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diff --git a/22002-h/22002-h.htm b/22002-h/22002-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3956edf --- /dev/null +++ b/22002-h/22002-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15369 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Simple Story, by Mrs. Inchbald</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.trans-note {border-style: solid; border-width: 1px; + margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: center; font-size: 75%} + +/* LISTS */ +ul { position: relative; + width:80%; + margin-left:5%; + list-style-type:none;} +li { margin-top: 0.25em; + line-height: 1.2em; } + + .blockquot{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 12%;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .g {letter-spacing: 0.3em; font-size: 120%; } + +/* FOOTNOTES */ + + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 85%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Simple Story, by Mrs. Inchbald</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A Simple Story</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mrs. Inchbald</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: G. L. Strachey</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 5, 2007 [eBook #22002]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 1, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Edwards, Marcia Brooks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SIMPLE STORY ***</div> + +<h1>A SIMPLE STORY</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">MRS. INCHBALD</h2> + +<h4>WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br /> + +G. L. STRACHEY</h4> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON<br /> +HENRY FROWDE<br /> +1908<br /> +<br /> +OXFORD: HORACE HART<br /> +PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY +</p> + +<div class="trans-note"> +Transcriber’s Note: Table of Contents Added. <br /> +Left Archaic spellings, but made minor changes to punctuation.</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> Volume I</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#I_CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> Volume II</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#II_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> Volume III</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#III_CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> Volume IV</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#IV_CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#Plays">Plays written by Mrs. Inchbald</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + +<p><i>A Simple Story</i> is one of those books which, for some +reason or other, have failed to come down to us, as they +deserved, along the current of time, but have drifted into +a literary backwater where only the professional critic or the +curious discoverer can find them out. “The iniquity of +oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy;” and nowhere more +blindly than in the republic of letters. If we were to +inquire how it has happened that the true value of Mrs. +Inchbald’s achievement has passed out of general recognition, +perhaps the answer to our question would be found +to lie in the extreme difficulty with which the mass of +readers detect and appreciate mere quality in literature. +Their judgment is swayed by a hundred side-considerations +which have nothing to do with art, but happen easily +to impress the imagination, or to fit in with the fashion of +the hour. The reputation of Mrs. Inchbald’s contemporary, +Fanny Burney, is a case in point. Every one has heard of +Fanny Burney’s novels, and <i>Evelina</i> is still widely read. Yet +it is impossible to doubt that, so far as quality alone is concerned, +<i>Evelina</i> deserves to be ranked considerably below +<i>A Simple Story</i>. But its writer was the familiar friend of +the greatest spirits of her age; she was the author of one +of the best of diaries; and her work was immediately and +immensely popular. Thus it has happened that the name +of Fanny Burney has maintained its place upon the roll of +English novelists, while that of Mrs. Inchbald is forgotten.</p> + +<p>But the obscurity of Mrs. Inchbald’s career has not, of +course, been the only reason for the neglect of her work. +The merits of <i>A Simple Story</i> are of a kind peculiarly +calculated to escape the notice of a generation of readers +brought up on the fiction of the nineteenth century. That +fiction, infinitely various as it is, possesses at least one +characteristic common to the whole of it—a breadth of +outlook upon life, which can be paralleled by no other +body of literature in the world save that of the Elizabethans. +But the comprehensiveness of view shared by Dickens and +Tolstoy, by Balzac and George Eliot, finds no place in +Mrs. Inchbald’s work. Compared with <i>A Simple Story</i> even +the narrow canvases of Jane Austen seem spacious pictures +of diversified life. Mrs. Inchbald’s novel is not concerned +with the world at large, or with any section of society, hardly +even with the family; its subject is a group of two or three +individuals whose interaction forms the whole business of +the book. There is no local colour in it, no complexity of +detail nor violence of contrast; the atmosphere is vague +and neutral, the action passes among ill-defined sitting-rooms, +and the most poignant scene in the story takes place +upon a staircase which has never been described. Thus +the reader of modern novels is inevitably struck, in <i>A +Simple Story</i>, by a sense of emptiness and thinness, which +may well blind him to high intrinsic merits. The spirit of +the eighteenth century is certainly present in the book, but it +is the eighteenth century of France rather than of England. +Mrs. Inchbald no doubt owed much to Richardson; her view +of life is the indoor sentimental view of the great author of +<i>Clarissa</i>; but her treatment of it has very little in common +with his method of microscopic analysis and vast accumulation. +If she belongs to any school, it is among the followers +of the French classical tradition that she must be placed. +<i>A Simple Story</i> is, in its small way, a descendant of the +Tragedies of Racine; and Miss Milner may claim relationship +with Madame de Clèves.</p> + +<p>Besides her narrowness of vision, Mrs. Inchbald possesses +another quality, no less characteristic of her French predecessors, +and no less rare among the novelists of England. +She is essentially a stylist—a writer whose whole conception +of her art is dominated by stylistic intention. Her style, it +is true, is on the whole poor; it is often heavy and pompous, +sometimes clumsy and indistinct; compared with the style +of such a master as Thackeray it sinks at once into insignificance. +But the interest of her style does not lie in its +intrinsic merit so much as in the use to which she puts it. +Thackeray’s style is mere ornament, existing independently +of what he has to say; Mrs. Inchbald’s is part and parcel +of her matter. The result is that when, in moments of +inspiration, she rises to the height of her opportunity, when, +mastering her material, she invests her expression with the +whole intensity of her feeling and her thought, then she +achieves effects of the rarest beauty—effects of a kind for +which one may search through Thackeray in vain. The +most triumphant of these passages is the scene on the staircase +of Elmwood House—a passage which would be spoilt by +quotation and which no one who has ever read it could +forget. But the same quality is to be found throughout +her work. “Oh, Miss Woodley!” exclaims Miss Milner, +forced at last to confess to her friend what she feels towards +Dorriforth, “I love him with all the passion of a mistress, +and with all the tenderness of a wife.” No young lady, +even in the eighteenth century, ever gave utterance to +such a sentence 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 charged with a curious sense of emotion, +which is none the less real for its elaboration. In <i>Nature +and Art</i>, Mrs. Inchbald’s second novel, the climax of the +story is told in a series of short paragraphs, which, for +bitterness and concentration of style, are almost reminiscent +of Stendhal:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>The jury consulted for a few minutes. The verdict was +“Guilty”.</p> + +<p>She heard it with composure.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>“Oh, not from <i>you</i>!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Serene and dignified, as if no such exclamation had been +uttered, William delivered the fatal speech, ending with +“Dead, dead, dead”.</p> + +<p>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.</p></div> + +<p>Here, no doubt, there is a touch of melodrama; but it is +the melodrama of a rhetorician, and, in that fine “She heard +it with composure”, genius has brushed aside the forced and +the obvious, to express, with supreme directness, the anguish +of a soul.</p> + +<p>For, in spite of Mrs. Inchbald’s artificialities, in spite of +her lack of that kind of realistic description which seems to +modern readers the very 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 been able to do—she +can bring into her pages the living pressure of a human +passion, she can invest, if not with realism, with something +greater than realism—with the sense of reality itself—the +pains, the triumphs, and the agitations of the human heart. +“The heart,” to use the old-fashioned phrase—there is +Mrs. Inchbald’s empire, there is the sphere of her glory and +her command. Outside of it, her powers are weak and +fluctuating. She has no firm grasp of the masculine elements +in character: she wishes to draw a rough man, Sandford, +and she draws a rude one; she tries her hand at a hero, +Rushbrook, and she turns out a prig. Her humour is not +faulty, but it is exceedingly slight. What an immortal figure +the dim Mrs. Horton would have become in the hands of +Jane Austen! In <i>Nature and Art</i>, her attempts at social +satire are superficial and overstrained. But weaknesses of +this kind—and it would be easy to prolong the list—are what +every reader of the following pages will notice without +difficulty, and what no wise one will regard. “Il ne faut +point juger des hommes par ce qu’ils ignorent, mais par ce +qu’ils savent;” and Mrs. Inchbald’s knowledge was as profound +as it was limited. Her Miss Milner is an original and +brilliant creation, compact of charm and life. She is a flirt, +and a flirt not only adorable, but worthy of adoration. Did +Mrs. Inchbald take the suggestion of a heroine with imperfections +from the little masterpiece which, on more sides +than one, closely touches her’s—Manon Lescaut? Perhaps; +and yet, if this was so, the borrowing was of the slightest, for +it is only in the fact that she <i>is</i> imperfect that Miss Milner +bears to Manon any resemblance at all. In every other +respect, the English heroine is the precise contrary of the +French one: she is a creature of fiery will, of high bearing, +of noble disposition; and her shortcomings are born, not +of weakness, but of excess of strength. Mrs. Inchbald has +taken this character, she has thrown it under the influence +of a violent and absorbing passion, and, upon that theme, +she has written her delicate, sympathetic, and artificial book.</p> + +<p>As one reads it, one cannot but feel that it is, if not directly +and circumstantially, at least in essence, autobiographical. +One finds oneself speculating over the author, wondering +what was her history, and how much of it was Miss Milner’s. +Unfortunately the greater part of what we should most like +to know of Mrs. Inchbald’s life has vanished beyond recovery. +She wrote her Memoirs, and she burnt them; and who can +tell whether even there we should have found a self-revelation? +Confessions are sometimes curiously discreet, and, in +the case of Mrs. Inchbald, we may be sure that it is only +what was indiscreet that would really be worth the hearing. +Yet her life is not devoid of interest. A brief sketch of it +may be welcome to her readers.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth Inchbald was born on the 15th of October, 1753, +at Standingfield, near Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk;<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> one of +the numerous offspring of John and Mary Simpson. The +Simpsons, who were Roman Catholics, held a moderate +farm in Standingfield, and ranked among the gentry of +the neighbourhood. In Elizabeth’s eighth year, her father +died; but the family continued at the farm, the elder +daughters marrying and settling in London, while Elizabeth +grew up into a beautiful and charming girl. One misfortune, +however, interfered with her happiness—a defect of utterance +which during her early years rendered her speech so +indistinct as to be unintelligible to strangers. She devoted +herself to reading and to dreams of the great world. At +thirteen, she declared she would rather die than live longer +without seeing the world; she longed to go to London; she +longed to go upon the stage. When, in 1770, one of her +brothers became an actor at Norwich, she wrote secretly to +his manager, Mr. Griffith, begging for an engagement. +Mr. Griffith was encouraging, and, though no definite steps +were taken, she was sufficiently charmed with him to write +out his name at length in her diary, 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 other distractions. In the following year she paid a visit +to her married sisters in London, where she met another +actor, Mr. Inchbald, who seems immediately to have fallen +in love with her, and to have proposed. She remained +cool. “In spite of your eloquent pen,” she wrote to him, +with a touch of that sharp and almost bitter sense that was +always hers, “matrimony still appears to me with less charms +than terrors: the bliss arising from it, I doubt not, is superior +to any other—but best not to be ventured for (in my opinion), +till some little time have proved the emptiness of all other; +which it seldom fails to do.” Nevertheless, the correspondence +continued, and, early in 1772, some entries in her diary give +a glimpse of her state of mind:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Jan. 22</i>. Saw Mr. Griffith’s picture.</p> + +<p><i>Jan. 28</i>. Stole it.</p> + +<p><i>Jan. 29</i>. Rather disappointed at not receiving a letter +from Mr. Inchbald.</p> +</div> + +<p>A few months later she did the great deed of her life: she +stepped secretly into the Norwich coach, and went to London. +The days that followed were full of hazard and adventure, +but the details of them are uncertain. She was a girl of +eighteen, absolutely alone, and astonishingly attractive—“tall,” +we are told, “slender, straight, of the purest complexion, +and most beautiful features; her hair of a golden +auburn, her eyes full at once of spirit and sweetness;” and +it was only to be expected that, in such circumstances, +romance and daring would soon give place to discomfort +and alarm. She attempted in vain to obtain a theatrical +engagement; she found herself, more than once, obliged +to shift her lodging; and at last, after ten days of trepidation, +she was reduced to apply for help to her married sisters. +This put an end to her difficulties, but, in spite of her efforts +to avoid notice, her beauty had already attracted attention, +and she had received a letter from a stranger, with whom +she immediately entered into correspondence. She had all +the boldness of innocence, and, in addition, a force of +character which brought her safely through the risks she ran. +While she was still in her solitary lodging, a theatrical +manager, named Dodd, attempted to use his position as +a cover for seduction. She had several interviews with him +alone, and the story goes that, in the last, she snatched up +a basin of hot water and dashed it in his face. But she was +not to go unprotected for long; for within two months of her +arrival in London she had married Mr. Inchbald.</p> + +<p>The next twelve years of Mrs. Inchbald’s life were passed +amid the rough and tumble of the eighteenth-century stage. +Her husband was thirty-seven when she married him, a +Roman Catholic like herself, and an actor who depended +for his living upon ill-paid and uncertain provincial engagements. +Mrs. Inchbald conquered her infirmity of speech and +threw herself into her husband’s profession. She accompanied +him to Bristol, to Scotland, to Liverpool, to Birmingham, +appearing in a great variety of rôles, but never +with any very conspicuous success. The record of these +journeys throws an interesting light upon the conditions +of the provincial companies of those days. Mrs. Inchbald +and her companions would set out to walk from one Scotch +town to another; they would think themselves lucky if they +could climb on to a passing cart, to arrive at last, drenched +with rain perhaps, at some wretched hostelry. But this kind +of barbarism did not stand in the way of an almost childish +gaiety. In Yorkshire, we find the Inchbalds, the Siddonses, +and Kemble retiring to the moors, in the intervals of business, +to play blindman’s buff or puss in the corner. Such were +the pastimes of Mrs. Siddons before the days of her fame. +No doubt this kind of lightheartedness was the best antidote +to the experience of being “saluted with volleys of potatoes +and broken bottles”, as the Siddonses were by the citizens of +Liverpool, for having ventured to appear on their stage +without having ever played before the King. On this +occasion, the audience, according to a letter from Kemble +to Mrs. Inchbald, “extinguished all the lights round the +house; then jumped upon the stage; brushed every lamp +out with their hats; took back their money; left the theatre, +and determined themselves to repeat this till they have +another company.” These adventures were diversified by +a journey to Paris, undertaken in the hope that Mr. Inchbald, +who found himself without engagements, might pick up +a livelihood as a painter of miniatures. The scheme came +to nothing, and the Inchbalds eventually went to Hull, +where they returned to their old profession. 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 was back at her work, settling at last in London, +and becoming a member of the Covent Garden company. +Here, for the next five years, she earned for herself a meagre +living, until, quite unexpectedly, deliverance came. In her +moments of leisure she had been trying her hand upon +dramatic composition; she had written some farces, and, +in 1784, one of them, <i>A Mogul Tale</i>, was accepted, acted, +and obtained a great success. This was the turning-point of +her career. She followed up her farce with a series of plays, +either original or adapted, which, almost without exception, +were well received, so that she was soon able to retire from +the stage with a comfortable competence. She had succeeded +in life; she was happy, respected, free.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Inchbald’s plays are so bad that it is difficult to +believe that they brought her a fortune. But no doubt it +was their faults that made them popular—their sentimentalities, +their melodramatic absurdities, their strangely false +and high-pitched moral tone. They are written in a jargon +which resembles, if it resembles anything, an execrable prose +translation from very flat French verse. “Ah, Manuel!” +exclaims one of her heroines, “I am now amply punished +by the Marquis for all my cruelty to Duke Cordunna—he +to whom my father in my infancy betrothed me, and to +whom I willingly pledged my faith, hoping to wed; till +Romono, the Marquis of Romono, came from the field of +glory, and with superior claims of person as of fame, seized +on my heart by force, and perforce made me feel I had never +loved till then.” Which is the more surprising—that actors +could be found to utter such speeches, or that audiences +could be collected to applaud them? Perhaps, for us, the +most memorable fact about Mrs. Inchbald’s dramatic work +is that one of her adaptations (from the German of Kotzebue) +was no other than that <i>Lovers’ Vows</i> which, as every one +knows, was rehearsed so brilliantly at Ecclesford, the seat +of the Right Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall, and which, +after all, was <i>not</i> performed at Sir Thomas Bertram’s. But +that is an interest <i>sub specie aeternitatis</i>; and, from the +temporal point of view, Mrs. Inchbald’s plays must be regarded +merely as means—means towards her own enfranchisement, +and that condition of things which made possible +<i>A Simple Story</i>. That novel had been sketched as early as +1777; but it was not completely written until 1790, and not +published until the following year. A second edition was +printed immediately, and several more followed; the present +reprint is taken from the fourth, published in 1799—but +with the addition of the characteristic 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, and +rest—may be met with often enough in secluded corners of +secondhand bookshops, or on some neglected shelf in the +library of a country house. For their own generation, they +represented a distinguished title to fame. Mrs. Inchbald—to +use the expression of her biographer—“was ascertained +to be one of the greatest ornaments of her sex.” She was +painted by Lawrence, she was eulogized by Miss Edgeworth, +she was complimented by Madame de Stael herself. She +had, indeed, won for herself a position which can hardly be +paralleled among the women of the eighteenth century—a +position of independence and honour, based upon talent, +and upon talent alone. In 1796 she published <i>Nature and +Art</i>, and ten years later appeared her last work—a series of +biographical and critical notices prefixed to a large collection +of acting plays. During the greater part of the intervening +period she lived in lodgings in Leicester Square—or “Leicester +Fields” as the place was still often called—in a house opposite +that of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The œconomy which she had +learnt in her early days she continued to practise; dressing +with extraordinary plainness, and often going without a fire +in winter; so that she was able, through her self-sacrifice, +to keep from want a large band of poor relatives and friends. +The society she mixed with was various, but, for the most +part, obscure. There were occasional visits from the now +triumphant Mrs. Siddons; there were incessant propositions—but +alas! they were equivocal—from Sir Charles Bunbury; +for the rest, she passed her life among actor-managers and +humble playwrights and unremembered medical men. One +of her friends was William Godwin, who described her to +Mrs. Shelley as a “piquante mixture between a lady and +a milkmaid”, and who, it is said, suggested part of the plot +of <i>A Simple Story</i>. But she quarreled with him when he +married Mary Wollstonecraft, after whose death she wrote to +him thus—“With the most sincere sympathy in all you have +suffered—with the most perfect forgiveness of all you have +said to me, there must nevertheless be an end to our acquaintance +<i>for ever</i>. I respect your prejudices, but I also respect +my own.” Far more intimate were her relations with Dr. Gisborne—a +mysterious figure, with whom, in some tragic +manner that we can only just discern, was enacted her final +romance. His name—often in company with that of another +physician, Dr. Warren, for whom, too, she had a passionate +affection—occurs frequently among her papers; and her +diary for December 17, 1794, has this entry:—“Dr. Gisborne +drank tea here, and staid very late: he talked seriously of +marrying—but not <i>me</i>.” Many years later, one September, +she amused herself by making out a list of all the Septembers +since her marriage, with brief notes as to her state of mind +during each. The list has fortunately survived, and some +of the later entries are as follows:—</p> + +<ul> +<li>1791. London; after my novel, Simple Story ... very +happy.</li> + +<li>1792. London; in Leicester Square ... cheerful, content, +and sometimes rather happy....</li> + +<li>1794. Extremely happy, but for poor Debby’s death.</li> + +<li>1795. My brother George’s death, and an intimate +acquaintance with Dr. Gisborne—not happy....</li> + +<li>1797. After an alteration in my teeth, and the death of +Dr. Warren—yet far from unhappy.</li> + +<li>1798. Happy, but for suspicion amounting almost to +certainty of a rapid appearance of age in my +face....</li> + +<li>1802. After feeling wholly indifferent about Dr. Gisborne—very +happy but for ill health, ill looks, &c.</li> + +<li>1803. After quitting Leicester Square probably for ever—after +caring scarce at all or thinking of Dr. Gisborne ... very +happy....</li> + +<li>1806.... After the death of Dr. Gisborne, too, often +very unhappy, yet mostly cheerful, and on my +return to London nearly happy.</li> +</ul> + +<p>The record, with all its quaintness, produces a curious +impression of stoicism—of a certain grim acceptance of the +facts of life. It would have been a pleasure, certainly, but +an alarming pleasure, to have known Mrs. Inchbald.</p> + +<p>In the early years of the century, she gradually withdrew +from London, establishing herself in suburban boarding-houses, +often among sisters of charity, and devoting her +days to the practice of her religion. In her early and middle +life she had been an indifferent Catholic: “Sunday. Rose +late, dressed, and read in the Bible about David, &c.”—this +is one of the very few references in her diary to anything +approaching a religious observance during many years. But, +in her old age, her views changed; her devotions increased +with her retirement; and her retirement was at last complete. +She died, in an obscure Kensington boarding-house, +on August 1, 1821. She was buried in Kensington churchyard. +But, if her ghost lingers anywhere, it is not in Kensington: +it is in the heart of the London that she had always +loved. Yet, even there, how much now would she find to +recognize? Mrs. Inchbald’s world has passed away from us +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.</p> + +<p>G. L. STRACHEY.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The following account is based upon the <i>Memoirs of Mrs. Inchbald, +including her familiar correspondence with the most distinguished +persons of her time</i>, edited by James Boaden, Esq.—a discursive, vague, +and not unamusing book.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A<br /> +SIMPLE STORY,</h2> + +<h3>IN FOUR VOLUMES,</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>MRS. INCHBALD.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>VOL. I.</h2> + +<h4><i>THE FOURTH EDITION.</i></h4> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> +Printed for G. G. and J. ROBINSON,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paternoster Row.</span><br /> +1799. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p>It is said, <i>a book should be read with the same spirit with +which it has been written</i>. In that case, fatal must be the +reception of this—for the 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.</p> + +<p>It has been the destiny of the writer of this Story to be +occupied throughout her life, in what has the least suited +either her inclination or capacity—with an invincible impediment +in her speech, it was her lot for thirteen years to +gain a subsistence by public speaking—and, with the utmost +detestation to the fatigue of inventing, a constitution suffering +under a sedentary life, and an education confined to the +narrow boundaries prescribed her sex, it has been her fate +to devote a tedious seven years to the unremitting labour of +literary productions—whilst a taste for authors of the first +rank has been an additional punishment, forbidding her +one moment of those self-approving reflections, which are +assuredly due to the industrious. But, alas! in the exercise +of the arts, industry scarce bears the name of merit. What +then is to be substituted in the place of genius? GOOD +FORTUNE. And if these volumes should be attended by +the good fortune that has accompanied her other writings, +to that divinity, and that alone, she shall attribute their +success.</p> + +<p>Yet, there is a <i>first cause</i> still, to whom I cannot here +forbear to mention my obligations.</p> + +<p>The Muses, I trust, will pardon me, that to them I do not +feel myself obliged—for, in justice to their heavenly inspirations, +I believe they have never yet favoured me with one +visitation; but sent in their disguise NECESSITY, who, +being the mother of Invention, gave me all mine—while +FORTUNE kindly smiled, and was accessory to the cheat.</p> + +<p>But this important secret I long wished, and endeavoured +to conceal; yet one unlucky moment candidly, though +unwittingly, divulged it—I frankly owned, “That Fortune +having chased away Necessity, there remained no other +incitement to stimulate me to a labour I abhorred.” It +happened to be in the power of the person to whom I confided +this secret, to send NECESSITY once more. Once more, +then, bowing to its empire, I submit to the task it enjoins.</p> + +<p>This case has something similar to a theatrical anecdote +told (I think) by Colly Cibber:</p> + +<p>“A performer of a very mean salary, played the Apothecary +in Romeo and Juliet so exactly to the satisfaction of the +audience, that this little part, independent of the other +characters, drew immense houses whenever the play was +performed. The manager in consequence, thought it but +justice to advance the actor’s salary; on which the poor +man (who, like the character he represented, had been half +starved before) began to live so comfortably, he became too +plump for the part; and being of no importance in any +thing else, the manager of course now wholly discharged +him—and thus, actually reducing him to the want of a piece +of bread, in a short time he became a proper figure for the +part again.”</p> + +<p>Welcome, then, thou all-powerful principle, NECESSITY! +THOU, who art the instigator of so many bad authors and +actors—THOU, who from my infancy seldom hast forsaken +me, still abide with me. I will not complain of any hardship +thy commands require, so thou dost not urge my pen to +prostitution. In all thy rigour, oh! do not force my toil to +libels—or what is equally pernicious—panegyric on the unworthy!</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A SIMPLE STORY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_I" id="I_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p>Dorriforth, bred at St. Omer’s in all the scholastic +rigour of that college, was, by education, and the solemn +vows of his order, a Roman Catholic priest—but nicely discriminating +between the philosophical and the superstitious +part of that character, and adopting the former only, he +possessed qualities not unworthy the first professors of +Christianity. Every virtue which it was his vocation to +preach, it was his 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 might have in reforming mankind. +He refused to shelter himself from the temptations +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 his own prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance.</p> + +<p>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 youth contracted a most sincere +friendship, died, and left him the sole guardian of his daughter, +who was then eighteen.</p> + +<p>The deceased Mr. Milner, on his approaching dissolution, +perfectly sensible of his state, thus reasoned with himself +before he made the nomination:—“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 heart of +Dorriforth. After knowing his, I never sought acquaintance +with another—I did not wish to lessen the exalted estimation +of human nature which he had inspired. In this moment of +trembling apprehension for every thought which darts across +my mind, and more for every action which I must soon be +called to answer for; all worldly views here thrown aside, +I act as if that tribunal, before which I every moment expect +to appear, were now sitting in judgment upon my purpose. +The care of an only child is the great charge that in this +tremendous crisis I have to execute. These earthly affections +that bind me to her by custom, sympathy, or what I fondly +call parental love, would direct me to study her present +happiness, and leave her to the care of those whom she thinks +her dearest friends; but they are friends only in the sunshine +of fortune; in the cold nipping frost of disappointment, +sickness, or connubial strife, they will forsake the house of +care, although the very house which they may have themselves +built.”</p> + +<p>Here the excruciating anguish of the father, overcame +that of the dying man.</p> + +<p>“In the moment of desertion,” continued he, “which I +now picture to myself, where will my child find comfort? +That heavenly aid which religion gives, and which now, +amidst these agonizing tortures, cheers with humbler hope +my afflicted soul; that, she will be denied.”</p> + +<p>It is in this place proper to remark, that Mr. Milner was +a member of the church of Rome, but on his marriage with +a lady of Protestant tenets, they mutually agreed their sons +should be educated in the religious opinion of their father, +and their daughters in that of their mother. One child only +was the result of their union, the child whose future welfare +now occupied the anxious thoughts of her expiring father. +From him the care of her education had been with-held, as +he kept inviolate his promise to her departed mother on the +article of religion, and therefore consigned his daughter to +a boarding-school for Protestants, whence she returned with +merely such ideas of religion as ladies of fashion at her age +mostly imbibe. Her little heart employed in all the endless +pursuits of personal accomplishments, had left her mind +without one ornament, except such as nature gave; and +even they were not wholly preserved from the ravages made +by its rival, <i>Art</i>.</p> + +<p>While her father was in health he beheld, with extreme +delight, his accomplished daughter, without one fault which +taste or elegance could have imputed to her; nor ever +enquired what might be her other failings. But, cast on +a bed of sickness, and upon the point of leaving her to her +fate, those failings at once rushed on his thought—and all the +pride, the fond enjoyment he had taken in beholding her +open the ball, or delight her hearers with her wit, escaped +his remembrance; or, not escaping it, were lamented with +a sigh of compassion, or a contemptuous frown, at such +frivolous qualifications.</p> + +<p>“Something essential,” said he to himself, “must be considered—something +to prepare her for an hour like this. +Can I then leave her to the charge of those who themselves +never remember such an hour will come? Dorriforth is the +only person I know, who, uniting the moral virtues to those +of religion, and pious faith to native honour, will protect, +without controlling, instruct, without tyrannizing, comfort, +without flattering; and, perhaps in time, make good by +choice, rather than by constraint, the dear object of his dying +friend’s sole care.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth, who came post from London to visit Mr. +Milner in his illness, received a few moments before his +death all his injunctions, and promised to fulfil them. But, +in this last token of his friend’s esteem, he still was restrained +from all authority to direct his ward in one religious opinion, +contrary to those her mother had professed, and in which she +herself had been educated.</p> + +<p>“Never perplex her mind with an idea that may disturb, +but cannot reform”—were his latest words; and Dorriforth’s +reply gave him entire satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner was not with her father at this affecting period—some +delicately nervous friend, with whom she was on +a visit at Bath, thought proper to conceal from her not only +the danger of his death, but even his indisposition, lest it +might alarm a mind she thought too susceptible. This +refined tenderness gave poor Miss Milner the almost insupportable +agony of hearing that her father was no more, even +before she was told he was not in health. In the bitterest +anguish she flew to pay her last duty to his remains, and +performed it with the truest filial love, while Dorriforth, +upon important business, was obliged to return to town.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_II" id="I_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>Dorriforth returned to London heavily afflicted for the +loss of his friend; and yet, perhaps, with his thoughts more +engaged upon the trust which that friend had reposed in +him. He knew the life Miss Milner had been accustomed +to lead; he dreaded the repulses his admonitions might +possibly meet; and feared he had undertaken a task he was +too weak to execute—the protection of a young woman of +fashion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dorriforth was nearly related to one of our first +Catholic Peers; his income was by no means confined, but +approaching to affluence; yet such was his attention to those +in poverty, and the moderation of his own desires, that he +lived in all the careful plainness of œconomy. His habitation +was in the house of a Mrs. Horton, an elderly gentlewoman, +who had a maiden niece residing with her, not many years +younger than herself. But although Miss Woodley was +thirty-five, and in person exceedingly plain, yet she possessed +such an extreme cheerfulness of temper, and such an inexhaustible +fund of good nature, that she escaped not only +the ridicule, but even the appellation of an old maid.</p> + +<p>In this house Dorriforth had lived before the death of +Mr. Horton; nor upon that event had he thought it necessary, +notwithstanding his religious vow of celibacy, to fly the +roof of two such innocent females as Mrs. Horton and her +niece. On their part, they regarded him with all that +respect and reverence which the most religious flock shews +to its pastor; and his friendly society they not only esteemed +a spiritual, but a temporal advantage, as the liberal stipend +he allowed for his apartments and board, enabled them to +continue in the large and commodious house which they had +occupied during the life of Mr. Horton.</p> + +<p>Here, upon Mr. Dorriforth’s return from his journey, +preparations were made for the reception of his ward; her +father having made it his request that she might, for a time +at least, reside in the same house with her guardian, receive +the same visits, and cultivate the acquaintance of his companions +and friends.</p> + +<p>When the will of her father was made known to Miss +Milner, she submitted, without the least reluctance, to all +he had required. Her mind, at that time impressed with the +most poignant sorrow for his loss, made no distinction of +happiness that was to come; and the day was appointed, +with her silent acquiescence, when she was to arrive in London, +and there take up her abode, with all the retinue of a rich +heiress.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton was delighted with the addition this acquisition +to her family was likely to make to her annual income, +and style of living. The good-natured Miss Woodley was +overjoyed at the expectation of their new guest, yet she herself +could not tell why—but the reason was, that her kind +heart wanted a more ample field for its benevolence; and +now her thoughts were all pleasingly employed how she +should render, not only the lady herself, but even all her +attendants, happy in their new situation.</p> + +<p>The reflections of Dorriforth were less agreeably engaged—Cares, +doubts, fears, possessed his mind—and so forcibly +possessed it, that upon every occasion which offered, he would +inquisitively endeavour to gain intelligence of his ward’s +disposition before he saw her; for he was, as yet, a stranger +not only to the real propensities of her mind, but even to +her person; a constant round of visits having prevented his +meeting her at her father’s, the very few times he had been +at his house, since her final return from school. The first +person whose opinion he, with all proper reserve, asked concerning +Miss Milner, was Lady Evans, the widow of a Baronet, +who frequently visited at Mrs. Horton’s.</p> + +<p>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. His figure was tall and elegant, but +his face, except a pair of dark bright eyes, a set of white +teeth, and a graceful fall in his clerical curls of brown hair, +had not one feature to excite admiration—yet such a gleam +of sensibility was diffused over each, that many people mistook +his face for handsome, and all were more or less attracted +by it—in a word, the charm, that is here meant to be described, +is a <i>countenance</i>—on <i>his</i> you read the feelings of his +heart—saw all its inmost workings—the quick pulses that beat +with hope and fear, or the gentle ones that moved in a more +equal course of patience and resignation. On this countenance +his thoughts were pourtrayed; and as his mind was +enriched with every virtue that could make it valuable, so +was his face adorned with every expression of those virtues—and +they not only gave a lustre to his aspect, but added +a harmonious sound to all he uttered; it was persuasive, it +was perfect eloquence; whilst in his looks you beheld his +thoughts moving with his lips, and ever coinciding with what +he said.</p> + +<p>With one of those interesting looks which revealed the +anxiety of his heart, and yet with that graceful restraint of +all gesticulation, for which he was remarkable, even in his +most anxious concerns, he addressed Lady Evans, who had +called on Mrs. Horton to hear and to request the news of +the day: “Your Ladyship was at Bath last spring—you +know the young lady to whom I have the honour of being +appointed guardian. Pray,”—</p> + +<p>He was earnestly intent upon asking a question, but was +prevented by the person interrogated.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mr. Dorriforth, do not ask me any thing about +Miss Milner—when I saw her she was very young: though +indeed that is but three months ago, and she can’t be much +older now.”</p> + +<p>“She is eighteen,” answered Dorriforth, colouring with +regret at the doubts which this lady had increased, but not +inspired.</p> + +<p>“And she is very beautiful, that I can assure you,” said +Lady Evans.</p> + +<p>“Which I call no qualification,” said Dorriforth, rising +from his chair in evident uneasiness.</p> + +<p>“But where there is nothing else, let me tell you, beauty +is something.”</p> + +<p>“Much worse than nothing, in my opinion,” returned +Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“But now, Mr. Dorriforth, do not from what I have said, +frighten yourself, and imagine your ward worse than she +really is—all I know of her, is merely, that she’s young, idle, +indiscreet, and giddy, with half a dozen lovers in her suite; +some coxcombs, others men of gallantry, some single, and +others married.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth started. “For the first time of my life,” cried +he with a manly sorrow, “I wish I had never known her +father.”</p> + +<p>“Nay,” said Mrs. Horton, who expected every thing to +happen just as she wished, (for neither an excellent education, +the best company, or long experience had been able to +cultivate or brighten this good lady’s understanding,) “Nay,” +said she, “I am sure, Mr. Dorriforth, you will soon convert +her from all her evil ways.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” returned Lady Evans, “I am sure I never +meant to hint at any thing evil—and for what I have said, +I will give you up my authors if you please; for they were +not observations of my own; all I do is to mention them +again.”</p> + +<p>The good-natured Miss Woodley, who sat working at the +window, an humble, but an attentive listener to this discourse, +ventured here to say exactly six words: “Then +don’t mention them any more.”</p> + +<p>“Let us change the subject,” said Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“With all my heart,” cried Lady Evans; “and I am sure +it will be to the young lady’s advantage.”</p> + +<p>“Is Miss Milner tall or short?” asked Mrs. Horton, still +wishing for farther information.</p> + +<p>“Oh, tall enough of all conscience,” returned she; “I tell +you again that no fault can be found with her person.”</p> + +<p>“But if her mind is defective”—exclaimed Dorriforth, +with a sigh——</p> + +<p>“That may be improved as well as the person,” cried +Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“No, my dear,” returned Lady Evans, “I never heard +of a pad to make straight an ill-shapen disposition.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” answered Miss Woodley, “good company, +good books, experience, and the misfortunes of others, may +have more power to form the mind to virtue, than”——</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was not permitted to proceed, for Lady +Evans rising hastily from her seat, cried, “I must be gone—I +have an hundred people waiting for me at home—besides, +were I inclined to hear a sermon, I should desire Mr. Dorriforth +to preach, and not you.”</p> + +<p>Just then Mrs. Hillgrave was announced. “And here is +Mrs. Hillgrave,” continued she—“I believe, Mrs. Hillgrave, +you know Miss Milner, don’t you? The young lady who has +lately lost her father.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hillgrave was the wife of a merchant who had met +with severe losses: as soon as the name of Miss Milner was +uttered, she lifted up her hands, and the tears started in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“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 and took her leave.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Hillgrave had been seated a few minutes, +Mrs. Horton, who loved information equally with the most +inquisitive of her sex, asked the new visitor—“If she might +be permitted to know, why, at the mention of Miss Milner, +she had seemed so much affected?”</p> + +<p>This question exciting the fears of Dorriforth, he turned +anxiously round, attentive to the reply.</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner,” answered she, “has been my benefactress +and the best I ever had.” As she spoke, she took out her +handkerchief and wiped away the tears that ran down +her face.</p> + +<p>“How so?” cried Dorriforth eagerly, with his own eyes +moistened with joy, nearly as much as her’s were with +gratitude.</p> + +<p>“My husband, at the commencement of his distresses,” +replied Mrs. Hillgrave, “owed a sum of money to her father, +and from repeated provocations, Mr. Milner was determined +to seize upon all our effects—his daughter, however, by her +intercessions, procured us time, in order to discharge the +debt; and when she found <i>that</i> time was insufficient, and +her father no longer to be dissuaded from his intention, she +secretly sold some of her most valuable ornaments to satisfy +his demand, and screen us from its consequences.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth, pleased at this recital, took Mrs. Hillgrave by +the hand, and told her, “she should never want a friend.”</p> + +<p>“Is Miss Milner tall, or short?” again asked Mrs. Horton, +fearing, from the sudden pause which had ensued, the subject +should be dropped.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Hillgrave.</p> + +<p>“Is she handsome, or ugly?”</p> + +<p>“I really can’t tell.”</p> + +<p>“It is very strange you should not take notice!”</p> + +<p>“I did take notice, but I cannot depend upon my own +judgment—to me she appeared beautiful as an angel; but +perhaps I was deceived by the beauties of her disposition.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_III" id="I_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p>This gentlewoman’s visit inspired Mr. Dorriforth with +some confidence in the principles and character of his ward. +The day arrived on which she was 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 to meet +her, and waited at an inn on the road for her reception.</p> + +<p>After many a sigh paid to the memory of her father, Miss +Milner, upon the tenth of November, arrived at the place, +half-way on her journey to town, where Dorriforth and +Miss Woodley were expecting her. Besides attendants, she +had with her a gentleman and lady, distant relations of her +mother’s, who thought it but a proper testimony of their +civility to attend her part of the way, but who so much +envied her guardian the trust Mr. Milner had reposed in him, +that as soon as they had delivered her safe into his care, +they returned.</p> + +<p>When the carriage, which brought Miss Milner, stopped at +the inn gate, and her name was announced to Dorriforth, he +turned pale—something like a foreboding of disaster trembled +at his heart, and consequently spread a gloom over all his +face. Miss Woodley was even obliged to rouse him from the +dejection into which he was cast, or he would have sunk +beneath it: she was obliged also to be the first to welcome +his lovely charge.—Lovely beyond description.</p> + +<p>But the natural vivacity, the gaiety which report had given +to Miss Milner, were softened by her recent sorrow to a meek +sadness—and that haughty display of charms, imputed to her +manners, was changed to a pensive demeanor. The instant +Dorriforth was introduced to her by Miss Woodley as her +“Guardian, and her deceased father’s most beloved friend,” +she burst into tears, knelt down to him for a moment, and +promised ever to obey him as her father. He had his handkerchief +to his face at the time, or she would have beheld +the agitation—the remotest sensations of his heart.</p> + +<p>This affecting introduction being over, after some minutes +passed in general conversation, the carriages were again +ordered; and, bidding farewell to the relations who had +accompanied her, Miss Milner, her guardian, and Miss +Woodley departed for town; the two ladies in Miss Milner’s +carriage, and Dorriforth in that in which he came.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, as they rode along, made no attempts to +ingratiate herself with Miss Milner; though, perhaps, such +an honour might constitute one of her first wishes—she +behaved to her but as she constantly behaved to every other +human creature—that, was sufficient to gain the esteem of a +person possessed of an understanding equal to Miss Milner’s—she +had penetration to discover Miss Woodley’s unaffected +worth, and was soon induced to reward it with the warmest +friendship.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_IV" id="I_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p>After a night’s rest in London, less violently impressed +with the loss of her father, reconciled, if not already attached +to her new acquaintance, her thoughts pleasingly occupied +with the reflection that she was in that gay metropolis—a +wild and rapturous picture of which her active fancy had +often formed—Miss Milner waked from a peaceful and +refreshing sleep, with much of that vivacity, and with all +those airy charms, which for a while had yielded their transcendent +power to the weaker influence of her filial sorrow.</p> + +<p>Beautiful as she had appeared to Miss Woodley and to +Dorriforth on the preceding day, when she joined them this +morning at breakfast, re-possessed of her lively elegance and +dignified simplicity, they gazed at 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 a menial +servant: such command has beauty if united with sense and +virtue. In Miss Milner it was so united. Yet let not our +over-scrupulous readers be misled, and extend their idea of +her virtue so as to magnify it beyond that which frail mortals +commonly possess; nor must they cavil, if, on a nearer view, +they find it less—but let them consider, that if she had more +faults than generally belong to others, she had likewise more +temptations.</p> + +<p>From her infancy she had been indulged in all her wishes +to the extreme of folly, and started habitually at the unpleasant +voice of control. She was beautiful; she had been +too frequently told the high value of that beauty, and thought +every moment passed in wasteful idleness during which she +was not gaining some new conquest. She had a quick sensibility, +which too frequently discovered itself in the immediate +resentment of injuries or neglect. She had, besides, acquired +the dangerous character of a wit; but to which she had no +real pretensions, although the most discerning critic, hearing +her converse, might fall into this mistake. Her replies had +all the effect of repartee, not because she possessed those +qualities which can properly be called wit, but that what +she said was delivered with an energy, an instantaneous and +powerful conception of the sentiment, joined with a real or +a well-counterfeited simplicity, a quick turn of the eye, and +an arch smile. Her words were but the words of others, and, +like those of others, put into common sentences; but the +delivery made them pass for wit, as grace in an ill-proportioned +figure will often make it pass for symmetry.</p> + +<p>And now—leaving description—the reader must form a +judgment of her by her actions; by all the round of great +or trivial circumstances that shall be related.</p> + +<p>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 part of Dorriforth, good on the +part of Miss Woodley, and an endeavour at all three on the +part of Mrs. Horton. The discourse at length drew from +Mr. Dorriforth this observation:</p> + +<p>“You have a greater resemblance of your father, Miss +Milner, than I imagined you had from report: I did not +expect to find you so like him.”</p> + +<p>“Nor did I, Mr. Dorriforth, expect to find you any thing +like what you are.”</p> + +<p>“No?—pray what did you expect to find me?”</p> + +<p>“I expected to find you an elderly man, and a plain man.”</p> + +<p>This was spoken in an artless manner, but in a tone which +obviously declared she thought her guardian young and +handsome. He replied, but not without some little embarrassment, +“A plain man you shall find me in all my actions.”</p> + +<p>“Then your actions are to contradict your appearance.”</p> + +<p>For in what she said, Miss Milner had the quality peculiar +to wits, of hazarding the thought that first occurs, which +thought, is generally truth. On this, he paid her a compliment +in return.</p> + +<p>“You, Miss Milner, I should suppose, must be a very bad +judge of what is plain, and what is not.”</p> + +<p>“How so?”</p> + +<p>“Because I am sure you will readily own you do not think +yourself handsome; and allowing that, you instantly want +judgment.”</p> + +<p>“And I would rather want judgment than beauty,” she +replied, “and so I give up the one for the other.”</p> + +<p>With a serious face, as if proposing a very serious question, +Dorriforth continued, “And you really believe you are not +handsome?”</p> + +<p>“I should, if I consulted my own opinion, believe that +I was not; but in some respects I am like Roman Catholics; +I don’t believe upon my own understanding, but from what +other people tell me.”</p> + +<p>“And let this convince you,” replied Dorriforth, “that +what we teach is truth; for you find you would be deceived +did you not trust to persons who know better than yourself. +But, my dear Miss Milner, we will talk upon 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 never +extend itself to any other. Therefore, let not religion be +named between us; for as I have resolved never to persecute +you, in pity be grateful, and do not persecute me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner looked with surprise that any thing so lightly +said, should be so seriously received. The kind Miss Woodley +ejaculated a short prayer to herself, that heaven would forgive +her young friend the involuntary sin of religious ignorance—while +Mrs. Horton, unperceived, as she imagined, made the +sign of the cross upon her forehead as a guard against the +infectious taint of heretical opinions. This pious ceremony +Miss Milner by chance observed, and now shewed such an +evident propensity to burst into a fit of laughter, that the +good lady of the house could no longer contain her resentment, +but exclaimed, “God forgive you,” with a severity +so different from the idea which the words conveyed, that +the object of her anger was, on this, obliged freely to indulge +that impulse which she had in vain been struggling to suppress; +and no longer suffering under the agony of restraint, +she gave way to her humour, and laughed with a liberty so +uncontrolled, that soon left her in the room with none but the +tender-hearted Miss Woodley a witness of her folly.</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Woodley,” (then cried Miss Milner, after +recovering herself) “I am afraid you will not forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed I will not,” returned Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>But how unimportant, how weak, how ineffectual are +<i>words</i> in conversation—looks and manners alone express—for +Miss Woodley, with her charitable face and mild accents, +saying she would not forgive, implied only forgiveness—while +Mrs. Horton, with her enraged voice and aspect, begging +heaven to pardon the offender, palpably said, she thought +her unworthy of all pardon.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_V" id="I_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p>Six weeks have now elapsed since Miss Milner has been in +London partaking with delight all its pleasures, while Dorriforth +has been sighing with apprehension, attending to her with +precaution, and praying with zealous fervour for her +safety. Her own and her guardian’s acquaintance, and, +added to them, the new friendships (to use the unmeaning +language of the world) which she was continually forming, +crowded so perpetually to the house, that seldom had +Dorriforth even a moment left him from her visits or visitors, +to warn her of her danger:—yet when a moment offered, he +caught it eagerly—pressed the necessity of “Time not always +passed in society; of reflection; of reading; of thoughts +for a future state; and of virtues acquired to make old age +supportable.” That forcible power of genuine feeling, which +directs the tongue to eloquence, had its effect while she +listened to him, and she sometimes put on the looks and +gesture of assent—sometimes even spoke the language of +conviction; but this the first call of dissipation would +change to ill-timed raillery, or peevish remonstrance, at being +limited in delights her birth and fortune entitled her to +enjoy.</p> + +<p>Among the many visitors who attended at her levees, and +followed her wherever she went, there was one who seemed, +even when absent from her, to share her thoughts. This +was Lord Frederick Lawnly, the younger son of a Duke, and +the avowed favourite of all the most discerning women of +taste.</p> + +<p>He was not more than twenty-three; animated, elegant, +extremely handsome, and possessed of every accomplishment +that would captivate a heart less susceptible of love than +Miss Milner’s was supposed to be. With these allurements, +no wonder if she took pleasure in his company—no wonder +if she took pride in having it known that he was among the +number of her devoted admirers. Dorriforth beheld this +growing intimacy with alternate pain and pleasure—he +wished to see Miss Milner married, to see his charge in the +protection of another, rather than of himself; yet under the +care of a young nobleman, immersed in all the vices of the +town, without one moral excellence, but such as might result +eventually from the influence of the moment—under such +care he trembled for her happiness—yet trembled more lest +her heart should be purloined without even the authority of +matrimonial views.</p> + +<p>With sentiments like these, Dorriforth could never disguise +his uneasiness at the sight of Lord Frederick, nor could the +latter help discerning the suspicion of the guardian, and +consequently each was embarrassed in the presence of the +other. Miss Milner observed, but observed with indifference, +the sensations of both—there was but one passion 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 immoderate +enjoyment of the art of pleasing, for her own individual +happiness, and not for the happiness of others. Still had +she a heart inclined, and oftentimes affected by tendencies +less unworthy; but those approaches to what was estimable, +were in their first impulse too frequently met and intercepted +by some darling folly.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley (who could easily discover a virtue, although +of the most diminutive kind, and scarce through the magnifying +glass of calumny could ever perceive a fault) was Miss +Milner’s inseparable companion at home, and her zealous +advocate with Dorriforth, whenever, during her absence, she +became the subject of discourse. He listened with hope to +the praises of her friend, but saw with despair how little they +were merited. Sometimes he struggled to subdue his anger, +but oftener strove to suppress tears of pity for her hapless +state.</p> + +<p>By this time all her acquaintance had given Lord Frederick +to her as a lover; the servants whispered it, and some of the +public prints had even fixed the day of marriage;—but as no +explanation had taken place on his part, Dorriforth’s uneasiness +was increased, and he seriously told his ward, he +thought it would be indispensably prudent in her to entreat +Lord Frederick to discontinue his visits. She smiled with +ridicule at the caution, but finding it repeated, and in +a manner that indicated authority, 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’s desire; +“Who, from motives of delicacy, had permitted her to +solicit as a favour, what he could himself make a demand.” +Lord Frederick reddened with anger—he loved Miss Milner; +but he doubted whether, from the frequent proofs he had +experienced of his own inconstancy, he should continue to +love—and this interference of her guardian threatened an +explanation or a dismission, before he became thoroughly +acquainted with his own heart.—Alarmed, confounded, and +provoked, he replied,</p> + +<p>“By heaven, I believe Mr. Dorriforth loves you himself, +and it is jealousy that makes him treat me in this +manner.”</p> + +<p>“For shame, my Lord!” cried Miss Woodley, who was +present, and who trembled with horror at the sacrilegious +idea.</p> + +<p>“Nay, shame to him if he is not in love”—answered his +Lordship, “for who but a savage could behold beauty like +her’s without owning its power?”</p> + +<p>“Habit,” replied Miss Milner, “is every thing—Mr. Dorriforth +sees and converses with beauty, but from habit he does +not fall in love; as you, my Lord, from habit, so often do.”</p> + +<p>“Then you believe that love is not in my nature?”</p> + +<p>“No more of it, my Lord, than habit could very soon +extinguish.”</p> + +<p>“But I would not have it extinguished—I would rather +it should mount to a flame, for I think it a crime to be +insensible of the divine blessings love can bestow.”</p> + +<p>“Then you indulge the passion to avoid a sin?—this very +motive deters Mr. Dorriforth from that indulgence.”</p> + +<p>“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 your guardian looks at you, his +wishes”——</p> + +<p>“Are never less pure,” she replied eagerly, “than those +which dwell in the bosom of my <i>celestial</i> guardian.”</p> + +<p>At that instant Dorriforth entered the room. The colour +had mounted into Miss Milner’s face from the warmth with +which she had delivered her opinion, and his accidental +entrance at the very moment this praise had been conferred +upon him in his absence, heightened the blush to a deep glow +on every feature—confusion and earnestness caused even her +lips to tremble and her whole frame to shake.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” cried Dorriforth, looking with +concern on her discomposure.</p> + +<p>“A compliment paid by herself to you, Sir,” replied Lord +Frederick, “has affected your ward in the manner you +have seen.”</p> + +<p>“As if she blushed at the untruth,” said Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“Nay, that is unkind,” cried Miss Woodley; “for if you +had been here”——</p> + +<p>“—I would not have said what I did,” replied Miss +Milner, “but left him to vindicate himself.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible that I can want any vindication? Who +would think it worth their while to slander so unimportant +a person as I am?”</p> + +<p>“The man who has the charge of Miss Milner,” replied +Lord Frederick, “derives a consequence from her.”</p> + +<p>“No ill consequence, I hope, my Lord?” said Dorriforth, +with a firmness in his voice, and with an eye so fixed, that +his antagonist hesitated for a moment in want of a reply—and +Miss Milner softly whispering to him, as her guardian +turned his head, to avoid an argument, he bowed acquiescence. +And then, as if in compliment to her, he changed the subject;—with +an air of ridicule he cried,</p> + +<p>“I wish, Mr. Dorriforth, you would give me absolution of +all my sins, for I confess they are many, and manifold.”</p> + +<p>“Hold, my Lord,” exclaimed Dorriforth, “do not confess +before the ladies, lest, in order to excite their compassion, +you should be tempted to accuse yourself of sins you have +never yet committed.”</p> + +<p>At this Miss Milner laughed, seemingly so well pleased, that +Lord Frederick, with a sarcastic sneer, repeated,</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“From Abelard it came,<br /> +And Eloisa still must love the name.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Whether from an inattention to the quotation, or from a consciousness it was +wholly inapplicable, Dorriforth heard it without one emotion of shame or of +anger—while Miss Milner seemed shocked at the implication; her pleasantry +was immediately suppressed, and she threw open the sash and held her head out +at the window, to conceal the embarrassment these lines had occasioned. +</p> + +<p>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 his cousin, Mr. Dorriforth, but +as all ceremonious visits were alike received by Dorriforth, +Miss Milner, and Mrs. Horton’s family, in one common +apartment, Lord Elmwood was ushered into this, and of +course directed the conversation to a different subject.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VI" id="I_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p>With an anxious desire that the affection, or acquaintance, +between Lord Frederick and Miss Milner might be finally +dissolved, her guardian received with infinite satisfaction, +overtures of marriage from Sir Edward Ashton. Sir Edward +was not young or handsome; old or ugly; but immensely +rich, and possessed of qualities that made him worthy of the +happiness to which he aspired. He was the man whom +Dorriforth would have chosen before any other for the +husband of his ward, and his wishes made him sometimes +hope, against his cooler judgment, that Sir Edward would +not be rejected—he was resolved, at all events, to try the +force of his own power in the strongest recommendation +of him.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding that dissimilarity of opinion which, in +almost every instance, subsisted between Miss Milner and +her guardian, there was in general the most punctilious +observance of good manners from each towards the other—on +the part of Dorriforth more especially; for his politeness +would sometimes appear even like the result of a system +which he had marked out for himself, as the only means to +keep his ward restrained within the same limitations. Whenever +he addressed her there was an unusual reserve upon his +countenance, and more than usual gentleness in the tone +of his voice; this appeared the effect of sentiments which her +birth and situation inspired, joined to a studied mode of +respect, best calculated to enforce the same from her. The +wished-for consequence was produced—for though there was +an instinctive rectitude in the understanding of Miss Milner +that would have taught her, without other instruction, what +manners to observe towards her deputed father; yet, from +some volatile thought, or some quick sense of feeling, which +she had not been accustomed to subdue, she was perpetually +on the verge of treating him with levity; but he would +immediately recall her recollection by a reserve too awful, +and a gentleness too sacred for her to violate. The distinction +which both required, was thus, by his skilful management +alone, preserved.</p> + +<p>One morning he took an opportunity, before her and Miss +Woodley, to introduce and press the subject of Sir Edward +Ashton’s hopes. He first spoke warmly in his praise, then +plainly said that he believed she possessed the power of +making so deserving a man happy to the summit of his wishes. +A laugh of ridicule was the only answer; but a sudden frown +from Dorriforth having put an end to it, he resumed his +usual politeness, and said,</p> + +<p>“I wish you would shew a better taste, than thus pointedly +to disapprove of Sir Edward.”</p> + +<p>“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 so bad an example of his, in +approving me?”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth wished not to flatter her by a compliment she +seemed to have sought for, and for a moment hesitated what +answer to make.</p> + +<p>“Reply, Sir, to that question,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Why then, Madam,” returned he, “it is my opinion, +that supposing what your humility has advanced be just, yet +Sir Edward will not suffer by the suggestion; for in cases +where the heart is so immediately concerned, as I believe Sir +Edward’s to be, taste, or rather reason, has no power to act.”</p> + +<p>“You are in the right, Mr. Dorriforth; this is a proper +justification of Sir Edward—and when I fall in love, I beg +that you will make the same excuse for me.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said he earnestly, “before your heart is in that +state which I have described, exert your reason.”</p> + +<p>“I shall,” answered she, “and not consent to marry a man +whom I could never love.”</p> + +<p>“Unless your heart is already given away, Miss Milner, +what can make you speak with such a degree of certainty?”</p> + +<p>He thought on Lord Frederick when he said this, and he +riveted his eyes upon her as if to penetrate her sentiments, +and yet trembled for what he should find there. She +blushed, and her looks would have confirmed her guilty, if +the unembarrassed and free tone of her voice, more than her +words, had not preserved her from that sentence.</p> + +<p>“No,” she replied, “my heart is not given away; and yet +I can venture to declare, Sir Edward will never possess an +atom of it.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, for both your sakes, that these are your +sentiments,” he replied. “But as your heart is still your own,” +(and he seemed rejoiced to find it was) “permit me to warn +you how you part with a thing so precious—the dangers, the +sorrows you hazard in bestowing it, are greater than you +may be aware of. The heart once gone, our thoughts, our +actions, are no more our own, than that is.” He seemed +<i>forcing</i> himself to 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.</p> + +<p>When he left the room, and she heard the door shut after +him, she said, with an inquisitive thoughtfulness, “What can +make good people so skilled in all the weaknesses of the bad? +Mr. Dorriforth, with all those prudent admonitions, appears +rather like a man who has passed his life in the gay world, +experienced all its dangerous allurements, all its repentant +sorrows; than like one who has lived his whole time secluded +in a monastery, or in his own study. Then he speaks with +such exquisite sensibility on the subject of love, that he +commends the very thing which he attempts to depreciate. +I do not think my Lord Frederick would make the passion +appear in more pleasing colours by painting its delights, than +Mr. Dorriforth could in describing its sorrows—and if he talks +to me frequently in this manner, I shall certainly take pity on +Lord Frederick, for the sake of his adversary’s eloquence.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, who heard the conclusion of this speech +with the tenderest concern, cried, “Alas! you then think +seriously of Lord Frederick!”</p> + +<p>“Suppose I do, wherefore that <i>alas!</i> Miss Woodley?”</p> + +<p>“Because I fear you will never be happy with him.”</p> + +<p>“That is plainly telling me he will not be happy with me.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know—I cannot speak of marriage from experience,” +answered Miss Woodley, “but I think I can guess +what it is.”</p> + +<p>“Nor can I speak of love from experience,” replied Miss +Milner, “but I think I can guess what it is.”</p> + +<p>“But do not fall in love, my dear,” (cried Miss Woodley, +with her accustomed simplicity of heart, as if she had been +asking a favour that depended upon the will of the person +entreated,) “pray do not fall in love without the approbation +of your guardian.”</p> + +<p>Her young friend smiled at the inefficacious prayer, but +promised to do all she could to oblige her.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VII" id="I_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p>Sir Edward, not wholly discouraged by the denial with +which Dorriforth had, with delicacy, acquainted him, still +hoped for a kind reception, and was so often at the house of +Mrs. Horton, that Lord Frederick’s jealousy was excited, +and the tortures he suffered in consequence, convinced him, +beyond a doubt, of the sincerity of his affection. Every +time he beheld the object of his passion, (for he still continued +his visits, though not so frequently as heretofore) he +pleaded his cause with such ardour, that Miss Woodley, who +was sometimes present, and ever compassionate, could not +resist wishing him success. He now unequivocally offered +marriage, and entreated that he might lay his proposals +before Mr. Dorriforth, but this was positively forbidden.</p> + +<p>Her reluctance he imputed, however, more to the known +partiality of her guardian for the addresses of Sir Edward, +than to any motive which depended upon herself; and to +Mr. Dorriforth he conceived a greater dislike than ever; +believing that through his interposition, in spite of his ward’s +attachment, he might yet be deprived of her. But Miss +Milner declared both to him and to her friend, that love had, +at present, gained no influence over her mind. Yet did the +watchful Miss Woodley oftentimes hear a sigh escape from +her unknown to herself, till she was reminded of it, and then +a sudden blush would instantly overspread her face. This +seeming struggle with her passion, endeared her more than +ever to Miss Woodley, and she would even risk the displeasure +of Dorriforth by her compliance with every new +pursuit that might amuse the time, which else her friend +passed in heaviness of heart.</p> + +<p>Balls, plays, incessant company, at length roused her +guardian from that mildness with which he had been accustomed +to treat her. Night after night his sleep had been +disturbed by fears for her when abroad; morning after +morning it had been broken by the clamour of her return. +He therefore gravely said to her one forenoon as he met her +accidentally upon the staircase,</p> + +<p>“I hope, Miss Milner, you pass this evening at home?”</p> + +<p>Unprepared for the sudden question, she blushed and +replied, “Yes.”—Though she knew she was engaged to a +brilliant assembly, for which her milliner had been consulted +a whole week.</p> + +<p>She, however, flattered herself that what she had said +might be excused as a mistake, the lapse of memory, or some +other trifling fault, when he should know the truth. The +truth was earlier divulged than she expected—for just as +dinner was removed, her footman delivered a message to her +from her milliner concerning a new dress for the evening—the +<i>present evening</i> particularly marked. Her guardian +looked astonished.</p> + +<p>“I thought, Miss Milner, you gave me your word that +you would pass this evening at home?”</p> + +<p>“I mistook—for I had before given my word that I should +pass it abroad.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” cried he.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed; and I believe it is right that I should keep +my first promise; is it not?”</p> + +<p>“The promise you gave me then, you do not think of any +consequence?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly, if you do.”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“And mean, perhaps, to make it of more consequence than +it deserves, by being offended.”</p> + +<p>“Whether or not, I <i>am</i> offended—you shall find I am.” +And he looked so.</p> + +<p>She caught his piercing eyes—hers were immediately +cast down; and she trembled—either with shame or with +resentment.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton rose from her seat—moved the decanters and +fruit round the table—stirred the fire—and came back to her +seat again, before another word was uttered. Nor had this +good woman’s officious labours taken the least from the awkwardness +of the silence, which, as soon as the bustle she had +made was over, returned in its full force.</p> + +<p>At last, Miss Milner rising with alacrity, was preparing +to go out of the room, when Dorriforth raised his voice, and +in a tone of authority said,</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner, you shall not leave the house this evening.”</p> + +<p>“Sir!” she exclaimed with a kind of doubt of what she had +heard—a surprise, which fixed her hand on the door she had +half opened, but which now she shewed herself irresolute +whether to open wide in defiance, or to shut submissively. +Before she could resolve, he rose from his chair, and said, +with a force and warmth she had never heard him use +before,</p> + +<p>“I command you to stay at home this evening.” And he +walked immediately out of the apartment by another door.