theyspoke to each other too in the course of conversation, but it was with areserve that appeared as if they had been quarrelling, and felt so tothemselves, though no such circumstance had happened. Two weeks passed away in this kind of distant behaviour on both sides, without either of them venturing a direct quarrel, and without either ofthem expressing (except inadvertently) their strong affection for eachother. During this time they were once, however, very near becoming the dearestfriends in expression, as well as in sentiment. This arose from a favourthat he had granted in compliance with her desire, though that desirehad not been urged, but merely insinuated; and as it was a favour whichhe had refused to the repeated requests of many of his friends, thevalue of the obligation was heightened. She and Miss Woodley had taken an airing to see the poor child, youngRushbrook. Lord Elmwood inquiring of the ladies how they had passedtheir morning, Miss Milner frankly told him; and added, "What pain itgave her to leave the child behind, as he had again cried to come awaywith her. " "Go for him then to-morrow, " said Lord Elmwood, "and bring him home. " "Home!" she repeated, with surprise. "Yes, " replied he, "if you desire it, this shall be his home--you shallbe a mother, and I will, henceforward, be a father to him. " Sandford, who was present, looked unusually sour at this high token ofregard for Miss Milner; yet, with resentment on his face, he wiped atear of joy from his eye, for the boy's sake--his frown was the force ofprejudice, his tear the force of nature. Rushbrook was brought home; and whenever Lord Elmwood wished to shew akindness to Miss Milner, without directing it immediately to her, hetook his nephew upon his knee, talked to him, and told him, he "Was gladthey had become acquainted. " In the various, though delicate, struggles for power between Miss Milnerand her guardian, there was not one person a witness to these incidents, who did not suppose, that all would at last end in wedlock--for the mostcommon observer perceived, that ardent love was the foundation of everydiscontent, as well as of every joy they experienced. One greatincident, however, totally reversed the hope of all futureaccommodation. The fashionable Mrs. G---- gave a masked ball; tickets were presented topersons of quality and fashion; among the rest, three were sent to MissMilner. She had never been at a masquerade, and received them withecstasy--the more especially, as the masque being at the house of a womanof fashion, she did not conceive there could be any objection to hergoing. She was mistaken--the moment she mentioned it to Lord Elmwood, hedesired her, somewhat sternly, "Not to think of being there. " She wasvexed at the prohibition, but more at the manner in which it wasdelivered, and boldly said, "That she should certainly go. " She expected a rebuke for this, but what alarmed her much more, he saidnot a word; but looked with a resignation, which foreboded her sorrowgreater than the severest reproaches would have done. She sat for aminute, reflecting how to rouse him from this composure--she firstthought of attacking him with upbraidings; then she thought of soothinghim; and at last of laughing at him. This was the most dangerous of all, and yet, this she ventured upon. "I am sure your Lordship, " said she, "with all your saintliness, canhave no objection to my being present at the masquerade, if I go as aNun. " He made no reply. "That is a habit, " continued she, "which covers a multitude offaults--and, for that evening, I may have the chance of making a conquesteven of you--nay, I question not, if under that inviting attire, even thepious Mr. Sandford would not ogle me. " "Hush!" said Miss Woodley. "Why hush?" cried Miss Milner, aloud, though Miss Woodley had spoken ina whisper, "I am sure, " continued she, "I am only repeating what I haveread in books about nuns and their confessors. " "Your conduct, Miss Milner, " replied Lord Elmwood "gives evident proofsof the authors you have read; you may spare yourself the trouble ofquoting them. " Her pride was hurt at this, beyond bearing; and as she could not, likehim, govern her anger, it flushed in her face, and almost forced herinto tears. "My Lord, " said Miss Woodley, (in a tone so soft and peaceful, that itshould have calmed the resentment of both, ) "my Lord, suppose you wereto accompany Miss Milner? there are tickets for three, and you can thenhave no objection. " Miss Milner's brow was immediately smoothed; and she fetched a sigh, inanxious expectation that he would consent. "I go, Miss Woodley?" he replied, with astonishment, "Do you imagine Iwould play the buffoon at a masquerade?" Miss Milner's face changed into its former state. "I have seen grave characters there, my Lord, " said Miss Woodley. "Dear Miss Woodley, " cried Miss Milner, "why persuade Lord Elmwood toput on a mask, just at the time he has laid it aside?" His patience was now tempted to its height, and he answered, "If yoususpect me of inconsistency, Madam, you shall find me changed. " Pleased that she had been able at last to irritate him, she smiled witha degree of triumph, and in that humour was going to reply; but beforeshe could speak four words, and before she thought of it, he abruptlyleft the room. She was highly offended at this insult, and declared, "From that momentshe banished him from her heart for ever. " And to prove that she set hislove and his anger at equal defiance, she immediately ordered hercarriage, and said, she "Was going to some of her acquaintance, whom sheknew to have tickets, and with whom she would fix upon the habit she wasto appear in at the masquerade; for nothing, unless she was locked up, should alter the resolution she had formed, of being there. " Toremonstrate at that moment, Miss Woodley knew would be in vain--her coachcame to the door, and she drove away. She did not return to dinner, nor till it was late in the evening; LordElmwood was at home, but he never once mentioned her name. She came home, after he had retired, in great spirits; and then, for thefirst time, in her whole life, appeared careless what he might think ofher behaviour:--but her whole thoughts were occupied upon the businesswhich had employed the chief of her day; and her dress engrossed all herconversation, as soon as Miss Woodley and she were alone. She told her, she had been shewn the greatest variety of beautiful and becomingdresses she had ever beheld; "and yet, " said she, "I have at last fixedupon a very plain one; but one I look so well in, that you will hardlyknow me, when I have it on. " "You are seriously then resolved to go, " said Miss Woodley, "if you hearno more on the subject from your guardian?" "Whether I do hear or not, Miss Woodley, I am equally resolved to go. " "But you know, my dear, he has desired you not--and you used always toobey his commands. " "As my guardian, I certainly did obey him; and I could obey him as ahusband; but as a lover, I will not. " "Yet that is the way never to have him for a husband. " "As he pleases--for if he will not submit to be my lover, I will notsubmit to be his wife--nor has he the affection that I require in ahusband. " Thus the old sentiments, repeated again and again, prevented aseparation till towards morning. Miss Milner, for that night, dreamed less of her guardian than of themasquerade. On the evening of the next day it was to be--she was upearly, breakfasted in her dressing room, and remained there most of theday, busied in a thousand preparations for the night; one of them was, to take every particle of powder out of her hair, and have it curled allover in falling ringlets. Her next care was, that her dress shouldexactly fit, and display her fine person to the best advantage--it didso. Miss Woodley entered as it was trying on, and was all astonishmentat the elegance of the habit, and its beautiful effect upon her gracefulperson; but, most of all, she was astonished at her venturing on such acharacter--for though it represented the goddess of Chastity, yet fromthe buskins, and the petticoat festooned far above the ancle, it had, on a first glance, the appearance of a female much lessvirtuous. Miss Woodley admired this dress, yet objected to it; but asshe admired first, her objections after had no weight. "Where is Lord Elmwood?" said Miss Milner--"he must not see me. " "No, for heaven's sake, " cried Miss Woodley, "I would not have him seeyou in such a disguise for the universe. " "And yet, " returned the other, with a sigh, "why am I then thus pleasedwith my dress? for I had rather he should admire me than all the worldbesides, and yet he is not to see me in it. " "But he would not admire you so dressed, " said Miss Woodley. "How shall I contrive to avoid him, " said Miss Milner, "if in theevening he should offer to hand me into my carriage? But I believe hewill not be in good humour enough for that. " "You had better dress at the house of the ladies with whom you go, " saidMiss Woodley; and this was agreed upon. At dinner they learnt that Lord Elmwood was to go that evening toWindsor, in order to be in readiness for the king's hunt early in themorning. This intelligence having dispersed Miss Milner's fears, sheconcluded upon dressing at home. Lord Elmwood appeared at dinner, in an even, but not in a good temper;the subject of the masquerade was never brought up, nor indeed was itonce in his thoughts; for though he was offended at his ward's behaviouron the occasion, and considered that she committed a fault in tellinghim, "She would go, " yet he never suspected she meant to do so, not evenat the time she said it, much less that she would persist, coolly anddeliberately, in so direct a contradiction to his will. She, for herpart, flattered herself, that his going to Windsor, was intended inorder to give her an opportunity of passing the evening as she pleased, without his being obliged to know of it, and consequently to complain. Miss Woodley, who was willing to hope as she wished, began to be of thesame opinion; and, without reluctance, dressed herself as a wood-nymphto accompany her friend. CHAPTER IX. At half after eleven, Miss Milner's chair, and another with MissWoodley, took them from Lord Elmwood's, to call upon the party(wood-nymphs and huntresses) who were to accompany them, and make up thesuit of Diana. They had not left the house two minutes, when a thundering rap came atthe door--it was Lord Elmwood in a post chaise. Upon some occasion thenext day's hunt was deferred: he had been made acquainted with it, andcame from Windsor at that late hour. After he had informed Mrs. Hortonand Mr. Sandford, who were sitting together, of the cause of his suddenreturn, and had supper ordered for him, he enquired, "What company hadjust left the house?" "We have been alone the whole evening, my Lord, " replied Mrs. Horton. "Nay, " returned he, "I saw two chairs, with several servants, come outof the door as I drove up, but what livery I could not discern. " "We have had no creature here, " repeated Mrs. Horton. "Nor has Miss Milner had visitors?" asked he. This brought Mrs. Horton to her recollection, and she cried, "Oh! now Iknow;"----and then checked herself, as if she knew too much. "What do you know, Madam?" said he, sharply. "Nothing, " said Mrs. Horton, "I know nothing--" and she lifted up herhands and shook her head. "So all people say, who know a great deal, " cried Sandford, "and Isuspect that is at present your case. " "Then I know more than I wish, I am sure, Mr. Sandford, " returned she, shrugging up her shoulders. Lord Elmwood was all impatience. "Explain, Madam, explain. " "Dear my Lord, " said she, "if your Lordship will recollect, you may justhave the same knowledge that I have. " "Recollect what?" said he sternly. "The quarrel you and your ward had about the masquerade. " "What of that? she is not gone there?" he cried. "I am not sure she is, " returned Mrs. Horton; "but if your Lordship sawtwo sedan chairs going out of this house, I cannot but suspect it mustbe Miss Milner and my niece going to the masquerade. " He made no answer, but rang the bell violently. A servant entered. "SendMiss Milner's maid hither, " said he, "immediately. " The man withdrew. "Nay, my Lord, " cried Mrs. Horton, "any of the other servants could tellyou just as well, whether Miss Milner is at home, or gone out. " "Perhaps not, " replied he. The maid entered. "Where is your mistress?" said Lord Elmwood. The woman had received no orders to conceal where the ladies were gone, and yet a secret influence which governs the thoughts of allwaiting-women and chambermaids, whispered to her that she ought not totell the truth. "Where is your mistress?" repeated he, in a louder voice than before. "Gone out, my Lord, " she replied. "Where?" "My Lady did not tell me. " "And don't you know?" "No, my Lord:" she answered, and without blushing. "Is this the night of the masquerade?" said he. "I don't know, my Lord, upon my word; but, I believe, my Lord, it isnot. " Sandford, as soon as Lord Elmwood had asked the last question, ranhastily to the table, at the other side of the room, took something fromit, and returned to his place again--and when the maid said, "It was notthe night of the masquerade, " he exclaimed, "But it is, my Lord, itis--yes, it is, " and shewing a newspaper in his hand, pointed to theparagraph which contained the information. "Leave the room, " said Lord Elmwood to the woman, "I have done withyou. " She withdrew. "Yes, yes, here it is, " repeated Sandford, with the paper in hishand. ----He then read the paragraph: "'_The masquerade at the honorableMrs. G----'s this evening_'--This evening, my Lord, you find--'_it isexpected will be the most brilliant, of any thing of the kind for thesemany years past. _'" "They should not put such things in the papers, " said Mrs. Horton, "totempt young women to their ruin. " The word ruin grated upon LordElmwood's ear, and he said to the servant who came to wait on him, whilehe supped, "Take the supper away. " He had not attempted either to eat, or even to sit down; and he now walked backwards and forwards in theroom, lost in thought and care. A little time after, one of Miss Milner's footmen came in upon someoccasion, and Mr. Sandford said to him, "Pray did you attend your ladyto the masquerade?" "Yes, Sir, " replied the man. Lord Elmwood stopped himself short in his walk, and said to the servant, "You did?" "Yes, my Lord, " replied he. He walked again. "I should like to know what she was dressed in, " said Mrs. Horton: andturning to the servant, "Do you know what your lady had on?" "Yes, Madam, " replied the man, "she was in men's clothes. " "How!" cried Lord Elmwood. "You tell a story, to be sure, " said Mrs. Horton to the servant. "No, " cried Sandford, "I am sure he does not; for he is an honest goodyoung man, and would not tell a lie upon any account--would you, George?" Lord Elmwood ordered Miss Milner's woman to be again sent up. She came. "In what dress did your lady go to the masquerade?" asked he, and with alook so extremely morose, it seemed to command the answer in a singleword, and that word to be truth. A mind, with a spark of sensibility more than this woman possessed, could not have equivocated with such an interrogator, but her reply was, "She went in her own dress, my Lord. " "Was it a man's or a woman's?" asked he, with a look of the samecommand. "Ha, ha, my Lord, " (half laughing and half crying) "a woman's dress, tobe sure, my Lord. " On which Sandford cried---- "Call the footman up, and let him confront her. " He was called; but Lord Elmwood, now disgusted at the scene, withdrew tothe further end of the room, and left Sandford to question them. With all the authority and consequence of a country magistrate, Sandford--his back to the fire, and the witnesses before him, began withthe footman. "In what dress do you say, that you saw your lady, when you attended, and went along with her, to the masquerade?" "In men's clothes, " replied the man, boldly and firmly as before. "Bless my soul, George, how can you say such a thing?" cried the woman. "What dress do _you_ say she went in?" cried Sandford to her. "In women's clothes, indeed, Sir. " "This is very odd!" said Mrs. Horton. "Had she on, or had she not on, a coat?" asked Sandford. "Yes, Sir, a petticoat, " replied the woman. "Do _you_ say she had on a petticoat?" said Sandford to the man. "I can't answer exactly for that, " replied he, "but I know she had bootson. " "They were not boots, " replied the maid with vehemence--"indeed, Sir, (turning to Sandford) they were only half boots. " "My girl, " said Sandford kindly to her, "your own evidence convicts yourmistress--What has a woman to do with _any_ boots?" Impatient at this mummery, Lord Elmwood rose, ordered the servants outof the room, and then, looking at his watch, found it was near one. "Atwhat hour am I to expect her home?" said he. "Perhaps not till three in the morning, " answered Mrs. Horton. "Three! more likely six, " cried Sandford. "I can't wait with patience till that time, " answered Lord Elmwood, witha most anxious sigh. "You had better go to bed, my Lord, " said Mrs. Horton; "and, bysleeping, the time will pass away unperceived. " "If I _could_ sleep, Madam. " "Will you play a game of cards, my Lord?" said Sandford, "for I will notleave you till she comes home; and though I am not used to sit up allnight----" "All night!" repeated Lord Elmwood; "she dares not stay all night. " "And yet, after going, " said Sandford, "in defiance to your commands, Ishould suppose she dared. " "She is in good company, at least, my Lord, " said Mrs. Horton. "She does not know herself what company she is in, " replied he. "How should she, " cried Sandford, "where every one hides his face?" Till five o'clock in the morning, in conversation such as this, thehours passed away. Mrs. Horton, indeed, retired to her chamber at two, and left the gentlemen to a more serious discourse; but a discoursestill less advantageous to poor Miss Milner. She, during this time, was at the scene of pleasure she had painted toherself, and all the pleasure it gave her was, that she was sure sheshould never desire to go to a masquerade again. Its crowd and bustlefatigued her--its freedom offended her delicacy--and though she perceivedthat she was the first object of admiration in the place, yet there wasone person still wanting to admire; and the remorse at havingtransgressed his injunctions for so trivial an entertainment, weighedupon her spirits, and added to its weariness. She would have come awaysooner than she did, but she could not, with any degree of good manners, leave the company with whom she went; and not till half after four, werethey prevailed on to return. Daylight just peeped through the shutters of the room in which LordElmwood and Sandford were sitting, when the sound of her carriage, andthe sudden stop it made at the door, caused Lord Elmwood to start fromhis chair. He trembled extremely, and looked pale. Sandford was ashamedto seem to notice it, yet he could not help asking him, "To take a glassof wine. " He took it--and for once, evinced he was reduced so low, as tobe _glad_ of such a resource. What passion thus agitated Lord Elmwood at this crisis, it is hard todefine--perhaps it was indignation at Miss Milner's imprudence, andexultation at being on the point of revenge--perhaps it was emotionarising from joy, to find that she was safe--perhaps it was perturbationat the regret he felt that he must upbraid her--perhaps it was not onealone of these sensations, but all of them combined. She, wearied out with the tedious night's dissipation, and far lessjoyous than melancholy, had fallen asleep as she rode home, and camehalf asleep out of her carriage. "Light me to my bed-chamber instantly, "said she to her maid, who waited in the hall to receive her. But one ofLord Elmwood's valets went up to her, and answered, "Madam, my Lorddesires to see you before you retire. " "Your Lord!" she cried, "Is he not out of town?" "No, Madam, my Lord has been at home ever since you went out; and hasbeen sitting up with Mr. Sandford, waiting for you. " She was wide awake immediately. The heaviness was removed from her eyes, but fear, grief, and shame, seized upon her heart. She leaned againsther maid, as if unable to support herself under those feelings, and saidto Miss Woodley, "Make my excuse--I cannot see him to-night--I am unfit--indeed I cannot. " Miss Woodley was alarmed at the idea of going to him by herself, andthus, perhaps, irritating him still more: she, therefore, said, "He hassent for _you_; for heaven's sake, do not disobey him a second time. " "No, dear Madam, don't, " cried her woman, "for he is like a lion--he hasbeen scolding me. " "Good God!" (exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone that seemed prophetic)"Then he is not to be my husband, after all. " "Yes, " cried Miss Woodley, "if you will only be humble, and appearsorry. You know your power over him, and all may yet be well. " She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears starting fromthem, her lips trembling--"Do I not appear sorry?" she cried. The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened their steps tothe door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood was. "No, this shuddering is only fright, " replied Miss Woodley--"Say to himyou are sorry, and beg his pardon. " "I cannot, " said she, "if Mr. Sandford is with him. " The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley went in. LordElmwood, by this time, was composed, and received her with a slightinclination of his head--she bowed to him in return, and said, with somemarks of humility, "I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong. " "You have indeed, Miss Milner, " answered he; "but do not suppose, that Imean to upbraid you: I am, on the contrary, going to release you fromany such apprehension _for the future. _" Those last three words he delivered with a countenance so serious and sodetermined, with an accent so firm and so decided, they pierced throughher heart. Yet she did not weep, or even sigh; but her friend, knowingwhat she felt, exclaimed, "Oh?" as if for her. She herself strove with her anguish, and replied, (but with a falteringvoice) "I expected as much, my Lord. " "Then, Madam, you perhaps expect _all_ that I intend?" "In regard to myself, " she replied, "I suppose I do. " "Then, " said he, "you may expect that in a few days we shall part. " "I am prepared for it, my Lord, " she answered, and, while she said so, sunk upon a chair. "My Lord, what you have to say farther, " said Miss Woodley, in tears, "defer till the morning--Miss Milner, you see, is not able to bear itnow. " "I have nothing to _say_ further, " replied he coolly--"I have now only toact. " "Lord Elmwood, " cried Miss Milner, divided between grief and anger, "youthink to terrify me by your menaces--but I can part with you--heaven knowsI can--your late behaviour has reconciled me to a separation. " On this he was going out of the room--but Miss Woodley, catching hold ofhim, cried, "Oh! my Lord, do not leave her in this sorrow--pity herweakness, and forgive it. " She was proceeding; and he seemed as ifinclined to listen, when Sandford called out in a tone of voice soharsh, "Miss Woodley, what do you mean?"--She gave a start, and desisted. Lord Elmwood then turned to Sandford, and said, "Nay, Mr. Sandford, youneed entertain no doubts of me--I have judged, and have deter----" He was going to say _determined_; but Miss Milner, who dreaded the word, interrupted the period, and exclaimed, "Oh! could my poor father knowthe days of sorrow I have experienced since his death, how would herepent his fatal choice of a protector!" This sentence, in which his friend's memory was recalled, with anadditional allusion to her long and secret love for him, affected LordElmwood much--he was moved, but ashamed of being so, and as soon aspossible conquered the propensity to forgive. Yet, for a short interval, he did not know whether to go out of the room, or to remain in it;whether to speak, or to be silent. At length he turned towards her, andsaid, "Appeal to your father in some other form--in that (pointing at herdress) he will not know you. Reflect upon him, too, in your moments ofdissipation, and let his idea controul your indiscretions--not merely inan hour of contradiction call peevishly upon his name, only to wound thedearest friend you have. " There was a degree of truth, and a degree of passionate feeling, in theconclusion of this speech, that alarmed Sandford--he caught up one of thecandles, and, laying hold of his friend's elbow, drew him out of theroom, crying, "Come, my Lord, come to your bed-chamber--it is verylate--it is morning--it is time to rise. " And by a continual repetition ofthese words, in a very loud voice, drowned whatever Lord Elmwood, or anyother person might have wished either to have said or to have heard. In this manner, Lord Elmwood was forced out of the apartment, and theevening's entertainment concluded. CHAPTER X. Two whole days passed in the bitterest suspense on the part of MissMilner, while neither one word or look from Lord Elmwood, denoted themost trivial change of the sentiments he had declared, on the night ofthe masquerade. Still those sentiments, or intentions, were notexplicitly delivered; they were more like intimations, than solemndeclarations--for though he had said, "He would never reproach her _forthe future_, " and that "She might expect they should part, " he had notpositively said they should; and upon this doubtful meaning of hiswords, she hung with the strongest agitation of hope and of fear. Miss Woodley seeing the distress of her mind, (much as she endeavouredto conceal it) entreated, nay implored of her, to permit her to be amediator; to suffer her to ask for a private interview with LordElmwood, and if she found him inflexible, to behave with a proper spiritin return; but if he appeared not absolutely averse to a reconciliation, to offer it in so cautious a manner, that it might take place withoutfarther uneasiness on either side. But Miss Milner peremptorily forbadethis, and acknowledging to her friend every weakness she felt on theoccasion, yet concluded with solemnly declaring, "That after what hadpassed between her and Lord Elmwood, _he_ must be the first to make aconcession, before she herself would condescend to be reconciled. " "I believe I know Lord Elmwood's temper, " replied Miss Woodley, "and Ido not think he will be easily induced to beg pardon for a fault whichhe thinks _you_ have committed. " "Then he does not love me. " "Pshaw! Miss Milner, this is the old argument. He may love you too wellto spoil you--consider that he is your guardian as well as your lover, hemeans also to become your husband; and he is a man of such nice honour, that he will not indulge you with any power before marriage, to which hedoes not intend to submit hereafter. " "But tenderness, affection, the politeness due from a lover to hismistress demands his submission; and as I now despair of enticing, Iwill oblige him to it--at least I'll make the trial, and know my fate atonce. " "What do you mean to do?" "Invite Lord Frederick to the house, and ask my guardian's consent forour immediate union; you will then see, what effect that will have uponhis pride. " "But you will then make it too late for him to be humble. If youresolve on this, my dear Miss Milner, you are undone at once--you maythus hurry yourself into a marriage with a man you do not love, and themisery of your whole future life may be the result. Or, would you forceMr. Dorriforth (I mean Lord Elmwood) to another duel with my LordFrederick?" "No, call him Dorriforth, " answered she, with the tears stealing fromher eyes; "I thank you for calling him so; for by that name alone, is hedear to me. " "Nay, Miss Milner, with what rapture did you not receive his love, asLord Elmwood!" "But under this title he has been barbarous; under the first, he was allfriendship and tenderness. " Notwithstanding Miss Milner indulged herself in all these softbewailings to her friend--before Lord Elmwood she maintained a degree ofpride and steadiness, which surprised even him, who perhaps thought lessof her love for him, than any other person. She now began to fear shehad gone too far in discovering her affection, and resolved to maketrial of a contrary method. She determined to retrieve that haughtycharacter which had inspired so many of her admirers with passion, andtake the chance of its effect upon this only one, to whom she everacknowledged a mutual attachment. But although she acted this characterwell--so well, that every one but Miss Woodley thought her inearnest--yet, with nice and attentive anxiety, she watched even theslightest circumstances that might revive her hopes, or confirm herdespair. Lord Elmwood's behaviour was calculated only to produce thelatter--he was cold, polite, and perfectly indifferent. Yet, whatever hismanners now were, they did not remove from her recollection what theyhad been--she recalled, with delight, the ardour with which he had firstdeclared his passion to her, and the thousand proofs he had since givenof its reality. From the constancy of his disposition, she depended thatsentiments like these were not totally eradicated; and from the extremedesire which Mr. Sandford now, more than ever, discovered ofdepreciating her in his patron's esteem--from the now, more than commonzeal, which urged him to take Lord Elmwood from her company, wheneverhe had it in his power, she was led to believe, that while his friendentertained such strong fears of his relapsing into love, she had reasonto indulge the strongest hopes that he would. But the reserve, and even indifference, that she had so well assumed fora few days, and which might perhaps have effected her design, she hadnot the patience to persevere in, without calling levity to their aid. She visited repeatedly without saying where, or with whom--kept laterhours than usual--appeared in the highest spirits--sung, laughed, andnever heaved a sigh--but when she was alone. Still Lord Elmwood protracted a resolution, that he was determined hewould never break when taken. Miss Woodley was excessively uneasy, and with cause; she saw her friendwas providing herself with a weight of cares, that she would soon findinfinitely too much for her strength to bear--she would have reasonedwith her, but all her arguments had long since proved unavailing. Shewished to speak to Lord Elmwood upon the subject, and (unknown to her)plead her excuse; but he apprehended Miss Woodley's intention, andevidently shunned her. Mr. Sandford was now the only person to whom shecould speak of Miss Milner, and the delight he took to expatiate on herfaults, was more sorrow to her friend, than not to speak of her at all. She, therefore, sat a silent spectator, waiting with dread for the timewhen she, who now scorned her advice, would fly to her in vain forcomfort. Sandford had, however, said one thing to Miss Woodley, which gave her aray of hope. During their conversation on the subject, (not by way ofconsolation to her, but as a reproach to Lord Elmwood) he one dayangrily exclaimed, "And yet, notwithstanding all this provocation, hehas not come to the determination that he will think no more of her--helingers and he hesitates--I never saw him so weak upon any occasionbefore. " This was joyful hearing to Miss Woodley; still, she could not butreflect, the longer he was in coming to this determination, the moreirrevocable it would be, when once taken; and every moment that passed, she trembled lest it should be the very moment, in which Lord Elmwoodshould resolve to banish Miss Milner from his heart. Amongst her unpardonable indiscretions, during this trial upon thetemper of her guardian, was the frequent mention of many gentlemen, whohad been her professed admirers, and the mention of them withpartiality. Teased, if not tortured, by this, Lord Elmwood still behavedwith a manly evenness of temper, and neither appeared provoked on thesubject, nor insolently careless. In a single instance, however, thiscalmness was near deserting him. Entering the drawing-room, one evening, he started, on seeing LordFrederick Lawnly there, in earnest conversation with Miss Milner. Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley were both indeed present, and LordFrederick was talking in an audible voice, upon some indifferentsubjects; but with that impressive manner, in which a man never fails tospeak to the woman he loves, be the subject what it may. The moment LordElmwood started, which was the moment he entered, Lord Frederick arose. "I beg your pardon, my Lord, " said Lord Elmwood, "I protest I did notknow you. " "I ought to entreat your Lordship's pardon, " returned Lord Frederick, "for this intrusion, which an accident alone has occasioned. Miss Milnerhas been almost overturned by the carelessness of a lady's coachman, inwhose carriage she was, and therefore suffered me to bring her home inmine. " "I hope you are not hurt, " said Lord Elmwood to Miss Milner, but hisvoice was so much affected by what he felt that he could scarcearticulate the words. Not with the apprehension that she was hurt, washe thus agitated, for the gaiety of her manners convinced him _that_could not be the case, nor did he indeed suppose any accident, of thekind mentioned, had occurred; but the circumstance of unexpectedlyseeing Lord Frederick had taken him off his guard, and being totallyunprepared, he could not conceal indications of the surprise, and of theshock it had given him. Lord Frederick, who had heard nothing of his intended union with hisward, (for it was even kept a secret, at present, from every servant inthe house) imputed this discomposure to the personal resentment he mightbear him, in consequence of their duel; for though Lord Elmwood hadassured the uncle of Lord Frederick, (who once waited upon him on thesubject of Miss Milner) that all resentment was, on his part, entirelyat an end; and that he was willing to consent to his ward's marriagewith his nephew, if she would concur; yet Lord Frederick doubted thesincerity of this, and would still have had the delicacy not to haveentered Lord Elmwood's house, had he not been encouraged by Miss Milner, and emboldened by his love. Personal resentment was therefore theconstruction he put upon Lord Elmwood's emotion on entering the room;but Miss Milner and Miss Woodley knew his agitation to arise from a fardifferent cause. After his entrance, Lord Frederick did not attempt once to resume hisseat, but having bowed most respectfully to all present, he took hisleave; while Miss Milner followed him as far as the door, and repeatedher thanks for his protection. Lord Elmwood was hurt beyond measure; but he had a second concern, whichwas, that he had not the power to conceal how much he was affected. Hetrembled--when he attempted to speak, he stammered--he perceived his faceburning with confusion, and thus one confusion gave birth to another, till his state was pitiable. Miss Milner, with all her assumed gaiety and real insolence, had not, however, the insolence to seem as if she observed him; she had only theconfidence to observe him by stealth. And Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley, having opportunely begun a discourse upon some trivial occurrences, gavehim time to recover himself by degrees--yet, still it was merely bydegrees; for the impression which this incident had made, was deep, andnot easily to be erased. The entrance of Mr. Sandford, who knew nothingof what had happened, was however, another relief; for he began aconversation with him, which they very soon retired into the library toterminate. Miss Milner, taking Miss Woodley with her, went directly toher own apartment, and there exclaimed in rapture, "He is mine--he loves me--and he is mine for ever. " Miss Woodley congratulated her upon believing so, but confessed sheherself "Had her fears. " "What fears?" cried Miss Milner: "don't you perceive that he loves me?" "I do, " said Miss Woodley, "but that I always believed; and, I think, ifhe loves you now, he has yet the good sense to know that he has reasonto hate you. " "What has good sense to do with love?" returned Miss Milner--"If a loverof mine suffers his understanding to get the better of his affection--" The same arguments were going to be repeated; but Miss Woodleyinterrupted her, by requiring an explanation of her conduct as to LordFrederick, whom, at least, she was treating with cruelty, if she onlymade use of his affection to stimulate that of Lord Elmwood. "By no means, my dear Miss Woodley, " returned she--"I have, indeed, donewith my Lord Frederick from this day; and he has certainly given me theproof I wanted of Lord Elmwood's love; but then I did not engage him tothis by the smallest ray of hope. No; do not suspect me of that, whilemy heart was another's: and I assure you, seriously, that it was fromthe circumstance we described he came with me home--yet, I must own, thatif I had not had this design upon Lord Elmwood's jealousy in idea, Iwould have walked on foot through the streets, rather than have sufferedhis rival's civilities. But he pressed his services so violently, and myLady Evans (in whose coach I was when the accident happened) pressed meso violently to accept them, that he cannot expect any farther meaningfrom this acquiescence than my own convenience. " Miss Woodley was going to reply, when she resumed, "Nay, if you intend to say I have done wrong, still I am not sorry forit, when it has given me such convincing proofs of Lord Elmwood's love. Did you see him? I am afraid you did not see how he trembled? and thatmanly voice faltered, as mine does sometimes--his proud heart was humbledtoo, as mine is now and then. Oh! Miss Woodley, I have beencounterfeiting indifference to _him_--I now find that all _his_indifference to _me_ has been counterfeit, and that we not only love, but love equally. " "Suppose this all as you hope--I yet think it highly necessary that yourguardian should be informed, seriously informed, it was mere accident(for, at present, that plea seems but as a subterfuge) which broughtLord Frederick hither. " "No, that will be destroying the work so successfully begun. I will notsuffer any explanation to take place, but let my Lord Elmwood act justas his love shall dictate; and now I have no longer a doubt of itsexcess, instead of stooping to him, I wait in the certain expectation ofhis submission to me. " CHAPTER XI. In vain, for three long days, did Miss Milner wait impatiently for thissubmission; not a sign, not a symptom appeared--nay, Lord Elmwood had, since the evening of Lord Frederick's visit, (which, at the time ithappened, seemed to affect him so exceedingly) become just the same manhe was before the circumstance occurred; except, indeed, that he wasless thoughtful, and now and then cheerful; but without any appearancethat his cheerfulness was affected. Miss Milner was vext--she wasalarmed--but was ashamed to confess those humiliating sensations, even toMiss Woodley--she supported, therefore, when in company, the vivacity shehad so long assumed; but gave way, when alone, to a still greater degreeof melancholy than usual. She no longer applauded her scheme of bringingLord Frederick to the house, and trembled, lest, on some pretence, heshould dare to call again. But as these were feelings which her pridewould not suffer her to disclose even to her friend, who would havecondoled with her, their effects were doubly poignant. Sitting in