</p> + +<p>Her hand fell motionless from that which she held—she +appeared motionless herself—till Mrs. Horton, “Beseeching +her not to be uneasy at the treatment she had received,” +made her tears flow as if her heart was breaking.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley would have said something to comfort her, +but she had caught the infection, and could not utter a word. +It was not from any real cause of grief that she wept; but +there was a magnetic quality in tears, which always attracted +hers.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton secretly enjoyed this scene, though the real +well meaning of her heart, and ease of her conscience, did +not suffer her to think so. She, however, declared she had +“long prognosticated it would come to this;” and she +“only thanked heaven it was no worse.”</p> + +<p>“What could be worse, Madam?” cried Miss Milner; +“am not I disappointed of the ball?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I would go,” answered Miss Milner, with +an eagerness that for a time suppressed her tears, “in contradiction +to his will?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“If you think so, Madam, I see nothing that should +prevent me now.” And she flung out of the room as if she +had resolved to disobey him. This alarmed poor Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“My dear aunt,” she cried to Mrs. Horton, “follow and +prevail upon Miss Milner to give up her design; she means +to be at the ball in opposition to her guardian’s will.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Mrs. Horton, “I’ll not be instrumental in +detering her—if she does it may be for the best; it may give +Mr. Dorriforth a clearer knowledge what means are proper +to convert her from evil.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Madam, she must be preserved from the evil +of disobedience; and as you tempted, you will be the most +likely to dissuade her. But if you will not, I must endeavour.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was leaving the room to perform this good +work, when Mrs. Horton, in imitation of the example given +her by Dorriforth, cried,</p> + +<p>“Niece, I command you not to stir out of this room this +evening.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley obediently sat down—and though her +thoughts and heart were in the chamber of her friend, she +never marked by one impertinent word, or by one line of +her face, the restraint she suffered.</p> + +<p>At the usual hour, Mr. Dorriforth and his ward were +summoned to tea:—he entered with a countenance which +evinced the remains of anger; his eye gave testimony of his +absent thoughts; and though he took up a pamphlet affecting +to read, it was plain to discern that he scarcely knew he held +it in his hand.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton began to make tea with a mind as intent +upon something else as Dorriforth’s—she longed for the event +of this misunderstanding; and though she wished no ill +to Miss Milner, yet with an inclination bent upon seeing +something new—without the fatigue of going out of her +own house—she was not over scrupulous what that novelty +might be. But for fear she should have the imprudence to +speak a word upon the subject which employed her thoughts, +or even to look as if she thought of it at all; she pinched her +lips close together, and cast her eyes on vacancy, lest their +significant regards might expose her to detection. And for +fear any noise should intercept even the sound of what might +happen, she walked across the room more softly than usual, +and more softly touched every thing she was obliged to lay +her hand on.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley thought it her duty to be mute; and now +the gingle of a tea spoon was like a deep-toned bell, all was +so quiet.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton, too, in the self-approving reflection that she +was not in a quarrel or altercation of any kind, felt herself +at this moment remarkably peaceful and charitable. Miss +Woodley did not recollect <i>herself</i> so, but was so in reality—in +her, peace and charity were instinctive virtues, accident +could not increase them.</p> + +<p>The tea had scarce been made, when a servant came with +Miss Milner’s compliments, and she “did not mean to have +any tea.” The pamphlet shook in Dorriforth’s hand while +this message was delivered—he believed her to be dressing +for her evening’s entertainment, and now studied in what +manner he should prevent, or resent her disobedience to his +commands. He coughed—drank his tea—endeavoured to +talk, but found it difficult—sometimes read—and in this +manner near two hours were passed away, when Miss Milner +came into the room.—Not dressed for a ball, but as she +had risen from dinner. Dorriforth read on, and seemed +afraid of looking up, lest he should see what he could not +have pardoned. She drew a chair and sat at the table by +the side of her delighted friend.</p> + +<p>After a few minutes’ pause, and some little embarrassment +on the part of Mrs. Horton, at the disappointment she had +to encounter from this unexpected dutiful conduct, she +asked Miss Milner, “if she would now have any tea?” She +replied, “No, I thank you, Ma’am,” in a voice so languid, +compared with her usual one, that Dorriforth lifted up his +eyes from the book; and seeing her in the same dress that +she had worn all the day, turned them hastily away from her +again—not with a look of triumph, but of confusion.</p> + +<p>Whatever he might have suffered if he had seen her +decorated, and prepared to bid defiance to his commands, +yet even upon that trial, he would not have endured half +the painful sensations he now for a moment felt—he felt +himself to blame.</p> + +<p>He feared that he had treated her with too much severity—he +admired her condescension, accused himself for having +exacted it—he longed to ask her pardon—he did not know +how.</p> + +<p>A cheerful reply from her, to a question of Miss Woodley’s, +embarrassed him still more—he wished that she had been +sullen, he then would have had a temptation, or pretence, +to have been sullen too.</p> + +<p>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 a servant came into the room and asked +Miss Milner at what time she should want 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 the +servant had left the room, thus began:</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner, I give you, I fear, some unkind proofs of +my regard. It is often the ungrateful task of a friend to be +troublesome—sometimes unmannerly. Forgive the duties +of my office, and believe that no one is half so much +concerned if it robs you of any degree of happiness, as I +myself am.”</p> + +<p>What he said, he looked with so much sincerity, that had +she been burning with rage at his late behaviour, she must +have forgiven him, for the regret which he so forcibly +exprest. She was going to reply, but found she could not, +without accompanying her words with tears, therefore, after +the first attempt, she desisted.</p> + +<p>On this he rose from his chair, and going to her, said, +“Once more shew your submission by obeying me a second +time to-day. Keep your appointment, and be assured that +I shall issue my commands with more circumspection for +the future, as I find how strictly they are complied with.”</p> + +<p>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 was charmed to find her +disposition so tractable—prophesied to himself the future +success of his guardianship, and her eternal as well as temporal +happiness from this specimen.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_VIII" id="I_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p>Although Dorriforth was the good man that he has been +described, there were in his nature shades of evil—there was +an obstinacy which he himself, and his friends termed firmness +of mind; but had not religion and some opposite +virtues weighed heavily in the balance, it would frequently +have degenerated into implacable stubbornness.</p> + +<p>The child of a sister once beloved, who married a young +officer against her brother’s consent, was at the age of three +years left an orphan, destitute of all support but from his +uncle’s generosity: but though Dorriforth maintained, he +would never see him. Miss Milner, whose heart was a receptacle +for the unfortunate, no sooner was told the melancholy +history of Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, the parents of the child, +than she longed 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 a few miles from town; +and his extreme beauty and engaging manners, wanted not +the sorrows to which he had been born, to give him farther +recommendation to the kindness of her, who had come to +visit him. She looked at him with admiration and pity, and +having endeared herself to him by the most affectionate +words and caresses, on her bidding him farewell, he cried +most pitiously to go along with her. Unused at any time +to resist temptations, whether to reprehensible, or to laudable +actions, she yielded to his supplications, and having overcome +a few scruples of Miss Woodley’s, determined to take young +Rushbrook to town, and present him to his uncle. This +idea was no sooner formed than executed. By making +a present to the nurse, she readily gained her consent to +part with him for a day or two, and the signs of joy denoted +by the child on being put into the carriage, repaid her beforehand +for every reproof she might receive from her guardian, +for the liberty she had taken.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” said she to Miss Woodley, who had still her +fears, “do you not wish his uncle should have a warmer +interest in his care than duty?—it is duty alone which induces +Mr. Dorriforth to provide for him; but it is proper that +affection should have some share in his benevolence—and +how, hereafter, will he be so fit an object of the love which +compassion excites, as he is at present?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley acquiesced. But before they arrived at +their own door it came into Miss Milner’s remembrance, +that there was a grave sternness in the manners of her guardian +when provoked, the recollection of which made her a little +apprehensive for what she had done—her friend, who knew +him better than she did, was more so. They both became +silent as they approached the street where they lived—for +Miss Woodley having once represented her fears, and having +suppressed them in resignation to Miss Milner’s better judgment, +would not repeat them—and Miss Milner would not +confess they were now troubling her.</p> + +<p>Just, however, as the coach stopped at the door, she had +the forecast and the humility to say, “We will not tell +Mr. Dorriforth the child is his nephew, unless he should +appear fond, and pleased with him, and then I think we +may venture without any danger.”</p> + +<p>This was agreed; and when Dorriforth entered the room +just before dinner, poor Harry Rushbrook was introduced +as the son of a lady who frequently visited there. The +deception passed—his uncle shook hands with him, and at +length highly pleased with his engaging manner, and applicable +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.”</p> + +<p>“Harry Rushbrook,” replied he, with force and clearness +of voice.</p> + +<p>Dorriforth was holding him fondly round the waist as he +stood with his feet upon his knees; and at this reply he did +not <i>throw</i> him from him—but he removed his hands, which +had supported him, so suddenly, that the child, to prevent +falling on the floor, threw himself about his uncle’s neck. +Miss Milner and Miss Woodley turned aside to conceal their +tears. “I had like to have been down,” cried Harry, fearing +no other danger. But his uncle took hold of each hand +which had twined around him, and placed him immediately +on the ground. The dinner being that instant served, he +gave no greater marks of his resentment than calling for his +hat, and walking instantly out of the house.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner cried for anger; yet she did not shew less +kindness to the object of this vexatious circumstance: she +held him in her arms while she sat at table, and repeatedly +said to him, (though he had not the sense to thank her) +“That she would always be his friend.”</p> + +<p>The first emotions of resentment against Dorriforth being +passed, she returned with her little charge to the farm house, +before it was likely his uncle should come back; another +instance of obedience, which Miss Woodley was impatient +her guardian should know; she therefore enquired where +he was, and sent him a note for the sole purpose of acquainting +him with it, offering at the same time an apology for what +had happened. He returned in the evening seemingly +reconciled, nor was a word mentioned of the incident which +had occurred in the former part of the day; yet in his +countenance remained a perfect remembrance of it, without +one trait of compassion for his helpless nephew.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_IX" id="I_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p>There are few things so mortifying to a proud spirit as to +suffer by immediate comparison—men can hardly bear it, but +to women the punishment is intolerable; and Miss Milner +now laboured under this humiliation to a degree which +gave her no small inquietude.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenton, young, of exquisite beauty, elegant manners, +gentle disposition, and discreet conduct, was introduced to +Miss Milner’s acquaintance by her guardian, and frequently, +sometimes inadvertently, held up by him as a pattern for her +to follow—for when he did not say this in direct terms, it +was insinuated by the warmth of his panegyric on those +virtues in which Miss Fenton excelled, and in which his ward +was obviously deficient. Conscious of her own inferiority +in these subjects of her guardian’s praise, Miss Milner, +instead of being inspired to emulation, was provoked to +envy.</p> + +<p>Not to admire Miss Fenton was impossible—to find one +fault with her person or sentiments was equally impossible—and +yet to love her was unlikely.</p> + +<p>That serenity of mind which kept her features in a continual +placid form, though enchanting at the first glance, +upon a second or third, fatigued the sight for want of variety; +and to have seen her distorted with rage, convulsed with +mirth, or in deep dejection, had been to her advantage. But +her superior soul appeared above those emotions, and there +was more inducement to worship her as a saint than to love +her as a woman. Yet Dorriforth, whose heart was not +formed (at least not educated) for love, regarding her in the +light of friendship only, beheld her as the most perfect model +for her sex. Lord Frederick on first seeing her was struck +with her beauty, and Miss Milner apprehended she had +introduced a rival; but he had not seen her three times, +before he called her “The most insufferable of Heaven’s +creatures,” and vowed there was more charming variation +in the plain features of Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner had a heart affectionate to her own sex, even +where she saw them in possession of superior charms; but +whether from the spirit of contradiction, from feeling herself +more than ordinarily offended by her guardian’s praise of +this lady, or that there was a reserve in Miss Fenton that did +not accord with her own frank and ingenuous disposition, so +as to engage her esteem, certain it is that she took infinite +satisfaction in hearing her beauty and virtues depreciated +or turned into ridicule, particularly if Mr. Dorriforth was +present. This was painful to him upon many accounts; +perhaps an anxiety for his ward’s conduct was not among the +least; and whenever the circumstance occurred, he could +with difficulty restrain his anger. Miss Fenton was not only +a person whose amiable qualities he admired, but she was +soon to be allied to him by her marriage with his nearest +relation, Lord Elmwood, a young nobleman whom he +sincerely loved.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood had discovered all that beauty in Miss +Fenton which every common observer could not but see. +The charms of her mind and of her fortune had been pointed +out by his tutor; and the utility of the marriage, in perfect +submission to his precepts, he never permitted himself to +question.</p> + +<p>This preceptor held with a magisterial power the government +of his pupil’s passions; nay, governed them so entirely, +that no one could perceive (nor did the young Lord himself +know) that he had any.</p> + +<p>This rigid monitor and friend was a Mr. Sandford, bred +a Jesuit in the same college at which Dorriforth had since +been educated, but before his time the order was compelled +to take another name. Sandford had been the tutor of +Dorriforth as well as of his cousin, Lord Elmwood, and by +this double tie seemed now entailed upon the family. As +a Jesuit, he was consequently a man of learning; possessed +of steadiness to accomplish the end of any design once +meditated, and of sagacity to direct the conduct of men +more powerful, but less ingenious, than himself. The +young Earl, accustomed in his infancy to fear him as his +master, in his youthful manhood received every new indulgence +with gratitude, and at length loved him as a +father—nor had Dorriforth as yet shaken off similar sensations.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sandford perfectly knew how to influence the sentiments +and sensations of all human kind, but yet he had the +forbearance not to “draw all hearts towards him.” There +were some whose hatred he thought not unworthy of his +pious labours; and in that pursuit he was more rapid in his +success than even in procuring esteem. It was an enterprise +in which he succeeded with Miss Milner even beyond his +most sanguine wish.</p> + +<p>She had been educated at an English boarding school, and +had no idea of the superior and subordinate state of characters +in a foreign seminary—besides, as a woman, she was privileged +to say any thing she pleased; and as a beautiful woman, +she had a right to expect that whatever she pleased to say, +should be admired.</p> + +<p>Sandford knew the hearts of women, as well as those of +men, though he had passed little of his time in their society—he +saw Miss Milner’s heart at the first view of her person; +and beholding in that little circumference a weight of folly +that he wished to eradicate, he began to toil in the vineyard, +eagerly courting her detestation of him, in the hope he could +also make her abominate herself. In the mortifications of +slight he was expert; and being a man of talents, whom all +companies, especially her friends, respected, he did not begin +by wasting that reverence so highly valued upon ineffectual +remonstrances, of which he could foresee the reception, but +wakened her attention by his neglect of her. He spoke of +her in her presence as of an indifferent person, sometimes +forgetting even to name her when the subject required it; +then would ask her pardon, and say that he “Really did not +recollect her,” with such seeming sorrow for his fault, that +she could not think the offence intended, and of course felt +the affront more acutely.</p> + +<p>While, with every other person she was the principle, the +cause upon whom a whole party depended for conversation, +cards, musick, or dancing, with Mr. Sandford she found that +she was of no importance. Sometimes she tried to consider +this disregard of her as merely the effect of ill-breeding; +but he was not an ill-bred man: he was a gentleman by +birth, and one who had kept the best company—a man of +sense and learning. “And such a man slights me without +knowing it,” she said—for she had not dived so deeply into +the powers of simulation, as to suspect that such careless +manners were the result of art.</p> + +<p>This behaviour of Mr. Sandford had its desired effect—it +humbled her in her own opinion more than a thousand +sermons would have done preached on the vanity of youth +and beauty. She felt an inward shame at the insignificance +of these qualities that she never knew before, and would +have been cured of all her pride, had she not possessed a degree +of spirit beyond the generality of her sex—such a degree as +even Mr. Sandford, with all his penetration, did not expect. +She determined to resent 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.</p> + +<p>She now commenced hostilities against all his arguments, +his learning, and his favourite axioms; and by a happy talent +of ridicule, in want of other weapons for this warfare, she +threw in the way of the holy Father as great trials of his +patience, as any that his order could have substituted in +penance. Many things he bore like a martyr—at others, his +fortitude would forsake him, and he would call on her +guardian, his former pupil, to interpose with his authority: +she would then declare that she only had acted thus “to try +the good man’s temper, and that if he had combated with +his fretfulness a few moments longer, she would have acknowledged +his claim to canonization; but that having yielded +to the sallies of his anger, he must now go through numerous +other probations.”</p> + +<p>If Miss Fenton was admired by Dorriforth, by Sandford +she was adored—and, instead of placing her as an example +to Miss Milner, he spoke 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,</p> + +<p>“No; I am not so hard upon you as your guardian: +I only desire you to love Miss Fenton; to resemble her, +I believe, is above your ability.”</p> + +<p>This was too much to bear composedly—and poor Miss +Woodley, who was generally a witness of these controversies, +felt a degree of sorrow at every sentence which like the foregoing +chagrined and distressed her friend. Yet as she +suffered too for Mr. Sandford, the joy of her friend’s reply +was abated by the uneasiness it gave to <i>him</i>. But Mrs. Horton +felt for none but the right reverend priest; and often did +she feel so violently interested in his cause, that she could +not refrain giving an answer herself in his behalf—thus doing +the duty of an adversary with all the zeal of an advocate.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_X" id="I_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p>Mr. Sandford finding his friend Dorriforth frequently +perplexed in the management of his ward, and he himself +thinking her incorrigible, gave his counsel, that a suitable +match should be immediately sought out for her, and the +care of so dangerous a person given into other hands. Dorriforth +acknowledged the propriety of this advice, but lamented +the difficulty of pleasing his ward as to the quality of her +lover; for she had refused, besides Sir Edward Ashton, +many others of equal pretensions. “Depend upon it then,” +cried Sandford, “that her affections are engaged; and it is +proper that you should know to whom.” Dorriforth thought +he did know, and mentioned Lord Frederick; but said that +he had no farther authority for the supposition than what his +observation had given him, for that every explanation both +upon his and her side had been evaded. “Take her then,” +cried Sandford, “into the country, and if Lord Frederick +should not follow, there is an end of your suspicions.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not easily prevail upon Miss Milner to leave town,” +replied he, “while it is in the highest fashion.”</p> + +<p>“You can +but try,” returned Sandford; “and if you should not +succeed now, at least fix the time you mean to go during +the autumn, and be firm to your determination.”</p> + +<p>“But +in the autumn,” replied Dorriforth, “Lord Frederick will +of course be in the country; and as his uncle’s estate is near +our residence, he will not then so evidently follow her, as +he would if I could induce her to go now.”</p> + +<p>It was agreed the attempt should be made. Instead of +receiving this abrupt proposal with uneasiness, Miss Milner, +to the surprise of all present, immediately consented; and +gave her guardian an opportunity of saying several of the +kindest and politest things upon her ready compliance.</p> + +<p>“A token of approbation from you, Mr. Dorriforth,” +returned she, “I always considered with high estimation—but +your commendations are now become infinitely superior +in value by their scarcity; for I do not believe that since +Miss Fenton and Mr. Sandford came to town, I have +received one testimony of your esteem.”</p> + +<p>Had these words been uttered with pleasantry, they might +have passed without observation; but at the conclusion of +the period, resentment flew 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 +evinced for his good opinion throughout all that she had +been saying, silenced any rebuke he might else have given +her, for this unwarrantable charge against his friend. Mrs. +Horton was shocked at the irreverent manner in which +Mr. Sandford was treated—and Miss Woodley turned to +him with a benevolent smile upon her face, hoping to set +him an example of the manner in which he should receive the +reproach. Her good wishes did not succeed—yet he was +perfectly unruffled, and replied with coolness,</p> + +<p>“The air of the country has affected the lady already—but +it is a comfortable thing,” continued he, “that in the +variety of humours to which some women are exposed, they +cannot be uniform even in deceit.”</p> + +<p>“Deceit!” cried Miss Milner, “in what am I deceitful? +did I ever pretend that I had an esteem for you?”</p> + +<p>“That would not have been deceit, Madam, but merely +good manners.”</p> + +<p>“I never, Mr. Sandford, sacrificed truth to politeness.”</p> + +<p>“Except when the country has been proposed, and you +thought it politeness to appear satisfied.”</p> + +<p>“And I <i>was</i> satisfied, till I recollected that you might +probably be of the party—then, every grove was changed +into a wilderness, every rivulet into a stagnated pool, and +every singing bird into a croaking raven.”</p> + +<p>“A very poetical description,” returned he calmly. “But, +Miss Milner, you need not have had any apprehensions of +<i>my</i> company in the country, for I understand the seat to +which your guardian means to go, belongs to you; and you +may depend upon it, Madam, that I shall never enter a house +in which you are the mistress.”</p> + +<p>“Nor any house, I am certain, Mr. Sandford, but in which +you are yourself the master.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Madam? (and for the first time he +elevated his voice,) am I the master here?”</p> + +<p>“Your servants,” replied she, looking at the company, +“will not tell you so; but I do.”</p> + +<p>“You condescend, Mr. Sandford,” cried Mrs. Horton, +“in talking so much to a young heedless woman; but I know +you do it for her good.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Milner,” cried Dorriforth, (and the most +cutting thing he could say,) “since I find my proposal of +the country has put you out of humour, I shall mention it +no more.”</p> + +<p>With all that quantity of resentment, anger, or rage, which +sometimes boiled in the veins of Miss Milner, she was yet +never wanting in that respect towards her guardian, which +with-held her from ever uttering one angry sentence, directed +immediately to him; and a severe word of his, instead of +exasperating, was sure to subdue her. This was the case at +present—his words wounded her to the heart, but she had +not the asperity to reply to them as she thought they merited, +and she burst into tears. Dorriforth, instead of being concerned, +as he usually was at seeing her uneasy, appeared on +the present occasion provoked. He thought her weeping +was a new reproach to his friend Mr. Sandford, and that to +suffer himself to be moved by it, would be a tacit condemnation +of his friend’s conduct. She understood his thoughts, +and getting the better of her tears, apologised for her weakness; +adding,</p> + +<p>“She could never bear with indifference an unjust accusation.”</p> + +<p>“To prove that mine was unjust, Madam,” replied Dorriforth; +“be prepared to quit London, without any marks of +regret, in a few days.”</p> + +<p>She bowed assent; the necessary preparations were agreed +upon; and while with apparent satisfaction she adjusted the +plan of her journey, (like those who behave well, not so +much to please themselves as to vex their enemies,) she +secretly triumphed in the mortification she hoped that +Mr. Sandford would receive from her obedient behaviour.</p> + +<p>The news of this intended journey was of course soon +made public. There is a secret charm in being pitied, when +the misfortune is but ideal; and Miss Milner found infinite +gratification in being told, “That her’s was a cruel case, +and that it was unjust and barbarous to force so much beauty +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 to with pleasure; yet preserved the constancy +not to shrink from her resolution of submitting.</p> + +<p>Those involuntary sighs, however, that Miss Woodley had +long ago observed, became still more frequent; and a tear +half starting in her eye was an additional subject of her +friend’s observation. Yet though Miss Milner at those times +was softened into melancholy, she by no means appeared +unhappy. Her friend was acquainted with love only by +name; yet she was confirmed from these increased symptoms, +in what she before only suspected, that <i>love</i> must be the +foundation of her care. “Her senses have been captivated +by the person and accomplishments of Lord Frederick,” said +Miss Woodley to herself, “but her understanding compels +her to see his faults, and reproaches her passion.—And, oh!” +cried she, “could her guardian and Mr. Sandford know of +this conflict, how much would they have to admire; how +little to condemn!”</p> + +<p>With such friendly thoughts, and with the purest intentions, +Miss Woodley did not fail to give both gentlemen +reason to believe, a contention of this nature was the actual +state of Miss Milner’s mind. Dorriforth was affected at the +description, and Sandford urged more than ever the necessity +of leaving town. In a few days they departed; Mrs. +Horton, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner, and Mr. Dorriforth, +accompanied by Miss Fenton, whom Miss Milner, knowing +it to be the wish of her guardian, invited, for three months +before her marriage, to her country seat. Elmwood House, +or rather Castle, the seat of Lord Elmwood, was only a few +miles distant from this residence, and he was expected to pass +great part of the summer there, with his tutor, Mr. Sandford.</p> + +<p>In the neighbourhood was also (as it has been already said) +an estate belonging to an uncle of Lord Frederick’s, and most +of the party suspected they should soon see him on a visit +there. To that expectation they in great measure attributed +Miss Milner’s visible content.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XI" id="I_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p>With this party Miss Milner arrived at her country house, +and for near six weeks, all around was the picture of tranquillity; +her satisfaction was as evident as every other +person’s; and all severe admonition being at this time +unnecessary, either to exhort her to her duty, or to warn her +against her folly, she was even in perfect good humour with +Miss Fenton, and added friendship to hospitality.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sandford, who came with Lord Elmwood to the neighbouring +seat, about a week after the arrival of Miss Milner +at her’s, was so scrupulously exact in the observance of his +word, “<i>Never to enter a house of Miss Milner’s,</i>” that he +would not even call upon his friend Dorriforth there—but +in their walks, and at Lord Elmwood’s, the two parties would +occasionally join, and of course Sandford and she at those +times met—yet so distant was the reserve on either side, +that not a single word upon any occasion was ever exchanged +between them.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner did not like Mr. Sandford; yet as there was +no cause of inveterate rancour, admiring him too as a man +who meant well, and being besides of a most forgiving temper, +she frequently felt concerned that he did not speak to her, +although it had been to find fault as usual—and one morning +as they were all, after a long ramble, drawing towards her +house, where Lord Elmwood was invited to dine, she could +not restrain dropping a tear at seeing Sandford turn back +and wish them a “Good day.”</p> + +<p>But though she had the generosity to forgive an affront, +she had not the humility to make a concession; and she +foresaw that nothing less than some very humble atonement +on her part would prevail upon the haughty priest to be +reconciled. Dorriforth saw her concern upon this last +trifling occasion with a secret pleasure, and an admiration +that she had never before excited. She once insinuated to +him to be a mediator between them; but before any accommodation +could take place, the peace and composure of their +abode were disturbed by the arrival of Sir Edward Ashton +at Lord Elmwood’s, where it appeared as if he had been +invited in order to pursue his matrimonial plan.</p> + +<p>At a dinner given by Lord Elmwood, Sir Edward was +announced as an unexpected visitor; Miss Milner did not +suppose him such, and she turned pale when his name was +uttered. Dorriforth fixed his eyes upon her with some tokens +of compassion, while Sandford seemed to exult, and by his +repeated “Welcomes” to the Baronet, gave proofs how +much he was rejoiced to see him. All the declining enmity +of Miss Milner was renewed at this behaviour, and suspecting +Sandford as the instigator of the visit, she could not overcome +her displeasure, but gave way to it in a manner she +thought the most mortifying. Sir Edward, in the course +of conversation, enquired “What neighbours were in the +country;” and she, with an appearance of high satisfaction, +named Lord Frederick Lawnly as being hourly expected at +his uncle’s. The colour spread over Sir Edward’s face—Dorriforth +was confounded—and Mr. Sandford looked +enraged.</p> + +<p>“Did Lord Frederick tell <i>you</i> he should be down?” Sandford +asked of Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>To which he replied, “No.”</p> + +<p>“But I hope, Mr. Sandford, you will permit <i>me</i> to know?” +said Miss Milner. For as she now meant to torment him +by what she said, she no longer constrained herself to silence—and +as he harboured the same kind intention towards her, +he had no longer any objection to make a reply, and therefore +answered,</p> + +<p>“No, madam, if it depended upon my permission, you +should <i>not</i> know.”</p> + +<p>“Not <i>any thing</i>, Sir, I dare say; you would keep me in +utter ignorance.”</p> + +<p>“I would.”</p> + +<p>“From a self-interested motive, Mr. Sandford—that +I might have a greater respect for you.”</p> + +<p>Some of the company laughed—Mrs. Horton coughed—Miss +Woodley blushed—Lord Elmwood sneered—Dorriforth +frowned—and Miss Fenton looked just as she did before.</p> + +<p>The conversation was changed as soon as possible, and early +in the evening the party from Milner Lodge returned home.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner had scarce left her dressing room, where she +had been taking off some part of her dress, when Dorriforth’s +servant came to acquaint her that his master was alone in +his study, and begged to speak with her. She felt herself +tremble—she immediately experienced a consciousness that +she had not acted properly at Lord Elmwood’s; for she felt +a presentiment that her guardian was going to upbraid her, +and her heart whispered that he had never yet reproached +her without a cause.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley just then entered her apartment, and she +found herself so much a coward, as to propose that she +should go with her, and aid her with a word or two occasionally +in her excuse.</p> + +<p>“What you, my dear,” returned Miss Woodley, “who not +three hours ago had the courage to vindicate your own cause +before a whole company, of whom many were your adversaries; +do <i>you</i> want an advocate before your guardian alone, +who has ever treated you with tenderness?”</p> + +<p>“It is that very tenderness which frightens me; which +intimidates, and strikes me dumb. Is it possible I can +return impertinence to the language and manners which +Mr. Dorriforth uses? and as I am debarred from that resource, +what can I do but stand before him like a guilty +creature, acknowledging my faults.”</p> + +<p>She again entreated her friend to go with her; but on +a positive refusal, from the impropriety of such an intrusion, +she was obliged at length to go by herself.</p> + +<p>How much does the difference of exterior circumstances +influence not only the manners, but even the persons of +some people! Miss Milner in Lord Elmwood’s drawing +room, surrounded by listeners, by admirers, (for even her +enemies could not look at her without admiration) animated +with approbation and applause—and Miss Milner, with no +giddy observer to give her actions a false éclat, destitute of +all but her own understanding, (which secretly condemns +her) upon the point of receiving censure from her guardian +and friend, are two different beings. Though still beautiful +beyond description, she does not look even in person the +same. In the last-mentioned situation, she was shorter in +stature than in the former—she was paler—she was thinner—and +a very different contour presided over her whole air, +and all her features.</p> + +<p>When she arrived at the door of the study, she opened it +with a trepidation she could hardly account for, and entered +to Dorriforth the altered woman she has been represented. +His heart had taken the most decided part against her, and +his face had assumed the most severe aspect of reproach; +but her appearance gave an instantaneous change to his +whole mind, and countenance.</p> + +<p>She halted, as if she feared to approach—he hesitated, as +if he knew not how to speak. Instead of the anger with +which he was prepared to begin, his voice involuntarily +softened, and without knowing what he said, he began,</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Milner.”—</p> + +<p>She expected he was angry, and in her confusion his gentleness +was lost upon her. She imagined that what he said +might be censure, and she continued to tremble, though he +repeatedly assured her, that he meant only to advise, not +upbraid her.</p> + +<p>“For as to all those little disputes between Mr. Sandford +and you,” said he, “I should be partial if I blamed you +more than him—indeed, when you take the liberty to condemn +him, his character makes the freedom appear in a more +serious light than when he complains of you—and yet, if +he provokes your retorts, he alone must answer for them; nor +will I undertake to decide betwixt you. But I have a question +to ask you, and to which I require a serious and unequivocal +answer. Do you expect Lord Frederick in the country?”</p> + +<p>Without hesitation she replied, “I do.”</p> + +<p>“One more question I have to ask, madam, and to which +I expect a reply equally unreserved. Is Lord Frederick the +man you approve for your husband?”</p> + +<p>Upon this close interrogation she discovered an embarrassment, +beyond any she had ever yet betrayed, and faintly +replied,</p> + +<p>“No, he is not.”</p> + +<p>“Your words tell me one thing,” answered Dorriforth, +“but your looks declare another—which am I to believe?”</p> + +<p>“Which you please,” was her answer, while she discovered +an insulted dignity, that astonished, without convincing him.</p> + +<p>“But then why encourage him to follow you hither, Miss +Milner?”</p> + +<p>“Why commit a thousand follies (she replied in tears) +every hour of my life?”</p> + +<p>“You then promote the hopes of Lord Frederick without +one serious intention of completing them? This is a conduct +against which it is my duty to guard you, and you shall no +longer deceive either him or yourself. The moment he +arrives, it is my resolution that you refuse to see him, or +consent to become his wife.”</p> + +<p>In answer to the alternative thus offered, she appeared +averse to both propositions; and yet came to no explanation +why; but left her guardian at the end of the conference as +much at a loss to decide upon her true sentiments, as he was +before he had thus seriously requested he might be informed +of them; but having stedfastly taken the resolution which +he had just communicated, he found that resolution a certain +relief to his mind.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XII" id="I_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p>Sir Edward Ashton, though not invited by Miss Milner, +yet frequently did himself the honour to visit her at her +house; sometimes he accompanied Lord Elmwood, at other +times he came to see Dorriforth alone, who generally introduced +him to the ladies. But Sir Edward was either so +unwilling to give pain to the object of his love, or so intimidated +by her frowns, that he seldom addressed her with +a single word, except the usual compliments at entering, +and retiring. This apprehension of offending, without one +hope of pleasing, had the most awkward effect upon the +manners of the worthy Baronet; and his endeavours to +insinuate himself into the affections of the woman he loved, +merely by not giving her offence either in speaking to her +or looking at her, formed a character so whimsical, that it +frequently forced a smile from Miss Milner, though his very +name had often power to throw a gloom over her face: she +looked upon him as the cause of her being hurried to the +election of a lover, before her own mind could well direct her +where to fix. Besides, his pursuit was troublesome, while it +was no triumph to her vanity, which by the addresses of +Lord Frederick, was in the highest manner gratified.</p> + +<p>His Lordship now arrives in the country, and calls one +morning at Miss Milner’s; her guardian sees his carriage +coming up the avenue, and gives orders to the servants, to +say their lady is not at home, but that Mr. Dorriforth is: +Lord Frederick leaves his compliments and goes away.</p> + +<p>The ladies all observed his carriage and servants. Miss +Milner flew to her glass, adjusted her dress, and in her looks +expressed every sign of palpitation—but in vain she keeps her +eye fixed upon the door of the apartment; no Lord Frederick +appears.</p> + +<p>After some minutes of expectation, the door opens and her +guardian comes in;—she was disappointed; he perceived +that she was, and he looked at her with a most serious face;—she +immediately called to mind the assurance he had given +her, “That her acquaintance with Lord Frederick in its +then improper state should not continue,” and between +chagrin and confusion, she was at a loss how to behave.</p> + +<p>Though the ladies were all present, Dorriforth said, without +the smallest reserve, “Perhaps, Miss Milner, you may +think I have taken an unwarrantable liberty, in giving orders +to your servants to deny you to Lord Frederick; but until +his Lordship and I have had a private conference, or you +condescend to declare your sentiments more fully in regard +to his visits, I think it my duty to put an end to them.”</p> + +<p>“You will always perform your duty, Mr. Dorriforth, +I have no doubt, whether I concur or not.”</p> + +<p>“Yet believe me, madam, I should perform it more cheerfully, +if I could hope that it was sanctioned by your inclinations.”</p> + +<p>“I am not mistress of my inclinations, Sir, or they should +conform to yours.”</p> + +<p>“Place them under my direction, and I will answer for it +they will.”</p> + +<p>A servant came in—“Lord Frederick is returned, Sir, and +says he should be glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Shew him into the +study,” cried Dorriforth hastily, and rising from his chair, +left the room.</p> + +<p>“I hope they won’t quarrel,” said Mrs. Horton, meaning, +that she thought they would.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to see you so uneasy, Miss Milner,” said Miss +Fenton, with perfect unconcern.</p> + +<p>As the badness of the weather had prevented their usual +morning’s exercise, the ladies were employed at their needles +till the dinner bell called them away. “Do you think Lord +Frederick is gone?” then whispered Miss Milner to Miss +Woodley.—“I think not,” she replied.—“Go ask of the servants, +dear creature.” And Miss Woodley went out of the +room. She soon returned and said, apart, “He is now +getting into his chariot; I saw him pass in violent haste +through the hall; he seemed to fly.”</p> + +<p>“Ladies, the dinner is waiting,” cried Mrs. Horton, and +they repaired to the dining room, where Dorriforth soon +after came, and engrossed their whole attention by his +disturbed looks, and unusual silence. Before dinner was +over, he was, however, more himself, but still he appeared +thoughtful and dissatisfied. At the time of their evening +walk he excused himself from accompanying them, and they +saw him in a distant field with Mr. Sandford in earnest conversation; +for Sandford and he often stopped on one spot +for a quarter of an hour, as if the interest of 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 he went out, and told his +relation, that he and the ladies would dine with him the +next day if he was disengaged; and it was agreed they +should.</p> + +<p>Still Dorriforth was in some perturbation, but the immediate +cause was concealed till the day following, when, about +an hour before the company’s departure from the Castle, +Miss Milner and Miss Woodley were desired, by a servant, +to walk into a separate apartment, in which they found +Mr. Dorriforth with Mr. Sandford waiting for them. Her +guardian made an apology to Miss Milner for the form, the +ceremony, of which he was going to make use; but he trusted, +the extreme weight which oppressed his mind, lest he should +mistake the real sentiments of a person whose happiness +depended upon his correct knowledge of them, would plead +his excuse.</p> + +<p>“I know, Miss Milner,” continued he, “the world in +general allows to unmarried women great latitude in disguising +their mind with respect to the man they love. I too, am +willing to pardon any little dissimulation that is but consistent +with a modesty that becomes every woman upon the +subject of marriage. But here, to what point I may limit, +or you may extend, this kind of venial deceit, may so widely +differ, that it is not impossible for me to remain unacquainted +with your sentiments, even after you have revealed them to +me. Under this consideration, I wish once more to hear +your thoughts in regard to matrimony, and to hear them +before one of your own sex, that I may form an opinion by +her constructions.”</p> + +<p>To all this serious oration, Miss Milner made no other +reply than by turning to Mr. Sandford, and asking, “If he +was the person of her own sex, to whose judgment her +guardian was to submit his own?”</p> + +<p>“Madam,” cried Sandford angrily, “you are come hither +upon serious business.”</p> + +<p>“Any business must be serious to me, Mr. Sandford, in +which you are concerned; and if you had called it <i>sorrowful</i>, +the epithet would have suited as well.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner,” said her guardian, “I did not bring you +here to contend with Mr. Sandford.”</p> + +<p>“Then why, Sir, bring him hither? for where he and I are, +there must be contention.”</p> + +<p>“I brought him hither, Madam, or I should rather say, +brought you to this house, merely that he might be present +on this occasion, and with his discernment relieve me from +a suspicion, that my own judgment is neither able to suppress +nor to confirm.”</p> + +<p>“Are there any more witnesses you may wish to call in, +Sir, to remove your doubts of my veracity? if there are, +pray send for them before you begin your interrogations.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head—she continued.</p> + +<p>“The whole world is welcome to hear what I say, and +every different person is welcome to judge me differently.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Miss Milner,”—cried Miss Woodley, with a tone +of reproach for the vehemence with which she had +spoken.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, Miss Milner,” said Dorriforth, “you will not +now reply to those questions I was going to put?”</p> + +<p>“Did I ever refuse, Sir,” returned she with a self-approving +air, “to comply with any request that you have seriously +made? Have I ever refused obedience to your commands +whenever you thought proper to lay them upon me? If not, +you have no right to suppose that I will do so now.”</p> + +<p>He was going to reply, when Mr. Sandford sullenly interrupted +him, and making towards the door, cried, “When +you come to the point for which you brought me here, send +for me again.”</p> + +<p>“Stay now,” said Dorriforth. “And Miss Milner,” continued +he, “I not only entreat, but command you to tell +me—have you given your word, or your affections to Lord +Frederick Lawnly?”</p> + +<p>The colour spread over her face, and she replied—“I +thought confessions were always to be in secret; however, +as I am not a member of your church, I submit to the persecution +of a heretic, and I answer—Lord Frederick has neither +my word, nor any share in my affections.”</p> + +<p>Sandford, Dorriforth, and Miss Woodley looked at each +other with a degree of surprise that for some time kept them +silent. At length Dorriforth said, “And it is your firm +intention never to become his wife?”</p> + +<p>To which she answered—“At present it is.”</p> + +<p>“At present! do you suspect you shall change your +sentiments?”</p> + +<p>“Women sometimes do.”</p> + +<p>“But before that change can take place, your acquaintance +will be at an end: for it is that which I shall next insist upon, +and to which you can have no objection.”</p> + +<p>She replied, “I had rather it should continue.”</p> + +<p>“On what account?” cried Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“Because it entertains me.”</p> + +<p>“For shame, for shame!” returned he; “it endangers +your character and your happiness. Yet again, do not suffer +me to interfere, if the breaking with Lord Frederick can +militate against your felicity.”</p> + +<p>“By no means,” she answered; “Lord Frederick makes +part of my amusement, but could never constitute my +felicity.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley,” said Dorriforth, “do you comprehend +your friend in the same literal and unequivocal sense that +I do?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly I do, Sir.”</p> + +<p>“And pray, Miss Woodley,” said he, “were those the +sentiments which you have always entertained?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley hesitated—he continued. “Or has this +conversation altered them?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated again, then answered—“This conversation +has altered them.”</p> + +<p>“And yet you confide in it!” cried Sandford, looking at +her with contempt.</p> + +<p>“Certainly I do,” replied Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Do not you then, Mr. Sandford?” asked Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“I would advise you to act as if I did,” replied Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Then, Miss Milner,” said Dorriforth, “you see Lord +Frederick no more—and I hope I have your permission to +apprize him of this arrangement.”</p> + +<p>“You have, Sir,” she replied with a completely unembarrassed +countenance and voice.</p> + +<p>Her friend looked at her as if to discover some lurking wish, +adverse to all these protestations, but she could not discern +one. Sandford too fixed his penetrating eyes upon her, as +if he would look through her soul, but finding it perfectly +composed, he cried out,</p> + +<p>“Why then not write his dismission herself, and save you, +Mr. Dorriforth, the trouble of any farther contest with +him?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Miss Milner,” said Dorriforth, “that would +oblige me; for it is with great reluctance that I meet him +upon this subject—he was extremely impatient and importunate +when he was last with me—he took advantage of my +ecclesiastical situation to treat me with a levity and ill +breeding, that I could ill have suffered upon any other +consideration than a compliance with my duty.”</p> + +<p>“Dictate what you please, Mr. Dorriforth, and I will +write it,” said she, with a warmth like the most unaffected +inclination. “And while you, Sir,” she continued, “are so +indulgent as not to distress me with the importunities of any +gentleman to whom I am averse, I think myself equally +bound to rid you of the impertinence of every one to whom +you may have objection.”</p> + +<p>“But,” answered he, “rest assured I have no material +objection to my Lord Frederick, except from that dilemma, +in which your acquaintance with him has involved us all; +and I should conceive the same against any other man, where +the same circumstance occurred. As you have now, however, +freely and politely consented to the manner in which it has +been proposed that you shall break with him, I will not +trouble you a moment longer upon a subject on which I have +so frequently explained my wishes, but conclude it by +assuring you, that your ready acquiescence has given me +the sincerest satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>“I hope, Mr. Sandford,” said she, turning to him with +a smile, “I have given <i>you</i> satisfaction likewise?”</p> + +<p>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 handed her out of the +apartment into her coach, which was waiting to take her, +Miss Woodley, and himself, home.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XIII" id="I_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p>Notwithstanding the seeming readiness with which Miss +Milner had resigned all farther acquaintance with Lord +Frederick, during the short ride home she appeared to have +lost great part of her wonted spirits; she was thoughtful, +and once sighed heavily. Dorriforth began to fear that she +had not only made a sacrifice of her affections, but of her +veracity; yet, why she had done so, he could not comprehend.</p> + +<p>As the carriage moved slowly through a lane between +Elmwood Castle and her own house, on casting her eyes out +of the window, Miss Milner’s countenance was brightened +in an instant, and that instant Lord Frederick, on horse-back, +was at the coach door, and the coachman stopped.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Milner,” cried he, (with a voice and manner +that could give little suspicion of the truth of what he said) +“I am overjoyed at the happiness of seeing you, even though +it is but an accidental meeting.”</p> + +<p>She was evidently glad to see <i>him</i>; but the earnestness +with which he spoke, put her upon her guard not to express +the like, and she said, in a cool constrained manner, she +“Was glad to see his Lordship.”</p> + +<p>The reserve with which she spoke, gave Lord Frederick +immediate suspicion who was in the coach with her, and +turning his head quickly, he met the stern eye of Dorriforth; +upon which, without the smallest salutation, he turned from +him again abruptly and rudely. Miss Milner was confused, +and Miss Woodley in torture, at this palpable affront, to +which Dorriforth alone appeared indifferent.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” said Miss Milner to the footman, “desire the +coachman to drive on.”</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Lord Frederick, “not till you have told me +when I shall see you again.”</p> + +<p>“I will write you word, my Lord,” replied she, something +alarmed. “You shall have a letter immediately after I get +home.”</p> + +<p>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 if it is dictated +by you, to you I shall send the answer.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth, without making any reply, or casting a look +at him, put his head out of the window on the opposite side, +and called, in a very angry tone, to the coachman, “How +dare you not drive on, when your Lady orders you?”</p> + +<p>The sound of Dorriforth’s voice in anger, was to the +servants so unusual, that it acted like electricity upon the +man, and he drove on at the instant with such rapidity, +that Lord Frederick was in a moment left many yards behind. +As soon, however, as he recovered from the surprise into +which this sudden command had thrown him, he rode with +speed after the carriage, and followed it, till it arrived at the +door of Miss Milner’s house; there, giving himself up to the +rage of love, or to rage against Dorriforth for the contempt +he had shewn to him, he leaped from his horse when Miss +Milner stepped from her carriage, and seizing her hand, +entreated her “Not to desert him, in compliance with the +injunctions of monkish hypocrisy.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth heard this, standing silently by, with a manly +scorn upon his countenance.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner struggled to loose her hand, saying, “Excuse +me from replying to you now, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>In return, he lifted her hand eagerly to his lips, and began +to devour it with kisses; when Dorriforth, with an instantaneous +impulse, rushed forward, and struck him a violent +blow in the face. Under the force of this assault, and the +astonishment it excited, Lord Frederick staggered, and +letting fall the hand of Miss Milner, her guardian immediately +laid hold of it, and led her into the house.</p> + +<p>She was terrified beyond description; and with extreme +difficulty Mr. Dorriforth conveyed her to her own chamber, +without taking her in his arms. When, by the assistance of +her maid, he had placed her upon a sofa—covered with +shame and confusion for what he had done, he fell upon his +knees before her, and earnestly “Entreated her forgiveness +for the indelicacy he had been guilty of in her presence.” +And that he had alarmed her, and had forgot the respect +which he thought sacredly her due, seemed the only circumstance +which then dwelt upon his thoughts.</p> + +<p>She felt the indecorum of the posture he had condescended +to take, and was shocked. To see her guardian at her feet, +struck her with a sense of impropriety, as if she had seen +a parent there. All agitation and emotion, she implored +him to rise, and, with a thousand protestations, declared, +“That she thought the rashness of the action was the highest +proof of his regard for her.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley now entered; her care being ever employed +upon the unfortunate, Lord Frederick had been the object of +it: she had waited by his side, and, with every good purpose, +had preached patience to him, while he was smarting under +the pain, but more under the shame, of his chastisement. +At first, his fury threatened a retort upon the servants +around him (and who refused his entrance into the house) of +the punishment he had received. But, in the certainty of +an <i>amende honorable</i>, which must hereafter be made, he +overcame the many temptations which the moment offered, +and re-mounting his horse rode away from the scene of his +disgrace.</p> + +<p>No sooner had Miss Woodley entered the room, and +Dorriforth had resigned to her the care of his ward, than he +flew to the spot where he had left Lord Frederick, negligent +of what might be the event if he still remained there. After +enquiring, and being told that he was gone, Dorriforth +returned to his own apartment; and with a bosom torn by +more excruciating sensations than those which he had given +to his adversary.</p> + +<p>The reflection that struck him first with remorse, as he +shut the door upon himself, was:—“I have departed from +my character—from the sacred character, and the dignity +of my profession and sentiments—I have departed from +myself. I am no longer the philosopher, but the ruffian—I +have treated with an unpardonable insult a young nobleman, +whose only offence was love, and a fond desire to +insinuate himself into the favour of his mistress. I must +atone for this outrage in whatever manner he may choose; +and the law of honour and of justice (though in this one +instance contrary to the law of religion) enjoins, that if he +demands my life in satisfaction for his wounded feelings, it +is his due. Alas! that I could have laid it down this morning, +unsullied with a cause for which it will make but inadequate +atonement.”</p> + +<p>His next reproach was—“I have offended and filled with +horror, a beautiful young woman, whom it was my duty to +have protected from those brutal manners, to which I myself +have exposed her.”</p> + +<p>Again—“I have drawn upon myself the just upbraidings +of my faithful preceptor and friend; of the man in whose +judgment it was my delight to be approved—above all, +I have drawn upon myself the stings of my conscience.”</p> + +<p>“Where shall I pass this sleepless night?” cried he, walking +repeatedly across his chamber; “Can I go to the ladies? +I am unworthy of their society. Shall I go and repose my +disturbed mind on Sandford? I am ashamed to tell him +the cause of my uneasiness. Shall I go to Lord Frederick, +and humbling myself before him, beg his forgiveness? He +would spurn me for a coward. No”——(and he lifted up +his eyes to Heaven) “Thou all great, all wise and omnipotent +Being, Thou whom I have most offended, it is to Thee +alone that I have recourse in this hour of tribulation, and +from Thee alone I solicit comfort. And the confidence in +which I now address myself to Thee, encouraged by that +long intercourse which religion has effected, repays me amply +in this one moment, for the many years of my past life +devoted with my best, though imperfect, efforts to thy +service.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XIV" id="I_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p>Although Miss Milner had not foreseen any fatal event +resulting from the indignity offered to Lord Frederick, yet +she passed a night very different from those to which she had +been accustomed. No sooner was she falling into a sleep, +than a thousand vague, but distressing, ideas darted across +her imagination. Her heart would sometimes whisper to +her when she was half asleep, “Lord Frederick is banished +from you for ever.” She shakes off the uneasiness this idea +brings along with it—she then starts, and sees the blow still +aimed at him by Dorriforth. No sooner has she driven away +this painful image, than she is again awakened by beholding +her guardian at her feet sueing for pardon. She sighs, she +trembles, and is chilled with terror.</p> + +<p>Relieved by tears, towards the morning she sinks into +a slumber, but waking, finds the same images crowding all +together upon her mind: she is doubtful to which to give +the preference—one, however, rushes the foremost, and +continues so. She knows not the fatal consequence of +ruminating, nor why she dwells upon that, more than upon +all the rest, but it will give place to none.</p> + +<p>She rises languid and disordered, and at breakfast, adds +fresh pain to Dorriforth by her altered appearance.</p> + +<p>He had scarce left the room, when an officer waited upon +him with a challenge from Lord Frederick. To the message +delivered by this gentleman, he replied,</p> + +<p>“Sir, as a clergyman, more especially of the church of +Rome, I know not whether I am not exempt from answering +a demand of this kind; but not having had forbearance to +avoid an offence, I will not claim an exemption that would +only indemnify me from making reparation.”</p> + +<p>“You will then, Sir, meet Lord Frederick at the appointed +hour?” said the officer.</p> + +<p>“I will, Sir; and my immediate care shall be to find +a gentleman who will accompany me.”</p> + +<p>The officer withdrew, and when Dorriforth was again +alone, he was going once more to reflect, but he durst not. +Since yesterday, reflection, for the first time, was become +painful to him; and even as he rode the short way to Lord +Elmwood’s immediately after, he found his own thoughts +were so insufferable, that he was obliged to enter into conversation +with his servant. Solitude, that formerly charmed him, +would, at those moments, have been worse than death.</p> + +<p>At Lord Elmwood’s, he met Sandford in the hall, and the +sight of him was no longer welcome—he knew how different +the principles which he had just adopted were to those of +that reverend friend, and without his complaining, or even +suspecting what had happened, his presence was a sufficient +reproach. He passed him as hastily as he could, and enquiring +for Lord Elmwood, disclosed to him his errand. It was +to ask him to be his second;—the young Earl started, and +wished to consult his tutor, but that, his kinsman strictly +forbade; and having urged his reasons with arguments, +which at least <i>he</i> could not refute, he was at length prevailed +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 to be there at seven on the same evening.</p> + +<p>As soon as his business with Lord Elmwood was settled, +Dorriforth returned home, to make preparations for the event +which might ensue from this meeting. He wrote letters to +several of his friends, and one to his ward, in writing which, +he could with difficulty preserve the usual firmness of his mind. +Sandford going into Lord Elmwood’s library soon after his +relation had left him, expressed his surprise at finding he was +gone; upon which that nobleman having answered a few +questions, and given a few significant hints that he was +entrusted with a secret, frankly confessed, what he had +promised to conceal.</p> + +<p>Sandford, as much as a holy man could be, was enraged at +Dorriforth for the cause of the challenge, but was still more +enraged at his wickedness in accepting it. He applauded +his pupil’s virtue in making the discovery, and congratulated +himself that he should be the instrument of saving not only +his friend’s life, but of preventing the scandal of his being +engaged in a duel.</p> + +<p>In the ardour of his designs, he went immediately to Miss +Milner’s—entered that house which he had so long refused +to enter, and at a time when he was upon aggravated bad +terms with its owner.</p> + +<p>He asked for Dorriforth, went hastily into his apartment, +and poured upon him a torrent of rebukes. Dorriforth bore +all he said with the patience of a devotee, but with the +firmness of a man. He owned his fault, but no eloquence +could make him recall the promise he had given to repair +the injury. Unshaken by the arguments, persuasions, and +menaces of Sandford, he gave an additional proof of that +inflexibility for which he had been long distinguished—and +after a dispute of two hours, they parted, neither of them +the better for what either had advanced, but Dorriforth +something the worse; his conscience gave testimony to +Sandford’s opinion, “that he was bound by ties more sacred +than worldly honour.” But while he owned, he would not +yield to the duty.</p> + +<p>Sandford left him, determined, however, that Lord +Elmwood should not be accessory in his guilt, and this he +declared; upon which Dorriforth took the resolution of +seeking another second.</p> + +<p>In passing through the house on his return home, Sandford +met, by accident, Mrs. Horton, Miss Milner, and the other +two ladies returning from a saunter in the garden. Surprised +at the sight of Mr. Sandford in her house, Miss +Milner would not express that surprise, but going up to him +with all the friendly benevolence which in general played +about her heart, she took hold of one of his hands, and +pressed it with a kindness which told him more forcibly +that he was welcome, than if she had made the most +elaborate speech to convince him of it. He, however, seemed +little touched with her behaviour, and as an excuse for +breaking his word, cried,</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, madam, but I was brought hither in +my anxiety to prevent murder.”</p> + +<p>“Murder!” exclaimed all the ladies.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered he, addressing himself to Miss Fenton, +“your betrothed husband is a party concerned; he is going +to be second to Mr. Dorriforth, who means this very evening +to be killed by my Lord Frederick, or to kill him, in addition +to the blow that he gave him last night.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton exclaimed, “if Mr. Dorriforth dies, he dies +a martyr.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley cried with fervour, “Heaven forbid!”</p> + +<p>Miss Fenton cried, “dear me!”</p> + +<p>While Miss Milner, without uttering one word, sunk +speechless on the floor.</p> + +<p>They lifted her up and brought her to the door which +entered into the garden. She soon recovered; for the +tumult of her mind would not suffer her to remain inactive, +and she was rouzed, in spite of her weakness, to endeavour +to ward off the impending disaster. In vain, however, she +attempted to walk to her guardian’s apartment—she sunk +as before, and was taken to a settee, while Miss Woodley was +dispatched to bring him to her.</p> + +<p>Informed of the cause of her indisposition, he followed +Miss Woodley with a tender anxiety for her health, and with +grief and confusion that he had so carelessly endangered it. +On his entering the room Sandford beheld the inquietude of +his mind, and cried, “Here is your <i>Guardian</i>,” with a cruel +emphasis on the word.</p> + +<p>He was too much engaged by the sufferings of his ward to +reply to Sandford. He placed himself on the settee by her, +and with the utmost tenderness, reverence, and pity, entreated +her not to be concerned at an accident in which he, +and he alone, had been to blame; but which he had no +doubt would be accommodated in the most amicable +manner.</p> + +<p>“I have one favour to require of you, Mr. Dorriforth,” +said she, “and that is, your promise, your solemn promise, +which I know is ever sacred, that you will not meet my Lord +Frederick.”</p> + +<p>He hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Madam,” cried Sandford, “he is grown a libertine +now, and I would not believe his word, if he were to give +it you.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Sir,” returned Dorriforth angrily, “you <i>may</i> +believe my word, for I will keep that which I gave to <i>you</i>. +I will give Lord Frederick all the restitution in my power. +But my dear Miss Milner, let not this alarm you; we may +not find it convenient to meet this many a day; and most +probably some fortunate explanation may prevent our +meeting at all. If not, reckon but among the many duels +that are fought, how few are fatal: and even in that case, +how small would be the loss to society, if——” He was +proceeding.</p> + +<p>“I should ever deplore the loss!” cried Miss Milner; +“on such an occasion, I could not survive the death of +either.”</p> + +<p>“For my part,” he replied, “I look upon my life as much +forfeited to my Lord Frederick, to whom I have given +a high offence, as it might in other 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 when +we transgress against it knowingly, we justly incur our +punishment. However, Miss Milner, this affair will not be +settled immediately, and I have no doubt, but that all will +be as you could wish. Do you think I should appear thus +easy,” added he with a smile, “if I were going to be shot at +by my Lord Frederick?”</p> + +<p>“Very well!” cried Sandford, with a look that evinced +he was better informed.</p> + +<p>“You will stay within then, all this day?” said Miss +Milner.</p> + +<p>“I am engaged to dinner,” he replied; “it is unlucky—I +am sorry for it—but I’ll be at home early in the evening.”</p> + +<p>“Stained with human blood,” cried Sandford, “or yourself +a corpse.”</p> + +<p>The ladies lifted up their hands!—Miss Milner rose from +her seat, and threw herself at her guardian’s feet.</p> + +<p>“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 am weak, I am volatile, I am indiscreet, +but I have a heart from which some impressions can never—oh! +never, be erased.”</p> + +<p>He endeavoured to raise her, she persisted to kneel—and +here the affright, the terror, the anguish, she endured, +discovered to her, her own sentiments—which, till that +moment, she had doubted—and she continued,</p> + +<p>“I no longer pretend to conceal my passion—I love Lord +Frederick Lawnly.”</p> + +<p>Her guardian started.</p> + +<p>“Yes, to my shame I love him:” (cried she, all emotion) +“I meant to have struggled with the weakness, because +I supposed it would be displeasing to you—but apprehension +for his safety has taken away every power of restraint, and +I beseech you to spare his life.”</p> + +<p>“This is exactly what I thought,” cried Sandford, with +an air of triumph.</p> + +<p>“Good heaven!” cried Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“But it is very natural,” said Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“I own,” said Dorriforth, (struck with amaze, and now +taking her from his feet with a force that she could not +resist) “I own, Miss Milner, I am greatly affected and +wounded at this contradiction in your character.”—</p> + +<p>“But did not I say so?” cried Sandford, interrupting him.</p> + +<p>“However,” continued he, “you may take my word, +though you have deceived me in your’s, that Lord Frederick’s +life is secure. For your sake, I would not endanger it for +the universe. But let this be a warning to you”——</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<p>“Let this be a warning to you, how you deal in future +with the friends who wish you well. You have hurried me +into a mistake that might have cost me my life, or the life +of the man you love; and thus exposed <i>you</i> to misery, more +bitter than death.”</p> + +<p>“I am not worthy of your friendship, Mr. Dorriforth,” +said she, sobbing with grief, “and from this moment forsake +me.”</p> + +<p>“No, Madam, not in the moment you first discover to me, +how I can make you happy.”</p> + +<p>The conversation appearing now to become of a nature +in which the rest of 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 your +friendship.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps at present you can dispense with mine?” said +Dorriforth. She made no answer. He then, once more +assured her Lord Frederick’s life was safe, and was quitting +the room—but when he recollected in what humiliation he +had left her, turning towards her as he opened the door, +he added,</p> + +<p>“And be assured, Madam, that my esteem for you, shall +be <i>the same as ever</i>.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XV" id="I_CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<p>This taunting reproof from Sandford made little impression +upon Miss Milner, whose thoughts were all fixed on a subject +of much more importance than the opinion which he entertained +of her. She threw her arms about her friend the +moment they were left alone, and asked, with anxiety, “What +she thought of her behaviour?” Miss Woodley, who could +not approve of the duplicity she had betrayed, still wished +to reconcile her as much as possible to her own conduct, and +replied, she “Highly commended the frankness with which +she had, at last, acknowledged her sentiments.”</p> + +<p>“Frankness!” cried Miss Milner, starting. “Frankness, +my dear Miss Woodley! What you have just now heard +me say, is all a falsehood.”</p> + +<p>“How, Miss Milner!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Woodley,” returned she, sobbing upon her +bosom, “pity the agonies of my heart, my heart, by nature +sincere, when such are the fatal propensities it cherishes, +that I must submit to the grossest falsehoods rather than +reveal the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What can you mean?” cried Miss Woodley, with the +strongest amazement in her face.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose I love Lord Frederick? Do you suppose +I <i>can</i> love him? Oh fly, and prevent my guardian from +telling him such an untruth.”</p> + +<p>“What can you mean?” repeated Miss Woodley; +“I protest you terrify me.” For this inconsistency in the +behaviour of Miss Milner, appeared as if her senses had been +deranged.</p> + +<p>“Fly,” she resumed, “and prevent the inevitable ill +consequence which will ensue, if Lord Frederick should be +told this falsehood. It will involve us all in greater disquiet +than we suffer at present.”</p> + +<p>“Then what has influenced you, my dear Miss Milner?”</p> + +<p>“That which impels all my actions—an unsurmountable +instinct—a fatality, that will for ever render me the most +miserable of human beings; and yet you, even you, my dear +Miss Woodley, will not pity me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley pressed her closely in her arms, and vowed, +“That while she was unhappy, from whatever cause, she +still would pity her.”</p> + +<p>“Go to Mr. Dorriforth then, and prevent him from +imposing upon Lord Frederick.”</p> + +<p>“But that imposition is the only means of preventing the +duel,” replied Miss Woodley. “The moment I have told +him that your affection was but counterfeited, he will no +longer refuse accepting the challenge.”</p> + +<p>“Then at all events I am undone,” exclaimed Miss Milner, +“for the duel is horrible, even beyond every thing else.”</p> + +<p>“How so?” returned Miss Woodley, “since you have +declared you do not care for Lord Frederick?”</p> + +<p>“But are you so blind,” returned Miss Milner with a degree +of madness in her looks, “as to believe I do not care for +Mr. Dorriforth? Oh! Miss Woodley! I love him with all +the passion of a mistress, and with all the tenderness of +a wife.