her dressing-room one forenoon with Miss Woodley, andburthened with a load of grief that she blushed to acknowledge, whileher companion was charged with apprehensions that she too was loath todisclose, one of Lord Elmwood's valets tapped gently at the door, anddelivered a letter to Miss Milner. By the person who brought it, as wellas by the address, she knew it came from Lord Elmwood, and laid it downupon her toilet, as if she was fearful to unfold it. "What is that?" said Miss Woodley. "A letter from Lord Elmwood, " replied Miss Milner. "Good Heaven!" exclaimed Miss Woodley. "Nay, " returned she, "it is, I have no doubt, a letter to beg mypardon. " But her reluctance to open it plainly evinced she did not thinkso. "Do not read it yet, " said Miss Woodley. "I do not intend it, " replied she, trembling extremely. "Will you dine first?" said Miss Woodley. "No--for not knowing its contents, I shall not know how to conduct myselftowards him. " Here a silence followed. Miss Milner took up the letter--looked earnestlyat the handwriting on the outside--at the seal--inspected into itsfolds--and seemed to wish, by some equivocal method, to guess at thecontents, without having the courage to come at the certain knowledge ofthem. Curiosity, at length, got the better of her fears--she opened the letter, and, scarce able to hold it while she read, she read the followingwords:-- "MADAM, "While I considered you only as my ward, my friendship for you was unbounded--when I looked upon you as a woman formed to grace a fashionable circle, my admiration equalled my friendship--and when fate permitted me to behold you in the tender light of my betrothed wife, my soaring love left those humbler passions at a distance. "That you have still my friendship, my admiration, and even my love, I will not attempt to deceive either myself or you by disavowing; but still, with a firm assurance, I declare, that prudence outweighs them all; and I have not, from henceforward, a wish to be regarded by you, in any other respect than as one 'who wishes you well. ' That you ever beheld me in the endearing quality of a destined and an affectionate husband, (such as I would have proved) was a deception upon my hopes: they acknowledge the mistake, and are humbled--but I entreat you to spare their farther trial, and for a single week do not insult me with the open preference of another. In the short space of that period I shall have taken my leave of you--_for ever. _ "I shall visit Italy, and some other parts of the Continent; from whence I propose passing to the West Indies, in order to inspect my possessions there: nor shall I return to England till after a few years' absence; in which time I hope to become once more reconciled to the change of state I am enjoined--a change I now most fervently wish could be entirely dispensed with. "The occasion of my remaining here a week longer, is to settle some necessary affairs, among which the principal is, that of delivering to a friend, a man of worth and of tenderness, all those writings which have invested me with the power of my guardianship--he will, the day after my departure, (without one upbraiding word) resign them to you in my name; and even your most respected father, could he behold the resignation, would concur in its propriety. "And now, my dear Miss Milner, let not affected resentment, contempt, or levity, oppose that serenity, which, for the week to come, I wish to enjoy. By complying with this request, give me to believe, that, since you have been under my care, you think I have, at least, faithfully discharged some part of my duty. And wherever I have been inadequate to your wishes, attribute my demerits to some infirmity of mind, rather than to a negligence of your happiness. Yet, be the cause what it will, since these faults have existed, I do not attempt to disavow or extenuate them, and I beg your pardon. "However time, and a succession of objects, may eradicate more tender sentiments, I am sure _never_ to lose the liveliest anxiety for your welfare--and with all that solicitude, which cannot be described, I entreat for your own sake, for mine--when we shall be far asunder--and for the sake of your dead father's memory, that, _upon every important occasion, you will call your serious judgment to direct you. _ "I am, Madam, "Your sincerest friend, "ELMWOOD. " After she had read every syllable of this letter, it dropped from herhands; but she uttered not a word. There was, however, a paleness in herface, a deadness in her eye, and a kind of palsy over her frame, whichMiss Woodley, who had seen her in every stage of her uneasiness, neverhad seen before. "I do not want to read the letter, " said Miss Woodley; "your looks tellme its contents. " "They will then discover to Lord Elmwood, " replied she, "what I feel;but Heaven forbid--that would sink me even lower than I am. " Scarce able to move, she rose, and looked in her glass, as if to arrangeher features, and impose upon him: alas! it was of no avail--a serenityof mind could alone effect what she desired. "You must endeavour, " said Miss Woodley, "to feel the disposition youwish to make appear. " "I will, " replied she, "I will feel a proper pride--and a proper scorn ofthis treatment. " And so desirous was she to attain the appearance of these sentiments, that she made the strongest efforts to calm her thoughts, in order toacquire it. "I have but a few days to remain with him, " she said to herself, "and wepart for ever--during those few days it is not only my duty to obey hiscommands, or rather comply with his request, but it is also my wish toleave upon his mind an impression, which may not add to the ill opinionhe has formed of me, but, perhaps, serve to diminish it. If, in everyother instance, my conduct has been blameable, he shall, at least inthis, acknowledge its merit. The fate I have drawn upon myself, he shallfind I can be resigned to; and he shall be convinced, that the woman, ofwhose weakness he has had so many fatal proofs, is yet in possession ofsome fortitude--fortitude, to bid him farewell, without discovering oneaffected or one real pang, though her death should be the immediateconsequence. " Thus she resolved, and thus she acted. The severest judge could not havearraigned her conduct, from the day she received Lord Elmwood's letter, to the day of his departure. She had, indeed, involuntary weaknesses, but none with which she did not struggle, and, in general, her struggleswere victorious. The first time she saw him after the receipt of his letter, was on theevening of the same day--she had a little concert of amateurs of music, and was herself singing and playing when he entered the room: theconnoisseurs immediately perceived she made a false cadence--but LordElmwood was no connoisseur in the art, and he did not observe it. They occasionally spoke to each other through the evening, but thesubjects were general--and though their manners every time they spoke, were perfectly polite, they were not marked with the smallest degree offamiliarity. To describe his behaviour exactly, it was the same as hisletter, polite, friendly, composed, and resolved. Some of the companystaid supper, which prevented the embarrassment that must unavoidablyhave arisen, had the family been by themselves. The next morning each breakfasted in his separate apartments--morecompany dined with them--in the evening, and at supper, Lord Elmwood wasfrom home. Thus, all passed on as peaceably as he had requested, and Miss Milnerhad not betrayed one particle of frailty; when, the third day at dinner, some gentlemen of his acquaintance being at table, one of them said, "And so, my Lord, you absolutely set off on Tuesday morning?" This was Friday. Sandford and he both replied at the same time, "Yes. " And Sandford, butnot Lord Elmwood, looked at Miss Milner when he spoke. Her knife andfork gave a sudden spring in her hand, but no other emotion witnessedwhat she felt. "Aye, Elmwood, " cried another gentleman at table, "you'll bring home, Iam afraid, a foreign wife, and that I shan't forgive. " "It is his errand abroad, I make no doubt, " said another visitor. Before he could return an answer, Sandford cried, "And what objection toa foreigner for a wife? do not crowned heads all marry foreigners? andwho happier in the married state than some kings?" Lord Elmwood directed his eyes to the side of the table, opposite tothat where Miss Milner sat. "Nay, " (answered one of the guests, who was a country gentleman) "whatdo you say, ladies--do you think my Lord ought to go out of his ownnation for a wife?" and he looked at Miss Milner for the reply. Miss Woodley, uneasy at her friend's being thus forced to give anopinion upon so delicate a subject, endeavoured to satisfy thegentleman, by answering to the question herself: "Whoever my LordElmwood marries, Sir, " said Miss Woodley, "he, no doubt, will be happy. " "But what say you, Madam?" asked the visitor, still keeping his eyes onMiss Milner. "That whoever Lord Elmwood marries, he _deserves_ to be happy:" returnedshe, with the utmost command of her voice and looks; for Miss Woodley, by replying first, had given her time to collect herself. The colour flew to Lord Elmwood's face, as she delivered this shortsentence; and Miss Woodley persuaded herself, she saw a tear start inhis eye. Miss Milner did not look that way. In an instant he found means to change the subject, but that of hisjourney still employed the conversation; and what horses, servants, andcarriages he took with him, was minutely asked, and so accuratelyanswered, either by himself or by Mr. Sandford, that Miss Milner, although she had known her doom before, till now had received nocircumstantial account of it--and as circumstances increase or diminishall we feel, the hearing these things told, increased the bitterness oftheir truth. Soon after dinner the ladies retired; and from that time, though MissMilner's behaviour continued the same, yet her looks and her voice weretotally altered--for the world, she could not have looked cheerfully; forthe world, she could not have spoken with a sprightly accent; shefrequently began in one, but not three words could she utter, before hertones sunk into dejection. Not only her colour, but her features becamechanged; her eyes lost their brilliancy, her lips seemed to hang withoutthe power of motion, her head drooped, and her dress was neglected. Conscious of this appearance, and conscious of the cause from whence itarose, it was her desire to hide herself from the only object she couldhave wished to have charmed. Accordingly, she sat alone, or with MissWoodley in her own apartment as much as was consistent with thatcivility which her guardian had requested, and which forbade her totallyabsenting herself. Miss Woodley felt so acutely the torments of her friend, that had nother reason told her, that the inflexible mind of Lord Elmwood, was fixedbeyond her power to shake, she had cast herself at his feet, andimplored the return of his affection and tenderness, as the only meansto save his once-beloved ward from an untimely death. But herunderstanding--her knowledge of his firm and immoveable temper; and ofall his provocations--her knowledge of his word, long since given toSandford, "That if once resolved, he would not recall hisresolution"--the certainty of the various plans arranged for his travels, all convinced her, that by any interference, she would only expose MissMilner's love and delicacy, to a contemptuous rejection. If the conversation did not every day turn upon the subject of LordElmwood's departure--a conversation he evidently avoided himself--yet, every day, some new preparation for his journey, struck either the earor the eye of Miss Milner--and had she beheld a frightful spectre, shecould not have shuddered with more horror, than when she unexpectedlypassed his large trunks in the hall, nailed and corded, ready to be sentoff to meet him at Venice. At the sight, she flew from the company thatchanced to be with her, and stole to the first lonely corner of thehouse to conceal her tears--she reclined her head upon her hands, andbedewed them with the sudden anguish, that had overcome her. She hearda footstep advancing towards the spot where she hoped to have beenconcealed; she lifted up her eyes, and saw Lord Elmwood. Pride, was thefirst emotion his presence inspired--pride, which arose from the humilityinto which she was plunged. She looked at him earnestly, as if to imply, "What now, my Lord?" He only answered with a bow, which expressed; "I beg your pardon. " Andimmediately withdrew. Thus each understood the other's language, without either having uttereda word. The just construction she put upon his looks and behaviour upon thisoccasion, kept up her spirits for some little time; and she blessedheaven, repeatedly, for the singular favour of shewing to her, clearly, by this accident, his negligence of her sorrows, his total indifference. The next day was the eve of that on which he was to depart--of the day onwhich she was to bid adieu to Dorriforth, to her guardian, to LordElmwood; to all her hopes at once. The moment she awoke on Monday morning, the recollection, that this was, perhaps, the last day she was ever again to see him, softened all theresentment his yesterday's conduct had raised: forgetting his austerity, and all she had once termed cruelties, she now only remembered hisfriendship, his tenderness, and his love. She was impatient to see him, and promised herself, for this last day, to neglect no one opportunityof being with him. For that purpose she did not breakfast in her ownroom, as she had done for several mornings before, but went into thebreakfast-room, where all the family in general met. She was rejoiced onhearing his voice as she opened the door, yet the sound made her trembleso much, that she could scarcely totter to the table. Miss Woodley looked at her as she entered, and was never so shocked atseeing her; for never had she yet seen her look so ill. As sheapproached, she made an inclination of her head to Mrs. Horton, then toher guardian, as was her custom, when she first saw them in a morning--helooked in her face as he bowed in return, then fixed his eyes upon thefire-place, rubbed his forehead, and began talking with Mr. Sandford. Sandford, during breakfast, by accident cast a glance upon Miss Milner;his attention was caught by her deadly countenance, and he lookedearnestly. He then turned to Lord Elmwood to see if he was observing herappearance--he was not--and so much were her thoughts engaged on himalone, that she did not once perceive Sandford gazing at her. Mrs. Horton, after a little while observed, "It was a beautifulmorning. " Lord Elmwood said, "He thought he heard it rain in the night. " Sandford cried, "For his part he slept too well to know. " And then(unasked) held a plate with biscuits to Miss Milner--it was the firstcivility he had ever in his life offered her; she smiled at thewhimsicality of the circumstance, but she took one in return for hisattention. He looked grave beyond his usual gravity, and yet not withhis usual ill temper. She did not eat what she had so politely taken, but laid it down soon after. Lord Elmwood was the first who rose from breakfast, and he did notreturn to dinner. At dinner, Mrs. Horton said, "She hoped he would, however, favour themwith his company at supper. " To which Sandford replied, "No doubt, for you will hardly any of you seehim in the morning; as we shall be off by six, or soon after. " Sandford was not going abroad with Lord Elmwood, but was to go with himas far as Dover. These words of his--"_Not see Lord Elmwood in the morning_"--[never againto see him after this evening, ] were like the knell of death to MissMilner. She felt the symptoms of fainting, and eagerly snatched a glassof water, which the servant was holding to Sandford, who had called forit, and drank it off;--as she returned the glass to the servant, shebegan to apologize to Mr. Sandford for her seeming rudeness, but beforeshe could utter what she intended, he said, good-naturedly, "Nevermind--you are very welcome--I am glad you took it. " She looked at him toobserve, whether he had really spoken kindly, or ironically; but beforehis countenance could satisfy her, her thoughts were called away fromthat trivial matter, and again fixed upon Lord Elmwood. The moments seemed tedious till he came home to supper, and yet, whenshe reflected how short the remainder of the evening would be after thattime, she wished to defer the hour of his return for months. At teno'clock he arrived; and at half after ten the family, without anyvisitor, met at supper. Miss Milner had considered, that the period for her to counterfeitappearances, was diminished now to a most contracted one; and sherigorously enjoined herself not to shrink from the little whichremained. The certain end, that would be so soon put to this painfuldeception, encouraged her to struggle through it with redoubled zeal;and this was but necessary, as her weakness increased. She thereforelistened, she talked, and even smiled with the rest of the company, nordid _their_ vivacity seem to arise, from a much less compulsive sourcethan her own. It was past twelve, when Lord Elmwood looked at his watch, and risingfrom his chair, went up to Mrs. Horton, and taking her hand, said, "TillI see you again, Madam, I sincerely wish you every happiness. " Miss Milner fixed her eyes upon the table before her. "My Lord, " replied Mrs. Horton, "I sincerely wish you health andhappiness likewise. " He then went to Miss Woodley, and taking her hand, repeated much thesame, as he had said to Mrs. Horton. Miss Milner now trembled beyond all power of concealment. "My Lord, " replied Miss Woodley, a good deal affected, "I sincerely hopemy prayers for your happiness may be heard. " She and Mrs. Horton were both standing as well as Lord Elmwood; but MissMilner kept her seat, till his eye was turned upon her, and he movedslowly towards her; she then rose:--every one who was present, attentiveto what he would now say, and how she would receive what he said, herecast their eyes upon them, and listened with impatience. They were alldisappointed--he did not utter a syllable. Yet he took her hand, andheld it closely between his. He then bowed most respectfully and lefther. No "I wish you well;--I wish you health and happiness. " No "Prayers forblessings on her. " Not even the word "Farewell, " escaped hislips--perhaps, to have attempted any of these, might have choaked hisutterance. She had behaved with fortitude the whole evening, and she continued todo so, till the moment he turned away from her. Her eyes then overflowedwith tears, and in the agony of her mind, not knowing what she did, shelaid her cold hand upon the person next to her--it happened to beSandford; but not observing it was he, she grasped his hand withviolence--yet he did not snatch it away, nor look at her with his wontedseverity. And thus she stood, silent and motionless, while Lord Elmwood, now at the door, bowed once more to all the company, and retired. Sandford had still Miss Milner's hand fixed upon his; and when the doorwas shut after Lord Elmwood, he turned his head to look in her face, andturned it with some marks of apprehension for the grief he might findthere. She strove to overcome that grief, and after a heavy sigh, satdown, as if resigned to the fate to which she was decreed. Instead of following Lord Elmwood, as usual, Sandford poured out a glassof wine, and drank it. A general silence ensued for near three minutes. At last, turning himself round on his seat, towards Miss Milner, who satlike a statue of despair at his side, "Will you breakfast with usto-morrow?" said he. She made no answer. "We shan't breakfast before half after six, " continued he, "I dare say;and if you can rise so early--why do. " "Miss Milner, " said Miss Woodley, (for she caught eagerly at the hope ofher passing this night in less unhappiness than she had foreboded) "prayrise at that hour to breakfast; Mr. Sandford would not invite you, if hethought it would displease Lord Elmwood. " "Not I, " replied Sandford, churlishly. "Then desire her maid to call her:" said Mrs. Horton to Miss Woodley. "Nay, she will be awake, I have no doubt;" returned her niece. "No;" replied Miss Milner, "since Lord Elmwood has thought proper totake his leave of me, without even speaking a word; by my own design, never will I see him again. " And her tears burst forth, as if her heartburst at the same time. "Why did not _you_ speak to _him?_" cried Sandford--"Pray did _you_ bid_him_ farewell? and I don't see why one is not as much to be blamed, inthat respect, as the other. " "I was too weak to say I wished him happy, " cried Miss Milner; "but, Heaven is my witness, I do wish him so from my soul. " "And do you imagine he does not wish you so?" cried Sandford. "Youshould judge him by your own heart; and what you feel for him, imaginehe feels for you, my dear. " Though "_my dear_" is a trivial phrase, yet from certain people, andupon certain occasions, it is a phrase of infinite comfort andassurance. Mr. Sandford seldom said "my dear" to any one; to Miss Milnernever; and upon this occasion, and from him, it was an expression mostprecious. She turned to him with a look of gratitude; but as she only looked, anddid not speak, he rose up, and soon after said, with a friendly tone hehad seldom used in her presence, "I sincerely wish you a good night. " As soon as he was gone, Miss Milner exclaimed, "However my fate may havebeen precipitated by the unkindness of Mr. Sandford, yet, for thatparticle of concern which he has shown for me this night, I will alwaysbe grateful to him. " "Ay, " cried Mrs. Horton, "good Mr. Sandford may show his kindness now, without any danger from its consequences. Now Lord Elmwood is going awayfor ever, he is not afraid of your seeing him once again. " And shethought she praised him by this suggestion. CHAPTER XII. When Miss Milner retired to her bed-chamber, Miss Woodley went with her, nor would leave her the whole night--but in vain did she persuade her torest--she absolutely refused; and declared she would never, from thathour, indulge repose. "The part I undertook to perform, " cried she, "isover--I will now, for my whole life, appear in my own character, and givea loose to the anguish I endure. " As daylight showed itself--"And yet I might see him once again, " saidshe--"I might see him within these two hours, if I pleased, for Mr. Sandford invited me. " "If you think, my dear Miss Milner, " said Miss Woodley, "that a secondparting from Lord Elmwood would but give you a second agony, in the nameof Heaven do not see him any more--but, if you hope your mind would beeasier, were you to bid each other adieu in a more direct manner thanyou did last night, let us go down and breakfast with him. I'll gobefore, and prepare him for your reception--you shall not surprisehim--and I will let him know, it is by Mr. Sandford's invitation you arecoming. " She listened with a smile to this proposal, yet objected to theindelicacy of her wishing to see him, after he had taken his leave--butas Miss Woodley perceived that she was inclined to infringe thisdelicacy, of which she had so proper a sense, she easily persuaded her, it was impossible for the most suspicious person (and Lord Elmwood wasfar from such a character) to suppose, that the paying him a visit atthat period of time, could be with the most distant idea of regaininghis heart, or of altering one resolution he had taken. But though Miss Milner acquiesced in this opinion, yet she had not thecourage to form the determination that she would go. Daylight now no longer peeped, but stared upon them. Miss Milner went tothe looking-glass, breathed upon her hands and rubbed them on her eyes, smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress; yet said, after all, "I darenot see him again. " "You may do as you please, " said Miss Woodley, "but I will. I that havelived for so many years under the same roof with him, and on the mostfriendly terms, and he going away, perhaps for these ten years, perhapsfor ever, I should think it a disrespect not to see him to the lastmoment of his remaining in the house. " "Then do you go, " said Miss Milner, eagerly; "and if he should ask forme, I will gladly come, you know; but if he does not ask for me, I willnot--and pray don't deceive me. " Miss Woodley promised her not to deceive her; and soon after, as theyheard the servants pass about the house, and the clock had struck six, Miss Woodley went to the breakfast room. She found Lord Elmwood there in his travelling dress, standing pensivelyby the fire-place--and, as he did not dream of seeing her, he startedwhen she entered, and, with an appearance of alarm, said, "Dear MissWoodley, what's the matter?" She replied, "Nothing, my Lord; but I couldnot be satisfied without seeing your Lordship once again, while I had itin my power. " "I thank you, " he returned with a sigh--the heaviest and most intelligentsigh she ever heard him condescend to give. She imagined, alas, that helooked as if he wished to ask how Miss Milner did, but would not allowhimself the indulgence. She was half inclined to mention her to him, andwas debating in her mind whether she should or not, when Mr. Sandfordcame into the room, saying, as he entered, "For Heaven's sake, my Lord, where did you sleep last night?" "Why do you ask!" said he. "Because, " replied Sandford, "I went into your bed-chamber just now, andI found your bed made. You have not slept there to-night. " "I have slept no where, " returned he; "I could not sleep--and having somepapers to look over, and to set off early, I thought I might as well notgo to bed at all. " Miss Woodley was pleased at the frank manner in which he made thisconfession, and could not resist the strong impulse to say, "You havedone just then, my Lord, like Miss Milner, for she has not been in bedthe whole night. " Miss Woodley spoke this in a negligent manner, and yet, Lord Elmwoodechoed back the words with solicitude, "Has not Miss Milner been in bedthe whole night?" "If she is up, why does not she come and take some coffee?" saidSandford, as he began to pour it out. "If she thought it would be agreeable, " returned Miss Woodley, "I daresay she would. " And she looked at Lord Elmwood while she spoke, thoughshe did not absolutely address him; but he made no reply. "Agreeable!" returned Sandford, angrily--"Has she then a quarrel with anybody here? or does she suppose any body here bears enmity to _her?_ Isshe not in peace and charity?" "Yes, " replied Miss Woodley, "that I am sure she is. " "Then bring her hither, " cried Sandford, "directly. Would she have thewickedness to imagine we are not all friends with her?" Miss Woodley left the room, and found Miss Milner almost in despair, lest she should hear Lord Elmwood's carriage drive off before herfriend's return. "Did he send for me?" were the words she uttered as soon as she saw her. "Mr. Sandford did, in his presence, " returned Miss Woodley, "and you maygo with the utmost decorum, or I would not tell you so. " She required no protestations of this, but readily followed her belovedadviser, whose kindness never appeared in so amiable a light as at thatmoment. On entering the room, through all the dead white of her presentcomplection, she blushed to a crimson. Lord Elmwood rose from his seat, and brought a chair for her to sit down. Sandford looked at her inquisitively, sipped his tea, and said, "Henever made tea to his own liking. " Miss Milner took a cup, but had scarce strength to hold it. It seemed but a very short time they were at breakfast, when thecarriage, that was to take Lord Elmwood away, drove to the door. MissMilner started at the sound--so did he--but she had nearly dropped her cupand saucer; on which Sandford took them out of her hand, saying, "Perhaps you had rather have coffee?" Her lips moved, but he could not hear what she said. A servant came in, and told Lord Elmwood, "The carriage was at thedoor. " He replied, "Very well. " But though he had breakfasted, he did notattempt to move. At last, rising briskly, as if it was necessary to go in haste when hedid go; he took up his hat, which he had brought with him into the room, and was turning to Miss Woodley to take his leave, when Sandford cried, "My Lord, you are in a great hurry. " And then, as if he wished to givepoor Miss Milner every moment he could, added, (looking about) "I don'tknow where I have laid my gloves. " Lord Elmwood, after repeating to Miss Woodley his last night's farewell, now went up to Miss Milner, and taking one of her hands, again held itbetween his, but still without speaking--while she, unable to suppressher tears as heretofore, suffered them to fall in torrents. "What is all this?" cried Sandford, going up to them in anger. They neither of them replied, or changed their situation. "Separate this moment, " cried Sandford, "or resolve to be separated onlyby--death. " The commanding and awful manner in which he spoke this sentence, madethem both turn to him in amazement, and as it were, petrified with thesensation his words had caused. He left them for a moment, and going to a small bookcase in one cornerof the room, took out of it a book, and returning with it in his hand, said, "Lord Elmwood, do you love this woman?" "More than my life. " He replied, with the most heartfelt accents. He then turned to Miss Milner--"Can you say the same by him?" She spread her hands over her eyes, and exclaimed, "Oh, Heavens!" "I believe you _can_ say so, " returned Sandford; "and in the name ofGod, and your own happiness, since this is the state of you both, let meput it out of your power to part. " Lord Elmwood gazed at him with wonder! and yet, as if enraptured by thesudden change this conduct gave to his prospects. She, sighed with a kind of trembling ecstasy; while Sandford, with allthe dignity of his official character, delivered these words---- "My Lord, while I thought my counsel might save you from the worst ofmisfortunes, conjugal strife, I importuned you hourly, and set forthyour danger in the light it appeared to me. But though old, and apriest, I can submit to think I have been in an error; and I now firmlybelieve, it is for the welfare of you both, to become man and wife. MyLord, take this woman's marriage vows--you can ask no fairer promises ofher reform--she can give you none half so sacred, half so binding; and Isee by her looks that she will mean to keep them. And my dear, "continued he, addressing himself to her, "act but under the dominion ofthose vows, to a husband of sense and virtue, like him, and you will beall that I, himself, or even Heaven can desire. Now, then, Lord Elmwood, this moment give her up for ever, or this moment constrain her by suchties from offending you, as she shall not _dare_ to violate. " Lord Elmwood struck his forehead in doubt and agitation; but, stillholding her hand, he cried, "I cannot part from her. " Then feeling thisreply as equivocal, he fell upon his knees, and cried, "Will you pardonmy hesitation? and will you, in marriage, show me that tender love youhave not shown me yet? Will you, in possessing all my affections, bearwith all my infirmities?" She raised him from her feet, and by the expression of her countenance, by the tears that bathed his hands, gave him confidence. He turned to Sandford--then placing her by his own side, as the form ofmatrimony requires, gave this for a sign to Sandford that he shouldbegin the ceremony. On which, he opened his book, and--married them. With voice and manners so serious, so solemn and so fervent, heperformed these rites, that every idea of jest, or even of lightness, was absent from the mind of all who were present. Miss Milner, covered with shame, sunk on the bosom of Miss Woodley. When the ring was wanting, Lord Elmwood supplied it with one from hisown hand, but throughout all the rest of the ceremony, appeared lost inzealous devotion to Heaven. Yet, no sooner was it finished, than histhoughts descended to this world. He embraced his bride with all thetransport of the fondest, happiest bridegroom, and in raptures calledher by the endearing name of "wife. " "But still, my Lord, " cried Sandford, "you are only married by your ownchurch and conscience, not by your wife's, or by the law of the land;and let me advise you not to defer that marriage long, lest in the timeyou disagree, and she should refuse to become your legal spouse. " "I think there is danger, " returned Lord Elmwood, "and therefore oursecond marriage must take place to-morrow. " To this the ladies objected, and Sandford was to fix their secondwedding-day, as he had done their first. He, after consideration, gavethem four days. Miss Woodley then recollected (for every one else had forgot it) thatthe carriage was still at the door to convey Lord Elmwood far away. Itwas of course dismissed--and one of those great incidents of delightwhich Miss Milner that morning tasted, was to look out of the window, and see this very carriage drive from the door unoccupied. Never was there a more rapid change from despair to happiness--tohappiness perfect and supreme--than was that, which Miss Milner and LordElmwood experienced in one single hour. The few days that intervened between this and their lawful marriage, were passed in the delightful care of preparing for that happy day--yet, with all its delights inferior to the first, when every unexpected joywas doubled by the once expected sorrow. Nevertheless, on that first wedding-day, that joyful day, which restoredher lost lover to her hopes again; even on that _very_ day, after thesacred ceremony was over, Miss Milner--(with all the fears, the tremors, the superstition of her sex)--felt an excruciating shock; when, lookingon the ring Lord Elmwood had put upon her finger, in haste, when hemarried her, she perceived it was a--mourning ring. A SIMPLE STORY, IN FOUR VOLUMES, BY MRS. INCHBALD. VOL. III. _THE FOURTH EDITION. _ LONDON: Printed for G. G. And J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1799. A SIMPLE STORY. CHAPTER I. Not any event, throughout life, can arrest the reflection of athoughtful mind more powerfully, or leave so lasting an impression, asthat of returning to a place after a few years absence, and observing anentire alteration, in respect to all the persons who once formed theneighbourhood. To find that many, who but a few years before were leftin their bloom of youth and health, are dead--to find that children leftat school, are married and have children of their own--that some, whowere left in riches, are reduced to poverty--that others, who were inpoverty are become rich--to find, those once renowned for virtue, nowdetested for vice--roving husbands, grown constant--constant husbands, become rovers--the firmest friends, changed to the most implacableenemies--beauty faded. In a word, every change to demonstrate, that, "All is transitory on this side the grave. " Guided by a wish, that the reflecting reader may experience thesensation, which an attention to circumstances like these, must excite;he is desired to imagine seventeen years elapsed, since he has seen orheard of any of those persons who in the foregoing volumes have beenintroduced to his acquaintance--and then, supposing himself at the periodof those seventeen years, follow the sequel of their history. To begin with the first female object of this story. The beautiful, thebeloved Miss Milner--she is no longer beautiful--no longer beloved--nolonger--tremble while you read it!