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley at this sentence sat down—it was on a chair +that was close to her—her feet could not have taken her to +any other. She trembled—she was white as ashes, and +deprived of speech. Miss Milner, taking her by the hand, +said,</p> + +<p>“I know what you feel—I know what you think of me—and +how much you hate and despise me. But Heaven is +witness to all my struggles—nor would I, even to myself, +acknowledge the shameless prepossession, till forced by a +sense of his danger”——</p> + +<p>“Silence,” cried Miss Woodley, struck with horror.</p> + +<p>“And even now,” resumed Miss Milner, “have I not +concealed it from all but you, by plunging myself into a new +difficulty, from which I know not how 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 your soothing +friendship to free me from my weakness. And, oh! give +me your advice, to deliver me from the difficulties which +surround me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was still pale, and still silent.</p> + +<p>Education, is called second nature; in the strict (but not +enlarged) education of Miss Woodley, it was more powerful +than the first—and the violation of oaths, persons, or things +consecrated to Heaven, was, in her opinion, if not the most +enormous, yet among the most terrific in the catalogue of +crimes.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner had lived so long in a family who had imbibed +those opinions, that she was convinced of their existence; +nay, her own reason told her that solemn vows of every kind, +ought to be sacred; and the more she respected her guardian’s +understanding, the less did she call in question his religious +tenets—in esteeming him, she esteemed all his notions; and +among the rest, venerated those of his religion. Yet that +passion, which had unhappily taken possession of her whole +soul, would not have been inspired, had there not subsisted +an early difference, in their systems of divine faith. Had +she been early taught what were the sacred functions of +a Roman ecclesiastic, though all her esteem, all her admiration, +had been attracted by the qualities and accomplishments +of her guardian, yet education, would have given such a prohibition +to her love, that she would have been precluded +from it, as by that barrier which divides a sister from a +brother.</p> + +<p>This, unfortunately, was not the case; and Miss Milner +loved Dorriforth without one conscious check to tell her +she was wrong, except that which convinced her—her love +would be avoided by him with detestation, and with +horror.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, something recovered from her first surprise, +and sufferings—for never did her susceptible mind suffer so +exquisitely—amidst all her grief and abhorrence, felt that +pity was still predominant—and reconciled to the faults of +Miss Milner by her misery, she once more looked at her with +friendship, and asked, “What she could do to render her +less unhappy?”</p> + +<p>“Make me forget,” replied Miss Milner, “every moment +of my life since I first saw you—that moment was teeming +with a weight of cares, under which I must labour till my +death.”</p> + +<p>“And even in death,” replied Miss Woodley, “do not +hope to shake them off. If unrepented in this world”——</p> + +<p>She was proceeding—but the anxiety her friend endured, +would not suffer her to be free from the apprehension, that, +notwithstanding the positive assurance of her guardian, if he +and Lord Frederick should meet, the duel might still take +place; she therefore rang the bell and enquired if Mr. Dorriforth +was still at home?—the answer was—“He had rode +out. You remember,” said Miss Woodley, “he told you +he should dine from home.” This did not, however, dismiss +her fears, and she dispatched two servants different ways in +pursuit of him, acquainting them with her suspicions, and +charging them to prevent the duel. Sandford had also taken +his precautions; but though he knew the time, he did not +know the exact place of their appointment, for that Lord +Elmwood had forgot to enquire.</p> + +<p>The excessive alarm which Miss Milner discovered upon +this occasion, was imputed by the servants, and by others +who were witnesses of it, to her affection for Lord Frederick; +while none but Miss Woodley knew, or had the most distant +suspicion of the real cause.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton and Miss Fenton, who were sitting together +expatiating on the duplicity of their own sex in the instance +just before them, had, notwithstanding the interest of the +discourse, a longing desire to break it off; for they were +impatient to see this poor frail being whom they were +loading with their censure. They longed to see if she would +have the confidence to look them in the face: them, to whom +she had so often protested, that she had not the smallest +attachment to Lord Frederick, but from motives of vanity.</p> + +<p>These ladies heard with infinite satisfaction that dinner had +been served, but met Miss Milner at the table with a less +degree of pleasure than they had expected; for her mind +was so totally abstracted from any consideration of <i>them</i>, +that they could not discern a single blush, or confused glance, +which their presence occasioned. No, she had before them +divulged nothing of which she was ashamed; she was only +ashamed that what she had said was not true. In the bosom +of Miss Woodley alone was that secret entrusted which could +call a blush into her face, and before her, she <i>did</i> feel confusion—before +the gentle friend, to whom she had till this +time communicated all her faults without embarrassment, +she now cast down her eyes in shame.</p> + +<p>Soon after the dinner was removed, Lord Elmwood +entered; and that gallant young nobleman declared—“Mr. +Sandford had used him ill, in not permitting 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 of Miss Woodley, which from this day had a command +over Miss Milner, restrained her from expressing the +affright she suffered from this intimation. Miss Fenton +replied, “As to that, my Lord, I see no reason why Mr. Dorriforth +and Lord Frederick should not now be friends.” +“Certainly,” said Mrs. Horton; “for as soon as my Lord +Frederick is made acquainted with Miss Milner’s confession, +all differences must be reconciled.”</p> + +<p>“What confession?” +asked Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, to avoid hearing a repetition of that which +gave her pain even to recollect, rose in order to retire into +her own apartment, but was obliged to sit down again, till she +received the assistance of Lord Elmwood and her friend, who +led her into her dressing room. She reclined upon a sofa +there, and though left alone with that friend, a silence followed +of half an hour; nor when the conversation began, +was the name of Dorriforth once uttered—they were grown +cool and considerate since the discovery, and both were +equally fearful of naming him.</p> + +<p>The vanity of the world, the folly of riches, the charms of +retirement, and such topics engaged their discourse, but not +their thoughts, for near two hours; and the first time the +word Dorriforth was spoken, was by a servant, who with +alacrity opened the dressing room door, without previously +rapping, and cried, “Madam, Mr. Dorriforth.”</p> + +<p>Dorriforth immediately came in, and went eagerly to Miss +Milner. Miss Woodley beheld the glow of joy and of guilt +upon her face, and did not rise to give him her seat, as was +her custom, when she was sitting by his ward and he came +to her with intelligence. He therefore stood while he +repeated all that had happened in his interview with Lord +Frederick.</p> + +<p>But with her gladness to see her guardian safe, she had +forgot to enquire of the safety of his antagonist; of the man +whom she had pretended to love so passionately—even smiles +of rapture were upon her face, though Dorriforth might be +returned from putting him to death. This incongruity of +behaviour Miss Woodley observed, and was confounded—but +Dorriforth, in whose thoughts a suspicion either of her +love for him, or indifference for Lord Frederick, had no +place, easily reconciled this inconsistency, and said,</p> + +<p>“You see by my countenance that all is well, and therefore +you smile on me before I tell you what has passed.”</p> + +<p>This brought her to the recollection of her conduct, and +now with looks ill constrained, she attempted the expression +of an alarm she did not feel.</p> + +<p>“Nay, I assure you Lord Frederick is safe,” he resumed, +“and the disgrace of his blow washed entirely away, by a few +drops of blood from this arm.” And he laid his hand upon +his left arm, which rested in his waistcoat as a kind of sling.</p> + +<p>She cast her eyes there, and seeing where the ball had +entered the coat sleeve, she gave an involuntary scream, and +sunk upon the sofa. Instead of that affectionate sympathy +which Miss Woodley used to exert upon her slightest illness +or affliction, she now addressed her in an unpitying tone, +and said, “Miss Milner, you have heard Lord Frederick is +safe, you have therefore nothing to alarm you.” Nor did +she run to hold a smelling bottle, or to raise her head. Her +guardian seeing her near fainting, and without any assistance +from her friend, was going himself to give it; but on this, +Miss Woodley interfered, and having taken her head upon +her arm, assured him, “It was a weakness to which Miss +Milner was accustomed: that she would ring for her maid, +who knew how to relieve her instantly with a few drops.” +Satisfied with this, Dorriforth left the room; and a surgeon +being come to examine his wound, he retired into his own +chamber.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XVI" id="I_CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<p>The power delegated by the confidential to those entrusted +with their secrets, Miss Woodley was the last person on earth +to abuse—but she was also the last, who, by an accommodating +complacency, would participate in the guilt of her +friend—and there was no guilt, except that of murder, which +she thought equal to the crime in question, if it was ever +perpetrated. Adultery, reason would perhaps have informed +her, was a more pernicious evil to society; but to a religious +mind, what sound is so horrible as <i>sacrilege</i>? Of vows made +to God or to man, the former must weigh the heaviest. +Moreover, the sin of infidelity in the married state, is not +a little softened to common understandings, by its frequency; +whereas, of religious vows broken by a devotee she had never +heard; unless where the offence had been followed by such +examples of divine vengeance, such miraculous punishments +in this world, (as well as eternal punishment in the other) as +served to exaggerate the wickedness.</p> + +<p>She, who could, and who did pardon Miss Milner, was +the person who saw her 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 be fixed, it +would never be returned. Yet this confidence did not +prevent her taking every precaution, lest Dorriforth should +come to the knowledge of it. She would not have his composed +mind disturbed with such a thought—his steadfast +principles so much as shaken by the imagination—nor overwhelm +him with those self-reproaches which his fatal attraction, +unpremeditated as it was, would still have drawn upon +him.</p> + +<p>With this plan of concealment, in which the natural +modesty of Miss Milner acquiesced, there was but one effort +for which this unhappy ward was not prepared; and that +was an entire separation from her guardian. She had, from +the first, cherished her passion without the most remote +prospect of a return—she was prepared to see Dorriforth, +without ever seeing him more nearly connected to her than +as her guardian and friend; but not to see him at all—for +<i>that</i>, she was not prepared.</p> + +<p>But Miss Woodley reflected upon the inevitable necessity +of this measure before she made the proposal; and then +made it with a firmness that might have done honour to the +inflexibility of Dorriforth himself.</p> + +<p>During the few days that intervened between her open +confession of a passion for Lord Frederick and this proposed +plan of separation, the most intricate incoherence appeared +in the character of Miss Milner—and in 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 on the point of declaring a passion for Sir Edward +Ashton.</p> + +<p>In the duel which had taken place between Lord Frederick +and Dorriforth, the latter had received the fire of his antagonist, +but positively refused to return it; by which he had +kept his promise not to endanger his Lordship’s life, and +had reconciled Sandford, in great measure, to his behaviour—and +Sandford now (his resolution once broken) no longer +refused entering Miss Milner’s house, but came whenever it +was convenient, though he yet avoided the mistress of it as +much as possible; or showed by every word and look, when +she was present, that she was still less in his favour than she +had ever been.</p> + +<p>He visited Dorriforth on the evening of his engagement +with Lord Frederick, and the next morning breakfasted +with him in his own chamber; nor did Miss Milner see her +guardian after his first return from that engagement before +the following noon. She enquired, however, of his servant +how he did, and was rejoiced to hear that his wound was but +slight—yet this enquiry she durst not make before Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>When Dorriforth made his appearance the next day, it +was evident that he had thrown from his heart a load of cares; +and though they had left a languor upon his face, content +was in his voice, in his manners, in every word and action. +Far from seeming to retain any resentment against his ward, +for the danger into which her imprudence had led him, he +appeared rather to pity her indiscretion, and to wish to soothe +the perturbation which the recollection of her own conduct +had evidently raised in her mind. His endeavours were +successful—she was soothed every time he spoke to her; +and had not the watchful eye of Miss Woodley stood guard +over her inclinations, she had plainly discovered, that she +was enraptured with the joy of seeing him again himself, +after the danger to which he had been exposed.</p> + +<p>These emotions, which she laboured to subdue, passed, +however, the bounds of her ineffectual resistance, when at +the time of retiring after dinner, he said to her in a low +voice, but such as it was meant the company should hear, +“Do me the favour, Miss Milner, to call at my study some +time in the evening; I have to speak with you upon business.”</p> + +<p>She answered, “I will, Sir.” And her eyes swam with +delight, in expectation of the interview.</p> + +<p>Let not the reader, nevertheless, imagine, there was in +that ardent expectation, one idea which the most spotless +mind, in love, might not have indulged without reproach. +Sincere love (at least among the delicate of the female sex) +is often gratified by that degree of enjoyment, or rather +forbearance, which would be torture in the pursuit of any +other passion. Real, delicate, and restrained love, such as +Miss Milner’s, was indulged in the sight of the object only; +and having bounded her wishes by her hopes, the height of +her happiness was limited to a conversation, in which no +other but themselves took a part.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was one of those who heard the appointment, +but the only one who conceived with what sensation +it was received.</p> + +<p>While the ladies remained in the same room with Dorriforth, +Miss Milner thought of little, except of him. As soon +as they withdrew into another apartment, she remembered +Miss Woodley; and turning her head suddenly, saw her +friend’s face imprinted with suspicion and displeasure: this +at first was painful to her—but recollecting that in a couple +of hours she was to meet her guardian alone—to speak to him, +and hear him speak to her only—every other thought was +absorbed in that one, and she considered with indifference, +the uneasiness, or the anger of her friend.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, to do justice to her heart, did not wish to +beguile Dorriforth into the snares of love: could any supernatural +power have endowed her with the means, and at the +same time have shewn to her the ills that must arise from +such an effect of her charms, she had assuredly virtue enough +to have declined the conquest; but without enquiring what +she proposed, she never saw him, without previously endeavouring +to look more attractive, than she would have +desired, before any other person. And now, without listening +to the thousand exhortations that spoke in every feature +of Miss Woodley, she flew to a looking-glass, to adjust her +dress in a manner that she thought most enchanting.</p> + +<p>Time stole away, and the time of going to her guardian +arrived. In his presence, unsupported by the presence of +any other, every grace that she had practised, every look that +she had borrowed to set off her charms, were annihilated; +and she became a native beauty, with the artless arguments +of reason only for her aid. Awed thus by his power, from +every thing but what she really was, she never was perhaps +half so bewitching, as in those timid, respectful, and embarrassed +moments she passed alone with him. He caught at +those times her respect, her diffidence, nay, even her embarrassment; +and never would one word of anger pass on +either side.</p> + +<p>On the present occasion, he first expressed the high satisfaction +that she had given him, by at length revealing to him +the real state of her mind.</p> + +<p>“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 wished for your +perfect happiness; yet, in the state of human perfection +and human happiness, you might have fixed your affections +with perhaps less propriety; and still, where my unwillingness +to thwart your inclinations might not have permitted +me to contend with them.”</p> + +<p>Not a word of reply did this demand; or if it had, not +a word could she have given.</p> + +<p>“And now, Madam, the reason of my desire to speak +with you—is, to know the means you think most proper to +pursue, in order to acquaint Lord Frederick, that notwithstanding +this late repulse, there are hopes of your partiality +in his favour.”</p> + +<p>“Defer the explanation,” she replied eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon—it cannot be. Besides, how can you +indulge a disposition thus unpitying? Even so ardently did +I desire to render the man who loves you happy, that though +he came armed against my life, had I not reflected, that +previous to our engagement it would appear like fear, and +the means of bartering for his forgiveness, I should have +revealed your sentiments the moment I had seen him. When +the engagement was over, I was too impatient to acquaint +you with his safety, to think then on gratifying him. And +indeed, the delicacy of the declaration, after the many +denials which you have no doubt given him, should be +considered. I therefore consult your opinion upon the +manner in which it shall be made.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Dorriforth, can you allow nothing to the moments +of surprise, and that pity, which the fate impending inspired? +and which might urge me to express myself of Lord Frederick, +in a manner my cooler thoughts will not warrant?”</p> + +<p>“There was nothing in your expressions, my dear Miss +Milner, the least equivocal—if you were off your guard +when you pleaded for Lord Frederick, as I believe you were, +you said more sincerely what you thought; and no discreet, +or rather indiscreet attempts to retract, can make me change +these sentiments.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry,” she replied, confused and trembling.</p> + +<p>“Why sorry? Come give me commission to reveal your +partiality. I’ll not be too hard upon you—a hint from me +will do. Hope is ever apt to interpret the slightest words +to its own use, and a lover’s hope is beyond all others, +sanguine.”</p> + +<p>“I never gave Lord Frederick hope.”</p> + +<p>“But you never plunged him into despair.”</p> + +<p>“His pursuit intimates that I never have, but he has no +other proof.”</p> + +<p>“However light and frivolous you have been upon frivolous +subjects, yet I must own, Miss Milner, that I did expect +when a case of this importance came seriously before you, +you would have discovered a proper stability in your behaviour.”</p> + +<p>“I do, Sir; and it was only when I was affected with +a weakness, which arose from accident, that I have betrayed +inconsistency.”</p> + +<p>“You then assert again, that you have no affection for +my Lord Frederick?”</p> + +<p>“Not enough to become his wife.”</p> + +<p>“You are alarmed at marriage, and I do not wonder you +should be so; it shews a prudent foresight which does you +honour—but, my dear, are there no dangers in a single +state? If I may judge, Miss Milner, there are many more +to a young lady of your accomplishments, than if you were +under the protection of a husband.”</p> + +<p>“My father, Mr. Dorriforth, thought your protection +sufficient.”</p> + +<p>“But that protection was rather to direct your choice, +than to be the cause of your not choosing at all. Give me +leave to point out an observation which, perhaps, I have +too frequently made before, but upon this occasion I must +intrude it once again. Miss Fenton is its object—her +fortune is inferior to your’s, her personal attractions are +less”——</p> + +<p>Here the powerful glow of joy, and of gratitude, for an +opinion so negligently, and yet so sincerely expressed, flew +to Miss Milner’s face, neck, and even to her hands and +fingers; the blood mounted to every part of her skin that +was visible, for not a fibre but felt the secret transport, +that Dorriforth thought her more beautiful than the beautiful +Miss Fenton.</p> + +<p>If he observed her blushes, he was unsuspicious of the +cause, and went on.</p> + +<p>“There is, besides, in the temper of Miss Fenton, a sedateness +that might with less hazard ensure her safety in an +unmarried life; and yet she very properly thinks it her +duty, as she does not mean to seclude herself by any vows +to the contrary, to become a wife—and in obedience to the +counsel of her friends, will be married within a very few +weeks.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Fenton may marry from obedience, I never will.”</p> + +<p>“You mean to say, that love shall alone induce you.”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“If you would point out a subject upon which I am the +least able to reason, and on which my sentiments, such as +they are, are formed only from theory, (and even there, +more cautioned than instructed) it is the subject of love. +And yet, even that little which I know, tells me, without +a doubt, that what you said yesterday, pleading for Lord +Frederick’s life, was the result of the most violent and +tender love.”</p> + +<p>“The <i>little you know</i> then, Mr. Dorriforth, has deceived +you; had you <i>known more</i>, you would have judged otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“I submit to the merit of your reply; but without +allowing me a judge at all, I will appeal to those who were +present with me.”</p> + +<p>“Are Mrs. Horton and Mr. Sandford to be the connoisseurs?”</p> + +<p>“No; I’ll appeal to Miss Fenton and Miss Woodley.”</p> + +<p>“And yet, I believe,” replied she with a smile, “I believe +theory must only be the judge even there.”</p> + +<p>“Then from all you have said, Madam, on this occasion, +I am to conclude that you still refuse to marry Lord +Frederick?”</p> + +<p>“You are.”</p> + +<p>“And you submit never to see him again?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“All you then said to me, yesterday, was false?”</p> + +<p>“I was not mistress of myself at the time.”</p> + +<p>“Therefore it was truth!—for shame, for shame!”</p> + +<p>At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Sandford +walked in—he started back on seeing Miss Milner, and was +going away; but Dorriforth called to him to stay, and said +with warmth,</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Mr. Sandford, by what power, by what persuasion, +I can prevail upon 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 the advice +I give to her, but her immediate welfare.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Dorriforth, you know my opinion of that lady,” +replied Sandford; “it has been formed ever since my first +acquaintance with her, and it continues the same.”</p> + +<p>“But instruct me how I am to inspire her with confidence,” +returned Dorriforth; “how I am to impress her with +a sense of that, which is for her advantage?”</p> + +<p>“You can work no miracles,” replied Sandford, “you are +not holy enough.”</p> + +<p>“And yet my ward,” answered Dorriforth, “appears to +be acquainted with that mystery; for what but the force of +a miracle can induce her to contradict to-day, what before +you, and several other witnesses, she positively acknowledged +yesterday?”</p> + +<p>“Do you call that miraculous?” cried Sandford; “the +miracle had been if she had <i>not</i> done so—for did she not +yesterday contradict what she acknowledged the day before? +and will she not to-morrow disavow what she says to-day?”</p> + +<p>“I wish that she may—” replied Dorriforth mildly, for +he saw the tears flowing down her face at the rough and +severe manner in which Sandford had spoken, and he began +to feel for her uneasiness.</p> + +<p>“I beg pardon,” cried Sandford, “for speaking so rudely +to the mistress of the house—I have no business here, I know; +but where <i>you</i> are, Mr. Dorriforth, unless I am turned out, +I shall always think it my duty to come.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner curtsied, as much as to say, he was welcome +to come. He continued,</p> + +<p>“I was to blame, that upon a nice punctilio, I left you so +long without my visits, and without my counsel; in that +time, you have run the hazard of being murdered, and what +is worse, of being excommunicated; for had you been so +rash as to have returned your opponent’s fire, not all my +interest at Rome would have obtained remission of the +punishment.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, through all her tears, could not now restrain +her laughter. On which he resumed;</p> + +<p>“And here do I venture, like a missionary among savages—but +if I can only save you from their scalping knives—from +the miseries which that lady is preparing for you, I am +rewarded.”</p> + +<p>Sandford spoke this with great fervour, and the offence of +her love never appeared to her in so tremendous a point of +view, as when thus, unknowingly, alluded to by him.</p> + +<p>“<i>The miseries that lady is preparing for you</i>,” hung upon +her ears like the notes of a raven, and sounded equally +ominous. The words “<i>murder</i>” and “<i>excommunication</i>” +he had likewise uttered; all the fatal effects of sacrilegious +love. Frightful superstitions struck her to the heart, and she +could scarcely prevent falling down under their oppression.</p> + +<p>Dorriforth beheld the difficulty she had in sustaining herself, +and with the utmost tenderness went towards her, and +supporting her, said, “I beg your pardon—I invited you +hither with a far different intention than your uneasiness, +and be assured——”</p> + +<p>Sandford was beginning to speak, when Dorriforth resumed,—“Hold, +Mr. Sandford, the lady is under my protection, +and I know not whether it is not requisite that you +should apologize to her, and to me, for what you have already +said.”</p> + +<p>“You asked my opinion, or I had not given it you—would +you have me, like <i>her</i>, speak what I do not think?”</p> + +<p>“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 another opportunity of renewing the +subject.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="I_CHAPTER_XVII" id="I_CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<p>When Dorriforth was alone with Sandford, he explained +to him what before he had only hinted; and this learned +Jesuit frankly confessed, “That the mind of woman was +far above, or rather beneath, his comprehension.” It was +so, indeed—for with all his penetration, and few even of +that school had more, he had not yet penetrated into the +recesses of Miss Milner’s heart.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, to whom she repeated all that had passed +between herself, her guardian, and Sandford, took this +moment, in the agitation of her spirits, to alarm her still +more by prophetic insinuations; and at length represented +to her here, for the first time, the necessity, “That Mr. Dorriforth +and she no longer should remain under the same roof.” +This was like the stroke of sudden death to Miss Milner, and +clinging to life, she endeavoured to avert the blow by prayers, +and by promises. Her friend loved her too sincerely to be +prevailed upon.</p> + +<p>“But in what manner can I accomplish the separation?” +cried she, “for till I marry we are obliged, by my father’s +request, to live in the same house.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner,” answered Miss Woodley, “much as I +respect the will of a dying man, I regard your and Mr. Dorriforth’s +present and eternal happiness much more; and it is +my resolution that you <i>shall part</i>. If <i>you</i> will not contrive +the means, that duty falls on me, and without any invention +I see the measure at once.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” cried Miss Milner eagerly.</p> + +<p>“I will reveal to Mr. Dorriforth, without hesitation, the +real state of your heart; which your present inconsistency +of conduct will but too readily confirm.”</p> + +<p>“You would not plunge me into so much shame, into so +much anguish!” cried she, distractedly.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Miss Woodley, “not for the world, if you +will separate from him by any mode of your own—but that +you <i>shall</i> separate is my determination; and in spite of all +your sufferings, this shall be the expedient, unless you +instantly agree to some other.”</p> + +<p>“Good Heaven, Miss Woodley! is this your friendship?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—and the truest friendship I have to bestow. Think +what a task I undertake for your sake and his, when I condemn +myself to explain to him your weakness. What +astonishment! what confusion! what remorse, do I foresee +painted upon his face! I hear him call you by the harshest +names, and behold him fly from your sight for ever, as an +object of his detestation.”</p> + +<p>“Oh spare the dreadful picture.—Fly from my sight for +ever! Detest my name! Oh! my dear Miss Woodley, let +but his friendship for me still remain, and I will consent to +any thing. You may command me. I will go away from +him directly—but let us part in friendship—Oh! without +the friendship of Mr. Dorriforth, life would be a heavy +burthen indeed.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley immediately began to contrive schemes +for their separation; and, with all her invention alive on the +subject, the following was the only natural one that she could +form.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, in a letter to her distant relation at Bath, +was to complain of the melancholy of a country life, which +she was to say her guardian imposed upon her; and she was +to entreat the lady to send a pressing 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 +earnest wishes for his consent. This plan having been +properly regulated, the necessary letter was sent to Bath, +and Miss Woodley waited with patience, but with a watchful +guard upon the conduct of her friend, till the answer should +arrive.</p> + +<p>During this interim a tender and complaining epistle from +Lord Frederick was delivered to Miss Milner; to which, +as he received no answer, he prevailed upon his uncle, with +whom he resided, to wait upon her, and obtain a verbal +reply; for he still flattered himself, that fear of her guardian’s +anger, or perhaps his interception of the letter which he had +sent, was the sole cause of her apparent indifference.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman was introduced both to Miss Milner +and to Mr. Dorriforth, but received from each an answer +so explicit, that left his nephew no longer in doubt but that +all farther pursuit was vain.</p> + +<p>Sir Edward Ashton about this time also submitted to +a formal dismission; and had the mortification to reflect, +that he was bestowing upon the object of his affections, the +tenderest proof of his regard, by absenting himself entirely +from her society.</p> + +<p>Upon this serious and certain conclusion to the hopes of +Lord Frederick, Dorriforth was more astonished than ever +at the conduct of his ward. He had once thought her +behaviour in this respect was ambiguous, but since her +confession of a passion for that nobleman, he had no doubt +but in the 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 +more reserved, and more austere than he had been since his +first acquaintance with her; for his manners, not from +design, but imperceptibly to himself, had been softened +since he became her guardian, by that tender respect which +he had uniformly paid to the object of his protection.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the severity he now assumed, his ward, +in the prospect of parting from him, grew melancholy; Miss +Woodley’s love to her friend rendered her little otherwise; +and Dorriforth’s peculiar gravity, frequently rigour, could +not but make their whole party less cheerful than it had been. +Lord Elmwood too, at this time was lying dangerously ill +of a fever; Miss Fenton of course was as much in sorrow +as her nature would permit her to be, and both Sandford and +Dorriforth in extreme concern upon his Lordship’s account.</p> + +<p>In this posture of affairs, the letter of invitation arrives +from Lady Luneham at Bath; it was shewn to Dorriforth; +and to prove to his ward that he is so much offended, as no +longer to feel that excessive interest in her concerns which +he once felt, he gives an opinion on the subject with indifference—he +desires “Miss Milner will do what she herself +thinks proper.” Miss Woodley instantly accepts this permission, +writes back, and appoints the day upon which her +friend means to set off for the visit.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner is wounded at the heart by the cold and +unkind manners of her 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 part of the +country is not the cause.</p> + +<p>When the time she was to set out for Bath was only two +days off, the behaviour of Dorriforth took, by degrees, its +usual form, if not a greater share of polite and tender attention +than ever. It was the first time he had parted from +Miss Milner since he became her guardian, and he felt upon +the occasion, a reluctance. He had been angry with her, +he had shewn her that he was, and he now began to wish +that he had not. She is not happy, (he considered within +himself) every word and action declares she is not; I may +have been too severe, and added perhaps to her uneasiness. +“At least we will part on good terms,” said he—“Indeed, my +regard for her is such, I cannot part otherwise.”</p> + +<p>She soon discerned his returning kindness, and it was +a gentle tie that would have fastened her to that spot for +ever, but for the firm resistance of Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“What will the absence of a few months effect?” said +she, pleading her own cause; “At the end of a few months +at farthest, he will expect me back, and where then will be the +merit of this separation?”</p> + +<p>“In that time,” replied Miss Woodley, “we may find +some method to make it longer.” To this she listened with +a kind of despair, but uttered, she “Was resigned,”—and +she prepared for her departure.</p> + +<p>Dorriforth was all anxiety that every circumstance of her +journey should be commodious; he was eager she should +be happy; and he was eager she should see that he entirely +forgave her. He would have gone part of the way with her, +but for the extreme illness of Lord Elmwood, in whose +chamber he passed most of the day, and slept in Elmwood +House every night.</p> + +<p>On the morning of her journey, when Dorriforth gave +his hand and conducted Miss Milner to the carriage, all the +way he led her she could not restrain her tears; which +increased, as he parted from her, to convulsive sobs. He was +affected by her grief; and though he had previously bid her +farewell, he drew her gently on one side, and said, with the +tenderest concern,</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Milner, we part friends?—I hope we do?—On +my side, depend upon it, that I regret nothing so much +at our separation, as having ever given you a moment’s pain.”</p> + +<p>“I believe so,” was all she could utter, for she hastened +from him, lest his discerning eye should discover the cause +of the weakness which thus overcame her. But her apprehensions +were groundless; the rectitude of his own heart was +a bar to the suspicion of her’s. He once more kindly bade +her adieu, and the carriage drove away.</p> + +<p>Miss Fenton and Miss Woodley accompanied her part of +the journey, about thirty miles, where they were met by +Sir Harry and Lady Luneham. Here was a parting nearly +as affecting as that between her and her guardian. Miss +Woodley, who for several weeks had treated her friend with +a rigidness she herself hardly supposed was in her nature, +now bewailed that she had done so; implored her forgiveness; +promised to correspond with her punctually, and to +omit no opportunity of giving her every consolation short +of cherishing her fatal passion—but in that, and that only, +was the heart of Miss Milner to be consoled.</p> + +<p>END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A<br /> +SIMPLE STORY,</h2> + +<h3>IN FOUR VOLUMES,</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>MRS. INCHBALD.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>VOL. II.</h2> + +<h4><i>THE FOURTH EDITION.</i></h4> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> + +Printed for G. G. and J. ROBINSON,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paternoster Row.</span><br /> + +1799. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A SIMPLE STORY</h2> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_I" id="II_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p>When Miss Milner arrived at Bath, she thought it the +most altered place she had ever seen—she was mistaken—it +was herself that was changed.</p> + +<p>The walks were melancholy, the company insipid, the +ball-room fatiguing—for, she had left behind all that could +charm or please her.</p> + +<p>Though she found herself much less happy than when she +was at Bath before, yet she felt, that she would not, even to +enjoy all that past happiness, be again reduced to the being +she was at that period. Thus does the lover consider the +extinction of his passion with the same horror as the libertine +looks upon annihilation; the one would rather live hereafter, +though in all the tortures described as constituting +his future state, than cease to exist; so, there are no tortures +which a lover would not suffer, rather than cease to love.</p> + +<p>In the wide prospect of sadness before her, Miss Milner’s +fancy caught hold of the only comfort which presented +itself; and this, faint as it was, in the total absence of every +other, her imagination painted to her as excessive. The +comfort was a letter from Miss Woodley—a letter, in which +the subject of her love would most assuredly be mentioned, +and in whatever terms, it would still be the means of delight.</p> + +<p>A letter arrived—she devoured it with her eyes. The +post mark denoting from whence it came, the name of +“Milner Lodge” written on the top, were all sources of +pleasure—and she read slowly every line it contained, to +procrastinate the pleasing expectation she enjoyed, till she +should arrive at the name of Dorriforth. At last, her impatient +eye caught the word, three lines beyond the place +she was reading—irresistibly, she skipped over those lines, +and fixed on the point to which she was attracted.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; she made +the slightest mention of Dorriforth; saying only, “He was +extremely concerned, and even dejected, at the little hope +there was of his cousin, Lord Elmwood’s, recovery.” Short +and trivial as this passage was, it was still more important to +Miss Milner than any other in the letter—she read 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 did she muse, while the cause of his dejection, +though a most serious one, and pathetically described +by Miss Woodley, scarce arrested her attention once. She +ran over with haste the account of Lord Elmwood’s state of +health; she certainly pitied him while she thought of him, +but she did not think of him long. To die, was a hard +fate for a young nobleman just in possession of his immense +fortune, and on the eve of marriage with a beautiful young +woman; but Miss Milner thought that an abode in Heaven +might be still better than all this, and she had no doubt but +his Lordship would go thither. The forlorn state of Miss +Fenton ought to have been a subject for compassion, but +she knew that lady had resignation to bear any lot with +patience, and that a trial of her fortitude might be more +flattering to her vanity than to be Countess of 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.</p> + +<p>She replied to Miss Woodley’s letter, and dwelt very long +on that subject which her friend had passed over lightly; +this was another indulgence; and this epistolary intercourse +was now the only enjoyment she possessed. From Bath +she paid several visits with Lady Luneham—all were alike +tedious and melancholy.</p> + +<p>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 merely common-place, yet she valued them +as the dearest effusions of friendship and affection; and her +hands trembled, and her heart beat with rapture while she +wrote the answer, though she knew it would not be received +by him with one emotion like those which she experienced. +In her second letter to Miss Woodley, she prayed like a +person insane to be taken home from confinement, and like +a lunatic protested, in sensible language, she “Had no +disorder.” But her friend replied, “That very declaration +proves its violence.” And she assured her, nothing less than +placing her affections elsewhere, should induce her to believe +but that she was incurable.</p> + +<p>The third letter from Milner Lodge brought the news of +Lord Elmwood’s death. Miss Woodley was exceedingly +affected by this event, and said little else on any other subject. +Miss Milner was shocked when she read the words “He is +dead”, and instantly thought,</p> + +<p>“How transient are all sublunary things! Within a few +years <i>I</i> shall be dead—and how happy will it then be, if +I have resisted every temptation to the alluring pleasures +of this life!” The happiness of a peaceful death occupied +her contemplation for near an hour; but at length, every +virtuous and pious sentiment this meditation inspired, +served but to remind her of the many sentences she had +heard from her guardian’s lips upon the same subject—her +thoughts were again fixed on him, and she could think of +nothing besides.</p> + +<p>In a short time after this, her health became impaired +from the indisposition of her mind; she languished, and was +once in imminent danger. During a slight delirium of her +fever, Miss Woodley’s name and her guardian’s were incessantly +repeated; Lady Luneham sent them immediate word +of this, and they both hastened to Bath, and arrived there +just as the violence and danger of her disorder had ceased. +As soon as she became perfectly recollected, her first care, +knowing the frailty of her heart, was to enquire what she +had uttered while delirious. Miss Woodley, who was by her +bedside, begged her not to be alarmed on that account, +and assured her she knew, from all her attendants, that she had +only spoken with a friendly remembrance (as was really the +case) of those persons who were dear to her.</p> + +<p>She wished to know whether her guardian was come to +see her, but she had not the courage to ask before her +friend; and she in her turn was afraid by the too sudden +mention of his name, to discompose her. Her maid, however, +after some little time, entered the chamber, and +whispered Miss Woodley. Miss Milner asked inquisitively +“What she said?”</p> + +<p>The maid replied softly, “Lord Elmwood, Madam, wishes +to come and see you for a few moments, if you will allow +him.”</p> + +<p>At this reply Miss Milner stared wildly.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” said she, “I thought Lord Elmwood had +been dead—are my senses disordered still?”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear,” answered Miss Woodley, “it is the present +Lord Elmwood who wishes to see you; he whom you left +ill when you came hither, <i>is</i> dead.”</p> + +<p>“And who is the present Lord Elmwood?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, after a short hesitation, replied—“Your +guardian.”</p> + +<p>“And so he is,” cried Miss Milner; “he is the next heir—I +had forgot. But is it possible that he is here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—” returned Miss Woodley with a grave voice and +manner, to moderate that glow of satisfaction which for +a moment sparkled even in her languid eye, and blushed over +her pallid countenance. “Yes—as he heard you were ill, +he thought it right to come and see you.”</p> + +<p>“He is very good,” she answered, and the tear started in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Would you please to see his Lordship?” asked her maid.</p> + +<p>“Not yet, not yet,” she replied; “let me recollect myself +first.” And she looked with a timid doubt upon her friend, +to ask if it was proper.</p> + +<p>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 Elmwood was introduced.</p> + +<p>To those who sincerely love, every change of situation or +circumstances in the object beloved, appears an advantage. +So, the acquisition of a title and estate was, in Miss Milner’s +eye, an inestimable advantage to her guardian; not on +account of their real value; but that any change, instead of +diminishing her passion, would have served only to increase +it—even a change to the utmost poverty.</p> + +<p>When he entered—the sight of him seemed to be too +much for her, and after the first glance she turned her head +away. The sound of his voice encouraged her to look once +more—and then she riveted her eyes upon him.</p> + +<p>“It is impossible, my dear Miss Milner,” he gently +whispered, “to say, what joy I feel that your disorder has +subsided.”</p> + +<p>But though it was impossible to say, it was possible to +<i>look</i> what he felt, and his looks expressed his feelings. In +the zeal of those sensations, he laid hold of her hand, and +held it between his—this he did not himself know—but +she did.</p> + +<p>“You have prayed for me, my Lord, I make no doubt?” +said she, and smiled, as if thanking him for those prayers.</p> + +<p>“Fervently, ardently!” returned he; and the fervency +with which he had prayed spoke in every feature.</p> + +<p>“But I am a protestant, you know, and if I had died such, +do you believe I should have gone to Heaven?”</p> + +<p>“Most assuredly, that would not have prevented you.”</p> + +<p>“But Mr. Sandford does not think so.”</p> + +<p>“He must; for he means to go there himself.”</p> + +<p>To keep her guardian with her, Miss Milner seemed +inclined to converse; but her solicitous friend gave Lord +Elmwood a look, which implied that it might be injurious +to her, and he retired.</p> + +<p>They had only one more interview before he left the place; +at which Miss Milner was capable of sitting up—he was with +her, however, but a very short time, some necessary concerns +relative to his late kinsman’s affairs, calling him in haste to +London. Miss Woodley continued with her friend till she +saw her entirely reinstated in her health: during which +time her guardian was frequently the subject of their private +conversation; and upon those occasions Miss Milner has +sometimes brought Miss Woodley to acknowledge, “That +could Mr. Dorriforth have possibly foreseen the early death +of the last Lord Elmwood, it had been more for the honour +of his religion (as that ancient title would now after him +become extinct), if he had preferred marriage vows to those +of celibacy.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_II" id="II_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>When the time for Miss Woodley’s departure arrived, +Miss Milner entreated earnestly to accompany her home, and +made the most solemn promises that she would guard not +only her behaviour, but her very thoughts, within the +limitation her friend should prescribe. Miss Woodley at +length yielded thus far, “That as soon as Lord Elmwood +was set out on his journey to Italy, where she had heard him +say that he should soon be obliged to go, she would no +longer deny her the pleasure of returning; and if (after the +long absence which must consequently take place between +him and her) she could positively affirm the suppression of +her passion was the happy result, she would then take her +word, and risk the danger of seeing them once more reside +together.”</p> + +<p>This concession having been obtained, they parted; and +as winter was now far advanced, Miss Woodley returned to +her aunt’s house in town, from whence Mrs. Horton was, +however, preparing to remove, in order to superintend Lord +Elmwood’s house, (which had been occupied by the late +Earl,) in Grosvenor Square; and her niece was to accompany +her.</p> + +<p>If Lord Elmwood was not desirous Miss Milner should +conclude her visit and return to his protection, it was partly +from the multiplicity of affairs 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 be increased +even to aversion. Upon this account, he once thought of +advising Mr. Sandford to take up his abode elsewhere; but +the great pleasure he took in his society, joined to the bitter +mortification he knew such a proposal would be to his friend, +would not suffer him to make it.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner all this time was not thinking upon those she +hated, but on those she loved. Sandford never came into +her thoughts, while the image of Lord Elmwood never left +them. One morning, as she sat talking to Lady Luneham +on various subjects, but thinking alone on him, Sir Harry +Luneham, with another gentleman, a Mr. Fleetmond, came +in, and the conversation turned upon the improbability, +during the present Lord Elmwood’s youth, that he should +ever inherit the title and estate which had now fallen to him—and, +said Mr. Fleetmond, “Independent of rank and +fortune, it must be matter of infinite joy to Mr. Dorriforth.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Sir Harry, “independent of rank and +fortune, it must be a motive of concern to him; for he must +now regret, beyond measure, his folly in taking priest’s orders, +thus depriving himself of the hopes of an heir, so that his +title, at his death, will be lost.”</p> + +<p>“By no means,” replied Mr. Fleetmond; “he may yet +have an heir, for he will certainly marry.”</p> + +<p>“Marry!” cried the Baronet.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the other, “it was that I meant by the +joy it might probably give him, beyond the possession of +his estate and title.”</p> + +<p>“How he married?” said Lady Luneham, “Has he not +taken a vow never to marry?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Mr. Fleetmond, “but there are no +<i>religious</i> vows, from which the sovereign Pontiff at Rome +cannot grant a dispensation, as those commandments which +are made by the church, the church has always the 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 remit all penalties for their non-observance; and +certainly it is for the honour of the Catholics, that this +Earldom should continue in a Catholic family. In short, +I’ll venture to lay a wager, my Lord Elmwood is married +within a year.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, who listened with attention, feared she was +in a dream, or deceived by the pretended knowledge of +Mr. Fleetmond, who might know nothing—yet all that he +had said was very probable; and he was himself a Roman +Catholic, so that he must be well informed on the subject +upon which he spoke. If she had heard the direst news +that ever sounded in the ears of the most susceptible of +mortals, the agitation of her mind and person could not +have been stronger—she felt, while every word was speaking, +a chill through all her veins—a pleasure too exquisite, not +to bear along with it the sensation of exquisite pain; of +which she was so sensible, that for a few moments it made +her wish that she had not heard the intelligence; though, +very soon after, she would not but have heard it for the +world.</p> + +<p>As soon as she had recovered from her first astonishment +and joy, she wrote to Miss Woodley an exact account of what +she had heard, and received this answer:</p> + +<p>“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 extreme satisfaction—but from the fear that +your health was not yet strong enough to support, without +some danger, the burthen of hopes which I knew would, upon +this occasion, press upon you, I deferred my communication +and it has been anticipated. Yet, as you seem in doubt as +to the reality of what you have been told, perhaps this confirmation +of it may fall very little short of the first news; +especially when it is enforced by my request, that you will +come to us, as soon as you can with propriety leave Lady +Luneham.</p> + +<p>“Come, my dear Miss Milner, and find in your once rigid +monitor a faithful confidante. I will no longer threaten to +disclose a secret you have trusted me with, but leave it to the +wisdom, or sensibility of <i>his</i> heart, (who is now to penetrate +into the hearts of our sex, in search of one that may beat +in unison with his own) to find it out. I no longer condemn, +but congratulate you on your passion; and will assist you +with all my advice and my earnest wishes, that it may obtain +a return.”</p> + +<p>This letter was another of those excruciating pleasures, +that almost reduced Miss Milner to the grave. Her appetite +forsook her; and she vainly endeavoured, for several nights, +to close her eyes. She thought so much upon the prospect +of accomplishing her wishes, that she could admit no other +idea; nor even invent one probable excuse for leaving Lady +Luneham before the appointed time, which was then at the +distance of two months. She wrote to Miss Woodley to beg +her contrivance, to reproach her for keeping the secret so +long from her, and to thank her for having revealed it in so +kind a manner at last. She begged also to be acquainted +how Mr. Dorriforth (for still she called him by that name) +spoke and thought of this sudden change in his destiny.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley’s reply was a summons for her to town +upon some pretended business, which she avoided explaining, +but which entirely silenced Lady Luneham’s entreaties for +her stay.</p> + +<p>To her question concerning Lord Elmwood she answered, +“It is a subject on which he seldom speaks—he appears just +the same he ever did, nor could you by any part of his conduct, +conceive that any such change had taken place.” Miss +Milner exclaimed to herself, “I am glad he is not altered—if +his words, looks, or manners, were any thing different from +what they formerly were, I should not like him so well.” +And just the reverse would have been the case, had Miss +Woodley sent her word he was changed. The day for +her leaving Bath was fixed; she expected it with rapture, +but before its arrival, sunk under the care of expectation; +and when it came, was so much indisposed, as to be obliged +to defer her journey for a week.</p> + +<p>At length she found herself in London—in the house of +her guardian—and that guardian no longer bound to a single +life, but <i>enjoined</i> to marry. He appeared in her eyes, as in +Miss Woodley’s, the same as ever; or perhaps more endearing +than ever, as it was the first time she had beheld him with +hope. Mr. Sandford did <i>not</i> appear the same; yet he was +in reality as surly and as disrespectful in his behaviour to her +as usual; but she did not observe, or she did not feel his +morose temper as heretofore—he seemed amiable, mild, and +gentle; at least this was the happy medium through which +her self-complacent mind began to see him; for good +humour, like the jaundice, makes every one of its own +complexion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_III" id="II_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was preparing to go abroad, for the purpose +of receiving in form, the dispensation from his vows; +it was, however, a subject he seemed carefully to avoid +speaking upon; and when by any accident he was obliged +to mention it, it was without any marks either of satisfaction +or concern.</p> + +<p>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 rather an honourable than a reproachful +trait in his character, and in reality, she admired him for the +insensibility. But on the eve of being at liberty, and on the +eve of making his choice, she was offended <i>that</i> choice was +not immediately fixed upon her. She had been accustomed +to receive the devotion of every man who saw her, and not to +obtain it of the man from whom, of all others, she most +wished it, was cruelly humiliating. She complained to Miss +Woodley, who advised her to have patience; but that was +one of the virtues in which she was the least practised.</p> + +<p>Encouraged, nevertheless, by her friend in the commendable +desire of gaining the affections of him, who possessed all +her own, she, however, left no means unattempted for the +conquest—but she began with too great a certainty of +success, not to be sensible of the deepest mortification in the +disappointment—nay, she anticipated a disappointment, as +she had before anticipated her success; by turns feeling the +keenest emotions from hope and from despair.</p> + +<p>As these passions alternately governed her, she was alternately +in spirits or dejected; in good or in ill humour; and +the vicissitudes of her prospect at length gave to her behaviour +an air of caprice, which not all her follies had till now produced. +This was not the way to secure the affections of +Lord Elmwood; she knew it was not; and before him she +was under some restriction. Sandford observed this, and +without reserve, added to the list of her other failings, +hypocrisy. It was plain to see that Mr. Sandford esteemed +her less and less every day; and as 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 of abhorrence.</p> + +<p>These mutual sentiments were discoverable in every word +and action, while they were in each other’s company; but +still in his absence, Miss Milner’s good nature, and total +freedom from malice, never suffered her to utter a sentence +injurious to his interest. Sandford’s charity did not extend +thus far; and speaking of her with severity one evening while +she was at the opera, “His meaning,” as he said, “but to +caution her guardian against her faults,” Lord Elmwood +replied,</p> + +<p>“There is one fault, however, Mr. Sandford, I cannot +lay to her charge.”</p> + +<p>“And what is that, my Lord?” cried Sandford, eagerly, +“What is that one fault, which Miss Milner has not?”</p> + +<p>“I never,” replied Lord Elmwood, “heard Miss Milner, +in your absence, utter a syllable to your disadvantage.”</p> + +<p>“She dares not, my Lord, because she is in fear of you +and she knows you would not suffer it.”</p> + +<p>“She then,” answered his Lordship, “pays me a much +higher compliment than you do; for you freely censure +<i>her</i>, and yet imagine I <i>will</i> suffer it.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” replied Sandford, “I am undeceived now, +and shall never take that liberty again.”</p> + +<p>As Lord Elmwood always treated Sandford with the +utmost respect, he began to fear he had been deficient upon +this occasion; and the disposition which had induced him +to take his ward’s part, was likely, in the end, to prove +unfavourable to her; for perceiving Sandford was offended +at what had passed, as the only means of retribution, he +began himself to lament her volatile and captious propensities; +in which lamentation, Sandford, now forgetting his +affront, joined with the heartiest concurrence, adding,</p> + +<p>“You, Sir, having now other cares to employ your thoughts, +ought to insist upon her marrying, or retiring into the +country.”</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<p>“Bless me, Mr. Sandford, are you not well, you are going +to leave us so early?”</p> + +<p>He replied, “No, I have a pain in my head.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, who never listened to complaints without +sympathy, rose immediately from her seat, saying,</p> + +<p>“I think I never heard you, Mr. Sandford, complain of +indisposition before. Will you accept of my specific for the +head-ache? Indeed it is a certain relief—I’ll fetch it +instantly.”</p> + +<p>She went hastily out of the room, and returned with +a bottle, which, she assured him, “Was a present from +Lady Luneham, and would certainly cure him.” And she +pressed it upon him with such an anxious earnestness, that +with all his churlishness he could not refuse taking it.</p> + +<p>This was but a common-place civility, such as is paid by +one enemy to another every day; but the <i>manner</i> was the +material part. The unaffected concern, the attention, the +good will, she demonstrated in this little incident, was that +which made it remarkable, and immediately took from +Lord Elmwood the displeasure to which he had been just +before provoked, or rather transformed it into a degree of +admiration. Even Sandford was not insensible to her +behaviour, and in return, when he left the room, “Wished +her a good night.”</p> + +<p>To her and Miss Woodley, who had not been witnesses +of the preceding conversation, what she had done appeared +of no merit; but to the mind of Lord Elmwood, the merit +was infinite; and upon the departure of Sandford, he began +to be unusually cheerful. He first pleasantly reproached +the ladies for not offering him a place in their box at the +opera.</p> + +<p>“Would you have gone, my Lord?” asked Miss Milner, +highly delighted.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” returned he, “had you invited me.”</p> + +<p>“Then from this day I give you a general invitation; nor +shall any other company be admitted but those whom you +approve.”</p> + +<p>“I am very much obliged to you,” said he.</p> + +<p>“And you,” continued she, “who have been accustomed +only to church-music, will be more than any one, enchanted +with hearing the softer music of love.”</p> + +<p>“What ravishing pleasures you are preparing for me!” +returned he—“I know not whether my weak senses will be +able to support them!”</p> + +<p>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 fascination which enticed her to look +on, while her eyelids fell involuntarily before its mighty +force, and a thousand blushes crowded over her face. He +was struck with these sudden signals; hastily recalled his +former countenance, and stopped the conversation.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, who had been a silent observer for some +time, now thought a word or two from her would be acceptable +rather than troublesome.</p> + +<p>“And pray, my Lord,” said she, “when do you go to +France?”</p> + +<p>“To Italy you mean;—I shall not go at all,” said he. +“My superiors are very indulgent, for they dispense with all +my duties. I ought, and I meant, to have gone abroad; but +as a variety of concerns require my presence in England, every +necessary ceremony has taken place here.”</p> + +<p>“Then your Lordship is no longer in orders?” said Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“No; they have been resigned these five days.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I give you joy,” said Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>He thanked her, but added with a sigh, “If I have given +up content in search of joy, I shall perhaps be a loser by the +venture.” Soon after this, he wished them a good night, +and retired.</p> + +<p>Happy as Miss Milner found herself in his company, she +saw him leave the room with infinite satisfaction, because +her heart was impatient to give a loose to its hopes on the +bosom of Miss Woodley. She bade Mrs. Horton immediately +good night; and, in her friend’s apartment, gave way +to all the language of passion, warmed with the confidence +of meeting its return. She described the sentiments she +had read in Lord Elmwood’s looks; and though Miss Woodley +had beheld them too, Miss Milner’s fancy heightened the +expression of every glance, till her construction became, by +degrees, so extremely favourable to her own wishes, that had +not her friend been present, and known in what measure +to estimate those symptoms, she must infallibly have thought, +by the joy to which they gave birth, that he had openly +avowed a passion for her.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, therefore, thought it her duty to allay +these ecstasies, and represented to her, she might be deceived +in her hopes—or even supposing his wishes inclined towards +her, there were yet great obstacles between them.—“Would +not Sandford, who directed his every thought and purpose, +be consulted upon this? and if he was, upon what, but the +most romantic affection on the part of Lord Elmwood, had +Miss Milner to depend? and his Lordship was not a man to +be suspected of submitting 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. +The succeeding circumstance proved she was mistaken.</p> + +<p>Another gentleman of family and fortune made overtures +to Miss Milner; and her guardian, so far from having his +thoughts inclined towards her on his own account, pleaded +this lover’s cause even with more zeal than he had pleaded +for Sir Edward and Lord Frederick; thus at once destroying +all those plans of happiness which poor Miss Milner had +formed.</p> + +<p>In consequence, her melancholy humour was now predominant; +she confined herself at home, and yet, by her own +order, was denied to all her visitors. Whether this arose +from pure melancholy, or the still lingering hope of making +her conquest, by that sedateness of manners which she knew +her guardian admired, she herself perhaps did not perfectly +know. Be that as it may, Lord Elmwood could not but +observe this change, and one morning thought fit to mention, +and to applaud it.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley and she were at work together when he +came into the room; and after sitting several minutes, and +talking upon indifferent subjects, to which his ward replied +with a dejection in her voice and manner—he said,</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I am wrong, Miss Milner, but I have observed +that you are lately more thoughtful than usual.”</p> + +<p>She blushed, as she always did when the subject was herself. +He continued, “Your health appears perfectly restored, and +yet I have observed you take no delight in your former +amusements.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sorry for that, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>“No, I am extremely glad; and I was going to congratulate +you upon the change. But give me leave to enquire, to +what lucky accident we may attribute this alteration?”</p> + +<p>“Your Lordship then thinks all my commendable deeds +arise from accident, and that I have no virtues of my own.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, I think you have many.” This he spoke +emphatically; and her blushes increased.</p> + +<p>He resumed—“How can I doubt of a lady’s virtues, when +her countenance gives me such evident proofs of them? +Believe me, Miss Milner, that in the midst of your gayest +follies, while you thus continue to blush, I shall reverence +your internal sensations.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my Lord, did you know some of them, I am afraid +you would think them unpardonable.”</p> + +<p>This was so much to the purpose, that Miss Woodley +found herself alarmed—but without reason—Miss Milner +loved too sincerely to reveal it to the object. He answered,</p> + +<p>“And did you know some of mine, you might think them +<i>equally</i> unpardonable.”</p> + +<p>She turned pale, and could no longer guide her needle—in +the fond transport of her heart she imagined that his +love for her, was among the sensations to which he alluded. +She was too much embarrassed to reply, and he continued,</p> + +<p>“We have all much to pardon in one another: and +I know not whether the officious person who forces, even his +good advice, is not as blameable as the obstinate one, who +will not listen to it. And now, having made a preface to +excuse you, should you once more refuse mine, I shall venture +to give it.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I have never yet refused to follow your +advice, but where my own peace of mind was so nearly concerned, +as to have made me culpable, had I complied.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Madam, I submit to your determinations; and +shall never again oppose your inclination to remain single.”</p> + +<p>This sentence, as it excluded the idea of soliciting for himself, +gave her the utmost pain; and her eye glanced at him, +full of reproach. He did not observe it, but went on.</p> + +<p>“While you continue unmarried, it seems to have been +your father’s intention that you should continue under my +immediate care; but as I mean 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 the year?”</p> + +<p>After a short hesitation, she replied, “I have no objection.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” he returned eagerly, “for it is my +earnest desire to have you with me—your welfare is dear to +me as my own; and were we apart, continual apprehensions +would prey upon my mind.”</p> + +<p>The tear started in her eye, at the earnestness that accompanied +these words; he saw it, and to soften her still more +with the sense of his esteem for her, he increased his earnestness +while he said,</p> + +<p>“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—I shall insist upon Miss Woodley’s +company for both our sakes; and it will not only be <i>my</i> +study to form such a society as you may approve, but I am +certain it will be likewise the study of Lady Elmwood——”</p> + +<p>He was going on, but as if a poniard had thrust her to the +heart, she writhed under this unexpected stroke.</p> + +<p>He saw her countenance change—he looked at her steadfastly.</p> + +<p>It was not a common change from joy to sorrow, from +content to uneasiness, which Miss Milner discovered—she +felt, and she expressed anguish—Lord Elmwood was alarmed +and shocked. She did not weep, but she called Miss Woodley +to come to her, with a voice that indicated a degree of agony.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” (cried Miss Woodley, seeing his consternation +and trembling lest he should guess the secret,) “My Lord, +Miss Milner has again deceived you—you must not take her +from London—it is that, and that alone, which is the cause +of her uneasiness.”</p> + +<p>He seemed more amazed still—and still more shocked at +her duplicity than at her torture. “Good Heaven!” exclaimed +he, “How am I to accomplish her wishes? What +am I to do? How can I judge, if she will not confide in me, +but thus for ever deceive me?”</p> + +<p>She leaned, pale as death, on the shoulder of Miss Woodley, +her eye fixed with apparent insensibility to all that was said, +while he continued,</p> + +<p>“Heaven is my witness, if I knew—If I could conceive the +means how to make her happy, I would sacrifice my own +happiness to hers.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said Miss Woodley with a smile, “perhaps I +may call upon you hereafter to fulfil your word.”</p> + +<p>He was totally ignorant what she meant, nor had he +leisure, from the confusion of his thoughts, to reflect upon +her meaning; he nevertheless replied, with warmth, “Do. +You shall find I’ll perform it.—Do. I will faithfully perform +it.”</p> + +<p>Though Miss Milner was conscious this declaration could +not, in delicacy, be ever adduced against him; yet the +fervent and solemn manner in which he made it, cheered +her spirits; and as persons enjoy the reflection of having in +their possession some valuable gem, though they are determined +never to use it, so she upon this, was comforted and +grew better. She now lifted up her head, and leaned it on +her hand, as she sat by the side of a table—still she did not +speak, but seemed overcome with sorrow. As her situation +became, however, less alarming, her guardian’s pity and +affright began to take the colour of resentment; and though +he did not say so, he was, and looked, highly offended.</p> + +<p>At this juncture Mr. Sandford entered. On beholding +the present party, it required not his sagacity to see at the +first view, that they were all uneasy; but instead of the +sympathy this might have excited in some dispositions, +Mr. Sandford, after casting a look at each of them, +appeared in high spirits.</p> + +<p>“You seem unhappy, my Lord,” said he, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“You do <i>not</i>—Mr. Sandford,” Lord Elmwood replied.</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord, nor would I, were I in your situation. +What should make a man of sense out of temper but a worthy +object!” And he looked at Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“There are no objects unworthy our care:” replied +Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“But there are objects on whom all care is fruitless, your +Lordship will allow.”</p> + +<p>“I never yet despaired of any one, Mr. Sandford.”</p> + +<p>“And yet there are persons, of whom it is presumption to +entertain hopes.” And he looked again at Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“Does your head ache, Miss Milner?” asked her friend, +seeing her hold it with her hand.</p> + +<p>“Very much,” returned she.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford,” said Miss Woodley, “did you use all those +drops Miss Milner gave you for a pain in the head?”</p> + +<p>“Yes:” answered he, “I did.” But the question at +that moment somewhat embarrassed him.</p> + +<p>“And I hope you found benefit from them:” said Miss +Milner, with great kindness, as she rose from her seat, and +walked slowly out of the room.</p> + +<p>Though Miss Woodley followed her, so that Mr. Sandford +was left alone with Lord Elmwood, and might have continued +his unkind insinuations without one restraint, yet his +lips were closed for the present. He looked down on the +carpet—twitched himself upon his chair—and began to talk +of the weather.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_IV" id="II_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p>When the first transports of despair were past, Miss Milner +suffered herself to be once more in hope. She found there +were no other means to support her life; and to her comfort, +her friend was much less severe on the present occasion than +she expected. No engagement between mortals was, in Miss +Woodley’s opinion, binding like that entered into with +heaven; and whatever vows Lord Elmwood had possibly +made to another, she justly supposed that no woman’s love +for him equalled Miss Milner’s—it was prior to all others too; +that established her claim to contend at least for success; +and in a contention, what rival would not fall before her?</p> + +<p>It was not difficult to guess who this rival was; or if they +were a little time in suspence, Miss Woodley soon arrived +at the certainty, by inquiring of Mr. Sandford; who, unsuspecting +why she asked, readily informed her the intended +Lady Elmwood was no other than Miss Fenton; and that +their marriage would be solemnized as soon as the mourning +for the late Lord Elmwood was over. This last intelligence +made Miss Woodley shudder—she repeated it, however, to +Miss Milner, word for word.</p> + +<p>“Happy! happy woman!” exclaimed Miss Milner of +Miss Fenton; “she has received the first fond impulse of +his heart, and has had the transcendent happiness of teaching +him to love!”</p> + +<p>“By no means,” returned Miss Woodley, finding no other +suggestion likely to comfort her; “do not suppose that his +marriage is the result of love—it is no more than a duty, +a necessary arrangement, and this you may plainly see by +the wife on whom he has fixed. Miss Fenton was thought +a proper match for his cousin, and that same propriety has +transferred her to him.”</p> + +<p>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 stimulate passion, against the cold influence +of propriety;—Do you think, my dear Miss Woodley,” +(and she looked with such begging eyes, it was impossible +not to answer as she wished,) “do you think it would be +unjust to Miss Fenton, were I to inspire her destined husband +with a passion which she may not have inspired, and which +I believe <i>she</i> cannot feel?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley paused a minute, and then answered, +“No:”—but there was a hesitation in her manner of +delivery—she <i>did</i> say, “No:” but she looked as 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 by adding others to it, but ran on eagerly, and +declared, “As that was her opinion, she would abide by it, +and do all she could to supplant her rival.” In order, nevertheless, +to justify this determination, and satisfy the conscience +of Miss Woodley, they both concluded that Miss +Fenton’s heart was not engaged in the intended marriage, +and consequently that she was indifferent whether it ever +took place or not.