--no longer--virtuous. Dorriforth, the pious, the good, the tender Dorriforth, is become ahard-hearted tyrant. The compassionate, the feeling, the just LordElmwood, an example of implacable rigour and injustice. Miss Woodley is grown old, but less with years than grief. The boy, Rushbrook, is become a man, and the apparent heir of LordElmwood's fortune; while his own daughter, his only child by his onceadored Miss Milner, he refuses ever to see again, in vengeance to hermother's crimes. The least wonderful change, is, the death of Mrs. Horton. ExceptSandford, who remains much the same as heretofore. We left Lady Elmwood in the last volume at the summit of humanhappiness; a loving and beloved bride. We begin this volume, and findher upon her death-bed. At thirty-five, her "Course was run"--a course full of perils, of hopes, of fears, of joys, and at the end, of sorrows; all exquisite of theirkind, for exquisite were the feelings of her susceptible heart. At the commencement of this story, her father is described in the lastmoments of his life, with all his cares fixed upon her, his onlychild--how vain these cares! how vain every precaution that was taken forher welfare! She knows, she reflects upon this; and yet, impelled bythat instinctive power which actuates a parent, Lady Elmwood on _her_dying day has no worldly thoughts, but that of the future happiness ofan only child. To every other prospect in her view, "Thy will be done"is her continual exclamation; but where the misery of her daughterpresents itself, the expiring penitent would there combat the will ofHeaven. To detail the progression by which vice gains a predominancy in theheart, may be a useful lesson; but it is one so little to thesatisfaction of most readers, that the degrees of misconduct by whichLady Elmwood fell, are not meant to be related here; but instead ofpicturing every occasion of her fall, to come briefly to the events thatfollowed. There are, nevertheless, some articles under the former class, whichought not to be entirely omitted. Lord Elmwood, after four years enjoyment of the most perfect happinessthat marriage could give, after becoming the father of a beautifuldaughter, whom he loved with a tenderness almost equal to his love ofher mother, was under the indispensable necessity of leaving them bothfor a time, in order to rescue from the depredation of his own steward, his very large estates in the West Indies. His voyage was tedious; hisresidence there, from various accidents, prolonged from time to time, till near three years had at length passed away. Lady Elmwood, at firstonly unhappy, became at last provoked; and giving way to that irritabledisposition which she had so seldom governed, resolved, in spite of hisinjunctions, to divert the melancholy hours caused by his absence, bymixing in the gay circles of London. Lord Elmwood at this time, and for many months before, had been detainedabroad by a severe and dangerous illness, which a too cautious fear ofher uneasiness, had prompted him to conceal; and she received hisfrequent apologies for not returning, with a suspicion and resentmentthey were calculated, but not intended, to inspire. To violent anger, succeeded a degree of indifference still morefatal--Lady Elmwood's heart was not formed for such a state--there, whereall the tumultuous passions harboured by turns, one among them soonfound the means to occupy all vacancies: a passion, commencinginnocently, but terminating in guilt. The dear object of her fondest, her truest affections, was away; and those affections, painted the timeso irksome that was past; so wearisome, that, which was still to come;that she flew from the present tedious solitude, to the dangeroussociety of one, whose whole mind depraved by fashionable vices, couldnot repay her for a moment's loss of him, whose absence he supplied. Or, if the delirium gave her a moment's recompence, what were hersufferings, her remorse, when she was awakened from the fleeting joy, bythe arrival of her husband? How happy, how transporting would have beenthat arrival a few months before! As it would then have been felicityunbounded, it was now--language affords no word that can describe LadyElmwood's sensations, on being told her Lord was arrived, and thatnecessity alone had so long delayed his return. Guilty, but not hardened in her guilt, her pangs, her shame were themore excessive. She fled from the place at his approach; fled from hishouse, never again to return to a habitation where he was the master. She did not, however, elope with her paramour, but escaped to shelterherself in the most dreary retreat; where she partook of no one comfortfrom society, or from life, but the still unremitting friendship of MissWoodley. Even her infant daughter she left behind, nor would allowherself the consolation of her innocent, though reproachful smiles--sheleft her in her father's house, that she might be under his protection;parted with her, as she thought, for ever, with all the agonies withwhich mothers part from their infant children: and yet, even a mothercan scarce conceive how much more sharp those agonies were, onbeholding--the child sent after her, as the perpetual outcast of itsfather. Lord Elmwood's love to his wife had been extravagant--the effect of hishate was the same. Beholding himself separated from her by a barriernever to be removed, he vowed in the deep torments of his revenge, neverto be reminded of her by one individual object; much less, by one sonear to her as her child. To bestow upon that child his affections, would be, he imagined, still, in some sort, to divide them with themother. Firm in his resolution, the beautiful Matilda, was, at the ageof six years, sent out of her father's house, and received by her motherwith all the tenderness, but with all the anguish, of those parents, whobehold their offspring visited by the punishment due only to their ownoffences. While this rigid act was executing by Lord Elmwood's agents at hiscommand, himself was engaged in an affair of still weightierimportance--that of life or death:--he determined upon his own death, orthe death of the man who had wounded his honour and destroyed hishappiness. A duel with his old antagonist was the result of thisdetermination; nor was the Duke of Avon (who before the decease of hisfather and eldest brother, was Lord Frederick Lawnly) averse from givinghim all the satisfaction he required. For it was no other than he, whosepassion for Lady Elmwood had still subsisted, and whose address ingallantry left no means unattempted for the success of his designs;--noother than he, (who, next to Lord Elmwood, had been of all her lovers, the most favoured, ) to whom Lady Elmwood sacrificed her own and herhusband's future peace, and thus gave to his vanity a prouder triumph, than if she had never bestowed her hand in marriage on another. Thistriumph however was but short--a month only, after the return of LordElmwood, the Duke was called upon to answer for his conduct, and wasleft where they met, so defaced with scars, as never again to endangerthe honour of a husband. As Lord Elmwood was inexorable to allaccommodation, their engagement continued for a long space of time; norcould any thing but the assurance that his opponent was slain, have atlast torn him from the field, though he himself was dangerously wounded. Yet even during the period of his danger, while for days he lay in thecontinual expectation of his own death, not all the entreaties of hisdearest, most intimate, and most respected friends, could prevail uponhim to pronounce forgiveness of his wife, or to suffer them to bring hisdaughter to him, for his last blessing. Lady Elmwood, who was made acquainted with the minutest circumstance asit passed, appeared to wait the news of her husband's decease withpatience; but upon her brow, and in every lineament of her face wasmarked, that his death was an event she would not for a day survive: andshe would have left her child an orphan, to have followed Lord Elmwoodto the tomb. She was prevented the trial; he recovered; and from theample vengeance he had obtained upon the irresistible person of theDuke, in a short time seemed to regain his usual tranquillity. He recovered, but Lady Elmwood fell sick and languished--possessed ofyouth to struggle with her woes, she lingered on, till ten years declinebrought her to that period, with which the reader is now going to bepresented. CHAPTER II. In a lonely country on the borders of Scotland, a single house by theside of a dreary heath, was the residence of the once gay, volatile MissMilner. In a large gloomy apartment of this solitary habitation (thewindows of which scarce rendered the light accessible) was laid upon herdeath-bed, the once lovely Lady Elmwood--pale, half suffocated with theloss of breath; yet her senses perfectly clear and collected, whichserved but to sharpen the anguish of dying. In one corner of the room, by the side of an old fashioned stool, kneelsMiss Woodley, praying most devoutly for her still beloved friend, but invain endeavouring to pray composedly--floods of tears pour down herfurrowed cheeks, and frequent sobs of sorrow, break through each piousejaculation. Close by her mother's side, one hand supporting her head, the otherwiping from her face the cold dew of death, behold Lady Elmwood'sdaughter--Lord Elmwood's daughter too--yet he far away, negligent of whateither suffers. Lady Elmwood turns to her often and attempts an embrace, but her feeble arms forbid, and they fall motionless. The daughterperceiving these ineffectual efforts, has her whole face convulsed withgrief: kisses her mother; holds her to her bosom; and hangs upon herneck, as if she wished to cling there, not to be parted even by thegrave. On the other side of the bed sits Sandford--his hair grown white--his facewrinkled with age--his heart the same as ever. --The reprover, the enemy ofthe vain, the idle, and the wicked; but the friend and comforter of theforlorn and miserable. Upon those features where sarcasm, reproach, and anger dwelt, tothreaten and alarm the sinner; mildness, tenderness, and pity beamed, tosupport and console the penitent. Compassion changed his language, andsoftened all those harsh tones that used to denounce perdition. "In the name of God, " said he to Lady Elmwood, "of that God, whosuffered for you, and, suffering, knew and pitied all our weaknesses--Byhim, who has given his word to _take compassion on the sinner's tears_, I bid you hope for mercy. By that innocence in which you once lived, becomforted--By the sorrows you have known since your degradation, hope, that in some measure, you have atoned----By the sincerity that shone uponyour youthful face when I joined your hands, and those thousand virtuesyou have since given proofs of, trust, that you were not born to die_the death of the wicked. _" As he spoke these words of consolation, her trembling hand claspedhis--her dying eyes darted a ray of brightness--but her failing voiceendeavoured in vain, to articulate. At length, fixing her looks upon herdaughter as their last dear object, she was just understood to utter theword "Father. " "I understand you, " replied Sandford, "and by all that influence I everhad over him, by my prayers, my tears, " (and they flowed as he spoke) "Iwill implore him to own his child. " She could now only smile in thanks. "And if I should fail, " continued he, "yet while I live, she shall notwant a friend or protector--all an old man, like me can answer for"----herehis tears interrupted him. Lady Elmwood was sufficiently sensible of his words and their import, tomake a sign as if she wished to embrace him: but finding her lifeleaving her fast, she reserved this last token of love for herdaughter--with a struggle she lifted herself from her pillow, clung toher child--and died in her arms. CHAPTER III. Lord Elmwood was by nature, and more from education, of a serious, thinking, and philosophic turn of mind. His religious studies hadcompletely taught him to consider this world but as a passage toanother; to enjoy with gratitude what Heaven in its bounty shouldbestow, and to bear with submission, whatever in its vengeance it mightinflict. In a greater degree than most people he practised thisdoctrine; and as soon as the shock he received from Lady Elmwood'sconduct was abated, an entire calmness and resignation ensued; but stillof that sensible and feeling kind, that could never suffer him to forgetthe happiness he had lost; and it was this sensibility, which urged himto fly from its more keen recollection as much as possible--this, healleged as the reason why he would never permit Lady Elmwood, or evenher child, to be named in his hearing. But this injunction (which allhis friends, and even the servants in the house who attended his person, had received) was, by many people, suspected rather to proceed from hisresentment, than his tenderness; nor did he deny, that resentmentco-operated with his prudence: for prudence he called it, not to remindhimself of happiness he could never taste again, and of ingratitude thatmight impel him to hatred: and prudence he called it, not to formanother attachment near to his heart, more especially so near as aparent's which might again expose him to all the torments ofingratitude, from an object whom he affectionately loved. Upon these principles he formed the unshaken resolution, never toacknowledge Lady Matilda as his child--or acknowledging her as such--neverto see, to hear of, or take one concern whatever in her fate andfortune. The death of her mother appeared a favourable time, had he beenso inclined, to have recalled this declaration which he had solemnly andrepeatedly made--she was now destitute of the protection of her otherparent, and it became his duty, at least, to provide her a guardian, ifhe did not chuse to take that tender title upon himself--but to mentioneither the mother or child to Lord Elmwood, was an equal offence, andprohibited in the strongest terms to all his friends and household; andas he was an excellent good master, a sincere friend, and a mostgenerous patron, not one of his acquaintance or dependants, were hardyenough to draw upon themselves his certain displeasure, which was alwaysviolent in the extreme, by even the official intelligence of LadyElmwood's death. Sandford himself, intimidated through age, or by the austere, and morosemanners which Lord Elmwood had of late years adopted; Sandford wished, if possible, that some other would undertake the dangerous task ofrecalling to his memory there ever was such a person as his wife. Headvised Miss Woodley to write a proper letter to him on the subject; butshe reminded him that such a step would be more perilous to her, than toany other person, as she was the most destitute being on earth, withoutthe benevolence of Lord Elmwood. The death of her aunt, Mrs. Horton, had left her solely relying on the bounty of Lady Elmwood, and now herdeath, had left her totally dependant upon the Earl--for Lady Elmwoodthough she had separate effects, had long before her death declared itwas not her intention to leave a sentence behind her in the form of awill. She had no will, she said, but what she would wholly submit toLord Elmwood's; and, if it were even his will, that her child shouldlive in poverty, as well as banishment, it should be so. But, perhaps, in this implicit submission to him, there was a distant hope, that thenecessitous situation of his daughter, might plead more forcibly thanhis parental love; and that knowing her bereft of every support butthrough himself, that idea might form some little tie between them, andbe at least a token of the relationship. But as Lady Elmwood anxiously wished this principle upon which sheacted, should be concealed from his suspicion, she included her friend, Miss Woodley, in the same fate; and thus, the only persons dear to her, she left, but at Lord Elmwood's pleasure, to be preserved from perishingin want. Her child was too young to advise her on this subject, herfriend too disinterested; and at this moment they were both without thesmallest means of subsistence, except through the justice or compassionof Lord Elmwood. Sandford had indeed promised his protection to thedaughter; but his liberality had no other source than from his patron, with whom he still lived as usual, except during part of the winter, when the Earl resided in town; he then mostly stole a visit to LadyElmwood. --On this last visit he staid to see her buried. After some mature deliberations, Sandford was now preparing to go toLord Elmwood at his house in town, and there, to deliver himself thenews that must sooner or later be told; and he meant also to venture, atthe same time, to keep the promise he had made to his dying Lady--but thenews reached his Lordship before Sandford arrived; it was announced inthe public papers, and by that means first came to his knowledge. He was breakfasting by himself, when the newspaper that first gave theintelligence of Lady Elmwood's death, was laid before him--the paragraphcontained these words: "On Wednesday last died, at Dring Park, a village in Northumberland, theright honourable Countess Elmwood. --This lady, who has not been heard offor many years in the fashionable world, was a rich heiress, and ofextreme beauty; but although she received overtures from many men of thefirst rank, she preferred her guardian, the present Lord Elmwood (thenMr. Dorriforth) to them all--and it is said, their marriage was followedby an uncommon share of felicity, till his Lordship going abroad, andremaining there some time, the consequences (to a most captivating youngwoman left without a protector) were such as to cause a separation onhis return. Her Ladyship has left one child by the Earl, a daughter, about fifteen. " Lord Elmwood had so much feeling upon reading this, as to lay down thepaper, and not take it up again for several minutes--nor did he taste hischocolate during this interval, but leaned his elbow on the table andrested his head upon his hand. He then rose up--walked two or three timesacross the room--sat down again--took up the paper--and read as usual. --Norlet the vociferous mourner, or the perpetual weeper, here complain ofhis want of sensibility--but let them remember that Lord Elmwood was aman--a man of understanding--of courage--of fortitude--above all, a man ofthe nicest feelings--and who shall say, but that at the time he leanedhis head upon his hand, and rose to walk away the sense of what he felt, he might not feel as much as Lady Elmwood did in her last moments. Be this as it may, his susceptibility on the occasion was not suspectedby any one--yet he passed that day the same as usual; the next day too, and the day after. On the morning of the fourth, he sent for his stewardto his study, and after talking of other business, said to him; "Is it true that Lady Elmwood is dead?" "It is, my Lord. " His Lordship looked unusually grave, and at this reply, fetched aninvoluntary sigh. "Mr. Sandford, my lord, " continued the steward, "sent me word of thenews, but left it to my own discretion, whether I would make yourLordship acquainted with it or not: I let him know I declined. " "Where is Sandford?" asked Lord Elmwood. "He was with my Lady, " replied the steward. "When she died?" asked he. "Yes, my Lord. " "I am glad of it--he will see that every thing she desired isdone--Sandford is a good man, and would be a friend to every body. " "He is a very good man indeed, my Lord. " There was now a silence. ----Mr. Giffard then bowing, said, "Has yourLordship any further commands?" "Write to Sandford, " said Lord Elmwood, hesitating as he spoke, "andtell him to have every thing performed as she desired. And whoever shemay have selected for the guardian of her child, has my consent to actas such. --Nor in one instance, where I myself am not concerned, shall Ioppose her will. " The tears rushed into his eyes as he said this, andcaused them to start in the steward's--observing which, he sternlyresumed, "Do not suppose from this conversation, that any of those resolutions Ihave long since taken, are, or will be changed--they are the same; andshall continue inflexible. " "I understand you, my Lord, " replied Mr. Giffard, "your express orders, to me, as well as to every other person, remain just the same asformerly, never to mention this subject to you again. " "They do, Sir. " "My Lord, I always obeyed you, and hope I always shall. " "I hope so too, " he replied in a threatening accent--"Write to Sandford, "continued he, "to let him know my pleasure, and that is all you have todo. " The steward bowed and withdrew. But before his letter arrived to Sandford, Sandford arrived in town; andMr. Giffard related, word for word, what had passed between him and hisLord. Upon every occasion, and upon every topic, except that of LadyElmwood and her child, Sandford was just as free with Lord Elmwood ashe had ever been; and as usual (after his interview with the steward)went into his apartment without any previous notice. Lord Elmwood shookhim by the hand, as upon all other meetings; and yet, whether his fearsuggested it or not, Sandford thought he appeared more cool and reservedwith him than formerly. During the whole day, the slightest mention of Lady Elmwood, or of herchild, was cautiously avoided--and not till the evening, (after Sandfordhad risen to retire, and had wished Lord Elmwood good night) did he dareto mention the subject. He then, after taking leave, and going to thedoor--turned back and said, "My Lord, "-- It was easy to guess on what he was preparing to speak--his voice failed, the tears began to trickle down his cheeks, he took out hishandkerchief, and could proceed no farther. "I thought, " said Lord Elmwood, angrily, "I thought I had given myorders upon the subject--did not my steward write them to you?" "He did, my Lord, " said Sandford, humbly, "but I was set out before theyarrived. " "Has he not _told_ you my mind then?" cried he, more angrily still. "He has;" replied Sandford, --"But"---- "But what, Sir?" cried Lord Elmwood. "Your Lordship, " continued Sandford, "was mistaken in supposing thatLady Elmwood left a will, she left none. " "No will? no will at all?" returned he, surprised. "No, my Lord, " answered Sandford, "she wished every thing to be as youwilled. " "She left me all the trouble, then, you mean?" "No great trouble, Sir; for there are but two persons whom she has leftbehind her, to hope for your protection. " "And who are those two?" cried he hastily. "One, my Lord, I need not name--the other is Miss Woodley. " There was a delicacy and humility in the manner in which Sandforddelivered this reply, that Lord Elmwood could _not_ resent, and he onlyreturned, "Miss Woodley--is she yet living?" "She is--I left her at the house I came from. " "Well then, " answered he, "you must see that my steward provides forthose two persons. That care I leave to you--and should there be anycomplaints, on you they fall. " Sandford bowed and was going. "And now, " resumed Lord Elmwood, in a more stern voice, "let me neverhear again on this subject. You have power to act in regard to thepersons you have mentioned; and upon you their situation, the care, thewhole management of them depends--but be sure you never let them be namedbefore me, from this moment. " "Then, " said Sandford, "as this must be the last time they arementioned, I must now take the opportunity to disburden my mind of acharge"-- "What charge?" cried Lord Elmwood, morosely interrupting him. "Though Lady Elmwood, my Lord, left no will behind her, she left arequest. " "A request!" said he, starting, "If it is for me to see her daughter, Itell you now before you ask, that I will not grant it--for by heaven (andhe spoke and looked most solemnly) though I have no resentment againstthe innocent child, and wish her happy, yet I will never see her. Never, for her mother's sake, suffer my heart again to be softened by an objectI might dote upon. Therefore, Sir, if that is the request, it is alreadyanswered; my will is fixed. " "The request, my Lord, " replied Sandford, (and he took out a pocket-bookfrom whence he drew several papers) "is contained in this letter; nor doI rightly know what its contents are. " And he held it out to him. "Is it Lady Elmwood's writing?" asked Lord Elmwood, extremelydiscomposed. "It is, my Lord. --She wrote it a few days before she died, and enjoinedme to deliver it to you, with my own hands. " "I refuse to read it:" cried he, putting it from him--and trembling whilehe did so. "She desired me, " said Sandford, (still presenting the letter) "toconjure you to read it, _for her father's sake. _" Lord Elmwood took it instantly. But as soon as it was in his hand, heseemed distressed to know what he should do with it--in what place to goand read it--or how to fortify himself against its contents. He appearedashamed too, that he had been so far prevailed upon, and said, by way ofexcuse, "For Mr. Milner's sake I would do much--nay, any thing, but that to whichI have just now sworn never to consent. For his sake I have borne agreat deal--for his sake alone, his daughter died my wife. You know, noother motive than respect for him, prevented my divorcing her. Pray (andhe hesitated) was she buried with him?" "No, my Lord--she expressed no such desire; and as that was the case, Idid not think it necessary to carry the corpse so far. " At the word corpse, Lord Elmwood shrunk, and looked shocked beyondmeasure--but recovering himself, said, "I am sorry for it; for he loved_her_ sincerely, if she did not love him--and I wish they had been buriedtogether. " "It is not then too late, " said Sandford, and was going on--but the otherinterrupted him. "No, no--we will have no disturbing the dead. " "Read her letter then, " said Sandford, "and bid her rest in peace. " "If it is in my power, " returned he, "to grant what she asks, I will--butif her demand is what I apprehend, I cannot, I will not, bid her rest bycomplying. You know my resolution, my disposition, and take care how youprovoke me. You may do an injury to the very person you are seeking tobefriend--the very maintenance I mean to allow her daughter I canwithdraw. " Poor Sandford, all alarmed at this menace, replied with energy, "MyLord, unless you begin the subject, I never shall presume to mention itagain. " "I take you at your word, and in consequence of that, but of that alone, we are friends. Good night, Sir. " Sandford bowed with humility, and they went to their separatebedchambers. CHAPTER IV. After Lord Elmwood had retired into his chamber, it was some time beforehe read the letter Sandford had given him. He first walked backwards andforwards in the room--he then began to take off some part of his dress, but he did it slowly. At length, he dismissed his valet, and sittingdown, took the letter from his pocket. He looked at the seal, but not atthe direction; for he seemed to dread seeing Lady Elmwood's handwriting. He then laid it on the table, and began again to undress. He did notproceed, but taking up the letter quickly, (with a kind of effort inmaking the resolution) broke it open. These were its contents: "My Lord, "Who writes this letter I well know--I well know also to whom it is addressed--I feel with the most powerful force both our situations; nor should I dare to offer you even this humble petition, but that at the time you receive it, there will be no such person as I am, in existence. "For myself, then, all concern will be over--but there is a care that pursues me to the grave, and threatens my want of repose even there. "I leave a child--I will not call her mine: that has undone her--I will not call her yours; that will be of no avail--I present her before you as the granddaughter of Mr. Milner. Oh! do not refuse an asylum even in your own house, to the destitute offspring of your friend; the last, and only remaining branch of his family. "Receive her into your household, be her condition there ever so abject. I cannot write distinctly what I would--my senses are not impaired, but the powers of expression are. The complaint of the unfortunate child in the scriptures (a lesson I have studied) has made this wish cling so fast to my heart, that without the distant hope of its being fulfilled, death would have more terrors than my weak mind could support. "'_I will go to my father; how many servants live in my father's house, and are fed with plenty, while I starve in a foreign land?_' "I do not ask a parent's festive rejoicing at her approach--I do not even ask her father to behold her; but let her live under his protection. For her grandfather's sake do not refuse this--to the child of his child, whom he entrusted to your care, do not refuse it. "Be her host; I remit the tie of being her parent. Never see her--but let her sometimes live under the same roof with you. "It is Miss Milner, your ward, to whom you never refused a request, who supplicates you--not now for your nephew, Rushbrook, but for one so much more dear, that a denial----she dares not suffer her thoughts to glance that way. --She will hope--and in that hope, bids you farewell, with all the love she ever bore you. "Farewell Dorriforth--farewell Lord Elmwood--and before you throw this letter from you with contempt or anger, cast your imagination into the grave where I am lying. Reflect upon all the days of my past life--the anxious moments I have known, and what has been their end. Behold _me_, also--in my altered face there is no anxiety--no joy or sorrow--all is over. ----My whole frame is motionless--my heart beats no more. Look at my horrid habitation, too, --and ask yourself--whether I am an object of resentment?" While Lord Elmwood read this letter, it trembled in his hand: he once ortwice wiped the tears from his eyes as he read, and once laid the letterdown for a few minutes. At its conclusion, the tears flowed fast downhis face; but he seemed both ashamed and angry they did, and was goingto throw the paper upon the fire--he however suddenly checked his hand, and putting it hastily into his pocket, went to bed. CHAPTER V. The next morning, when Lord Elmwood and Sandford met at breakfast, thelatter was pale with fear for the success of Lady Elmwood's letter--theEarl was pale too, but there was besides upon his face, something whichevidently marked he was displeased. Sandford observed it, and was allhumbleness, both in his words and looks, in order to soften him. As soon as the breakfast was removed, Lord Elmwood drew the letter fromhis pocket, and holding it towards Sandford, said, "That, may be of more value to you, than it is to me, therefore I giveit you. " Sandford called up a look of surprise, as if he did not know the letteragain. "'Tis Lady Elmwood's letter, " said Lord Elmwood, "and I return it to youfor two reasons. " Sandford took it, and putting it up, asked fearfully, "What those tworeasons were?" "First, " said he, "because I think it is a relick you may like topreserve--my second reason is, that you may shew it to her daughter, andlet her know why, and on what conditions, I grant her mother's request. " "You _do_ then grant it?" cried Sandford joyfully; "I thank you--you arekind--you are considerate. " "Be not hasty in your gratitude; you may have cause to recall it. " "I know what you have said;" replied Sandford, "you have said you grantLady Elmwood's request--you cannot recall these words, nor I mygratitude. " "Do you know what her request is?" returned he. "Not exactly, my Lord--I told you before, I did not; but it is no doubtsomething in favour of her child. " "I think not, " he replied: "such as it is, however, I grant it: but inthe strictest sense of the word--no farther--and one neglect of mycommands, releases me from this promise totally. " "We will take care, Sir, not to disobey them. " "Then listen to what they are, for to you I give the charge ofdelivering them again. Lady Elmwood has petitioned me in the name of herfather, (a name I reverence) to give his grandchild the sanction of myprotection. In the literal sense, to suffer that she may reside at oneof my seats; dispensing at the same time with my ever seeing her. " "And you will comply?" "I will, till she encroaches on this concession, and dares to hope for agreater. I will, while she avoids my sight, or the giving me anyremembrance of her. But if, whether by design or by accident, I ever seeor hear from her, that moment, my compliance to her mother'ssupplication ceases, and I abandon her once more. " Sandford sighed. Lord Elmwood continued: "I am glad her request stopped where it did. I would rather comply withher desires than not; and I rejoice they are such as I can grant withease and honour to myself. I am seldom now at Elmwood castle; let herdaughter go there; the few weeks or months I am down in the summer, shemay easily in that extensive house avoid me--while she does, she lives insecurity--when she does not--you know my resolution. " Sandford bowed--the Earl resumed: "Nor can it be a hardship to obey this command--she cannot lament theseparation from a parent whom she never knew--" Sandford was goingeagerly to prove the error of that assertion, but he prevented him, saying, "In a word--without farther argument--if she obeys me in this, Iwill provide for her as my daughter during my life, and leave her afortune at my death--but if she dares--" Sandford interrupted the menace prepared for utterance, saying, "and youstill mean, I suppose, to make Mr. Rushbrook your heir?" "Have you not heard me say so? And do you imagine I have changed mydetermination? I am not given to alter my resolutions, Mr. Sandford; andI thought you knew I was not; besides, will not my title be extinct, whoever I make my heir? Could any thing but a son have preserved mytitle?" "Then it is yet possible----" "By marrying again, you mean? No--no--I have had enough of marriage--andHenry Rushbrook I shall leave my heir. Therefore, Sir----" "My Lord, I do not presume--" "Do not, Sandford, and we may still be good friends. But I am not to becontrolled as formerly; my temper is changed of late; changed to whatit was originally; till your religious precepts reformed it. You mayremember, how troublesome it was, to conquer my stubborn disposition inmy youth; _then_, indeed, you _did_; but in my more advanced age, youwill find the task too difficult. " Sandford again repeated, "He should not presume--" To which Lord Elmwood again made answer, "Do not, Sandford;" and added, "for I have a sincere regard for you, and should be loath, at theseyears, to quarrel with you seriously. " Sandford turned away his head to conceal his feelings. "Nay, if we do quarrel, " resumed Lord Elmwood, "You know it must be yourown fault; and as this is a theme the most likely of any, nay, the onlyone on which we can have a difference (such as we cannot forgive) takecare never from this day to resume it; indeed that of itself, would bean offence I could not pardon. I have been clear and explicit in all Ihave said; there can be no fear of mistaking my meaning; therefore, allfuture explanation is unnecessary--nor will I permit a word, or a hint onthe subject from any one, without shewing my resentment even to the hourof my death. " He was going out of the room. "But before we bid adieu to the subject for ever, my Lord--there wasanother person whom I named to you--" "Do you mean Miss Woodley? Oh, by all means let her live at ElmwoodHouse too. On consideration, I have no objection to see Miss Woodley atany time--I shall be glad to see her--do not let _her_ be frightened atme--to her I shall be the same, that I have always been. " "She is a good woman, my Lord, " cried Sandford, pleased. "You need not tell me that, Mr. Sandford; I know her worth. " And he leftthe room. Sandford, to relieve Miss Woodley and her lovely charge from thesuspence in which he had left them, prepared to set off for theirhabitation, in order himself to conduct them from thence to ElmwoodCastle, and appoint some retired part of it for Lady Matilda, againstthe annual visit her father should pay there. But before he left London, Giffard, the steward, took an opportunity to wait upon him, and let himknow, that his Lord had acquainted him with the consent he had given forhis daughter to be admitted at Elmwood Castle, and upon whatrestrictions: that he had farther uttered the severest threats, shouldthese restrictions ever be infringed. Sandford thanked Giffard for hisfriendly information. It served him as a second warning of thecircumspection that was necessary; and having taken leave of his friendand patron, under the pretence that "He could not live in the smoke ofLondon, " he set out for the North. It is unnecessary to say with what delight Sandford was received by MissWoodley, and the hapless daughter of Lady Elmwood, even before he toldhis errand. They both loved him sincerely; more especially Lady Matilda, whose forlorn state, and innocent sufferings, had ever excited hiscompassion and caused him to treat her with affection, tenderness, andrespect. She knew, too, how much he had been her mother's friend; forthat, she also loved him; and for being honoured with the friendship ofher father, she looked up to him with reverence. For Matilda (with anexcellent understanding, a sedateness above her years, and earlyaccustomed to the most private converse between Lady Elmwood and MissWoodley) was perfectly acquainted with the whole fatal history of hermother; and was, by her, taught the respect and admiration of herfather's virtues which they justly merited. Notwithstanding the joy of Mr. Sandford's presence, once more to cheertheir solitary dwelling; no sooner were the first kind greetings over, than the dread of what he might have to inform them of, possessed poorMatilda and Miss Woodley so powerfully, that all their gladness waschanged into affright. Their apprehensions were far more forcible thantheir curiosity; they dared not ask a question, and even began to wishhe would continue silent upon the subject on which they feared tolisten. For near two hours he was so. ----At length, after a short intervalfrom speaking, (during which they waited with anxiety for what he mightnext say) he turned to Lady Matilda, and said, "You don't ask for your father, my dear. " "I did not know it was proper:" she replied, timidly. "It is always proper, " answered Sandford, "for _you_ to think of him, though he should never think on you. " She burst into tears, and said that she "_Did_ think of him, but shefelt an apprehension of mentioning his name"--and she wept bitterly whileshe spoke. "Do not think I reproved you, " said Sandford; "I only told you what wasright. " "Nay, " said Miss Woodley, "she does not weep for that--she fears herfather has not complied with her mother's request. Perhaps--not even readher letter?" "Yes, he _has_ read it, " returned Sandford. "Oh Heavens!" exclaimed Matilda, clasping her hands together, and thetears falling still faster. "Do not be so much alarmed, my dear, " said Miss Woodley; "you know weare prepared for the worst; and you know you promised your mother, whatever your fate should be, to submit with patience. " "Yes, " replied Matilda, "and I am prepared for every thing, but myfather's refusal to my dear mother. " "Your father has not refused your mother's request, " replied Sandford. She was leaping from her seat in ecstasy. "But, " continued he, "do you know what her request was?" "Not entirely, " replied Matilda, "and since it is granted, I amcareless. But she told me her letter concerned none but me. " To explain perfectly to Matilda, Lady Elmwood's letter, and that shemight perfectly understand upon what terms she was admitted into ElmwoodCastle, Sandford now read the letter to her; and repeated, as nearly ashe could remember, the whole of the conversation that passed betweenLord Elmwood and himself; not even sparing, through an erroneousdelicacy, any of those threats her father had denounced, should she dareto transgress the limits he prescribed--nor did he try to soften, in oneinstance, a word he uttered. She listened sometimes with tears, sometimes with hope, but always with awe, and with terror, to everysentence in which her father was concerned. Once she called himcruel--then exclaimed "He was kind;" but at the end of Sandford'sintelligence, concluded "that she was happy and grateful for the boonbestowed. " Even her mother had not a more exalted idea of Lord Elmwood'sworth than his daughter had formed; and this little bounty justobtained, would not have been greater in her mother's estimation, thanit was now in hers. Miss Woodley, too, smiled at the prospect beforeher--she esteemed Lord Elmwood beyond any mortal living--she was proud tohear what he had said in her praise, and overjoyed at the prospect ofbeing once again in his company; painting at the same time a thousandbright hopes, from watching every emotion of his soul, and catchingevery proper occasion to excite or increase his paternal sentiments. Yetshe had the prudence to conceal those vague hopes from his child, lest adisappointment might prove fatal; and assuming a behaviour neither toomuch elated or depressed, she advised that they should hope for thebest, but yet, as usual, expect and prepare for the worst. ----After takingmeasures for quitting their melancholy abode, within the fortnight, theyall departed for Elmwood Castle--Matilda, Miss Woodley, and evenSandford, first visiting Lady Elmwood's grave, and bedewing it withtheir tears. CHAPTER VI. It was on a dark evening in the month of March, that Lady Matilda, accompanied by Sandford and Miss Woodley, arrived at Elmwood Castle, themagnificent seat of her father. Sandford chose the evening, rather tosteal into the house privately, than by any appearance of parade, tosuffer Lord Elmwood to be reminded of their arrival by the publicprints, or by any other accident. Nor would he give the neighbours orservants reason to suppose, the daughter of their Lord was admitted intohis house, in any other situation than that, in which she really waspermitted to be there. As the porter opened the gates of the avenue to the carriage thatbrought them, Matilda felt an awful, and yet gladsome sensation, whichno terms can describe. As she entered the door of the house thissensation increased--and as she passed along the spacious hall, thesplendid staircase, and many stately apartments, wonder, with a crowd ofthe tenderest, yet most afflicting sentiments, rushed to her heart. Shegazed with astonishment!