</p> + +<p>Since the death of the late Earl, she had not been in town; +nor had the present Earl been near the place where she resided, +since the week in which her lover died; of course, nothing +similar to love could have been declared 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 little he was qualified to enforce a tender passion, was +a comfortable reflection.</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<p>“Miss Fenton, ladies, desired me to present her compliments.”</p> + +<p>“Is she in town?” asked Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“She came yesterday morning,” returned Sandford, “and +is at her brother’s, in Ormond-street; my Lord and I supped +there last night, and that made us so late home.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood entered soon after, and bowing to his ward, +confirmed what had been said, by telling her, that “Miss +Fenton had charged him with her kindest respects.”</p> + +<p>“How does poor Miss Fenton look?” Mrs. Horton asked +Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>To which question Sandford replied, “Beautiful—she +looks beautifully.”</p> + +<p>“She has got over her uneasiness, I suppose then?” said +Mrs. Horton—not dreaming that she was asking the questions +before her new lover.</p> + +<p>“Uneasy!” replied Sandford, “uneasy at any trial this +world can send? That would be highly unworthy of her.”</p> + +<p>“But sometimes women do fret at such things:” replied +Mrs. Horton, innocently.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner—“If she meant to ride, +this delightful day?”</p> + +<p>While she was hesitating—</p> + +<p>“There are different kinds of women,” (said Sandford, +directing his discourse to Mrs. Horton;) “there is as much +difference between some women, as between good and evil +spirits.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner again—If she took an +airing?</p> + +<p>She replied, “No.”</p> + +<p>“And beauty,” continued Sandford, “when endowed +upon spirits that are evil, is a mark of their greater, their +more extreme wickedness. Lucifer was the most beautiful +of all the angels in Paradise”—</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” said Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“But the beauty of Lucifer,” (continued Sandford, in +perfect neglect and contempt of her question,) “was an +aggravation of his guilt; because it shewed a double share +of ingratitude to the Divine Creator of that beauty.”</p> + +<p>“Now you talk of angels,” said Miss Milner, “I wish I had +wings; and I should like to fly through the park this morning.”</p> + +<p>“You would be taken for an angel in good earnest,” said +Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>Sandford was angry at this little compliment, and cried, +“I should think the serpent’s skin would be much more +characteristic.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” cried she, “does not Mr. Sandford use me +ill?” Vext with other things, she felt herself extremely +hurt at this, and made the appeal almost in tears.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, I think he does.” And he looked at Sandford +as if he was displeased.</p> + +<p>This was a triumph so agreeable to her, that she immediately +pardoned the offence; but the offender did not so +easily pardon her.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, ladies,” said Lord Elmwood, rising to +go away.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said Miss Woodley, “you promised Miss +Milner to accompany her one evening to the opera; this is +opera night.”</p> + +<p>“Will you go, my Lord?” asked Miss Milner, in a voice +so soft, that he seemed as if he wished, but could not +resist it.</p> + +<p>“I am to dine at Mr. Fenton’s to-day,” he replied; +“and if he and his sister will go, and you will allow them +part of your box, I will promise to come.”</p> + +<p>This was a condition by no means acceptable to her; but +as she felt a desire to see him in company of his intended +bride, (for she fancied she could perceive his secret sentiments, +could she once see them together) she answered not +ungraciously, “Yes, my compliments to Mr. and Miss +Fenton, and I hope they will favour me with their company.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Madam, if they come, you may expect me—else +not.” He bowed and left the room.</p> + +<p>All the day was passed in anxious expectation by Miss +Milner, what would be the event of the evening: for upon +her penetration that evening all her future prospects she +thought depended. If she saw by his looks, by his words, +or assiduities, that he loved Miss Fenton, she flattered herself +she would never think of him again with hope; but if she +observed him treat her with inattention or indifference, she +would cherish, from that moment, the fondest expectations. +Against that short evening her toilet was consulted the whole +day: the alternate hope and fear which fluttered in her +heart, gave a more than usual brilliancy to her eyes, and more +than usual bloom to her complection. But vain was her +beauty; vain all her care to decorate that beauty; vain her +many looks to her box-door in hopes to see it open—Lord +Elmwood never came.</p> + +<p>The music was discord—every thing she saw was disgusting—in +a word, she was miserable.</p> + +<p>She longed impatiently for the curtain to drop, because +she was uneasy where 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. But he 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 been supportable; but while she painted them +as lovers, the tortures of the rack are but a few degrees more +painful than those which she endured.</p> + +<p>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 have experienced them both, jealousy +not only affects the mind, but every fibre of their frame; +and Miss Milner’s every limb felt agonizing torment, when +Miss Fenton, courted and beloved by Lord Elmwood, was +present to her imagination.</p> + +<p>The moment the opera was finished, she flew hastily down +stairs, as if to fly from the sufferings she experienced. She +did not go into the coffee-room, though repeatedly urged +by Miss Woodley, but waited at the door till her carriage +drew up.</p> + +<p>Piqued—heart-broken—full of resentment against the +object of her uneasiness, and inattentive to all that passed, +a hand gently touched her own; and the most humble and +insinuating voice said, “Will you permit me to lead you to +your carriage?” She was awakened from her revery, and +found Lord Frederick Lawnly by her side. Her heart, just +then melting with tenderness to another, was perhaps more +accessible than heretofore; or bursting with resentment, +thought this the moment to retaliate. Whatever passion +reigned that instant, it was favourable to the desires of Lord +Frederick, and she looked as if she was glad to see him: he +beheld this with the rapture and the humility of a lover; +and though she did not feel the least particle of love in +return, she felt gratitude in proportion to the insensibility +with which she had been treated by her guardian; and +Lord Frederick’s supposition was not very erroneous, if he +mistook this gratitude for a latent spark of affection. The +mistake, however, did not force from him his respect: he +handed her to her carriage, bowed low, and disappeared. +Miss Woodley wished to divert 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 was displeased +at the attempt, and exclaimed,</p> + +<p>“What! love a rake, a man of professed gallantry? +impossible. To me, a common rake is as odious as a common +prostitute is to a man of the nicest feelings. Where can be +the joy, the pride, of inspiring a passion which fifty others +can equally inspire?”</p> + +<p>“Strange,” cried Miss Woodley, “that you, who possess +so many follies incident to your sex, should, in the disposal +of your heart, have sentiments so contrary to women in +general.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Woodley,” returned she, “put in competition +the languid addresses of a libertine, with the animated +affection of a sober man, and judge which has the dominion? +Oh! in my calendar of love, a solemn Lord Chief Justice, or +a devout archbishop, ranks before a licentious king.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley smiled at an opinion which she knew half +her sex would ridicule; but by the air of sincerity with +which it was delivered, she was convinced her recent +behaviour to Lord Frederick was but the mere effect of +chance.</p> + +<p>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 the evening at Mr. Fenton’s.</p> + +<p>“So, my Lord,” said Miss Woodley, as soon as they met +in the apartment, “you did not come to us?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered he, “I was sorry; but I hope you did +not expect me.”</p> + +<p>“Not expect you, my Lord?” cried Miss Milner; “Did +not you say that you would come?”</p> + +<p>“If I had, I certainly should have come,” returned he, +“but I only said so conditionally.”</p> + +<p>“That I am a witness to,” cried Sandford, “for I was +present at the time, and he said it should depend upon +Miss Fenton.”</p> + +<p>“And she, with her gloomy disposition,” said Miss Milner, +“chose to sit at home.”</p> + +<p>“Gloomy disposition!” repeated Sandford: “She has +a great share of sprightliness—and I think I never saw her +in better spirits than she was this evening, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood did not speak.</p> + +<p>“Bless me, Mr. Sandford,” cried Miss Milner, “I meant +no reflection upon Miss Fenton’s disposition; I only meant +to censure her taste for staying at home.”</p> + +<p>“I think,” replied Mr. Sandford, “a much heavier +censure should be passed upon those who prefer rambling +abroad.”</p> + +<p>“But I hope, ladies, my not coming,” said Lord Elmwood, +“was no inconvenience to you; for you had still, I see, +a gentleman with you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! yes, two gentlemen:” answered the son of Lady +Evans, a lad from school, whom Miss Milner had taken +along with her.</p> + +<p>“What two?” asked Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>Neither Miss Milner nor Miss Woodley answered.</p> + +<p>“You know, Madam,” said young Evans, “that handsome +gentleman who handed you into your carriage, and +you called my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! he means Lord Frederick Lawnly:” said Miss +Milner carelessly, but a blush of shame spread over her face.</p> + +<p>“And did he hand you into your coach?” asked Lord +Elmwood earnestly.</p> + +<p>“By mere accident, my Lord,” Miss Woodley replied, +“for the crowd was so great——”</p> + +<p>“I think, my Lord,” said Sandford, “it was very lucky +that you were <i>not</i> there.”</p> + +<p>“Had Lord Elmwood been with us, we should not have had +occasion for the assistance of any other,” said Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“Lord Elmwood has been with you, Madam,” returned +Sandford, “very frequently, and yet—”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford,” said Lord Elmwood, interrupting him, +“it is near bed-time, your conversation keeps the ladies from +retiring.”</p> + +<p>“Your Lordship’s does not,” said Miss Milner, “for you +say nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Because, Madam, I am afraid to offend.”</p> + +<p>“But do not you also hope to please? and without risking +the one, it is impossible to arrive at the other.”</p> + +<p>“I think, at present, the risk would be too hazardous, and +so I wish you a good night.” And he went out of the room +somewhat abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Lord Elmwood,” said Miss Milner, “is very grave—he +does not look like a man who has been passing the evening with +the woman he loves.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he is melancholy at parting from her,” said Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“More likely offended,” said Sandford, “at the manner +in which that lady has spoken of her.”</p> + +<p>“Who, I? I protest I said nothing——”</p> + +<p>“Nothing! Did not you say that she was gloomy?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing but what I thought—I was going to add, +Mr. Sandford.”</p> + +<p>“When you think unjustly, you should not express your +thoughts.”</p> + +<p>“Then, perhaps, I should never speak.”</p> + +<p>“And it were better you did not, if what you say is to +give pain. Do you know, Madam, that my Lord is going +to be married to Miss Fenton?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“Do you know that he loves her?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“How! do you suppose he does not?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that he does, yet I don’t know it.”</p> + +<p>“Then if you suppose that he does, how can you have the +imprudence to find fault with her before him?”</p> + +<p>“I did not. To call her gloomy, was, I knew, to commend +her both to him and to you, who admire such tempers.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever her temper is, <i>every one</i> admires it; and so +far from its being what you have described, she has great +vivacity; vivacity which comes from the heart.”</p> + +<p>“No, if it <i>came</i> from thence, I should admire it too; but, +if she has any, it rests there, and no one is the better +for it.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” said Miss Woodley, “it is time for us to +retire; you and Mr. Sandford must finish your dispute in +the morning.”</p> + +<p>“Dispute, Madam!” said Sandford, “I never disputed +with any one beneath a doctor of divinity in my life. I was +only cautioning your friend not to 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 +a husband as my Lord Elmwood will make her.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure,” said Miss Woodley, “Miss Milner thinks so—she +has a high opinion of Miss Fenton—she was at present +only jesting.”</p> + +<p>“But, Madam, a jest is a very pernicious thing, when +delivered with a malignant sneer. I have known a jest +destroy a lady’s reputation—I have known a jest give one +person a distaste for another—I have known a jest break off +a marriage.”</p> + +<p>“But I suppose there is no apprehension of that in the +present case?” said Miss Woodley—wishing he might +answer in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>“Not that I can foresee. No, Heaven forbid,” he replied, +“for I look upon them to be formed for each other—their +dispositions, their pursuits, their inclinations the same. +Their passions for each other just the same—pure—white as +snow.”</p> + +<p>“And I dare say, not warmer,” replied Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>He looked provoked beyond measure.</p> + +<p>“My dear,” cried Miss Woodley, “how can you talk +thus? I believe in my heart you are only envious, because +my Lord Elmwood has not offered himself to you.”</p> + +<p>“To her!” said Sandford, affecting an air of the utmost +surprise; “to her! Do you think he received a dispensation +from his vows, to become the husband of a coquette—a——.”—He +was going on.</p> + +<p>“Nay, Mr. Sandford,” cried Miss Milner, “I believe, +after all, my worst crime, in your eyes, is that of being +a heretic.”</p> + +<p>“By no means—it is the only circumstance that can +apologize for your faults; and if you had not that excuse, +there would be none for you.”</p> + +<p>“Then, at present, there <i>is</i> an excuse—I thank you, +Mr. Sandford—this is the kindest thing you ever said to me. +But I am vext to see that you are sorry you have said it.”</p> + +<p>“Angry at your being a heretic!” he resumed—“Indeed +I should be much more concerned to see you a disgrace to +our religion.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner had not been in a good humour the whole +evening—she had been provoked several times to the full +extent of her patience: but this harsh sentence hurried her +beyond all bounds, and she arose from her seat in the most +violent agitation, exclaiming, “What have I done to be thus +treated?”</p> + +<p>Though Mr. Sandford was not a man easily intimidated, +he was upon this occasion evidently alarmed; and stared +about him with so violent an expression of surprise, that it +partook, in some degree, of fear. Miss Woodley clasped her +friend in her arms, and cried with the tenderest affection and +pity, “My dear Miss Milner, be composed.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner sat down, and was so for a minute; but her +dead silence was almost as alarming to Sandford as her rage +had been; and he did not perfectly recover himself till he +saw tears pouring down her face. He then heaved a sigh +of content that all had thus ended; but in his heart resolved +never to forget the ridiculous affright into which he had been +thrown. He stole out of the room without uttering a +syllable—but as he never retired to rest before he had +repeated a long form of evening prayer, when this evening +he came to that part which supplicates “Grace for the +wicked,” he mentioned Miss Milner’s name with the most +fervent devotion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_V" id="II_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p>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 than usual, but the burden had overcome +her strength: wearied out with hopes, with fears, and, at +the end, with disappointment and rage, she sunk at once +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 to mind why she was unhappy; +but that she <i>was</i> unhappy she well recollected—when the +cause came to her memory, she would have slept again—but +it was impossible.</p> + +<p>Though her rest had been sound, it had not been refreshing—she +was far from well, and sent word of her indisposition, +as an apology for not being present at breakfast. Lord +Elmwood looked concerned when the message was delivered—Mr. +Sandford shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner’s health is not good!” said Mrs. Horton +a few minutes after.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood laid down the newspaper to attend to her.</p> + +<p>“To me, there is something very extraordinary about +her!” continued Mrs. Horton, finding she had caught his +Lordship’s attention.</p> + +<p>“So there is to me!” added Sandford, with a sarcastic +sneer.</p> + +<p>“And so there is to me!” said Miss Woodley, with +a serious face and a heartfelt sigh.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood gazed by turns at each, as each delivered +their sentiments—and when they were all silent, he looked +bewildered, not knowing what judgment to form from any +of these sentences.</p> + +<p>Soon after breakfast, Mr. Sandford withdrew to his own +apartment: Mrs. Horton, in a little time, went to hers: +Lord Elmwood and Miss Woodley were left alone. He +immediately rose from his seat, and said,</p> + +<p>“I think, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner was extremely to +blame, though I did not chuse to tell her so before Mr. Sandford, +in giving Lord Frederick an opportunity of speaking +to her, unless she means that he shall renew his addresses.”</p> + +<p>“That, I am certain,” replied Miss Woodley, “she does +<i>not</i> mean—and I assure you, my Lord, seriously, it was by +mere accident she saw him yesterday evening, or permitted +his attendance upon her to her carriage.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to hear it,” he returned quickly; “for although +I am not of a suspicious nature, yet in regard to her affections +for him, I cannot but still have my doubts.”</p> + +<p>“You need have none, my Lord,” replied Miss Woodley, +with a smile of confidence.</p> + +<p>“And yet you must own her behaviour has warranted +them—has it not been in this particular incoherent and +unaccountable?”</p> + +<p>“The behaviour of a person in love, no doubt,” answered +Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Don’t I say so?” replied he warmly; “and is not that +a just reason for my suspicions?”</p> + +<p>“But is there only one man in the world on whom those +suspicions can fix?” said Miss Woodley, with the colour +mounting into her face.</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of—not one more that I know of,” he +replied, with astonishment at what she had insinuated, and +yet with a perfect assurance that she was in the wrong.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I am mistaken,” answered she.</p> + +<p>“Nay, that is impossible too,” returned he with anxiety—“You +share her confidence—you are perpetually with her; +and if she did not confide in you, (which I know, and rejoice +that she does) you would yet be acquainted with all her +inclinations.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I am <i>perfectly</i> acquainted with them,” replied +Miss Woodley, with a significance in her voice and manner +which convinced him there was some secret to learn.</p> + +<p>After a hesitation——</p> + +<p>“It is far from me,” replied he, “to wish to be entrusted +with the private sentiments of those who desire to with-hold +them from me; much less would I take any unfair +means to be informed of them. To ask any more questions +of you, I believe, would be unfair. Yet I cannot but lament +that I am not as well informed as you are. I wish to prove +my friendship to Miss Milner, but she will not suffer me—and +every step that I take for her happiness, I take in the +most perplexing uncertainty.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley sighed—but she did not speak. He seemed +to wait for her reply; but as she made none, he proceeded—</p> + +<p>“If ever breach of confidence could be tolerated, I certainly +know no occasion that would so justly authorise it as +the present. I am not only proper from character, but +from circumstances, to be relied upon—my interest is so +nearly connected with the interest, and my happiness with +the happiness of my ward, that those principles, as well as +my honour, would protect her against every peril arising +from my being trusted.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my Lord,” cried Miss Woodley, with a most +forcible accent, “<i>You</i> are the last person on earth she would +pardon me for entrusting.”</p> + +<p>“Why so?” said he, warmly. “But that is the way—the +person who is our friend we distrust—where a common +interest is concerned, we are ashamed of drawing on a common +danger—afraid of advice, though that advice is to save us.——Miss +Woodley,” said he, changing his voice with excess of +earnestness, “do you not believe, that I would do anything +to make Miss Milner happy?”</p> + +<p>“Any thing in honour, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“She can desire nothing farther,” he replied in agitation. +“Are her desires so unwarrantable, that I cannot grant +them?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley again did not speak—and he continued——</p> + +<p>“Great as my friendship is, there are certainly bounds to +it—bounds that shall save her in spite of herself:”—and he +raised his voice.</p> + +<p>“In the disposal of themselves,” resumed he, with a less +vehement tone, “that great, that terrific disposal in marriage, +(at which I have always looked with fear and dismay) there +is no accounting for the rashness of a woman’s choice, or +sometimes for the depravity of her taste. But in such 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 of her fortune, she has beauty to captivate the +heart of any man; and with all her follies, she has a frankness +in her manner, an unaffected wisdom in her thoughts, +a vivacity in her conversation, and withal, a softness in her +demeanour, that might alone engage the affections of a man +of the nicest sentiments, and the strongest understanding. +I will not see all these qualities and accomplishments debased. +It is my office to protect her from the consequences of a +degrading choice, and I will.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, Miss Milner’s taste is not a depraved one; it +is but too refined.”</p> + +<p>“What can you mean by that, Miss Woodley? You talk +mysteriously. Is she not afraid that I will thwart her +inclinations?”</p> + +<p>“She is sure that you will, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“Then must the person be unworthy of her.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley rose from her seat—she clasped her hands—every +look and every gesture proved her alternate resolution +and irresolution of proceeding. Lord Elmwood’s attention +was arrested before; but now it was fixed to a degree which +her extraordinary manner only could occasion.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>This preparation made Lord Elmwood tremble, and he +ran over instantly in his mind all the persons he could recollect, +in order to arrive at the knowledge 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 her +silent and covered with confusion. Again he searched his +own thoughts; nor ineffectually as before. At the first +glance, the object was presented, and he beheld—<i>himself</i>.</p> + +<p>The rapid emotion of varying passions, which immediately +darted over his features, informed Miss Woodley that her +secret was discovered—she hid her face, while the tears that +fell down to her bosom, confirmed the truth of his suggestion, +beyond what oaths could have done. A short interval of +silence followed, during which, she suffered tortures for the +manner in which he would next address her—two seconds +gave her this reply:</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake take care what you are doing—you are +destroying my prospects of futurity—you are making this +world too dear to me.”</p> + +<p>Her drooping head was then lifted up, and she caught the +eye of Dorriforth; she saw it beam expectation, amazement, +joy, ardour, and love.——Nay, there was a fire, a vehemence +in the quick fascinating rays it sent forth, she never before +had seen—it filled her with alarm—she wished him to love +Miss Milner, but to love her with moderation. Miss Woodley +was too little versed in the subject, to know, this would +have been not to love at all; at least, not to the extent of +breaking through engagements, and all the various obstacles +that still militated against their union.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was sensible of the embarrassment his +presence gave Miss Woodley, and understood the reproaches +which she seemed to vent upon herself in silence. To relieve +her from both, he laid his hand with force upon his heart, +and said, “Do you believe me?”</p> + +<p>“I do, my Lord,” she answered, trembling.</p> + +<p>“I will make no unjust use of what I know,” he replied +with firmness.</p> + +<p>“I believe you, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“But for what my passions now dictate,” continued he, +“I will not answer. They are confused—they are triumphant +at present. I have never yet, however, been vanquished +by them; and even upon this occasion, my reason +shall combat them to the last—and my reason shall fail me, +before I do wrong.”</p> + +<p>He was going to leave the room—she followed him, and +cried, “But, my Lord, how shall I see again the unhappy +object of my treachery?”</p> + +<p>“See her,” replied he, “as one to whom you meant no +injury, and to whom you have done none.”</p> + +<p>“But she would account it an injury.”</p> + +<p>“We are not judges of what belongs to ourselves,” he +replied—“I am transported at the tidings you have revealed, +and yet, perhaps, I had better never have heard them.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was going to say something farther, but as +if incapable of attending to her, he hastened out of the room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VI" id="II_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p>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 if Miss Milner was to ask +the question, in what words could she tell, or in what manner +deny the truth? To avoid her was her first caution, and she +took the only method; she had a hackney-coach ordered, +rode several miles out of town, and returned to dinner with +so little remains of her swoln eyes, that complaining of the +head-ache was a sufficient excuse for them.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner was enough recovered to be present at dinner, +though she scarce tasted a morsel. Lord Elmwood did not +dine at home, at which Miss Woodley rejoiced, but at which +Mr. Sandford appeared highly disappointed. He asked the +servants several times, what he said when he went out? They +replied, “Nothing more than that he should not be at home +to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t imagine where he dines?” said +Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Bless me, Mr. Sandford, can’t you guess?” +(cried Mrs. Horton, who by this time was made acquainted +with his intended marriage) “He dines with Miss Fenton +to be sure.”</p> + +<p>“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, ate something; for +where we hope for nothing, we receive small indulgencies +with joy.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the anxiety and trouble under which +Miss Woodley had laboured all the morning, her heart for +many weeks had not felt so light as it did this day at dinner. +The confidence that she reposed in the promises of Lord +Elmwood—the firm reliance she had upon his delicacy and +his justice—the unabated kindness with which her friend +received her, while she knew that no one suspicious thought +had taken harbour in her bosom—and the conscious integrity +of her own intentions, though she might have been misled +by her judgment, all comforted her with the hope, she had +done nothing she ought to wish recalled. But although she +felt thus tranquil, in respect to what she had divulged, yet +she was a good deal embarrassed with the dread of next +seeing Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, not having spirits to go abroad, passed the +evening at home. She read part of a new opera, played upon +her guitar, mused, sighed, occasionally talked with Miss +Woodley, and so passed the tedious hours till near ten, when +Mrs. Horton asked Mr. Sandford to play a game at piquet, +and on his excusing himself, Miss Milner offered in his stead, +and was gladly accepted. They had just begun to play +when Lord Elmwood came into the room—Miss Milner’s +countenance immediately brightened, and though she was +in a negligent morning dress, and looked paler than usual, she +did not look less beautiful. Miss Woodley was leaning on +the back of her chair to observe the game, and Mr. Sandford +sat reading one of the Fathers at the other side of the fire +place. Lord Elmwood, as he advanced to the table, bowed, +not having seen the ladies since 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,</p> + +<p>“My Lord, where have you been all day?”</p> + +<p>“I have been very busy,” replied he, and walking from +the card-table, went up to him.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner played one card for another.</p> + +<p>“You have been at Mr. Fenton’s this evening, I suppose?” +said Sandford.</p> + +<p>“No; not at all to-day.”</p> + +<p>“How came that about, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner played the ace of diamonds instead of the +king of hearts.</p> + +<p>“I shall call to-morrow,” answered Lord Elmwood; and +then walking with a very ceremonious air up to Miss Milner, +said, “He hoped she was perfectly recovered.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton begged her “To mind what she was about.” +She replied, “I am much better, Sir.”</p> + +<p>He then returned to Sandford again; but never, during +all this time, did his eye once encounter Miss Woodley’s; and +she, with equal care, avoided his.</p> + +<p>Some cold dishes were now brought up for supper—Miss +Milner lost her deal, and the game ended.</p> + +<p>As they were arranging themselves at the supper-table, +“Do, Miss Milner,” said Mrs. Horton, “have something +warm for your supper; a chicken boiled, or something of +that kind; you have eat nothing to-day.”</p> + +<p>With feelings of humanity, and apparently no other sensation—but +never did he feel his philanthropy so forcible—Lord +Elmwood said, “Let me beg of you, Miss Milner, to +have something provided for you.”</p> + +<p>The earnestness and emphasis with which these few words +were pronounced, were more flattering than the finest turned +compliment would have been; her gratitude was expressed +in blushes, and by assuring him she 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 morsel +to her lips, she laid it on her plate again, and turned paler, +from the vain endeavour to force her appetite. Lord Elmwood +had always been attentive to her; but now he watched +her as he would a child; and when he saw by her struggles +that she could not eat, he took her plate from her; gave her +something else; and all with a care and watchfulness in his +looks, as if he had been a tender-hearted boy, and she his +darling bird, the loss of which would embitter all the joy +of his holidays.</p> + +<p>This attention had something in it so tender, so officious, +and yet so sincere, that it brought the tears into Miss Woodley’s +eyes, attracted the notice of Mr. Sandford, and the +observation of Mrs. Horton; while the heart of Miss Milner +overflowed with a gratitude, that gave place to no sentiment +except her love.</p> + +<p>To relieve the anxiety which her guardian expressed, she +endeavoured to appear cheerful, and that anxiety, at length, +really made her so. He now pressed her to take one glass of +wine with such solicitude, that he seemed to say a thousand +things besides. Sandford still made his observations, and +being unused to conceal his thoughts before the present +company, he said bluntly,</p> + +<p>“Miss Fenton was indisposed the other night, my Lord, +and you did not seem half thus anxious about her.”</p> + +<p>Had Sandford laid all Lord Elmwood’s estate at Miss +Milner’s feet, or presented her with that eternal bloom which +adorns the face of a goddess, he would have done less to +endear himself to her, than by this one sentence—she looked +at him with a most benign countenance, and felt affliction +that she had ever offended him.</p> + +<p>“Miss Fenton,” Lord Elmwood replied, “has a brother +with her: her health and happiness are in <i>his</i> care—Miss +Milner’s are in mine.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford,” said Miss Milner, “I am afraid that +I behaved uncivilly to you last night—will you accept of an +atonement?”</p> + +<p>“No, Madam,” returned he, “I accept no expiation +without amendment.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said she, smiling, “suppose I promise +never to offend you again, what then?”</p> + +<p>“Why, then, you’ll break your promise.”</p> + +<p>“Do not promise him,” said Lord Elmwood, “for he +means to provoke you to it.”</p> + +<p>In the like conversation the evening passed, and Miss Milner +retired to rest in far better spirits than her morning’s prospect +had given her the least pretence to hope. Miss Woodley, +too, had cause to be well pleased; but her pleasure was in +great measure eclipsed by the reflection, that there was such +a person as Miss Fenton—she wished she had been equally +acquainted with her’s as with Miss Milner’s heart, and she +would then have acted without injustice to either; but Miss +Fenton had of late shunned their society, and even in their +company was of a temper too reserved ever to discover her +mind; Miss Woodley was obliged, therefore, to act to the +best of her own judgment only, and leave all events to +Providence.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VII" id="II_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p>Within a few days, in the house of Lord Elmwood, every +thing, and every person, 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 +been supplanted; and what added poignantly to his concern +was, that she had been supplanted by Miss Milner. Though +a churchman, he bore his disappointment with the impatience +of one of the laity: he could hardly speak to +Lord Elmwood; he would not look at Miss Milner, and was +displeased with every one. It was his intention, when he +first became acquainted with Lord Elmwood’s resolution, to +quit his house; and as the Earl had, with the utmost degree +of inflexibility, resisted all his good counsel upon this subject, +he resolved, in quitting him, never to be his adviser again. +But, in preparing to leave his friend, his pupil, his patron, +and yet him, who, upon most occasions, implicitly obeyed +his will, the spiritual got the better of the temporal man, +and he determined to stay, lest in totally abandoning him to +the pursuit of his own passions, he should make his punishment +even greater than his offence. “My Lord,” said he, +“on the stormy sea, upon which you are embarked, though +you will not shun the rocks that your faithful pilot would +point out, he will, nevertheless, sail in your company, and +lament over your watery grave. The more you slight my +advice, the more you want it; so that, until you command +me to leave your house, (as I suppose you will soon do, to +oblige your Lady) I will continue along with you.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood liked him sincerely, and was glad that he +took this resolution; yet as soon as his reason and affections +had once told him that he ought to break with Miss Fenton, +and marry his ward, he became so decidedly of this opinion, +that Sandford’s never had the most trivial weight; nor would +he even flatter the supposed authority he possessed over him, +by urging him to remain in his house a single day, contrary +to his inclinations. Sandford observed, with grief, this +firmness; but finding it vain to contend, submitted—not, +however, with a good grace.</p> + +<p>Amidst all the persons affected by this change in Lord +Elmwood’s marriage-designs, Miss Fenton was, perhaps, +affected the least—she would have 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 of +Lord Elmwood, and was the first sent to ask her to dispense +with the obligation.—She received both of these proposals +with the same insipid smile of approbation, and the same +cold indifference at the heart.</p> + +<p>It was a perfect knowledge of this disposition in his intended +wife which had given to Lord Elmwood’s thoughts on +matrimony, the idea of dreary winter; but the sensibility +of Miss Milner had now reversed that prospect into perpetual +spring; or the dearer variety of spring, summer, and autumn.</p> + +<p>It was a knowledge also of this torpor in Miss Fenton’s +nature, from which he formed the purpose of breaking with +her; for Lord Elmwood still retained enough of the sanctity +of his former state to have yielded up his own happiness, +and even that of his beloved ward, rather than have plunged +one heart into affliction by his perfidy. This, before he +offered his hand to Miss Milner, he was perfectly convinced +would not be the case—even Miss Fenton herself assured +him, that her thoughts were more upon the joys of Heaven +than upon those of earth; and as this circumstance would, +she believed, induce her to retire into a convent, she thought +it a happy, rather than an unhappy, event. Her brother, on +whom her fortune devolved if she took this resolution, was +exactly of her opinion.</p> + +<p>Lost in the maze of happiness that surrounded her, Miss +Milner oftentimes asked her heart, and her heart whispered +like a flatterer, “Yes;” Are not my charms even more +invincible than I ever believed them to be? Dorriforth, the +grave, the pious, the anchorite Dorriforth, by their force, is +animated to all the ardour of the most impassioned lover—while +the proud priest, the austere guardian is humbled, if +I but frown, into the veriest slave of love. She then asked, +“Why did I not keep 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 happiest of women +in the affection he has proved to me, but I wonder whether +it would exist under ill treatment? If it would not, he still +does not love me as I wish to be loved—if it would, my +triumph, my felicity, would be enhanced.” These thoughts +were mere phantoms of the brain, and never, by system, +put into action; but, repeatedly indulged, they were practised +by casual occurrences; and the dear-bought experiment +of being loved in spite of her faults, (a glory proud +women ever aspire to) was, at present, the ambition of +Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>Unthinking woman! she did not reflect, that to the +searching eye of Lord Elmwood, she had faults, with her +utmost care to conceal or overcome them, sufficient to try +all his love, and all his patience. But what female is not +fond of experiments? To which, how few do not fall a +sacrifice!</p> + +<p>Perfectly secure in the affections of the man she loved, +her declining health no longer threatened her; her declining +spirits returned as before; and the suspicions of her guardian +being now changed to the liberal confidence of a doting +lover, she again professed all her former follies, all her fashionable +levities, and indulged them with less restraint than ever.</p> + +<p>For a while, blinded by his passion, Lord Elmwood +encouraged and admired every new proof of her restored +happiness; nor till sufferance had tempted 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, to opposition, always insolent. He was surprised, but +the novelty pleased him. And Miss Milner, whom he +tenderly loved, could put on no change, or appear in no +new character that did not, for the time she adopted it, +seem to become her.</p> + +<p>Among the many causes of complaint which she gave him, +want of œconomy, in the disposal of her income, was one. +Bills and drafts came upon him without 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 charities +directed by the force of whim. Another complaint was, as +usual, extreme late hours, and often company that he did +not approve.</p> + +<p>She was charmed to see his love struggling with his censure—his +politeness with his anxiety—and by the light, frivolous, +or resentful manner in which she treated his admonitions, +she triumphed in shewing to Miss Woodley, and, more +especially to Mr. Sandford, how much she dared upon the +strength of his affections.</p> + +<p>Everything in preparation for their marriage, which was +to take place at Elmwood House during the summer months, +she resolved for the short time she had to remain in London +to let no occasion pass of tasting all those pleasures that were +not likely ever to return; but which, though eager as she +was in their pursuit, she never placed in competition with +those she hoped would succeed—those more sedate and +superior joys, of domestic and conjugal happiness. Often, +merely to hasten on the tedious hours that intervened, she +varied and diverted them, with the many recreations her +intended husband could not approve.</p> + +<p>It so happened, and it was unfortunate it did, that a lawsuit +concerning some possessions in the West Indies, and +other intricate affairs that came with his title and estate, +frequently kept Lord Elmwood from his house 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 thus off his guard, Sandford never was—and +had Miss Milner been the dearest thing on earth to him, he +could not have watched her more narrowly; or had she been +the frailest thing on earth, he could not have been more +hard upon her, in all the accounts of her conduct he gave +to her guardian. Lord Elmwood knew, on the other hand, +that Sandford’s failing was to think ill of Miss Milner—he +pitied him for it, and he pitied her for it—and in all the +aggravation which his representations gave to her real +follies, affection for them both, in the heart of Dorriforth, +stood between that and every other impression.</p> + +<p>But facts are glaring; and he, at length, beheld those +faults in their true colours, though previously pointed out +by the prejudice of Mr. Sandford.</p> + +<p>As soon as Sandford perceived his friend’s uneasiness, +“There, my Lord!” cried he, exultingly, “did I not +always say the marriage was an improper one? but you would +not be ruled—you would not see.”</p> + +<p>“Can you blame <i>me</i> for not seeing,” replied his Lordship, +“when <i>you</i> were blind? Had you been dispassionate, had +you seen Miss Milner’s virtues as well as her faults, I should +have believed, and been guided by you—but you saw her +failings only, and therein have been equally deceived with +me, who have only beheld her perfections.”</p> + +<p>“My observations, however, my Lord, would have been +of most use to you; for I have seen what to avoid.”</p> + +<p>“But mine have been the most gratifying,” replied he; +“for I have seen—what I must always love.”</p> + +<p>Sandford sighed, and lifted up his hands.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford,” resumed Lord Elmwood, with a voice +and manner such as he used to put on when not all the power +of Sandford, or of any other, could change his fixed determination, +“Mr. Sandford, my eyes are now open to every +failing, as well as to every accomplishment; to every vice, +as well as to every virtue of Miss Milner; nor will I suffer +myself to be again prepossessed in her favour, by your prejudice +against her—for I believe it was compassion at your +unkind treatment, that first gained her my heart.”</p> + +<p>“I, my Lord?” cried Sandford; “do not load me with +the burthen—with the mighty burthen of your love for her.”</p> + +<p>“Do not interrupt me. Whatever your meaning has been, +the effect of it is what I have described. Now, I will no +longer,” continued he, “have an enemy, such as you have +been, to heighten her charms, which are too transcendent +in their native state. I will hear no more complaints against +her, but I will watch her closely myself—and if I find her +mind and heart (such as my suspicions have of late whispered) +too frivolous for that substantial happiness I look for with an +object so beloved, depend upon my word—the marriage +shall yet be broken off.”</p> + +<p>“I depend upon your word; it <i>will</i> then,”—replied Sandford +eagerly.</p> + +<p>“You are unjust, Sir, in saying so before the trial,” replied +Lord Elmwood, “and your injustice shall make me more +cautious, lest I follow your example.”</p> + +<p>“But, my Lord——”</p> + +<p>“My mind is made up, Mr. Sandford,” returned he, +interrupting him; “I am no 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 to wrong her +as you have done.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, call my observations wrong, when you have +reflected upon them as a man, and not as a lover—divest +yourself of your passion, and meet me upon equal ground.”</p> + +<p>“I will meet no one—I will consult no one—my own +judgment shall be the judge, and in a few months marry, or—<i>banish +me from her for ever</i>.”</p> + +<p>There was something in these last words, in the tone and +firmness with which they were delivered, that the heart of +Sandford rested upon with content—they bore the symptoms +of a menace that would be executed; and he parted from +his patron with congratulations upon his wisdom, and with +giving him the warmest assurances of his firm reliance on +his <i>word</i>.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood having come to this resolution, was more +composed than he had been for several days before; while +the horror of domestic wrangles—a family without subordination—a +house without œconomy—in a word, a wife without +discretion, had been perpetually present to his mind.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sandford, although he was a man of understanding, of +learning, and a complete casuist, yet all the faults he himself +committed, were entirely—for want of knowing better. +He constantly reproved faults in others, and he was most +assuredly too good a man not to have corrected and amended +his own, had they been known to him—but they were not. +He had been for so long a time the superior of all with whom +he lived, had been so busied with instructing others, that he +had not recollected that himself wanted instructions—and +in such awe did his habitual severity keep all about him, +that although he had numerous friends, not one told him +of his failings—except just now Lord Elmwood, but whom, +in this instance, as a man in love, he would not credit. Was +there not then some reason for him to suppose he <i>had</i> no +faults? his enemies, indeed, hinted that he had, but enemies +he never harkened to; and thus, with all his good sense, +wanted the sense to follow the rule, <i>Believe what your enemies +say of you, rather than what is said by your friends</i>. This +rule attended to, would make a thousand people amiable, +who are now the reverse; and would have made <i>him</i> a perfectly +upright character. For could an enemy to whom +he would have listened, have whispered to Sandford as he +left Lord Elmwood, “Cruel, barbarous man! you go away +with your heart satisfied, nay, even elated, in the prospect +that Miss Milner’s hopes, on which she alone exists, those +hopes which keep her from the deepest affliction, and cherish +her with joy and gladness, will all be disappointed. You +flatter yourself it is for the sake of your friend, Lord Elmwood, +that you rejoice, and because he has escaped a danger. +You wish him well; but there is another cause for your +exultation which you will not seek to know—it is, that in +his safety, shall dwell the punishment of his ward. For +shame! for shame! forgive her faults, as this of yours +requires to be forgiven.”</p> + +<p>Had any one said this to Sandford, whom he would have +credited, or had his own heart suggested it, he was a man of +that rectitude and conscientiousness, that he would have +returned immediately to Lord Elmwood, and have strengthened +all his favourable opinions of his intended wife—but +having no such monitor, he walked on, highly contented, +and meeting Miss Woodley, said, with an air of triumph,</p> + +<p>“Where’s your friend? where’s Lady Elmwood?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley smiled, and answered—She was gone with +such and such ladies to an auction. “But why give her that +title already, Mr. Sandford?”</p> + +<p>“Because,” answered he, “I think she will never have it.”</p> + +<p>“Bless me, Mr. Sandford,” said Miss Woodley, “you +shock me!”</p> + +<p>“I thought I should,” replied he, “and therefore I told +it you.”</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake what has happened?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing new—her indiscretions only.”</p> + +<p>“I know she is imprudent,” said Miss Woodley—“I can +see that her conduct is often exceptionable—but then Lord +Elmwood surely loves her, and love will overlook a great +deal.”</p> + +<p>“He <i>does</i> love her—but he has understanding and resolution. +He loved his sister too, tenderly loved her, and yet +when he had taken the resolution, and passed his word that +he would never see her again—even upon her death-bed he +would not retract it—no entreaties could prevail upon 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 suffer him in his sight.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Miss Milner!” said Miss Woodley, in the most +pitying accents.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” said Sandford, “Lord Elmwood has not <i>yet</i> +passed his word, that he will never see her more—he has +only threatened to do it; but I know enough of him to +know, that his threats are generally the same as if they were +executed.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good,” said Miss Woodley, “to acquaint +me of this in time—I may now warn Miss Milner of it, and +she may observe more circumspection.”</p> + +<p>“By no means,” cried Sandford, hastily—“What would +you warn her for? It will do her no good—besides,” added +he, “I don’t know whether Lord Elmwood does not expect +secrecy on my part; and if he does——”</p> + +<p>“But, with all deference to your opinion,” said Miss +Woodley, (and with all deference did she speak) “don’t you +think, Mr. Sandford, that secrecy upon this occasion would +be wicked? For consider the anguish that it may occasion +to my friend; and if, by advising her, we can save her +from——” She was going on.——</p> + +<p>“You may call it wicked, Madam, not to inform her of +what I have hinted at,” cried he; “but I call it a breach +of confidence—if it <i>was</i> divulged to me in confidence——”</p> + +<p>He was going to explain; but Miss Milner entered, and +put an end to the discourse. She had been passing the +whole morning at an auction, and had laid out near two +hundred pounds in different things for which she had +no one use, but bought them because they were said to be +cheap—among the rest was a lot of books upon chemistry, +and some Latin authors.</p> + +<p>“Why, Madam,” cried Sandford, looking over the catalogue +where her purchases were marked by a pencil, “do you +know what you have done? You can’t read a word of these +books.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t I, Mr. Sandford? But I assure you that you will +be very much pleased with them, when you see how elegantly +they are bound.”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Horton, “why have you bought +china? You and my Lord Elmwood have more now, than +you have places to put them in.”</p> + +<p>“Very true, Mrs. Horton—I forgot that—but then you +know I can give these away.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was in the room at the conclusion of this +conversation——he shook his head and sighed.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said she, “I have had a very agreeable +morning; but I wished for you—if you had been with me, +I should have bought a great many other things; but I did +not like to appear unreasonable in your absence.”</p> + +<p>Sandford fixed his inquisitive eyes upon Lord Elmwood, +to observe his countenance—he smiled, but appeared +thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“And, oh! my Lord, I have bought you a present,” +said she.</p> + +<p>“I do not wish for a present, Miss Milner.”</p> + +<p>“What not from me? Very well.”</p> + +<p>“If you present me with yourself, it is all that I ask.”</p> + +<p>Sandford moved upon his chair, as if he sat uneasy.</p> + +<p>“Why then, Miss Woodley,” said Miss Milner, “<i>you</i> shall +have the present. But then it won’t suit you—it is for +a gentleman. I’ll keep it and give it to my Lord Frederick +the first time I meet with him. I saw him this morning, +and he looked divinely—I longed to speak to him.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley cast, by stealth, an eye of apprehension +upon Lord Elmwood’s face, and trembled at seeing it +flushed with resentment.</p> + +<p>Sandford stared with both his eyes full upon him: then +threw himself upright on his chair, and took a pinch of snuff +upon the strength of the Earl’s uneasiness.</p> + +<p>A silence ensued.</p> + +<p>After a short time—“You all appear melancholy,” said +Miss Milner: “I wish I had not come home yet.”</p> + +<p>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 something particular +to say, she took her out of the room.</p> + +<p>The moment she was gone, Mr. Sandford rose nimbly from +his seat, rubbed his hands, walked briskly across the room, +then asked Lord Elmwood in a cheerful tone, “Whether he +dined at home to-day?”</p> + +<p>That which had given Sandford cheerfulness, had so +depressed Lord Elmwood, that he sat dejected and silent. +At length he answered in a faint voice, “No, I believe I shall +<i>not</i> dine at home.”</p> + +<p>“Where is your Lordship going to dine?” asked Mrs. +Horton; “I thought we should have had your company +to-day; Miss Milner dines at home, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“I have not yet determined where I shall dine,” replied he, +taking no notice of the conclusion of her speech.</p> + +<p>“My Lord, if you mean to go to the hotel, I’ll go with +you, if you please,” cried Sandford officiously.</p> + +<p>“With all my heart, Sandford—” and they both went +out together, before Miss Milner returned to the apartment.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_VIII" id="II_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p>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 had revealed to her; accompanying +the recital, with her usual testimonies of sympathy and +affection. But had the genius of Sandford presided over +this discovery, it could not have influenced the mind of +Miss Milner to receive the intelligence with a temper more +exactly the opposite of that which it was the intention of the +informer to recommend. Instead of shuddering at the +menace Lord Elmwood had uttered, she said, she “Dared +him to perform it.” “He dares not,” repeated she.</p> + +<p>“Why dares not?” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Because he loves me too well—because his own happiness +is too dear to him.”</p> + +<p>“I believe he loves you,” replied Miss Woodley, “and yet +there is a doubt if——”</p> + +<p>“There shall be no longer a doubt,” cried Miss Milner, +“I’ll put him to the proof.”</p> + +<p>“For shame, my dear! you talk inconsiderately—what +can you mean by proof?”</p> + +<p>“I mean I will do something that no prudent man <i>ought</i> +to forgive; and yet, with all his vast share of prudence, <i>he</i> +shall forgive it, and make a sacrifice of just resentment to +partial affection.”</p> + +<p>“But if you should be disappointed, and he should <i>not</i> +make the sacrifice?” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Then I have only lost a man who had no regard for +me.”</p> + +<p>“He may have a great regard for you, notwithstanding.”</p> + +<p>“But for the love I have felt, and do still feel, for my +Lord Elmwood, I will have something more than a <i>great +regard</i> in return.”</p> + +<p>“You have his love, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“But is it such as mine? <i>I</i> could love <i>him</i> if he had +a thousand faults. And yet,” said she, recollecting herself, +“and yet, I believe his being faultless, was the first cause +of my passion.”</p> + +<p>Thus she talked on—sometimes in anger, sometimes +apparently jesting—till her servant came to let her know +the dinner was served. Upon entering the dining-room, +and seeing Lord Elmwood’s place at table vacant, she started +back. She was disappointed of the pleasure she expected +in dining with him; and his sudden absence, so immediately +after the intelligence that she had received from Miss Woodley, +increased her uneasiness. She drew her chair, and sat down +with an indifference, that said she should not eat; and as +soon as she was seated, she put her fingers sullenly to her +lips, nor touched her knife and fork, nor spoke a word in +reply to any thing that was said to her during the whole +dinner. Miss Woodley and Mrs. Horton were both too well +acquainted with the good disposition of her heart, to take +offence, or appear to notice this behaviour. They dined, +and said nothing either to provoke or sooth her. Just as +the dinner was going to be removed, a loud rap came at the +door—“Who is that?” said Mrs. Horton. One of the +servants went to the window, and answered, “My Lord and +Mr. Sandford, Madam.”</p> + +<p>“Come back to dinner as I live,” cried Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner continued her position and said nothing—but +at the corners of her mouth, which her fingers did not +entirely cover, there were discoverable, a thousand dimpled +graces like small convulsive fibres, which a restrained smile +upon Lord Elmwood’s return, had sent there.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood and Sandford entered.</p> + +<p>“I am glad you are returned, my Lord,” said Mrs. Horton, +“for Miss Milner would not eat a morsel.”</p> + +<p>“It was only because I had no appetite,” returned she, +blushing like crimson.</p> + +<p>“We should not have come back,” said Sandford, “but +at the place where we went to dine, all the rooms were filled +with company.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood put the wing of a fowl on Miss Milner’s +plate, but without previously asking if she chose any; yet she +condescended to eat—they spoke to each other too in the +course of conversation, but it was with a reserve that appeared +as if they had been quarrelling, and felt so to themselves, +though no such circumstance had happened.</p> + +<p>Two weeks passed away in this kind of distant behaviour +on both sides, without either of them venturing a direct +quarrel, and without either of them expressing (except +inadvertently) their strong affection for each other.</p> + +<p>During this time they were once, however, very near +becoming the dearest friends in expression, as well as in +sentiment. This arose from a favour that he had granted +in compliance with her desire, though that desire had not +been urged, but merely insinuated; and as it was a favour +which he had refused to the repeated requests of many of +his friends, the value of the obligation was heightened.</p> + +<p>She and Miss Woodley had taken an airing to see the poor +child, young Rushbrook. Lord Elmwood inquiring of the +ladies how they had passed their morning, Miss Milner +frankly told him; and added, “What pain it gave her to +leave the child behind, as he had again cried to come away +with her.”</p> + +<p>“Go for him then to-morrow,” said Lord Elmwood, “and +bring him home.”</p> + +<p>“Home!” she repeated, with surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied he, “if you desire it, this shall be his home—you +shall be a mother, and I will, henceforward, be a father +to him.”</p> + +<p>Sandford, who was present, looked unusually sour at this +high token of regard for Miss Milner; yet, with resentment +on his face, he wiped a tear of joy from his eye, for the boy’s +sake—his frown was the force of prejudice, his tear the force +of nature.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook was brought home; and whenever Lord +Elmwood wished to shew a kindness to Miss Milner, without +directing it immediately to her, he took his nephew upon +his knee, talked to him, and told him, he “Was glad they +had become acquainted.”</p> + +<p>In the various, though delicate, struggles for power between +Miss Milner and 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 most common observer perceived, +that ardent love was the foundation of every discontent, +as well as of every joy they experienced. One great +incident, however, totally reversed the hope of all future +accommodation.</p> + +<p>The fashionable Mrs. G—— gave a masked ball; tickets +were presented to persons of quality and fashion; among +the rest, three were sent to Miss Milner. She had never +been at a masquerade, and received them with ecstasy—the +more especially, as the masque being at the house of a woman +of fashion, she did not conceive there could be any objection +to her going. She was mistaken—the moment she mentioned +it to Lord Elmwood, he desired her, somewhat sternly, +“Not to think of being there.” She was vexed at the prohibition, +but more at the manner in which it was delivered, and +boldly said, “That she should certainly go.”</p> + +<p>She expected a rebuke for this, but what alarmed her +much more, he said not a word; but looked with a resignation, +which foreboded her sorrow greater than the severest +reproaches would have done. She sat for a minute, reflecting +how to rouse him from this composure—she first +thought of attacking him with upbraidings; then she +thought of soothing him; and at last of laughing at him. +This was the most dangerous of all, and yet, this she ventured +upon.</p> + +<p>“I am sure your Lordship,” said she, “with all your +saintliness, can have no objection to my being present at +the masquerade, if I go as a Nun.”</p> + +<p>He made no reply.</p> + +<p>“That is a habit,” continued she, “which covers a multitude +of faults—and, for that evening, I may have the chance +of making a conquest even of you—nay, I question not, if +under that inviting attire, even the pious Mr. Sandford +would not ogle me.”</p> + +<p>“Hush!” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Why hush?” cried Miss Milner, aloud, though Miss +Woodley had spoken in a whisper, “I am sure,” continued +she, “I am only repeating what I have read in books about +nuns and their confessors.”</p> + +<p>“Your conduct, Miss Milner,” replied Lord Elmwood +“gives evident proofs of the authors you have read; you +may spare yourself the trouble of quoting them.”</p> + +<p>Her pride was hurt at this, beyond bearing; and as she +could not, like him, govern her anger, it flushed in her face, +and almost forced her into tears.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said Miss Woodley, (in a tone so soft and +peaceful, that it should have calmed the resentment of both,) +“my Lord, suppose you were to accompany Miss Milner? +there are tickets for three, and you can then have no objection.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner’s brow was immediately smoothed; and she +fetched a sigh, in anxious expectation that he would consent.</p> + +<p>“I go, Miss Woodley?” he replied, with astonishment, +“Do you imagine I would play the buffoon at a masquerade?”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner’s face changed into its former state.</p> + +<p>“I have seen grave characters there, my Lord,” said Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Dear Miss Woodley,” cried Miss Milner, “why persuade +Lord Elmwood to put on a mask, just at the time he has laid +it aside?”</p> + +<p>His patience was now tempted to its height, and he +answered, “If you suspect me of inconsistency, Madam, you +shall find me changed.”</p> + +<p>Pleased that she had been able at last to irritate him, she +smiled with a degree of triumph, and in that humour was +going to reply; but before she could speak four words, and +before she thought of it, he abruptly left the room.</p> + +<p>She was highly offended at this insult, and declared, +“From that moment she banished him from her heart for +ever.” And to prove that she set his love and his anger at +equal defiance, she immediately ordered her carriage, and +said, she “Was going to some of her acquaintance, whom +she knew to have tickets, and with whom she would fix upon +the habit she was to appear in at the masquerade; for +nothing, unless she was locked up, should alter the resolution +she had formed, of being there.” To remonstrate at that +moment, Miss Woodley knew would be in vain—her coach +came to the door, and she drove away.</p> + +<p>She did not return to dinner, nor till it was late in the +evening; Lord Elmwood was at home, but he never once +mentioned her name.</p> + +<p>She came home, after he had retired, in great spirits; and +then, for the first time, in her whole life, appeared careless +what he might think of her behaviour:—but her whole +thoughts were occupied upon the business which had +employed the chief of her day; and her dress engrossed all her +conversation, as soon as Miss Woodley and she were alone. +She told her, she had been shewn the greatest variety of +beautiful and becoming dresses she had ever beheld; “and +yet,” said she, “I have at last fixed upon a very plain one; +but one I look so well in, that you will hardly know me, when +I have it on.”</p> + +<p>“You are seriously then resolved to go,” said Miss Woodley, +“if you hear no more on the subject from your guardian?”</p> + +<p>“Whether I do hear or not, Miss Woodley, I am equally +resolved to go.”</p> + +<p>“But you know, my dear, he has desired you not—and +you used always to obey his commands.”</p> + +<p>“As my guardian, I certainly did obey him; and I could +obey him as a husband; but as a lover, I will not.”</p> + +<p>“Yet that is the way never to have him for a husband.”</p> + +<p>“As he pleases—for if he will not submit to be my lover, +I will not submit to be his wife—nor has he the affection +that I require in a husband.”</p> + +<p>Thus the old sentiments, repeated again and again, prevented +a separation till towards morning.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, for that night, dreamed less of her guardian +than of the masquerade. On the evening of the next day +it was to be—she was up early, breakfasted in her dressing +room, and remained there most of the day, 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 all over in falling ringlets. Her next care was, that +her dress should exactly fit, and display her fine person to +the best advantage—it did so. Miss Woodley entered as it +was trying on, and was all astonishment at the elegance of +the habit, and its beautiful effect upon her graceful person; +but, most of all, she was astonished at her venturing on such +a character—for though it represented the goddess of +Chastity, yet from the buskins, and the petticoat festooned +far above the ankle, it had, on a first glance, the appearance +of a female much less virtuous. Miss Woodley admired this +dress, yet objected to it; but as she admired first, her +objections after had no weight.</p> + +<p>“Where is Lord Elmwood?” said Miss Milner—“he +must not see me.”</p> + +<p>“No, for heaven’s sake,” cried Miss Woodley, “I would +not have him see you in such a disguise for the universe.”</p> + +<p>“And yet,” returned the other, with a sigh, “why am +I then thus pleased with my dress? for I had rather he +should admire me than all the world besides, and yet he is +not to see me in it.”</p> + +<p>“But he would not admire you so dressed,” said Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“How shall I contrive to avoid him,” said Miss Milner, +“if in the evening he should offer to hand me into my +carriage? But I believe he will not be in good humour +enough for that.”</p> + +<p>“You had better dress at the house of the ladies with +whom you go,” said Miss Woodley; and this was agreed +upon.</p> + +<p>At dinner they learnt that Lord Elmwood was to go that +evening to Windsor, in order to be in readiness for the +king’s hunt early in the morning. This intelligence having +dispersed Miss Milner’s fears, she concluded upon dressing +at home.</p> + +<p>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 it once in his thoughts; for +though he was offended at his ward’s behaviour on the +occasion, and considered that she committed a fault in +telling him, “She would go,” yet he never suspected she +meant to do so, not even at the time she said it, much less +that she would persist, coolly and deliberately, in so direct +a contradiction to his will. She, for her part, flattered +herself, that his going to Windsor, was intended in order +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 the same opinion; and, +without reluctance, dressed herself as a wood-nymph to +accompany her friend.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_IX" id="II_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p>At half after eleven, Miss Milner’s chair, and another with +Miss Woodley, took them from Lord Elmwood’s, to call +upon the party (wood-nymphs and huntresses) who were to +accompany them, and make up the suit of Diana.</p> + +<p>They had not left the house two minutes, when a thundering +rap came at the door—it was Lord Elmwood in a post +chaise. Upon some occasion the next day’s hunt was deferred: +he had been made acquainted with it, and came +from Windsor at that late hour. After he had informed +Mrs. Horton and Mr. Sandford, who were sitting together, +of the cause of his sudden return, and had supper ordered +for him, he enquired, “What company had just left the +house?”</p> + +<p>“We have been alone the whole evening, my Lord,” +replied Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” returned he, “I saw two chairs, with several +servants, come out of the door as I drove up, but what livery +I could not discern.”</p> + +<p>“We have had no creature here,” repeated Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“Nor has Miss Milner had visitors?” asked he.</p> + +<p>This brought Mrs. Horton to her recollection, and she +cried, “Oh! now I know;”——and then checked herself, +as if she knew too much.</p> + +<p>“What do you know, Madam?” said he, sharply.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Mrs. Horton, “I know nothing—” and +she lifted up her hands and shook her head.</p> + +<p>“So all people say, who know a great deal,” cried Sandford, +“and I suspect that is at present your case.”</p> + +<p>“Then I know more than I wish, I am sure, Mr. Sandford,” +returned she, shrugging up her shoulders.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was all impatience.</p> + +<p>“Explain, Madam, explain.”</p> + +<p>“Dear my Lord,” said she, “if your Lordship will recollect, +you may just have the same knowledge that I have.”</p> + +<p>“Recollect what?” said he sternly.</p> + +<p>“The quarrel you and your ward had about the masquerade.”</p> + +<p>“What of that? she is not gone there?” he cried.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure she is,” returned Mrs. Horton; “but if +your Lordship saw two sedan chairs going out of this house, +I cannot but suspect it must be Miss Milner and my niece +going to the masquerade.”</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but rang the bell violently. A servant +entered. “Send Miss Milner’s maid hither,” said he, +“immediately.” The man withdrew.</p> + +<p>“Nay, my Lord,” cried Mrs. Horton, “any of the other +servants could tell you just as well, whether Miss Milner is +at home, or gone out.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” replied he.</p> + +<p>The maid entered.</p> + +<p>“Where is your mistress?” said Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>The woman had received no orders to conceal where the +ladies were gone, and yet a secret influence which governs the +thoughts of all waiting-women and chambermaids, whispered +to her that she ought not to tell the truth.</p> + +<p>“Where is your mistress?” repeated he, in a louder voice +than before.</p> + +<p>“Gone out, my Lord,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Where?”</p> + +<p>“My Lady did not tell me.”</p> + +<p>“And don’t you know?”</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord:” she answered, and without blushing.</p> + +<p>“Is this the night of the masquerade?” said he.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, my Lord, upon my word; but, I believe, +my Lord, it is not.”</p> + +<p>Sandford, as soon as Lord Elmwood had asked the last +question, ran hastily to the table, at the other side of the +room, took something from it, and returned to his place +again—and when the maid said, “It was not the night of +the masquerade,” he exclaimed, “But it is, my Lord, it is—yes, +it is,” and shewing a newspaper in his hand, pointed to +the paragraph which contained the information.</p> + +<p>“Leave the room,” said Lord Elmwood to the woman, +“I have done with you.” She withdrew.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, here it is,” repeated Sandford, with the paper +in his hand.——He then read the paragraph: “‘<i>The masquerade +at the honorable Mrs. G——’s this evening</i>’—This +evening, my Lord, you find—‘<i>it is expected will be the +most brilliant, of any thing of the kind for these many years +past.</i>’”</p> + +<p>“They should not put such things in the papers,” said +Mrs. Horton, “to tempt young women to their ruin.” The +word ruin grated upon Lord Elmwood’s ear, and he said to +the servant who came to wait on him, while he 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 the room, lost in thought and care.</p> + +<p>A little time after, one of Miss Milner’s footmen came in +upon some occasion, and Mr. Sandford said to him, “Pray +did you attend your lady to the masquerade?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir,” replied the man.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood stopped himself short in his walk, and said +to the servant, “You did?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my Lord,” replied he.</p> + +<p>He walked again.</p> + +<p>“I should like to know what she was dressed in,” said +Mrs. Horton: and turning to the servant, “Do you know +what your lady had on?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Madam,” replied the man, “she was in men’s +clothes.”</p> + +<p>“How!” cried Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“You tell a story, to be sure,” said Mrs. Horton to the +servant.</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Sandford, “I am sure he does not; for he is +an honest good young man, and would not tell a lie upon +any account—would you, George?”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood ordered Miss Milner’s woman to be again +sent up. She came.</p> + +<p>“In what dress did your lady go to the masquerade?” +asked he, and with a look so extremely morose, it seemed +to command the answer in a single word, and that word to +be truth.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Was it a man’s or a woman’s?” asked he, with a look of +the same command.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, my Lord,” (half laughing and half crying) +“a woman’s dress, to be sure, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>On which Sandford cried——</p> + +<p>“Call the footman up, and let him confront her.”</p> + +<p>He was called; but Lord Elmwood, now disgusted at the +scene, withdrew to the further end of the room, and left +Sandford to question them.</p> + +<p>With all the authority and consequence of a country +magistrate, Sandford—his back to the fire, and the witnesses +before him, began with the footman.</p> + +<p>“In what dress do you say, that you saw your lady, +when you attended, and went along with her, to the masquerade?”</p> + +<p>“In men’s clothes,” replied the man, boldly and firmly +as before.</p> + +<p>“Bless my soul, George, how can you say such a thing?” +cried the woman.</p> + +<p>“What dress do <i>you</i> say she went in?” cried Sandford +to her.</p> + +<p>“In women’s clothes, indeed, Sir.”</p> + +<p>“This is very odd!” said Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“Had she on, or had she not on, a coat?” asked Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir, a petticoat,” replied the woman.</p> + +<p>“Do <i>you</i> say she had on a petticoat?” said Sandford to the +man.</p> + +<p>“I can’t answer exactly for that,” replied he, “but I know +she had boots on.”