--she reflected with still more. "And is _my father_ the master of this house?" she cried--"and was mymother once the mistress of this castle?" Here tears relieved her from apart of that burthen, which was before insupportable. "Yes, " replied Sandford, "and you are the mistress of it now, till yourfather arrives. " "Good God!" exclaimed she, "and will he ever arrive? and shall I live tosleep under the same roof with my father?" "My dear, " replied Miss Woodley, "have not you been told so?" "Yes, " said she, "but though I heard it with extreme pleasure, yet theidea never so forcibly affected me as at this moment. I now feel, as thereality approaches, that to be admitted here, is kindness enough--I donot ask for more--I am now convinced, from what this trial makes me feel, that to see my father, would occasion emotions I could not survive. " The next morning gave to Matilda, more objects of admiration and wonder, as she walked over the extensive gardens, groves, and other pleasuregrounds belonging to the house. She, who had never been beyond thedreary, ruinous places which her deceased mother had made her residence, was naturally struck with amazement and delight at the grandeur of aseat, which travellers came for miles to see, nor thought their timemispent. There was one object, however, among all she saw, which attracted herattention above the rest, and she would stand for hours to look at it. This was a whole length portrait of Lord Elmwood, esteemed a verycapital picture, and a perfect likeness--to this picture she would sighand weep; though when it was first pointed out to her, she shrunk backwith fear, and it was some time before she dared venture to cast hereyes completely upon it. In the features of her father she was proud todiscern the exact mould in which her own appeared to have been modelled;yet Matilda's person, shape, and complexion were so extremely like whather mother's once were, that at the first glance she appeared to have astill greater resemblance of her, than of her father--but her mind andmanners were all Lord Elmwood's; softened by the delicacy of her sex, the extreme tenderness of her heart, and the melancholy of hersituation. She was now in her seventeenth year--of the same age, within a year and afew months, of her mother, when she became the ward of Dorriforth. Shewas just three years old when her father went abroad, and rememberedsomething of bidding him farewell; but more of taking cherries from hishand, as he pulled them from the tree to give to her. Educated in the school of adversity, and inured to retirement from herinfancy, she had acquired a taste for all those amusements which arecluse life affords. She was fond of walking and riding--wasaccomplished in the arts of music and drawing, by the most carefulinstructions of her mother--and as a scholar, she excelled most of hersex, from the pains which Sandford had taken with that part of hereducation, and the superior abilities he possessed for the task. In devoting certain hours of the day to study with him, others to music, riding, and such amusements, Matilda's time never appeared tedious atElmwood Castle, although she received and paid no one visit--for it wassoon divulged in the neighbourhood, upon what stipulation she resided ather father's, and studiously intimated, that the most prudent andfriendly behaviour of her true friends, would be, to take no noticewhatever that she lived among them: and as Lord Elmwood's will was a lawall around, such was the consequence of that will, known, or merelysupposed. Neither did Miss Woodley regret the want of visitors, but found herselffar more satisfied in her present situation, than her most sanguinehopes could have formed. She had a companion whom she loved with anequal fondness, with which she had loved her deceased mother; andfrequently, in this charming mansion, where she had so often beheld LadyElmwood, her imagination represented Matilda as her friend risen fromthe grave, in her former youth, health, and exquisite beauty. In peace, in content, though not in happiness, the days and weeks passedaway till about the middle of August, when preparations began to be madefor the arrival of Lord Elmwood. The week in which he was to come was atlength fixed, and some part of his retinue was arrived before him. Whenthis was told Matilda, she started, and looked just as her mother at herage had often done, when in spite of her love, she was conscious thatshe had offended him, and was terrified at his approach. Sandfordobserving this, put out his hand, and taking hers, shook it kindly; andbade her (but it was not in a cheering tone) "not be afraid. " This gaveher no confidence; and she began, before her father's arrival, toseclude herself in the apartments allotted for her during the time ofhis stay; and in the timorous expectation of his coming, her appetitedeclined, and she lost all her colour. Even Miss Woodley, whose spiritshad been for some time elated with the hopes she had formed, on drawingnear to the test, found those hopes vanished; and though she endeavouredto conceal it, she was full of apprehensions. Sandford, had certainlyfewer fears than either; yet upon the eve of the day on which his patronwas to arrive, he was evidently cast down. Lady Matilda once asked him--"Are you certain, Mr. Sandford, you made nomistake in respect to what Lord Elmwood said, when he granted mymother's request? Are you sure he _did_ grant it? Was there nothingequivocal on which he may ground his displeasure should he be told thatI am here? Oh do not let me hazard being once again turned out of hishouse! Oh! save me from provoking him perhaps to curse me. " And here sheclasped her hands together with the most fervent petition, in the dreadof what might happen. "If you doubt my words or my senses, " said Sandford, "call Giffard, andlet him inform you; the same words were repeated to him as to me. " Though from her reason, Matilda could not doubt of any mistake from Mr. Sandford, yet her fears suggested a thousand scruples; and thisreference to the steward she received with the utmost satisfaction, (though she did not think it necessary to apply to him) as it perfectlyconvinced her of the folly of the suspicions she had entertained. "And yet, Mr. Sandford, " said she, "if it is so, why are you lesscheerful than you were? I cannot help thinking but it must be yourexpectation of Lord Elmwood, which has occasioned this change. " "I don't know, " replied Sandford, carelessly, "but I believe I am grownafraid of your father. His temper is a great deal altered from what itonce was--he raises his voice, and uses harsh expressions upon the leastprovocation--his eyes flash lightning, and his face is distorted withanger upon the slightest motives--he turns away his old servants at amoment's warning, and no concession can make their peace. In a word, Iam more at my ease when I am away from him--and I really believe, " addedhe with a smile, but with a tear at the same time, "I really believe, Iam more afraid of _him_ in my age, than he was of _me_ when he was aboy. " Miss Woodley was present; she and Matilda looked at one another; andeach of them saw the other turn pale at this description. The day at length came, on which Lord Elmwood was expected to dinner. Itwould have been a high gratification to his daughter to have gone to thetopmost window of the house, and have only beheld his carriage enter theavenue; but it was a gratification which her fears, her tremor, herextreme sensibility would not permit her to enjoy. Miss Woodley and she, sat down that day to dinner in their retiredapartments, which were detached from the other part of the house by agallery; and of the door leading to the gallery, they had a key toimpede any one from passing that way, without first ringing a bell; toanswer which, was the sole employment of a servant, who was placed thereduring the Earl's residence, lest by any accident he might chance tocome near that unfrequented part of the house, on which occasion the manwas to give immediate notice to his Lady. Matilda and Miss Woodley sat down to dinner, but did not dine. Sandforddined as usual, with Lord Elmwood. When tea was brought, Miss Woodleyasked the servant, who attended, if he had seen his Lord. The mananswered, "Yes, Madam; and he looks vastly well. " Matilda wept with joyto hear it. About nine in the evening, Sandford rang at the bell, and wasadmitted--never had he been so welcome--Matilda hung upon him, as if hisrecent interview with her father, had endeared him to her more thanever; and staring anxiously in his face, seemed to enquire of himsomething about Lord Elmwood, and something that should not alarm her. "Well--how do you find yourself?" said he to her. "How are you, Mr. Sandford?" she returned, with a sigh. "Oh! very well, " replied he. "Is my Lord in a good temper?" asked Miss Woodley. "Yes; very well, " replied Sandford, with indifference. "Did he seem glad to see you?" asked Matilda. "He shook me by the hand, " replied Sandford. "That was a sign he was glad to see you, was it not?" said Matilda. "Yes; but he could not do less. " "Nor more:" replied she. "He looks very well, our servant tells us, " said Miss Woodley. "Extremely well indeed, " answered Sandford: "and to tell the truth, Inever saw him in better spirits. " "That is well--" said Matilda, and sighed a weight of fears from herheart. "Where is he now, Mr. Sandford?" "Gone to take a walk about his grounds, and I stole here in the meantime. " "What was your conversation during dinner?" asked Miss Woodley. "Horses, hay, farming, and politics. " "Won't you sup with him?" "I shall see him again before I go to bed. " "And again to-morrow!" cried Matilda, "what happiness!" "He has visitors to-morrow, " said Sandford, "coming for a week or two. " "Thank Heaven, " said Miss Woodley, "he will then be diverted fromthinking on us. " "Do you know, " returned Sandford, "it is my firm opinion, that histhinking of ye at present, is the cause of his good spirits. " "Oh, Heavens!" cried Matilda, lifting up her hands with rapture. "Nay, do not mistake me, " said Sandford; "I would not have you build afoundation for joy upon this surmise; for if he is in spirits that youare in this house--so near him--positively under his protection--yet hewill not allow himself to think it is the cause of his content--and thesentiments he has adopted, and which are now become natural to him, willremain the same as ever; nay, perhaps with greater force, should hesuspect his weakness (as he calls it) acting in opposition to them. " "If he does but think of me with tenderness, " cried Matilda, "I amrecompensed. " "And what recompense would his kind thoughts be to you, " said Sandford, "were he to turn you out to beggary?" "A great deal--a great deal, " she replied. "But how are you to know he has these kind thoughts, if he gives you noproof of them?" "No, Mr. Sandford; but _supposing_ we could know them without proof. " "But as that is impossible, " answered he, "I shall suppose, till proofappears, that I have been mistaken in my conjectures. " Matilda looked deeply concerned that the argument should conclude in herdisappointment; for to have believed herself thought of with tendernessby her father, would have alone constituted her happiness. When the servant came up with something by way of supper, he told Mr. Sandford that his Lord was returned from his walk and had enquired forhim; Sandford immediately bade his companions good night, and left them. "How strange is this!" cried Matilda, when Miss Woodley and she werealone, "My father within a few rooms of me, and yet I am debarred fromseeing him! Only by walking a few paces I could be at his feet, andperhaps receive his blessing!" "You make me shudder, " cried Miss Woodley; "but some spirits less timidthan mine, might perhaps advise you to the experiment. " "Not for worlds!" returned Matilda, "no counsel could tempt me to suchtemerity--and yet to entertain the thought that it is possible I could dothis, is a source of infinite comfort. " This conversation lasted till bed time, and later; for they sat upbeyond their usual hour to indulge it. Miss Woodley slept little, but Matilda less--she awaked repeatedly duringthe night, and every time sighed to herself, "I sleep in the same housewith my father! Blessed spirit of my mother, look down and rejoice. " CHAPTER VII. The next day the whole Castle appeared to Lady Matilda (though she wasin some degree retired from it) all tumult and bustle, as was usuallythe case while Lord Elmwood was there. She saw from her windows, theservants running across the yards and park; horses and carriages drivingwith fury; all the suite of a nobleman; and it sometimes elated, atother times depressed her. These impressions however, and others of fear and anxiety, which herfather's arrival had excited, by degrees wore off; and after some littletime, she was in the same tranquil state that she enjoyed before hecame. He had visitors, who passed a week or two with him; he paid visitshimself for several days; and thus the time stole away, till it wasabout four weeks from the time that he had arrived; in which longperiod, Sandford, with all his penetration, could never clearly discoverwhether he had once called to mind that his daughter was living in thesame house. He had not once named her (that was not extraordinary)consequently no one dared name her to him; but he had not even mentionedMiss Woodley, of whom he had so lately spoken in the kindest terms, andhad said, "He should take pleasure in seeing her again. " From thesecontradictions in Lord Elmwood's behaviour in respect to her, it wasMiss Woodley's plan neither to throw herself in his way, nor avoid him. She therefore frequently walked about the house while he was in it, notindeed entirely without restraint, but at least with the show ofliberty. This freedom, indulged for some time without peril, became atlast less cautious; and as no ill consequences had arisen from itspractice, her scruples gradually ceased. One morning, however, as she was crossing the large hall, thoughtless ofdanger, a footstep at a distance alarmed her almost without knowing why. She stopped for a moment, thinking to return; the steps approachedquicker, and before she could retreat, she beheld Lord Elmwood at theother end of the hall, and perceived that he saw her. It was too late tohesitate what was to be done; she could not go back, and had not courageto go on; she therefore stood still. Disconcerted, and much affected athis sight, (their former intimacy coming to her mind with the manyyears, and many sad occurrences passed, since she last saw him) all herintentions, all her meditated plans how to conduct herself on such anoccasion, gave way to a sudden shock--and to make the meeting yet moredistressing, her very fright, she knew, would serve to recall morepowerfully to his mind, the subject she most wished him to forget. Thesteward was with him, and as they came up close by her side, Giffardobserving him look at her earnestly, said softly, but so as she heardhim, "My Lord, it is Miss Woodley. " Lord Elmwood took off his hatinstantly--and, with an apparent friendly warmth, laying hold of herhand, he said, "Indeed, Miss Woodley, I did not know you--I am very gladto see you:" and while he spoke, shook her hand with a cordiality whichher tender heart could not bear--and never did she feel so hard astruggle as to restrain her tears. But the thought of Matilda's fate--theidea of awakening in his mind a sentiment that might irritate himagainst his child, wrought more forcibly than every other effort; andthough she could not reply distinctly, she replied without weeping. Whether he saw her embarrassment, and wished to release her from it, orwas in haste to conceal his own, he left her almost instantly: but nottill he had entreated she would dine that very day with him and Mr. Sandford, who were to dine without other company. She curtsied assent, and flew to tell Matilda what had occurred. After listening with anxietyand with joy to all she told, Matilda laid hold of that hand which shesaid Lord Elmwood had held, and pressed it to her lips with love andreverence. When Miss Woodley made her appearance at dinner, Sandford, (who had notseen her since the invitation, and did not know of it) looked amazed; onwhich Lord Elmwood said, "Do you know, Sandford, I met Miss Woodley thismorning, and had it not been for Giffard, I should have passed herwithout knowing her--but Miss Woodley, if I am not so much altered butthat you knew me, I take it unkind you did not speak first. " She wasunable to speak even now--he saw it, and changed the conversation; whenSandford eagerly joined in discourse, which relieved him from the painof the former. As they advanced in their dinner, the embarrassment of Miss Woodley andof Mr. Sandford diminished; Lord Elmwood in his turn became, notembarrassed, but absent and melancholy. He now and then sighedheavily--and called for wine much oftener than he was accustomed. When Miss Woodley took her leave, he invited her to dine with him andSandford whenever it was convenient to her; he said, besides, manythings of the same kind, and all with the utmost civility, yet not withthat warmth with which he had spoken in the morning--into _that_ he hadbeen surprised--his coolness was the effect of reflection. When she came to Lady Matilda, and Sandford had joined them, they talkedand deliberated on what had passed. "You acknowledge Mr. Sandford, " said Miss Woodley, "that you think mypresence affected Lord Elmwood, so as to make him much more thoughtfulthan usual; if you imagine these thoughts were upon Lady Elmwood, Iwill never intrude again; but if you suppose that I made him think uponhis daughter, I cannot go too often. " "I don't see how he can divide those two objects in his mind, " repliedSandford, "therefore you must e'en visit him on, and take your chance, what reflections you may cause--but, be they what they will, time willsteal away from you that power of affecting him. " She concurred in the opinion, and occasionally she walked into LordElmwood's apartments, dined, or took her coffee with him, as theaccident suited; and observed, according to Sandford's prediction, thattime wore off the impression her visits first made. Lord Elmwood nowbecame just the same before her as before others. She easily discerned, too, through all that politeness which he assumed--that he was no longerthe considerate, the forbearing character he formerly was; but haughty, impatient, imperious, and more than ever, _implacable. _ CHAPTER VIII. When Lord Elmwood had been at his country seat about six weeks, Mr. Rushbrook, his nephew, and his adopted child--that friendless boy whompoor Lady Elmwood first introduced into his uncle's house, and by herkindness preserved there--arrived from his travels, and was received byhis uncle with all the marks of affection due to the man he thoughtworthy to be his heir. Rushbrook had been a beautiful boy, and was nowan extremely handsome young man; he had made unusual progress in hisstudies, had completed the tour of Italy and Germany, and returned homewith the air and address of a perfect man of fashion--there was, besides, an elegance and persuasion in his manner almost irresistible. Yet withall those accomplishments, when he was introduced to Sandford, and putforth his hand to take his, Sandford, with evident reluctance, gave itto him; and when Lord Elmwood asked him, in the young man's presence, "If he did not think his nephew greatly improved?" He looked at him fromhead to foot, and muttered "He could not say he observed it. " Thecolour heightened in Mr. Rushbrook's face upon the occasion, but he wastoo well bred not to be in perfect good humour. Sandford saw this young man treated, in the house of Lord Elmwood, withthe same respect and attention as if he had been his son; and it was butprobable the old priest would make a comparison between the situation ofhim, and of Lady Matilda Elmwood. Before her, it was Sandford's meaningto have concealed his thoughts upon the subject, and never to havementioned it but with composure; that was, however, impossible--unused tohide his feelings, at the name of Rushbrook, his countenance wouldalways change, and a sarcastic sneer, sometimes a frown of resentment, would force its way in spite of his resolution. Miss Woodley, too, withall her boundless charity and good will, was, upon this occasion, induced to limit their excess; and they did not extend so far as toreach poor Rushbrook. She even, and in _reality_, did not think himhandsome or engaging in his manners--she thought his gaietyfrivolousness, his complaisance affectation, and his good humourimpertinence. It was impossible to conceal those unfavourable sentimentsentirely from Matilda; for when the subject arose, as it frequently did, Miss Woodley's undisguised heart, and Sandford's undisguisedcountenance, told them instantly. Matilda had the understanding toimagine, that she was, perhaps, the object who had thus deformed Mr. Rushbrook, and frequently (though he was a stranger to her, and one whohad caused her many a jealous heart-ache) frequently she would speak inhis vindication. "You are very good, " said Sandford, one day to her; "you like him, because you know your father loves him. " This was a hard sentence for the daughter of Lord Elmwood to hear, towhom her father's love would have been more precious than any otherblessing. --She, however, checked the assault of envy, and kindly replied, "My mother loved him too, Mr. Sandford. " "Yes, " answered Sandford, "he has been a _grateful_ man to your poormother. --She did not suppose when she took him into the house; when sheintreated your father to take him; and through her caresses andofficious praises of him, first gave him that power which he nowpossesses over his uncle; she little foresaw, at that time, hisingratitude, and its effects. " "Very true, " said Miss Woodley, with a heavy sigh. "What ingratitude?" asked Matilda, "do you suppose Mr. Rushbrook is thecause that my father will not see me? Oh do not pay Lord Elmwood'smotive so ill a compliment. " "I do not say that he is the absolute cause, " returned Sandford; "but ifa parent's heart is void, I would have it remain so, till its lawfulowner is replaced--usurpers I detest. " "No one can take Lord Elmwood's heart by force, " replied his daughter, "it must, I believe, be a free gift to the possessor; and as such, whoever has it, has a right to it. " In this manner she would plead the young man's excuse--perhaps but tohear what could be said in his disfavour, for secretly his name wasbitter to her--and once she exclaimed in vexation, on Sandford's sayingLord Elmwood and Mr. Rushbrook were gone out shooting together, "All that pleasure is now eclipsed which I used to take in listening tothe report of my father's gun, for I cannot now distinguish his, fromhis parasite's. " Sandford, (much as he disliked Rushbrook) for this expression whichcomprised her father in the reflection, turned to Matilda in extremeanger--but as he saw the colour mount into her face, for what, in thestrong feelings of her heart had escaped her lips, he did not say aword--and by her tears that followed, he rejoiced to see how much shereproved _herself. _ Miss Woodley, vexed to the heart, and provoked every time she saw LordElmwood and Rushbrook together, and saw the familiar terms on which thisyoung man lived with his benefactor, now made her visits to him veryseldom. If Lord Elmwood observed this, he did not appear to observe it;and though he received her politely when she did pay him a visit, it wasalways very coldly; nor did she suppose if she never went, he would everask for her. For his daughter's sake, however, she thought it rightsometimes to shew herself before him; for she knew it must beimpossible that, with all his apparent indifference, he could ever see_her_ without thinking for a moment on his child; and what one fortunatethought might some time bring about, was an object much too serious forher to overlook. She therefore, after remaining confined to herapartments near three weeks, (excepting those anxious walks she andMatilda stole, while Lord Elmwood dined, or before he rose in a morning)went one forenoon into his apartments, where, as usual, she found him, with Mr. Sandford, and Mr. Rushbrook. After she had sat about half anhour, conversing with them all, though but very little with the latter, Lord Elmwood was called out of the room upon some business; presentlyafter, Sandford; and now, by no means pleased with the companion withwhom she was left, she rose, and was going likewise, when Rushbrookfixed his speaking eyes upon her, and cried, "Miss Woodley, will you pardon me what I am going to say?" "Certainly, Sir. You can, I am sure, say nothing but what I mustforgive. " But she made this reply with a distance and a reserve, veryunlike the usual manners of Miss Woodley. He looked at her earnestly and cried, "Ah! Miss Woodley, you don'tbehave so kindly to me as you used to do!" "I do not understand you, Sir, " she replied very gravely; "Times arechanged, Mr. Rushbrook, since you were last here--you were then but achild. " "Yet I love all those persons now, that I loved then, " replied he; "andso I shall for ever. " "But you mistake, Mr. Rushbrook; I was not even then so very much theobject of your affections--there were other ladies you loved better. Perhaps you don't remember Lady Elmwood?" "Don't I, " cried he, "Oh!" (clasping his hands and lifting up his eyesto heaven) "shall I ever forget her?" That moment Lord Elmwood opened the door; the conversation of coursethat moment ended; but confusion, at the sudden surprise, was on theface of both parties--he saw it, and looked at each of them by turns, with a sternness that made poor Miss Woodley ready to faint; whileRushbrook, with the most natural and happy laugh that ever was affected, cried, "No, don't tell my Lord, pray Miss Woodley. " She was moreconfused than before, and Lord Elmwood turning to him, asked what thesubject was. By this time he had invented one, and, continuing hislaugh, said, "Miss Woodley, my Lord, will to this day protest that shesaw my apparition when I was a boy; and she says it is a sign I shalldie young, and is really much affected at it. " Lord Elmwood turned away before this ridiculous speech was concluded;yet so well had it been acted, that he did not for an instant doubt itstruth. Miss Woodley felt herself greatly relieved; and yet so little is it inthe power of those we dislike to do any thing to please us, that fromthis very circumstance, she formed a more unfavourable opinion of Mr. Rushbrook than she had done before. She saw in this little incident theart of dissimulation, cunning, and duplicity in its most glaring shape;and detested the method by which they had each escaped Lord Elmwood'ssuspicion, and perhaps anger, the more, because it was so dexterouslymanaged. Lady Matilda and Sandford were both in their turns informed of thistrait in Mr. Rushbrook's character; and although Miss Woodley had thebest of dispositions, and upon every occasion spoke the strictest truth, yet in relating this occurrence, she did not speak _all_ the truth; forevery circumstance that would have told to the young man's advantage, _literally_ had slipped her memory. The twenty-ninth of October arrived; on which a dinner, a ball, andsupper, was given by Lord Elmwood to all the neighbouring gentry--thepeasants also dined in the park off a roasted bullock, several casks ofale were distributed, and the bells of the village rung. Matilda, whoheard and saw some part of this festivity from her windows, inquired thecause; but even the servant who waited upon her had too much sensibilityto tell her, and answered, "He did not know. " Miss Woodley however, soonlearned the reason, and groaning with the painful secret, informed her, "Mr. Rushbrook on that day was come of age. " "_My_ birth-day was last week, " replied Matilda; but not a word beside. In their retired apartments, this day passed away not only soberly, butalmost silently; for to speak upon any subject that did not engage theirthoughts had been difficult, and to speak upon the only one that did, had been afflicting. Just as they were sitting down to dinner their bell gently rung, and inwalked Sandford. "Why are you not among the revellers, Mr. Sandford?" cried Miss Woodley, with an ironical sneer--(the first her features ever wore)--"Pray, werenot you invited to dine with the company?" "Yes, " replied Sandford; "but my head ached; and so I had rather comeand take a bit with you. " Matilda, as if she had seen his heart as he spoke, clung round his neckand sobbed on his bosom: he put her peevishly away, crying "Nonsense, nonsense--eat your dinner. " But he did not eat himself. CHAPTER IX. About a week after this, Lord Elmwood went out two days for a visit;consequently Rushbrook was for that time master of the house. The firstmorning he went a shooting, and returning about noon, enquired ofSandford, who was sitting in the room, if he had taken up a volume ofplays left upon the table. "I read no such things, " replied Sandford, and quitted the room abruptly. Rushbrook then rang for his servant, anddesired him to look for the book, asking him angrily, "Who had been inthe apartment? for he was sure he had left it there when he went out. "The servant withdrew to enquire, and presently returned with the volumein his hand, and "Miss Woodley's compliments, she begs your pardon, Sir, she did not know the book was yours, and hopes you will excuse theliberty she took. " "Miss Woodley!" cried Rushbrook with surprise, "she comes so seldom intothese apartments, I did not suppose it was her who had it--take it backto her instantly, with my respects, and I beg she will keep it. " The man went; but returned with the book again, and laying it on thetable without speaking, was going away; when Rushbrook, hurt atreceiving no second message, said, "I am afraid, Sir, you did very wrongwhen you first took this book from Miss Woodley. " "It was not from her I took it, Sir, " replied the man, "it was from LadyMatilda. " Since he had entered the house, Rushbrook had never before heard thename of Lady Matilda, he was shocked--confounded more than ever--and toconceal what he felt, instantly ordered the man out of the room. In the mean time, Miss Woodley and Matilda were talking over thistrifling occurrence; and frivolous as it was, drew from it strongconclusions of Rushbrook's insolence and power. In spite of her pride, the daughter of Lord Elmwood even wept at the insult she had received onthis insignificant occasion; for the volume being merely taken from herat Mr. Rushbrook's command, she felt an insult; and the manner in whichit was done by the servant, might contribute to the offence. While Miss Woodley and she were upon this conversation, a note came fromRushbrook to Miss Woodley, wherein he entreated he might be permitted tosee her. She sent a verbal answer, "She was engaged. " He sent again, begging she would name her own time. But sure of a second denial, hefollowed the servant who took the last message, and as Miss Woodley cameout of her apartment into the gallery to speak to him, Rushbrookpresented himself, and told the man to retire. "Mr. Rushbrook, " said Miss Woodley, "this intrusion is insupportable;and destitute as you may think me of the friendship of Lord Elmwood"---- In the ardour with which Rushbrook was waiting to express himself, heinterrupted her, and caught hold of her hand. She immediately snatched it from him, and withdrew into her chamber. He followed, saying, in a low voice, "Dear Miss Woodley, hear me. " At that juncture Lady Matilda, who was in an inner apartment, came outof it into Miss Woodley's. Perceiving a gentleman, she stopped short atthe door. Rushbrook cast his eyes upon her, and stood motionless--his lips onlymoved. "Do not depart, Madam, " said he, "without hearing my apology forbeing here. " Though Matilda had never seen him since her infancy, there was nooccasion to tell her who it was that addressed her--his elegant andyouthful person, joined to the incident which had just occurred, convinced her it was Rushbrook: she looked at him with an air ofsurprise, but with still more, of dignity. "Miss Woodley is severe upon me, Madam, " continued he, "she judges meunkindly; and I am afraid she will prepossess you with the sameunfavourable sentiments. " Still Matilda did not speak, but looked at him with the same air ofdignity. "If, Lady Matilda, " resumed he, "I have offended you, and must quit youwithout pardon, I am more unhappy than I should be with the loss of yourfather's protection--more forlorn, than when an orphan boy, your motherfirst took pity on me. " At this last sentence, Matilda turned her eyes on Miss Woodley, andseemed in doubt what reply she was to give. Rushbrook immediately fell upon his knees--"Oh! Lady Matilda, " cried he, "if you knew the sensations of my heart, you would not treat me withthis disdain. " "We can only judge of those sensations, Mr. Rushbrook, " said MissWoodley, "by the effect they have upon your conduct; and while youinsult Lord and Lady Elmwood's daughter by an intrusion like this, andthen ridicule her abject state by mockeries like these----" He rose from his knees instantly, and interrupted her, crying, "What canI do? What am I to say, to make you change your opinion of me? WhileLord Elmwood has been at home, I have kept an awful distance; and thoughevery moment I breathed was a wish to cast myself at his daughter'sfeet, yet as I feared, Miss Woodley, that you were incensed against me, by what means was I to procure an interview but by stratagem or force?This accident has given a third method, and I had not strength, I hadnot courage, to let it pass. Lord Elmwood will soon return, and we mayboth of us be hurried to town immediately--then how for a tedious wintercould I endure the reflexion that I was despised, nay, perhapsconsidered as an object of ingratitude, by the only child of my deceasedbenefactress?" Matilda replied with all her father's haughtiness, "Depend upon it, Sir, if you should ever enter my thoughts, it will only be as an object ofenvy. " "Suffer me then, Madam, " said he, "as an earnest that you do not thinkworse of me than I merit, suffer me to be sometimes admitted into yourpresence--. " She would scarce permit him to finish the period, before she replied, "This is the last time, Sir, we shall ever meet, depend upon it--unless, indeed, Lord Elmwood should delegate to you the controul of me--_his_commands I never dispute. " And here she burst into tears. Rushbrook walked towards the window, and did not speak for sometime--then turning himself to make a reply, both Matilda and Miss Woodleywere somewhat surprised to see, that he had been shedding tearshimself. --Having conquered them, he said, "I will not offend you, Madam, by remaining one moment longer; and I give you my honour, that, upon nopretence whatever, will I presume to intrude here again. Professions, Ifind, have no weight, and only by this obedience to your orders, can Igive a proof of that respect which you inspire;--and let the agitation Inow feel, convince you, Lady Matilda, that, with all my seeming goodfortune, I am not happier than yourself. " And so much was he agitatedwhile he delivered this, that it was with difficulty he came to theconclusion. When he did, he bowed with reverence, as if leaving thepresence of a deity, and retired. Matilda immediately entered the chamber she had left, and withoutcasting a single look at Miss Woodley by which she might guess of theopinion she had formed of Mr. Rushbrook's conduct. The next time theymet they did not even mention his name; for they were ashamed to own apartiality in his favour, and were too just to bring any accusationagainst him. But Miss Woodley, the day following, communicated the intelligence ofthis visit to Mr. Sandford, who not being present, and a witness ofthose marks of humility and respect which were conspicuous in thedeportment of Mr. Rushbrook, was highly offended at his presumption, andthreatened if he ever dared to force his company there again, he wouldacquaint Lord Elmwood with his arrogance, whatever might be the event. Miss Woodley, however, assured him, she believed he would have no causefor such a complaint, as the young man had made the most solemn promisenever to commit the like offence; and she thought it her duty to enjoinSandford, till he did repeat it, not to mention the circumstance, evento Rushbrook himself. Matilda could not but feel a regard for her father's heir, in return forthat which he had so fervently declared for her; yet the more favourableher opinion of his mind and manners, the more he became an object of herjealousy for the affections of Lord Elmwood, and he was nowconsequently, an object of greater sorrow to her, than when she believedhim less worthy. These sentiments were reversed on his part towardsher--no jealousy intervened to bar his admiration and esteem--the beautyof her person, and grandeur of her mien, not only confirmed, butimproved, the exalted idea he had formed of her previous to theirmeeting, and which his affection to both her parents had inspired. Thenext time he saw his benefactor, he began to feel a new esteem andregard for him, for his daughter's sake; as he had at first an esteemfor her, on the foundation of his love for Lord and Lady Elmwood. Hegazed with wonder at his uncle's insensibility to his own happiness, andwould gladly have led him to the jewel he cast away, though even his ownexpulsion should be the fatal consequence. Such was the youthful, warm, generous, grateful, but unreflecting mind of Rushbrook. CHAPTER X. After this incident, Miss Woodley left her apartments less frequentlythan before--she was afraid, though till now mistrust had been a strangerto her heart, she was afraid that duplicity might be concealed under theapparent friendship of Rushbrook; it did not indeed appear so from anypart of his behaviour, but she was apprehensive for the fate of Matilda;she disliked him too, and therefore she suspected him. Near three weeksshe had not now paid a visit to Lord Elmwood, and though to herselfevery visit was a pain, yet as Matilda took a delight in hearing of herfather, what he said, what he did, what his attention seemed mostemployed on, and a thousand other circumstantial informations, in whichSandford would scorn to be half so particular, it was a deprivation toher, that Miss Woodley did not go oftener. Now too, the middle ofNovember was come, and it was expected her father would soon quit thecountry. Partly therefore to indulge her hapless companion, and partly because itwas a duty, Miss Woodley once again paid Lord Elmwood a morning visit, and staid dinner. Rushbrook was officiously polite, (for that was theepithet she gave his attention in relating it to Lady Matilda) yet sheowned he had not that forward impertinence she had formerly discoveredin him, but appeared much more grave and sedate. "But tell me of my father, " said Matilda. "I was going, my dear--but don't be concerned--don't let it vex you. " "What? what?" cried Matilda, frightened by the preface. "Why, on my observing that I thought Mr. Rushbrook looked paler thanusual, and appeared not to be in perfect health, (which was really thecase) your father expressed the greatest anxiety imaginable; he said hecould not bear to see him look so ill, begged him, with all thetenderness of a parent, to take the advice of a physician, and added athousand other affectionate things. " "I detest Mr. Rushbrook, " said Matilda, with her eyes flashingindignation. "Nay, for shame, " returned Miss Woodley; "do you suppose I told youthis, to make you hate him?" "No, there was no occasion for that, " replied Matilda; "my sentiments(though I have never before avowed them) were long ago formed; he wasalways an object which added to my unhappiness; but since his daringintrusion into my apartments, he has been an object of my hatred. " "But now, perhaps, I may tell you something to please you, " cried MissWoodley. "And what is that?" said Matilda, with indifference; for the firstintelligence had hurt her spirits too much to suffer her to listen withpleasure to anything. "Mr. Rushbrook, " continued Miss Woodley, "replied to your father, thathis indisposition was but a slight nervous fever, and he would defer aphysician's advice till he went to London"--on which Lord Elmwood said, "And when do you expect to be there?"