</p> + +<p>“They were not boots,” replied the maid with vehemence—“indeed, +Sir, (turning to Sandford) they were only half +boots.”</p> + +<p>“My girl,” said Sandford kindly to her, “your own +evidence convicts your mistress—What has a woman to do +with <i>any</i> boots?”</p> + +<p>Impatient at this mummery, Lord Elmwood rose, ordered +the servants out of the room, and then, looking at his watch, +found it was near one. “At what hour am I to expect her +home?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not till three in the morning,” answered +Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“Three! more likely six,” cried Sandford.</p> + +<p>“I can’t wait with patience till that time,” answered Lord +Elmwood, with a most anxious sigh.</p> + +<p>“You had better go to bed, my Lord,” said Mrs. Horton; +“and, by sleeping, the time will pass away unperceived.”</p> + +<p>“If I <i>could</i> sleep, Madam.”</p> + +<p>“Will you play a game of cards, my Lord?” said Sandford, +“for I will not leave you till she comes home; and +though I am not used to sit up all night——”</p> + +<p>“All night!” repeated Lord Elmwood; “she dares not +stay all night.”</p> + +<p>“And yet, after going,” said Sandford, “in defiance to +your commands, I should suppose she dared.”</p> + +<p>“She is in good company, at least, my Lord,” said +Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>“She does not know herself what company she is in,” +replied he.</p> + +<p>“How should she,” cried Sandford, “where every one +hides his face?”</p> + +<p>Till five o’clock in the morning, in conversation such as +this, the hours passed away. Mrs. Horton, indeed, retired +to her chamber at two, and left the gentlemen to a more +serious discourse; but a discourse still less advantageous to +poor Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>She, during this time, was at the scene of pleasure she had +painted to herself, and all the pleasure it gave her was, that +she was sure she should never desire to go to a masquerade +again. Its crowd and bustle fatigued her—its freedom +offended her delicacy—and though she perceived that she +was the first object of admiration in the place, yet there was +one person still wanting to admire; and the remorse at +having transgressed his injunctions for so trivial an entertainment, +weighed upon her spirits, and added to its weariness. +She would have come away sooner 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, were they prevailed on to return.</p> + +<p>Daylight just peeped through the shutters of the room +in which Lord Elmwood and Sandford were sitting, when +the sound of her carriage, and the sudden stop it made at +the door, caused Lord Elmwood to start from his chair. He +trembled extremely, and looked pale. Sandford was ashamed +to seem to notice it, yet he could not help asking him, “To +take a glass of wine.” He took it—and for once, evinced he +was reduced so low, as to be <i>glad</i> of such a resource.</p> + +<p>What passion thus agitated Lord Elmwood at this crisis, it +is hard to define—perhaps it was indignation at Miss Milner’s +imprudence, and exultation at being on the point of revenge—perhaps +it was emotion arising from joy, to find that she +was safe—perhaps it was perturbation at the regret he felt +that he must upbraid her—perhaps it was not one alone of +these sensations, but all of them combined.</p> + +<p>She, wearied out with the tedious night’s dissipation, and +far less joyous than melancholy, had fallen asleep as she rode +home, and came half 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 of Lord Elmwood’s +valets went up to her, and answered, “Madam, my Lord +desires to see you before you retire.”</p> + +<p>“Your Lord!” she cried, “Is he not out of town?”</p> + +<p>“No, Madam, my Lord has been at home ever since you +went out; and has been sitting up with Mr. Sandford, +waiting for you.”</p> + +<p>She was wide awake immediately. The heaviness was +removed from her eyes, but fear, grief, and shame, seized +upon her heart. She leaned against her maid, as if unable to +support herself under those feelings, and said to Miss +Woodley,</p> + +<p>“Make my excuse—I cannot see him to-night—I am unfit—indeed +I cannot.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was alarmed at the idea of going to him by +herself, and thus, perhaps, irritating him still more: she, +therefore, said, “He has sent for <i>you</i>; for heaven’s sake, do +not disobey him a second time.”</p> + +<p>“No, dear Madam, don’t,” cried her woman, “for he is +like a lion—he has been scolding me.”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” (exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone +that seemed prophetic) “Then he is not to be my husband, +after all.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried Miss Woodley, “if you will only be humble, +and appear sorry. You know your power over him, and all +may yet be well.”</p> + +<p>She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears +starting from them, her lips trembling—“Do I not appear +sorry?” she cried.</p> + +<p>The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened +their steps to the door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood +was.</p> + +<p>“No, this shuddering is only fright,” replied Miss Woodley—“Say +to him you are sorry, and beg his pardon.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot,” said she, “if Mr. Sandford is with him.”</p> + +<p>The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley +went in. Lord Elmwood, by this time, was composed, and +received her with a slight inclination of his head—she bowed +to him in return, and said, with some marks of humility,</p> + +<p>“I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong.”</p> + +<p>“You have indeed, Miss Milner,” answered he; “but +do not suppose, that I mean to upbraid you: I am, on the +contrary, going to release you from any such apprehension +<i>for the future</i>.”</p> + +<p>Those last three words he delivered with a countenance +so serious and so determined, with an accent so firm and so +decided, they pierced through her heart. Yet she did not +weep, or even sigh; but her friend, knowing what she felt, +exclaimed, “Oh?” as if for her.</p> + +<p>She herself strove with her anguish, and replied, (but with +a faltering voice) “I expected as much, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Madam, you perhaps expect <i>all</i> that I intend?”</p> + +<p>“In regard to myself,” she replied, “I suppose I do.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said he, “you may expect that in a few days we +shall part.”</p> + +<p>“I am prepared for it, my Lord,” she answered, and, while +she said so, sunk upon a chair.</p> + +<p>“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 it now.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to <i>say</i> further,” replied he coolly—“I +have now only to act.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Elmwood,” cried Miss Milner, divided between +grief and anger, “you think to terrify me by your menaces—but +I can part with you—heaven knows I can—your late +behaviour has reconciled me to a separation.”</p> + +<p>On this he was going out of the room—but Miss Woodley, +catching hold of him, cried, “Oh! my Lord, do not leave +her in this sorrow—pity her weakness, and forgive it.” She +was proceeding; and he seemed as if inclined to listen, when +Sandford called out in a tone of voice so harsh,</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley, what do you mean?”—She gave a start, +and desisted.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood then turned to Sandford, and said, “Nay, +Mr. Sandford, you need entertain no doubts of me—I have +judged, and have deter——”</p> + +<p>He was going to say <i>determined</i>; but Miss Milner, who +dreaded the word, interrupted the period, and exclaimed, +“Oh! could my poor father know the days of sorrow I have +experienced since his death, how would he repent his fatal +choice of a protector!”</p> + +<p>This sentence, in which his friend’s memory was recalled, +with an additional allusion to her long and secret love for +him, affected Lord Elmwood much—he was moved, but +ashamed of being so, and as soon as possible 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, and said,</p> + +<p>“Appeal to your father in some other form—in that +(pointing at her dress) he will not know you. Reflect upon +him, too, in your moments of dissipation, and let his idea +controul your indiscretions—not merely in an hour of contradiction +call peevishly upon his name, only to wound the +dearest friend you have.”</p> + +<p>There was a degree of truth, and a degree of passionate +feeling, in the conclusion of this speech, that alarmed Sandford—he +caught up one of the candles, and, laying hold of +his friend’s elbow, drew him out of the room, crying, “Come, +my Lord, come to your bed-chamber—it is very late—it is +morning—it is time to rise.” And by a continual repetition +of these words, in a very loud voice, drowned whatever Lord +Elmwood, or any other person might have wished either to +have said or to have heard.</p> + +<p>In this manner, Lord Elmwood was forced out of the +apartment, and the evening’s entertainment concluded.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_X" id="II_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p>Two whole days passed in the bitterest suspense on the +part of Miss Milner, while neither one word or look from +Lord Elmwood, denoted the most trivial change of the +sentiments he had declared, on the night of the masquerade. +Still those sentiments, or intentions, were not explicitly +delivered; they were more like intimations, than solemn +declarations—for though he had said, “He would never +reproach her <i>for the future</i>,” and that “She might expect +they should part,” he had not positively said they should; +and upon this doubtful meaning of his words, she hung with +the strongest agitation of hope and of fear.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley seeing the distress of her mind, (much as she +endeavoured to conceal it) entreated, nay implored of her, +to permit her to be a mediator; to suffer her to ask for +a private interview with Lord Elmwood, and if she found +him inflexible, to behave with a proper spirit in return; +but if he appeared not absolutely averse to a reconciliation, +to offer it in so cautious a manner, that it might take place +without farther uneasiness on either side. But Miss Milner +peremptorily forbade this, and acknowledging to her friend +every weakness she felt on the occasion, yet concluded with +solemnly declaring, “That after what had passed between +her and Lord Elmwood, <i>he</i> must be the first to make a concession, +before she herself would condescend to be reconciled.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I know Lord Elmwood’s temper,” replied +Miss Woodley, “and I do not think he will be easily induced +to beg pardon for a fault which he thinks <i>you</i> have +committed.”</p> + +<p>“Then he does not love me.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw! Miss Milner, this is the old argument. He may +love you too well to spoil you—consider that he is your +guardian as well as your lover, he means 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 +he does not intend to submit hereafter.”</p> + +<p>“But tenderness, affection, the politeness due from a lover +to his mistress demands his submission; and as I now despair +of enticing, I will oblige him to it—at least I’ll make the +trial, and know my fate at once.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean to do?”</p> + +<p>“Invite Lord Frederick to the house, and ask my guardian’s +consent for our immediate union; you will then see, what +effect that will have upon his pride.”</p> + +<p>“But you will then make it too late for him to be humble. +If you resolve on this, my dear Miss Milner, you are undone +at once—you may thus hurry yourself into a marriage with +a man you do not love, and the misery of your whole future +life may be the result. Or, would you force Mr. Dorriforth +(I mean Lord Elmwood) to another duel with my Lord +Frederick?”</p> + +<p>“No, call him Dorriforth,” answered she, with the tears +stealing from her eyes; “I thank you for calling him so; +for by that name alone, is he dear to me.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, Miss Milner, with what rapture did you not receive +his love, as Lord Elmwood!”</p> + +<p>“But under this title he has been barbarous; under the +first, he was all friendship and tenderness.”</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding Miss Milner indulged herself in all these +soft bewailings to her friend—before Lord Elmwood she +maintained a degree of pride and steadiness, which surprised +even him, who perhaps thought less of her love for him, than +any other person. She now began to fear she had gone too +far in discovering her affection, and resolved to make trial +of a contrary method. She determined to retrieve that +haughty character which had inspired so many of her +admirers with passion, and take the chance of its effect upon +this only one, to whom she ever acknowledged a mutual +attachment. But although she acted this character well—so +well, that every one but Miss Woodley thought her in +earnest—yet, with nice and attentive anxiety, she watched +even the slightest circumstances that might revive her hopes, +or confirm her despair. Lord Elmwood’s behaviour was +calculated only to produce the latter—he was cold, polite, +and perfectly indifferent. Yet, whatever his manners now +were, they did not remove from her recollection what they +had been—she recalled, with delight, the ardour with which +he had first declared his passion to her, and the thousand +proofs he had since given of its reality. From the constancy +of his disposition, she depended that sentiments like these +were not totally eradicated; and from the extreme desire +which Mr. Sandford now, more than ever, discovered of +depreciating her in his patron’s esteem—from the now, more +than common zeal, which urged him to take Lord Elmwood +from her company, whenever he had it in his power, she was +led to believe, that while his friend entertained such strong +fears of his relapsing into love, she had reason to indulge the +strongest hopes that he would.</p> + +<p>But the reserve, and even indifference, that she had so well +assumed for a few days, and which might perhaps have +effected her design, she had not the patience to persevere in, +without calling levity to their aid. She visited repeatedly +without saying where, or with whom—kept later hours than +usual—appeared in the highest spirits—sung, laughed, and +never heaved a sigh—but when she was alone.</p> + +<p>Still Lord Elmwood protracted a resolution, that he was +determined he would never break when taken.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was excessively uneasy, and with cause; +she saw her friend was providing herself with a weight of +cares, that she would soon find infinitely too much for her +strength to bear—she would have reasoned with her, but +all her arguments had long since proved unavailing. She +wished to speak to Lord Elmwood upon the subject, and +(unknown to her) plead her excuse; but he apprehended +Miss Woodley’s intention, and evidently shunned her. +Mr. Sandford was now the only person to whom she could +speak of Miss Milner, and the delight he took to expatiate on +her faults, 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 time when she, who now scorned her +advice, would fly to her in vain for comfort.</p> + +<p>Sandford had, however, said one thing to Miss Woodley, +which gave her a ray of hope. During their conversation on +the subject, (not by way of consolation to her, but as a reproach +to Lord Elmwood) he one day angrily exclaimed, +“And yet, notwithstanding all this provocation, he has not +come to the determination that he will think no more of her—he +lingers and he hesitates—I never saw him so weak upon +any occasion before.”</p> + +<p>This was joyful hearing to Miss Woodley; still, she could +not but reflect, the longer he was in coming to this determination, +the more irrevocable it would be, when once taken; +and every moment that passed, she trembled lest it should +be the very moment, in which Lord Elmwood should resolve +to banish Miss Milner from his heart.</p> + +<p>Amongst her unpardonable indiscretions, during this trial +upon the temper of her guardian, was the frequent mention +of many gentlemen, who had been her professed admirers, +and the mention of them with partiality. Teased, if not +tortured, by this, Lord Elmwood still behaved with a manly +evenness of temper, and neither appeared provoked on the +subject, nor insolently careless. In a single instance, however, +this calmness was near deserting him.</p> + +<p>Entering the drawing-room, one evening, he started, on +seeing Lord Frederick Lawnly there, in earnest conversation +with Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley were both indeed present, +and Lord Frederick was talking in an audible voice, upon +some indifferent subjects; but with that impressive manner, +in which a man never fails to speak to the woman he loves, +be the subject what it may. The moment Lord Elmwood +started, which was the moment he entered, Lord Frederick +arose.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, my Lord,” said Lord Elmwood, +“I protest I did not know you.”</p> + +<p>“I ought to entreat your Lordship’s pardon,” returned +Lord Frederick, “for this intrusion, which an accident alone +has occasioned. Miss Milner has been almost overturned +by the carelessness of a lady’s coachman, in whose carriage +she was, and therefore suffered me to bring her home in +mine.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you are not hurt,” said Lord Elmwood to Miss +Milner, but his voice was so much affected by what he felt +that he could scarce articulate the words. Not with the +apprehension that she was hurt, was he thus agitated, for +the gaiety of her manners convinced him <i>that</i> could not be +the case, nor did he indeed suppose any accident, of the kind +mentioned, had occurred; but the circumstance of unexpectedly +seeing Lord Frederick had taken him off his guard, +and being totally unprepared, he could not conceal indications +of the surprise, and of the shock it had given him.</p> + +<p>Lord Frederick, who had heard nothing of his intended +union with his ward, (for it was even kept a secret, at present, +from every servant in the house) imputed this discomposure +to the personal resentment he might bear him, in consequence +of their duel; for though Lord Elmwood had assured the +uncle of Lord Frederick, (who once waited upon him on the +subject of Miss Milner) that all resentment was, on his part, +entirely at an end; and that he was willing to consent to his +ward’s marriage with his nephew, if she would concur; yet +Lord Frederick doubted the sincerity of this, and would still +have had the delicacy not to have entered Lord Elmwood’s +house, had he not been encouraged by Miss Milner, and +emboldened by his love. Personal resentment was therefore +the construction he put upon Lord Elmwood’s emotion on +entering the room; but Miss Milner and Miss Woodley +knew his agitation to arise from a far different cause.</p> + +<p>After his entrance, Lord Frederick did not attempt once +to resume his seat, but having bowed most respectfully to all +present, he took his leave; while Miss Milner followed him +as far as the door, and repeated her thanks for his protection.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was hurt beyond measure; but he had +a second concern, which was, that he had not the power +to conceal how much he was affected. He trembled—when +he attempted to speak, he stammered—he perceived his face +burning with confusion, and thus one confusion gave birth +to another, till his state was pitiable.</p> + +<p>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 the confidence to observe him by stealth. +And Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley, having opportunely +begun a discourse upon some trivial occurrences, gave him +time to recover himself by degrees—yet, still it was merely +by degrees; for the impression which this incident had +made, was deep, and not easily to be erased. The entrance +of Mr. Sandford, who knew nothing of what had happened, +was however, another relief; for he began a conversation +with him, which they very soon retired into the library to +terminate. Miss Milner, taking Miss Woodley with her, +went directly to her own apartment, and there exclaimed +in rapture,</p> + +<p>“He is mine—he loves me—and he is mine for ever.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley congratulated her upon believing so, but +confessed she herself “Had her fears.”</p> + +<p>“What fears?” cried Miss Milner: “don’t you perceive +that he loves me?”</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Miss Woodley, “but that I always believed; +and, I think, if he loves you now, he has yet the good sense to +know that he has reason to hate you.”</p> + +<p>“What has good sense to do with love?” returned Miss +Milner—“If a lover of mine suffers his understanding to +get the better of his affection—”</p> + +<p>The same arguments were going to be repeated; but Miss +Woodley interrupted her, by requiring an explanation of +her conduct as to Lord Frederick, whom, at least, she was +treating with cruelty, if she only made use of his affection +to stimulate that of Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“By no means, my dear Miss Woodley,” returned she—“I +have, indeed, done with my Lord Frederick from this +day; and he has certainly given me the proof I wanted of +Lord Elmwood’s love; but then I did not engage him to this +by the smallest ray of hope. No; do not suspect me of +that, while my heart was another’s: and I assure you, +seriously, that it was from the circumstance we described he +came with me home—yet, I must own, that if I had not had +this design upon Lord Elmwood’s jealousy in idea, I would +have walked on foot through the streets, rather than have +suffered his rival’s civilities. But he pressed his services so +violently, and my Lady Evans (in whose coach I was when +the accident happened) pressed me so violently to accept them, +that he cannot expect any farther meaning from this acquiescence +than my own convenience.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was going to reply, when she resumed,</p> + +<p>“Nay, if you intend to say I have done wrong, still I am +not sorry for it, 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 that manly voice +faltered, as mine does sometimes—his proud heart was +humbled too, as mine is now and then. Oh! Miss Woodley, +I have been counterfeiting indifference to <i>him</i>—I now find +that all <i>his</i> indifference to <i>me</i> has been counterfeit, and that +we not only love, but love equally.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose this all as you hope—I yet think it highly +necessary that your guardian should be informed, seriously +informed, it was mere accident (for, at present, that plea +seems but as a subterfuge) which brought Lord Frederick +hither.”</p> + +<p>“No, that will be destroying the work so successfully +begun. I will not suffer any explanation to take place, but +let my Lord Elmwood act just as his love shall dictate; and +now I have no longer a doubt of its excess, instead of stooping +to him, I wait in the certain expectation of his submission +to me.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XI" id="II_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p>In vain, for three long days, did Miss Milner wait impatiently +for this submission; not a sign, not a symptom +appeared—nay, Lord Elmwood had, since the evening of +Lord Frederick’s visit, (which, at the time it happened, +seemed to affect him so exceedingly) become just the same +man he was before the circumstance occurred; except, +indeed, that he was less thoughtful, and now and then +cheerful; but without any appearance that his cheerfulness +was affected. Miss Milner was vext—she was alarmed—but +was ashamed to confess those humiliating sensations, even to +Miss Woodley—she supported, therefore, when in company, +the vivacity she had so long assumed; but gave way, when +alone, to a still greater degree of melancholy than usual. +She no longer applauded her scheme of bringing Lord +Frederick to the house, and trembled, lest, on some pretence, +he should dare to call again. But as these were feelings which +her pride would not suffer her to disclose even to her friend, +who would have condoled with her, their effects were doubly +poignant.</p> + +<p>Sitting in her dressing-room one forenoon with Miss +Woodley, and burthened with a load of grief that she blushed +to acknowledge, while her companion was charged with +apprehensions that she too was loath to disclose, one of +Lord Elmwood’s valets tapped gently at the door, and +delivered a letter to Miss Milner. By the person who +brought it, as well as by the address, she knew it came from +Lord Elmwood, and laid it down upon her toilet, as if she +was fearful to unfold it.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“A letter from Lord Elmwood,” replied Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“Good Heaven!” exclaimed Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” returned she, “it is, I have no doubt, a letter +to beg my pardon.” But her reluctance to open it plainly +evinced she did not think so.</p> + +<p>“Do not read it yet,” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“I do not intend it,” replied she, trembling extremely.</p> + +<p>“Will you dine first?” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“No—for not knowing its contents, I shall not know how +to conduct myself towards him.”</p> + +<p>Here a silence followed. Miss Milner took up the letter—looked +earnestly at the handwriting on the outside—at the +seal—inspected into its folds—and seemed to wish, by some +equivocal method, to guess at the contents, without having +the courage to come at the certain knowledge of them.</p> + +<p>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 following words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Madam</span>,</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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—<i>for ever</i>.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“However time, and a succession of objects, may eradicate +more tender sentiments, I am sure <i>never</i> 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, <i>upon every important occasion, you will +call your serious judgment to direct you</i>.</p> + +<p>“I am, Madam,</p> + +<p>“Your sincerest friend,</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Elmwood</span>.”</p></div> + +<p>After she had read every syllable of this letter, it dropped +from her hands; but she uttered not a word. There was, +however, a paleness in her face, a deadness in her eye, and +a kind of palsy over her frame, which Miss Woodley, who +had seen her in every stage of her uneasiness, never had seen +before.</p> + +<p>“I do not want to read the letter,” said Miss Woodley; +“your looks tell me its contents.”</p> + +<p>“They will then discover to Lord Elmwood,” replied she, +“what I feel; but Heaven forbid—that would sink me even +lower than I am.”</p> + +<p>Scarce able to move, she rose, and looked in her glass, as +if to arrange her features, and impose upon him: alas! it +was of no avail—a serenity of mind could alone effect what +she desired.</p> + +<p>“You must endeavour,” said Miss Woodley, “to feel the +disposition you wish to make appear.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” replied she, “I will feel a proper pride—and +a proper scorn of this treatment.”</p> + +<p>And so desirous was she to attain the appearance of these +sentiments, that she made the strongest efforts to calm her +thoughts, in order to acquire it.</p> + +<p>“I have but a few days to remain with him,” she said to +herself, “and we part for ever—during those few days it +is not only my duty to obey his commands, or rather comply +with his request, but it is also my wish to leave upon his mind +an impression, which may not add to the ill opinion he has +formed of me, but, perhaps, serve to diminish it. If, in every +other instance, my conduct has been blameable, he shall, at +least in this, acknowledge its merit. The fate I have drawn +upon myself, he shall find I can be resigned to; and he shall +be convinced, that the woman, of whose weakness he has had +so many fatal proofs, is yet in possession of some fortitude—fortitude, +to bid him farewell, without discovering one +affected or one real pang, though her death should be the +immediate consequence.”</p> + +<p>Thus she resolved, and thus she acted. The severest judge +could not have arraigned 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 struggles were +victorious.</p> + +<p>The first time she saw him after the receipt of his letter, +was on the evening of the same day—she had a little concert +of amateurs of music, and was herself singing and playing +when he entered the room: the connoisseurs immediately +perceived she made a false cadence—but Lord Elmwood was +no connoisseur in the art, and he did not observe it.</p> + +<p>They occasionally spoke to each other through the evening, +but the subjects were general—and though their manners +every time they spoke, were perfectly polite, they were not +marked with the smallest degree of familiarity. To describe +his behaviour exactly, it was the same as his letter, polite, +friendly, composed, and resolved. Some of the company +staid supper, which prevented the embarrassment that must +unavoidably have arisen, had the family been by themselves.</p> + +<p>The next morning each breakfasted in his separate apartments—more +company dined with them—in the evening, +and at supper, Lord Elmwood was from home.</p> + +<p>Thus, all passed on as peaceably as he had requested, and +Miss Milner had not betrayed one particle of frailty; when, +the third day at dinner, some gentlemen of his acquaintance +being at table, one of them said,</p> + +<p>“And so, my Lord, you absolutely set off on Tuesday +morning?”</p> + +<p>This was Friday.</p> + +<p>Sandford and he both replied at the same time, “Yes.” +And Sandford, but not Lord Elmwood, looked at Miss +Milner when he spoke. Her knife and fork gave a sudden +spring in her hand, but no other emotion witnessed what +she felt.</p> + +<p>“Aye, Elmwood,” cried another gentleman at table, +“you’ll bring home, I am afraid, a foreign wife, and that +I shan’t forgive.”</p> + +<p>“It is his errand abroad, I make no doubt,” said another +visitor.</p> + +<p>Before he could return an answer, Sandford cried, “And +what objection to a foreigner for a wife? do not crowned +heads all marry foreigners? and who happier in the married +state than some kings?”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood directed his eyes to the side of the table, +opposite to that where Miss Milner sat.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” (answered one of the guests, who was a country +gentleman) “what do you say, ladies—do you think my +Lord ought to go out of his own nation for a wife?” and +he looked at Miss Milner for the reply.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, uneasy at her friend’s being thus forced +to give an opinion upon so delicate a subject, endeavoured +to satisfy the gentleman, by answering to the question herself: +“Whoever my Lord Elmwood marries, Sir,” said Miss +Woodley, “he, no doubt, will be happy.”</p> + +<p>“But what say you, Madam?” asked the visitor, still +keeping his eyes on Miss Milner.</p> + +<p>“That whoever Lord Elmwood marries, he <i>deserves</i> to be +happy:” returned she, with the utmost command of her +voice and looks; for Miss Woodley, by replying first, had +given her time to collect herself.</p> + +<p>The colour flew to Lord Elmwood’s face, as she delivered +this short sentence; and Miss Woodley persuaded herself, +she saw a tear start in his eye.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner did not look that way.</p> + +<p>In an instant he found means to change the subject, but +that of his journey still employed the conversation; and +what horses, servants, and carriages he took with him, was +minutely asked, and so accurately answered, either by himself +or by Mr. Sandford, that Miss Milner, although she had +known her doom before, till now had received no circumstantial +account of it—and as circumstances increase or +diminish all we feel, the hearing these things told, increased +the bitterness of their truth.</p> + +<p>Soon after dinner the ladies retired; and from that time, +though Miss Milner’s behaviour continued the same, yet her +looks and her voice were totally altered—for the world, she +could not have looked cheerfully; for the world, she could +not have spoken with a sprightly accent; she frequently +began in one, but not three words could she utter, before +her tones sunk into dejection. Not only her colour, but her +features became changed; her eyes lost their brilliancy, her +lips seemed to hang without the power of motion, her head +drooped, and her dress was neglected. Conscious of this +appearance, and conscious of the cause from whence it arose, +it was her desire to hide herself from the only object she +could have wished to have charmed. Accordingly, she sat +alone, or with Miss Woodley in her own apartment as much +as was consistent with that civility which her guardian had +requested, and which forbade her totally absenting herself.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley felt so acutely the torments of her friend, +that had not her reason told her, that the inflexible mind of +Lord Elmwood, was fixed beyond her power to shake, she +had cast herself at his feet, and implored the return of his +affection and tenderness, as the only means to save his once-beloved +ward from an untimely death. But her understanding—her +knowledge of his firm and immoveable temper; and +of all his provocations—her knowledge of his word, long since +given to Sandford, “That if once resolved, he would not +recall his resolution”—the certainty of the various plans +arranged for his travels, all convinced her, that by any +interference, she would only expose Miss Milner’s love and +delicacy, to a contemptuous rejection.</p> + +<p>If the conversation did not every day turn upon the subject +of Lord Elmwood’s departure—a conversation he evidently +avoided himself—yet, every day, some new preparation for +his journey, struck either the ear or the eye of Miss Milner—and +had she beheld a frightful spectre, she could not have +shuddered with more horror, than when she unexpectedly +passed his large trunks in the hall, nailed and corded, ready +to be sent off to meet him at Venice. At the sight, she flew +from the company that chanced to be with her, and stole to +the first lonely corner of the house to conceal her tears—she +reclined her head upon her hands, and bedewed them with +the sudden anguish, that had overcome her. She heard +a footstep advancing towards the spot where she hoped to +have been concealed; she lifted up her eyes, and saw Lord +Elmwood. Pride, was the first emotion his presence inspired—pride, +which arose from the humility into which she was +plunged.</p> + +<p>She looked at him earnestly, as if to imply, “What now, +my Lord?”</p> + +<p>He only answered with a bow, which expressed; “I beg +your pardon.” And immediately withdrew.</p> + +<p>Thus each understood the other’s language, without either +having uttered a word.</p> + +<p>The just construction she put upon his looks and behaviour +upon this occasion, kept up her spirits for some little time; +and she blessed heaven, repeatedly, for the singular favour +of shewing to her, clearly, by this accident, his negligence of +her sorrows, his total indifference.</p> + +<p>The next day was the eve of that on which he was to +depart—of the day on which she was to bid adieu to Dorriforth, +to her guardian, to Lord Elmwood; to all her hopes +at once.</p> + +<p>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 the resentment his yesterday’s conduct +had raised: forgetting his austerity, and all she had +once termed cruelties, she now only remembered his friendship, +his tenderness, and his love. She was impatient to see +him, and promised herself, for this last day, to neglect no +one opportunity of being with him. For that purpose she +did not breakfast in her own room, as she had done for several +mornings before, but went into the breakfast-room, where +all the family in general met. She was rejoiced on hearing +his voice as she opened the door, yet the sound made her +tremble so much, that she could scarcely totter to the table.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley looked at her as she entered, and was never +so shocked at seeing her; for never had she yet seen her look +so ill. As she approached, she made an inclination of her +head to Mrs. Horton, then to her guardian, as was her +custom, when she first saw them in a morning—he looked in +her face as he bowed in return, then fixed his eyes upon the +fire-place, rubbed his forehead, and began talking with +Mr. Sandford.</p> + +<p>Sandford, during breakfast, by accident cast a glance upon +Miss Milner; his attention was caught by her deadly +countenance, and he looked earnestly. He then turned to +Lord Elmwood to see if he was observing her appearance—he +was not—and so much were her thoughts engaged on him +alone, that she did not once perceive Sandford gazing at her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Horton, after a little while observed, “It was a +beautiful morning.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood said, “He thought he heard it rain in the +night.”</p> + +<p>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 first civility he had ever in his life offered her; +she smiled at the whimsicality of the circumstance, but she +took one in return for his attention. He looked grave beyond +his usual gravity, and yet not with his usual ill temper. She +did not eat what she had so politely taken, but laid it down +soon after.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was the first who rose from breakfast, and +he did not return to dinner.</p> + +<p>At dinner, Mrs. Horton said, “She hoped he would, however, +favour them with his company at supper.”</p> + +<p>To which Sandford replied, “No doubt, for you will +hardly any of you see him in the morning; as we shall be off +by six, or soon after.”</p> + +<p>Sandford was not going abroad with Lord Elmwood, but +was to go with him as far as Dover.</p> + +<p>These words of his—“<i>Not see Lord Elmwood in the morning</i>”—[never +again to see him after this evening,] were like the +knell of death to Miss Milner. She felt the symptoms of +fainting, and eagerly snatched a glass of water, which the +servant was holding to Sandford, who had called for it, and +drank it off;—as she returned the glass to the servant, she +began to apologize to Mr. Sandford for her seeming rudeness, +but before she could utter what she intended, he said, good-naturedly, +“Never mind—you are very welcome—I am glad +you took it.” She looked at him to observe, whether he had +really spoken kindly, or ironically; but before his countenance +could satisfy her, her thoughts were called away from that +trivial matter, and again fixed upon Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>The moments seemed tedious till he came home to supper, +and yet, when she reflected how short the remainder of the +evening would be after that time, she wished to defer the +hour of his return for months. At ten o’clock he arrived; +and at half after ten the family, without any visitor, met at +supper.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner had considered, that the period for her to +counterfeit appearances, was diminished now to a most contracted +one; and she rigorously enjoined herself not to +shrink from the little which remained. The certain end, that +would be so soon put to this painful deception, encouraged +her to struggle through it with redoubled zeal; and this +was but necessary, as her weakness increased. She therefore +listened, she talked, and even smiled with the rest of the +company, nor did <i>their</i> vivacity seem to arise, from a much +less compulsive source than her own.</p> + +<p>It was past twelve, when Lord Elmwood looked at his +watch, and rising from his chair, went up to Mrs. Horton, +and taking her hand, said, “Till I see you again, Madam, +I sincerely wish you every happiness.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner fixed her eyes upon the table before her.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” replied Mrs. Horton, “I sincerely wish you +health and happiness likewise.”</p> + +<p>He then went to Miss Woodley, and taking her hand, +repeated much the same, as he had said to Mrs. Horton.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner now trembled beyond all power of concealment.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” replied Miss Woodley, a good deal affected, “I +sincerely hope my prayers for your happiness may be heard.”</p> + +<p>She and Mrs. Horton were both standing as well as Lord +Elmwood; but Miss Milner kept her seat, till his eye was +turned upon her, and he moved slowly towards her; she +then rose:—every one who was present, attentive to what +he would now say, and how she would receive what he said, +here cast their eyes upon them, and listened with impatience. +They were all disappointed—he did not utter a syllable. +Yet he took her hand, and held it closely between his. He +then bowed most respectfully and left her.</p> + +<p>No “I wish you well;—I wish you health and happiness.” +No “Prayers for blessings on her.” Not even the word +“Farewell,” escaped his lips—perhaps, to have attempted +any of these, might have choaked his utterance.</p> + +<p>She had behaved with fortitude the whole evening, and +she continued to do so, till the moment he turned away +from her. Her eyes then overflowed with tears, and in the +agony of her mind, not knowing what she did, she laid her +cold hand upon the person next to her—it happened to be +Sandford; but not observing it was he, she grasped his hand +with violence—yet he did not snatch it away, nor look at +her with his wonted severity. And thus she stood, silent and +motionless, while Lord Elmwood, now at the door, bowed +once more to all the company, and retired.</p> + +<p>Sandford had still Miss Milner’s hand fixed upon his; and +when the door was shut after Lord Elmwood, he turned his +head to look in her face, and turned it with some marks of +apprehension for the grief he might find there. She strove +to overcome that grief, and after a heavy sigh, sat down, as +if resigned to the fate to which she was decreed.</p> + +<p>Instead of following Lord Elmwood, as usual, Sandford +poured out a glass of wine, and drank it. A general silence +ensued for near three minutes. At last, turning himself +round on his seat, towards Miss Milner, who sat like a statue +of despair at his side, “Will you breakfast with us to-morrow?” +said he.</p> + +<p>She made no answer.</p> + +<p>“We shan’t breakfast before half after six,” continued he, +“I dare say; and if you can rise so early—why do.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Milner,” said Miss Woodley, (for she caught +eagerly at the hope of her passing this night in less unhappiness +than she had foreboded) “pray rise at that hour to +breakfast; Mr. Sandford would not invite you, if he thought +it would displease Lord Elmwood.”</p> + +<p>“Not I,” replied Sandford, churlishly.</p> + +<p>“Then desire her maid to call her:” said Mrs. Horton +to Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Nay, she will be awake, I have no doubt;” returned +her niece.</p> + +<p>“No;” replied Miss Milner, “since Lord Elmwood has +thought proper to take 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 heart burst at the same time.</p> + +<p>“Why did not <i>you</i> speak to <i>him</i>?” cried Sandford—“Pray +did <i>you</i> bid <i>him</i> farewell? and I don’t see why one is +not as much to be blamed, in that respect, as the other.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And do you imagine he does not wish you so?” cried +Sandford. “You should judge him by your own heart; and +what you feel for him, imagine he feels for you, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Though “<i>my dear</i>” is a trivial phrase, yet from certain +people, and upon certain occasions, it is a phrase of infinite +comfort and assurance. Mr. Sandford seldom said “my dear” +to any one; to Miss Milner never; and upon this occasion, +and from him, it was an expression most precious.</p> + +<p>She turned to him with a look of gratitude; but as she +only looked, and did not speak, he rose up, and soon after +said, with a friendly tone he had seldom used in her presence, +“I sincerely wish you a good night.”</p> + +<p>As soon as he was gone, Miss Milner exclaimed, “However +my fate may have been precipitated by the unkindness of +Mr. Sandford, yet, for that particle of concern which he has +shown for me this night, I will always be grateful to him.”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” cried Mrs. Horton, “good Mr. Sandford may +show his kindness now, without any danger from its consequences. +Now Lord Elmwood is going away for ever, he +is not afraid of your seeing him once again.” And she +thought she praised him by this suggestion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="II_CHAPTER_XII" id="II_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p>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 to rest—she absolutely +refused; and declared she would never, from that hour, +indulge repose. “The part I undertook to perform,” cried +she, “is over—I will now, for my whole life, appear in my +own character, and give a loose to the anguish I endure.”</p> + +<p>As daylight showed itself—“And yet I might see him once +again,” said she—“I might see him within these two hours, +if I pleased, for Mr. Sandford invited me.”</p> + +<p>“If you think, my dear Miss Milner,” said Miss Woodley, +“that a second parting from Lord Elmwood would but give +you a second agony, in the name of Heaven do not see him +any more—but, if you hope your mind would be easier, were +you to bid each other adieu in a more direct manner than +you did last night, let us go down and breakfast with him. +I’ll go before, and prepare him for your reception—you shall +not surprise him—and I will let him know, it is by Mr. Sandford’s +invitation you are coming.”</p> + +<p>She listened with a smile to this proposal, yet objected to +the indelicacy of her wishing to see him, after he had taken +his leave—but as Miss Woodley perceived that she was +inclined to infringe this delicacy, of which she had so proper +a sense, she easily persuaded her, it was impossible for the +most suspicious person (and Lord Elmwood was far from +such a character) to suppose, that the paying him a visit +at that period of time, could be with the most distant idea of +regaining his heart, or of altering one resolution he had taken.</p> + +<p>But though Miss Milner acquiesced in this opinion, yet +she had not the courage to form the determination that she +would go.</p> + +<p>Daylight now no longer peeped, but stared upon them. +Miss Milner went to the looking-glass, breathed upon her +hands and rubbed them on her eyes, smoothed her hair and +adjusted her dress; yet said, after all, “I dare not see him +again.”</p> + +<p>“You may do as you please,” said Miss Woodley, “but +I will. I that have lived for so many years under the same +roof with him, and on the most friendly terms, and he going +away, perhaps for these ten years, perhaps for ever, I should +think it a disrespect not to see him to the last moment of his +remaining in the house.”</p> + +<p>“Then do you go,” said Miss Milner, eagerly; “and if he +should ask for me, I will gladly come, you know; but if he +does not ask for me, I will not—and pray don’t deceive me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley promised her not to deceive her; and soon +after, as they heard the servants pass about the house, and +the clock had struck six, Miss Woodley went to the breakfast +room.</p> + +<p>She found Lord Elmwood there in his travelling dress, +standing pensively by the fire-place—and, as he did not +dream of seeing her, he started when she entered, and, with +an appearance of alarm, said, “Dear Miss Woodley, what’s +the matter?” She replied, “Nothing, my Lord; but I could +not be satisfied without seeing your Lordship once again, +while I had it in my power.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you,” he returned with a sigh—the heaviest and +most intelligent sigh she ever heard him condescend to give. +She imagined, alas, that he looked as if he wished to ask how +Miss Milner did, but would not allow himself the indulgence. +She was half inclined to mention her to him, and was debating +in her mind whether she should or not, when Mr. Sandford +came into the room, saying, as he entered,</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, my Lord, where did you sleep last +night?”</p> + +<p>“Why do you ask!” said he.</p> + +<p>“Because,” replied Sandford, “I went into your bed-chamber +just now, and I found your bed made. You have +not slept there to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I have slept no where,” returned he; “I could not +sleep—and having some papers to look over, and to set off +early, I thought I might as well not go to bed at all.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was pleased at the frank manner in which +he made this confession, and could not resist the strong +impulse to say, “You have done just then, my Lord, like +Miss Milner, for she has not been in bed the whole night.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley spoke this in a negligent manner, and yet, +Lord Elmwood echoed back the words with solicitude, +“Has not Miss Milner been in bed the whole night?”</p> + +<p>“If she is up, why does not she come and take some coffee?” +said Sandford, as he began to pour it out.</p> + +<p>“If she thought it would be agreeable,” returned Miss +Woodley, “I dare say she would.” And she looked at Lord +Elmwood while she spoke, though she did not absolutely +address him; but he made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Agreeable!” returned Sandford, angrily—“Has she +then a quarrel with any body here? or does she suppose any +body here bears enmity to <i>her</i>? Is she not in peace and +charity?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Miss Woodley, “that I am sure she is.”</p> + +<p>“Then bring her hither,” cried Sandford, “directly. +Would she have the wickedness to imagine we are not all +friends with her?”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley left the room, and found Miss Milner almost +in despair, lest she should hear Lord Elmwood’s carriage +drive off before her friend’s return.</p> + +<p>“Did he send for me?” were the words she uttered as +soon as she saw her.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford did, in his presence,” returned Miss +Woodley, “and you may go with the utmost decorum, or +I would not tell you so.”</p> + +<p>She required no protestations of this, but readily followed +her beloved adviser, whose kindness never appeared in so +amiable a light as at that moment.</p> + +<p>On entering the room, through all the dead white of her +present complection, she blushed to a crimson. Lord Elmwood +rose from his seat, and brought a chair for her to sit +down.</p> + +<p>Sandford looked at her inquisitively, sipped his tea, and +said, “He never made tea to his own liking.”</p> + +<p>Miss Milner took a cup, but had scarce strength to hold it.</p> + +<p>It seemed but a very short time they were at breakfast, +when the carriage, that was to take Lord Elmwood away, +drove to the door. Miss Milner started at the sound—so +did he—but she had nearly dropped her cup and saucer; on +which Sandford took them out of her hand, saying,</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you had rather have coffee?”</p> + +<p>Her lips moved, but he could not hear what she said.</p> + +<p>A servant came in, and told Lord Elmwood, “The carriage +was at the door.”</p> + +<p>He replied, “Very well.” But though he had breakfasted, +he did not attempt to move.</p> + +<p>At last, rising briskly, as if it was necessary to go in haste +when he did 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 give poor +Miss Milner every moment he could, added, (looking about) +“I don’t know where I have laid my gloves.”</p> + +<p>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 it between his, but still without +speaking—while she, unable to suppress her tears as heretofore, +suffered them to fall in torrents.</p> + +<p>“What is all this?” cried Sandford, going up to them in +anger.</p> + +<p>They neither of them replied, or changed their situation.</p> + +<p>“Separate this moment,” cried Sandford, “or resolve to +be separated only by—death.”</p> + +<p>The commanding and awful manner in which he spoke +this sentence, made them both turn to him in amazement, +and as it were, petrified with the sensation his words had +caused.</p> + +<p>He left them for a moment, and going to a small bookcase +in one corner of the room, took out of it a book, and returning +with it in his hand, said,</p> + +<p>“Lord Elmwood, do you love this woman?”</p> + +<p>“More than my life.” He replied, with the most heartfelt +accents.</p> + +<p>He then turned to Miss Milner—“Can you say the same +by him?”</p> + +<p>She spread her hands over her eyes, and exclaimed, “Oh, +Heavens!”</p> + +<p>“I believe you <i>can</i> say so,” returned Sandford; “and in +the name of God, and your own happiness, since this is the +state of you both, let me put it out of your power to part.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood gazed at him with wonder! and yet, as if +enraptured by the sudden change this conduct gave to his +prospects.</p> + +<p>She, sighed with a kind of trembling ecstasy; while Sandford, +with all the dignity of his official character, delivered +these words——</p> + +<p>“My Lord, while I thought my counsel might save you +from the worst of misfortunes, conjugal strife, I importuned +you hourly, and set forth your danger in the light it appeared +to me. But though old, and a priest, I can submit to think +I have been in an error; and I now firmly believe, it is for +the welfare of you both, to become man and wife. My Lord, +take this woman’s marriage vows—you can ask no fairer +promises of her reform—she can give you none half so sacred, +half so binding; and I see by her looks that she will mean +to keep them. And my dear,” continued he, addressing +himself to her, “act but under the dominion of those vows, +to a husband of sense and virtue, like him, and you will be +all 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 such ties from offending you, as +she shall not <i>dare</i> to violate.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood struck his forehead in doubt and agitation; +but, still holding her hand, he cried, “I cannot part from +her.” Then feeling this reply as equivocal, he fell upon his +knees, and cried, “Will you pardon my hesitation? and will +you, in marriage, show me that tender love you have not +shown me yet? Will you, in possessing all my affections, +bear with all my infirmities?”</p> + +<p>She raised him from her feet, and by the expression of her +countenance, by the tears that bathed his hands, gave him +confidence.</p> + +<p>He turned to Sandford—then placing her by his own side, +as the form of matrimony requires, gave this for a sign to +Sandford that he should begin the ceremony. On which, +he opened his book, and—married them.</p> + +<p>With voice and manners so serious, so solemn and so fervent, +he performed these rites, that every idea of jest, or even of +lightness, was absent from the mind of all who were present.</p> + +<p>Miss Milner, covered with shame, sunk on the bosom of +Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>When the ring was wanting, Lord Elmwood supplied it +with one from his own hand, but throughout all the rest of +the ceremony, appeared lost in zealous devotion to Heaven. +Yet, no sooner was it finished, than his thoughts descended +to this world. He embraced his bride with all the transport +of the fondest, happiest bridegroom, and in raptures called +her by the endearing name of “wife.”</p> + +<p>“But still, my Lord,” cried Sandford, “you are only +married by your own church 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 time you disagree, and +she should refuse to become your legal spouse.”</p> + +<p>“I think there is danger,” returned Lord Elmwood, “and +therefore our second marriage must take place to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>To this the ladies objected, and Sandford was to fix their +second wedding-day, as he had done their first. He, after +consideration, gave them four days.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley then recollected (for every one else had +forgot it) that the carriage was still at the door to convey +Lord Elmwood far away. It was of course dismissed—and +one of those great incidents of delight which Miss Milner +that morning tasted, was to look out of the window, and see +this very carriage drive from the door unoccupied.</p> + +<p>Never was there a more rapid change from despair to +happiness—to happiness perfect and supreme—than was +that, which Miss Milner and Lord Elmwood experienced in +one single hour.</p> + +<p>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 joy was doubled by the +once expected sorrow.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, on that first wedding-day, that joyful day, +which restored her lost lover to her hopes again; even on that +<i>very</i> day, after the sacred ceremony was over, Miss Milner—(with +all the fears, the tremors, the superstition of her sex)—felt +an excruciating shock; when, looking on the ring Lord +Elmwood had put upon her finger, in haste, when he married +her, she perceived it was a—mourning ring.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A<br /> +SIMPLE STORY,</h2> + +<h3>IN FOUR VOLUMES,</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>MRS. INCHBALD.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>VOL. III.</h2> + +<h4><i>THE FOURTH EDITION.</i></h4> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> +Printed for G. G. and J. ROBINSON,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Paternoster Row</span>.<br /> +1799. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A SIMPLE STORY.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_I" id="III_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p>Not any event, throughout life, can arrest the reflection +of a thoughtful mind more powerfully, or leave so lasting an +impression, as that of returning to a place after a few years +absence, and observing an entire alteration, in respect to all +the persons who once formed the neighbourhood. To find +that many, who but a few years before were left in their +bloom of youth and health, are dead—to find that children +left at school, are married and have children of their own—that +some, who were left in riches, are reduced to poverty—that +others, who were in poverty are become rich—to find, +those once renowned for virtue, now detested for vice—roving +husbands, grown constant—constant husbands, become +rovers—the firmest friends, changed to the most +implacable enemies—beauty faded. In a word, every change +to demonstrate, that,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“All is transitory on this side the grave.”</p></div> + +<p>Guided by a wish, that the reflecting reader may experience +the sensation, which an attention to circumstances like these, +must excite; he is desired to imagine seventeen years +elapsed, since he has seen or heard of any of those persons +who in the foregoing volumes have been introduced to his +acquaintance—and then, supposing himself at the period of +those seventeen years, follow the sequel of their history.</p> + +<p>To begin with the first female object of this story. The +beautiful, the beloved Miss Milner—she is no longer beautiful—no +longer beloved—no longer—tremble while you read it!—no +longer—virtuous.</p> + +<p>Dorriforth, the pious, the good, the tender Dorriforth, is +become a hard-hearted tyrant. The compassionate, the +feeling, the just Lord Elmwood, an example of implacable +rigour and injustice.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley is grown old, but less with years than grief.</p> + +<p>The boy, Rushbrook, is become a man, and the apparent +heir of Lord Elmwood’s fortune; while his own daughter, +his only child by his once adored Miss Milner, he refuses +ever to see again, in vengeance to her mother’s crimes.</p> + +<p>The least wonderful change, is, the death of Mrs. Horton. +Except Sandford, who remains much the same as heretofore.</p> + +<p>We left Lady Elmwood in the last volume at the summit +of human happiness; a loving and beloved bride. We begin +this volume, and find her upon her death-bed.</p> + +<p>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 their kind, for exquisite were the feelings of +her susceptible heart.</p> + +<p>At the commencement of this story, her father is described +in the last moments of his life, with all his cares fixed upon +her, his only child—how vain these cares! how vain every +precaution that was taken for her welfare! She knows, she +reflects upon this; and yet, impelled by that instinctive +power which actuates a parent, Lady Elmwood on <i>her</i> dying +day has no worldly thoughts, but that of the future happiness +of an only child. To every other prospect in her view, “Thy +will be done” is her continual exclamation; but where the +misery of her daughter presents itself, the expiring penitent +would there combat the will of Heaven.</p> + +<p>To detail the progression by which vice gains a predominancy +in the heart, may be a useful lesson; but it is one +so little to the satisfaction of most readers, that the degrees +of misconduct by which Lady Elmwood fell, are not meant +to be related here; but instead of picturing every occasion +of her fall, to come briefly to the events that followed.</p> + +<p>There are, nevertheless, some articles under the former +class, which ought not to be entirely omitted.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood, after four years enjoyment of the most +perfect happiness that marriage could give, after becoming +the father of a beautiful daughter, whom he loved with +a tenderness almost equal to his love of her mother, was under +the indispensable necessity of leaving them both for 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; his residence there, from various accidents, prolonged +from time to time, till near three years had at length +passed away. Lady Elmwood, at first only unhappy, became +at last provoked; and giving way to that irritable disposition +which she had so seldom governed, resolved, in spite of his +injunctions, to divert the melancholy hours caused by his +absence, by mixing in the gay circles of London.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood at this time, and for many months before, +had been detained abroad by a severe and dangerous illness, +which a too cautious fear of her uneasiness, had prompted +him to conceal; and she received his frequent apologies for +not returning, with a suspicion and resentment they were +calculated, but not intended, to inspire.</p> + +<p>To violent anger, succeeded a degree of indifference still +more fatal—Lady Elmwood’s heart was not formed for such +a state—there, where all the tumultuous passions harboured +by turns, one among them soon found the means to occupy +all vacancies: a passion, commencing innocently, but +terminating in guilt. The dear object of her fondest, her +truest affections, was away; and those affections, painted +the time so irksome that was past; so wearisome, that, which +was still to come; that she flew from the present tedious +solitude, to the dangerous society of one, whose whole mind +depraved by fashionable vices, could not 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 +her sufferings, her remorse, when she was awakened from +the fleeting joy, by the arrival of her husband? How happy, +how transporting would have been that arrival a few months +before! As it would then have been felicity unbounded, it +was now—language affords no word that can describe Lady +Elmwood’s sensations, on being told her Lord was arrived, +and that necessity alone had so long delayed his return.</p> + +<p>Guilty, but not hardened in her guilt, her pangs, her +shame were the more excessive. She fled from the place at +his approach; fled from his house, never again to return +to a habitation where he was the master. She did not, however, +elope with her paramour, but escaped to shelter herself +in the most dreary retreat; where she partook of no one +comfort from society, or from life, but the still unremitting +friendship of Miss Woodley. Even her infant daughter she +left behind, nor would allow herself the consolation of her +innocent, though reproachful smiles—she left 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 with which mothers part from their infant children: +and yet, even a mother can scarce conceive how much more +sharp those agonies were, on beholding—the child sent after +her, as the perpetual outcast of its father.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood’s love to his wife had been extravagant—the +effect of his hate was the same. Beholding himself +separated from her by a barrier never to be removed, he +vowed in the deep torments of his revenge, never to be +reminded of her by one individual object; much less, by one +so near to her as her child. To bestow upon that child his +affections, would be, he imagined, still, in some sort, to divide +them with the mother. Firm in his resolution, the beautiful +Matilda, was, at the age of six years, sent out of her father’s +house, and received by her mother with all the tenderness, +but with all the anguish, of those parents, who behold their +offspring visited by the punishment due only to their own +offences.</p> + +<p>While this rigid act was executing by Lord Elmwood’s +agents at his command, himself was engaged in an affair of +still weightier importance—that of life or death:—he +determined upon his own death, or the death of the man +who had wounded his honour and destroyed his happiness. +A duel with his old antagonist was the result of this determination; +nor was the Duke of Avon (who before the +decease of his father and eldest brother, was Lord Frederick +Lawnly) averse from giving him all the satisfaction he +required. For it was no other than he, whose passion for +Lady Elmwood had still subsisted, and whose address in +gallantry left no means unattempted for the success of his +designs;—no other than he, (who, next to Lord Elmwood, +had been of all her lovers, the most favoured,) to whom +Lady Elmwood sacrificed her own and her husband’s future +peace, and thus gave to his vanity a prouder triumph, than +if she had never bestowed her hand in marriage on another. +This triumph however was but short—a month only, after +the return of Lord Elmwood, the Duke was called upon to +answer for his conduct, and was left where they met, so +defaced with scars, as never again to endanger the honour +of a husband. As Lord Elmwood was inexorable to all +accommodation, their engagement continued for a long +space of time; nor could any thing but the assurance that +his opponent was slain, have at last torn him from the field, +though he himself was dangerously wounded.</p> + +<p>Yet even during the period of his danger, while for days he +lay in the continual expectation of his own death, not all the +entreaties of his dearest, most intimate, and most respected +friends, could prevail upon him to pronounce forgiveness +of his wife, or to suffer them to bring his daughter to him, +for his last blessing.</p> + +<p>Lady Elmwood, who was made acquainted with the +minutest circumstance as it passed, appeared to wait the news +of her husband’s decease with patience; but upon her brow, +and in every lineament of her face was marked, that his +death was an event she would not for a day survive: and +she would have left her child an orphan, to have followed +Lord Elmwood to the tomb. She was prevented the trial; +he recovered; and from the ample vengeance he had obtained +upon the irresistible person of the Duke, in a short +time seemed to regain his usual tranquillity.</p> + +<p>He recovered, but Lady Elmwood fell sick and languished—possessed +of youth to struggle with her woes, she lingered +on, till ten years decline brought her to that period, with +which the reader is now going to be presented.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_II" id="III_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>In a lonely country on the borders of Scotland, a single +house by the side of a dreary heath, was the residence of the +once gay, volatile Miss Milner. In a large gloomy apartment +of this solitary habitation (the windows of which scarce +rendered the light accessible) was laid upon her death-bed, +the once lovely Lady Elmwood—pale, half suffocated with +the loss of breath; yet her senses perfectly clear and collected, +which served but to sharpen the anguish of dying.</p> + +<p>In one corner of the room, by the side of an old fashioned +stool, kneels Miss Woodley, praying most devoutly for her +still beloved friend, but in vain endeavouring to pray composedly—floods +of tears pour down her furrowed cheeks, +and frequent sobs of sorrow, break through each pious +ejaculation.</p> + +<p>Close by her mother’s side, one hand supporting her head, +the other wiping from her face the cold dew of death, behold +Lady Elmwood’s daughter—Lord Elmwood’s daughter too—yet +he far away, negligent of what either suffers. Lady +Elmwood turns to her often and attempts an embrace, but +her feeble arms forbid, and they fall motionless. The +daughter perceiving these ineffectual efforts, has her whole +face convulsed with grief: kisses her mother; holds her to +her bosom; and hangs upon her neck, as if she wished to +cling there, not to be parted even by the grave.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the bed sits Sandford—his hair grown +white—his face wrinkled with age—his heart the same as +ever.—The reprover, the enemy of the vain, the idle, and +the wicked; but the friend and comforter of the forlorn +and miserable.</p> + +<p>Upon those features where sarcasm, reproach, and anger +dwelt, to threaten and alarm the sinner; mildness, tenderness, +and pity beamed, to support and console the penitent. +Compassion changed his language, and softened all those +harsh tones that used to denounce perdition.</p> + +<p>“In the name of God,” said he to Lady Elmwood, “of +that God, who suffered for you, and, suffering, knew and +pitied all our weaknesses—By him, who has given his word to +<i>take compassion on the sinner’s tears</i>, I bid you hope for mercy. +By that innocence in which you once lived, be comforted—By +the sorrows you have known since your degradation, +hope, that in some measure, you have atoned—By the sincerity +that shone upon your youthful face when I joined +your hands, and those thousand virtues you have since given +proofs of, trust, that you were not born to die <i>the death of +the wicked</i>.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke these words of consolation, her trembling +hand clasped his—her dying eyes darted a ray of brightness—but +her failing voice endeavoured in vain, to articulate. At +length, fixing her looks upon her daughter as their last +dear object, she was just understood to utter the word +“Father.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you,” replied Sandford, “and by all that +influence I ever had over him, by my prayers, my tears,” +(and they flowed as he spoke) “I will implore him to own +his child.”</p> + +<p>She could now only smile in thanks.</p> + +<p>“And if I should fail,” continued he, “yet while I live, +she shall not want a friend or protector—all an old man, like +me can answer for”——here his tears interrupted him.</p> + +<p>Lady Elmwood was sufficiently sensible of his words and +their import, to make a sign as if she wished to embrace him: +but finding her life leaving her fast, she reserved this last +token of love for her daughter—with a struggle she lifted herself +from her pillow, clung to her child—and died in her +arms.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_III" id="III_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p>Lord Elmwood was by nature, and more from education, +of a serious, thinking, and philosophic turn of mind. His +religious studies had completely taught him to consider this +world but as a passage to another; to enjoy with gratitude +what Heaven in its bounty should bestow, and to bear with +submission, whatever in its vengeance it might inflict. In +a greater degree than most people he practised this doctrine; +and as soon as the shock he received from Lady Elmwood’s +conduct was abated, an entire calmness and resignation +ensued; but still of that sensible and feeling kind, that could +never suffer him to forget the happiness he had lost; and it +was this sensibility, which urged him to fly from its more +keen recollection as much as possible—this, he alleged as +the reason why he would never permit Lady Elmwood, or +even her child, to be named in his hearing. But this injunction +(which all his friends, and even the servants in the house +who attended his person, had received) was, by many people, +suspected rather to proceed from his resentment, than his +tenderness; nor did he deny, that resentment co-operated +with his prudence: for prudence he called it, not to remind +himself of happiness he could never taste again, and of +ingratitude that might impel him to hatred: and prudence +he called it, not to form another attachment near to his heart, +more especially so near as a parent’s which might again +expose him to all the torments of ingratitude, from an object +whom he affectionately loved.</p> + +<p>Upon these principles he formed the unshaken resolution, +never to acknowledge Lady Matilda as his child—or acknowledging +her as such—never to see, to hear of, or take one +concern whatever in her fate and fortune. The death of her +mother appeared a favourable time, had he been so inclined, +to have recalled this declaration which he had solemnly and +repeatedly made—she was now destitute of the protection +of her other parent, and it became his duty, at least, to provide +her a guardian, if he did not chuse to take that tender title +upon himself—but to mention either the mother or child to +Lord Elmwood, was an equal offence, and prohibited in the +strongest terms to all his friends and household; and as he +was an excellent good master, a sincere friend, and a most +generous patron, not one of his acquaintance or dependants, +were hardy enough to draw upon themselves his certain +displeasure, which was always violent in the extreme, by +even the official intelligence of Lady Elmwood’s death.</p> + +<p>Sandford himself, intimidated through age, or by the +austere, and morose manners which Lord Elmwood had of +late years adopted; Sandford wished, if possible, that some +other would undertake the dangerous task of recalling to his +memory there ever was such a person as his wife. He advised +Miss Woodley to write a proper letter to him on the subject; +but she reminded him that such a step would be more perilous +to her, than to any other person, as she was the most destitute +being on earth, without the benevolence of Lord Elmwood. +The death of her aunt, Mrs. Horton, had left her solely +relying on the bounty of Lady Elmwood, and now her death, +had left her totally dependant upon the Earl—for Lady +Elmwood though she had separate effects, had long before +her death declared it was not her intention to leave a sentence +behind her in the form of a will. She had no will, she said, +but what she would wholly submit to Lord Elmwood’s; +and, if it were even his will, that her child should live in +poverty, as well as banishment, it should be so. But, perhaps, +in this implicit submission to him, there was a distant hope, +that the necessitous situation of his daughter, might plead +more forcibly than his parental love; and that knowing her +bereft of every support but through himself, that idea might +form some little tie between them, and be at least a token +of the relationship.</p> + +<p>But as Lady Elmwood anxiously wished this principle upon +which she acted, 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 perishing in want. +Her child was too young to advise her on this subject, her +friend too disinterested; and at this moment they were +both without the smallest means of subsistence, except +through the justice or compassion of Lord Elmwood. Sandford +had indeed promised his protection to the daughter; +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 Lady Elmwood.—On this last visit he staid to see +her buried.</p> + +<p>After some mature deliberations, Sandford was now +preparing to go to Lord Elmwood at his house in town, and +there, to deliver himself the news that must sooner or later +be told; and he meant also to venture, at the same time, +to keep the promise he had made to his dying Lady—but +the news reached his Lordship before Sandford arrived; it +was announced in the public papers, and by that means first +came to his knowledge.</p> + +<p>He was breakfasting by himself, when the newspaper that +first gave the intelligence of Lady Elmwood’s death, was +laid before him—the paragraph contained these words:</p> + +<p>“On Wednesday last died, at Dring Park, a village in +Northumberland, the right honourable Countess Elmwood.