--he replied, "Within a week or two, I suppose, my Lord. " But your father answered, "I do not mean to gomyself till after Christmas. " "No indeed, my Lord!" said Mr. Sandford, with surprise: "you have not passed your Christmas here these manyyears. " "No, " returned your father; "but I think I feel myself moreattached to this house at present, than ever I did in my life. " "You imagine, then, my father thought of me, when he said this?" criedMatilda eagerly. "But I may be mistaken, " replied Miss Woodley. "I leave you to judge. Though I am sure Mr. Sandford imagined he thought of you, for I saw asmile over his whole face immediately. " "Did you, Miss Woodley?" "Yes; it appeared on every feature except his lips; those he kept fastclosed, for fear Lord Elmwood should perceive it. " Miss Woodley, with all her minute intelligence, did not however acquaintMatilda, that Rushbrook followed her to the window when the Earl was outof the room, and Sandford half asleep at the other end of it, andinquired respectfully but anxiously for _her_; adding, "It is myconcern for Lady Matilda which makes me thus indisposed: I suffer morethan she does; but I am not permitted to tell her so, nor can I hope, Miss Woodley, you will. " She replied, "You are right, Sir. " Nor did shereveal this conversation, while not a sentence that passed except that, was omitted. When Christmas arrived, Lord Elmwood had many convivial days at ElmwoodHouse, but Matilda was never mentioned by one of his guests, and mostprobably was never thought of. During all those holidays, she wasunusually melancholy, but sunk into the deepest dejection when she wastold the day was fixed, on which her father was to return to town. Onthe morning of that day she wept incessantly; and all her consolationwas, "She would go to the chamber window that was fronting the doorthrough which he was to pass to his carriage, and for the first time, and most probably for the last time in her life, behold him. " This design was soon forgot in another:--"She would rush boldly into theapartment where he was, and at his feet take leave of him for ever--shewould lay hold of his hands, clasp his knees, provoke him to spurn her, which would be joy in comparison to this cruel indifference. " In thebitterness of her grief, she once called upon her mother, and reproachedher memory--but the moment she recollected this offence, (which wasalmost instantaneously) she became all mildness and resignation. "Whathave I said?" cried she; "Dear, dear saint, forgive me; and for yoursake I will bear all with patience--I will not groan, I will not evensigh again--this task I set myself to atone for what I have dared toutter. " While Lady Matilda laboured under this variety of sensations, MissWoodley was occupied in bewailing and endeavouring to calm hersorrows--and Lord Elmwood, with Rushbrook, was ready to set off. TheEarl, however, loitered, and did not once seem in haste to be gone. Whenat last he got up to depart, Sandford thought he pressed his hand, andshook it with more warmth than ever he had done in his life. Encouragedby this supposition, Sandford said, "My Lord, won't you condescend totake your leave of Miss Woodley?" "Certainly, Sandford, " replied he, and seemed glad of an excuse to sitdown again. Impressed with the idea of the state in which she had left his onlychild, Miss Woodley, when she came before Lord Elmwood to bid himfarewell, was pale, trembling, and in tears. Sandford, notwithstandinghis patron's apparently kind humour, was shocked at the construction hemust put upon her appearance, and cried, "What, Miss Woodley, are younot recovered of your illness yet?" Lord Elmwood, however, took nonotice of her looks, but after wishing her her health, walked slowly outof the house; turning back frequently and speaking to Sandford, or tosome other person who was behind him, as if part of his thoughts wereleft behind, and he went with reluctance. When he had quitted the room where Miss Woodley was, Rushbrook, timidbefore her, as she had been before her benefactor, went up to her, allhumility, and said, "Miss Woodley, we ought to be friends: our concern, our devotion is paid to the same objects, and one common interest shouldteach us to be friendly. " She made no reply. --"Will you permit me to write to you when I am away?"said he; "You may wish to hear of Lord Elmwood's health, and of whatchanges may take place in his resolutions. --Will you permit me?" At thatmoment a servant came and said, "Sir, my Lord is in the carriage, andwaiting for you. " He hastened away, and Miss Woodley was relieved fromthe pain of giving him a denial. No sooner was the chaise, with all its attendants, out of sight, thanLady Matilda was conducted by Miss Woodley from her lonely retreat, intothat part of the house from whence her father had just departed--and shevisited every spot where he had so long resided, with a pleasingcuriosity that for a while diverted her grief. In the breakfast anddining rooms, she leaned over those seats with a kind of filial piety, on which she was told he had been accustomed to sit. And, in thelibrary, she took up with filial delight, the pen with which he had beenwriting; and looked with the most curious attention into those booksthat were laid upon his reading desk. But a hat, lying on one of thetables, gave her a sensation beyond any other she experienced on thisoccasion--in that trifling article of his dress, she thought she sawhimself, and held it in her hand with pious reverence. In the mean time, Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook were proceeding on theroad, with hearts not less heavy than those which they had left atElmwood House; though neither of them could so well define the cause ofthis oppression, as Matilda could account for the weight which oppressedher's. CHAPTER XI. Young as Lady Matilda was during the life of her mother, neither heryouth, nor the recluse state in which she lived, had precluded her fromthe notice and solicitations of a nobleman who had professed himself herlover. Viscount Margrave had an estate not far distant from the retreatLady Elmwood had chosen; and being devoted to the sports of the country, he seldom quitted it for any of those joys which the town offered. Hewas a young man, of a handsome person, and was, what his neighbourscalled, "A man of spirit. " He was an excellent fox-hunter, and asexcellent a companion over his bottle at the end of the chace--he wasprodigal of his fortune, where his pleasures were concerned, and asthose pleasures were chiefly social, his sporting companions and hismistresses (for these were also of the plural number) partook largely ofhis wealth. Two months previous to Lady Elmwood's death, Miss Woodley and LadyMatilda were taking their usual walk in some fields and lanes near totheir house, when chance threw Lord Margrave in their way during athunder storm in which they were suddenly caught; and he had thesatisfaction to convey his new acquaintances to their home in his coach, safe from the fury of the elements. Grateful for the service he hadrendered them, Miss Woodley and her charge, permitted him to enquireoccasionally after their health, and would sometimes see him. The storyof Lady Elmwood was known to Lord Margrave, and as he beheld herdaughter with a passion such as he had been unused to overcome, heindulged it with the probable hope, that on the death of the mother LordElmwood would receive his child, and perhaps accept him as hisson-in-law. Wedlock was not the plan which Lord Margrave had everproposed to himself for happiness; but the excess of his love on thisnew occasion, subdued all the resolutions he had formed against themarried state; and not daring to hope for the consummation of his wishesby any other means, he suffered himself to look forward to that, as hisonly resource. No sooner was the long expected death of Lady Elmwoodarrived, than he waited with impatience to hear that Lady Matilda wassent for and acknowledged by her father; for he meant to be the first tolay before Lord Elmwood his pretensions as a suitor. But thosepretensions were founded on the vague hopes of a lover only; and MissWoodley, to whom he first declared them, said every thing possible toconvince him of their fallacy. As to the object of his passion, she wasnot only insensible, but wholly inattentive to all that was said to heron the subject. Lady Elmwood died without ever being disturbed with it;for her daughter did not even remember his proposals so as to repeatthem again, and Miss Woodley thought it prudent to conceal from herfriend, every new incident which might give her cause for new anxieties. When Sandford and the ladies left the north and came to Elmwood House, so much were their thoughts employed with other ideas, that LordMargrave did not occupy a place; and during the whole time they had beenat their new abode, they had never once heard of him. He had, nevertheless, his whole mind fixed upon Lady Matilda, and had placedspies in the neighbourhood to inform him of every circumstance relatingto her situation. Having imbibed an aversion to matrimony, he heard withbut little regret, that there was no prospect of her ever becoming herfather's heir, while such an information gave him the hope of obtainingher, upon the terms of a mistress. Lord Elmwood's departure to town forwarded this hope, and flatteringhimself that the humiliating state in which Matilda must feel herself inthe house of her father might gladly induce her to take shelter underany other protection, he boldly advanced as soon as the Earl was gone, to make such overture as his wishes and his vanity told him, could notbe rejected. Inquiring for Miss Woodley, he easily gained admittance; but at thesight of so much modesty and dignity in the person of Matilda, theappearance of so much good will, and yet such circumspection in hercompanion; and charmed at the good sense and proper spirit which werealways apparent in the manners of Sandford, he fell once more into thedespondency of never becoming to Lady Matilda any thing of moreimportance to his reputation, than a husband. Even that humble hope was sometimes denied him, while Sandford set forththe impropriety of troubling Lord Elmwood on such a subject at present;and while the Viscount's penetration, small as it was, discovered in hisfair one, more to discourage, than to favour his wishes. Plunged, however, too deep in his passion to emerge from it in haste, he meantstill to visit, and wait for a change to happier circumstances, when hewas peremptorily desired by Mr. Sandford to desist from ever comingagain. "And why, Mr. Sandford?" cried he. "For two reasons, my Lord;--in the first place, your visits might bedispleasing to Lord Elmwood; in the next place, I know they are so tohis daughter. " Unaccustomed to be addressed so plainly, particularly in a case wherehis heart was interested, he nevertheless submitted with patience; butin his own mind determined how long this patience should continue--nolonger than it served as the means to prove his obedience, and by thatartifice, to secure his better reception at some future period. On his return home, cheered with the huzzas of his jovial companions, hebegan to consult those friends, what scheme was best to be adopted forthe accomplishment of his desires. Some, boldly advised application tothe father in defiance to the old priest; but that was the very lastmethod his Lordship himself approved, as marriage must inevitably havefollowed Lord Elmwood's consent: besides, though a Peer, Lord Margravewas unused to rank with Peers; and even the formality of an interviewwith one of his equals, carried along with it a terror, or at least afatigue, to a rustic Baron. Others of his companions advised seduction;but happily the Viscount possessed no arts of this kind, to affect aheart joined with such an understanding as Matilda's. There were notwanting among his most favourite counsellors some, who painted thesuperior triumph and gratification of force; those assured him there wasnothing to apprehend under this head, as from the behaviour of LordElmwood to his child, it was more than probable, he would be utterlyindifferent as to any violence that might be offered her. This lastadvice seemed inspired by the aid of wine; and no sooner had the winefreely circulated, than this was always the expedient, which appeared byfar the best. While Lord Margrave alternately cherished his hopes and his fears in thecountry, Rushbrook in town gave way to his fears only. Every day of hislife made him more acquainted with the firm, unshaken temper of LordElmwood, and every day whispered more forcibly to him, that pity, gratitude, and friendship, strong and affectionate as these passionsare, were weak and cold to that, which had gained the possession of hisheart--he doubted, but he did not long doubt, that, which he felt waslove. "And yet, " said he to himself, "it is love of such a kind, asarising from causes independent of the object itself can scarce deservethat sacred name. Did I not love Lady Matilda before I beheld her?--forher mother's sake I loved her--and even for her father's. Should I havefelt the same affection for her, had she been the child of otherparents? No. Or should I have felt that sympathetic tenderness which nowpreys upon my health, had not her misfortunes excited it? No. " Yet thelove which is the result of gratitude and pity only, he thought hadlittle claim to rank with his; and after the most deliberate and deepreflection, he concluded with this decisive opinion--He had loved LadyMatilda, in _whatever state_, in _whatever circumstances_; and that thetenderness he felt towards her, and the anxiety for her happiness beforehe knew her, extreme as they were, were yet cool and dispassionatesensations, compared to those which her person and demeanour hadincited--and though he acknowledged, that by the preceding sentiments, his heart was softened, prepared, and moulded, as it were, to receivethis last impression, yet the violence of his passion told him thatgenuine love, if not the basis on which it was founded, had been thecertain consequence. With a strict scrutiny into his heart he soughtthis knowledge, but arrived at it with a regret that amounted todespair. To shield him from despondency, he formed in his mind a thousandvisions, displaying the joys of his union with Lady Matilda; but herfather's implacability confounded them all. Lord Elmwood was a man whomade few resolutions--but those were the effect of deliberation; and ashe was not the least capricious or inconstant in his temper, they wereresolutions which no probable event could shake. Love, that produceswonders, that seduces and subdues the most determined and rigid spirits, had in two instances overcome the inflexibility of Lord Elmwood; hemarried Lady Elmwood contrary to his determination, because he loved;and for the sake of this beloved object, he had, contrary to hisresolution, taken under his immediate care young Rushbrook; but themagic which once enchanted away this spirit of immutability was nomore--Lady Elmwood was no more, and the charm was broken. As Miss Woodley was deprived of the opportunity of desiring Rushbrooknot to write, when he asked her the permission, he passed one wholemorning, in the gratification of forming and writing a letter to her, which he thought might possibly be shewn to Matilda. As he dared nottouch upon any of those circumstances in which he was the mostinterested, this, joined to the respect he wished to pay the lady towhom he wrote, limited his letter to about twenty lines; yet thestudious manner with which these lines were dictated, the hope that theymight, and the fear that they might not, be seen and regarded by LadyMatilda, rendered the task an anxiety so pleasing, that he could havewished it might have lasted for a year; and in this tendency to magnifytrifles, was discoverable, the never-failing symptom of ardent love. A reply to this formal address, was a reward he wished for withimpatience, but he wished in vain; and in the midst of his chagrin atthe disappointment, a sorrow, little thought of, occurred, and gave hima perturbation of mind he had never before experienced. Lord Elmwoodproposed a wife to him; and in a way so assured of his acquiescence, that if Rushbrook's life had depended upon his daring to dispute hisbenefactor's will, he would not have had the courage to have done so. There was, however, in his reply, and his embarrassment, something whichhis uncle distinguished from a free concurrence; and looking stedfastlyat him, he said, in that stern manner which he now almost invariablyadopted, "You have no engagements, I suppose! Have made no previous promises!" "None on earth, my Lord, " replied Rushbrook candidly. "Nor have you disposed of your heart?" "No, my Lord, " replied he; but not candidly--nor with any appearance ofcandour: for though he spoke hastily, it was rather like a manfrightened than assured. He hurried to tell the falsehood he thoughthimself obliged to tell, that the pain and shame might be over; butthere he was deceived--the lie once told was as troublesome as in theconception, and added another confusion to the first. Lord Elmwood now fixed his eyes upon him with a sullen contempt, andrising from his chair, said, "Rushbrook, if you have been soinconsiderate as to give away your heart, tell me so at once, and tellme the object. " Rushbrook shuddered at the thought. "I here, " continued the Earl, "tolerate the first untruth you ever toldme, as the false assertion of a lover; and give you an opportunity ofrecalling it--but after this moment, it is a lie between man and man--alie to your friend and father, and I will not forgive it. " Rushbrook stood silent, confused, alarmed, and bewildered in histhoughts. Lord Elmwood proceeded: "Name the person, if there is any, on whom you have bestowed your heart;and though I do not give you the hope that I shall not censure yourfolly, I will at least not reproach you for having at first denied it. " To repeat these words in writing, the reader must condemn the young manthat he could hesitate to own he loved, if he was even afraid to namethe object of his passion; but his interrogator had made the two answersinseparable, so that all evasions of the second, Rushbrook knew would befruitless, after having avowed the first--and how could he confess thelatter? The absolute orders he received from the steward on his firstreturn from his travels, were, "Never to mention his daughter, any morethan his late wife, before Lord Elmwood. " The fault of having rudelyintruded into Lady Matilda's presence, rushed also upon his mind; for hedid not even dare to say, by what means he had beheld her. But more thanall, the threatening manner in which this rational and apparentlyconciliating speech was uttered, the menaces, the severity which satupon the Earl's countenance while he delivered those moderate words, might have intimidated a man wholly independent, and less used to fearthan his nephew had been. "You make no answer, Sir, " said Lord Elmwood, after waiting a fewmoments for his reply. "I have only to say, my Lord, " returned Rushbrook, "that although myheart may be totally disengaged, I may yet be disinclined to marriage. " "May! May! Your heart _may_ be disengaged, " repeated he. "Do you dare toreply to me equivocally, when I have asked a positive answer?" "Perhaps I am not positive myself, my Lord; but I will enquire into thestate of my mind, and make you acquainted with it very soon. " As the angry demeanour of his uncle affected Rushbrook with fear, sothat fear, powerfully (but with proper manliness) expressed, againsoftened the displeasure of Lord Elmwood; and seeing and pitying hisnephew's sensibility, he now changed his austere voice, and said mildly, but firmly, "I give you a week to consult with yourself; at the expiration of thattime I shall talk with you again, and I command you to be then preparedto speak, not only without deceit, but without hesitation. " He left theroom at these words, and left Rushbrook released from a fate, which hisapprehensions had beheld impending that moment. He had now a week to call his thoughts together, to weigh everycircumstance, and to determine whether implicitly to submit to LordElmwood's recommendation of a wife, or to revolt from it, and seeanother, with more subserviency to his will, appointed his heir. Undetermined how to act upon this trial which was to decide his futuredestiny, Rushbrook suffered so poignant an uncertainty, that he becameat length ill, and before the end of the week that was allotted him forhis reply, he was confined to his bed in a high fever. Lord Elmwood wasextremely affected at his indisposition; he gave him every care he couldbestow, and even much of his personal attendance. This last favour had aclaim upon the young man's gratitude, superior to every other obligationwhich since his infancy his benefactor had conferred; and he was attimes so moved by those marks of kindness he received, that he wouldform the intention of tearing from his heart every trace that LadyMatilda had left there, and as soon as his health would permit him, obey, to the utmost of his views, every wish his uncle had conceived. Yet again, her pitiable situation presented itself to his compassion, and her beauteous person to his love. Divided between the claims ofobligation to the father, and tender attachment to the daughter, hisillness was increased by the tortures of his mind, and he once sincerelywished for that death, of which he was in danger, to free him from thedilemma in which his affections had involved him. At the time his disorder was at the height, and he lay complaining ofthe violence of his fever, Lord Elmwood, taking his hand, asked him, "Ifthere was any thing he could do for him?" "Yes, yes, my Lord, a great deal:" he replied eagerly. "What is it, Harry?" "Oh! my Lord, " replied he, "that is what I must not tell you. " "Defer it then till you are well:" said Lord Elmwood; afraid of beingsurprised, or affected by the state of his health, into any promiseswhich he might hereafter find the impropriety of granting. "And when I recover, my Lord, you give me leave to reveal to you mywishes, let them be what they will?" His uncle hesitated----but seeing an anxiety for the answer, by hisraising himself upon his elbow in the bed and staring wildly, LordElmwood at last said, "Certainly--Yes, yes, " as a child is answered forits quiet. That Lord Elmwood could have no idea what the real petition was, whichRushbrook meant to present him is certain; but it is certain he expectedhe had some request to make, with which it might be wrong for him tocomply, and therefore he avoided hearing what it was; for great as hiscompassion for him was in his present state, it was not of sufficientforce to urge him to give a promise he did not mean to perform. Rushbrook, on his part was pleased with the assurance he might speakwhen he was restored to health; but no sooner was his fever abated, andhis senses perfectly recovered from the slight derangement his maladyhad occasioned, than the lively remembrance of what he had hinted, alarmed him, and he was even afraid to look his kind, but awful relationin the face. Lord Elmwood's cheerfulness, however, on his returninghealth, and his undiminished attention, soon convinced him that he hadnothing to fear. But, alas! he found too, that he had nothing to hope. As his health re-established, his wishes re-established also, and withhis wishes, his despair. Convinced now, that his nephew had something on his mind which he fearedto reveal, the Earl no longer doubted but that some youthful attachmenthad armed him against any marriage he should propose; but he had so muchpity for his present weak state, to delay that further inquiry which hehad threatened before his illness, to a time when he should be entirelyrestored. It was the end of May before Rushbrook was able to partake in the usualroutine of the day--the country was now prescribed him as the means ofcomplete restoration; and as Lord Elmwood designed to leave London sometime in June, he advised him to go to Elmwood House a week or two beforehim; this advice was received with delight, and a letter was sent to Mr. Sandford to prepare for Mr. Rushbrook's arrival. CHAPTER XII. During the illness of Rushbrook, news had been sent of his danger, fromthe servants in town to those at Elmwood House, and Lady Matildaexpressed compassion when she was told of it--she began to conceive, theinstant she thought he would soon die, that his visit to her had meritrather than impertinence in its design, and that he might possibly be amore deserving man, than she had supposed him to be. Even Sandford andMiss Woodley, began to recollect qualifications he possessed, which theynever had reflected on before, and Miss Woodley in particular, reproached herself that she had been so severe and inattentive to him. Notwithstanding the prospects his death pointed out to her, it was withinfinite joy she heard he was recovered; nor was Sandford lesssatisfied; for he had treated the young man too unkindly not to dread, lest any ill should befall him; but although he was glad to hear of hisrestored health, when he was informed he was coming down to ElmwoodHouse for a few weeks in the style of its master, Sandford, with all hisreligious and humane principles, could not help thinking, "That if thelad had been properly preps well out of the world as in it. " He was still less his friend when he saw him arrive with his usualflorid complexion: had he come pale and sickly, Sandford had been kindto him; but in apparently good health and spirits, he could not form hislips to tell him he was "Glad to see him. " On his arrival, Matilda, who for five months had been at large, secludedherself as she would have done upon the arrival of Lord Elmwood; butwith far different sensations. Notwithstanding her restriction on thelatter occasion, the residence of her father in that house had been asource of pleasure, rather than of sorrow to her; but from the abode ofRushbrook she derived punishment alone. When, from inquiries, Rushbrook found that on his approach, Matilda hadretired to her own confined apartments, the thought was torture to him;it was the hope of seeing and conversing with her, of being admitted atall times to her society as the mistress of the house, that had raisedhis spirits, and effected his perfect cure beyond any other cause; andhe was hurt to the greatest degree at this respect, or rather contempt, shown to him by her retreat. It was, nevertheless, a subject too delicate for him to touch upon inany one sense--an invitation for her company on his part, might carry theappearance of superior authority, and an affected condescension, whichhe justly considered as the worst of all insults. And yet, how could hesupport the idea that his visit had placed the daughter of hisbenefactor, as a dependent stranger in that house, where in reality _he_was the dependent, and she the lawful heir? For two or three days hesuffered the torment of these reflections, hoping that he should come toan explanation of all he felt, by a fortunate meeting with Miss Woodley;but when that meeting occurred, though he observed she talked to himwith less reserve than she had formerly done, and even gave some proofsof the native goodness of her disposition, yet she scrupulously avoidednaming Lady Matilda; and when he diffidently inquired of her health, acold restraint overspread Miss Woodley's face, and she left himinstantly. To Sandford it was still more difficult for him to apply; forthough frequently together, they were never sociable; and as Sandfordseldom disguised his feelings, to Rushbrook he was always extremelysevere, and sometimes unmannerly. In this perplexed situation, the country air was rather of detrimentthan service to the invalid; and had he not, like a true lover, clungfast to hope, while he could perceive nothing but despair, he would havereturned to town, rather than by his stay have placed in a subordinatestate, the object of his adoration. Persisting in his hopes, he onemorning met Miss Woodley in the garden, and engaging her a longer timethan usual in conversation, at last obtained her promise "She would thatday dine with him and Mr. Sandford. " But no sooner had she parted fromhim, than she repented of her consent; and upon communicating it, Matilda, for the first time in her life, darted upon her kind companion, a look of the most cutting reproach and haughty resentment. MissWoodley's own sentiments had upbraided her before; but she was notprepared to receive so pointed a mark of disapprobation from her youngfriend, till now duteous and humble to her as to a mother, and not lessaffectionate. Her heart was too susceptible to bear this disrespectfuland contumelious frown, from the object of her long-devoted care andconcern; the tears instantly covered her face, and she laid her handsupon her heart, as if she thought it would break. Matilda was moved, butshe possessed too much of the manly resentment of her father, todiscover what she felt for the first few minutes. Miss Woodley, who hadgiven so many tears to her sorrows, but never till now, one to heranger, had a deeper sense of this indifference, than of the angeritself, and to conceal what she suffered, left the room. Matilda, whohad been till this time working at her needle, seemingly composed, nowlet her work drop from her hand, and sat for a while in a deep reverie. At length she rose up, and followed Miss Woodley to the other apartment. She entered grave, majestic and apparently serene, while her poor heartfluttered with a thousand distressing sensations. She approached MissWoodley (who was still in tears) with silence; and awed by her manners, the faithful friend of her deceased mother exclaimed, "Dear LadyMatilda, think no more on what I have done--do not resent it any longer, and on my knees I'll beg your pardon. " Miss Woodley rose as she utteredthese last words; but Matilda laid fast hold of her to prevent theposture she offered to take, and instantly assumed it herself. "Oh, letthis be my atonement!" she cried with the most earnest supplication. They interchanged forgiveness; and as this reconciliation was sincere, they each, without reserve, gave their opinion upon the subject that hadcaused the misunderstanding; and it was agreed an apology should be sentto Mr. Rushbrook, "That Miss Woodley had been suddenly indisposed:" norcould this be said to differ from the truth, for since what had passedshe was unfit to pay a visit. Rushbrook, who had been all the morning elated with the advance hesupposed he had made in that lady's favour, was highly disappointed, vexed, and angry, when this apology was delivered; nor did he, norperhaps could he, conceal what he felt, although his severe observer, Mr. Sandford, was present. "I am a very unfortunate man!" said he, as soon as the servant was gonewho brought the message. Sandford cast his eyes upon him with a look of surprise and contempt. "A very unfortunate man indeed, Mr. Sandford, " repeated he, "althoughyou treat my complaint contemptuously. " Sandford made no reply, and seemed above making one. They sat down to dinner;--Rushbrook eat scarce any thing, but drankfrequently; Sandford took no notice of either, but had a book (which washis custom when he dined with persons whose conversation was notinteresting to him) laid by the side of his plate, which he occasionallylooked into, as the dishes were removing, or other opportunities served. Rushbrook, just now more hopeless than ever of forming an acquaintancewith Lady Matilda, began to give way to symptoms of despondency; andthey made their first attack, by urging him, to treat on the same levelof familiarity that he himself was treated, Mr. Sandford, to whom hehad, till now, ever behaved with the most profound tokens of respect. "Come, " said he to him as soon as the dinner was removed, "lay asideyour book and be good company. " Sandford lifted up his eyes upon him--stared in his face--and cast them onthe book again. "Pshaw, " continued Rushbrook, "I want a companion; and as Miss Woodleyhas disappointed me, I must have your company. " Sandford now laid his book down upon the table; but still holding hisfingers in the pages he was reading, said, "And why are you disappointedof Miss Woodley's company? When people expect what they have no right tohope, 'tis impertinent assurance to complain they are disappointed. " "I had a right to hope she would come, " answered Rushbrook, "for shepromised she would. " "But what right had you to ask her?" "The right every one has, to make his time pass as agreeably as he can. " "But not at the expence of another. " "I believe, Mr. Sandford, it would be a heavy expence to you, to see mehappy; I believe it would cost you even your own happiness. " "That is a price I have not now to give:" replied Sandford, and beganreading again. "What, you have already paid it away? No wonder that at your time oflife it should be gone. But what do you think of my having alreadysquandered mine?" "I don't think about you;" returned Sandford, without taking his eyesfrom the book. "Can you look me in the face and say that, Mr. Sandford? No, youcannot--for you know you _do_ think of me, and you know you hateme. "--Here he drank two glasses of wine one after another; "And I cantell you why you hate me, " continued he: "It is from a cause for which Ioften hate myself. " Sandford read on. "It is on Lady Matilda's account you hate me, and use me thus. " Sandford put down the book hastily, and put both his hands by his side. "Yes, " resumed Rushbrook, "you think I am wronging her. " "I think you insult her, " exclaimed Sandford, "by this rude mention ofher name; and I command you at your peril to desist. " "At my peril! Mr. Sandford? Do you assume the authority of my LordElmwood?" "I do on this occasion; and if you dare to give your tongue a freedom"---- Rushbrook interrupted him--"Why then I boldly say, (and as her friend youought rather to applaud than resent it) I boldly say, that my heartsuffers so much for her situation, that I am regardless of my own. Ilove her father--I loved her mother more--but I love _her_ beyondeither. " "Hold your licentious tongue, " cried Sandford, "or quit the room. " "Licentious! Oh! the pure thoughts that dwell in her innocent mind, arenot less sensual than mine towards her. Do you upbraid me with myrespect, my pity for her? They are the sensations which impel me tospeak thus undisguised, even to you, my open--no, even worse--my secretenemy!" "Insult _me_ as you please, Mr. Rushbrook, --but beware how you mentionLord Elmwood's daughter. " "Can it be to her dishonour that I pity her? that I would quit the housethis moment never to return, so that she supplied the place I with-holdfrom her. " "Go, then;" cried Sandford. "It would be of no use to her, or I would. But come, Mr. Sandford, Iwill dare do as much as you. Only second me, and I will entreat LordElmwood to be reconciled--to see and own her. " "Your vanity would be equal to your temerity--_you_ entreat? She mustgreatly esteem those paternal favours which _your_ entreaties gainedher! Do you forget, young man, how short a time it is, since you were_entreated for?_" "I prove that I do not, while this anxiety for Lady Matilda, arises, from what I feel on that account. " "Remove your anxiety, then, from her to yourself; for were I to let LordElmwood know what has now passed"-- "It is for your own sake, not for mine, if you do not. " "You shall not dare me to it, Mr. Rushbrook. " And he rose from his seat:"You shall not dare me to do you an injury. But to avoid the temptation, I will never again come into your company, unless my friend, LordElmwood, be present, to protect me and his child from your insults. " Rushbrook rose in yet more warmth than Sandford "Have you the injustice to say that I have insulted Lady Matilda?" "To speak of her at all, is in you an insult. But you have done more--youhave dared to visit her--to force into her presence and shock her withyour offers of services which she scorns; and with your compassion, which she is above. " "Did she complain to you?" "She or her friend did. " "I rather suppose, Mr. Sandford, that you have bribed some of theservants to reveal this. " "The suspicion becomes Lord Elmwood's heir. " "It becomes the man, who lives in a house with you. " "I thank you, Mr. Rushbrook, for what has passed this day--it has taken aweight off my mind. I thought my disinclination to you, might perhapsarise from prejudice--this conversation has relieved me from those fears, and--I thank you. " Saying this he calmly walked out of the room, and leftRushbrook to reflect on what he had been doing. Heated with the wine he had drank (and which Sandford, engaged on hisbook, had not observed) no sooner was he alone, than he became bydegrees cool and repentant. "What had he done?" was the first questionto himself--"He had offended Sandford. "--The man, whom reason as well asprudence had ever taught him to respect, and even to revere. He hadgrossly offended the firm friend of Lady Matilda, by the unreserved andwanton use of her name. All the retorts he had uttered came now to hismemory; with a total forgetfulness of all that Sandford had said toprovoke them. He once thought to follow him and beg his pardon; but the contempt withwhich he had been treated, more than all the anger, with-held him. As he sat forming plans how to retrieve the opinion, ill as it was, which Sandford formerly entertained of him, he received a letter fromLord Elmwood, kindly enquiring after his health, and saying that heshould be down early in the following week. Never were the friendlyexpressions of his uncle half so welcome to him; for they served tosooth his imagination, racked with Sandford's wrath, and his owndispleasure. CHAPTER XIII. When Sandford acted deliberately, he always acted up to his duty; it washis duty to forgive Rushbrook, and he did so--but he had declared hewould never "Be again in his company unless Lord Elmwood was present;"and with all his forgiveness, he found an unforgiving gratification, inthe duty, of being obliged to keep his word. The next day Rushbrook dined alone, while Sandford gave his company tothe ladies. Rushbrook was too proud to seek to conciliate Sandford byabject concessions, but he endeavoured to meet him as by accident, andmeant to try what, in such a case, a submissive apology might effect. For two days all the schemes he formed on that head proved fruitless; hecould never procure even a sight of him. But on the evening of the thirdday, taking a lonely walk, he turned the corner of a grove, and saw inthe very path he was going, Sandford accompanied by Miss Woodley; and, what agitated him infinitely more, Lady Matilda was with them. He knewnot whether to proceed, or to quit the path and palpably shun them--toone, who seemed to put an unkind construction upon all he said and did, he knew that to do either, would be to do wrong. In spite of thepropensity he felt to pass so near to Matilda, could he have known whatconduct would have been deemed the most respectful, whatever painfuldenial it had cost him, _that_, he would have adopted. But undeterminedwhether to go forward, or to cross to another path, he still walked ontill he came too nigh to recede: he then, with a diffidence notaffected, but most powerfully felt, pulled off his hat; and withoutbowing, stood respectfully silent while the company passed. Sandfordwalked on some paces before, and took no further notice as he went byhim, than just touching the fore part of his hat with his finger. MissWoodley curtsied as she followed. But Lady Matilda made a full stop, andsaid, in the gentlest accents, "I hope, Mr. Rushbrook, you are perfectlyrecovered. " It was the sweetest music he had ever listened to; and he replied withthe most reverential bow, "I am better a great deal, Ma'am. " Theninstantly pursued his way as if he did not dare to utter anothersyllable. Sandford seldom found fault with Lady Matilda; not because he loved her, but because she seldom did wrong--upon this occasion, however, he washalf inclined to reprimand her; but yet he did not know what to say--thesubsequent humility of Rushbrook, had taken from the indiscretion of herspeaking to him, and the event could by no means justify his censure. Onhearing her begin to speak, Sandford had stopped; and as Rushbrook afterreplying, walked away, Sandford called to her crossly, "Come, comealong. " But at the same time he put out his elbow for her to take holdof his arm. She hastened her steps, and did so--then turning to Miss Woodley, shesaid, "I expected you would have spoken to Mr. Rushbrook; it might haveprevented me. " Miss Woodley replied, "I was at a loss what to do;--when we met formerly, he always spoke first. " "And he ought now, " cried Sandford angrily--and then added, with asarcastic smile, "It is certainly proper that the _superior_, should bethe first who speaks. " "He did not look as if he thought himself our superior, " repliedMatilda. "No, " returned Sandford, "some people can put on what looks theyplease. " "Then while he looks so pale, " replied Matilda, "and so dejected, I cannever forbear speaking to him when we meet, whatever he may think ofit. " "And were he and I to meet a hundred, nay a thousand times, " returnedSandford, "I don't think I should ever speak to him again. " "Bless me! what for, Mr. Sandford?" cried Matilda--for Sandford, who wasnot a man that repeated little incidents, had never mentioned thecircumstance of their quarrel. "I have taken such a resolution, " answered he, "yet I bear him noenmity. " As this short reply indicated that he meant to say no more, no more wasasked; and the subject was dropped. In the mean time, Rushbrook, happier than he had been for months, intoxicated with joy at that voluntary mark of civility he had receivedfrom Lady Matilda, felt his heart so joyous, and so free from everyparticle of malice, that he resolved, in the humblest manner, to makeatonement for the violation of decorum he had lately committed againstMr. Sandford. Too happy, at this time, to suffer a mortification from any indignitieshe might receive, he sent his servant to him into his study, as soon ashe was returned home, to beg to know "If he might be permitted to waitupon him, with a message he had to deliver from Lord Elmwood. " The servant returned--"Mr. Sandford desired he would send the message byhim, or the house-steward. " This was highly affronting; but Rushbrookwas not in a humour to be offended, and he sent again, begging he wouldadmit him; but the answer was, "He was busy. " Thus wholly defeated in his hopes of reconciliation, his new transportsfelt an allay, and the few days that remained before Lord Elmwood came, he passed in solitary musing, and ineffectual walks and looks towardsthat path in which he had met Matilda--she came that way no more--indeedscarce quitted her apartment, in the practice of that confinement shewas to experience on the arrival of her father. All her former agitations now returned. On the day he arrived shewept--all the night she did not sleep--and the name of Rushbrook againbecame hateful to her. The Earl came in extremely good health andspirits, but appeared concerned to find Rushbrook less well than when hewent from town. Sandford was now under the necessity of being inRushbrook's company, yet he would never speak to him but when he wasobliged; or look at him, but when he could not help it. Lord Elmwoodobserved this conduct, yet he neither wondered, or was offended at it--hehad perceived what little esteem Sandford showed his nephew from hisfirst return; but he forgave, in Sandford's humour, a thousand faults hewould not forgive in any other; nor did he deem this one of his greatestfaults, knowing the demand upon his partiality from another object. Miss Woodley waited on Lord Elmwood as formerly; dined with him, andrelated, as heretofore, to the attentive Matilda, all that passed. About this time Lord Margrave, deprived by the season of all the sportsof the field, felt his love for Matilda (which had been violent, eventhough divided with the love of hunting) now too strong to be subdued;and he resolved, though reluctantly, to apply to her father for hisconsent to their union; but writing to Sandford this resolution, he wasonce more repulsed, and charged as a man of honour, to forbear todisturb the tranquillity of the family by any application of the kind. To this, Sandford received no answer; for the peer, highly incensed athis mistress's repugnance to him, determined more firmly than ever toconsult his own happiness alone; and as that depended merely upon hisobtaining her, he cared not by what method it was effected. About a fortnight after Lord Elmwood came into the country, as he wasriding one morning, his horse fell with him, and crushed his leg in sounfortunate a manner, as to be at first pronounced of dangerousconsequence. He was brought home in a post chaise, and Matilda heard ofthe accident with more grief than would, perhaps, on such an occasion, appertain to the most fondled child. In consequence of the pain he suffered, his fever was one night veryhigh; and Sandford, who seldom quitted his apartment, went frequently tohis bedside, every time with the secret hope he should hear him ask tosee his daughter--he was every time disappointed--yet he saw him shake, with a cordial friendship, the hand of Rushbrook, as if he delighted inseeing those he loved. The danger in which Lord Elmwood was supposed to be, was but of shortduration, and his sudden recovery succeeded. Matilda, who had wept, moaned, and watched during the crisis of his illness, when she heard hewas amending, exclaimed, (with a kind of surprise at the novelty of thesensation) "And this is joy that I feel! Oh! I never till now knew, whatthose persons felt who experienced joy. " Nor did she repine, like Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley, at her father'sinattention to her during his malady, for she did not hope like them--shedid not hope he would behold her, even in dying. But notwithstanding his seeming indifference, while his indispositioncontinued, no sooner was he recovered so as to receive thecongratulations of his friends, than there was no one person heevidently showed so much satisfaction at seeing, as Miss Woodley. Shewaited upon him timorously, and with more than ordinary distaste at hislate conduct, when he put out his hand with the utmost warmth to receiveher; drew her to him; saluted her, (an honour he had never in his lifeconferred before) with signs of the sincerest friendship and affection. Sandford was present; and ever associating the idea of Matilda with MissWoodley, felt his heart bound with a triumph it had not enjoyed for manya day. Matilda listened with delight to the recital Miss Woodley gave on herreturn, and many times while it lasted exclaimed, "She was happy. " Butpoor Matilda's sudden transports of joy, which she termed happiness, were not made for long continuance; and if she ever found cause forgladness, she far oftener had motives for grief. As Mr. Sandford was sitting with her and Miss Woodley, one evening abouta week after, a person rang at the bell and inquired for him: on beingtold of it by the servant, he went to the door of the apartment, andcried, "Oh! is it you? Come in. " An elderly man entered, who had beenfor many years the head gardener at Elmwood House; a man of honesty andsobriety, and with an indigent family of aged parents, children, andother relations, who subsisted wholly on the income arising from hisplace. The ladies, as well as Sandford, knew him well, and they all, almost at once, asked, "What was the matter?" for his looks told themsomething distressful had befallen him. "Oh, Sir!" said he to Sandford, "I come to intreat your interest. " "In what, Edwards?" said Sandford with a mild voice; for when hisassistance was supplicated in distress, his rough tones always took aplaintive key. "My Lord has discharged me from his service!" (returned Edwardstrembling, and the tears starting in his eyes) "I am undone, Mr. Sandford, unless you plead for me. " "I will, " said Sandford, "I will. " "And yet I am almost afraid of your success, " replied the man, "for myLord has ordered me out of his house this moment; and though I kneltdown to him to be heard, he had no pity. " Matilda sighed from the bottom of her heart, and yet she envied thispoor man, who had been kneeling to her father. "What was your offence?" cried Sandford. The man hesitated; then looking at Matilda, said, "I'll tell you, Sir, some other time. " "Did you name me, before Lord Elmwood?" cried she eagerly, andterrified. "No, Madam, " replied he, "but I unthinkingly spoke of my poor Lady whois dead and gone. " Matilda burst into tears. "How came you to do so mad a thing?" cried Sandford; and theencouragement which his looks had once given him, now fled from hisface. "It was unthinkingly, " repeated Edwards; "I was showing my Lord someplans for the new walks, and told him, among other things, that herLadyship had many years ago approved of them. 'Who?' cried he. Still Idid not call to mind, but said, 'Lady Elmwood, Sir, while you wereabroad. '--As soon as these words were delivered, I saw my doom in hislooks, and he commanded me to quit his house and service that instant. " "I am afraid, " said Sandford, shaking his head, "I can do nothing foryou. " "Yes, Sir, you know you have more power over my Lord than any body--andperhaps you may be able to save me and all mine from misery. " "I would, if I could, " replied Sandford quickly. "You can but try, Sir. " Matilda was all this while bathed in tears; nor was Miss Woodley muchless affected--Lady Elmwood was before their eyes--Matilda beheld her inher dying moments; Miss Woodley saw her as the gay ward of Dorriforth. "Ask Mr. Rushbrook, " said Sandford, "prevail on him to speak for you; hehas more power than I have. " "He has not enough, then, " replied Edwards, "for he was in the room withmy Lord when what I have told you happened. " "And did he say nothing?" asked Sandford. "Yes, Sir; he offered to speak in my behalf, but my Lord interruptedhim, and ordered him out of the room--he instantly went. " Sandford, now observing the effect which this narration had on the twoladies, led the man to his own apartments, and there assured him hedared not undertake his cause; but that if time or chance should happilymake an alteration in his Lord's disposition, he would be the first whowould endeavour to replace him. --Edwards was obliged to submit; andbefore the next day at noon, his pleasant house by the side of the park, his garden, and his orchard, which he had occupied above twenty years, were cleared of their old inhabitant, and all his wretched family. CHAPTER XIV. This melancholy incident, perhaps affected Matilda and all the friendsof the deceased Lady Elmwood, beyond any other that had occurred sinceher death. A few days after this circumstance, Miss Woodley, in order todivert the disconsolate mind of Lady Matilda, (and in the hope ofbringing her some little anecdotes, to console her for that which hadgiven her so much pain) waited upon Lord Elmwood in his library, andborrowed some books out of it. He was now perfectly well from his fall, and received her with his usual politeness, but, of course, not withthat peculiar warmth which he had discovered when he received her justafter his illness. Rushbrook was in the library at the same time; heshewed her several beautiful prints which Lord Elmwood had just receivedfrom London, and appeared anxious to entertain and give tokens of hisesteem and respect for her. But what gave her pleasure beyond any otherattention, was, that after she had taken (by the aid of Rushbrook) abouta dozen volumes from different shelves, and had laid them together, saying she would send her servant to fetch them; Lord Elmwood wenteagerly to the place where they were, and taking up each book, examinedminutely what it was. One author he complained was too light, anothertoo depressing, and put them on the shelves again: another waserroneous, and he changed it for a better: thus, he warned her againstsome, and selected other authors, as the most cautious preceptor cullsfor his pupil, or a fond father for his darling Child. She thanked himfor his attention to her, but her heart thanked him for his attention tohis daughter. For as she had herself never received such a proof of hiscare since all their long acquaintance, she reasonably supposed, Matilda's reading, and not hers, was the object of his solicitude. Having in these books store of comfort for poor Matilda, she eagerlyreturned with them; and in reciting every particular circumstance, madeher consider the volumes, almost like presents from her father. The month of September was now arrived; and Lord Elmwood, accompanied byRushbrook, went to a small shooting seat, near twenty miles distant fromElmwood Castle, for a week's particular sport. Matilda was once more atlarge; and one beautiful morning, about eleven o'clock, seeing MissWoodley walking on the lawn before the house, she hastily took her hatto join her; and not waiting to put it on, went nimbly down the greatstaircase, with it hanging on her arm. When she had descended a fewstairs, she heard a footstep walking slowly up; and, (from what emotionshe could not tell, ) she stopped short, half resolved to turn back. Shehesitated a single instant whether she should or not--then went a fewsteps further till she came to the second landing place; when, by thesudden winding of the staircase, --Lord Elmwood was immediately beforeher! She had felt something like affright before she saw him; but her reasontold her she had nothing to fear, as he was away. But now, theappearance of a stranger whom she had never before seen; the authorityin his looks, as well as in the sound of his steps; a resemblance to theportrait she had been shown of him; a start of astonishment which hegave on beholding her; but above all--her _fears_ confirmed her that itwas him. She gave a scream of terror--put out her trembling hands tocatch the balustrades for support--missed them--and fell motionless intoher father's arms. He caught her, as by the same impulse, he would have caught any otherperson falling for want of aid. Yet when he found her in his arms, hestill held her there--gazed on her attentively--and once pressed her tohis bosom. At length trying to escape the snare into which he had been led, he wasgoing to leave her on the spot where she fell, when her eyes opened andshe uttered, "Save me. " Her voice unmanned him. His long-restrainedtears now burst forth--and seeing her relapsing into the swoon, he criedout eagerly to recall her. Her name did not, however, come to hisrecollection--nor any name but this--"Miss Milner--Dear Miss Milner. " That sound did not awaken her; and now again he wished to leave her inthis senseless state, that not remembering what had passed, she mightescape the punishment. But at this instant, Giffard, with another servant, passed by the footof the stairs: on which, Lord Elmwood called to them--and into Giffard'shands delivered his apparently dead child; without one commandrespecting her, or one word of any kind; while his face was agitatedwith shame, with pity, with anger, with paternal tenderness. As Giffard stood trembling, while he relieved his Lord from this haplessburthen, her father had to unloose her hand from the side of his coat, which she had caught fast hold of as she fell, and grasped so closely, it was with difficulty released. --On attempting to take the hand away hetrembled--faltered--then bade Giffard do it. "Who, I, my Lord! I separate you!" cried he. But recollecting himself, "My Lord, I will obey your commands whatever they are. " And seizing herhand, pulled it with violence--it fell--and her father went away. Matilda was carried to her own apartments, laid upon the bed, and MissWoodley hasted to attend her, after listening to the recital of what hadpassed. When Lady Elmwood's old and affectionate friend entered the room, andsaw her youthful charge lying pale and speechless, yet no father by tocomfort or sooth her, she lifted up her hands to Heaven exclaiming, witha burst of tears, "And is this the end of thee, my poor child? Is thisthe end of all our hopes?--of thy own fearful hopes--and of thy mother'ssupplications! Oh! Lord Elmwood! Lord Elmwood!" At that name Matilda started, and cried, "Where is he? Is it a dream, orhave I seen him?" "It is all a dream, my dear, " said Miss Woodley. "And yet I thought he held me in his arms, " she replied--"I thought Ifelt his hands press mine. --Let me sleep and dream again. " Now thinking it best to undeceive her, "It is no dream, my dear, "returned Miss Woodley. "Is it not?" cried she, starting up and leaning on her elbow--"Then Isuppose I must go away--go for ever away. " Sandford now entered. Having been told the news, he came to condole--butat the sight of him Matilda was terrified, and cried, "Do not reproachme, do not upbraid me--I know I have done wrong--I know I had but onecommand from my father, and that I have disobeyed. " Sandford could not reproach her, for he could not speak; he thereforeonly walked to the window and concealed his tears. That whole day and night was passed in sympathetic grief, in alarm atevery sound, lest it should be a messenger to pronounce Matilda'sdestiny. Lord Elmwood did not stay upon this visit above three hours at ElmwoodHouse; he then set off again for the seat he had left; where Rushbrookstill remained, and from whence his Lordship had merely come byaccident, to look over some writings which he wanted dispatched to town. During his short continuance here, Sandford cautiously avoided hispresence; for he thought, in a case like this, what nature would not ofherself effect, no art, no arguments of his, could accomplish: to Natureand Providence he left the whole. What these two powerful principlesbrought about, the reader will judge, when he peruses the followingletter, received early the next morning by Miss Woodley. A SIMPLE STORY, IN FOUR VOLUMES, BY MRS. INCHBALD. VOL. IV. _THE FOURTH EDITION. _ LONDON: Printed for G. G. And J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1799. A SIMPLE STORY. CHAPTER I. _A letter from Giffard, Lord Elmwood's House Steward, to Miss Woodley. _ "MADAM, "My Lord, above a twelvemonth ago, acquainted me he had permitted his daughter to reside in his house; but at the same time he informed me, the grant was under a certain restriction, which, if ever broken, I was to see his then determination (of which he also acquainted me) put in execution. In consequence of Lady Matilda's indisposition, Madam, I have ventured to delay this notice till morning. --I need not say with what concern I now give it, or mention to you, I believe, what is forfeited. My Lord staid but a few hours yesterday, after the unhappy circumstance on which I write, took place; nor did I see him after, till he was in his carriage; he then sent for me to the carriage door, and told me he should be back in two days time, and added, 'Remember your duty. ' That duty, I hope, Madam, you will not require me to explain in more direct terms. --As soon as my Lord returns, I have no doubt but he will ask me if it is fulfilled, and I shall be under the greatest apprehension, should his commands not be obeyed. "If there is any thing wanting for the convenience of your and Lady Matilda's departure, you have but to order it, and it is at your service--I mean likewise any cash you may have occasion for. I should presume to add my opinion where you might best take up your abode; but with such advice as you will have from Mr. Sandford, mine would be but assuming. "I would also have waited upon you, Madam, and have delivered myself the substance of this letter; but I am an old man, and the changes I have been witness to in my Lord's house since I first lived in it, has encreased my age many years; and I have not the strength to see you upon this occasion. I loved my deceased Lady--I love my Lord--and I love their child--nay, so I am sure does my Lord himself; but there is no accounting for his resolutions, or for the alteration his disposition has lately undergone. "I beg pardon, Madam, for this long intrusion, and am, and ever will be, (while you and my Lord's daughter are so) your afflicted humble servant, "ROBERT GIFFARD. "Elmwood House, "Sept. 12. " When this letter was brought to Miss Woodley, she knew what it containedbefore she opened it, and therefore took it with an air ofresignation--yet though she guessed the momentous part of its contents, she dreaded in what words it might be related; and having now noessential good to expect, hope, that will never totally expire, clung atthis crisis to little circumstances, and she hoped most fervently, theterms of the letter might not be harsh, but that Lord Elmwood haddelivered his commands in gentle language. The event proved he had; andlost to every important comfort, she felt grateful to him for this smallone. Matilda, too, was cheered by this letter, for she expected somethingworse; and the last line, in which Giffard said he knew "His Lordshiploved her, " she thought repaid her for the purport of the other part. Sandford was not so easily resigned or comforted--he walked about theroom when the letter was shewn to him--called it cruel--stifled his tears, and wished to show his resentment only--but the former burst through allhis endeavours, and he sunk into grief. Nor was the fortitude of Matilda, which came to her assistance on thefirst onset of this trial, sufficient to arm her, when the moment cameshe was to quit the house--her father's house--never to see that, or himagain. When word was brought that the carriage was at the door, which was toconvey her from all she held so dear, and she saw before her theprospect of a long youthful and healthful life, in which misery anddespair were all she could discern; that despair seized her at once, andgaining courage from it, she cried, "What have I to fear if I disobey my father's commands once more?--hecannot use me worse. I'll stay here till he returns--again throw myselfin his way, and then I will not faint, but plead for mercy. Perhaps wereI to kneel to him--kneel, like other children to their parents, and beghis blessing, he would not refuse it me. " "You must not try:" said Sandford, mildly. "Who, " cried she, "shall prevent me flying to my father? Have I anotherfriend on earth? Have I one relation in the world but him? This is thesecond time I have been turned out of his house. In my infant state mycruel father turned me out; but then, he sent me to a mother--now I havenone; and I will stay with him. " Again the steward sent to let them know the coach was waiting. Sandford, now, with a determined countenance, went coolly up to LadyMatilda, and taking her hand, seemed resolved to lead her to thecarriage. Accustomed to be awed by every serious look of his, she yet resistedthis; and cried, "Would _you_ be the minister of my father's cruelty?" "Then, " said Sandford solemnly to her, "farewell--from this moment youand I part. I will take my leave, and do you remain where you are--atleast till you are forced away. But I'll not stay to be driven hence--forit is impossible your father will suffer any friend of yours to continuehere, after this disobedience. Adieu. " "I'll go this moment, " said she, and rose hastily. Miss Woodley took her at her word, and hurried her immediately out ofthe room. Sandford followed slow behind, as if he had followed at her funeral. When she came to that spot on the stairs where she had met her father, she started back, and scarce knew how to pass it. When she had--"There heheld me in his arms, " said she, "and I thought I felt him press me tohis heart, but I now find I was mistaken. " As Sandford came forward, to hand her into the coach, "Now you behavewell;" said he, "by this behaviour, you do not entirely close allprospect of reconciliation with your father. " "Do you think it is not yet impossible?" cried she, clasping his hand. "Giffard says he loves me, " continued she, "and do you think he mightyet be brought to forgive me?" "Forgive you!" cried Sandford. "Suppose I was to write to him, and entreat his forgiveness?" "Do not write yet, " said Sandford, with no cheering accent. The carriage drove off--and as it went, Matilda leaned her head from thewindow, to survey Elmwood House from the roof to the bottom. She casther eyes upon the gardens too--upon the fish ponds--even the coach houses, and all the offices adjoining--which, as objects that she should neversee again--she contemplated, as objects of importance. CHAPTER II. Rushbrook, who, at twenty miles distance, could have no conjecture whathad passed at Elmwood House, during the short visit Lord Elmwood madethere, went that way with his dogs and gun in order to meet him on hisreturn, and accompany him in the chaise back--he did so--and getting intothe carriage, told him eagerly the sport he had had during the day;laughed at an accident that had befallen one of his dogs; and for sometime did not perceive but that his uncle was perfectly attentive. Atlength, observing he answered more negligently than usual to what hesaid, Rushbrook turned his eyes quickly upon him, and cried, "My Lord, are you not well?" "Yes; perfectly well, I thank you, Rushbrook, " and he leaned backagainst the carriage. "I thought, Sir, " returned Rushbrook, "you spoke languidly--I beg yourpardon. " "I have the head-ache a little, " answered he:--then taking off his hat, brushed the powder from it, and as he put it on again, fetched a mostheavy sigh; which no sooner had escaped him, than, to drown its sound, he said briskly, "And so you tell me you have had good sport to-day?" "No, my Lord, I said but indifferent. " "True, so you did. Bid the man drive faster--it will be dark before weget home. " "You will shoot to-morrow, my Lord?" "Certainly. " "How does Mr. Sandford do, Sir?" "I did not see him. " "Not see Mr. Sandford, My Lord? but he was out I suppose--for they didnot expect you at Elmwood House. " "No, they did not. " In such conversation Rushbrook and his uncle continued to the end oftheir journey. Dinner was then immediately served, and Lord Elmwoodappeared much in his usual spirits; at least, not suspecting any causefor their abatement, Rushbrook did not observe any alteration. Lord Elmwood went, however, earlier to bed than ordinary, or rather tohis bed-chamber; for though he retired some time before his nephew, whenRushbrook passed his chamber door it was open, and he not in bed, butsitting in a musing posture, as if he had forgot to shut it. When Rushbrook's valet came to attend his master, he said to him, "I suppose, Sir, you do not know what has happened at the Castle?" "For heaven's sake what?" cried Rushbrook. "My Lord has met Lady Matilda:" replied the man. "How? Where? What's the consequence?" "We don't know yet, Sir; but all the servants suppose her Ladyship willnot be suffered to remain there any longer. " "They all suppose wrong, " returned Rushbrook hastily--"My Lord loves herI am certain, and this event may be the happy means of his treating heras his child from this day. " The servant smiled and shook his head. "Why, what more do you know?" "Nothing more than I have told you, Sir; except that his Lordship tookno kind of notice of her Ladyship that appeared like love. " Rushbrook was all uneasiness and anxiety to know the particulars of whathad passed; and now Lord Elmwood's inquietude, which he had but slightlynoticed before, came full to his observation. He was going to ask morequestions; but he recollected Lady Matilda's misfortunes were toosacred, to be talked of thus familiarly by the servants of thefamily;--besides, it was evident this man thought, and but naturally, itmight not be for his master's interest the father and the daughtershould be united; and therefore would certainly give to all he said theopposite colouring. In spite of his prudence, however, and his delicacy towards Matilda, Rushbrook could not let his valet leave him till he had inquired, andlearned all the circumstantial account of what had happened; except, indeed, the order received by Giffard, which being given after LordElmwood was in his carriage and in concise terms, the domestics whoattended him (and from whom this man had gained his intelligence) wereunacquainted with it. When the servant had left Rushbrook alone, the perturbation of his mindwas so great, that he was, at length, undetermined whether to go to bed, or to rush into his uncle's apartment, and at his feet beg for thatcompassion upon his daughter, which he feared he had denied her. Butthen, to what peril would he not expose himself by such a step? Nay, hemight perhaps even injure her whom he wished to serve; for if his unclewas at present unresolved, whether to forgive or to resent thisdisobedience to his commands, another's interference might enrage, andprecipitate him on the latter. This consideration was so weighty, it resigned Rushbrook to the suspensehe was compelled to endure till the morning; when he flattered himself, that by watching every look and motion of Lord Elmwood, his penetrationwould be able to discover the state of his heart, and how he meant toact. But the morning came, and he found all his prying curiosity was of noavail; Lord Elmwood did not drop one word, give one look, or use oneaction that was not customary. On first seeing him, Rushbrook blushed at the secret with which he wasentrusted; then, as he gazed on the Earl, contemplated the joy he oughtto have known in clasping in his arms a child like Matilda, whosetenderness, reverence, and duty, had deprived her of all sensation athis sight; which was in Rushbrook's mind an honour, that rendered himsuperior to what he was before. They were in the fields all the day as usual; Lord Elmwood now cheerful, and complaining no more of the head-ache. Yet once being separated fromhis nephew, Rushbrook crossed over a stile into another field, and foundhim sitting by the side of a bank, his gun lying by him, and himselflost in thought. He rose on seeing him, and proceeded to the sport asbefore. At dinner, he said he should not go to Elmwood House the next day, as hehad appointed, but stay where he was, three or four days longer. Fromthese two small occurrences, Rushbrook would fain have extractedsomething by which to judge the state of his mind; but upon the test, that was impossible--he had caught him so musing many a time before; andas to his prolonging his stay, that might arise from the sport--or, indeed, had any thing more material swayed him, who could penetratewhether it was the effect of the lenity, or the severity, he had dealttowards his child? whether his continuance there was to shun her, or toshun the house from whence he had banished her? The three or four days for their temporary abode being passed, they bothreturned together to Elmwood House. Rushbrook thought he saw his uncle'scountenance change as they entered the avenue, yet he did not appearless in spirits; and when Sandford joined them at dinner, the Earl wentwith his usual alacrity to him, and (as was his custom after anyseparation) put out his hand cheerfully to take his. Sandford said, "Howdo you do, my Lord?" cheerfully in return; but put both his hands intohis bosom, and walked to the other side of the room. Lord Elmwood didnot seem to observe this affront--nor was it done as an affront--it wasmerely what poor Sandford felt; and he felt he could _not_ shake handswith him. Rushbrook soon learned the news that Matilda was gone, and Elmwood Housewas to him a desert--he saw there no real friend of her's, except poorSandford, and to him, Rushbrook knew himself now, more displeasing thanever; and all his overtures of atonement, he, at this time, found moreand more ineffectual. Matilda was exiled; and her supposed triumphantrival was, to Sandford, more odious than he had ever been. In alleviation of their banishment, Miss Woodley, with her charge, hadnot returned to their old retreat; but were gone to a farm house, notfarther than thirty miles from Lord Elmwood's: here Sandford, withlittle inconvenience, visited them; nor did his patron ever take noticeof his occasional absence; for as he had before given his daughter, insome measure, to his charge; so honour, delicacy, and the common ties ofduty, made him approve, rather than condemn his attention to her. Though Sandford's frequent visits soothed Matilda, they could notcomfort her; for he had no consolation to bestow that was suited to hermind--her father had given no one token of regret for what he had done. He had even inquired sternly of Giffard on his returning home, "If Miss Woodley had left the house?" The steward guessing the whole of his meaning, answered, "Yes, my Lord;and _all_ your commands in that respect have been obeyed. " He replied, "I am satisfied. " And, to the grief of the old man, appearedreally so. To the farm-house, the place of Matilda's residence, there came, besidesSandford, another visitor far less welcome--Viscount Margrave. He hadheard with surprise, and still greater joy, that Lord Elmwood had oncemore shut his doors against his daughter. In this her discarded state, he no longer burthened his lively imagination with the dull thoughts ofmarriage, but once more formed the idea of making her his mistress. Ignorant of a certain decorum which attended all Lord Elmwood's actions, he suspected that his child might be in want; and an acquaintance withthe worst part of her sex informed him, that relief from poverty was thesure bargain for his success. With these hopes, he again paid MissWoodley and her a visit; but the coldness of the former, and thehaughtiness of the latter, still kept him at a distance, and again madehim fear to give one allusion to his purpose: but he returned homeresolved to write what he durst not speak--he did so--he offered hisservices, his purse, his house--they were rejected with contempt, and astronger prohibition than ever given to his visits. CHAPTER III. Lord Elmwood had now allowed Rushbrook a long vacation, in respect tohis answer upon the subject of marriage; and the young man vainlyimagined, his intentions upon that subject were entirely given up. Onemorning, however, as he was attending him in the library, "Henry, "----said his uncle, with a pause at the beginning of his speech, which indicated that he was going to say something of importance, "Henry----you have not forgot the discourse I had with you a little timeprevious to your illness?" Henry hesitated--for he wished to have forgotten it--but it was toostrongly impressed upon his memory. Lord Elmwood resumed, "What! equivocating again, Sir? Do you remember it, or do you not?" "Yes, my Lord, I do. " "And are you prepared to give me an answer?" Rushbrook paused again. "In our former conversation, " continued the Earl, "I gave you but a weekto determine--there has, I think, elapsed since that time, half a year. " "About as much, Sir. " "Then surely you have now made up your mind?" "I had done that at first, my Lord--if it had met with your concurrence. " "You wished to lead a bachelor's life, I think you said?" Rushbrook bowed. "Contrary to my will?" "No, my Lord, I wished to have your approbation. " "And you wished for my approbation of the very opposite thing to that Iproposed? But I am not surprised--such is the gratitude of the world--andsuch is yours. " "My Lord, if you doubt my gratitude----" "Give me a proof of it, Harry, and I will doubt no longer. " "Upon every other subject but this, my Lord, Heaven is my witness yourhappiness----" Lord Elmwood interrupted him. "I understand you--upon every othersubject, but the only one, my content requires, you are ready to obeyme. I thank you. " "My Lord, do not torture me with this suspicion; it is so contrary to mydeserts, that I cannot bear it. " "Suspicion of your ingratitude!--you judge too favourably of myopinion--it amounts to certainty. " "Then to convince you, Sir, I am not ungrateful, tell me who the Lady isyou have chosen for me, and here I give you my word, I will sacrificeall my future prospects of happiness--all, for which I would wish tolive--and become her husband as soon as you shall appoint. " This was spoken with a tone so expressive of despair, that Lord Elmwoodreplied, "And while you obey me, you take care to let me know, it will cost youyour future peace. This is, I suppose, to enhance the merit of theobligation--but I shall not accept your acquiescence on these terms. " "Then in dispensing with it, I hope for your pardon. " "Do you suppose, Rushbrook, I can pardon an offence, the sole foundationof which, arises from a spirit of disobedience?