—This +lady, who has not been heard of for many years in the +fashionable world, was a rich heiress, and of extreme beauty; +but although she received overtures from many men of the +first rank, she preferred her guardian, the present Lord +Elmwood (then Mr. Dorriforth) to them all—and it is said, +their marriage was followed by an uncommon share of felicity, +till his Lordship going abroad, and remaining there some +time, the consequences (to a most captivating young woman +left without a protector) were such as to cause a separation on +his return. Her Ladyship has left one child by the Earl, +a daughter, about fifteen.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood had so much feeling upon reading this, as +to lay down the paper, and not take it up again for several +minutes—nor did he taste his chocolate during this interval, +but leaned his elbow on the table and rested his head upon +his hand. He then rose up—walked two or three times across +the room—sat down again—took up the paper—and read as +usual.—Nor let the vociferous mourner, or the perpetual +weeper, here complain of his want of sensibility—but let +them remember that Lord Elmwood was a man—a man of +understanding—of courage—of fortitude—above all, a man +of the nicest feelings—and who shall say, but that at the +time he leaned his 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.</p> + +<p>Be this as it may, his susceptibility on the occasion was not +suspected by 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 steward to his study, and after +talking of other business, said to him;</p> + +<p>“Is it true that Lady Elmwood is dead?”</p> + +<p>“It is, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>His Lordship looked unusually grave, and at this reply, +fetched an involuntary sigh.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford, my lord,” continued the steward, “sent me +word of the news, but left it to my own discretion, whether +I would make your Lordship acquainted with it or not: +I let him know I declined.”</p> + +<p>“Where is Sandford?” asked Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“He was with my Lady,” replied the steward.</p> + +<p>“When she died?” asked he.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad of it—he will see that every thing she desired +is done—Sandford is a good man, and would be a friend to +every body.”</p> + +<p>“He is a very good man indeed, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>There was now a silence.——Mr. Giffard then bowing, said, +“Has your Lordship any further commands?”</p> + +<p>“Write to Sandford,” said Lord Elmwood, hesitating as +he spoke, “and tell him to have every thing performed as +she desired. And whoever she may have selected for the +guardian of her child, has my consent to act as such.—Nor +in one instance, where I myself am not concerned, shall +I oppose her will.” The tears rushed into his eyes as he said +this, and caused them to start in the steward’s—observing +which, he sternly resumed,</p> + +<p>“Do not suppose from this conversation, that any of those +resolutions I have long since taken, are, or will be changed—they +are the same; and shall continue inflexible.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you, my Lord,” replied Mr. Giffard, “your +express orders, to me, as well as to every other person, remain +just the same as formerly, never to mention this subject to +you again.”</p> + +<p>“They do, Sir.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I always obeyed you, and hope I always shall.”</p> + +<p>“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 to do.”</p> + +<p>The steward bowed and withdrew.</p> + +<p>But before his letter arrived to Sandford, Sandford arrived +in town; and Mr. Giffard related, word for word, what had +passed between him and his Lord. Upon every occasion, and +upon every topic, except that of Lady Elmwood and her +child, Sandford was just as free with Lord Elmwood as he +had ever been; and as usual (after his interview with the +steward) went into his apartment without any previous +notice. Lord Elmwood shook him by the hand, as upon all +other meetings; and yet, whether his fear suggested it or +not, Sandford thought he appeared more cool and reserved +with him than formerly.</p> + +<p>During the whole day, the slightest mention of Lady +Elmwood, or of her child, was cautiously avoided—and not till +the evening, (after Sandford had risen to retire, and had +wished Lord Elmwood good night) did he dare to mention +the subject. He then, after taking leave, and going to the +door—turned back and said, “My Lord,”—</p> + +<p>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 his handkerchief, and could proceed no farther.</p> + +<p>“I thought,” said Lord Elmwood, angrily, “I thought +I had given my orders upon the subject—did not my steward +write them to you?”</p> + +<p>“He did, my Lord,” said Sandford, humbly, “but I was +set out before they arrived.”</p> + +<p>“Has he not <i>told</i> you my mind then?” cried he, more +angrily still.</p> + +<p>“He has;” replied Sandford,—“But”——</p> + +<p>“But what, Sir?” cried Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“Your Lordship,” continued Sandford, “was mistaken in +supposing that Lady Elmwood left a will, she left none.”</p> + +<p>“No will? no will at all?” returned he, surprised.</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord,” answered Sandford, “she wished every +thing to be as you willed.”</p> + +<p>“She left me all the trouble, then, you mean?”</p> + +<p>“No great trouble, Sir; for there are but two persons +whom she has left behind her, to hope for your protection.”</p> + +<p>“And who are those two?” cried he hastily.</p> + +<p>“One, my Lord, I need not name—the other is Miss +Woodley.”</p> + +<p>There was a delicacy and humility in the manner in which +Sandford delivered this reply, that Lord Elmwood could <i>not</i> +resent, and he only returned,</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley—is she yet living?”</p> + +<p>“She is—I left her at the house I came from.”</p> + +<p>“Well then,” answered he, “you must see that my +steward provides for those two persons. That care I leave +to you—and should there be any complaints, on you they +fall.”</p> + +<p>Sandford bowed and was going.</p> + +<p>“And now,” resumed Lord Elmwood, in a more stern +voice, “let me never hear again on this subject. You have +power to act in regard to the persons you have mentioned; +and upon you their situation, the care, the whole management +of them depends—but be sure you never let them be +named before me, from this moment.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Sandford, “as this must be the last time +they are mentioned, I must now take the opportunity to +disburden my mind of a charge”—</p> + +<p>“What charge?” cried Lord Elmwood, morosely interrupting +him.</p> + +<p>“Though Lady Elmwood, my Lord, left no will behind +her, she left a request.”</p> + +<p>“A request!” said he, starting, “If it is for me to see +her daughter, I tell you now before you ask, that I will not +grant it—for by heaven (and he spoke and looked most +solemnly) though I have no resentment against the 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 object I might dote upon. Therefore, Sir, if that is +the request, it is already answered; my will is fixed.”</p> + +<p>“The request, my Lord,” replied Sandford, (and he took +out a pocket-book from whence he drew several papers) +“is contained in this letter; nor do I rightly know what its +contents are.” And he held it out to him.</p> + +<p>“Is it Lady Elmwood’s writing?” asked Lord Elmwood, +extremely discomposed.</p> + +<p>“It is, my Lord.—She wrote it a few days before she died, +and enjoined me to deliver it to you, with my own hands.”</p> + +<p>“I refuse to read it:” cried he, putting it from him—and +trembling while he did so.</p> + +<p>“She desired me,” said Sandford, (still presenting the +letter) “to conjure you to read it, <i>for her father’s sake</i>.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood took it instantly. But as soon as it was in his +hand, he seemed distressed to know what he should do with +it—in what place to go and read it—or how to fortify himself +against its contents. He appeared ashamed too, that he had +been so far prevailed upon, and said, by way of excuse,</p> + +<p>“For Mr. Milner’s sake I would do much—nay, any +thing, but that to which I have just now sworn never to +consent. For his sake I have borne a great deal—for his +sake alone, his daughter died my wife. You know, no other +motive than respect for him, prevented my divorcing her. +Pray (and he hesitated) was she buried with him?”</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord—she expressed no such desire; and as +that was the case, I did not think it necessary to carry the +corpse so far.”</p> + +<p>At the word corpse, Lord Elmwood shrunk, and looked +shocked beyond measure—but recovering himself, said, +“I am sorry for it; for he loved <i>her</i> sincerely, if she did not +love him—and I wish they had been buried together.”</p> + +<p>“It is not then too late,” said Sandford, and was going +on—but the other interrupted him.</p> + +<p>“No, no—we will have no disturbing the dead.”</p> + +<p>“Read her letter then,” said Sandford, “and bid her rest +in peace.”</p> + +<p>“If it is in my power,” returned he, “to grant what she +asks, I will—but if her demand is what I apprehend, I cannot, +I will not, bid her rest by complying. You know my resolution, +my disposition, and take care how you provoke me. +You may do an injury to the very person you are seeking to +befriend—the very maintenance I mean to allow her daughter +I can withdraw.”</p> + +<p>Poor Sandford, all alarmed at this menace, replied with +energy, “My Lord, unless you begin the subject, I never +shall presume to mention it again.”</p> + +<p>“I take you at your word, and in consequence of that, +but of that alone, we are friends. Good night, Sir.”</p> + +<p>Sandford bowed with humility, and they went to their +separate bedchambers.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_IV" id="III_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p>After Lord Elmwood had retired into his chamber, it +was some time before he read the letter Sandford had given +him. He first walked backwards and forwards 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 sitting down, +took the letter from his pocket. He looked at the seal, but +not at the 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 not proceed, but taking up +the letter quickly, (with a kind of effort in making the +resolution) broke it open. These were its contents:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“My Lord,</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“‘<i>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>’</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>me</i>, 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?”</p></div> + +<p>While Lord Elmwood read this letter, it trembled in his +hand: he once or twice wiped the tears from his eyes as he +read, and once laid the letter down for a few minutes. At +its conclusion, the tears flowed fast down his face; but he +seemed both ashamed and angry they did, and was going +to throw the paper upon the fire—he however suddenly +checked his hand, and putting it hastily into his pocket, went +to bed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_V" id="III_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p>The next morning, when Lord Elmwood and Sandford +met at breakfast, the latter was pale with fear for the success +of Lady Elmwood’s letter—the Earl was pale too, but there +was besides upon his face, something which evidently marked +he was displeased. Sandford observed it, and was all humbleness, +both in his words and looks, in order to soften him.</p> + +<p>As soon as the breakfast was removed, Lord Elmwood +drew the letter from his pocket, and holding it towards +Sandford, said,</p> + +<p>“That, may be of more value to you, than it is to me, +therefore I give it you.”</p> + +<p>Sandford called up a look of surprise, as if he did not know +the letter again.</p> + +<p>“’Tis Lady Elmwood’s letter,” said Lord Elmwood, “and +I return it to you for two reasons.”</p> + +<p>Sandford took it, and putting it up, asked fearfully, “What +those two reasons were?”</p> + +<p>“First,” said he, “because I think it is a relick you may like +to preserve—my second reason is, that you may shew it to +her daughter, and let her know why, and on what conditions, +I grant her mother’s request.”</p> + +<p>“You <i>do</i> then grant it?” cried Sandford joyfully; +“I thank you—you are kind—you are considerate.”</p> + +<p>“Be not hasty in your gratitude; you may have cause to +recall it.”</p> + +<p>“I know what you have said;” replied Sandford, “you +have said you grant Lady Elmwood’s request—you cannot +recall these words, nor I my gratitude.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know what her request is?” returned he.</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, my Lord—I told you before, I did not; but +it is no doubt something in favour of her child.”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” he replied: “such as it is, however, I grant +it: but in the strictest sense of the word—no farther—and +one neglect of my commands, releases me from this +promise totally.”</p> + +<p>“We will take care, Sir, not to disobey them.”</p> + +<p>“Then listen to what they are, for to you I give the charge +of delivering them again. Lady Elmwood has petitioned me +in the name of her father, (a name I reverence) to give his +grandchild the sanction of my protection. In the literal +sense, to suffer that she may reside at one of my seats; dispensing +at the same time with my ever seeing her.”</p> + +<p>“And you will comply?”</p> + +<p>“I will, till she encroaches on this concession, and dares to +hope for a greater. I will, while she avoids my sight, or the +giving me any remembrance of her. But if, whether by +design or by accident, I ever see or hear from her, that +moment, my compliance to her mother’s supplication ceases, +and I abandon her once more.”</p> + +<p>Sandford sighed. Lord Elmwood continued:</p> + +<p>“I am glad her request stopped where it did. I would +rather comply with her desires than not; and I rejoice they +are such as I can grant with ease and honour to myself. +I am seldom now at Elmwood castle; let her daughter go +there; the few weeks or months I am down in the summer, +she may easily in that extensive house avoid me—while she +does, she lives in security—when she does not—you know my +resolution.”</p> + +<p>Sandford bowed—the Earl resumed:</p> + +<p>“Nor can it be a hardship to obey this command—she +cannot lament the separation from a parent whom she never +knew—” Sandford was going eagerly to prove the error of +that assertion, but he prevented him, saying, “In a word—without +farther argument—if she obeys me in this, I will +provide for her as my daughter during my life, and leave +her a fortune at my death—but if she dares—”</p> + +<p>Sandford interrupted the menace prepared for utterance, +saying, “and you still mean, I suppose, to make Mr. Rushbrook +your heir?”</p> + +<p>“Have you not heard me say so? And do you imagine +I have changed my determination? I am not given to alter +my resolutions, Mr. Sandford; and I 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 +my title?”</p> + +<p>“Then it is yet possible——”</p> + +<p>“By marrying again, you mean? No—no—I have had +enough of marriage—and Henry Rushbrook I shall leave my +heir. Therefore, Sir——”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I do not presume—”</p> + +<p>“Do not, Sandford, and we may still be good friends. +But I am not to be controlled as formerly; my temper is +changed of late; changed to what it was originally; till +your religious precepts reformed it. You may remember, +how troublesome it was, to conquer my stubborn disposition +in my youth; <i>then</i>, indeed, you <i>did</i>; but in my more +advanced age, you will find the task too difficult.”</p> + +<p>Sandford again repeated, “He should not presume—”</p> + +<p>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 these years, to quarrel with +you seriously.”</p> + +<p>Sandford turned away his head to conceal his feelings.</p> + +<p>“Nay, if we do quarrel,” resumed Lord Elmwood, “You +know it must be your own fault; and as this is a theme the +most likely of any, nay, the only one on which we can have +a difference (such as we cannot forgive) take care never from +this day to resume it; indeed that of itself, would be an +offence I could not pardon. I have been clear and explicit in +all I have said; there can be no fear of mistaking my meaning; +therefore, all future explanation is unnecessary—nor will +I permit a word, or a hint on the subject from any one, +without shewing my resentment even to the hour of my +death.” He was going out of the room.</p> + +<p>“But before we bid adieu to the subject for ever, my Lord—there +was another person whom I named to you—”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean Miss Woodley? Oh, by all means let her +live at Elmwood House too. On consideration, I have no +objection to see Miss Woodley at any time—I shall be glad +to see her—do not let <i>her</i> be frightened at me—to her I shall +be the same, that I have always been.”</p> + +<p>“She is a good woman, my Lord,” cried Sandford, pleased.</p> + +<p>“You need not tell me that, Mr. Sandford; I know her +worth.” And he left the room.</p> + +<p>Sandford, to relieve Miss Woodley and her lovely charge +from the suspence in which he had left them, prepared to set +off for their habitation, in order himself to conduct them +from thence to Elmwood Castle, and appoint some retired +part of it for Lady Matilda, against the annual visit her +father should pay there. But before he left London, Giffard, +the steward, took an opportunity to wait upon him, and let +him know, that his Lord had acquainted him with the consent +he had given for his daughter to be admitted at Elmwood +Castle, and upon what restrictions: that he had farther +uttered the severest threats, should these restrictions ever be +infringed. Sandford thanked Giffard for his friendly information. +It served him as a second warning of the circumspection +that was necessary; and having taken leave of his +friend and patron, under the pretence that “He could not +live in the smoke of London,” he set out for the North.</p> + +<p>It is unnecessary to say with what delight Sandford was +received by Miss Woodley, and the hapless daughter of Lady +Elmwood, even before he told his errand. They both loved +him sincerely; more especially Lady Matilda, whose forlorn +state, and innocent sufferings, had ever excited his compassion +and caused him to treat her with affection, tenderness, and +respect. She knew, too, how much he had been her mother’s +friend; for that, she also loved him; and for being honoured +with the friendship of her father, she looked up to him with +reverence. For Matilda (with an excellent understanding, +a sedateness above her years, and early accustomed to the +most private converse between Lady Elmwood and Miss +Woodley) was perfectly acquainted with the whole fatal +history of her mother; and was, by her, taught the respect +and admiration of her father’s virtues which they justly +merited.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the joy of Mr. Sandford’s presence, once +more to cheer their solitary dwelling; no sooner were the +first kind greetings over, than the dread of what he might +have to inform them of, possessed poor Matilda and Miss +Woodley so powerfully, that all their gladness was changed +into affright. Their apprehensions were far more forcible +than their curiosity; they dared not ask a question, and +even began to wish he would continue silent upon the subject +on which they feared to listen. For near two hours he was +so.——At length, after a short interval from speaking, +(during which they waited with anxiety for what he might +next say) he turned to Lady Matilda, and said,</p> + +<p>“You don’t ask for your father, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“I did not know it was proper:” she replied, timidly.</p> + +<p>“It is always proper,” answered Sandford, “for <i>you</i> to +think of him, though he should never think on you.”</p> + +<p>She burst into tears, and said that she “<i>Did</i> think of him, +but she felt an apprehension of mentioning his name”—and +she wept bitterly while she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Do not think I reproved you,” said Sandford; “I only +told you what was right.”</p> + +<p>“Nay,” said Miss Woodley, “she does not weep for that—she +fears her father has not complied with her mother’s +request. Perhaps—not even read her letter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he <i>has</i> read it,” returned Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Oh Heavens!” exclaimed Matilda, clasping her hands +together, and the tears falling still faster.</p> + +<p>“Do not be so much alarmed, my dear,” said Miss Woodley; +“you know we are prepared for the worst; and you +know you promised your mother, whatever your fate should +be, to submit with patience.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Matilda, “and I am prepared for every +thing, but my father’s refusal to my dear mother.”</p> + +<p>“Your father has not refused your mother’s request,” +replied Sandford.</p> + +<p>She was leaping from her seat in ecstasy.</p> + +<p>“But,” continued he, “do you know what her request +was?”</p> + +<p>“Not entirely,” replied Matilda, “and since it is granted, +I am careless. But she told me her letter concerned none +but me.”</p> + +<p>To explain perfectly to Matilda, Lady Elmwood’s letter, +and that she might perfectly understand upon what terms +she was admitted into Elmwood Castle, Sandford now read +the letter to her; and repeated, as nearly as he could remember, +the whole of the conversation that passed between Lord +Elmwood and himself; not even sparing, through an +erroneous delicacy, any of those threats her father had +denounced, should she dare to transgress the limits he +prescribed—nor did he try to soften, in one instance, a word +he uttered. She listened sometimes with tears, sometimes +with hope, but always with awe, and with terror, to every +sentence in which her father was concerned. Once she called +him cruel—then exclaimed “He was kind;” but at the end +of Sandford’s intelligence, concluded “that she was happy +and grateful for the boon bestowed.” Even her mother +had not a more exalted idea of Lord Elmwood’s worth than +his daughter had formed; and this little bounty just obtained, +would not have been greater in her mother’s estimation, +than it was now in hers. Miss Woodley, too, smiled +at the prospect before her—she esteemed Lord Elmwood +beyond any mortal living—she was proud to hear what he +had said in her praise, and overjoyed at the prospect of being +once again in his company; painting at the same time +a thousand bright hopes, from watching every emotion of his +soul, and catching every proper occasion to excite or increase +his paternal sentiments. Yet she had the prudence to conceal +those vague hopes from his child, lest a disappointment might +prove fatal; and assuming a behaviour neither too much +elated or depressed, she advised that they should hope for +the best, but yet, as usual, expect and prepare for the worst.——After +taking measures for quitting their melancholy +abode, within the fortnight, they all departed for Elmwood +Castle—Matilda, Miss Woodley, and even Sandford, first +visiting Lady Elmwood’s grave, and bedewing it with their +tears.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VI" id="III_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p>It was on a dark evening in the month of March, that +Lady Matilda, accompanied by Sandford and Miss Woodley, +arrived at Elmwood Castle, the magnificent seat of her +father. Sandford chose the evening, rather to steal into +the house privately, than by any appearance of parade, to +suffer Lord Elmwood to be reminded of their arrival by the +public prints, or by any other accident. Nor would he give +the neighbours or servants reason to suppose, the daughter +of their Lord was admitted into his house, in any other +situation than that, in which she really was permitted to be +there.</p> + +<p>As the porter opened the gates of the avenue to the carriage +that brought them, Matilda felt an awful, and yet gladsome +sensation, which no terms can describe. As she entered the +door of the house this sensation increased—and as she passed +along the spacious hall, the splendid staircase, and many +stately apartments, wonder, with a crowd of the tenderest, +yet most afflicting sentiments, rushed to her heart. She +gazed with astonishment!—she reflected with still more.</p> + +<p>“And is <i>my father</i> the master of this house?” she cried—“and +was my mother once the mistress of this castle?” Here +tears relieved her from a part of that burthen, which was +before insupportable.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Sandford, “and you are the mistress of it +now, till your father arrives.”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” exclaimed she, “and will he ever arrive? +and shall I live to sleep under the same roof with my father?”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” replied Miss Woodley, “have not you been +told so?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she, “but though I heard it with extreme +pleasure, yet the idea never so forcibly affected me as at this +moment. I now feel, as the reality approaches, that to be +admitted here, is kindness enough—I do not 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.”</p> + +<p>The next morning gave to Matilda, more objects of +admiration and wonder, as she walked over the extensive +gardens, groves, and other pleasure grounds belonging to +the house. She, who had never been beyond the dreary, +ruinous places which her deceased mother had made her +residence, was naturally struck with amazement and delight +at the grandeur of a seat, which travellers came for miles to +see, nor thought their time mispent.</p> + +<p>There was one object, however, among all she saw, which +attracted her attention above the rest, and she would stand +for hours to look at it. This was a whole length portrait of +Lord Elmwood, esteemed a very capital picture, and a perfect +likeness—to this picture she would sigh and weep; though +when it was first pointed out to her, she shrunk back with fear, +and it was some time before she dared venture to cast her +eyes completely upon it. In the features of her father she +was proud to discern the exact mould in which her own +appeared to have been modelled; yet Matilda’s person, +shape, and complexion were so extremely like what her +mother’s once were, that at the first glance she appeared to +have a still greater resemblance of her, than of her father—but +her mind and manners were all Lord Elmwood’s; +softened by the delicacy of her sex, the extreme tenderness +of her heart, and the melancholy of her situation.</p> + +<p>She was now in her seventeenth year—of the same age, +within a year and a few months, of her mother, when she +became the ward of Dorriforth. She was just three years old +when her father went abroad, and remembered something +of bidding him farewell; but more of taking cherries from +his hand, as he pulled them from the tree to give to her.</p> + +<p>Educated in the school of adversity, and inured to retirement +from her infancy, she had acquired a taste for all those +amusements which a recluse life affords. She was fond of +walking and riding—was accomplished in the arts of music +and drawing, by the most careful instructions of her mother—and +as a scholar, she excelled most of her sex, from the +pains which Sandford had taken with that part of her education, +and the superior abilities he possessed for the task.</p> + +<p>In devoting certain hours of the day to study with him, +others to music, riding, and such amusements, Matilda’s +time never appeared tedious at Elmwood Castle, although +she received and paid no one visit—for it was soon divulged +in the neighbourhood, upon what stipulation she resided at +her father’s, and studiously intimated, that the most prudent +and friendly behaviour of her true friends, would be, to take +no notice whatever that she lived among them: and as Lord +Elmwood’s will was a law all around, such was the consequence +of that will, known, or merely supposed.</p> + +<p>Neither did Miss Woodley regret the want of visitors, but +found herself far more satisfied in her present situation, than +her most sanguine hopes could have formed. She had +a companion whom she loved with an equal fondness, with +which she had loved her deceased mother; and frequently, +in this charming mansion, where she had so often beheld +Lady Elmwood, her imagination represented Matilda as her +friend risen from the grave, in her former youth, health, and +exquisite beauty.</p> + +<p>In peace, in content, though not in happiness, the days +and weeks passed away till about the middle of August, when +preparations began to be made for the arrival of Lord +Elmwood. The week in which he was to come was at length +fixed, and some part of his retinue was arrived before him. +When this was told Matilda, she started, and looked just as +her mother at her age had often done, when in spite of her +love, she was conscious that she had offended him, and was +terrified at his approach. Sandford observing this, put out +his hand, and taking hers, shook it kindly; and bade her +(but it was not in a cheering tone) “not be afraid.” This +gave her no confidence; and she began, before her father’s +arrival, to seclude herself in the apartments allotted for her +during the time of his stay; and in the timorous expectation +of his coming, her appetite declined, and she lost all her +colour. Even Miss Woodley, whose spirits had been for some +time elated with the hopes she had formed, on drawing near +to the test, found those hopes vanished; and though she +endeavoured to conceal it, she was full of apprehensions. +Sandford, had certainly fewer fears than either; yet upon +the eve of the day on which his patron was to arrive, he was +evidently cast down.</p> + +<p>Lady Matilda once asked him—“Are you certain, Mr. +Sandford, you made no mistake in respect to what Lord +Elmwood said, when he granted my mother’s request? Are +you sure he <i>did</i> grant it? Was there nothing equivocal on +which he may ground his displeasure should he be told that +I am here? Oh do not let me hazard being once again +turned out of his house! Oh! save me from provoking him +perhaps to curse me.” And here she clasped her hands +together with the most fervent petition, in the dread of +what might happen.</p> + +<p>“If you doubt my words or my senses,” said Sandford, +“call Giffard, and let him inform you; the same words were +repeated to him as to me.”</p> + +<p>Though from her reason, Matilda could not doubt of any +mistake from Mr. Sandford, yet her fears suggested a thousand +scruples; and this reference to the steward she received +with the utmost satisfaction, (though she did not think it +necessary to apply to him) as it perfectly convinced her of +the folly of the suspicions she had entertained.</p> + +<p>“And yet, Mr. Sandford,” said she, “if it is so, why are +you less cheerful than you were? I cannot help thinking but +it must be your expectation of Lord Elmwood, which has +occasioned this change.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” replied Sandford, carelessly, “but I +believe I am grown afraid of your father. His temper is +a great deal altered from what it once was—he raises his +voice, and uses harsh expressions upon the least provocation—his +eyes flash lightning, and his face is distorted with anger +upon the slightest motives—he turns away his old servants +at a moment’s warning, and no concession can make their +peace. In a word, I am more at my ease when I am away +from him—and I really believe,” added he with a smile, but +with a tear at the same time, “I really believe, I am more +afraid of <i>him</i> in my age, than he was of <i>me</i> when he was a boy.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley was present; she and Matilda looked at one +another; and each of them saw the other turn pale at this +description.</p> + +<p>The day at length came, on which Lord Elmwood was +expected to dinner. It would have been a high gratification +to his daughter to have gone to the topmost window of the +house, and have only beheld his carriage enter the avenue; +but it was a gratification which her fears, her tremor, her +extreme sensibility would not permit her to enjoy.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley and she, sat down that day to dinner in +their retired apartments, which were detached from the +other part of the house by a gallery; and of the door leading +to the gallery, they had a key to impede any one from passing +that way, without first ringing a bell; to answer which, was +the sole employment of a servant, who was placed there +during the Earl’s residence, lest by any accident he might +chance to come near that unfrequented part of the house, +on which occasion the man was to give immediate notice to +his Lady.</p> + +<p>Matilda and Miss Woodley sat down to dinner, but did not +dine. Sandford dined as usual, with Lord Elmwood. When +tea was brought, Miss Woodley asked the servant, who +attended, if he had seen his Lord. The man answered, +“Yes, Madam; and he looks vastly well.” Matilda wept +with joy to hear it.</p> + +<p>About nine in the evening, Sandford rang at the bell, and +was admitted—never had he been so welcome—Matilda +hung upon him, as if his recent interview with her father, +had endeared him to her more than ever; and staring +anxiously in his face, seemed to enquire of him something +about Lord Elmwood, and something that should not alarm +her.</p> + +<p>“Well—how do you find yourself?” said he to her.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Mr. Sandford?” she returned, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Oh! very well,” replied he.</p> + +<p>“Is my Lord in a good temper?” asked Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Yes; very well,” replied Sandford, with indifference.</p> + +<p>“Did he seem glad to see you?” asked Matilda.</p> + +<p>“He shook me by the hand,” replied Sandford.</p> + +<p>“That was a sign he was glad to see you, was it not?” +said Matilda.</p> + +<p>“Yes; but he could not do less.”</p> + +<p>“Nor more:” replied she.</p> + +<p>“He looks very well, our servant tells us,” said Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Extremely well indeed,” answered Sandford: “and to +tell the truth, I never saw him in better spirits.”</p> + +<p>“That is well—” said Matilda, and sighed a weight of +fears from her heart.</p> + +<p>“Where is he now, Mr. Sandford?”</p> + +<p>“Gone to take a walk about his grounds, and I stole here +in the mean time.”</p> + +<p>“What was your conversation during dinner?” asked +Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Horses, hay, farming, and politics.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t you sup with him?”</p> + +<p>“I shall see him again before I go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“And again to-morrow!” cried Matilda, “what happiness!”</p> + +<p>“He has visitors to-morrow,” said Sandford, “coming +for a week or two.”</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven,” said Miss Woodley, “he will then be +diverted from thinking on us.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” returned Sandford, “it is my firm +opinion, that his thinking of ye at present, is the cause of his +good spirits.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Heavens!” cried Matilda, lifting up her hands with +rapture.</p> + +<p>“Nay, do not mistake me,” said Sandford; “I would +not have you build a foundation for joy upon this surmise; +for if he is in spirits that you are in this house—so near him—positively +under his protection—yet he will not allow himself +to think it is the cause of his content—and the sentiments he +has adopted, and which are now become natural to him, will +remain the same as ever; nay, perhaps with greater force, +should he suspect his weakness (as he calls it) acting in opposition +to them.”</p> + +<p>“If he does but think of me with tenderness,” cried +Matilda, “I am recompensed.”</p> + +<p>“And what recompense would his kind thoughts be to +you,” said Sandford, “were he to turn you out to beggary?”</p> + +<p>“A great deal—a great deal,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“But how are you to know he has these kind thoughts, +if he gives you no proof of them?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Sandford; but <i>supposing</i> we could know them +without proof.”</p> + +<p>“But as that is impossible,” answered he, “I shall suppose, +till proof appears, that I have been mistaken in my conjectures.”</p> + +<p>Matilda looked deeply concerned that the argument should +conclude in her disappointment; for to have believed herself +thought of with tenderness by her father, would have alone +constituted her happiness.</p> + +<p>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 for him; Sandford immediately +bade his companions good night, and left them.</p> + +<p>“How strange is this!” cried Matilda, when Miss +Woodley and she were alone, “My father within a few rooms +of me, and yet I am debarred from seeing him! Only by +walking a few paces I could be at his feet, and perhaps receive +his blessing!”</p> + +<p>“You make me shudder,” cried Miss Woodley; “but +some spirits less timid than mine, might perhaps advise you +to the experiment.”</p> + +<p>“Not for worlds!” returned Matilda, “no counsel could +tempt me to such temerity—and yet to entertain the thought +that it is possible I could do this, is a source of infinite +comfort.”</p> + +<p>This conversation lasted till bed time, and later; for they +sat up beyond their usual hour to indulge it.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley slept little, but Matilda less—she awaked +repeatedly during the night, and every time sighed to herself, +“I sleep in the same house with my father! Blessed spirit +of my mother, look down and rejoice.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VII" id="III_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p>The next day the whole Castle appeared to Lady Matilda +(though she was in some degree retired from it) all tumult +and bustle, as was usually the case while Lord Elmwood was +there. She saw from her windows, the servants running +across the yards and park; horses and carriages driving with +fury; all the suite of a nobleman; and it sometimes elated, +at other times depressed her.</p> + +<p>These impressions however, and others of fear and anxiety, +which her father’s arrival had excited, by degrees wore off; +and after some little time, she was in the same tranquil state +that she enjoyed before he came.</p> + +<p>He had visitors, who passed a week or two with him; he +paid visits himself for several days; and thus the time stole +away, till it was about four weeks from the time that he had +arrived; in which long period, Sandford, with all his penetration, +could never clearly discover whether he had once +called to mind that his daughter was living in the same house. +He had not once named her (that was not extraordinary) +consequently no one dared name her to him; but he had not +even mentioned Miss Woodley, of whom he had so lately +spoken in the kindest terms, and had said, “He should take +pleasure in seeing her again.” From these contradictions in +Lord Elmwood’s behaviour in respect to her, it was Miss +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, not indeed entirely without restraint, but at +least with the show of liberty. This freedom, indulged for +some time without peril, became at last less cautious; and +as no ill consequences had arisen from its practice, her +scruples gradually ceased.</p> + +<p>One morning, however, as she was crossing the large hall, +thoughtless of danger, a footstep at a distance alarmed her +almost without knowing why. She stopped for a moment, +thinking to return; the steps approached quicker, and before +she could retreat, she beheld Lord Elmwood at the other end +of the hall, and perceived that he saw her. It was too late +to hesitate what was to be done; she could not go back, +and had not courage to go on; she therefore stood still. +Disconcerted, and much affected at his sight, (their former +intimacy coming to her mind with the many years, and many +sad occurrences passed, since she last saw him) all her intentions, +all her meditated plans how to conduct herself on +such an occasion, gave way to a sudden shock—and to make +the meeting yet more distressing, her very fright, she knew, +would serve to recall more powerfully to his mind, the +subject she most wished him to forget. The steward was +with him, and as they came up close by her side, Giffard +observing him look at her earnestly, said softly, but so as she +heard him, “My Lord, it is Miss Woodley.” Lord Elmwood +took off his hat instantly—and, with an apparent friendly +warmth, laying hold of her hand, he said, “Indeed, Miss +Woodley, I did not know you—I am very glad to see you:” +and while he spoke, shook her hand with a cordiality which +her tender heart could not bear—and never did she feel so +hard a struggle as to restrain her tears. But the thought of +Matilda’s fate—the idea of awakening in his mind a sentiment +that might irritate him against his child, wrought more +forcibly than every other effort; and though she could not +reply distinctly, she replied without weeping. Whether he +saw her embarrassment, and wished to release her from it, +or was in haste to conceal his own, he left her almost instantly: +but not till 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 anxiety and with joy +to all she told, Matilda laid hold of that hand which she said +Lord Elmwood had held, and pressed it to her lips with love +and reverence.</p> + +<p>When Miss Woodley made her appearance at dinner, +Sandford, (who had not seen her since the invitation, and +did not know of it) looked amazed; on which Lord Elmwood +said, “Do you know, Sandford, I met Miss Woodley this +morning, and had it not been for Giffard, I should have +passed her without knowing her—but Miss Woodley, if I am +not so much altered but that you knew me, I take it unkind +you did not speak first.” She was unable to speak even now—he +saw it, and changed the conversation; when Sandford +eagerly joined in discourse, which relieved him from the pain +of the former.</p> + +<p>As they advanced in their dinner, the embarrassment of +Miss Woodley and of Mr. Sandford diminished; Lord +Elmwood in his turn became, not embarrassed, but absent +and melancholy. He now and then sighed heavily—and called +for wine much oftener than he was accustomed.</p> + +<p>When Miss Woodley took her leave, he invited her to dine +with him and Sandford whenever it was convenient to her; +he said, besides, many things of the same kind, and all with +the utmost civility, yet not with that warmth with which he +had spoken in the morning—into <i>that</i> he had been surprised—his +coolness was the effect of reflection.</p> + +<p>When she came to Lady Matilda, and Sandford had +joined them, they talked and deliberated on what had passed.</p> + +<p>“You acknowledge Mr. Sandford,” said Miss Woodley, +“that you think my presence affected Lord Elmwood, so as +to make him much more thoughtful than usual; if you +imagine these thoughts were upon Lady Elmwood, I will +never intrude again; but if you suppose that I made him +think upon his daughter, I cannot go too often.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see how he can divide those two objects in his +mind,” replied Sandford, “therefore you must e’en visit him +on, and take your chance, what reflections you may cause—but, +be they what they will, time will steal away from you +that power of affecting him.”</p> + +<p>She concurred in the opinion, and occasionally she walked +into Lord Elmwood’s apartments, dined, or took her coffee +with him, as the accident suited; and observed, according +to Sandford’s prediction, that time wore off the impression +her visits first made. Lord Elmwood now became just the +same before her as before others. She easily discerned, too, +through all that politeness which he assumed—that he was +no longer the considerate, the forbearing character he +formerly was; but haughty, impatient, imperious, and more +than ever, <i>implacable</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_VIII" id="III_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p>When Lord Elmwood had been at his country seat about +six weeks, Mr. Rushbrook, his nephew, and his adopted +child—that friendless boy whom poor Lady Elmwood first +introduced into his uncle’s house, and by her kindness preserved +there—arrived from his travels, and was received by +his uncle with all the marks of affection due to the man he +thought worthy to be his heir. Rushbrook had been a +beautiful boy, and was now an extremely handsome young +man; he had made unusual progress in his studies, had +completed the tour of Italy and Germany, and returned +home with the air and address of a perfect man of fashion—there +was, besides, an elegance and persuasion in his manner +almost irresistible. Yet with all those accomplishments, +when he was introduced to Sandford, and put forth his hand +to take his, Sandford, with evident reluctance, gave it to 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 from head to foot, and muttered “He +could not say he observed it.” The colour heightened in +Mr. Rushbrook’s face upon the occasion, but he was too well +bred not to be in perfect good humour.</p> + +<p>Sandford saw this young man treated, in the house of +Lord Elmwood, with the same respect and attention as if he +had been his son; and it was but probable the old priest +would make a comparison between the situation of him, and +of Lady Matilda Elmwood. Before her, it was Sandford’s +meaning to have concealed his thoughts upon the subject, +and never to have mentioned it but with composure; that +was, however, impossible—unused to hide his feelings, at the +name of Rushbrook, his countenance would always change, +and a sarcastic sneer, sometimes a frown of resentment, would +force its way in spite of his resolution. Miss Woodley, too, +with all her boundless charity and good will, was, upon this +occasion, induced to limit their excess; and they did not +extend so far as to reach poor Rushbrook. She even, and in +<i>reality</i>, did not think him handsome or engaging in his +manners—she thought his gaiety frivolousness, his complaisance +affectation, and his good humour impertinence. +It was impossible to conceal those unfavourable sentiments +entirely from Matilda; for when the subject arose, as it +frequently did, Miss Woodley’s undisguised heart, and +Sandford’s undisguised countenance, told them instantly. +Matilda had the understanding to imagine, that she was, +perhaps, the object who had thus deformed Mr. Rushbrook, +and frequently (though he was a stranger to her, and one who +had caused her many a jealous heart-ache) frequently she would +speak in his vindication.</p> + +<p>“You are very good,” said Sandford, one day to her; +“you like him, because you know your father loves him.”</p> + +<p>This was a hard sentence for the daughter of Lord Elmwood +to hear, to whom her father’s love would have been more +precious than any other blessing.—She, however, checked +the assault of envy, and kindly replied,</p> + +<p>“My mother loved him too, Mr. Sandford.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sandford, “he has been a <i>grateful</i> man +to your poor mother.—She did not suppose when she took +him into the house; when she intreated your father to take +him; and through her caresses and officious praises of him, +first gave him that power which he now possesses over his +uncle; she little foresaw, at that time, his ingratitude, and +its effects.”</p> + +<p>“Very true,” said Miss Woodley, with a heavy sigh.</p> + +<p>“What ingratitude?” asked Matilda, “do you suppose +Mr. Rushbrook is the cause that my father will not see me? +Oh do not pay Lord Elmwood’s motive so ill a compliment.”</p> + +<p>“I do not say that he is the absolute cause,” returned +Sandford; “but if a parent’s heart is void, I would have it +remain so, till its lawful owner is replaced—usurpers I +detest.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>In this manner she would plead the young man’s excuse—perhaps +but to hear what could be said in his disfavour, +for secretly his name was bitter to her—and once she +exclaimed in vexation, on Sandford’s saying Lord Elmwood +and Mr. Rushbrook were gone out shooting together,</p> + +<p>“All that pleasure is now eclipsed which I used to take in +listening to the report of my father’s gun, for I cannot now +distinguish his, from his parasite’s.”</p> + +<p>Sandford, (much as he disliked Rushbrook) for this expression +which comprised her father in the reflection, turned to +Matilda in extreme anger—but as he saw the colour mount +into her face, for what, in the strong feelings of her heart +had escaped her lips, he did not say a word—and by her tears +that followed, he rejoiced to see how much she reproved +<i>herself</i>.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, vexed to the heart, and provoked every +time she saw Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook together, and +saw the familiar terms on which this young man lived with his +benefactor, now made her visits to him very seldom. 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 was always very coldly; nor did she suppose if she +never went, he would ever ask for her. For his daughter’s +sake, however, she thought it right sometimes to shew herself +before him; for she knew it must be impossible that, with +all his apparent indifference, he could ever see <i>her</i> without +thinking for a moment on his child; and what one fortunate +thought might some time bring about, was an object much +too serious for her to overlook. She therefore, after remaining +confined to her apartments near three weeks, (excepting +those anxious walks she and Matilda 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 an hour, conversing with them all, though +but very little with the latter, Lord Elmwood was called +out of the room upon some business; presently after, Sandford; +and now, by no means pleased with the companion +with whom she was left, she rose, and was going likewise, +when Rushbrook fixed his speaking eyes upon her, and cried,</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley, will you pardon me what I am going +to say?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Sir. You can, I am sure, say nothing but +what I must forgive.” But she made this reply with a distance +and a reserve, very unlike the usual manners of Miss +Woodley.</p> + +<p>He looked at her earnestly and cried, “Ah! Miss Woodley, +you don’t behave so kindly to me as you used to do!”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand you, Sir,” she replied very gravely; +“Times are changed, Mr. Rushbrook, since you were last +here—you were then but a child.”</p> + +<p>“Yet I love all those persons now, that I loved then,” +replied he; “and so I shall for ever.”</p> + +<p>“But you mistake, Mr. Rushbrook; I was not even then +so very much the object of your affections—there were other +ladies you loved better. Perhaps you don’t remember Lady +Elmwood?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t I,” cried he, “Oh!” (clasping his hands and +lifting up his eyes to heaven) “shall I ever forget her?”</p> + +<p>That moment Lord Elmwood opened the door; the conversation +of course that moment ended; but confusion, at +the sudden surprise, was on the face 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; while Rushbrook, +with the most natural and happy laugh that ever was affected, +cried, “No, don’t tell my Lord, pray Miss Woodley.” She +was more confused than before, and Lord Elmwood turning +to him, asked what the subject was. By this time he had +invented one, and, continuing his laugh, said, “Miss Woodley, +my Lord, will to this day protest that she saw my +apparition when I was a boy; and she says it is a sign I shall +die young, and is really much affected at it.”</p> + +<p>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 its truth.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley felt herself greatly relieved; and yet so little +is it in the power of those we dislike to do any thing to please +us, that from this very circumstance, she formed a more +unfavourable opinion of Mr. Rushbrook than she had done +before. She saw in this little incident the art of dissimulation, +cunning, and duplicity in its most glaring shape; and +detested the method by which they had each escaped Lord +Elmwood’s suspicion, and perhaps anger, the more, because +it was so dexterously managed.</p> + +<p>Lady Matilda and Sandford were both in their turns +informed of this trait in Mr. Rushbrook’s character; and +although Miss Woodley had the best of dispositions, and +upon every occasion spoke the strictest truth, yet in relating +this occurrence, she did not speak <i>all</i> the truth; for every +circumstance that would have told to the young man’s +advantage, <i>literally</i> had slipped her memory.</p> + +<p>The twenty-ninth of October arrived; on which a dinner, +a ball, and supper, was given by Lord Elmwood to all the +neighbouring gentry—the peasants also dined in the park off +a roasted bullock, several casks of ale were distributed, and +the bells of the village rung. Matilda, who heard and saw +some part of this festivity from her windows, inquired the +cause; but even the servant who waited upon her had too +much sensibility to tell her, and answered, “He did not +know.” Miss Woodley however, soon learned the reason, +and groaning with the painful secret, informed her, “Mr. +Rushbrook on that day was come of age.”</p> + +<p>“<i>My</i> birth-day was last week,” replied Matilda; but not +a word beside.</p> + +<p>In their retired apartments, this day passed away not only +soberly, but almost silently; for to speak upon any subject +that did not engage their thoughts had been difficult, and to +speak upon the only one that did, had been afflicting.</p> + +<p>Just as they were sitting down to dinner their bell gently +rung, and in walked Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Why are you not among the revellers, Mr. Sandford?” +cried Miss Woodley, with an ironical sneer—(the first her +features ever wore)—“Pray, were not you invited to dine +with the company?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Sandford; “but my head ached; and so +I had rather come and take a bit with you.”</p> + +<p>Matilda, as if she had seen his heart as he spoke, clung round +his neck and sobbed on his bosom: he put her peevishly +away, crying “Nonsense, nonsense—eat your dinner.” But +he did not eat himself.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_IX" id="III_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p>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 first morning he went a shooting, and +returning about noon, enquired of Sandford, who was sitting +in the room, if he had taken up a volume of plays left upon +the table. “I read no such things,” replied Sandford, and +quitted the room abruptly. Rushbrook then rang for his +servant, and desired him to look for the book, asking him +angrily, “Who had been in the apartment? for he was sure +he had left it there when he went out.” The servant withdrew +to enquire, and presently returned with the volume in +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 the liberty she took.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley!” cried Rushbrook with surprise, “she +comes so seldom into these apartments, I did not suppose +it was her who had it—take it back to her instantly, with +my respects, and I beg she will keep it.”</p> + +<p>The man went; but returned with the book again, and +laying it on the table without speaking, was going away; +when Rushbrook, hurt at receiving no second message, said, +“I am afraid, Sir, you did very wrong when you first took +this book from Miss Woodley.”</p> + +<p>“It was not from her I took it, Sir,” replied the man, +“it was from Lady Matilda.”</p> + +<p>Since he had entered the house, Rushbrook had never +before heard the name of Lady Matilda, he was shocked—confounded +more than ever—and to conceal what he felt, +instantly ordered the man out of the room.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Miss Woodley and Matilda were talking +over this trifling occurrence; and frivolous as it was, drew +from it strong conclusions of Rushbrook’s insolence and +power. In spite of her pride, the daughter of Lord Elmwood +even wept at the insult she had received on this insignificant +occasion; for the volume being merely taken from her at +Mr. Rushbrook’s command, she felt an insult; and the +manner in which it was done by the servant, might contribute +to the offence.</p> + +<p>While Miss Woodley and she were upon this conversation, +a note came from Rushbrook to Miss Woodley, wherein he +entreated he might be permitted to see 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, he +followed the servant who took the last message, and as Miss +Woodley came out of her apartment into the gallery to speak +to him, Rushbrook presented himself, and told the man to +retire.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Rushbrook,” said Miss Woodley, “this intrusion is +insupportable; and destitute as you may think me of the +friendship of Lord Elmwood”——</p> + +<p>In the ardour with which Rushbrook was waiting to +express himself, he interrupted her, and caught hold of her +hand.</p> + +<p>She immediately snatched it from him, and withdrew into +her chamber.</p> + +<p>He followed, saying, in a low voice, “Dear Miss Woodley, +hear me.”</p> + +<p>At that juncture Lady Matilda, who was in an inner apartment, +came out of it into Miss Woodley’s. Perceiving +a gentleman, she stopped short at the door.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook cast his eyes upon her, and stood motionless—his +lips only moved. “Do not depart, Madam,” said he, +“without hearing my apology for being here.”</p> + +<p>Though Matilda had never seen him since her infancy, +there was no occasion to tell her who it was that addressed +her—his elegant and youthful person, joined to the incident +which had just occurred, convinced her it was Rushbrook: +she looked at him with an air of surprise, but with still more, +of dignity.</p> + +<p>“Miss Woodley is severe upon me, Madam,” continued +he, “she judges me unkindly; and I am afraid she will prepossess +you with the same unfavourable sentiments.”</p> + +<p>Still Matilda did not speak, but looked at him with the +same air of dignity.</p> + +<p>“If, Lady Matilda,” resumed he, “I have offended you, +and must quit you without pardon, I am more unhappy +than I should be with the loss of your father’s protection—more +forlorn, than when an orphan boy, your mother first +took pity on me.”</p> + +<p>At this last sentence, Matilda turned her eyes on Miss +Woodley, and seemed in doubt what reply she was to +give.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook immediately fell upon his knees—“Oh! Lady +Matilda,” cried he, “if you knew the sensations of my heart, +you would not treat me with this disdain.”</p> + +<p>“We can only judge of those sensations, Mr. Rushbrook,” +said Miss Woodley, “by the effect they have upon your +conduct; and while you insult Lord and Lady Elmwood’s +daughter by an intrusion like this, and then ridicule her +abject state by mockeries like these——”</p> + +<p>He rose from his knees instantly, and interrupted her, +crying, “What can I do? What am I to say, to make you +change your opinion of me? While Lord Elmwood has been +at home, I have kept an awful distance; and though every +moment I breathed was a wish to cast myself at his daughter’s +feet, 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 had not courage, to let it +pass. Lord Elmwood will soon return, and we may both +of us be hurried to town immediately—then how for a +tedious winter could I endure the reflexion that I was +despised, nay, perhaps considered as an object of ingratitude, +by the only child of my deceased benefactress?”</p> + +<p>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 of envy.”</p> + +<p>“Suffer me then, Madam,” said he, “as an earnest that +you do not think worse of me than I merit, suffer me to be +sometimes admitted into your presence—.”</p> + +<p>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—<i>his</i> commands I never +dispute.” And here she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook walked towards the window, and did not speak +for some time—then turning himself to make a reply, both +Matilda and Miss Woodley were somewhat surprised to see, +that he had been shedding tears himself.—Having conquered +them, he said, “I will not offend you, Madam, by remaining +one moment longer; and I give you my honour, that, upon +no pretence whatever, will I presume to intrude here again. +Professions, I find, have no weight, and only by this obedience +to your orders, can I give a proof of that respect which you +inspire;—and let the agitation I now feel, convince you, +Lady Matilda, that, with all my seeming good fortune, I am +not happier than yourself.” And so much was he agitated +while he delivered this, that it was with difficulty he came +to the conclusion. When he did, he bowed with reverence, +as if leaving the presence of a deity, and retired.</p> + +<p>Matilda immediately entered the chamber she had left, +and without casting a single look at Miss Woodley by which +she might guess of the opinion she had formed of Mr. Rushbrook’s +conduct. The next time they met they did not even +mention his name; for they were ashamed to own a partiality +in his favour, and were too just to bring any accusation +against him.</p> + +<p>But Miss Woodley, the day following, communicated the +intelligence of this visit to Mr. Sandford, who not being +present, and a witness of those marks of humility and respect +which were conspicuous in the deportment of Mr. Rushbrook, +was highly offended at his presumption, and threatened +if he ever dared to force his company there again, he would +acquaint Lord Elmwood with his arrogance, whatever might +be the event. Miss Woodley, however, assured him, she +believed he would have no cause for such a complaint, as +the young man had made the most solemn promise never to +commit the like offence; and she thought it her duty to +enjoin Sandford, till he did repeat it, not to mention the +circumstance, even to Rushbrook himself.</p> + +<p>Matilda could not but feel a regard for her father’s heir, +in return for that which he had so fervently declared for +her; yet the more favourable her opinion of his mind and +manners, the more he became an object of her jealousy for +the affections of Lord Elmwood, and he was now consequently, +an object of greater sorrow to her, than when she +believed him less worthy. These sentiments were reversed +on his part towards her—no jealousy intervened to bar his +admiration and esteem—the beauty of her person, and +grandeur of her mien, not only confirmed, but improved, +the exalted idea he had formed of her previous to their +meeting, and which his affection to both her parents had +inspired. The next time he saw his benefactor, he began +to feel a new esteem and regard for him, for his daughter’s +sake; as he had at first an esteem for her, on the foundation +of his love for Lord and Lady Elmwood. He gazed with +wonder at his uncle’s insensibility to his own happiness, and +would gladly have led him to the jewel he cast away, though +even his own expulsion should be the fatal consequence. +Such was the youthful, warm, generous, grateful, but unreflecting +mind of Rushbrook.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_X" id="III_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p>After this incident, Miss Woodley left her apartments +less frequently than before—she was afraid, though till now +mistrust had been a stranger to her heart, she was afraid +that duplicity might be concealed under the apparent +friendship of Rushbrook; it did not indeed appear so from +any part of his behaviour, but she was apprehensive for the +fate of Matilda; she disliked him too, and therefore she +suspected him. Near three weeks she had not now paid +a visit to Lord Elmwood, and though to herself every visit +was a pain, yet as Matilda took a delight in hearing of her +father, what he said, what he did, what his attention seemed +most employed on, and a thousand other circumstantial +informations, in which Sandford would scorn to be half so +particular, it was a deprivation to her, that Miss Woodley +did not go oftener. Now too, the middle of November was +come, and it was expected her father would soon quit the +country.</p> + +<p>Partly therefore to indulge her hapless companion, and +partly because it was a duty, Miss Woodley once again paid +Lord Elmwood a morning visit, and staid dinner. Rushbrook +was officiously polite, (for that was the epithet she gave his +attention in relating it to Lady Matilda) yet she owned he +had not that forward impertinence she had formerly discovered +in him, but appeared much more grave and sedate.</p> + +<p>“But tell me of my father,” said Matilda.</p> + +<p>“I was going, my dear—but don’t be concerned—don’t +let it vex you.”</p> + +<p>“What? what?” cried Matilda, frightened by the +preface.</p> + +<p>“Why, on my observing that I thought Mr. Rushbrook +looked paler than usual, and appeared not to be in perfect +health, (which was really the case) your father expressed the +greatest anxiety imaginable; he said he could not bear to +see him look so ill, begged him, with all the tenderness of +a parent, to take the advice of a physician, and added a +thousand other affectionate things.”</p> + +<p>“I detest Mr. Rushbrook,” said Matilda, with her eyes +flashing indignation.</p> + +<p>“Nay, for shame,” returned Miss Woodley; “do you +suppose I told you this, to make you hate him?”</p> + +<p>“No, there was no occasion for that,” replied Matilda; +“my sentiments (though I have never before avowed them) +were long ago formed; he was always an object which added +to my unhappiness; but since his daring intrusion into my +apartments, he has been an object of my hatred.”</p> + +<p>“But now, perhaps, I may tell you something to please +you,” cried Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“And what is that?” said Matilda, with indifference; +for the first intelligence had hurt her spirits too much to +suffer her to listen with pleasure to anything.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Rushbrook,” continued Miss Woodley, “replied to +your father, that his indisposition was but a slight nervous +fever, and he would defer a physician’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 go myself till after Christmas.” “No indeed, my +Lord!” said Mr. Sandford, with surprise: “you have not +passed your Christmas here these many years.” “No,” +returned your father; “but I think I feel myself more +attached to this house at present, than ever I did in my +life.”</p> + +<p>“You imagine, then, my father thought of me, when he +said this?” cried Matilda eagerly.</p> + +<p>“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 a smile over his whole face +immediately.”</p> + +<p>“Did you, Miss Woodley?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it appeared on every feature except his lips; those +he kept fast closed, for fear Lord Elmwood should perceive it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley, with all her minute intelligence, did not +however acquaint Matilda, that Rushbrook followed her to +the window when the Earl was out of the room, and Sandford +half asleep at the other end of it, and inquired respectfully +but anxiously for <i>her</i>; adding, “It is my concern for +Lady Matilda which makes me thus indisposed: I suffer +more than 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 she reveal this conversation, while +not a sentence that passed except that, was omitted.</p> + +<p>When Christmas arrived, Lord Elmwood had many convivial +days at Elmwood House, but Matilda was never mentioned +by one of his guests, and most probably was never +thought of. During all those holidays, she was unusually +melancholy, but sunk into the deepest dejection when she +was told the day was fixed, on which her father was to return +to town. On the morning of that day she wept incessantly; +and all her consolation was, “She would go to the chamber +window that was fronting the door through 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.”</p> + +<p>This design was soon forgot in another:—“She would +rush boldly into the apartment where he was, and at his feet +take leave of him for ever—she would lay hold of his hands, +clasp his knees, provoke him to spurn her, which would be +joy in comparison to this cruel indifference.” In the bitterness +of her grief, she once called upon her mother, and +reproached her memory—but the moment she recollected +this offence, (which was almost instantaneously) she became +all mildness and resignation. “What have I said?” cried +she; “Dear, dear saint, forgive me; and for your sake I will +bear all with patience—I will not groan, I will not even sigh +again—this task I set myself to atone for what I have dared +to utter.”</p> + +<p>While Lady Matilda laboured under this variety of sensations, +Miss Woodley was occupied in bewailing and endeavouring +to calm her sorrows—and Lord Elmwood, with +Rushbrook, was ready to set off. The Earl, however, +loitered, and did not once seem in haste to be gone. When +at last he got up to depart, Sandford thought he pressed his +hand, and shook it with more warmth than ever he had done +in his life. Encouraged by this supposition, Sandford said, +“My Lord, won’t you condescend to take your leave of +Miss Woodley?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Sandford,” replied he, and +seemed glad of an excuse to sit down again.</p> + +<p>Impressed with the idea of the state in which she had left +his only child, Miss Woodley, when she came before Lord +Elmwood to bid him farewell, was pale, trembling, and in +tears. Sandford, notwithstanding his patron’s apparently +kind humour, was shocked at the construction he must put +upon her appearance, and cried, “What, Miss Woodley, are +you not recovered of your illness yet?” Lord Elmwood, +however, took no notice of her looks, but after wishing her +her health, walked slowly out of the house; turning back +frequently and speaking to Sandford, or to some other +person who was behind him, as if part of his thoughts were +left behind, and he went with reluctance.</p> + +<p>When he had quitted the room where Miss Woodley was, +Rushbrook, timid before her, as she had been before her +benefactor, went up to her, all humility, and said, “Miss +Woodley, we ought to be friends: our concern, our devotion +is paid to the same objects, and one common interest should +teach us to be friendly.”</p> + +<p>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 what changes may take +place in his resolutions.—Will you permit me?” At that +moment a servant came and said, “Sir, my Lord is in the +carriage, and waiting for you.” He hastened away, and Miss +Woodley was relieved from the pain of giving him a denial.</p> + +<p>No sooner was the chaise, with all its attendants, out of +sight, than Lady Matilda was conducted by Miss Woodley +from her lonely retreat, into that part of the house from +whence her father had just departed—and she visited every +spot where he had so long resided, with a pleasing curiosity +that for a while diverted her grief. In the breakfast and +dining 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 the library, she took up with filial delight, the pen +with which he had been writing; and looked with the most +curious attention into those books that were laid upon his +reading desk. But a hat, lying on one of the tables, gave her +a sensation beyond any other she experienced on this occasion—in +that trifling article of his dress, she thought she saw +himself, and held it in her hand with pious reverence.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook were +proceeding on the road, with hearts not less heavy than those +which they had left at Elmwood House; though neither of +them could so well define the cause of this oppression, as +Matilda could account for the weight which oppressed her’s.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XI" id="III_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p>Young as Lady Matilda was during the life of her mother, +neither her youth, nor the recluse state in which she lived, +had precluded her from the notice and solicitations of a nobleman +who had professed himself her lover. Viscount Margrave +had an estate not far distant from the retreat Lady 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. He was a young man, of a handsome person, and +was, what his neighbours called, “A man of spirit.” He was +an excellent fox-hunter, and as excellent a companion over +his bottle at the end of the chace—he was prodigal of his +fortune, where his pleasures were concerned, and as those +pleasures were chiefly social, his sporting companions and +his mistresses (for these were also of the plural number) +partook largely of his wealth.</p> + +<p>Two months previous to Lady Elmwood’s death, Miss +Woodley and Lady Matilda were taking their usual walk in +some fields and lanes near to their house, when chance threw +Lord Margrave in their way during a thunder storm in which +they were suddenly caught; and he had the satisfaction to +convey his new acquaintances to their home in his coach, +safe from the fury of the elements. Grateful for the service +he had rendered them, Miss Woodley and her charge, permitted +him to enquire occasionally after their health, and +would sometimes see him. The story of Lady Elmwood was +known to Lord Margrave, and as he beheld her daughter +with a passion such as he had been unused to overcome, he +indulged it with the probable hope, that on the death of +the mother Lord Elmwood would receive his child, and +perhaps accept him as his son-in-law. Wedlock was not the +plan which Lord Margrave had ever proposed to himself +for happiness; but the excess of his love on this new occasion, +subdued all the resolutions he had formed against the +married state; and not daring to hope for the consummation +of his wishes by any other means, he suffered himself +to look forward to that, as his only resource. No sooner was +the long expected death of Lady Elmwood arrived, than he +waited with impatience to hear that Lady Matilda was sent +for and acknowledged by her father; for he meant to be the +first to lay before Lord Elmwood his pretensions as a suitor. +But those pretensions were founded on the vague hopes of +a lover only; and Miss Woodley, to whom he first declared +them, said every thing possible to convince him of their +fallacy. As to the object of his passion, she was not only +insensible, but wholly inattentive to all that was said to her +on the subject. Lady Elmwood died without ever being +disturbed with it; for her daughter did not even remember +his proposals so as to repeat them again, and Miss Woodley +thought it prudent to conceal from her friend, every new +incident which might give her cause for new anxieties.</p> + +<p>When Sandford and the ladies left the north and came to +Elmwood House, so much were their thoughts employed with +other ideas, that Lord Margrave did not occupy a place; and +during the whole time they had been at their new abode, +they had never once heard of him. He had, nevertheless, his +whole mind fixed upon Lady Matilda, and had placed spies +in the neighbourhood to inform him of every circumstance +relating to her situation. Having imbibed an aversion to +matrimony, he heard with but little regret, that there was +no prospect of her ever becoming her father’s heir, while such +an information gave him the hope of obtaining her, upon the +terms of a mistress.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood’s departure to town forwarded this hope, +and flattering himself that the humiliating state in which +Matilda must feel herself in the house of her father might +gladly induce her to take shelter under any 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 not be +rejected.</p> + +<p>Inquiring for Miss Woodley, he easily gained admittance; +but at the sight of so much modesty and dignity in the +person of Matilda, the appearance of so much good will, and +yet such circumspection in her companion; and charmed +at the good sense and proper spirit which were always +apparent in the manners of Sandford, he fell once more into +the despondency of never becoming to Lady Matilda any +thing of more importance to his reputation, than a husband.</p> + +<p>Even that humble hope was sometimes denied him, while +Sandford set forth the impropriety of troubling Lord Elmwood +on such a subject at present; and while the Viscount’s +penetration, small as it was, discovered in his fair one, more +to discourage, than to favour his wishes. Plunged, however, +too deep in his passion to emerge from it in haste, he meant +still to visit, and wait for a change to happier circumstances, +when he was peremptorily desired by Mr. Sandford to desist +from ever coming again.</p> + +<p>“And why, Mr. Sandford?” cried he.</p> + +<p>“For two reasons, my Lord;—in the first place, your visits +might be displeasing to Lord Elmwood; in the next place, +I know they are so to his daughter.”</p> + +<p>Unaccustomed to be addressed so plainly, particularly in +a case where his heart was interested, he nevertheless submitted +with patience; but in his own mind determined how +long this patience should continue—no longer than it served +as the means to prove his obedience, and by that artifice, to +secure his better reception at some future period.