--for you have declared tome your affections are disengaged. In our last conversation did you notsay so?" "At first I did, my Lord--but you permitted me to consult my heart moreclosely; and I have since found that I was mistaken. " "You then own you at first told me a falsehood, and yet have all thistime, kept me in suspense without confessing it. " "I waited, my Lord, till you should enquire----" "You have then, Sir, waited too long;" and the fire flashed from hiseyes. Rushbrook now found himself in that perilous state, that admitted of nomedium of resentment, but by such dastardly conduct on his part, aswould wound both his truth and courage; and thus, animated by hisdanger, he was resolved to plunge boldly at once into the depth of hispatron's anger. "My Lord, " said he, (but he did not undertake this task withoutsustaining the trembling and convulsion of his whole frame) "MyLord--waving for a moment the subject of my marriage--permit me to remindyou, that when I was upon my sick bed, you promised, that on myrecovery, you would listen to a petition I should offer to you. " "Let me recollect, " replied he. "Yes--I do remember something of it. ButI said nothing to warrant any improper petition. " "Its impropriety was not named, my Lord. " "No matter--that, you must judge of, and answer for the consequences. " "I would answer with my life, willingly--but I own that I shrink fromyour anger. " "Then do not provoke it. " "I have already gone too far to recede--and you would of course demand anexplanation, if I attempted to stop here. " "I should. " "Then, my Lord, I am bound to speak--but do not interrupt me--hear me out, before you banish me from your presence for ever. " "I will, Sir, " replied he, prepared to hear something that woulddisplease him, and yet determined to hear with patience to theconclusion. "Then, my Lord, "--(cried Rushbrook, in the greatest agitation of mind andbody) "Your daughter"---- The resolution Lord Elmwood had taken (and on which he had given hisword to his nephew not to interrupt him) immediately gave way. Thecolour rose in his face--his eye darted lightning--and his hand was liftedup with the emotion, that word had created. "You promised to hear me, my Lord!" cried Rushbrook, "and I claim yourpromise. " He now suddenly overcame his violence of passion, and stood silent andresigned to hear him; but with a determined look, expressive of thevengeance that should ensue. "Lady Matilda, " resumed Rushbrook, "is an object that wrests from me theenjoyment of every blessing your kindness bestows. I cannot but feelmyself as her adversary--as one, who has supplanted her in youraffections--who supplies her place, while she is exiled, a wanderer, andan orphan. " The Earl took his eyes from Rushbrook, during this last sentence, andcast them on the floor. "If I feel gratitude towards you, my Lord, " continued he, "gratitude isinnate in my heart, and I must also feel it towards her, who firstintroduced me to your protection. " Again the colour flew to Lord Elmwood's face; and again he could hardlyrestrain himself from uttering his indignation. "It was the mother of Lady Matilda, " continued Rushbrook, "who was thisfriend to me; nor will I ever think of marriage, or any other joyfulprospect, while you abandon the only child of my beloved patroness, andload me with rights, which belong to her. " Here Rushbrook stopped--Lord Elmwood was silent too, for near half aminute; but still his countenance continued fixed, with his unvariedresolves. After this long pause, the Earl said with composure, but with firmness, "Have you finished, Mr. Rushbrook?" "All that I dare to utter, my Lord; and I fear, I have already said toomuch. " Rushbrook now trembled more than ever, and looked pale as death; for theardour of speaking being over, he waited his sentence, with lessconstancy of mind than he expected he should. "You disapprove my conduct, it seems;" said Lord Elmwood, "and in that, you are but like the rest of the world--and yet, among all myacquaintance, you are the only one who has dared to insult me with youropinion. And this you have not done inadvertently; but willingly, anddeliberately. But as it has been my fate to be used ill, and severedfrom all those persons to whom my soul has been most attached; with lessregret I can part from you, than if this were my first trial. " There was a truth and a pathetic sound in the utterance of these words, that struck Rushbrook to the heart--and he beheld himself as a barbarian, who had treated his benevolent and only friend, with insufferableliberty; void of respect for those corroding sorrows which hadimbittered so many years of his life, and in open violation of his mostperemptory commands. He felt that he deserved all he was going tosuffer, and he fell upon his knees; not so much to deprecate the doom hesaw impending, as thus humbly to acknowledge, it was his due. Lord Elmwood, irritated by this posture, as a sign of the presumptuoushope that he might be forgiven, suffered now his anger to burst allbounds; and raising his voice, he exclaimed in a rage, "Leave my house, Sir. Leave my house instantly, and seek some otherhome. " Just as these words were begun, Sandford opened the library door, waswitness to them, and to the imploring situation of Rushbrook. He stoodsilent with amazement! Rushbrook arose, and feeling in his mind a presage, that he might neverfrom that hour, behold his benefactor more; as he bowed in token ofobedience to his commands, a shower of tears covered his face; but LordElmwood, unmoved, fixed his eyes upon him, which pursued him withenraged looks to the end of the room. Here he had to pass Sandford; who, for the first time in his life, took hold of him by the hand, and saidto Lord Elmwood, "My Lord, what's the matter?" "That ungrateful villain, " cried he, "has dared to insult me. --Leave myhouse this moment, Sir. " Rushbrook made an effort to go, but Sandford still held his hand; andmeekly said to Lord Elmwood, "He is but a boy, my Lord, and do not give him the punishment of a man. " Rushbrook now snatched his hand from Sandford's, and threw it withhimself upon his neck; where he indeed sobbed like a boy. "You are both in league, " exclaimed Lord Elmwood. "Do you suspect me of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook?" said Sandford, advancing nearer to the Earl. Rushbrook had now gained the point of remaining in the room; but thehope that privilege inspired (while he still harboured all the justapprehensions for his fate) gave birth, perhaps, to a more exquisitesensation of pain, than despair would have done. He stoodsilent--confounded--hoping that he was forgiven--fearing that he was not. As Sandford approached still nearer to Lord Elmwood, he continued, "No, my Lord, I know you do not suspect me, of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook--has any part of my behaviour ever discovered it?" "You now then only interfere to provoke me. " "If that were the case, " returned Sandford, "there have been occasions, when I might have done it more effectually--when my own heart-stringswere breaking, because I would not provoke, or add to what yousuffered. " "I am obliged to you, Mr. Sandford:" he returned, mildly. "And if, my Lord, I have proved any merit in a late forbearance, rewardme for it now; and take this young man from the depth of despair inwhich I see he is sunk, and say you pardon him. " Lord Elmwood made no answer--and Rushbrook, drawing strong inferences ofhope from his silence, lifted up his eyes from the ground, and venturedto look in his face: he found it composed to what it had been, but stillstrongly marked with agitation. He cast his eyes away again, inconfusion. On which his uncle said to him--"I shall postpone executing yourobedience to my late orders, till you think fit once more to provokethem--and then, not even Sandford, shall dare to plead your excuse. " Rushbrook bowed. "Go, leave the room, Sir. " He instantly obeyed. Then Sandford, turning to Lord Elmwood, shook him by the hand, andcried, "My Lord, I thank you--I thank you very kindly, my Lord--I shallnow begin to think I have some weight with you. " "You might indeed think so, did you know how much I have pardoned. " "What was his offence, my Lord?" "Such as I would not have forgiven you, or any earthly being besideshimself--but while you were speaking in his behalf, I recollected therewas a gratitude so extraordinary in the hazards he ran, that almost madehim pardonable. " "I guess the subject then, " cried Sandford; and yet I could not havesupposed"---- "It is a subject we cannot speak on, Sandford, therefore let us dropit. " At these words the discourse concluded. CHAPTER IV. To the relief of Rushbrook, Lord Elmwood that day dined from home, andhe had not the confusion to see him again till the evening. Previous tothis, Sandford and he met at dinner; but as the attendants were present, nothing passed on either side respecting the incident in the morning. Rushbrook, from the peril which had so lately threatened him, was now inhis perfectly cool, and dispassionate senses; and notwithstanding thereal tenderness which he bore to the daughter of his benefactor, he wasnot insensible to the comfort of finding himself, once more in thepossession of all those enjoyments he had forfeited, and for a momentlost. As he reflected on this, to Sandford he felt the first tie ofacknowledgement--but for his compassion, he knew he should have been atthat very time of their meeting at dinner, away from Elmwood House forever; and bearing on his mind a still more painful recollection, theburthen of his kind patron's continual displeasure. Filled with thesethoughts, all the time of dinner, he could scarce look at his companion, without tears of gratitude; and whenever he attempted to speak to him, gratitude choaked his utterance. Sandford, on his part, behaved just the same as ever; and to show he didnot wish to remind Rushbrook of what he had done, he was just as uncivilas ever. Among other things, he said, "He did not know Lord Elmwood dined fromhome, for if he had, he should have dined in his own apartment. " Rushbrook was still more obliged to him for all this; and the weight ofobligations with which he was oppressed, made him long for anopportunity to relieve himself by expressions. As soon, therefore, asthe servants were all withdrawn, he began: "Mr. Sandford, whatever has been your opinion of _me_, I take pride tomyself, that in my sentiments towards _you_, I have always distinguishedyou for that humane, disinterested character, you have this day proved. " "Humane, and disinterested, " replied Sandford, "are flattering epithetsindeed, for an old man going out of the world, and who can have notemptation to be otherwise. " "Then suffer me to call your actions generous and compassionate, forthey have saved me----" "I know, young man, " cried Sandford, interrupting him, "you are glad atwhat I have done, and that you find a gratification in telling me youare; but it is a gratification I will not indulge you with--therefore, say another sentence on the subject, and" (rising from his seat) "I'llleave the room, and never come into your company again, whatever youruncle may say to it. " Rushbrook saw by the solemnity of his countenance, he was serious, andpositively assured him he would never thank him more: on which Sandfordtook his seat again, but he still frowned, and it was many minutesbefore he conquered his ill humour. As his countenance became less sour, Rushbrook fell from some general topics he had eagerly started in orderto appease him, and said, "How hard is it to restrain conversation from the subject of ourthoughts; and yet amidst our dearest friends, and among persons who havethe same dispositions and sentiments as our own, their minds, too, fixedupon the self-same objects, is this constraint practised--and thus, society, which was meant for one of our greatest blessings, becomesinsipid, nay, often more wearisome than solitude. " "I think, young man, " replied Sandford, "you have made pretty free withyour speech to-day, and ought not to complain of the want of tolerationon that score. " "I do complain;" replied Rushbrook, "for if toleration was morefrequent, the favour of obtaining it would be less. " "And your pride, I suppose, is above receiving a favour. " "Never from those I esteem; and to convince you of it, I wish thismoment to request a favour of you. " "I dare say I shall refuse it. However what is it?" "Permit me to speak to you upon the subject of Lady Matilda?" Sandford made no answer, consequently did not forbid him--and heproceeded. "For her sake--as I suppose Lord Elmwood may have told you--I this morningrashly threw myself into the predicament from whence you released me--forher sake, I have suffered much--for her sake I have hazarded a greatdeal, and am still ready to hazard more. " "But for your own sake, do not, " returned Sandford, drily. "You may laugh at these sentiments as romantic, Mr. Sandford, but ifthey are, to me they are nevertheless natural. " "But of what service are they to be either to her, or to yourself?" "To me they are painful, and to her would be but impertinent, were sheto know them. " "I shan't inform her of them, so do not trouble yourself to caution meagainst it. " "I was not going--you know I was not--but I was going to say, that from noone so well as from you, could she be told my sentiments, without thedanger of receiving offence. " "And what impression do you wish to give her, from her becomingacquainted with them?" "The impression, that she has one sincere friend: that upon everyoccurrence in life, there is a heart so devoted to all she feels, thatshe never can suffer without the sympathy of another: or can evercommand him, and all his fortunes to unite for her welfare, without hisready, his immediate compliance. " "And do you imagine, that any of your professions, or any of hernecessities, would ever prevail upon her to put you to the trial?" "Perhaps not. " "What, then, are the motives which induce you to wish her to be told ofthis?" Rushbrook paused. "Do you think, " continued Sandford, "the intelligence will give her anysatisfaction?" "Perhaps not. " "Will it be of any to yourself?" "The highest in the world. " "And so all you have been urging upon this occasion, is, at last, onlyto please yourself. " "You wrong my meaning--it is her merit which inspires me with the desireof being known to her--it is her sufferings, her innocence, her beauty----" Sandford stared--Rushbrook proceeded: "It is her----" "Nay, stop where you are, " cried Sandford; "you are arrived at thezenith of perfection in a woman, and to add one qualification more, would be an anti-climax. " "Oh!" cried Rushbrook with warmth, "I loved her, before I ever beheldher. " "Loved her!" cried Sandford, with astonishment, "You are talking of whatyou did not intend. " "I am, indeed:" returned he in confusion, "I fell by accident on theword love. " "And by the same accident stumbled on the word beauty; and thus byaccident, am I come to the truth of all your professions. " Rushbrook knew that he loved; and though his affection had sprung fromthe most laudable motives, yet was he ashamed of it, as of a vice--herose, he walked about the room, and he did not look Sandford in theface for a quarter of an hour: Sandford, satisfied that he had judgedrightly, and yet unwilling to be too hard upon a passion, which hereadily believed must have had many noble virtues for its foundation, now got up and went away, without saying a word in censure, though not aword in approbation. It was in the month of October, and just dark, at the time Rushbrook wasleft alone, yet in the agitation of his mind, arising from the subjecton which he had been talking, he found it impossible to remain in thehouse, and therefore walked into the fields; but there was anotherinstigation, more powerful than the necessity of walking--it was theallurement of passing along that path where he had last seen LadyMatilda, and where, for the only time, she had condescended to speak tohim divested of haughtiness; and with a gentleness that dwelt upon hismemory beyond all her other endowments. Here, he retraced his own steps repeatedly, his whole imaginationengrossed with her idea, till the sound of her father's carriagereturning from his visit, roused him from the delusion of his trance, tothe dread of the confusion and embarrassment he should endure, on nextmeeting him. He hoped Sandford might be present, and yet he was now, almost as much ashamed of seeing him, as his uncle, whom he had solately offended. Loath to leave the spot where he was, as to enter the house, he remainedthere, till he considered it would be ill manners, in his presenthumiliated situation, not to show himself at the usual supper hour, which was immediately. As he laid his hand upon the door of the apartment to open it, he wassorry to hear by Lord Elmwood's voice, he was in the room before him;for there was something much more conspicuously distressing, in enteringwhere he already was, than had his uncle come in after him. He foundhimself, however, re-assured, by overhearing the Earl laugh and speak ina tone expressive of the utmost good humour to Sandford, who was withhim. Yet again, he felt all the awkwardness of his own situation; but makingone courageous effort, opened the door and entered. Lord Elmwood hadbeen away half the day, had dined abroad, and it was necessary to takesome notice of his return; Rushbrook, therefore, bowed humbly, and whatwas more to his advantage, he looked humbly. His uncle made a slightreturn to the salutation, but continued the recital he had begun toSandford; then sat down to the supper table--supped--and passed the wholeevening without saying a syllable, or even casting a look, inremembrance of what had passed in the morning. Or if there was anytoken, that shewed he remembered the circumstance at all, it was theputting his glass to his nephew's, when Rushbrook called for wine, anddrinking at the time he did. CHAPTER V. The repulse Lord Margrave received, did not diminish the ardour of hispursuit; for as he was no longer afraid of resentment from the Earl, whatever treatment his daughter might receive, he was determined theanger of Lady Matilda, or of her female friend, should not impede hispretensions. Having taken this resolution, he laid the plan of an open violation ofall right; and determined to bear away that prize by force, which no artwas likely to procure. He concerted with two of his favouritecompanions, but their advice was, "One struggle more of fair means. "This was totally against his inclination; for, he had much rather haveencountered the piercing cries of a female in the last agonies ofdistress, than the fatigue of her sentimental harangues, or elegantreproofs, such as he had the sense to understand, but not the capacityto answer. Stimulated, however, by his friends to one more trial, in spite of theformal dismission he had twice received, he intruded another visit onLady Matilda at the Farm. Provoked beyond bearing at such unfeelingassurance, Matilda refused to come into the room where he was, and MissWoodley alone received him, and expressed her surprise at the littleattention he had paid to her explicit desire. "Madam, " replied the nobleman, "to be plain with you, I am in love. " "I do not the least doubt it, my Lord, " replied Miss Woodley: "nor oughtyou to doubt the truth of what I advance, when I assure you, that youhave not the smallest reason to hope your love will be returned; forLady Matilda is resolved _never_ to listen to your passion. " "That man, " he replied, "is to blame, who can relinquish his hopes, uponthe mere resolution of a lady. " "And that lady would be wrong, " replied Miss Woodley, "who shouldentrust her happiness in the care of a man, who can think thus meanly ofher and of her sex. " "I think highly of them all, " he replied; "and to convince you in howhigh an estimation I hold _her_ in particular, my whole fortune is ather command. " "Your entire absence from this house, my Lord, she would consider as amuch greater mark of your respect. " A long conversation, as uninteresting as this, ensued: the unexpectedarrival of Mr. Sandford, put an end to it. He started at the sight ofLord Margrave; but the Viscount was much more affected at the sight ofhim. "My Lord, " said Sandford boldly to him, "have you received anyencouragement from Lady Matilda to authorize this visit?" "None, upon my honour, Mr. Sandford; but I hope you know how to pardon alover!" "A rational one I do--but you, my Lord, are not of that class while youpersecute the pretended object of your affection. " "Do you call it persecution that I once offered her a share of my titleand fortune--and even now, declare my fortune is at her disposal?" Sandford was uncertain whether he understood his meaning--but LordMargrave, provoked at his ill reception, felt a triumph in removing hisdoubts, and proceeded thus: "For the discarded daughter of Lord Elmwood, cannot expect the sameproposals, which I made, while she was acknowledged, and under theprotection of her father. " "What proposals then, my Lord?" asked Sandford hastily. "Such, " replied he, "as the Duke of Avon made to her mother. " Miss Woodley quitted the room that instant. But Sandford, who never feltresentment but against those in whom he saw some virtue, calmly replied, "My Lord, the Duke of Avon was a gentleman, a man of elegance andbreeding; and what have you to offer in recompense for your defects inqualities like these?" "My wealth, " replied he, "opposed to her indigence. " Sandford smiled, and answered, "Do you suppose _that_ wealth can be esteemed, which has not been ableto make you respectable? What is it makes wealth valuable? Is it thepleasures of the table? the pleasure of living in a fine house? or ofwearing fine cloaths? These are pleasures, a Lord enjoys, but in commonwith his valet. It is the pleasure of being conspicuous, which makesriches desirable; but if we are conspicuous only for our vice and folly, had we not better remain in poverty?" "You are beneath my notice. " "I trust I shall continue so--and that your Lordship will never againcondescend to come where I am. " "A man of rank condescends to mix with any society, when a pretty womanis the object. " "My Lord, I have a book here in my pocket, which I am eager to read; itis an author who speaks sense and reason--will you pardon the impatienceI feel for such company; and permit me to call your carriage?" Saying this, he went hastily and beckoned to the coachman; the carriagedrove up, the door was opened, and Lord Margrave, ashamed to be exposedbefore his attendants, and convinced of the inutility of remaining anylonger where he was, departed. Sandford was soon joined by the ladies; and the conversation falling, ofcourse, upon the nobleman who had just taken his leave, Sandfordunwarily exclaimed, "I wish Rushbrook had been here. " "Who?" cried Lady Matilda. "I do believe, " said Miss Woodley, "that young man has some goodqualities. " "A great many, " returned Sandford, mutteringly. "Happy young man!" cried Matilda: "he is beloved by all those, whoseaffection it would be my choice to possess, beyond any other blessingthis world could bestow. " "And yet I question, if Rushbrook is happy, " said Sandford. "He cannot be otherwise, " returned Matilda, "if he is a man ofunderstanding. " "He does not want understanding neither, " replied Sandford; "although hehas certainly many indiscretions. " "But which Lord Elmwood, I suppose, " said Matilda, "looks upon withtenderness. " "Not upon all his faults, " answered Sandford; "for I have seen him invery dangerous circumstances with your father. " "Have you indeed?" cried Matilda: "then I pity him. " "And I believe, " said Miss Woodley, "that from his heart, hecompassionates you. Now, Mr. Sandford, " continued she, "though this isthe first time I ever heard you speak in his favour, (and I once thoughtas indifferently of Mr. Rushbrook as you can do) yet now I will ventureto ask you, whether you do not think he wishes Lady Matilda much happierthan she is?" "I have heard him say so, " answered Sandford. "It is a subject, " returned Lady Matilda, "which I did not imagine you, Mr. Sandford, would have permitted him to have mentioned lightly, inyour presence. " "Lightly! Do you suppose, my dear, we turned your situation intoridicule?" "No, Sir, --but there is a sort of humiliation in the grief to which I amdoomed, that ought surely to be treated with the highest degree ofdelicacy by my friends. " "I don't know on what point you fix real delicacy; but if it consists insorrow, the young man gives a proof he possesses it, for he shed tearswhen I last heard him mention your name. " "I have more cause to weep at the mention of his. " "Perhaps so. --But let me tell you, Lady Matilda, that your father mighthave preferred a more unworthy object. " "Still had he been to me, " she cried, "an object of envy. And as Ifrankly confess my envy of Mr. Rushbrook, I hope you will pardon mymalice, which is, you know, but a consequent crime. " The subject now turned again upon Lord Margrave; and all of them beingfirmly persuaded, this last reception would put an end to every furtherintrusion from him, they treated his pretensions, and himself, with thecontempt they inspired--but not with the caution that was requisite. CHAPTER VI. The next morning early, Mr. Sandford returned to Elmwood House, but withhis spirits depressed, and his heart overcharged with sorrow. He hadseen Lady Matilda, the object of his visit, but he had beheld herconsiderably altered in her looks and in her health; she was become verythin, and instead of the vivid bloom that used to adorn her cheeks, herwhole complexion was of a deadly pale--her countenance no longerexpressed hope or fear, but a fixed melancholy--she shed no tears, butwas all sadness. He had beheld this, and he had heard her insulted bythe licentious proposals of a nobleman, from whom there was nosatisfaction to be demanded, because she had no friend to vindicate herhonour. Rushbrook, who suspected where Sandford was gone, and imagined he wouldreturn that day, took his morning's ride, so as to meet him on the road, at the distance of a few miles from the Castle; for, since his periloussituation with Lord Elmwood, he was so fully convinced of the generalphilanthropy of Sandford's character, that in spite of his churlishmanners, he now addressed him, free from that reserve to which his roughbehaviour had formerly given birth. And Sandford, on his part, believinghe had formed an illiberal opinion of Lord Elmwood's heir, though hetook no pains to let him know that his opinion was changed, yet resolvedto make him restitution upon every occasion that offered. Their mutual greetings when they met, were unceremonious, but cordial;and Rushbrook turned his horse and rode back with Sandford; yet, intimidated by his respect and tenderness for Lady Matilda, rather thanby fear of the rebuffs of his companion, he had not the courage to nameher, till the ride was just finished, and they came within a few yardsof the house--incited then by the apprehension, he might not soon againenjoy so fit an opportunity, he said, "Pardon me, Mr. Sandford, if I guess where you have been, and if mycuriosity forces me to inquire for Miss Woodley's and Lady Matilda'shealth?" He named Miss Woodley first, to prolong the time before he mentionedMatilda; for though to name her gave him extreme pleasure, yet it was apleasure accompanied by confusion and pain. "They are both very well, " replied Sandford, "at least they did notcomplain they were sick. " "They are not in spirits, I suppose?" said Rushbrook. "No, indeed:" replied Sandford, shaking his head. "No new misfortune has happened, I hope?" cried Rushbrook; for it wasplain to see Sandford's spirits were unusually cast down. "Nothing new, " returned he, "except the insolence of a young nobleman. " "What nobleman?" cried Rushbrook. "A lover of Lady Matilda's, " replied Sandford. Rushbrook was petrified. "Who? What lover, Mr. Sandford?--explain?" They were now arrived at the house; and Sandford, without making anyreply to this question, said to the servant who took his horse, "She hascome a long way this morning; take care of her. " This interruption was torture to Rushbrook, who kept close to his side, in order to obtain a further explanation; but Sandford, withoutattending to him, walked negligently into the hall, and before theyadvanced many steps, they were met by Lord Elmwood. All further information was put an end to for the present. "How do you do, Sandford?" said Lord Elmwood with extreme kindness; asif he thanked him for the journey which, it was likely, he suspected hehad been taking. "I am indifferently well, my Lord:" replied he, with a face of deepconcern, and a tear in his eye, partly in gratitude for his patron'scivility, and partly in reproach for his cruelty. It was not now till the evening, that Rushbrook had an opportunity ofrenewing the conversation, which had been so barbarously interrupted. In the evening, no longer able to support the suspense into which he wasthrown; without fear or shame, he followed Sandford into his chamber atthe time of his retiring, and entreated of him, with all the anxiety hesuffered, to explain his allusion when he talked of a lover, and ofinsolence to Lady Matilda. Sandford, seeing his emotion, was angry with himself that he hadinadvertently mentioned the subject; and putting on an air of surlyimportance, desired, --if he had any business with him, that he would callin the morning. Exasperated at so unexpected a reception, and at the pain of hisdisappointment, Rushbrook replied, "He treated him cruelly, nor would hestir out of his room, till he had received a satisfactory answer to hisquestion. " "Then bring your bed, " replied Sandford, "for you must pass your wholenight here. " He found it vain to think of obtaining any intelligence by threats, hetherefore said in a timid and persuasive manner, "Did you, Mr. Sandford, hear Lady Matilda mention my name?" "Yes, " replied Sandford, a little better reconciled to him. "Did you tell her what I lately declared to you?" he asked with stillmore diffidence. "No, " replied Sandford. "It is very well, Sir, " returned he, vexed to the heart--yet againwishing to sooth him-- "You certainly, Mr. Sandford, know what is for the best--yet I entreatyou will give me some further account of the nobleman you named?" "I know what is for the best, " replied Sandford, "and I won't. " Rushbrook bowed, and immediately left the room. He went apparentlysubmissive, but the moment he showed this submission, he took theresolution of paying a visit himself to the farm at which Lady Matildaresided; and of learning, either from Miss Woodley, the people of thehouse, the neighbours, or perhaps from Lady Matilda's own lips, thesecret which the obstinacy of Sandford had with-held. He saw all the dangers of this undertaking, but none appeared so greatas the danger of losing her he loved, by the influence of a rival--andthough Sandford had named "insolence, " he was in doubt whether what hadappeared so to him, was so in reality, or would be so considered by her. To prevent the cause of his absence being suspected by Lord Elmwood, heimmediately called his groom, ordered his horse, and giving thoseservants concerned, a strict charge of secrecy, with some frivolouspretence to apologize for his not being present at breakfast (resolvingto be back by dinner) he set off that night, and arrived at an inn abouta mile from the farm at break of day. The joy he felt when he found himself so near to the beloved object ofhis journey, made him thank Sandford in his heart, for the unkindnesswhich had sent him thither. But new difficulties arose, how toaccomplish the end for which he came; he learned from the people of theinn, that a Lord, with a fine equipage, had visited at the farm, but whohe was, or for what purpose he went, no one could inform him. Dreading to return with his doubts unsatisfied, and yet afraid ofproceeding to extremities that might be construed into presumption, hewalked disconsolately (almost distractedly) about the fields, lookingrepeatedly at his watch, and wishing the time would stand still, till hewas ready to go back with his errand compleated. Every field he passed, brought him nearer to the house on which hisimagination was fixed; but how, without forfeiting every appearance ofthat respect which he so powerfully felt, could he attempt to enterit?--he saw the indecorum, resolved not to be guilty of it, and yetwalked on till he was within but a small orchard of the door. Could hethen retreat?--he wished he could; but he found that he had proceeded toofar to be any longer master of himself. The time was urgent; he musteither behold her, and venture her displeasure, or by diffidence duringone moment, give up all his hopes perhaps for ever. With that same disregard to consequences, which actuated him when hedared to supplicate Lord Elmwood in his daughter's behalf, he at lengthwent eagerly to the door and rapped. A servant came--he asked to "Speak with Miss Woodley, if she was quitealone. " He was shown into an apartment, and Miss Woodley entered to him. She started when she beheld who it was; but as he did not see a frownupon her face, he caught hold of her hand, and said persuasively, "Do not be offended with me. If I mean to offend you, may I forfeit mylife in atonement. " Poor Miss Woodley, glad in her solitude to see any one from ElmwoodHouse, forgot his visit was an offence, till he put her in mind of it;she then said, with some reserve, "Tell me the purport of your coming, Sir, and perhaps I may have noreason to complain?" "It was to see Lady Matilda, " he replied, "or to hear of her health. Itwas to offer her my services--it was, Miss Woodley, to convince her, ifpossible, of my esteem. " "Had you no other method, Sir?" said Miss Woodley, with the samereserve. "None;" replied he, "or with joy I should have embraced it; and if youcan inform me of any other, tell me I beseech you instantly, and I willimmediately be gone, and pursue your directions. " Miss Woodley hesitated. "You know of no other means, Miss Woodley, " he cried. "And yet I cannot commend this, " said she. "Nor do I. Do not imagine because you see me here, that I approve myconduct; but reduced to this necessity, pity the motives that have urgedit. " Miss Woodley did pity them; but as she would not own that she did, shecould think of nothing else to say. At this instant a bell rung from the chamber above. "That is Lady Matilda's bell, " said Miss Woodley; "she is coming to takea short walk. Do you wish to see her?" Though it was the first wish of his heart, he paused, and said, "Willyou plead my excuse?" As the flight of stairs was but short, which Matilda had to come down, she was in the room with Miss Woodley and Mr. Rushbrook, just as thatsentence ended. She had stepped beyond the door of the apartment, when perceiving avisitor, she hastily withdrew. Rushbrook, animated, though trembling at her presence, cried, "LadyMatilda, do not avoid me, till you know that I deserve such apunishment. " She immediately saw who it was, and returned back with a proper pride, and yet a proper politeness in her manner. "I beg your pardon, Sir, " said she, "I did not know you; I was afraid Iintruded upon Miss Woodley and a stranger. " "You do not then consider me as a stranger, Lady Matilda? and that youdo not, requires my warmest acknowledgements. " She sat down, as if overcome by ill spirits and ill health. Miss Woodley now asked Rushbrook to sit--for till now she had not. "No, Madam, " replied he, with confusion, "not unless Lady Matilda givesme permission. " She smiled, and pointed to a chair--and all the kindness which Rushbrookduring his whole life had received from Lord Elmwood, never inspiredhalf the gratitude, which this one instance of civility from hisdaughter excited. He sat down, with the confession of the obligation upon every feature ofhis face. "I am not well, Mr. Rushbrook, " said Matilda, languidly; "and you mustexcuse any want of etiquette at this house. " "While you excuse me, Madam, what can I have to complain of?" She appeared absent while he was speaking, and turning to Miss Woodley, said, "Do you think I had better walk to-day?" "No, my dear, " answered Miss Woodley; "the ground is damp, and the aircold. " "You are not well, indeed, Lady Matilda, " said Rushbrook, gazing uponher with the most tender respect. She shook her head; and the tears, without any effort either to impel orto restrain them, ran down her face. Rushbrook rose from his seat, and with an accent and manner the mostexpressive, said, "We are cousins, Lady Matilda--in our infancy we werebrought up together--we were beloved by the same mother--fostered by thesame father"---- "Oh!" cried she, interrupting him, with a tone which indicated thebitterest anguish. "Nay, do not let me add to your uneasiness, " he resumed, "while I amattempting to alleviate it. Instruct me what I can do to show my esteemand respect, rather than permit me thus unguided, to rush upon what youmay construe into insult and arrogance. " Miss Woodley went to Matilda, took her hand, then wiped the tears fromher eyes, while Matilda reclined against her, entirely regardless ofRushbrook's presence. "If I have been in the least instrumental to this sorrow, "--saidRushbrook, with a face as much agitated as his mind. "No, " said Miss Woodley, in a low voice, "you have not--she is oftenthus. " "Yes, " said Matilda, raising her head, "I am frequently so weak that Icannot resist the smallest incitement to grief. But do not make yourvisit long, Mr. Rushbrook, " she continued, "for I was just thenthinking, that should Lord Elmwood hear of this attention you have paidme, it might be fatal to you. " Here she wept again, as bitterly asbefore. "There is no probability of his hearing of it, Madam, " Rushbrookreplied; "or if there was, I am persuaded that he would not resent it;for yesterday, when I am confident he knew that Mr. Sandford had been tosee you, he received him on his return, with unusual marks ofkindness. " "Did he?" said she--and again she lifted up her head; her eyes for amoment beaming with hope and joy. "There is something which we cannot yet define, " said Rushbrook, "thatLord Elmwood struggles with; but when time shall have eradicated"---- Before he could proceed further, Matilda was once more sunk intodespondency, and scarce attended to what he was saying. Miss Woodley observing this, said, "Mr. Rushbrook, let it be a token weshall be glad to see you hereafter, that I now use the freedom to begyou will put an end to your visit. " "You send me away, Madam, " returned he, "with the warmest thanks for thereception you have give me; and this last assurance of your kindness, isbeyond any other favour you could have bestowed. Lady Matilda, " addedhe, "suffer me to take your hand at parting, and let it be a testimonythat you acknowledge me for a relation. " She put out her hand--which he knelt to receive, but did not raise it tohis lips--he held the boon too sacred--and looking earnestly upon it, asit lay pale and wan in his, he breathed one sigh over it, and withdrew. CHAPTER VII. Sorrowful and affecting as this interview had been, Rushbrook, as herode home, reflected upon it with the most inordinate delight; and hadhe not seen decline of health, in the looks and behaviour of LadyMatilda, his felicity had been unbounded. Entranced in the happiness ofher society, the thought of his rival never came once to his mind whilehe was with her; a want of recollection, however, he by no meansregretted, as her whole appearance contradicted every suspicion he couldpossibly entertain, that she favoured the addresses of any manliving--and had he remembered, he would not have dared to name thesubject. The time ran so swiftly while he was away, that it was beyond the dinnerhour at Elmwood House, when he returned. Heated, his dress and his hairdisordered, he entered the dining room just as the dessert was put uponthe table. He was confounded at his own appearance, and at thefalsehoods he should be obliged to fabricate in his excuse: there wasyet, that which engaged his attention, beyond any circumstance relatingto himself--the features of Lord Elmwood--of which his daughter's, whom hehad just beheld, had the most striking resemblance; though her's weresoftened by sorrow, while his were made austere by the self-same cause. "Where have you been?" said his uncle, with a frown. "A chace, my Lord--I beg your pardon--but a pack of dogs Iunexpectedly met. " For in the hacknied art of lying without injury toany one, Rushbrook, to his shame, was proficient. His excuses were received, and the subject ceased. During his absence that day, Lord Elmwood had called Sandford apart, andsaid to him, --that as the malevolence which he once observed between himand Rushbrook, had, he perceived, subsided, he advised him, if he was awell-wisher to the young man, to sound his heart, and counsel him not toact against the will of his nearest relation and friend. "I myself amtoo hasty, " continued Lord Elmwood, "and, unhappily, too much determinedupon what I have once (though, perhaps, rashly) said, to speak upon atopic where it is probable I shall meet with opposition. You, Sandford, can reason with moderation. For after all that I have done for mynephew, it would be a pity to forsake him at last; and yet, that is buttoo likely, if he provokes me. " "Sir, " replied Sandford, "I will speak to him. " "Yet, " added Lord Elmwood, sternly, "do not urge what you say for mysake, but for his--I can part from him with ease--but he may then repent, and, you know, repentance always comes too late with me. " "My Lord, I will exert all the efforts in my power for his welfare. Butwhat is the subject on which he has refused to comply with yourdesires?" "Matrimony--have not I told you?" "Not a word. " "I wish him to marry, that I may then conclude the deeds in respect tomy estate, --and the only child of Sir William Winterton (a rich heiress)was the wife I meant to propose; but from his indifference to all I havesaid on the occasion, I have not yet mentioned her name to him; youmay. " "I will, my Lord, and use all my persuasion to engage his obedience; andyou shall have, at least, a faithful account of what he says. " Sandford the next morning sought an opportunity of being alone withRushbrook--he then plainly repeated to him what Lord Elmwood had said, and saw him listen to it all, and heard him answer with the mosttranquil resolution, "That he would do any thing to preserve thefriendship and patronage of his uncle--but marry. " "What can be your reason?" asked Sandford--though he guessed. "A reason, I cannot give to Lord Elmwood. " "Then do not give it to me, for I have promised to tell him every thingyou say to me. " "And every thing I _have_ said?" asked Rushbrook hastily. "As to what you have said, I don't know whether it has made impressionenough on my memory, to enable me to repeat it. " "I am glad it has not. " "And my answer to your uncle, is to be simply, that you will not obeyhim?" "I should hope, Mr. Sandford, that you would express it in betterterms. " "Tell me the terms, and I will be exact. " Rushbrook struck his forehead, and walked about the room. "Am I to give him any reason for your disobeying him?" "I tell you again, that I dare not name the cause. " "Then why do you submit to a power you are ashamed to own?" "I am not ashamed--I glory in it. --Are you ashamed of your esteem for LadyMatilda?" "Oh! if she is the cause of your disobedience, be assured I shall notmention it, for I am forbid to name her. " "And surely, as that is the case, I need not fear to speak plainly toyou. I love Lady Matilda--or, perhaps, unacquainted with love, what Ifeel may be only pity--and if so, pity is the most pleasing passion thatever possessed a human heart, and I would not change it for all herfather's estates. " "Pity, then, gives rise to very different sensations--for I pity you, andthat sensation I would gladly exchange for approbation. " "If you really feel compassion for me, and I believe you do, contrivesome means by your answers to Lord Elmwood to pacify him, withoutinvolving me in ruin. Hint at my affections being engaged, but not towhom; and add, that I have given my word, if he will allow me a shorttime, a year or two only, I will, during that period, try to disengagethem, and use all my power to render myself worthy of the union forwhich he designs me. " "And this is not only your solemn promise--but your fixed determination?" "Nay, why will you search my heart to the bottom, when the surface oughtto content you?" "If you cannot resolve on what you have proposed, why do you ask thistime of your uncle? For should he allow it you, at the expiration, yourdisobedience to his commands will be less pardonable than it is now. " "Within a year, Mr. Sandford, who can tell what strange events may notoccur, to change all our prospects? Even my passion may decline. " "In that expectation, then--the failure of which yourself must answerfor--I will repeat as much of this discourse as shall be proper. " Here Rushbrook communicated his having been to see Lady Matilda, forwhich Sandford reproved him, but in less rigorous terms than hegenerally used in his reproofs; and Rushbrook, by his entreaties, nowgained the intelligence who the nobleman was who addressed Matilda, andon what views; but was restrained to patience, by Sandford's argumentsand threats. Upon the subject of this marriage, Sandford met his patron, withouthaving determined exactly what to say, but rested on the temper in whichhe should find him. At the commencement of the conversation he said, "Rushbrook begged fortime. " "I have given him time, have I not?" cried Lord Elmwood: "What can bethe meaning of his thus trifling with me?" Sandford replied, "My Lord, young men are frequently romantic in theirnotions of love, and think it impossible to have a sincere affection, where their own inclinations do not first point out the choice. " "If he is in love, " answered Lord Elmwood, "let him take the object, andleave my house and me for ever. Nor under this destiny can he have anyclaim to pity; for genuine love will make him happy in banishment, inpoverty, or in sickness: it makes the poor man happy as the rich, thefool blest as the wise. " The sincerity with which Lord Elmwood hadloved, was expressed more than in words, as he said this. "Your Lordship is talking, " replied Sandford, "of the passion in itsmost refined and predominant sense; while I may possibly be speaking ofa mere phantom, that has led this young man astray. " "Whatever it be, " returned Lord Elmwood, "let him and his friends weighthe case well, and act for the best--so shall I. " "His friends, my Lord?