</p> + +<p>On his return home, cheered with the huzzas of his jovial +companions, he began to consult those friends, what scheme +was best to be adopted for the accomplishment of his desires. +Some, boldly advised application to the father in defiance to +the old priest; but that was the very last method his Lordship +himself approved, as marriage must inevitably have +followed Lord Elmwood’s consent: besides, though a Peer, +Lord Margrave was unused to rank with Peers; and even +the formality of an interview with one of his equals, carried +along with it a terror, or at least a fatigue, to a rustic Baron. +Others of his companions advised seduction; but happily +the Viscount possessed no arts of this kind, to affect a heart +joined with such an understanding as Matilda’s. There were +not wanting among his most favourite counsellors some, who +painted the superior triumph and gratification of force; +those assured him there was nothing to apprehend under this +head, as from the behaviour of Lord Elmwood to his child, +it was more than probable, he would be utterly indifferent +as to any violence that might be offered her. This last advice +seemed inspired by the aid of wine; and no sooner had the +wine freely circulated, than this was always the expedient, +which appeared by far the best.</p> + +<p>While Lord Margrave alternately cherished his hopes and +his fears in the country, Rushbrook in town gave way to his +fears only. Every day of his life made him more acquainted +with the firm, unshaken temper of Lord Elmwood, and every +day whispered more forcibly to him, that pity, gratitude, +and friendship, strong and affectionate as these passions are, +were weak and cold to that, which had gained the possession +of his heart—he doubted, but he did not long doubt, that, +which he felt was love. “And yet,” said he to himself, “it +is love of such a kind, as arising from causes independent of +the object itself can scarce deserve that sacred name. Did I +not love Lady Matilda before I beheld her?—for her mother’s +sake I loved her—and even for her father’s. Should I have +felt the same affection for her, had she been the child of other +parents? No. Or should I have felt that sympathetic +tenderness which now preys upon my health, had not her +misfortunes excited it? No.” Yet the love which is the +result of gratitude and pity only, he thought had little claim +to rank with his; and after the most deliberate and deep +reflection, he concluded with this decisive opinion—He had +loved Lady Matilda, in <i>whatever state</i>, in <i>whatever circumstances</i>; +and that the tenderness he felt towards her, and +the anxiety for her happiness before he knew her, extreme +as they were, were yet cool and dispassionate sensations, +compared to those which her person and demeanour had incited—and +though he acknowledged, that by the preceding +sentiments, his heart was softened, prepared, and moulded, +as it were, to receive this last impression, yet the violence +of his passion told him that genuine love, if not the basis on +which it was founded, had been the certain consequence. +With a strict scrutiny into his heart he sought this knowledge, +but arrived at it with a regret that amounted to despair.</p> + +<p>To shield him from despondency, he formed in his mind +a thousand visions, displaying the joys of his union with +Lady Matilda; but her father’s implacability confounded +them all. Lord Elmwood was a man who made few resolutions—but +those were the effect of deliberation; and as he +was not the least capricious or inconstant in his temper, they +were resolutions which no probable event could shake. +Love, that produces wonders, that seduces and subdues the +most determined and rigid spirits, had in two instances +overcome the inflexibility of Lord Elmwood; he married +Lady Elmwood contrary to his determination, because he +loved; and for the sake of this beloved object, he had, contrary +to his resolution, taken under his immediate care young +Rushbrook; but the magic which once enchanted away +this spirit of immutability was no more—Lady Elmwood was +no more, and the charm was broken.</p> + +<p>As Miss Woodley was deprived of the opportunity of +desiring Rushbrook not to write, when he asked her the +permission, he passed one whole morning, in the gratification +of forming and writing a letter to her, which he thought +might possibly be shewn to Matilda. As he dared not touch +upon any of those circumstances in which he was the most +interested, this, joined to the respect he wished to pay the +lady to whom he wrote, limited his letter to about twenty +lines; yet the studious manner with which these lines were +dictated, the hope that they might, and the fear that they +might not, be seen and regarded by Lady Matilda, rendered +the task an anxiety so pleasing, that he could have wished +it might have lasted for a year; and in this tendency to +magnify trifles, was discoverable, the never-failing symptom +of ardent love.</p> + +<p>A reply to this formal address, was a reward he wished for +with impatience, but he wished in vain; and in the midst +of his chagrin at the disappointment, a sorrow, little thought +of, occurred, and gave him a perturbation of mind he had +never before experienced. Lord Elmwood proposed 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 +his benefactor’s will, he would not have had the courage to +have done so. There was, however, in his reply, and his +embarrassment, something which his uncle distinguished from +a free concurrence; and looking stedfastly at him, he said, +in that stern manner which he now almost invariably +adopted,</p> + +<p>“You have no engagements, I suppose! Have made no +previous promises!”</p> + +<p>“None on earth, my Lord,” replied Rushbrook candidly.</p> + +<p>“Nor have you disposed of your heart?”</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord,” replied he; but not candidly—nor with +any appearance of candour: for though he spoke hastily, it +was rather like a man frightened than assured. He hurried +to tell the falsehood he thought himself obliged to tell, that +the pain and shame might be over; but there he was deceived—the +lie once told was as troublesome as in the conception, +and added another confusion to the first.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood now fixed his eyes upon him with a sullen +contempt, and rising from his chair, said, “Rushbrook, if +you have been so inconsiderate as to give away your heart, +tell me so at once, and tell me the object.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook shuddered at the thought.</p> + +<p>“I here,” continued the Earl, “tolerate the first untruth +you ever told me, as the false assertion of a lover; and give +you an opportunity of recalling it—but after this moment, +it is a lie between man and man—a lie to your friend and +father, and I will not forgive it.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook stood silent, confused, alarmed, and bewildered +in his thoughts. Lord Elmwood proceeded:</p> + +<p>“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 your folly, I will at least not reproach +you for having at first denied it.”</p> + +<p>To repeat these words in writing, the reader must condemn +the young man that he could hesitate to own he loved, if he +was even afraid to name the object of his passion; but his +interrogator had made the two answers inseparable, so that +all evasions of the second, Rushbrook knew would be fruitless, +after having avowed the first—and how could he confess the +latter? The absolute orders he received from the steward +on his first return from his travels, were, “Never to mention +his daughter, any more than his late wife, before Lord +Elmwood.” The fault of having rudely intruded into Lady +Matilda’s presence, rushed also upon his mind; for he did +not even dare to say, by what means he had beheld her. But +more than all, the threatening manner in which this rational +and apparently conciliating speech was uttered, the menaces, +the severity which sat upon the Earl’s countenance while +he delivered those moderate words, might have intimidated +a man wholly independent, and less used to fear than his +nephew had been.</p> + +<p>“You make no answer, Sir,” said Lord Elmwood, after +waiting a few moments for his reply.</p> + +<p>“I have only to say, my Lord,” returned Rushbrook, +“that although my heart may be totally disengaged, I may +yet be disinclined to marriage.”</p> + +<p>“May! May! Your heart <i>may</i> be disengaged,” repeated +he. “Do you dare to reply to me equivocally, when I have +asked a positive answer?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I am not positive myself, my Lord; but I will +enquire into the state of my mind, and make you acquainted +with it very soon.”</p> + +<p>As the angry demeanour of his uncle affected Rushbrook +with fear, so that fear, powerfully (but with proper manliness) +expressed, again softened the displeasure of Lord Elmwood; +and seeing and pitying his nephew’s sensibility, he now +changed his austere voice, and said mildly, but firmly,</p> + +<p>“I give you a week to consult with yourself; at the +expiration of that time I shall talk with you again, and +I command you to be then prepared to speak, not only +without deceit, but without hesitation.” He left the room +at these words, and left Rushbrook released from a fate, +which his apprehensions had beheld impending that moment. +</p> + +<p>He had now a week to call his thoughts together, to weigh +every circumstance, and to determine whether implicitly to +submit to Lord Elmwood’s recommendation of a wife, or +to revolt from it, and see another, with more subserviency +to his will, appointed his heir.</p> + +<p>Undetermined how to act upon this trial which was to +decide his future destiny, Rushbrook suffered so poignant an +uncertainty, that he became at length ill, and before the end +of the week that was allotted him for his reply, he was confined +to his bed in a high fever. Lord Elmwood was extremely +affected at his indisposition; he gave him every care he could +bestow, and even much of his personal attendance. This last +favour had a claim upon the young man’s gratitude, superior +to every other obligation which since his infancy his benefactor +had conferred; and he was at times so moved by +those marks of kindness he received, that he would form the +intention of tearing from his heart every trace that Lady +Matilda 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 of obligation to the father, +and tender attachment to the daughter, his illness was increased +by the tortures of his mind, and he once sincerely +wished for that death, of which he was in danger, to free +him from the dilemma in which his affections had involved +him.</p> + +<p>At the time his disorder was at the height, and he lay +complaining of the violence of his fever, Lord Elmwood, +taking his hand, asked him, “If there was any thing he could +do for him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, my Lord, a great deal:” he replied eagerly.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Harry?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my Lord,” replied he, “that is what I must not +tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Defer it then till you are well:” said Lord Elmwood; +afraid of being surprised, or affected by the state of his health, +into any promises which he might hereafter find the impropriety +of granting.</p> + +<p>“And when I recover, my Lord, you give me leave to +reveal to you my wishes, let them be what they will?”</p> + +<p>His uncle hesitated——but seeing an anxiety for the +answer, by his raising himself upon his elbow in the bed and +staring wildly, Lord Elmwood at last said, “Certainly—Yes, +yes,” as a child is answered for its quiet.</p> + +<p>That Lord Elmwood could have no idea what the real +petition was, which Rushbrook meant to present him is +certain; but it is certain he expected he had some request +to make, with which it might be wrong for him to comply, +and therefore he avoided hearing what it was; for great as +his compassion for him was in his present state, it was not of +sufficient force to urge him to give a promise he did not +mean to perform. Rushbrook, on his part was pleased with +the assurance he might speak when he was restored to health; +but no sooner was his fever abated, and his senses perfectly +recovered from the slight derangement his malady had +occasioned, than the lively remembrance of what he had +hinted, alarmed him, and he was even afraid to look his kind, +but awful relation in the face. Lord Elmwood’s cheerfulness, +however, on his returning health, and his undiminished +attention, soon convinced him that he had nothing to fear. +But, alas! he found too, that he had nothing to hope. As +his health re-established, his wishes re-established also, and +with his wishes, his despair.</p> + +<p>Convinced now, that his nephew had something on his +mind which he feared to reveal, the Earl no longer doubted +but that some youthful attachment had armed him against +any marriage he should propose; but he had so much pity +for his present weak state, to delay that further inquiry which +he had threatened before his illness, to a time when he should +be entirely restored.</p> + +<p>It was the end of May before Rushbrook was able to partake +in the usual routine of the day—the country was now prescribed +him as the means of complete restoration; and as Lord +Elmwood designed to leave London some time in June, he +advised him to go to Elmwood House a week or two before +him; this advice was received with delight, and a letter was +sent to Mr. Sandford to prepare for Mr. Rushbrook’s arrival.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XII" id="III_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p>During the illness of Rushbrook, news had been sent of his +danger, from the servants in town to those at Elmwood +House, and Lady Matilda expressed compassion when she +was told of it—she began to conceive, the instant she thought +he would soon die, that his visit to her had merit rather than +impertinence in its design, and that he might possibly be +a more deserving man, than she had supposed him to be. +Even Sandford and Miss Woodley, began to recollect qualifications +he possessed, which they never 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 with infinite +joy she heard he was recovered; nor was Sandford less satisfied; +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 his restored health, when he was informed he +was coming down to Elmwood House for a few weeks in the +style of its master, Sandford, with all his religious and +humane principles, could not help thinking, “That if the +lad had been properly prepared to die, he had been as well +out of the world as in it.”</p> + +<p>He was still less his friend when he saw him arrive with +his usual florid complexion: had he come pale and sickly, +Sandford had been kind to him; but in apparently good +health and spirits, he could not form his lips to tell him he +was “Glad to see him.”</p> + +<p>On his arrival, Matilda, who for five months had been at +large, secluded herself as she would have done upon the +arrival of Lord Elmwood; but with far different sensations. +Notwithstanding her restriction on the latter occasion, the +residence of her father in that house had been a source +of pleasure, rather than of sorrow to her; but from the +abode of Rushbrook she derived punishment alone.</p> + +<p>When, from inquiries, Rushbrook found that on his +approach, Matilda had retired to her own confined apartments, +the thought was torture to him; it was the hope of +seeing and conversing with her, of being admitted at all +times to her society as the mistress of the house, that had +raised his spirits, and effected his perfect cure beyond any +other cause; and he was hurt to the greatest degree at this +respect, or rather contempt, shown to him by her retreat.</p> + +<p>It was, nevertheless, a subject too delicate for him to touch +upon in any one sense—an invitation for her company on his +part, might carry the appearance of superior authority, and +an affected condescension, which he justly considered as the +worst of all insults. And yet, how could he support the idea +that his visit had placed the daughter of his benefactor, as +a dependent stranger in that house, where in reality <i>he</i> was +the dependent, and she the lawful heir? For two or three +days he suffered the torment of these reflections, hoping +that he should come to an explanation of all he felt, by +a fortunate meeting with Miss Woodley; but when that +meeting occurred, though he observed she talked to him with +less reserve than she had formerly done, and even gave some +proofs of the native goodness of her disposition, yet she +scrupulously avoided naming Lady Matilda; and when he +diffidently inquired of her health, a cold restraint overspread +Miss Woodley’s face, and she left him instantly. To Sandford +it was still more difficult for him to apply; for though +frequently together, they were never sociable; and as Sandford +seldom disguised his feelings, to Rushbrook he was +always extremely severe, and sometimes unmannerly.</p> + +<p>In this perplexed situation, the country air was rather of +detriment than service to the invalid; and had he not, like +a true lover, clung fast to hope, while he could perceive +nothing but despair, he would have returned to town, rather +than by his stay have placed in a subordinate state, the object +of his adoration. Persisting in his hopes, he one morning +met Miss Woodley in the garden, and engaging her a longer +time than usual in conversation, at last obtained her promise +“She would that day dine with him and Mr. Sandford.” +But no sooner had she parted from him, 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. +Miss Woodley’s own sentiments had upbraided her +before; but she was not prepared to receive so pointed +a mark of disapprobation from her young friend, till now +duteous and humble to her as to a mother, and not less +affectionate. Her heart was too susceptible to bear this +disrespectful and contumelious frown, from the object of her +long-devoted care and concern; the tears instantly covered +her face, and she laid her hands upon her heart, as if she +thought it would break. Matilda was moved, but she +possessed too much of the manly resentment of her father, to +discover what she felt for the first few minutes. Miss Woodley, +who had given so many tears to her sorrows, but never +till now, one to her anger, had a deeper sense of this indifference, +than of the anger itself, and to conceal what she +suffered, left the room. Matilda, who had been till this time +working at her needle, seemingly composed, now let 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 heart fluttered with a thousand distressing +sensations. She approached Miss Woodley (who was +still in tears) with silence; and awed by her manners, the +faithful friend of her deceased mother exclaimed, “Dear +Lady Matilda, 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 uttered these last words; but +Matilda laid fast hold of her to prevent the posture she offered +to take, and instantly assumed it herself. “Oh, let this be +my atonement!” she cried with the most earnest supplication.</p> + +<p>They interchanged forgiveness; and as this reconciliation +was sincere, they each, without reserve, gave their opinion +upon the subject that had caused the misunderstanding; +and it was agreed an apology should be sent to Mr. Rushbrook, +“That Miss Woodley had been suddenly indisposed:” +nor could this be said to differ from the truth, for since what +had passed she was unfit to pay a visit.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook, who had been all the morning elated with the +advance he supposed he had made in that lady’s favour, was +highly disappointed, vexed, and angry, when this apology +was delivered; nor did he, nor perhaps could he, conceal +what he felt, although his severe observer, Mr. Sandford, was +present.</p> + +<p>“I am a very unfortunate man!” said he, as soon as the +servant was gone who brought the message.</p> + +<p>Sandford cast his eyes upon him with a look of surprise +and contempt.</p> + +<p>“A very unfortunate man indeed, Mr. Sandford,” repeated +he, “although you treat my complaint contemptuously.”</p> + +<p>Sandford made no reply, and seemed above making one.</p> + +<p>They sat down to dinner;—Rushbrook eat scarce any thing, +but drank frequently; Sandford took no notice of either, +but had a book (which was his custom when he dined with +persons whose conversation was not interesting to him) laid +by the side of his plate, which he occasionally looked into, as +the dishes were removing, or other opportunities served.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook, just now more hopeless than ever of forming +an acquaintance with Lady Matilda, began to give way to +symptoms of despondency; and they made their first attack, +by urging him, to treat on the same level of familiarity that +he himself was treated, Mr. Sandford, to whom he had, till +now, ever behaved with the most profound tokens of respect.</p> + +<p>“Come,” said he to him as soon as the dinner was removed, +“lay aside your book and be good company.”</p> + +<p>Sandford lifted up his eyes upon him—stared in his face—and +cast them on the book again.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw,” continued Rushbrook, “I want a companion; +and as Miss Woodley has disappointed me, I must have your +company.”</p> + +<p>Sandford now laid his book down upon the table; but +still holding his fingers in the pages he was reading, said, +“And why are you disappointed of Miss Woodley’s company? +When people expect what they have no right to +hope, ’tis impertinent assurance to complain they are disappointed.”</p> + +<p>“I had a right to hope she would come,” answered Rushbrook, +“for she promised she would.”</p> + +<p>“But what right had you to ask her?”</p> + +<p>“The right every one has, to make his time pass as agreeably +as he can.”</p> + +<p>“But not at the expence of another.”</p> + +<p>“I believe, Mr. Sandford, it would be a heavy expence to +you, to see me happy; I believe it would cost you even your +own happiness.”</p> + +<p>“That is a price I have not now to give:” replied Sandford, +and began reading again.</p> + +<p>“What, you have already paid it away? No wonder that +at your time of life it should be gone. But what do you +think of my having already squandered mine?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think about you;” returned Sandford, without +taking his eyes from the book.</p> + +<p>“Can you look me in the face and say that, Mr. Sandford? +No, you cannot—for you know you <i>do</i> think of me, and you +know you hate me.”—Here he drank two glasses of wine +one after another; “And I can tell you why you hate me,” +continued he: “It is from a cause for which I often hate +myself.”</p> + +<p>Sandford read on.</p> + +<p>“It is on Lady Matilda’s account you hate me, and use +me thus.”</p> + +<p>Sandford put down the book hastily, and put both his +hands by his side.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” resumed Rushbrook, “you think I am wronging +her.”</p> + +<p>“I think you insult her,” exclaimed Sandford, “by this +rude mention of her name; and I command you at your +peril to desist.”</p> + +<p>“At my peril! Mr. Sandford? Do you assume the +authority of my Lord Elmwood?”</p> + +<p>“I do on this occasion; and if you dare to give your +tongue a freedom”——</p> + +<p>Rushbrook interrupted him—“Why then I boldly say, +(and as her friend you ought rather to applaud than resent +it) I boldly say, that my heart suffers so much for her situation, +that I am regardless of my own. I love her father—I +loved her mother more—but I love <i>her</i> beyond either.”</p> + +<p>“Hold your licentious tongue,” cried Sandford, “or quit +the room.”</p> + +<p>“Licentious! Oh! the pure thoughts that dwell in her +innocent mind, are not less sensual than mine towards her. +Do you upbraid me with my respect, my pity for her? They +are the sensations which impel me to speak thus undisguised, +even to you, my open—no, even worse—my secret enemy!”</p> + +<p>“Insult <i>me</i> as you please, Mr. Rushbrook,—but beware +how you mention Lord Elmwood’s daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Can it be to her dishonour that I pity her? that I would +quit the house this moment never to return, so that she +supplied the place I with-hold from her.”</p> + +<p>“Go, then;” cried Sandford.</p> + +<p>“It would be of no use to her, or I would. But come, +Mr. Sandford, I will dare do as much as you. Only second +me, and I will entreat Lord Elmwood to be reconciled—to +see and own her.”</p> + +<p>“Your vanity would be equal to your temerity—<i>you</i> +entreat? She must greatly esteem those paternal favours +which <i>your</i> entreaties gained her! Do you forget, young +man, how short a time it is, since you were <i>entreated for</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I prove that I do not, while this anxiety for Lady Matilda, +arises, from what I feel on that account.”</p> + +<p>“Remove your anxiety, then, from her to yourself; for +were I to let Lord Elmwood know what has now passed”—</p> + +<p>“It is for your own sake, not for mine, if you do not.”</p> + +<p>“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, Lord Elmwood, +be present, to protect me and his child from your insults.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook rose in yet more warmth than Sandford</p> + +<p>“Have you the injustice to say that I have insulted Lady +Matilda?”</p> + +<p>“To speak of her at all, is in you an insult. But you have +done more—you have dared to visit her—to force into her +presence and shock her with your offers of services which +she scorns; and with your compassion, which she is above.”</p> + +<p>“Did she complain to you?”</p> + +<p>“She or her friend did.”</p> + +<p>“I rather suppose, Mr. Sandford, that you have bribed +some of the servants to reveal this.”</p> + +<p>“The suspicion becomes Lord Elmwood’s heir.”</p> + +<p>“It becomes the man, who lives in a house with you.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you, Mr. Rushbrook, for what has passed this +day—it has taken a weight off my mind. I thought my disinclination +to you, might perhaps arise from prejudice—this +conversation has relieved me from those fears, and—I thank +you.” Saying this he calmly walked out of the room, and +left Rushbrook to reflect on what he had been doing.</p> + +<p>Heated with the wine he had drank (and which Sandford, +engaged on his book, had not observed) no sooner was he +alone, than he became by degrees cool and repentant. +“What had he done?” was the first question to himself—“He +had offended Sandford.”—The man, whom reason as +well as prudence had ever taught him to respect, and even to +revere. He had grossly offended the firm friend of Lady +Matilda, by the unreserved and wanton use of her name. +All the retorts he had uttered came now to his memory; +with a total forgetfulness of all that Sandford had said to +provoke them.</p> + +<p>He once thought to follow him and beg his pardon; but +the contempt with which he had been treated, more than all +the anger, with-held him.</p> + +<p>As he sat forming plans how to retrieve the opinion, ill as +it was, which Sandford formerly entertained of him, he +received a letter from Lord Elmwood, kindly enquiring after +his health, and saying that he should be down early in the +following week. Never were the friendly expressions of his +uncle half so welcome to him; for they served to sooth +his imagination, racked with Sandford’s wrath, and his own +displeasure.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XIII" id="III_CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<p>When Sandford acted deliberately, he always acted up to +his duty; it was his duty to forgive Rushbrook, and he did +so—but he had declared he would never “Be again in his +company unless Lord Elmwood was present;” and with all +his forgiveness, he found an unforgiving gratification, in the +duty, of being obliged to keep his word.</p> + +<p>The next day Rushbrook dined alone, while Sandford gave +his company to the ladies. Rushbrook was too proud to +seek to conciliate Sandford by abject concessions, but he +endeavoured to meet him as by accident, and meant 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; he could never procure even a sight of him. But +on the evening of the third day, taking a lonely walk, he +turned the corner of a grove, and saw in the very path he +was going, Sandford accompanied by Miss Woodley; and, +what agitated him infinitely more, Lady Matilda was with +them. He knew not whether to proceed, or to quit the +path and palpably shun them—to one, 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 the +propensity he felt to pass so near to Matilda, could he have +known what conduct would have been deemed the most +respectful, whatever painful denial it had cost him, <i>that</i>, he +would have adopted. But undetermined whether to go +forward, or to cross to another path, he still walked on till he +came too nigh to recede: he then, with a diffidence not +affected, but most powerfully felt, pulled off his hat; and +without bowing, stood respectfully silent while the company +passed. Sandford walked on some paces before, and took no +further notice as he went by him, than just touching the +fore part of his hat with his finger. Miss Woodley curtsied +as she followed. But Lady Matilda made a full stop, and said, +in the gentlest accents, “I hope, Mr. Rushbrook, you are +perfectly recovered.”</p> + +<p>It was the sweetest music he had ever listened to; and he +replied with the most reverential bow, “I am better a great +deal, Ma’am.” Then instantly pursued his way as if he did +not dare to utter another syllable.</p> + +<p>Sandford seldom found fault with Lady Matilda; not +because he loved her, but because she seldom did wrong—upon +this occasion, however, he was half inclined to reprimand +her; but yet he did not know what to say—the subsequent +humility of Rushbrook, had taken from the indiscretion +of her speaking to him, and the event could by no means +justify his censure. On hearing her begin to speak, Sandford +had stopped; and as Rushbrook after replying, walked away, +Sandford called to her crossly, “Come, come along.” But +at the same time he put out his elbow for her to take hold of +his arm.</p> + +<p>She hastened her steps, and did so—then turning to Miss +Woodley, she said, “I expected you would have spoken to +Mr. Rushbrook; it might have prevented me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley replied, “I was at a loss what to do;—when +we met formerly, he always spoke first.”</p> + +<p>“And he ought now,” cried Sandford angrily—and then +added, with a sarcastic smile, “It is certainly proper that +the <i>superior</i>, should be the first who speaks.”</p> + +<p>“He did not look as if he thought himself our superior,” +replied Matilda.</p> + +<p>“No,” returned Sandford, “some people can put on what +looks they please.”</p> + +<p>“Then while he looks so pale,” replied Matilda, “and so +dejected, I can never forbear speaking to him when we meet, +whatever he may think of it.”</p> + +<p>“And were he and I to meet a hundred, nay a thousand +times,” returned Sandford, “I don’t think I should ever +speak to him again.”</p> + +<p>“Bless me! what for, Mr. Sandford?” cried Matilda—for +Sandford, who was not a man that repeated little incidents, +had never mentioned the circumstance of their +quarrel.</p> + +<p>“I have taken such a resolution,” answered he, “yet +I bear him no enmity.”</p> + +<p>As this short reply indicated that he meant to say no more, +no more was asked; and the subject was dropped.</p> + +<p>In the mean time, Rushbrook, happier than he had been +for months, intoxicated with joy at that voluntary mark of +civility he had received from Lady Matilda, felt his heart +so joyous, and so free from every particle of malice, that +he resolved, in the humblest manner, to make atonement for +the violation of decorum he had lately committed against +Mr. Sandford.</p> + +<p>Too happy, at this time, to suffer a mortification from +any indignities he might receive, he sent his servant to him +into his study, as soon as he was returned home, to beg to +know “If he might be permitted to wait upon him, with +a message he had to deliver from Lord Elmwood.”</p> + +<p>The servant returned—“Mr. Sandford desired he would +send the message by him, or the house-steward.” This was +highly affronting; but Rushbrook was not in a humour to +be offended, and he sent again, begging he would admit +him; but the answer was, “He was busy.”</p> + +<p>Thus wholly defeated in his hopes of reconciliation, his +new transports felt an allay, and the few days that remained +before Lord Elmwood came, he passed in solitary musing, +and ineffectual walks and looks towards that path in which +he had met Matilda—she came that way no more—indeed +scarce quitted her apartment, in the practice of that confinement +she was to experience on the arrival of her father.</p> + +<p>All her former agitations now returned. On the day he +arrived she wept—all the night she did not sleep—and the +name of Rushbrook again became hateful to her. The Earl +came in extremely good health and spirits, but appeared +concerned to find Rushbrook less well than when he went +from town. Sandford was now under the necessity of being +in Rushbrook’s company, yet he would never speak to him +but when he was obliged; or look at him, but when he could +not help it. Lord Elmwood observed this conduct, yet he +neither wondered, or was offended at it—he had perceived +what little esteem Sandford showed his nephew from his +first return; but he forgave, in Sandford’s humour, a +thousand faults he would not forgive in any other; nor did +he deem this one of his greatest faults, knowing the demand +upon his partiality from another object.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley waited on Lord Elmwood as formerly; +dined with him, and related, as heretofore, to the attentive +Matilda, all that passed.</p> + +<p>About this time Lord Margrave, deprived by the season +of all the sports of the field, felt his love for Matilda (which +had been violent, even though divided with the love of +hunting) now too strong to be subdued; and he resolved, +though reluctantly, to apply to her father for his consent to +their union; but writing to Sandford this resolution, he was +once more repulsed, and charged as a man of honour, to +forbear to disturb the tranquillity of the family by any +application of the kind. To this, Sandford received no +answer; for the peer, highly incensed at his mistress’s +repugnance to him, determined more firmly than ever to +consult his own happiness alone; and as that depended +merely upon his obtaining her, he cared not by what method +it was effected.</p> + +<p>About a fortnight after Lord Elmwood came into the +country, as he was riding one morning, his horse fell with +him, and crushed his leg in so unfortunate a manner, as to +be at first pronounced of dangerous consequence. He was +brought home in a post chaise, and Matilda heard of the +accident with more grief than would, perhaps, on such an +occasion, appertain to the most fondled child.</p> + +<p>In consequence of the pain he suffered, his fever was one +night very high; and Sandford, who seldom quitted his +apartment, went frequently to his bedside, every time with +the secret hope he should hear him ask to see his daughter—he +was every time disappointed—yet he saw him shake, with +a cordial friendship, the hand of Rushbrook, as if he delighted +in seeing those he loved.</p> + +<p>The danger in which Lord Elmwood was supposed to be, +was but of short duration, and his sudden recovery succeeded. +Matilda, who had wept, moaned, and watched during the +crisis of his illness, when she heard he was amending, exclaimed, +(with a kind of surprise at the novelty of the sensation) +“And this is joy that I feel! Oh! I never till now +knew, what those persons felt who experienced joy.”</p> + +<p>Nor did she repine, like Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley, +at her father’s inattention to her during his malady, for she +did not hope like them—she did not hope he would behold +her, even in dying.</p> + +<p>But notwithstanding his seeming indifference, while his +indisposition continued, no sooner was he recovered so as to +receive the congratulations of his friends, than there was no +one person he evidently showed so much satisfaction at +seeing, as Miss Woodley. She waited upon him timorously, +and with more than ordinary distaste at his late conduct, +when he put out his hand with the utmost warmth to receive +her; drew her to him; saluted her, (an honour he had never +in his life conferred before) with signs of the sincerest friendship +and affection. Sandford was present; and ever associating +the idea of Matilda with Miss Woodley, felt his heart +bound with a triumph it had not enjoyed for many a day.</p> + +<p>Matilda listened with delight to the recital Miss Woodley +gave on her return, and many times while it lasted exclaimed, +“She was happy.” But poor Matilda’s sudden transports of +joy, which she termed happiness, were not made for long +continuance; and if she ever found cause for gladness, she +far oftener had motives for grief.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Sandford was sitting with her and Miss Woodley, +one evening about a week after, a person rang at the bell and +inquired for him: on being told of it by the servant, he went +to the door of the apartment, and cried, “Oh! is it you? +Come in.” An elderly man entered, who had been for many +years the head gardener at Elmwood House; a man of +honesty and sobriety, and with an indigent family of aged +parents, children, and other relations, who subsisted wholly +on the income arising from his place. The ladies, as well as +Sandford, knew him well, and they all, almost at once, asked, +“What was the matter?” for his looks told them something +distressful had befallen him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sir!” said he to Sandford, “I come to intreat your +interest.”</p> + +<p>“In what, Edwards?” said Sandford with a mild voice; +for when his assistance was supplicated in distress, his rough +tones always took a plaintive key.</p> + +<p>“My Lord has discharged me from his service!” (returned +Edwards trembling, and the tears starting in his eyes) “I am +undone, Mr. Sandford, unless you plead for me.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Sandford, “I will.”</p> + +<p>“And yet I am almost afraid of your success,” replied the +man, “for my Lord has ordered me out of his house this +moment; and though I knelt down to him to be heard, he +had no pity.”</p> + +<p>Matilda sighed from the bottom of her heart, and yet she +envied this poor man, who had been kneeling to her father.</p> + +<p>“What was your offence?” cried Sandford.</p> + +<p>The man hesitated; then looking at Matilda, said, “I’ll +tell you, Sir, some other time.”</p> + +<p>“Did you name me, before Lord Elmwood?” cried she +eagerly, and terrified.</p> + +<p>“No, Madam,” replied he, “but I unthinkingly spoke of +my poor Lady who is dead and gone.”</p> + +<p>Matilda burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“How came you to do so mad a thing?” cried Sandford; +and the encouragement which his looks had once given him, +now fled from his face.</p> + +<p>“It was unthinkingly,” repeated Edwards; “I was showing +my Lord some plans for the new walks, and told him, +among other things, that her Ladyship had many years ago +approved of them. ‘Who?’ cried he. Still I did not call +to mind, but said, ‘Lady Elmwood, Sir, while you were +abroad.’—As soon as these words were delivered, I saw my +doom in his looks, and he commanded me to quit his house +and service that instant.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” said Sandford, shaking his head, “I can do +nothing for you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir, you know you have more power over my Lord +than any body—and perhaps you may be able to save me +and all mine from misery.”</p> + +<p>“I would, if I could,” replied Sandford quickly.</p> + +<p>“You can but try, Sir.”</p> + +<p>Matilda was all this while bathed in tears; nor was Miss +Woodley much less affected—Lady Elmwood was before their +eyes—Matilda beheld her in her dying moments; Miss +Woodley saw her as the gay ward of Dorriforth.</p> + +<p>“Ask Mr. Rushbrook,” said Sandford, “prevail on him to +speak for you; he has more power than I have.”</p> + +<p>“He has not enough, then,” replied Edwards, “for he was +in the room with my Lord when what I have told you +happened.”</p> + +<p>“And did he say nothing?” asked Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir; he offered to speak in my behalf, but my Lord +interrupted him, and ordered him out of the room—he +instantly went.”</p> + +<p>Sandford, now observing the effect which this narration +had on the two ladies, led the man to his own apartments, +and there assured him he dared not undertake his cause; +but that if time or chance should happily make an alteration +in his Lord’s disposition, he would be the first who would +endeavour to replace him.—Edwards was obliged to submit; +and before 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.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="III_CHAPTER_XIV" id="III_CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<p>This melancholy incident, perhaps affected Matilda and +all the friends of the deceased Lady Elmwood, beyond any +other that had occurred since her death. A few days after +this circumstance, Miss Woodley, in order to divert the +disconsolate mind of Lady Matilda, (and in the hope of bringing +her some little anecdotes, to console her for that which +had given her so much pain) waited upon Lord Elmwood in +his library, and borrowed some books out of it. He was now +perfectly well from his fall, and received her with his usual +politeness, but, of course, not with that peculiar warmth +which he had discovered when he received her just after his +illness. Rushbrook was in the library at the same time; he +shewed her several beautiful prints which Lord Elmwood +had just received from London, and appeared anxious to +entertain and give tokens of his esteem and respect for her. +But what gave her pleasure beyond any other attention, was, +that after she had taken (by the aid of Rushbrook) about a dozen +volumes from different shelves, and had laid them together, +saying she would send her servant to fetch them; Lord +Elmwood went eagerly to the place where they were, and +taking up each book, examined minutely what it was. One +author he complained was too light, another too depressing, +and put them on the shelves again: another was erroneous, +and he changed it for a better: thus, he warned her against +some, and selected other authors, as the most cautious preceptor +culls for his pupil, or a fond father for his darling +Child. She thanked him for his attention to her, but her +heart thanked him for his attention to his daughter. For +as she had herself never received such a proof of his care since +all their long acquaintance, she reasonably supposed, Matilda’s +reading, and not hers, was the object of his solicitude.</p> + +<p>Having in these books store of comfort for poor Matilda, +she eagerly returned with them; and in reciting every +particular circumstance, made her consider the volumes, +almost like presents from her father.</p> + +<p>The month of September was now arrived; and Lord +Elmwood, accompanied by Rushbrook, went to a small +shooting seat, near twenty miles distant from Elmwood +Castle, for a week’s particular sport. Matilda was once more +at large; and one beautiful morning, about eleven o’clock, +seeing Miss Woodley walking on the lawn before the house, +she hastily took her hat to join her; and not waiting to put +it on, went nimbly down the great staircase, with it hanging +on her arm. When she had descended a few stairs, she heard +a footstep walking slowly up; and, (from what emotion she +could not tell,) she stopped short, half resolved to turn back. +She hesitated a single instant whether she should or not—then +went a few steps further till she came to the second landing +place; when, by the sudden winding of the staircase,—Lord +Elmwood was immediately before her!</p> + +<p>She had felt something like affright before she saw him; +but her reason told her she had nothing to fear, as he was +away. But now, the appearance of a stranger whom she had +never before seen; the authority in his looks, as well as in +the sound of his steps; a resemblance to the portrait she +had been shown of him; a start of astonishment which he +gave on beholding her; but above all—her <i>fears</i> confirmed +her that it was him. She gave a scream of terror—put out +her trembling hands to catch the balustrades for support—missed +them—and fell motionless into her father’s arms.</p> + +<p>He caught her, as by the same impulse, he would have +caught any other person falling for want of aid. Yet when +he found her in his arms, he still held her there—gazed on +her attentively—and once pressed her to his bosom.</p> + +<p>At length trying to escape the snare into which he had +been led, he was going to leave her on the spot where she +fell, when her eyes opened and she uttered, “Save me.” +Her voice unmanned him. His long-restrained tears now +burst forth—and seeing her relapsing into the swoon, he +cried out eagerly to recall her. Her name did not, however, +come to his recollection—nor any name but this—“Miss +Milner—Dear Miss Milner.”</p> + +<p>That sound did not awaken her; and now again he wished +to leave her in this senseless state, that not remembering what +had passed, she might escape the punishment.</p> + +<p>But at this instant, Giffard, with another servant, passed +by the foot of the stairs: on which, Lord Elmwood called +to them—and into Giffard’s hands delivered his apparently +dead child; without one command respecting her, or one +word of any kind; while his face was agitated with shame, +with pity, with anger, with paternal tenderness.</p> + +<p>As Giffard stood trembling, while he relieved his Lord +from this hapless burthen, 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 he trembled—faltered—then +bade Giffard do it.</p> + +<p>“Who, I, my Lord! I separate you!” cried he. But +recollecting himself, “My Lord, I will obey your commands +whatever they are.” And seizing her hand, pulled it with +violence—it fell—and her father went away.</p> + +<p>Matilda was carried to her own apartments, laid upon the +bed, and Miss Woodley hasted to attend her, after listening +to the recital of what had passed.</p> + +<p>When Lady Elmwood’s old and affectionate friend entered +the room, and saw her youthful charge lying pale and speechless, +yet no father by to comfort or sooth her, she lifted up +her hands to Heaven exclaiming, with a burst of tears, “And +is this the end of thee, my poor child? Is this the end of all +our hopes?—of thy own fearful hopes—and of thy mother’s +supplications! Oh! Lord Elmwood! Lord Elmwood!”</p> + +<p>At that name Matilda started, and cried, “Where is he? +Is it a dream, or have I seen him?”</p> + +<p>“It is all a dream, my dear,” said Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“And yet I thought he held me in his arms,” she replied—“I +thought I felt his hands press mine.—Let me sleep and +dream again.”</p> + +<p>Now thinking it best to undeceive her, “It is no dream, +my dear,” returned Miss Woodley.</p> + +<p>“Is it not?” cried she, starting up and leaning on her +elbow—“Then I suppose I must go away—go for ever +away.”</p> + +<p>Sandford now entered. Having been told the news, he +came to condole—but at the sight of him Matilda was +terrified, and cried, “Do not reproach me, do not upbraid +me—I know I have done wrong—I know I had but one +command from my father, and that I have disobeyed.”</p> + +<p>Sandford could not reproach her, for he could not speak; +he therefore only walked to the window and concealed his +tears.</p> + +<p>That whole day and night was passed in sympathetic grief, +in alarm at every sound, lest it should be a messenger to pronounce +Matilda’s destiny.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood did not stay upon this visit above three +hours at Elmwood House; he then set off again for the seat +he had left; where Rushbrook still remained, and from +whence his Lordship had merely come by accident, to look +over some writings which he wanted dispatched to town.</p> + +<p>During his short continuance here, Sandford cautiously +avoided his presence; for he thought, in a case like this, what +nature would not of herself effect, no art, no arguments of +his, could accomplish: to Nature and Providence he left +the whole. What these two powerful principles brought +about, the reader will judge, when he peruses the following +letter, received early the next morning by Miss Woodley.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A<br /> +SIMPLE STORY,</h2> + +<h3>IN FOUR VOLUMES,</h3> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>MRS. INCHBALD.</h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>VOL. IV.</h2> + +<h4><i>THE FOURTH EDITION.</i></h4> + +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br /> +Printed for G. G. and J. ROBINSON,<br /> +PATERNOSTER ROW.<br /> +1799. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>A SIMPLE STORY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_I" id="IV_CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A letter from Giffard, Lord Elmwood’s House Steward, +to Miss Woodley.</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Madam</span>,</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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,</p> + +<span style="margin-left: 22em;" class="smcap">“Robert Giffard.</span><br /> +“Elmwood House,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“Sept. 12.”</span> +</div> + +<p>When this letter was brought to Miss Woodley, she knew +what it contained before she opened it, and therefore took +it with an air of resignation—yet though she guessed the +momentous part of its contents, she dreaded in what words +it might be related; and having now no essential good to +expect, hope, that will never totally expire, clung at this +crisis to little circumstances, and she hoped most fervently, +the terms of the letter might not be harsh, but that Lord +Elmwood had delivered his commands in gentle language. +The event proved he had; and lost to every important +comfort, she felt grateful to him for this small one.</p> + +<p>Matilda, too, was cheered by this letter, for she expected +something worse; and the last line, in which Giffard said he +knew “His Lordship loved her,” she thought repaid her for +the purport of the other part.</p> + +<p>Sandford was not so easily resigned or comforted—he +walked about the room 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 all his +endeavours, and he sunk into grief.</p> + +<p>Nor was the fortitude of Matilda, which came to her +assistance on the first onset of this trial, sufficient to arm her, +when the moment came she was to quit the house—her +father’s house—never to see that, or him again.</p> + +<p>When word was brought that the carriage was at the door, +which was to convey her from all she held so dear, and she +saw before her the prospect of a long youthful and healthful +life, in which misery and despair were all she could discern; +that despair seized her at once, and gaining courage from +it, she cried,</p> + +<p>“What have I to fear if I disobey my father’s commands +once more?—he cannot use me worse. I’ll stay here till he +returns—again throw myself in his way, and then I will not +faint, but plead for mercy. Perhaps were I to kneel to him—kneel, +like other children to their parents, and beg his blessing, +he would not refuse it me.”</p> + +<p>“You must not try:” said Sandford, mildly.</p> + +<p>“Who,” cried she, “shall prevent me flying to my father? +Have I another friend on earth? Have I one relation in the +world but him? This is the second time I have been turned +out of his house. In my infant state my cruel father turned +me out; but then, he sent me to a mother—now I have +none; and I will stay with him.”</p> + +<p>Again the steward sent to let them know the coach was +waiting.</p> + +<p>Sandford, now, with a determined countenance, went +coolly up to Lady Matilda, and taking her hand, seemed +resolved to lead her to the carriage.</p> + +<p>Accustomed to be awed by every serious look of his, she +yet resisted this; and cried, “Would <i>you</i> be the minister of +my father’s cruelty?”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Sandford solemnly to her, “farewell—from +this moment you and I part. I will take my leave, and do +you remain where you are—at least till you are forced away. +But I’ll not stay to be driven hence—for it is impossible +your father will suffer any friend of yours to continue here, +after this disobedience. Adieu.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go this moment,” said she, and rose hastily.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley took her at her word, and hurried her +immediately out of the room.</p> + +<p>Sandford followed slow behind, as if he had followed at +her funeral.</p> + +<p>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 he held me in his arms,” +said she, “and I thought I felt him press me to his heart, +but I now find I was mistaken.”</p> + +<p>As Sandford came forward, to hand her into the coach, +“Now you behave well;” said he, “by this behaviour, you +do not entirely close all prospect of reconciliation with your +father.”</p> + +<p>“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 might yet be brought to forgive +me?”</p> + +<p>“Forgive you!” cried Sandford.</p> + +<p>“Suppose I was to write to him, and entreat his forgiveness?”</p> + +<p>“Do not write yet,” said Sandford, with no cheering +accent.</p> + +<p>The carriage drove off—and as it went, Matilda leaned +her head from the window, to survey Elmwood House from +the roof to the bottom. She cast her eyes upon the gardens +too—upon the fish ponds—even the coach houses, and all the +offices adjoining—which, as objects that she should never +see again—she contemplated, as objects of importance.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_II" id="IV_CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>Rushbrook, who, at twenty miles distance, could have no +conjecture what had passed at Elmwood House, during the +short visit Lord Elmwood made there, went that way with +his dogs and gun in order to meet him on his return, and +accompany him in the chaise back—he did so—and getting +into the 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 some time did not perceive but +that his uncle was perfectly attentive. At length, observing +he answered more negligently than usual to what he said, +Rushbrook turned his eyes quickly upon him, and cried,</p> + +<p>“My Lord, are you not well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; perfectly well, I thank you, Rushbrook,” and he +leaned back against the carriage.</p> + +<p>“I thought, Sir,” returned Rushbrook, “you spoke +languidly—I beg your pardon.”</p> + +<p>“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 most heavy sigh; which no sooner had +escaped him, than, to drown its sound, he said briskly,</p> + +<p>“And so you tell me you have had good sport to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord, I said but indifferent.”</p> + +<p>“True, so you did. Bid the man drive faster—it will be +dark before we get home.”</p> + +<p>“You will shoot to-morrow, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>“How does Mr. Sandford do, Sir?”</p> + +<p>“I did not see him.”</p> + +<p>“Not see Mr. Sandford, My Lord? but he was out +I suppose—for they did not expect you at Elmwood House.”</p> + +<p>“No, they did not.”</p> + +<p>In such conversation Rushbrook and his uncle continued +to the end of their journey. Dinner was then immediately +served, and Lord Elmwood appeared much in his usual +spirits; at least, not suspecting any cause for their abatement, +Rushbrook did not observe any alteration.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood went, however, earlier to bed than ordinary, +or rather to his bed-chamber; for though he retired some +time before his nephew, when Rushbrook passed his chamber +door it was open, and he not in bed, but sitting in a musing +posture, as if he had forgot to shut it.</p> + +<p>When Rushbrook’s valet came to attend his master, he +said to him,</p> + +<p>“I suppose, Sir, you do not know what has happened at +the Castle?”</p> + +<p>“For heaven’s sake what?” cried Rushbrook.</p> + +<p>“My Lord has met Lady Matilda:” replied the man.</p> + +<p>“How? Where? What’s the consequence?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t know yet, Sir; but all the servants suppose +her Ladyship will not be suffered to remain there any +longer.”</p> + +<p>“They all suppose wrong,” returned Rushbrook hastily—“My +Lord loves her I am certain, and this event may be +the happy means of his treating her as his child from this +day.”</p> + +<p>The servant smiled and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Why, what more do you know?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more than I have told you, Sir; except that +his Lordship took no kind of notice of her Ladyship that +appeared like love.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook was all uneasiness and anxiety to know the +particulars of what had passed; and now Lord Elmwood’s +inquietude, which he had but slightly noticed before, came +full to his observation. He was going to ask more questions; +but he recollected Lady Matilda’s misfortunes were too +sacred, to be talked of thus familiarly by the servants of the +family;—besides, it was evident this man thought, and but +naturally, it might not be for his master’s interest the father +and the daughter should be united; and therefore would +certainly give to all he said the opposite colouring.</p> + +<p>In spite of his prudence, however, and his delicacy towards +Matilda, Rushbrook could not let his valet leave him till he +had inquired, and learned all the circumstantial account of +what had happened; except, indeed, the order received by +Giffard, which being given after Lord Elmwood was in his +carriage and in concise terms, the domestics who attended +him (and from whom this man had gained his intelligence) +were unacquainted with it.</p> + +<p>When the servant had left Rushbrook alone, the perturbation +of his mind was 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 that compassion upon his +daughter, which he feared he had denied her. But then, to +what peril would he not expose himself by such a step? +Nay, he might perhaps even injure her whom he wished to +serve; for if his uncle was at present unresolved, whether to +forgive or to resent this disobedience to his commands, +another’s interference might enrage, and precipitate him on +the latter.</p> + +<p>This consideration was so weighty, it resigned Rushbrook +to the suspense he was compelled to endure till the morning; +when he flattered himself, that by watching every look and +motion of Lord Elmwood, his penetration would be able to +discover the state of his heart, and how he meant to act.</p> + +<p>But the morning came, and he found all his prying curiosity +was of no avail; Lord Elmwood did not drop one word, +give one look, or use one action that was not customary.</p> + +<p>On first seeing him, Rushbrook blushed at the secret with +which he was entrusted; then, as he gazed on the Earl, contemplated +the joy he ought to have known in clasping in +his arms a child like Matilda, whose tenderness, reverence, +and duty, had deprived her of all sensation at his sight; +which was in Rushbrook’s mind an honour, that rendered +him superior to what he was before.</p> + +<p>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 from his nephew, Rushbrook crossed +over a stile into another field, and found him sitting by the +side of a bank, his gun lying by him, and himself lost in +thought. He rose on seeing him, and proceeded to the sport +as before.</p> + +<p>At dinner, he said he should not go to Elmwood House +the next day, as he had appointed, but stay where he was, +three or four days longer. From these two small occurrences, +Rushbrook would fain have extracted something 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; and as to his prolonging his stay, that might arise +from the sport—or, indeed, had any thing more material +swayed him, who could penetrate whether it was the effect +of the lenity, or the severity, he had dealt towards his child? +whether his continuance there was to shun her, or to shun +the house from whence he had banished her?</p> + +<p>The three or four days for their temporary abode being +passed, they both returned together to Elmwood House. +Rushbrook thought he saw his uncle’s countenance change +as they entered the avenue, yet he did not appear less in +spirits; and when Sandford joined them at dinner, the Earl +went with his usual alacrity to him, and (as was his custom +after any separation) put out his hand cheerfully to take his. +Sandford said, “How do you do, my Lord?” cheerfully in +return; but put both his hands into his bosom, and walked +to the other side of the room. Lord Elmwood did not seem +to observe this affront—nor was it done as an affront—it +was merely what poor Sandford felt; and he felt he could +<i>not</i> shake hands with him.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook soon learned the news that Matilda was gone, +and Elmwood House was to him a desert—he saw there no +real friend of her’s, except poor Sandford, and to him, Rushbrook +knew himself now, more displeasing than ever; and +all his overtures of atonement, he, at this time, found more +and more ineffectual. Matilda was exiled; and her supposed +triumphant rival was, to Sandford, more odious than he had +ever been.</p> + +<p>In alleviation of their banishment, Miss Woodley, with +her charge, had not returned to their old retreat; but were +gone to a farm house, not farther than thirty miles from +Lord Elmwood’s: here Sandford, with little inconvenience, +visited them; nor did his patron ever take notice of his +occasional absence; for as he had before given his daughter, +in some measure, to his charge; so honour, delicacy, and the +common ties of duty, made him approve, rather than condemn +his attention to her.</p> + +<p>Though Sandford’s frequent visits soothed Matilda, they +could not comfort her; for he had no consolation to bestow +that was suited to her mind—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,</p> + +<p>“If Miss Woodley had left the house?”</p> + +<p>The steward guessing the whole of his meaning, answered, +“Yes, my Lord; and <i>all</i> your commands in that respect +have been obeyed.”</p> + +<p>He replied, “I am satisfied.” And, to the grief of the old +man, appeared really so.</p> + +<p>To the farm-house, the place of Matilda’s residence, there +came, besides Sandford, another visitor far less welcome—Viscount +Margrave. He had heard with surprise, and still +greater joy, that Lord Elmwood had once more shut his doors +against his daughter. In this her discarded state, he no +longer burthened his lively imagination with the dull thoughts +of marriage, but once more formed the idea of making her +his mistress.</p> + +<p>Ignorant of a certain decorum which attended all Lord +Elmwood’s actions, he suspected that his child might be in +want; and an acquaintance with the worst part of her sex +informed him, that relief from poverty was the sure bargain +for his success. With these hopes, he again paid Miss Woodley +and her a visit; but the coldness of the former, and the +haughtiness of the latter, still kept him at a distance, and +again made him fear to give one allusion to his purpose: but +he returned home resolved to write what he durst not speak—he +did so—he offered his services, his purse, his house—they +were rejected with contempt, and a stronger prohibition +than ever given to his visits.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_III" id="IV_CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p>Lord Elmwood had now allowed Rushbrook a long +vacation, in respect to his answer upon the subject of +marriage; and the young man vainly imagined, his intentions +upon that subject were entirely given up. One morning, +however, as he was attending him in the library,</p> + +<p>“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 time previous to your +illness?”</p> + +<p>Henry hesitated—for he wished to have forgotten it—but +it was too strongly impressed upon his memory. Lord Elmwood +resumed,</p> + +<p>“What! equivocating again, Sir? Do you remember it, +or do you not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my Lord, I do.”</p> + +<p>“And are you prepared to give me an answer?”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook paused again.</p> + +<p>“In our former conversation,” continued the Earl, “I gave +you but a week to determine—there has, I think, elapsed +since that time, half a year.”</p> + +<p>“About as much, Sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then surely you have now made up your mind?”</p> + +<p>“I had done that at first, my Lord—if it had met with +your concurrence.”</p> + +<p>“You wished to lead a bachelor’s life, I think you said?”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook bowed.</p> + +<p>“Contrary to my will?”</p> + +<p>“No, my Lord, I wished to have your approbation.”</p> + +<p>“And you wished for my approbation of the very opposite +thing to that I proposed? But I am not surprised—such is +the gratitude of the world—and such is yours.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, if you doubt my gratitude——”</p> + +<p>“Give me a proof of it, Harry, and I will doubt no longer.”</p> + +<p>“Upon every other subject but this, my Lord, Heaven +is my witness your happiness——”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood interrupted him. “I understand you—upon +every other subject, but the only one, my content +requires, you are ready to obey me. I thank you.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, do not torture me with this suspicion; it is +so contrary to my deserts, that I cannot bear it.”</p> + +<p>“Suspicion of your ingratitude!—you judge too favourably +of my opinion—it amounts to certainty.”</p> + +<p>“Then to convince you, Sir, I am not ungrateful, tell me +who the Lady is you have chosen for me, and here I give +you my word, I will sacrifice all my future prospects of +happiness—all, for which I would wish to live—and become +her husband as soon as you shall appoint.”</p> + +<p>This was spoken with a tone so expressive of despair, that +Lord Elmwood replied,</p> + +<p>“And while you obey me, you take care to let me know, +it will cost you your future peace. This is, I suppose, to +enhance the merit of the obligation—but I shall not accept +your acquiescence on these terms.”</p> + +<p>“Then in dispensing with it, I hope for your pardon.”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose, Rushbrook, I can pardon an offence, +the sole foundation of which, arises from a spirit of disobedience?—for +you have declared to me your affections are +disengaged. In our last conversation did you not say so?”</p> + +<p>“At first I did, my Lord—but you permitted me to consult +my heart more closely; and I have since found that +I was mistaken.”</p> + +<p>“You then own you at first told me a falsehood, and yet +have all this time, kept me in suspense without confessing it.”</p> + +<p>“I waited, my Lord, till you should enquire——”</p> + +<p>“You have then, Sir, waited too long;” and the fire +flashed from his eyes.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook now found himself in that perilous state, that +admitted of no medium of resentment, but by such dastardly +conduct on his part, as would wound both his truth and +courage; and thus, animated by his danger, he was resolved +to plunge boldly at once into the depth of his patron’s anger.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said he, (but he did not undertake this task +without sustaining the trembling and convulsion of his whole +frame) “My Lord—waving for a moment the subject of my +marriage—permit me to remind you, that when I was upon +my sick bed, you promised, that on my recovery, you would +listen to a petition I should offer to you.”</p> + +<p>“Let me recollect,” replied he. “Yes—I do remember +something of it. But I said nothing to warrant any improper +petition.”</p> + +<p>“Its impropriety was not named, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>“No matter—that, you must judge of, and answer for the +consequences.”</p> + +<p>“I would answer with my life, willingly—but I own that +I shrink from your anger.”</p> + +<p>“Then do not provoke it.”</p> + +<p>“I have already gone too far to recede—and you would +of course demand an explanation, if I attempted to stop +here.”</p> + +<p>“I should.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I will, Sir,” replied he, prepared to hear something that +would displease him, and yet determined to hear with +patience to the conclusion.</p> + +<p>“Then, my Lord,”—(cried Rushbrook, in the greatest +agitation of mind and body) “Your daughter”——</p> + +<p>The resolution Lord Elmwood had taken (and on which +he had given his word to his nephew not to interrupt him) +immediately gave way. The colour rose in his face—his eye +darted lightning—and his hand was lifted up with the +emotion, that word had created.</p> + +<p>“You promised to hear me, my Lord!” cried Rushbrook, +“and I claim your promise.”</p> + +<p>He now suddenly overcame his violence of passion, and +stood silent and resigned to hear him; but with a determined +look, expressive of the vengeance that should ensue.</p> + +<p>“Lady Matilda,” resumed Rushbrook, “is an object that +wrests from me the enjoyment of every blessing your kindness +bestows. I cannot but feel myself as her adversary—as one, +who has supplanted her in your affections—who supplies her +place, while she is exiled, a wanderer, and an orphan.”</p> + +<p>The Earl took his eyes from Rushbrook, during this last +sentence, and cast them on the floor.</p> + +<p>“If I feel gratitude towards you, my Lord,” continued he, +“gratitude is innate in my heart, and I must also feel it +towards her, who first introduced me to your protection.”</p> + +<p>Again the colour flew to Lord Elmwood’s face; and again +he could hardly restrain himself from uttering his indignation.</p> + +<p>“It was the mother of Lady Matilda,” continued Rushbrook, +“who was this friend to me; nor will I ever think of +marriage, or any other joyful prospect, while you abandon +the only child of my beloved patroness, and load me with +rights, which belong to her.”</p> + +<p>Here Rushbrook stopped—Lord Elmwood was silent too, +for near half a minute; but still his countenance continued +fixed, with his unvaried resolves.</p> + +<p>After this long pause, the Earl said with composure, but +with firmness, “Have you finished, Mr. Rushbrook?”</p> + +<p>“All that I dare to utter, my Lord; and I fear, I have +already said too much.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook now trembled more than ever, and looked pale +as death; for the ardour of speaking being over, he waited +his sentence, with less constancy of mind than he expected +he should.</p> + +<p>“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 my acquaintance, you are the only +one who has dared to insult me with your opinion. And this +you have not done inadvertently; but willingly, and deliberately. +But as it has been my fate to be used ill, and severed +from all those persons to whom my soul has been most +attached; with less regret I can part from you, than if this +were my first trial.”</p> + +<p>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 insufferable liberty; void of respect +for those corroding sorrows which had imbittered so many +years of his life, and in open violation of his most peremptory +commands. He felt that he deserved all he was going to +suffer, and he fell upon his knees; not so much to deprecate +the doom he saw impending, as thus humbly to acknowledge, +it was his due.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood, irritated by this posture, as a sign of the +presumptuous hope that he might be forgiven, suffered now +his anger to burst all bounds; and raising his voice, he +exclaimed in a rage,</p> + +<p>“Leave my house, Sir. Leave my house instantly, and +seek some other home.”</p> + +<p>Just as these words were begun, Sandford opened the +library door, was witness to them, and to the imploring +situation of Rushbrook. He stood silent with amazement!</p> + +<p>Rushbrook arose, and feeling in his mind a presage, that +he might never from that hour, behold his benefactor more; +as he bowed in token of obedience to his commands, a shower +of tears covered his face; but Lord Elmwood, unmoved, +fixed his eyes upon him, which pursued him with enraged +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 said to Lord Elmwood, “My Lord, what’s the +matter?”</p> + +<p>“That ungrateful villain,” cried he, “has dared to insult +me.—Leave my house this moment, Sir.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook made an effort to go, but Sandford still held +his hand; and meekly said to Lord Elmwood,</p> + +<p>“He is but a boy, my Lord, and do not give him the +punishment of a man.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook now snatched his hand from Sandford’s, and +threw it with himself upon his neck; where he indeed +sobbed like a boy.</p> + +<p>“You are both in league,” exclaimed Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“Do you suspect me of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook?” said +Sandford, advancing nearer to the Earl.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook had now gained the point of remaining in the +room; but the hope that privilege inspired (while he still +harboured all the just apprehensions for his fate) gave birth, +perhaps, to a more exquisite sensation of pain, than despair +would have done. He stood silent—confounded—hoping +that he was forgiven—fearing that he was not.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“You now then only interfere to provoke me.”</p> + +<p>“If that were the case,” returned Sandford, “there have +been occasions, when I might have done it more effectually—when +my own heart-strings were breaking, because I would +not provoke, or add to what you suffered.”</p> + +<p>“I am obliged to you, Mr. Sandford:” he returned, mildly.</p> + +<p>“And if, my Lord, I have proved any merit in a late forbearance, +reward me for it now; and take this young man +from the depth of despair in which I see he is sunk, and say +you pardon him.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood made no answer—and Rushbrook, drawing +strong inferences of hope from his silence, lifted up his eyes +from the ground, and ventured to look in his face: he found +it composed to what it had been, but still strongly marked +with agitation. He cast his eyes away again, in confusion.</p> + +<p>On which his uncle said to him—“I shall postpone executing +your obedience to my late orders, till you think fit once +more to provoke them—and then, not even Sandford, shall +dare to plead your excuse.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook bowed.</p> + +<p>“Go, leave the room, Sir.”</p> + +<p>He instantly obeyed.</p> + +<p>Then Sandford, turning to Lord Elmwood, shook him by +the hand, and cried, “My Lord, I thank you—I thank you +very kindly, my Lord—I shall now begin to think I have +some weight with you.”</p> + +<p>“You might indeed think so, did you know how much +I have pardoned.”</p> + +<p>“What was his offence, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>“Such as I would not have forgiven you, or any earthly +being besides himself—but while you were speaking in his +behalf, I recollected there was a gratitude so extraordinary +in the hazards he ran, that almost made him pardonable.”</p> + +<p>“I guess the subject then,” cried Sandford; and yet +I could not have supposed”——</p> + +<p>“It is a subject we cannot speak on, Sandford, therefore +let us drop it.”</p> + +<p>At these words the discourse concluded.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_IV" id="IV_CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p>To the relief of Rushbrook, Lord Elmwood that day dined +from home, and he had not the confusion to see him again +till the evening. Previous to this, 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 in his perfectly cool, and dispassionate senses; +and notwithstanding the real tenderness which he bore to +the daughter of his benefactor, he was not insensible to the +comfort of finding himself, once more in the possession of all +those enjoyments he had forfeited, and for a moment lost.</p> + +<p>As he reflected on this, to Sandford he felt the first tie of +acknowledgement—but for his compassion, he knew he should +have been at that very time of their meeting at dinner, away +from Elmwood House for ever; and bearing on his mind +a still more painful recollection, the burthen of his kind +patron’s continual displeasure. Filled with these thoughts, +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.</p> + +<p>Sandford, on his part, behaved just the same as ever; and +to show he did not wish to remind Rushbrook of what he had +done, he was just as uncivil as ever.</p> + +<p>Among other things, he said, “He did not know Lord +Elmwood dined from home, for if he had, he should have +dined in his own apartment.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook was still more obliged to him for all this; and +the weight of obligations with which he was oppressed, +made him long for an opportunity to relieve himself by +expressions. As soon, therefore, as the servants were all +withdrawn, he began:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Sandford, whatever has been your opinion of <i>me</i>, +I take pride to myself, that in my sentiments towards <i>you</i>, +I have always distinguished you for that humane, disinterested +character, you have this day proved.”