--What friends, or what friend has he upon earthbut you?" "Then why will he not submit to my advice; or himself give me a properreason why he cannot?" "Because there may be friendship without familiarity--and so it isbetween him and you. " "That cannot be; for I have condescended to talk to him in the mostfamiliar terms. " "To condescend, my Lord, is _not_ to be familiar. " "Then come, Sir, let us be on an equal footing through you. And nowspeak out _his_ thoughts freely, and hear mine in return. " "Why, then, he begs a respite for a year or two. " "On what pretence?" "To me, it was preference of a single life--but I suspect it is--what heimagines to be love--and for some object whom he thinks your Lordshipwould disapprove. " "He has not, then, actually confessed this to you?" "If he has, it was drawn from him by such means, that I am not warrantedto say it in direct words. " "I have entered into no contract, no agreement on his account with thefriends of the lady I have pointed out, " said Lord Elmwood; "nothingbeyond implications have passed betwixt her family and myself atpresent; and if the person on whom he has fixed his affections, shouldnot be in a situation absolutely contrary to my wishes, I may, perhaps, confirm his choice. " That moment Sandford's courage prompted him to name Lady Matilda, buthis discretion opposed--however, in the various changes of hiscountenance from the conflict, it was plain to discern that he wished tosay more than he dared. On which Lord Elmwood cried, "Speak on, Sandford--what are you afraid of?" "Of you, my Lord. " He started. Sandford went on----"I know no tie--no bond--no innocence, that is aprotection when you feel resentment. " "You are right, " he replied, significantly. "Then how, my Lord, can you encourage me to _speak on_, when that whichI perhaps would say, might offend you to hear?" "To what, and whither are you changing our subject?" cried Lord Elmwood. "But, Sir, if you know my resentful and relentless temper, you surelyknow how to shun it. " "Not, and speak plainly. " "Then dissemble. " "No, I'll not do that--but I'll be silent. " "A new parade of submission. You are more tormenting to me than any oneI have about me. Constantly on the verge of disobeying my commands, thatyou may recede, and gain my good will by your forbearance. But know, Mr. Sandford, that I will not suffer this much longer. If you chuse in everyconversation we have together (though the most remote from such asubject) to think of my daughter, you must either banish your thoughts, or conceal them--nor by one sign, one item, remind me of her. " "Your daughter did you call her? Can you call yourself her father?" "I do, Sir--but I was likewise the husband of her mother. And, as thathusband, I solemnly swear. "----He was proceeding with violence. "Oh! my Lord, " cried Sandford, interrupting him, with his hands claspedin the most fervent supplication--"Oh! do not let me draw upon her oneoath more of your eternal displeasure--I'll kneel to beg that you willdrop the subject. " The inclination he made with his knees bent towards the ground, stoppedLord Elmwood instantly. But though it broke in upon his words, it didnot alter one angry look--his eyes darted, and his lips trembled with, indignation. Sandford, in order to appease him, bowed and offered to withdraw, hopingto be recalled. He wished in vain--Lord Elmwood's eyes followed him tothe door, expressive of rejoicing at his absence. CHAPTER VIII. The companions and counsellors of Lord Margrave, who had so prudentlyadvised gentle methods in the pursuit of his passion, while there wasleft any hope of their success; now, convinced there was none, asstrenuously commended open violence;--and sheltered under theconsideration, that their depredations were to be practised upon adefenceless woman, who had not one protector, except an old priest, thesubject of their ridicule;--assured likewise from the influence of LordMargrave's wealth, that all inferior consequences could be overborne, they saw no room for fears on any side, and what they wished to execute, with care and skill premeditated. When their scheme was mature for performance, three of his chosencompanions, and three servants, trained in all the villainous exploitsof their masters, set off for the habitation of poor Matilda, andarrived there about the twilight of the evening. Near four hours after that time (just as the family were going to bed)they came up to the doors of the house, and rapping violently, gave thealarm of fire, conjuring all the inhabitants to make their way outimmediately, as they would save their lives. The family consisted of few persons, all of whom ran instantly to thedoors and opened them; on which two men rushed in, and with the plea ofsaving Lady Matilda from the pretended flames, caught her in their arms, and carried her off; while all the deceived people of the house, runningeagerly to save themselves, paid no regard to her, till looking for thecause for which they had been terrified, they perceived the stratagem, and the fatal consequences. Amidst the complaints, the sorrow, and the affright of the people of thefarm, Miss Woodley's sensations wanted a name--terror and anguish givebut a faint description of what she suffered--something like the approachof death stole over her senses, and she sat like one petrified withhorror. She had no doubt who was the perpetrator of this wickedness; buthow was she to follow? how effect a rescue? The circumstances of this event, as soon as the people had time to callup their recollection, were sent to a neighbouring magistrate; butlittle could be hoped from that. Who was to swear to the robber? Who, undertake to find him out! Miss Woodley thought of Rushbrook, ofSandford, of Lord Elmwood--but what could she hope from the want of powerin the two former?--what from the latter, for the want of will? Nowstupified, and now distracted, she walked about the house incessantly, begging for instructions how to act, or how to forget her misery. A tenant of Lord Elmwood's, who occupied a little farm near to thatwhere Lady Matilda lived, and who was well acquainted with the wholehistory of her's and her mother's misfortunes, was returning from aneighbouring fair, just as this inhuman plan was put in execution. Heheard the cries of a woman in distress, and followed the sound, till hearrived at a chaise in waiting, and saw Matilda placed in it, by theside of two men, who presented pistols to him, as he offered to approachand expostulate. The farmer, uncertain who this female was, yet went to the house shehad been taken from (as the nearest) with the tale of what he had seen;and there, being informed it was Lady Matilda whom he had beheld, thisintelligence, joined to the powerful effect her screams had on him, madehim resolve to take horse immediately, and with some friends, follow thecarriage till they should trace the place to which she was conveyed. The anxiety, the firmness discovered in determining on thisunderstanding, somewhat alleviated the agony Miss Woodley endured, andshe began to hope, timely assistance might yet be given to her belovedcharge. The man set out, meaning at all events to attempt her release; butbefore he had proceeded far, the few friends that accompanied him, beganto reflect on the improbability of their success, against a nobleman, surrounded by servants, with other attendants likewise, and, perhaps, even countenanced by the father of the lady, whom they presumed to takefrom him; or if not, while Lord Elmwood beheld the offence withindifference, that indifference gave it a sanction, they might in vainoppose. These cool reflections tending to their safety, had their weightwith the companions of the farmer; they all rode back, rejoicing attheir second thoughts, and left him to pursue his journey and prove hisvalour by himself. CHAPTER IX. It was not with Sandford, as it had lately been with Rushbrook under thedispleasure of Lord Elmwood--to the latter he behaved, as soon as theirdissension was past, as if it had never happened--but to Sandford it wasotherwise--the resentment which he had repressed at the time of theoffence, lurked in his heart, and dwelt upon his mind for several days;during which, he carefully avoided exchanging a word with him, and gaveevery other demonstration of his anger. Sandford, though experienced in the cruelty and ingratitude of theworld, yet could not without difficulty brook this severity, thiscontumely, from a man, for whose welfare, ever since his infancy, hehad laboured; and whose happiness was more dear to him, in spite of allhis faults, than that of any other person. Even Lady Matilda was not sodear to Sandford as her father--and he loved her more that she was LordElmwood's child, than for any other cause. Sometimes the old Priest, incensed beyond bearing, was on the point ofsaying to his patron, "How, in my age, dare you thus treat the man, whomin his youth you respected and revered?" Sometimes instead of anger, he felt the tear, he was ashamed to own, steal to his eye, and even fall down his cheek. Sometimes he left theroom half determined to leave the house--but these were all halfdeterminations; for he knew him with whom he had to deal too well, notto know that he might be provoked into yet greater anger; and thatshould he once rashly quit his house, the doors most probably would beshut against him for ever. In this humiliating state (for even many of the domestics could not butobserve their Lord's displeasure) Sandford passed three days, and wasbeginning the fourth, when sitting with Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook justafter breakfast, a servant entered, saying, as he opened the door, tosomebody who followed, "You must wait till you have my Lord'spermission. " This attracted their eyes to the door, and a man meanly dressed, walkedin, following close to the servant. The latter turned, and seemed again to desire the person to retire, butin vain; he rushed forward regardless of his opposer, and in greatagitation, cried, "My Lord, if you please, I have business with you, provided you willchuse to be alone. " Lord Elmwood, struck with the intruder's earnestness, bade the servantleave the room; and then said to the stranger, "You may speak before these gentlemen. " The man instantly turned pale, and trembled--then, to prolong the timebefore he spoke, went to the door to see if it was shut--returned--yetstill trembling, seemed unwilling to say his errand. "What have you done, " cried Lord Elmwood, "that you are in this terror?What have you done, man?" "Nothing, my Lord, " replied he, "but I am afraid I am going to offendyou. " "Well, no matter;" (he answered carelessly) "only go on, and let me knowyour business. " The man's distress increased--and he cried in a voice of grief andaffright--"Your child, my Lord!"---- Rushbrook and Sandford started; and looking at Lord Elmwood, saw himturn white as death. In a tremulous voice he instantly cried, "What of her?" and rose from his seat. Encouraged by the question, and the agitation of him who asked it, thepoor man gave way to his feelings, and answered with every sign ofsorrow, "I saw her, my Lord, taken away by force--two ruffians seized and carriedher away, while she screamed in vain to me for help, and tore her hairin distraction. " "Man, what do you mean?" cried the Earl. "Lord Margrave, " replied the stranger, "we have no doubt, has formedthis plot--he has for some time past beset the house where she lived; andwhen his visits were refused, he threatened this. Besides, one of hisservants attended the carriage; I saw, and knew him. " Lord Elmwood listened to the last part of this account with seemingcomposure--then turning hastily to Rushbrook, he said, "Where are my pistols, Harry?" Sandford rose from his seat, and forgetting all the anger between them, caught hold of the Earl's hand, and cried, "Will you then prove yourselfa father?" Lord Elmwood only answered, "Yes, " and left the room. Rushbrook followed, and begged with all the earnestness he felt, to bepermitted to accompany his uncle. While Sandford shook hands with the farmer a thousand times; and he, inhis turn, rejoiced, as if he had already seen Lady Matilda restored toliberty. Rushbrook in vain entreated Lord Elmwood; he laid his commands upon himnot to go a step from the Castle; while the agitation of his own mind, was too great, to observe the rigour of this sentence on his nephew. During the hasty preparations for the Earl's departure, Sandfordreceived from Miss Woodley the sad intelligence of what had happened;but he returned an answer to recompence her for all she had suffered onthe occasion. Within a few hours Lord Elmwood set off, accompanied by his guide, thefarmer, and other attendants furnished with every requisite to ascertainthe success of their enterprise--while poor Matilda little thought of adeliverer nigh, much less, that her deliverer should prove her father. CHAPTER X. Lord Margrave, black as this incident of his life must make him appearto the reader, still nursed in his conscience a reserve of speciousvirtue, to keep him in peace with himself. It was his design to plead, to argue, to implore, nay even to threaten, long before he put histhreats in force; and with this and the following reflection, hereconciled--as most bad men can--what he had done, not only to the laws ofhumanity, but to the laws of honour. "I have stolen a woman certainly;" said he to himself, "but I will makeher happier than she was in that humble state from which I have takenher. I will even, " said he, "now that she is in my power, win heraffections--and when, in fondness, hereafter she hangs upon me, how willshe thank me for this little trial, through which I shall have conductedher to happiness!" Thus did he hush his remorse, while he waited impatiently at home, inexpectation of his prize. Half expiring with her sufferings, of body as well as of mind, abouttwelve o'clock the next night, after she was borne away, Matildaarrived; and felt her spirits revive by the superior sufferings thatawaited her--for her increasing terrors roused her from the death-likeweakness, brought on by fatigue. Lord Margrave's house, to which he had gone previous to this occasion, was situated in the lonely part of a well-known forest, not more thantwenty miles distant from London: this was an estate he rarely visited;and as he had but few servants here, it was a place which he supposedwould be less the object of suspicion in the present case, than anyother of his seats. To this, then, Lady Matilda was conveyed--a superbapartment allotted her--and one of his confidential females placed toattend upon her, with all respect, and assurances of safety. Matilda looked in this woman's face, and seeing she bore the features ofher sex, while her own knowledge reached none of those worthlesscharacters of which this person was a specimen, she imagined that noneof those could look as she did, and therefore found consolation in herseeming tenderness. She was even prevailed upon (by her promises to sitby her side and watch) to throw herself on the bed, and suffer sleep fora few minutes--for sleep to her was suffering; her fears giving birth todreams terrifying as her waking thoughts. More wearied than refreshed with her sleep, she rose at break of day, and refusing to admit of the change of an article in her dress, shepersisted to sit in the torn disordered habit in which she had beendragged away; nor would she taste a morsel, of all the delicacies thatwere prepared for her. Her attendant, for some time observed the most reverential awe; butfinding this had not the effect of gaining compliance with her advice, she varied her manners, and began by less submissive means to attempt aninfluence. She said her orders were to be obedient, while she herselfwas obeyed--at least in circumstances so material as the lady's health, of which she had the charge as a physician, and expected equalcompliance from her patient--food and fresh apparel she prescribed as theonly means to prevent death; and even threatened her invalid withsomething worse, a visit from Lord Margrave, if she continued obstinate. Now loathing her for the deception she had practised, more, than had shereceived her thus at first, Matilda hid her eyes from the sight of her;and when she was obliged to look, she shuddered. This female at length thought it her duty to wait upon her worthyemployer, and inform him the young lady in her trust would certainlydie, unless there were means employed to oblige her to take somenourishment. Lord Margrave, glad of an opportunity that might apologize for hisintrusion upon Lady Matilda, went with eagerness to her apartment, andthrowing himself at her feet, conjured her if she would save his life, as well as her own, to submit to be consoled. The extreme disgust and horror his presence inspired, caused Matilda fora moment to forget all her want of power, her want of health, herweakness; and rising from the place where she sat, she cried, with hervoice elevated, "Leave me, my Lord, or I'll die in spite of all your care; I'llinstantly expire with grief, if you do not leave me. " Accustomed to the tears and reproaches of the sex--though not of thoselike her--he treated with contempt these menaces of anger, and seizingher hand, carried it to his lips. Enraged, and overwhelmed with sorrow at the affront, she cried, (forgetting every other friend she had, ) "Oh! my dear Miss Woodley, whyare you not here to protect me?" "Nay, " returned Lord Margrave, stifling a fit of laughter, "I shouldthink the old Priest would be as good a champion as the lady. " The remembrance of Sandford, with all his kindness, now rushed soforcibly on Matilda's mind, that she shed a shower of tears, on thinkinghow much he felt, and would continue to feel, for her situation. Onceshe thought on Rushbrook, and thought even _he_ would be sorry for her. Of her father she did not think--she dared not--one single moment thatthought intruded, but she hurried it away--it was too bitter. It was now again quite night; and near to that hour when she came firstto the house. Lord Margrave, though at some distance from her, remainedstill in her apartment, while her female companion had stolen away. Hisinsensibility to her lamentations--the agitated looks he sometimes castupon her--her weak and defenceless state, all conspired to fill her mindwith horror. He saw her apprehensions in her distracted face, disheveled hair, andthe whole of her forlorn appearance--yet, notwithstanding his formerresolutions, he could not resist the desire of fulfilling all herdreadful expectations. He once again approached her, and again was going to seize her hand;when the report of a pistol, and a confused noise of persons assemblingtowards the apartment prevented him. He started--but looked more surprised than alarmed--her alarm wasaugmented; for she supposed this tumult was some experiment tointimidate her into submission. She wrung her hands, and lifted up hereyes to Heaven, in the last agony of despair, when one of LordMargrave's servants entered hastily and announced, "Lord Elmwood!" That moment her father entered--and with all the unrestrained fondness ofa parent, folded her in his arms. Her extreme, her excess of joy on such a meeting, and from such anguishrescued, was, in part, repressed by his awful presence. Theapprehensions to which she had been accustomed, kept her timid anddoubtful--she feared to speak, or clasp him in return for his embrace, but falling on her knees, clung round his legs, and bathed his feet withher tears. ----These were the happiest moments that she had everknown--perhaps, the happiest _he_ had ever known. Lord Margrave, on whom Lord Elmwood had not even cast a look, now leftthe room; but as he quitted it, called out, "My Lord Elmwood, if you have any demands on me, "-- The Earl interrupted him, "Would you make me an executioner? The lawshall be your only antagonist. " Matilda, quite exhausted, yet upheld by the sudden transport she hadfelt, was led by her father out of this wretched dwelling--moredespicable than the beggar's hovel. CHAPTER XI. Overcome with the want of rest for two nights, from her distractingfears, and all those fears now hushed; Matilda, soon after she wasplaced in the carriage with Lord Elmwood, dropped fast asleep; andthus, insensibly surprised, leaned her head against her father in thesweetest slumber that imagination can conceive. When she awoke, instead of the usual melancholy scene before her view, she beheld her father, and heard the voice of the once dreaded LordElmwood tenderly saying, "We will go no further to-night, the fatigue is too much for her; orderbeds here directly, and some proper person to sit up and attend her. " She could only turn to him with a look of love and duty; her lips couldnot utter a sentence. In the morning she found her father by the side of her bed. He inquired"If she was in health sufficient to pursue her journey, or if she wouldremain where she was?" "I _am_ able to go with you, " she answered instantly. "Nay, " replied he, "perhaps you ought to stay here till you are better?" "I am better, " said she, "and ready to go with you. "----Half afraid thathe meant to send her from him. He perceived her fears, and replied, "Nay, if you stay, so shall I--andwhen I go, I shall take you along with me to my house. " "To Elmwood House?" she asked eagerly. "No, to my house in town, where I intend to be all the winter, and wherewe shall live together. " She turned her face on the pillow to conceal tears of joy, but her sobsrevealed them. "Come, " said he, "this kiss is a token you have nothing to fear. " And hekissed her affectionately. "I shall send for Miss Woodley tooimmediately, " continued he. "Oh! I shall be overjoyed to see her, my Lord--and to see Mr. Sandford--and even Mr. Rushbrook. " "Do you know _him?_" said Lord Elmwood. "Yes, " she replied, "I have seen him two or three times. " The Earl hoping the air might be a means of re-establishing her strengthand spirits, now left the room, and ordered his carriage to be prepared:while she arose, attended by one of his female servants, for whom he hadsent to town, to bring such changes of apparel as were requisite. When Matilda was ready to join her father in the next room, she felt atremor seize her, that made it almost impossible to appear before him. No other circumstance now impending to agitate her heart, she felt moreforcibly its embarrassment at meeting on terms of easy intercourse, him, of whom she had never been used to think, but with that distantreverence and fear, which his severity had excited; and she knew not howshe should dare to speak to, or look on him, with that freedom heraffection warranted. After several efforts to conquer these nice and refined sensations, butto no purpose, she at last went to his apartment. He was reading; but asshe entered, he put out his hand and drew her to him. Her tears whollyovercame her. He could have intermingled his--but assuming a gravecountenance, he commanded her to desist from exhausting her spirits;and, after a few powerful struggles, she obeyed. Before the morning was over, she experienced the extreme joy of sittingby her father's side as they drove to town, and of receiving, during hisconversation, a thousand proofs of his love, and tokens of her lastinghappiness. It was now the middle of November; and yet, as Matilda passed along, never to her, did the sun shine so bright as upon this morning--never didher imagination comprehend, that the human heart could feel happinesstrue and genuine as hers! On arriving at the house, there was no abatement of her felicity: allwas respect and duty on the part of the domestics--all paternal care onthe part of Lord Elmwood; and she would have been at that summit of herwishes which annihilates hope, but that the prospect of seeing MissWoodley and Mr. Sandford, still kept this passion in existence. CHAPTER XII. Rushbrook was detained at Elmwood House during all this time, more fromthe persuasions, nay prayers, of Sandford, than the commands of LordElmwood. He had, but for Sandford, followed his uncle, and exposedhimself to his anger, sooner than have endured the most piercinginquietude, which he was doomed to suffer, till the news arrived of LadyMatilda's safety. He indeed had little else to fear from the known firm, courageous character of her father, and the expedition with which heundertook his journey; but lovers' fears are like those of women, obstinate, and no argument could persuade either him or Miss Woodley(who had now ventured to come to Elmwood House) but that Matilda's peaceof mind might be for ever destroyed, before she was set at liberty. The summons from Lord Elmwood for their coming to town, was received byeach of this party with delight; but the impatience to obey it, was inRushbrook so violent, it was painful to himself, and extremelytroublesome to Sandford; who wished, from his regard to Lady Matilda, rather to delay, than hurry their journey. "You are to blame, " said he to him and Miss Woodley, "to wish by yourarrival, to divide with Lord Elmwood that tender bond, which ties thegood who confer obligations, to the object of their benevolence. Atpresent there is no one with him to share in the care and protection ofhis daughter, and he is under the necessity of discharging that dutyhimself; this habit may become so powerful, that he _cannot_ throw itoff, even if his former resolutions should urge him to it. While weremain here, therefore, Lady Matilda is safe with her father; but itwould not surprise me, if on our arrival (especially if we areprecipitate) he should place her again with Miss Woodley at a distance. " To this forcible conjecture, they submitted for a few days, and thenmost gladly set out for town. On their arrival, they were met, even at the street-door, by LadyMatilda; and with an expression of joy, they did not suppose herfeatures could have worn. She embraced Miss Woodley! hung upon Sandford!and to Mr. Rushbrook, who from his conscious love only bowed at anhumble distance, she held out her hand with every look and gesture ofthe tenderest esteem. When Lord Elmwood joined them, he welcomed them all sincerely; butSandford the most, with whom he had not spoken for many days before heleft the country, for his allusion to the wretched situation of hisdaughter. --And Sandford (with his fellow-travellers) now saw him treatthat daughter with an easy, a natural fondness, as if she had lived withhim from her infancy. He appeared, however, at times, under theapprehension, that the propensity of man to jealousy, might giveRushbrook a pang at this dangerous rival in his love and fortune--forthough Lord Elmwood remembered well the hazard he had once ventured tobefriend Matilda, yet the present unlimited reconciliation was somethingso unlooked for, it might be a trial too much for his generosity, toremain wholly disinterested on the event. Slight as was this suspicion, it did Rushbrook injustice. He loved Lady Matilda too sincerely, heloved her father's happiness, and her mother's memory too faithfully, not to be rejoiced at all he witnessed; nor could the secret hope thatwhispered him, "Their blessings might one day be mutual, " increase thepleasure he found, in beholding Matilda happy. Unexpected affairs, in which Lord Elmwood had been for some timeengaged, had diverted his attention for awhile from the marriage of hisnephew; nor did he at this time find his disposition sufficientlysevere, to exact from the young man a compliance with his wishes, at socruel an alternative as that of being for ever discarded. He felt hismind, by the late incident, too much softened for such harshness; he yetwished for the alliance he had proposed; for he was more consistent inhis character than to suffer the tenderness his daughter's peril hadawakened, to derange those plans which he had long projected. Never evennow, for a moment did he indulge--for perhaps it would have been anindulgence--the idea of replacing her exactly in the rights of her birth, to the disappointment of all his nephew's expectations. Yet, milder at this crisis in his temper than he had been for yearsbefore, and knowing he could be no longer irritated upon the subject ofhis daughter, he once more resolved to trust himself in a conferencewith Rushbrook on the subject of marriage; meaning at the same time tomention Matilda as an opponent from whom he had nothing to fear. Butfor some time before Rushbrook was called to this private audience, hehad, by his unwearied attention, endeavoured to impress upon Matilda'smind, the softest sentiments in his favour. He succeeded--but not as hewished. She loved him as her friend, her cousin, her foster-brother, butnot as a lover. The idea of love never once came to her thoughts; andshe would sport with Rushbrook like the most harmless child, while he, all impassioned, could with difficulty resist telling her, what she madehim suffer. At the meeting between him and Lord Elmwood, to which he was called forhis final answer on that subject which had once nearly proved so fatalto him; after a thousand fears, much confusion and embarrassment, he atlength frankly confessed his "Heart was engaged, and had been so, longbefore his uncle offered to direct his choice. " Lord Elmwood desired to know, "On whom he had placed his affections. " "I dare not tell you, my Lord, " returned he, infinitely confused; "butMr. Sandford can witness their sincerity and how long they have beenfixed. " "Fixed!" cried the Earl. "Immoveably fixed, my Lord; and yet the object is as unconscious of mylove to this moment, as you yourself have been; and I swear ever shallbe so, without your permission. " "Name the object, " said Lord Elmwood, anxiously. "My Lord, I dare not. --The last time I named her to you, you threatenedto abandon me for my arrogance. " Lord Elmwood started. ----"My daughter! Would you marry her?" "But with your approbation, my Lord; and that----" Before he could proceed a word further, his uncle left the roomhastily--and left Rushbrook all terror for his approaching fate. Lord Elmwood went immediately into the apartment where Sandford, MissWoodley, and Matilda, were sitting, and cried with an angry voice, andwith his countenance disordered, "Rushbrook has offended me beyond forgiveness. --Go, Sandford, to thelibrary, where he is, and tell him this instant to quit my house, andnever dare to return. " Miss Woodley lifted up her hands and sighed. Sandford rose slowly from his seat to execute the office. While Lady Matilda, who was arranging her music books upon theinstrument, stopped from her employment suddenly, with her face bathedin tears. A general silence ensued, till Lord Elmwood, resuming his angry tone, cried, "Did you hear me, Mr. Sandford?" Sandford now, without a word in reply, made for the door--but thereMatilda impeded him, and throwing her arms about his neck, cried, "Dear Mr. Sandford, do not. " "How!" exclaimed her father. She saw the impending frown, and rushing towards him, took his handfearfully, and knelt at his feet. "Mr. Rushbrook is my relation, " shecried in a pathetic voice, "my companion, my friend--before you loved mehe was anxious for my happiness, and often visited me to lament with, and console me. I cannot see him turned out of your house withoutfeeling for _him_, what he once felt for _me. _" Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations--then raising herfrom the floor, he said, "Do you know what he has asked of me?" "No, " answered she in the utmost ignorance, and with the utmostinnocence painted on her face; "but whatever it is, my Lord, though youdo not grant it, yet pardon him for asking. " "Perhaps _you_ would grant him what he has requested?" said her father. "Most willingly--was it in my gift. " "It is, " replied he. "Go to him in the library, and hear what he has tosay; for on your will his fate shall depend. " Like lightning she flew out of the room; while even the grave Sandfordsmiled at the idea of their meeting. Rushbrook, with his fears all verified by the manner in which his unclehad left him, sat with his head reclined against a bookcase, and everylimb extended with the despair that had seized him. Matilda nimbly opened the door and cried, "Mr. Rushbrook, I am come tocomfort you. " "That you have always done, " said he, rising in rapture to receive her, even in the midst of all his sadness. "What is it you want?" said she. "What have you asked of my father thathe has denied you?" "I have asked for that, " replied he, "which is dearer to me than mylife. " "Be satisfied then, " returned she, "for you shall have it. " "Dear Matilda! it is not in your power to bestow. " "But he has told me it _shall_ be in my power; and has desired me togive, or to refuse it you, at my own pleasure. " "O Heavens!" cried Rushbrook in transport, "Has he?" "He has indeed--before Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley. Now tell me whatyou petitioned for?" "I asked him, " cried Rushbrook, trembling, "for a wife. " Her hand, which had just then taken hold of his, in the warmth of herwish to serve him, now dropped down as with the stroke of death--her facelost its colour--and she leaned against the desk by which they werestanding, without uttering a word. "What means this change?" said he; "Do you not wish me happy?" "Yes, " she exclaimed: "Heaven is my witness. But it gives me concern tothink we must part. " "Then let us be joined, " cried he, falling at her feet, "till deathalone can part us. " All the sensibility--the reserve--the pride, with which she was so amplypossessed, returned to her that moment. She started and cried, "CouldLord Elmwood know for what he sent me?" "He did, " replied Rushbrook--"I boldly told him of my presumptuous love, and he has given to you alone, the power over my happiness or misery. Oh! do not doom me to the latter. " Whether the heart of Matilda, such as it has been described, _could_sentence him to misery, the reader is left to surmise--and if he supposesthat it could _not_, he has every reason to suppose that their weddedlife, was--a life of happiness. He has beheld the pernicious effects of an _improper education_ in thedestiny which attended the unthinking Miss Milner. --On the opposite side, what may not be hoped from that school of prudence--though ofadversity--in which Matilda was bred? And Mr. Milner, Matilda's grandfather, had better have given his_fortune_ to a distant branch of his family--as Matilda's father oncemeant to do--so that he had given to his daughter A PROPER EDUCATION. PLAYS written by MRS. INCHBALD, and published by G. G. And J. ROBINSON, Paternoster Row. LOVER'S VOWS; A Play in five Acts, from the German ofKOTZEBUE. WIVES AS THEY WERE, AND MAIDSAS THEY ARE. EVERY ONE HAS HIS FAULT. I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, Comedies in five Acts. SUCH THINGS ARE, A Play in five Acts. THE MARRIED MAN, A Comedy, Price 1s. 6d. Each. THE CHILD OF NATURE. APPEARANCE IS AGAINST THEM. THE WIDOW'S VOW. THE MIDNIGHT HOUR, A Comedy. THE WEDDING DAY, Price One Shilling each. NATURE AND ART, The Second Edition, in Two Volumes, Price7s. Sewed.