</p> + +<p>“Humane, and disinterested,” replied Sandford, “are +flattering epithets indeed, for an old man going out of the +world, and who can have no temptation to be otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“Then suffer me to call your actions generous and compassionate, +for they have saved me——”</p> + +<p>“I know, young man,” cried Sandford, interrupting him, +“you are glad at what I have done, and that you find a gratification +in telling me you are; but it is a gratification I will +not indulge you with—therefore, say another sentence on +the subject, and” (rising from his seat) “I’ll leave the room, +and never come into your company again, whatever your +uncle may say to it.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook saw by the solemnity of his countenance, he +was serious, and positively assured him he would never thank +him more: on which Sandford took his seat again, but he +still frowned, and it was many minutes before he conquered +his ill humour. As his countenance became less sour, Rushbrook +fell from some general topics he had eagerly started +in order to appease him, and said,</p> + +<p>“How hard is it to restrain conversation from the subject +of our thoughts; and yet amidst our dearest friends, and +among persons who have the same dispositions and sentiments +as our own, their minds, too, fixed upon the self-same objects, +is this constraint practised—and thus, society, which was +meant for one of our greatest blessings, becomes insipid, nay, +often more wearisome than solitude.”</p> + +<p>“I think, young man,” replied Sandford, “you have made +pretty free with your speech to-day, and ought not to complain +of the want of toleration on that score.”</p> + +<p>“I do complain;” replied Rushbrook, “for if toleration +was more frequent, the favour of obtaining it would be less.”</p> + +<p>“And your pride, I suppose, is above receiving a favour.”</p> + +<p>“Never from those I esteem; and to convince you of it, +I wish this moment to request a favour of you.”</p> + +<p>“I dare say I shall refuse it. However what is it?”</p> + +<p>“Permit me to speak to you upon the subject of Lady +Matilda?”</p> + +<p>Sandford made no answer, consequently did not forbid +him—and he proceeded.</p> + +<p>“For her sake—as I suppose Lord Elmwood may have +told you—I this morning rashly threw myself into the predicament +from whence you released me—for her sake, I have +suffered much—for her sake I have hazarded a great deal, +and am still ready to hazard more.”</p> + +<p>“But for your own sake, do not,” returned Sandford, +drily.</p> + +<p>“You may laugh at these sentiments as romantic, Mr. Sandford, +but if they are, to me they are nevertheless natural.”</p> + +<p>“But of what service are they to be either to her, or to +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“To me they are painful, and to her would be but impertinent, +were she to know them.”</p> + +<p>“I shan’t inform her of them, so do not trouble yourself +to caution me against it.”</p> + +<p>“I was not going—you know I was not—but I was going +to say, that from no one so well as from you, could she be told +my sentiments, without the danger of receiving offence.”</p> + +<p>“And what impression do you wish to give her, from her +becoming acquainted with them?”</p> + +<p>“The impression, that she has one sincere friend: that +upon every occurrence in life, there is a heart so devoted +to all she feels, that she never can suffer without the sympathy +of another: or can ever command him, and all his fortunes +to unite for her welfare, without his ready, his immediate +compliance.”</p> + +<p>“And do you imagine, that any of your professions, or +any of her necessities, would ever prevail upon her to put +you to the trial?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not.”</p> + +<p>“What, then, are the motives which induce you to wish +her to be told of this?”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook paused.</p> + +<p>“Do you think,” continued Sandford, “the intelligence +will give her any satisfaction?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not.”</p> + +<p>“Will it be of any to yourself?”</p> + +<p>“The highest in the world.”</p> + +<p>“And so all you have been urging upon this occasion, is, +at last, only to please yourself.”</p> + +<p>“You wrong my meaning—it is her merit which inspires +me with the desire of being known to her—it is her sufferings, +her innocence, her beauty——”</p> + +<p>Sandford stared—Rushbrook proceeded: “It is her——”</p> + +<p>“Nay, stop where you are,” cried Sandford; “you are +arrived at the zenith of perfection in a woman, and to add +one qualification more, would be an anti-climax.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Rushbrook with warmth, “I loved her, +before I ever beheld her.”</p> + +<p>“Loved her!” cried Sandford, with astonishment, “You +are talking of what you did not intend.”</p> + +<p>“I am, indeed:” returned he in confusion, “I fell by +accident on the word love.”</p> + +<p>“And by the same accident stumbled on the word beauty; +and thus by accident, am I come to the truth of all your +professions.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook knew that he loved; and though his affection +had sprung from the most laudable motives, yet was he +ashamed of it, as of a vice—he rose, he walked about the +room, and he did not look Sandford in the face for a quarter +of an hour: Sandford, satisfied that he had judged rightly, +and yet unwilling to be too hard upon a passion, which he +readily believed must have had many noble virtues for its +foundation, now got up and went away, without saying +a word in censure, though not a word in approbation.</p> + +<p>It was in the month of October, and just dark, at the time +Rushbrook was left alone, yet in the agitation of his mind, +arising from the subject on which he had been talking, he +found it impossible to remain in the house, and therefore +walked into the fields; but there was another instigation, +more powerful than the necessity of walking—it was the +allurement of passing along that path where he had last seen +Lady Matilda, and where, for the only time, she had condescended +to speak to him divested of haughtiness; and with +a gentleness that dwelt upon his memory beyond all her other +endowments.</p> + +<p>Here, he retraced his own steps repeatedly, his whole +imagination engrossed with her idea, till the sound of her +father’s carriage returning from his visit, roused him from +the delusion of his trance, to the dread of the confusion and +embarrassment he should endure, on next meeting 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 +so lately offended.</p> + +<p>Loath to leave the spot where he was, as to enter the house, +he remained there, till he considered it would be ill manners, +in his present humiliated situation, not to show himself at +the usual supper hour, which was immediately.</p> + +<p>As he laid his hand upon the door of the apartment to +open it, he was sorry to hear by Lord Elmwood’s voice, he +was in the room before him; for there was something much +more conspicuously distressing, in entering where he already +was, than had his uncle come in after him. He found himself, +however, re-assured, by overhearing the Earl laugh and speak +in a tone expressive of the utmost good humour to Sandford, +who was with him.</p> + +<p>Yet again, he felt all the awkwardness of his own situation; +but making one courageous effort, opened the door and +entered. Lord Elmwood had been away half the day, had +dined abroad, and it was necessary to take some notice of +his return; Rushbrook, therefore, bowed humbly, and what +was more to his advantage, he looked humbly. His uncle +made a slight return to the salutation, but continued the +recital he had begun to Sandford; then sat down to the +supper table—supped—and passed the whole evening without +saying a syllable, or even casting a look, in remembrance +of what had passed in the morning. Or if there was any +token, that shewed he remembered the circumstance at all, +it was the putting his glass to his nephew’s, when Rushbrook +called for wine, and drinking at the time he did.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_V" id="IV_CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p>The repulse Lord Margrave received, did not diminish +the ardour of his pursuit; for as he was no longer afraid of +resentment from the Earl, whatever treatment his daughter +might receive, he was determined the anger of Lady Matilda, +or of her female friend, should not impede his pretensions.</p> + +<p>Having taken this resolution, he laid the plan of an open +violation of all right; and determined to bear away that +prize by force, which no art was likely to procure. He concerted +with two of his favourite companions, but their advice +was, “One struggle more of fair means.” This was totally +against his inclination; for, he had much rather have +encountered the piercing cries of a female in the last agonies +of distress, than the fatigue of her sentimental harangues, +or elegant reproofs, such as he had the sense to understand, +but not the capacity to answer.</p> + +<p>Stimulated, however, by his friends to one more trial, in +spite of the formal dismission he had twice received, he intruded +another visit on Lady Matilda at the Farm. Provoked +beyond bearing at such unfeeling assurance, Matilda +refused to come into the room where he was, and Miss Woodley +alone received him, and expressed her surprise at the little +attention he had paid to her explicit desire.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” replied the nobleman, “to be plain with you, +I am in love.”</p> + +<p>“I do not the least doubt it, my Lord,” replied Miss +Woodley: “nor ought you to doubt the truth of what +I advance, when I assure you, that you have not the smallest +reason to hope your love will be returned; for Lady Matilda +is resolved <i>never</i> to listen to your passion.”</p> + +<p>“That man,” he replied, “is to blame, who can relinquish +his hopes, upon the mere resolution of a lady.”</p> + +<p>“And that lady would be wrong,” replied Miss Woodley, +“who should entrust her happiness in the care of a man, +who can think thus meanly of her and of her sex.”</p> + +<p>“I think highly of them all,” he replied; “and to convince +you in how high an estimation I hold <i>her</i> in particular, my +whole fortune is at her command.”</p> + +<p>“Your entire absence from this house, my Lord, she would +consider as a much greater mark of your respect.”</p> + +<p>A long conversation, as uninteresting as this, ensued: the +unexpected arrival of Mr. Sandford, put an end to it. He +started at the sight of Lord Margrave; but the Viscount +was much more affected at the sight of him.</p> + +<p>“My Lord,” said Sandford boldly to him, “have you +received any encouragement from Lady Matilda to authorize +this visit?”</p> + +<p>“None, upon my honour, Mr. Sandford; but I hope you +know how to pardon a lover!”</p> + +<p>“A rational one I do—but you, my Lord, are not of that +class while you persecute the pretended object of your +affection.”</p> + +<p>“Do you call it persecution that I once offered her a share +of my title and fortune—and even now, declare my fortune +is at her disposal?”</p> + +<p>Sandford was uncertain whether he understood his meaning—but +Lord Margrave, provoked at his ill reception, +felt a triumph in removing his doubts, and proceeded +thus:</p> + +<p>“For the discarded daughter of Lord Elmwood, cannot +expect the same proposals, which I made, while she was +acknowledged, and under the protection of her father.”</p> + +<p>“What proposals then, my Lord?” asked Sandford +hastily.</p> + +<p>“Such,” replied he, “as the Duke of Avon made to her +mother.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley quitted the room that instant. But Sandford, +who never felt resentment but against those in whom +he saw some virtue, calmly replied,</p> + +<p>“My Lord, the Duke of Avon was a gentleman, a man of +elegance and breeding; and what have you to offer in +recompense for your defects in qualities like these?”</p> + +<p>“My wealth,” replied he, “opposed to her indigence.” +Sandford smiled, and answered,</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose <i>that</i> wealth can be esteemed, which has +not been able to make you respectable? What is it makes +wealth valuable? Is it the pleasures of the table? the +pleasure of living in a fine house? or of wearing fine cloaths? +These are pleasures, a Lord enjoys, but in common with his +valet. It is the pleasure of being conspicuous, which makes +riches desirable; but if we are conspicuous only for our vice +and folly, had we not better remain in poverty?”</p> + +<p>“You are beneath my notice.”</p> + +<p>“I trust I shall continue so—and that your Lordship will +never again condescend to come where I am.”</p> + +<p>“A man of rank condescends to mix with any society, +when a pretty woman is the object.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I have a book here in my pocket, which I am +eager to read; it is an author who speaks sense and reason—will +you pardon the impatience I feel for such company; and +permit me to call your carriage?”</p> + +<p>Saying this, he went hastily and beckoned to the coachman; +the carriage drove up, the door was opened, and Lord +Margrave, ashamed to be exposed before his attendants, and +convinced of the inutility of remaining any longer where he +was, departed.</p> + +<p>Sandford was soon joined by the ladies; and the conversation +falling, of course, upon the nobleman who had just +taken his leave, Sandford unwarily exclaimed, “I wish +Rushbrook had been here.”</p> + +<p>“Who?” cried Lady Matilda.</p> + +<p>“I do believe,” said Miss Woodley, “that young man +has some good qualities.”</p> + +<p>“A great many,” returned Sandford, mutteringly.</p> + +<p>“Happy young man!” cried Matilda: “he is beloved +by all those, whose affection it would be my choice to possess, +beyond any other blessing this world could bestow.”</p> + +<p>“And yet I question, if Rushbrook is happy,” said Sandford.</p> + +<p>“He cannot be otherwise,” returned Matilda, “if he is +a man of understanding.”</p> + +<p>“He does not want understanding neither,” replied +Sandford; “although he has certainly many indiscretions.”</p> + +<p>“But which Lord Elmwood, I suppose,” said Matilda, +“looks upon with tenderness.”</p> + +<p>“Not upon all his faults,” answered Sandford; “for +I have seen him in very dangerous circumstances with your +father.”</p> + +<p>“Have you indeed?” cried Matilda: “then I pity +him.”</p> + +<p>“And I believe,” said Miss Woodley, “that from his heart, +he compassionates you. Now, Mr. Sandford,” continued she, +“though this is the first time I ever heard you speak in his +favour, (and I once thought as indifferently of Mr. Rushbrook +as you can do) yet now I will venture to ask you, +whether you do not think he wishes Lady Matilda much +happier than she is?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard him say so,” answered Sandford.</p> + +<p>“It is a subject,” returned Lady Matilda, “which I did +not imagine you, Mr. Sandford, would have permitted him +to have mentioned lightly, in your presence.”</p> + +<p>“Lightly! Do you suppose, my dear, we turned your +situation into ridicule?”</p> + +<p>“No, Sir,—but there is a sort of humiliation in the grief +to which I am doomed, that ought surely to be treated with +the highest degree of delicacy by my friends.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know on what point you fix real delicacy; but +if it consists in sorrow, the young man gives a proof he +possesses it, for he shed tears when I last heard him mention +your name.”</p> + +<p>“I have more cause to weep at the mention of his.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so.—But let me tell you, Lady Matilda, that your +father might have preferred a more unworthy object.”</p> + +<p>“Still had he been to me,” she cried, “an object of envy. +And as I frankly confess my envy of Mr. Rushbrook, I hope +you will pardon my malice, which is, you know, but a consequent +crime.”</p> + +<p>The subject now turned again upon Lord Margrave; and +all of them being firmly persuaded, this last reception would +put an end to every further intrusion from him, they treated +his pretensions, and himself, with the contempt they inspired—but +not with the caution that was requisite.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_VI" id="IV_CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p>The next morning early, Mr. Sandford returned to Elmwood +House, but with his spirits depressed, and his heart +overcharged with sorrow. He had seen Lady Matilda, the +object of his visit, but he had beheld her considerably altered +in her looks and in her health; she was become very thin, +and instead of the vivid bloom that used to adorn her cheeks, +her whole complexion was of a deadly pale—her countenance +no longer expressed hope or fear, but a fixed melancholy—she +shed no tears, but was all sadness. He had beheld this, +and he had heard her insulted by the licentious proposals +of a nobleman, from whom there was no satisfaction to be +demanded, because she had no friend to vindicate her honour.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook, who suspected where Sandford was gone, and +imagined he would return 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 perilous situation with Lord +Elmwood, he was so fully convinced of the general philanthropy +of Sandford’s character, that in spite of his churlish +manners, he now addressed him, free from that reserve to +which his rough behaviour had formerly given birth. And +Sandford, on his part, believing he had formed an illiberal +opinion of Lord Elmwood’s heir, though he took no pains +to let him know that his opinion was changed, yet resolved +to make him restitution upon every occasion that offered.</p> + +<p>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 than by fear of the +rebuffs of his companion, he had not the courage to name her, +till the ride was just finished, and they came within a few +yards of the house—incited then by the apprehension, he +might not soon again enjoy so fit an opportunity, he said,</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Mr. Sandford, if I guess where you have +been, and if my curiosity forces me to inquire for Miss Woodley’s +and Lady Matilda’s health?”</p> + +<p>He named Miss Woodley first, to prolong the time before +he mentioned Matilda; for though to name her gave him +extreme pleasure, yet it was a pleasure accompanied by confusion +and pain.</p> + +<p>“They are both very well,” replied Sandford, “at least +they did not complain they were sick.”</p> + +<p>“They are not in spirits, I suppose?” said Rushbrook.</p> + +<p>“No, indeed:” replied Sandford, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>“No new misfortune has happened, I hope?” cried +Rushbrook; for it was plain to see Sandford’s spirits were +unusually cast down.</p> + +<p>“Nothing new,” returned he, “except the insolence of +a young nobleman.”</p> + +<p>“What nobleman?” cried Rushbrook.</p> + +<p>“A lover of Lady Matilda’s,” replied Sandford.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook was petrified. “Who? What lover, Mr. Sandford?—explain?”</p> + +<p>They were now arrived at the house; and Sandford, without +making any reply to this question, said to the servant +who took his horse, “She has come a long way this morning; +take care of her.”</p> + +<p>This interruption was torture to Rushbrook, who kept +close to his side, in order to obtain a further explanation; but +Sandford, without attending to him, walked negligently into +the hall, and before they advanced many steps, they were +met by Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>All further information was put an end to for the present.</p> + +<p>“How do you do, Sandford?” said Lord Elmwood with +extreme kindness; as if he thanked him for the journey +which, it was likely, he suspected he had been taking.</p> + +<p>“I am indifferently well, my Lord:” replied he, with +a face of deep concern, and a tear in his eye, partly in gratitude +for his patron’s civility, and partly in reproach for his +cruelty.</p> + +<p>It was not now till the evening, that Rushbrook had an +opportunity of renewing the conversation, which had been +so barbarously interrupted.</p> + +<p>In the evening, no longer able to support the suspense into +which he was thrown; without fear or shame, he followed +Sandford into his chamber at the time of his retiring, and +entreated of him, with all the anxiety he suffered, to explain +his allusion when he talked of a lover, and of insolence to +Lady Matilda.</p> + +<p>Sandford, seeing his emotion, was angry with himself that +he had inadvertently mentioned the subject; and putting on +an air of surly importance, desired,—if he had any business +with him, that he would call in the morning.</p> + +<p>Exasperated at so unexpected a reception, and at the pain +of his disappointment, Rushbrook replied, “He treated him +cruelly, nor would he stir out of his room, till he had received +a satisfactory answer to his question.”</p> + +<p>“Then bring your bed,” replied Sandford, “for you must +pass your whole night here.”</p> + +<p>He found it vain to think of obtaining any intelligence +by threats, he therefore said in a timid and persuasive +manner,</p> + +<p>“Did you, Mr. Sandford, hear Lady Matilda mention my +name?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Sandford, a little better reconciled to him.</p> + +<p>“Did you tell her what I lately declared to you?” he +asked with still more diffidence.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Sandford.</p> + +<p>“It is very well, Sir,” returned he, vexed to the heart—yet +again wishing to sooth him—</p> + +<p>“You certainly, Mr. Sandford, know what is for the best—yet +I entreat you will give me some further account of +the nobleman you named?”</p> + +<p>“I know what is for the best,” replied Sandford, “and +I won’t.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook bowed, and immediately left the room. He +went apparently submissive, but the moment he showed this +submission, he took the resolution of paying a visit himself +to the farm at which Lady Matilda resided; and of learning, +either from Miss Woodley, the people of the house, the +neighbours, or perhaps from Lady Matilda’s own lips, the +secret which the obstinacy of Sandford had with-held.</p> + +<p>He saw all the dangers of this undertaking, but none +appeared so great as the danger of losing her he loved, by +the influence of a rival—and though Sandford had named +“insolence,” he was in doubt whether what had appeared +so to him, was so in reality, or would be so considered by +her.</p> + +<p>To prevent the cause of his absence being suspected by +Lord Elmwood, he immediately called his groom, ordered +his horse, and giving those servants concerned, a strict charge +of secrecy, with some frivolous pretence to apologize for his +not being present at breakfast (resolving to be back by +dinner) he set off that night, and arrived at an inn about +a mile from the farm at break of day.</p> + +<p>The joy he felt when he found himself so near to the +beloved object of his journey, made him thank Sandford in +his heart, for the unkindness which had sent him thither. +But new difficulties arose, how to accomplish the end for +which he came; he learned from the people of the inn, that +a Lord, with a fine equipage, had visited at the farm, but who +he was, or for what purpose he went, no one could inform +him.</p> + +<p>Dreading to return with his doubts unsatisfied, and yet +afraid of proceeding to extremities that might be construed +into presumption, he walked disconsolately (almost distractedly) +about the fields, looking repeatedly at his watch, +and wishing the time would stand still, till he was ready to +go back with his errand compleated.</p> + +<p>Every field he passed, brought him nearer to the house +on which his imagination was fixed; but how, without +forfeiting every appearance of that respect which he so +powerfully felt, could he attempt to enter it?—he saw the +indecorum, resolved not to be guilty of it, and yet walked on +till he was within but a small orchard of the door. Could he +then retreat?—he wished he could; but he found that he +had proceeded too far to be any longer master of himself. +The time was urgent; he must either behold her, and +venture her displeasure, or by diffidence during one moment, +give up all his hopes perhaps for ever.</p> + +<p>With that same disregard to consequences, which actuated +him when he dared to supplicate Lord Elmwood in his +daughter’s behalf, he at length went eagerly to the door and +rapped.</p> + +<p>A servant came—he asked to “Speak with Miss Woodley, +if she was quite alone.”</p> + +<p>He was shown into an apartment, and Miss Woodley +entered to him.</p> + +<p>She started when she beheld who it was; but as he did not +see a frown upon her face, he caught hold of her hand, and +said persuasively,</p> + +<p>“Do not be offended with me. If I mean to offend you, +may I forfeit my life in atonement.”</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Woodley, glad in her solitude to see any one +from Elmwood House, forgot his visit was an offence, till he +put her in mind of it; she then said, with some reserve,</p> + +<p>“Tell me the purport of your coming, Sir, and perhaps +I may have no reason to complain?”</p> + +<p>“It was to see Lady Matilda,” he replied, “or to hear of +her health. It was to offer her my services—it was, Miss +Woodley, to convince her, if possible, of my esteem.”</p> + +<p>“Had you no other method, Sir?” said Miss Woodley, +with the same reserve.</p> + +<p>“None;” replied he, “or with joy I should have embraced +it; and if you can inform me of any other, tell me +I beseech you instantly, and I will immediately be gone, +and pursue your directions.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley hesitated.</p> + +<p>“You know of no other means, Miss Woodley,” he cried.</p> + +<p>“And yet I cannot commend this,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Nor do I. Do not imagine because you see me here, +that I approve my conduct; but reduced to this necessity, +pity the motives that have urged it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley did pity them; but as she would not own +that she did, she could think of nothing else to say.</p> + +<p>At this instant a bell rung from the chamber above.</p> + +<p>“That is Lady Matilda’s bell,” said Miss Woodley; “she +is coming to take a short walk. Do you wish to see her?”</p> + +<p>Though it was the first wish of his heart, he paused, and +said, “Will you plead my excuse?”</p> + +<p>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 that sentence ended.</p> + +<p>She had stepped beyond the door of the apartment, when +perceiving a visitor, she hastily withdrew.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook, animated, though trembling at her presence, +cried, “Lady Matilda, do not avoid me, till you know that +I deserve such a punishment.”</p> + +<p>She immediately saw who it was, and returned back with +a proper pride, and yet a proper politeness in her manner.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said she, “I did not know you; +I was afraid I intruded upon Miss Woodley and a stranger.”</p> + +<p>“You do not then consider me as a stranger, Lady Matilda? +and that you do not, requires my warmest acknowledgements.”</p> + +<p>She sat down, as if overcome by ill spirits and ill health.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley now asked Rushbrook to sit—for till now +she had not.</p> + +<p>“No, Madam,” replied he, with confusion, “not unless +Lady Matilda gives me permission.”</p> + +<p>She smiled, and pointed to a chair—and all the kindness +which Rushbrook during his whole life had received from +Lord Elmwood, never inspired half the gratitude, which +this one instance of civility from his daughter excited.</p> + +<p>He sat down, with the confession of the obligation upon +every feature of his face.</p> + +<p>“I am not well, Mr. Rushbrook,” said Matilda, languidly; +“and you must excuse any want of etiquette at this house.”</p> + +<p>“While you excuse me, Madam, what can I have to complain +of?”</p> + +<p>She appeared absent while he was speaking, and turning +to Miss Woodley, said, “Do you think I had better walk +to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear,” answered Miss Woodley; “the ground +is damp, and the air cold.”</p> + +<p>“You are not well, indeed, Lady Matilda,” said Rushbrook, +gazing upon her with the most tender respect.</p> + +<p>She shook her head; and the tears, without any effort +either to impel or to restrain them, ran down her face.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook rose from his seat, and with an accent and +manner the most expressive, said, “We are cousins, Lady +Matilda—in our infancy we were brought up together—we +were beloved by the same mother—fostered by the same +father”——</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried she, interrupting him, with a tone which +indicated the bitterest anguish.</p> + +<p>“Nay, do not let me add to your uneasiness,” he resumed, +“while I am attempting to alleviate it. Instruct me what +I can do to show my esteem and respect, rather than permit +me thus unguided, to rush upon what you may construe into +insult and arrogance.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley went to Matilda, took her hand, then wiped +the tears from her eyes, while Matilda reclined against her, +entirely regardless of Rushbrook’s presence.</p> + +<p>“If I have been in the least instrumental to this sorrow,”—said +Rushbrook, with a face as much agitated as his mind.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Miss Woodley, in a low voice, “you have not—she +is often thus.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Matilda, raising her head, “I am frequently +so weak that I cannot resist the smallest incitement to grief. +But do not make your visit long, Mr. Rushbrook,” she continued, +“for I was just then thinking, that should Lord +Elmwood hear of this attention you have paid me, it might +be fatal to you.” Here she wept again, as bitterly as before.</p> + +<p>“There is no probability of his hearing of it, Madam,” +Rushbrook replied; “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 to see you, he received +him on his return, with unusual marks of kindness.”</p> + +<p>“Did he?” said she—and again she lifted up her head; +her eyes for a moment beaming with hope and joy.</p> + +<p>“There is something which we cannot yet define,” said +Rushbrook, “that Lord Elmwood struggles with; but when +time shall have eradicated”——</p> + +<p>Before he could proceed further, Matilda was once more +sunk into despondency, and scarce attended to what he was +saying.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley observing this, said, “Mr. Rushbrook, let +it be a token we shall be glad to see you hereafter, that I now +use the freedom to beg you will put an end to your visit.”</p> + +<p>“You send me away, Madam,” returned he, “with the +warmest thanks for the reception you have give me; and +this last assurance of your kindness, is beyond any other +favour you could have bestowed. Lady Matilda,” added he, +“suffer me to take your hand at parting, and let it be a +testimony that you acknowledge me for a relation.”</p> + +<p>She put out her hand—which he knelt to receive, but did +not raise it to his lips—he held the boon too sacred—and +looking earnestly upon it, as it lay pale and wan in his, he +breathed one sigh over it, and withdrew.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_VII" id="IV_CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p>Sorrowful and affecting as this interview had been, +Rushbrook, as he rode home, reflected upon it with the most +inordinate delight; and had he not seen decline of health, +in the looks and behaviour of Lady Matilda, his felicity had +been unbounded. Entranced in the happiness of her society, +the thought of his rival never came once to his mind while +he was with her; a want of recollection, however, he by no +means regretted, as her whole appearance contradicted every +suspicion he could possibly entertain, that she favoured the +addresses of any man living—and had he remembered, he +would not have dared to name the subject.</p> + +<p>The time ran so swiftly while he was away, that it was +beyond the dinner hour at Elmwood House, when he returned. +Heated, his dress and his hair disordered, he entered the +dining room just as the dessert was put upon the table. +He was confounded at his own appearance, and at the falsehoods +he should be obliged to fabricate in his excuse: there +was yet, that which engaged his attention, beyond any circumstance +relating to himself—the features of Lord Elmwood—of +which his daughter’s, whom he had just beheld, +had the most striking resemblance; though her’s were +softened by sorrow, while his were made austere by the self-same +cause.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been?” said his uncle, with a frown.</p> + +<p>“A hers chase, my Lord—I beg your pardon—but a pack +of dogs I unexpectedly met.” For in the hacknied art of +lying without injury to any one, Rushbrook, to his shame, +was proficient.</p> + +<p>His excuses were received, and the subject ceased.</p> + +<p>During his absence that day, Lord Elmwood had called +Sandford apart, and said to him,—that as the malevolence +which he once observed between him and Rushbrook, had, +he perceived, subsided, he advised him, if he was a well-wisher +to the young man, to sound his heart, and counsel +him not to act against the will of his nearest relation and +friend. “I myself am too hasty,” continued Lord Elmwood, +“and, unhappily, too much determined upon what +I have once (though, perhaps, rashly) said, to speak upon +a topic where it is probable I shall meet with opposition. +You, Sandford, can reason with moderation. For after all +that I have done for my nephew, it would be a pity to forsake +him at last; and yet, that is but too likely, if he provokes me.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” replied Sandford, “I will speak to him.”</p> + +<p>“Yet,” added Lord Elmwood, sternly, “do not urge what +you say for my sake, 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.”</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I will exert all the efforts in my power for his +welfare. But what is the subject on which he has refused +to comply with your desires?”</p> + +<p>“Matrimony—have not I told you?”</p> + +<p>“Not a word.”</p> + +<p>“I wish him to marry, that I may then conclude the +deeds in respect to my 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 have said on +the occasion, I have not yet mentioned her name to him; +you may.”</p> + +<p>“I will, my Lord, and use all my persuasion to engage his +obedience; and you shall have, at least, a faithful account +of what he says.”</p> + +<p>Sandford the next morning sought an opportunity of being +alone with Rushbrook—he then plainly repeated to him +what Lord Elmwood had said, and saw him listen to it all, +and heard him answer with the most tranquil resolution, +“That he would do any thing to preserve the friendship +and patronage of his uncle—but marry.”</p> + +<p>“What can be your reason?” asked Sandford—though +he guessed.</p> + +<p>“A reason, I cannot give to Lord Elmwood.”</p> + +<p>“Then do not give it to me, for I have promised to tell +him every thing you say to me.”</p> + +<p>“And every thing I <i>have</i> said?” asked Rushbrook hastily.</p> + +<p>“As to what you have said, I don’t know whether it has +made impression enough on my memory, to enable me to +repeat it.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad it has not.”</p> + +<p>“And my answer to your uncle, is to be simply, that you +will not obey him?”</p> + +<p>“I should hope, Mr. Sandford, that you would express it +in better terms.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me the terms, and I will be exact.”</p> + +<p>Rushbrook struck his forehead, and walked about the room.</p> + +<p>“Am I to give him any reason for your disobeying him?”</p> + +<p>“I tell you again, that I dare not name the cause.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you submit to a power you are ashamed +to own?”</p> + +<p>“I am not ashamed—I glory in it.—Are you ashamed of +your esteem for Lady Matilda?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! if she is the cause of your disobedience, be assured +I shall not mention it, for I am forbid to name her.”</p> + +<p>“And surely, as that is the case, I need not fear to speak +plainly to you. I love Lady Matilda—or, perhaps, unacquainted +with love, what I feel may be only pity—and if so, +pity is the most pleasing passion that ever possessed a human +heart, and I would not change it for all her father’s estates.”</p> + +<p>“Pity, then, gives rise to very different sensations—for +I pity you, and that sensation I would gladly exchange for +approbation.”</p> + +<p>“If you really feel compassion for me, and I believe you +do, contrive some means by your answers to Lord Elmwood +to pacify him, without involving me in ruin. Hint at my +affections being engaged, but not to whom; and add, that +I have given my word, if he will allow me a short time, a year +or two only, I will, during that period, try to disengage them, +and use all my power to render myself worthy of the union +for which he designs me.”</p> + +<p>“And this is not only your solemn promise—but your +fixed determination?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, why will you search my heart to the bottom, when +the surface ought to content you?”</p> + +<p>“If you cannot resolve on what you have proposed, why +do you ask this time of your uncle? For should he allow it +you, at the expiration, your disobedience to his commands +will be less pardonable than it is now.”</p> + +<p>“Within a year, Mr. Sandford, who can tell what strange +events may not occur, to change all our prospects? Even +my passion may decline.”</p> + +<p>“In that expectation, then—the failure of which yourself +must answer for—I will repeat as much of this discourse as +shall be proper.”</p> + +<p>Here Rushbrook communicated his having been to see +Lady Matilda, for which Sandford reproved him, but in less +rigorous terms than he generally used in his reproofs; and +Rushbrook, by his entreaties, now gained the intelligence +who the nobleman was who addressed Matilda, and on what +views; but was restrained to patience, by Sandford’s arguments +and threats.</p> + +<p>Upon the subject of this marriage, Sandford met his +patron, without having determined exactly what to say, but +rested on the temper in which he should find him.</p> + +<p>At the commencement of the conversation he said, “Rushbrook +begged for time.”</p> + +<p>“I have given him time, have I not?” cried Lord Elmwood: +“What can be the meaning of his thus trifling +with me?”</p> + +<p>Sandford replied, “My Lord, young men are frequently +romantic in their notions of love, and think it impossible to +have a sincere affection, where their own inclinations do not +first point out the choice.”</p> + +<p>“If he is in love,” answered Lord Elmwood, “let him +take the object, and leave my house and me for ever. Nor +under this destiny can he have any claim to pity; for genuine +love will make him happy in banishment, in poverty, or in +sickness: it makes the poor man happy as the rich, the fool +blest as the wise.” The sincerity with which Lord Elmwood +had loved, was expressed more than in words, as he said this.</p> + +<p>“Your Lordship is talking,” replied Sandford, “of the +passion in its most refined and predominant sense; while +I may possibly be speaking of a mere phantom, that has led +this young man astray.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever it be,” returned Lord Elmwood, “let him and +his friends weigh the case well, and act for the best—so shall I.”</p> + +<p>“His friends, my Lord?—What friends, or what friend +has he upon earth but you?”</p> + +<p>“Then why will he not submit to my advice; or himself +give me a proper reason why he cannot?”</p> + +<p>“Because there may be friendship without familiarity—and +so it is between him and you.”</p> + +<p>“That cannot be; for I have condescended to talk to him +in the most familiar terms.”</p> + +<p>“To condescend, my Lord, is <i>not</i> to be familiar.”</p> + +<p>“Then come, Sir, let us be on an equal footing through +you. And now speak out <i>his</i> thoughts freely, and hear mine +in return.”</p> + +<p>“Why, then, he begs a respite for a year or two.”</p> + +<p>“On what pretence?”</p> + +<p>“To me, it was preference of a single life—but I suspect +it is—what he imagines to be love—and for some object +whom he thinks your Lordship would disapprove.”</p> + +<p>“He has not, then, actually confessed this to you?”</p> + +<p>“If he has, it was drawn from him by such means, that +I am not warranted to say it in direct words.”</p> + +<p>“I have entered into no contract, no agreement on his +account with the friends of the lady I have pointed out,” +said Lord Elmwood; “nothing beyond implications have +passed betwixt her family and myself at present; and if the +person on whom he has fixed his affections, should not be +in a situation absolutely contrary to my wishes, I may, +perhaps, confirm his choice.”</p> + +<p>That moment Sandford’s courage prompted him to name +Lady Matilda, but his discretion opposed—however, in the +various changes of his countenance from the conflict, it was +plain to discern that he wished to say more than he dared.</p> + +<p>On which Lord Elmwood cried,</p> + +<p>“Speak on, Sandford—what are you afraid of?”</p> + +<p>“Of you, my Lord.”</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>Sandford went on——“I know no tie—no bond—no +innocence, that is a protection when you feel resentment.”</p> + +<p>“You are right,” he replied, significantly.</p> + +<p>“Then how, my Lord, can you encourage me to <i>speak on</i>, +when that which I perhaps would say, might offend you to +hear?”</p> + +<p>“To what, and whither are you changing our subject?” +cried Lord Elmwood. “But, Sir, if you know my resentful +and relentless temper, you surely know how to shun it.”</p> + +<p>“Not, and speak plainly.”</p> + +<p>“Then dissemble.”</p> + +<p>“No, I’ll not do that—but I’ll be silent.”</p> + +<p>“A new parade of submission. You are more tormenting +to me than any one I have about me. Constantly on the verge +of disobeying my commands, that you 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 every +conversation we have together (though the most remote +from such a subject) to think of my daughter, you must +either banish your thoughts, or conceal them—nor by one +sign, one item, remind me of her.”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter did you call her? Can you call yourself +her father?”</p> + +<p>“I do, Sir—but I was likewise the husband of her mother. +And, as that husband, I solemnly swear.”——He was proceeding +with violence.</p> + +<p>“Oh! my Lord,” cried Sandford, interrupting him, with +his hands clasped in the most fervent supplication—“Oh! +do not let me draw upon her one oath more of your eternal +displeasure—I’ll kneel to beg that you will drop the subject.”</p> + +<p>The inclination he made with his knees bent towards the +ground, stopped Lord Elmwood instantly. But though it +broke in upon his words, it did not alter one angry look—his +eyes darted, and his lips trembled with, indignation.</p> + +<p>Sandford, in order to appease him, bowed and offered to +withdraw, hoping to be recalled. He wished in vain—Lord +Elmwood’s eyes followed him to the door, expressive of +rejoicing at his absence.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_VIII" id="IV_CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p>The companions and counsellors of Lord Margrave, who +had so prudently advised gentle methods in the pursuit of +his passion, while there was left any hope of their success; +now, convinced there was none, as strenuously commended +open violence;—and sheltered under the consideration, that +their depredations were to be practised upon a defenceless +woman, who had not one protector, except an old priest, +the subject of their ridicule;—assured likewise from the +influence of Lord Margrave’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.</p> + +<p>When their scheme was mature for performance, three of +his chosen companions, and three servants, trained in all the +villainous exploits of their masters, set off for the habitation +of poor Matilda, and arrived there about the twilight of the +evening.</p> + +<p>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 the alarm of fire, conjuring all the +inhabitants to make their way out immediately, as they would +save their lives.</p> + +<p>The family consisted of few persons, all of whom ran +instantly to the doors and opened them; on which two men +rushed in, and with the plea of saving Lady Matilda from +the pretended flames, caught her in their arms, and carried +her off; while all the deceived people of the house, running +eagerly to save themselves, paid no regard to her, till looking +for the cause for which they had been terrified, they perceived +the stratagem, and the fatal consequences.</p> + +<p>Amidst the complaints, the sorrow, and the affright of the +people of the farm, Miss Woodley’s sensations wanted a name—terror +and anguish give but a faint description of what she +suffered—something like the approach of death stole over +her senses, and she sat like one petrified with horror. She +had no doubt who was the perpetrator of this wickedness; +but how was she to follow? how effect a rescue?</p> + +<p>The circumstances of this event, as soon as the people had +time to call up their recollection, were sent to a neighbouring +magistrate; but little could be hoped from that. Who was +to swear to the robber? Who, undertake to find him out! +Miss Woodley thought of Rushbrook, of Sandford, of Lord +Elmwood—but what could she hope from the want of power +in the two former?—what from the latter, for the want of +will? Now stupified, and now distracted, she walked about +the house incessantly, begging for instructions how to act, +or how to forget her misery.</p> + +<p>A tenant of Lord Elmwood’s, who occupied a little farm +near to that where Lady Matilda lived, and who was well +acquainted with the whole history of her’s and her mother’s +misfortunes, was returning from a neighbouring fair, just as +this inhuman plan was put in execution. He heard the cries +of a woman in distress, and followed the sound, till he arrived +at a chaise in waiting, and saw Matilda placed in it, by the +side of two men, who presented pistols to him, as he offered +to approach and expostulate.</p> + +<p>The farmer, uncertain who this female was, yet went to +the house she had 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, this intelligence, joined +to the powerful effect her screams had on him, made him +resolve to take horse immediately, and with some friends, +follow the carriage till they should trace the place to which +she was conveyed.</p> + +<p>The anxiety, the firmness discovered in determining on +this understanding, somewhat alleviated the agony Miss +Woodley endured, and she began to hope, timely assistance +might yet be given to her beloved charge.</p> + +<p>The man set out, meaning at all events to attempt her +release; but before he had proceeded far, the few friends +that accompanied him, began to 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 +take from him; or if not, while Lord Elmwood beheld the +offence with indifference, that indifference gave it a sanction, +they might in vain oppose. These cool reflections tending +to their safety, had their weight with the companions of the +farmer; they all rode back, rejoicing at their second thoughts, +and left him to pursue his journey and prove his valour by +himself.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_IX" id="IV_CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p>It was not with Sandford, as it had lately been with Rushbrook +under the displeasure of Lord Elmwood—to the latter +he behaved, as soon as their dissension was past, as if it had +never happened—but to Sandford it was otherwise—the +resentment which he had repressed at the time of the offence, +lurked in his heart, and dwelt upon his mind for several +days; during which, he carefully avoided exchanging a +word with him, and gave every other demonstration of +his anger.</p> + +<p>Sandford, though experienced in the cruelty and ingratitude +of the world, yet could not without difficulty brook +this severity, this contumely, from a man, for whose welfare, +ever since his infancy, he had laboured; and whose happiness +was more dear to him, in spite of all his faults, than that of +any other person. Even Lady Matilda was not so dear to +Sandford as her father—and he loved her more that she was +Lord Elmwood’s child, than for any other cause.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the old Priest, incensed beyond bearing, was on +the point of saying to his patron, “How, in my age, dare you +thus treat the man, whom in his youth you respected and +revered?”</p> + +<p>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 the room half determined to leave +the house—but these were all half determinations; for he +knew him with whom he had to deal too well, not to know +that he might be provoked into yet greater anger; and that +should he once rashly quit his house, the doors most probably +would be shut against him for ever.</p> + +<p>In this humiliating state (for even many of the domestics +could not but observe their Lord’s displeasure) Sandford +passed three days, and was beginning the fourth, when sitting +with Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook just after breakfast, +a servant entered, saying, as he opened the door, to somebody +who followed, “You must wait till you have my Lord’s +permission.”</p> + +<p>This attracted their eyes to the door, and a man meanly +dressed, walked in, following close to the servant.</p> + +<p>The latter turned, and seemed again to desire the person +to retire, but in vain; he rushed forward regardless of his +opposer, and in great agitation, cried,</p> + +<p>“My Lord, if you please, I have business with you, provided +you will chuse to be alone.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood, struck with the intruder’s earnestness, +bade the servant leave the room; and then said to the +stranger,</p> + +<p>“You may speak before these gentlemen.”</p> + +<p>The man instantly turned pale, and trembled—then, to +prolong the time before he spoke, went to the door to see if +it was shut—returned—yet still trembling, seemed unwilling +to say his errand.</p> + +<p>“What have you done,” cried Lord Elmwood, “that you +are in this terror? What have you done, man?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, my Lord,” replied he, “but I am afraid I am +going to offend you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no matter;” (he answered carelessly) “only go on, +and let me know your business.”</p> + +<p>The man’s distress increased—and he cried in a voice of +grief and affright—“Your child, my Lord!”——</p> + +<p>Rushbrook and Sandford started; and looking at Lord +Elmwood, saw him turn white as death. In a tremulous +voice he instantly cried,</p> + +<p>“What of her?” and rose from his seat.</p> + +<p>Encouraged by the question, and the agitation of him who +asked it, the poor man gave way to his feelings, and answered +with every sign of sorrow,</p> + +<p>“I saw her, my Lord, taken away by force—two ruffians +seized and carried her away, while she screamed in vain to +me for help, and tore her hair in distraction.”</p> + +<p>“Man, what do you mean?” cried the Earl.</p> + +<p>“Lord Margrave,” replied the stranger, “we have no +doubt, has formed this plot—he has for some time past beset +the house where she lived; and when his visits were refused, +he threatened this. Besides, one of his servants attended +the carriage; I saw, and knew him.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood listened to the last part of this account +with seeming composure—then turning hastily to Rushbrook, +he said,</p> + +<p>“Where are my pistols, Harry?”</p> + +<p>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 yourself a father?”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood only answered, “Yes,” and left the room.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook followed, and begged with all the earnestness +he felt, to be permitted to accompany his uncle.</p> + +<p>While Sandford shook hands with the farmer a thousand +times; and he, in his turn, rejoiced, as if he had already seen +Lady Matilda restored to liberty.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook in vain entreated Lord Elmwood; he laid his +commands upon him not 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.</p> + +<p>During the hasty preparations for the Earl’s departure, +Sandford received from Miss Woodley the sad intelligence +of what had happened; but he returned an answer to recompence +her for all she had suffered on the occasion.</p> + +<p>Within a few hours Lord Elmwood set off, accompanied by +his guide, the farmer, and other attendants furnished with +every requisite to ascertain the success of their enterprise—while +poor Matilda little thought of a deliverer nigh, much +less, that her deliverer should prove her father.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_X" id="IV_CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p>Lord Margrave, black as this incident of his life must +make him appear to the reader, still nursed in his conscience +a reserve of specious virtue, 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 his threats in force; +and with this and the following reflection, he reconciled—as +most bad men can—what he had done, not only to the +laws of humanity, but to the laws of honour.</p> + +<p>“I have stolen a woman certainly;” said he to himself, +“but I will make her happier than she was in that humble +state from which I have taken her. I will even,” said he, +“now that she is in my power, win her affections—and +when, in fondness, hereafter she hangs upon me, how will +she thank me for this little trial, through which I shall have +conducted her to happiness!”</p> + +<p>Thus did he hush his remorse, while he waited impatiently +at home, in expectation of his prize.</p> + +<p>Half expiring with her sufferings, of body as well as of +mind, about twelve o’clock the next night, after she was borne +away, Matilda arrived; and felt her spirits revive by the +superior sufferings that awaited her—for her increasing +terrors roused her from the death-like weakness, brought on +by fatigue.</p> + +<p>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 than twenty 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 supposed would be +less the object of suspicion in the present case, than any other +of his seats. To this, then, Lady Matilda was conveyed—a +superb apartment allotted her—and one of his confidential +females placed to attend upon her, with all respect, and +assurances of safety.</p> + +<p>Matilda looked in this woman’s face, and seeing she bore +the features of her sex, while her own knowledge reached +none of those worthless characters of which this person was +a specimen, she imagined that none of those could look as +she did, and therefore found consolation in her seeming +tenderness. She was even prevailed upon (by her promises +to sit by her side and watch) to throw herself on the bed, +and suffer sleep for a few minutes—for sleep to her was +suffering; her fears giving birth to dreams terrifying as her +waking thoughts.</p> + +<p>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, she persisted to sit in the torn disordered +habit in which she had been dragged away; nor would she +taste a morsel, of all the delicacies that were prepared for her.</p> + +<p>Her attendant, for some time observed the most reverential +awe; but finding this had not the effect of gaining compliance +with her advice, she varied her manners, and began by +less submissive means to attempt an influence. She said her +orders were to be obedient, while she herself was obeyed—at +least in circumstances so material as the lady’s health, of +which she had the charge as a physician, and expected equal +compliance from her patient—food and fresh apparel she +prescribed as the only means to prevent death; and even +threatened her invalid with something worse, a visit from +Lord Margrave, if she continued obstinate.</p> + +<p>Now loathing her for the deception she had practised, +more, than had she received her thus at first, Matilda hid +her eyes from the sight of her; and when she was obliged +to look, she shuddered.</p> + +<p>This female at length thought it her duty to wait upon her +worthy employer, and inform him the young lady in her +trust would certainly die, unless there were means employed +to oblige her to take some nourishment.</p> + +<p>Lord Margrave, glad of an opportunity that might apologize +for his intrusion upon Lady Matilda, went with eagerness +to her apartment, and throwing himself at her feet, +conjured her if she would save his life, as well as her own, +to submit to be consoled.</p> + +<p>The extreme disgust and horror his presence inspired, +caused Matilda for a moment to forget all her want of power, +her want of health, her weakness; and rising from the place +where she sat, she cried, with her voice elevated,</p> + +<p>“Leave me, my Lord, or I’ll die in spite of all your care; +I’ll instantly expire with grief, if you do not leave me.”</p> + +<p>Accustomed to the tears and reproaches of the sex—though +not of those like her—he treated with contempt these +menaces of anger, and seizing her hand, carried it to his lips.</p> + +<p>Enraged, and overwhelmed with sorrow at the affront, she +cried, (forgetting every other friend she had,) “Oh! my dear +Miss Woodley, why are you not here to protect me?”</p> + +<p>“Nay,” returned Lord Margrave, stifling a fit of laughter, +“I should think the old Priest would be as good a champion +as the lady.”</p> + +<p>The remembrance of Sandford, with all his kindness, now +rushed so forcibly on Matilda’s mind, that she shed a shower +of tears, on thinking how much he felt, and would continue +to feel, for her situation. Once she thought on Rushbrook, +and thought even <i>he</i> would be sorry for her. Of her father +she did not think—she dared not—one single moment that +thought intruded, but she hurried it away—it was too bitter.</p> + +<p>It was now again quite night; and near to that hour when +she came first to the house. Lord Margrave, though at some +distance from her, remained still in her apartment, while her +female companion had stolen away. His insensibility to her +lamentations—the agitated looks he sometimes cast upon +her—her weak and defenceless state, all conspired to fill her +mind with horror.</p> + +<p>He saw her apprehensions in her distracted face, disheveled +hair, and the whole of her forlorn appearance—yet, notwithstanding +his former resolutions, he could not resist the desire +of fulfilling all her dreadful expectations.</p> + +<p>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 assembling towards the apartment prevented +him.</p> + +<p>He started—but looked more surprised than alarmed—her +alarm was augmented; for she supposed this tumult was +some experiment to intimidate her into submission. She +wrung her hands, and lifted up her eyes to Heaven, in the +last agony of despair, when one of Lord Margrave’s servants +entered hastily and announced,</p> + +<p>“Lord Elmwood!”</p> + +<p>That moment her father entered—and with all the unrestrained +fondness of a parent, folded her in his arms.</p> + +<p>Her extreme, her excess of joy on such a meeting, and +from such anguish rescued, was, in part, repressed by his +awful presence. The apprehensions to which she had been +accustomed, kept her timid and doubtful—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 with her +tears.——These were the happiest moments that she had +ever known—perhaps, the happiest <i>he</i> had ever known.</p> + +<p>Lord Margrave, on whom Lord Elmwood had not even cast +a look, now left the room; but as he quitted it, called out,</p> + +<p>“My Lord Elmwood, if you have any demands on me,”—</p> + +<p>The Earl interrupted him, “Would you make me an +executioner? The law shall be your only antagonist.”</p> + +<p>Matilda, quite exhausted, yet upheld by the sudden +transport she had felt, was led by her father out of this +wretched dwelling—more despicable than the beggar’s hovel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_XI" id="IV_CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<p>Overcome with the want of rest for two nights, from her +distracting fears, and all those fears now hushed; Matilda, +soon after she was placed in the carriage with Lord Elmwood, +dropped fast asleep; and thus, insensibly surprised, leaned +her head against her father in the sweetest slumber that +imagination can conceive.</p> + +<p>When she awoke, instead of the usual melancholy scene +before her view, she beheld her father, and heard the voice +of the once dreaded Lord Elmwood tenderly saying,</p> + +<p>“We will go no further to-night, the fatigue is too much +for her; order beds here directly, and some proper person +to sit up and attend her.”</p> + +<p>She could only turn to him with a look of love and duty; +her lips could not utter a sentence.</p> + +<p>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 would remain where she was?”</p> + +<p>“I <i>am</i> able to go with you,” she answered instantly.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” replied he, “perhaps you ought to stay here till +you are better?”</p> + +<p>“I am better,” said she, “and ready to go with you.”——Half +afraid that he meant to send her from him.</p> + +<p>He perceived her fears, and replied, “Nay, if you stay, so +shall I—and when I go, I shall take you along with me to my +house.”</p> + +<p>“To Elmwood House?” she asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>“No, to my house in town, where I intend to be all the +winter, and where we shall live together.”</p> + +<p>She turned her face on the pillow to conceal tears of joy, +but her sobs revealed them.</p> + +<p>“Come,” said he, “this kiss is a token you have nothing +to fear.” And he kissed her affectionately. “I shall send +for Miss Woodley too immediately,” continued he.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I shall be overjoyed to see her, my Lord—and to +see Mr. Sandford—and even Mr. Rushbrook.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know <i>him</i>?” said Lord Elmwood.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she replied, “I have seen him two or three times.”</p> + +<p>The Earl hoping the air might be a means of re-establishing +her strength and 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 had sent to town, to +bring such changes of apparel as were requisite.</p> + +<p>When Matilda was ready to join her father in the next +room, she felt a tremor seize her, that made it almost impossible +to appear before him. No other circumstance now +impending to agitate her heart, she felt more forcibly its +embarrassment at meeting on terms of easy intercourse, him, +of whom she had never been used to think, but with that +distant reverence and fear, which his severity had excited; +and she knew not how she should dare to speak to, or look on +him, with that freedom her affection warranted.</p> + +<p>After several efforts to conquer these nice and refined +sensations, but to no purpose, she at last went to his apartment. +He was reading; but as she entered, he put out his +hand and drew her to him. Her tears wholly overcame her. +He could have intermingled his—but assuming a grave +countenance, he commanded her to desist from exhausting +her spirits; and, after a few powerful struggles, she obeyed.</p> + +<p>Before the morning was over, she experienced the extreme +joy of sitting by her father’s side as they drove to town, and +of receiving, during his conversation, a thousand proofs of +his love, and tokens of her lasting happiness.</p> + +<p>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 did her imagination comprehend, +that the human heart could feel happiness true and genuine +as hers!</p> + +<p>On arriving at the house, there was no abatement of her +felicity: all was respect and duty on the part of the domestics—all +paternal care on the part of Lord Elmwood; and she +would have been at that summit of her wishes which annihilates +hope, but that the prospect of seeing Miss Woodley +and Mr. Sandford, still kept this passion in existence.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="IV_CHAPTER_XII" id="IV_CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<p>Rushbrook was detained at Elmwood House during all +this time, more from the persuasions, nay prayers, of Sandford, +than the commands of Lord Elmwood. He had, but +for Sandford, followed his uncle, and exposed himself to his +anger, sooner than have endured the most piercing inquietude, +which he was doomed to suffer, till the news +arrived of Lady Matilda’s safety. He indeed had little else +to fear from the known firm, courageous character of her +father, and the expedition with which he undertook 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 peace of mind might be for ever destroyed, +before she was set at liberty.</p> + +<p>The summons from Lord Elmwood for their coming to +town, was received by each of this party with delight; but +the impatience to obey it, was in Rushbrook so violent, it +was painful to himself, and extremely troublesome to Sandford; +who wished, from his regard to Lady Matilda, rather +to delay, than hurry their journey.</p> + +<p>“You are to blame,” said he to him and Miss Woodley, +“to wish by your arrival, to divide with Lord Elmwood +that tender bond, which ties the good who confer obligations, +to the object of their benevolence. At present there +is no one with him to share in the care and protection of +his daughter, and he is under the necessity of discharging +that duty himself; this habit may become so powerful, that +he <i>cannot</i> throw it off, even if his former resolutions should +urge him to it. While we remain here, therefore, Lady +Matilda is safe with her father; but it would not surprise +me, if on our arrival (especially if we are precipitate) he +should place her again with Miss Woodley at a distance.”</p> + +<p>To this forcible conjecture, they submitted for a few days, +and then most gladly set out for town.</p> + +<p>On their arrival, they were met, even at the street-door, +by Lady Matilda; and with an expression of joy, they did not +suppose her features could have worn. She embraced Miss +Woodley! hung upon Sandford! and to Mr. Rushbrook, +who from his conscious love only bowed at an humble +distance, she held out her hand with every look and gesture +of the tenderest esteem.</p> + +<p>When Lord Elmwood joined them, he welcomed them +all sincerely; but Sandford the most, with whom he had not +spoken for many days before he left the country, for his +allusion to the wretched situation of his daughter.—And +Sandford (with his fellow-travellers) now saw him treat that +daughter with an easy, a natural fondness, as if she had lived +with him from her infancy. He appeared, however, at times, +under the apprehension, that the propensity of man to +jealousy, might give Rushbrook a pang at this dangerous +rival in his love and fortune—for though Lord Elmwood +remembered well the hazard he had once ventured to befriend +Matilda, yet the present unlimited reconciliation was +something so unlooked for, it might be a trial too much for his +generosity, to remain wholly disinterested on the event. +Slight as was this suspicion, it did Rushbrook injustice. He +loved Lady Matilda too sincerely, he loved her father’s +happiness, and her mother’s memory too faithfully, not to +be rejoiced at all he witnessed; nor could the secret hope +that whispered him, “Their blessings might one day be +mutual,” increase the pleasure he found, in beholding +Matilda happy.</p> + +<p>Unexpected affairs, in which Lord Elmwood had been for +some time engaged, had diverted his attention for awhile +from the marriage of his nephew; nor did he at this time +find his disposition sufficiently severe, to exact from the young +man a compliance with his wishes, at so cruel an alternative +as that of being for ever discarded. He felt his mind, by the +late incident, too much softened for such harshness; he yet +wished for the alliance he had proposed; for he was more +consistent in his character than to suffer the tenderness his +daughter’s peril had awakened, to derange those plans which +he had long projected. Never even now, for a moment did +he indulge—for perhaps it would have been an indulgence—the +idea of replacing her exactly in the rights of her birth, to +the disappointment of all his nephew’s expectations.</p> + +<p>Yet, milder at this crisis in his temper than he had been +for years before, and knowing he could be no longer irritated +upon the subject of his daughter, he once more resolved to +trust himself in a conference with Rushbrook on the subject +of marriage; meaning at the same time to mention Matilda +as an opponent from whom he had nothing to fear. But for +some time before Rushbrook was called to this private +audience, he had, by his unwearied attention, endeavoured +to impress upon Matilda’s mind, the softest sentiments in +his favour. He succeeded—but not as he wished. She loved +him as her friend, her cousin, her foster-brother, but not as +a lover. The idea of love never once came to her thoughts; +and she would sport with Rushbrook like the most harmless +child, while he, all impassioned, could with difficulty resist +telling her, what she made him suffer.</p> + +<p>At the meeting between him and Lord Elmwood, to which +he was called for his final answer on that subject which had +once nearly proved so fatal to him; after a thousand fears, +much confusion and embarrassment, he at length frankly +confessed his “Heart was engaged, and had been so, long +before his uncle offered to direct his choice.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood desired to know, “On whom he had +placed his affections.”</p> + +<p>“I dare not tell you, my Lord,” returned he, infinitely +confused; “but Mr. Sandford can witness their sincerity +and how long they have been fixed.”</p> + +<p>“Fixed!” cried the Earl.</p> + +<p>“Immoveably fixed, my Lord; and yet the object is as +unconscious of my love to this moment, as you yourself have +been; and I swear ever shall be so, without your permission.”</p> + +<p>“Name the object,” said Lord Elmwood, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“My Lord, I dare not.—The last time I named her to you, +you threatened to abandon me for my arrogance.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood started.——“My daughter! Would you +marry her?”</p> + +<p>“But with your approbation, my Lord; and that——”</p> + +<p>Before he could proceed a word further, his uncle left the +room hastily—and left Rushbrook all terror for his approaching +fate.</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood went immediately into the apartment +where Sandford, Miss Woodley, and Matilda, were sitting, +and cried with an angry voice, and with his countenance +disordered,</p> + +<p>“Rushbrook has offended me beyond forgiveness.—Go, +Sandford, to the library, where he is, and tell him this +instant to quit my house, and never dare to return.”</p> + +<p>Miss Woodley lifted up her hands and sighed.</p> + +<p>Sandford rose slowly from his seat to execute the office.</p> + +<p>While Lady Matilda, who was arranging her music books +upon the instrument, stopped from her employment suddenly, +with her face bathed in tears.</p> + +<p>A general silence ensued, till Lord Elmwood, resuming +his angry tone, cried, “Did you hear me, Mr. Sandford?”</p> + +<p>Sandford now, without a word in reply, made for the door—but +there Matilda impeded him, and throwing her arms +about his neck, cried,</p> + +<p>“Dear Mr. Sandford, do not.”</p> + +<p>“How!” exclaimed her father.</p> + +<p>She saw the impending frown, and rushing towards him, +took his hand fearfully, and knelt at his feet. “Mr. Rushbrook +is my relation,” she cried in a pathetic voice, “my +companion, my friend—before you loved me he was anxious +for my happiness, and often visited me to lament with, and +console me. I cannot see him turned out of your house +without feeling for <i>him</i>, what he once felt for <i>me</i>.”</p> + +<p>Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations—then +raising her from the floor, he said, “Do you know +what he has asked of me?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered she in the utmost ignorance, and with +the utmost innocence painted on her face; “but whatever +it is, my Lord, though you do not grant it, yet pardon him +for asking.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps <i>you</i> would grant him what he has requested?” +said her father.</p> + +<p>“Most willingly—was it in my gift.”</p> + +<p>“It is,” replied he. “Go to him in the library, and hear +what he has to say; for on your will his fate shall depend.”</p> + +<p>Like lightning she flew out of the room; while even the +grave Sandford smiled at the idea of their meeting.</p> + +<p>Rushbrook, with his fears all verified by the manner in +which his uncle had left him, sat with his head reclined +against a bookcase, and every limb extended with the despair +that had seized him.</p> + +<p>Matilda nimbly opened the door and cried, “Mr. Rushbrook, +I am come to comfort you.”</p> + +<p>“That you have always done,” said he, rising in rapture to +receive her, even in the midst of all his sadness.</p> + +<p>“What is it you want?” said she. “What have you asked +of my father that he has denied you?”</p> + +<p>“I have asked for that,” replied he, “which is dearer to +me than my life.”</p> + +<p>“Be satisfied then,” returned she, “for you shall have it.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Matilda! it is not in your power to bestow.”</p> + +<p>“But he has told me it <i>shall</i> be in my power; and has +desired me to give, or to refuse it you, at my own pleasure.”</p> + +<p>“O Heavens!” cried Rushbrook in transport, “Has he?”</p> + +<p>“He has indeed—before Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley. +Now tell me what you petitioned for?”</p> + +<p>“I asked him,” cried Rushbrook, trembling, “for a wife.”</p> + +<p>Her hand, which had just then taken hold of his, in the +warmth of her wish to serve him, now dropped down as with +the stroke of death—her face lost its colour—and she leaned +against the desk by which they were standing, without +uttering a word.</p> + +<p>“What means this change?” said he; “Do you not wish +me happy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she exclaimed: “Heaven is my witness. But it +gives me concern to think we must part.”</p> + +<p>“Then let us be joined,” cried he, falling at her feet, “till +death alone can part us.”</p> + +<p>All the sensibility—the reserve—the pride, with which she +was so amply possessed, returned to her that moment. She +started and cried, “Could Lord Elmwood know for what he +sent me?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Whether the heart of Matilda, such as it has been described, +<i>could</i> sentence him to misery, the reader is left to surmise—and +if he supposes that it could <i>not</i>, he has every reason to +suppose that their wedded life, was—a life of happiness.</p> + +<p>He has beheld the pernicious effects of an <i>improper education</i> +in the destiny which attended the unthinking Miss +Milner.—On the opposite side, what may not be hoped from +that school of prudence—though of adversity—in which +Matilda was bred?</p> + +<p>And Mr. Milner, Matilda’s grandfather, had better have +given his <i>fortune</i> to a distant branch of his family—as Matilda’s +father once meant to do—so that he had given to his daughter</p> + +<h4>A PROPER EDUCATION.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4><a name="Plays" id="Plays"></a><span class="smcap">Plays</span> written by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Inchbald</span>, and published<br /> +by G. G. and J. <span class="smcap">Robinson</span>, Paternoster Row.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="g">LOVERS’ VOWS;</span><br /> +<br /> +A Play in five Acts, from the German of<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kotzebue</span>.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">WIVES AS THEY WERE, AND MAIDS<br /> +AS THEY ARE.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">EVERY ONE HAS HIS FAULT.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">I’LL TELL YOU WHAT,</span><br /> +Comedies in five Acts.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">SUCH THINGS ARE,</span><br /> +A Play in five Acts.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">THE MARRIED MAN,</span><br /> +A Comedy, Price 1s. 6d. each.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">THE CHILD OF NATURE.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">APPEARANCE IS AGAINST THEM.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">THE WIDOW’S VOW.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">THE MIDNIGHT HOUR,</span><br /> +A Comedy.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">THE WEDDING DAY,</span><br /> +Price One Shilling each.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="g">NATURE AND ART,</span><br /> +The Second Edition, in Two Volumes, Price<br /> +7s. sewed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SIMPLE STORY ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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