3 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. Miss Milner's pride began to be alarmed. While he was Mr. Dorreforth, 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 that 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 least practiced. 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. As these passions alternately governed her, she was alternately in spirits or dejected, in good ornial 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. Sanford observed this, and without reserve added to the list of her other feelings, hypocrisy. It was plain to see that Mr. Sanford 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. These mutual sentiments were discoverable in every word and action, while they were in each other's company, but still in his absence Ms. Muller's good nature and total freedom from malice never suffered her to utter a sentence injurious to his interest. Sanford'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, There is one fault, however, Mr. Sanford, I cannot lay to her charge. And what is that, my Lord? cried Sanford eagerly. What is that one fault which Miss Milner has not? I never replied, Lord Elmwood, heard Miss Milner in your absence utter a syllable to your disadvantage. She dares not, my Lord, because she is in fear of you, and she knows you would not suffer it. She then, answered his lordship, pays me a much higher compliment than you do, for you freely censor her, and yet imagine I will suffer it. My Lord, replied Sanford, I am undeceived now, and she'll never take that liberty again. As Lord Elmwood always treated Sanford 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 wards part was likely, in the end, to prove unfavorable to her. For perceiving Sanford 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 Sanford, now forgetting his affront, joined with the hardiest concurrence, adding, You, sir, having now other cares to employ your thoughts ought to insist upon her marrying or retiring into the country. She returned home just as this conversation was finished, and Sanford, the moment she entered, rang for his candle to retire. Miss Woodley, who had been at the opera with Miss Milner, cried, Bless me, Mr. Sanford, are you not well? You are going to leave us so early? He replied, No, I have a pain in my head. Miss Milner, who never listened to complaints without sympathy, rose immediately from her seat, saying, I think I never heard you, Mr. Sanford, complain of indisposition before. Will you accept of my specific for the headache? Indeed, it is a certain relief. I'll fetch it instantly. She went hastily out of the room and returned with the bottle, which she assured him was a present from Lady Loonham. I 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. This was but a common place civility, such as is paid by one enemy to another every day, but the manner was the material part. The unaffected concern, the attention, the goodwill 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 Sanford was not insensible to her behavior, and in return, when he left the room, wished her a good night. 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 Sanford he began to be unusually cheerful. He first pleasantly reproached the ladies for not offering him a place in their box at the opera. Would you have gone, my Lord? asked Miss Milner, highly delighted. Certainly returned he had you invited me. Then from this day I give you a general invitation, nor shall any other company be admitted but those whom you approve. I am very much obliged to you, said he. And you, continued she, who have been accustomed only to church music, will be more than any one enchanted with hearing the softer music of love. What ravishing pleasures you are preparing for me, returned he. I know not whether my weak senses will be able to support them. She had her eyes upon him when he spoke this, and she discovered, in his, that were fixed upon her, a sensibility unexpected, a kind of 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. 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. And pray, my Lord, said she, when do you go to France? To Italy, you mean. I shall not go at all, said he. My superiors 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. Then your lordship is no longer in orders, said Miss Woodley. No, they have been resigned these five days. My Lord, I give you joy, said Miss Milner. He thanked her, but added with a sigh. If I have given up content in search of joy, I shall perhaps be a loser by the venture. Soon after this he wished to them a good night and retired. 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 favorable 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. Miss Woodley, therefore, thought at her duty to allay these ecstasies and represent it 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 Sanford, 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 harbored a doubt that anything would thwart them. The succeeding circumstance proved she was mistaken. Another gentleman of family and fortune made overtures to Miss Milner, and her guardian, so far from having his thoughts inclined towards 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. In consequence her melancholy humor was now predominant. She can find herself at home, and yet, by her own order, was denied to all her visitors. Whether this arose from pure melancholy or the still-ingering 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. Miss Woodley and she were at work together when he came into the room, and after sitting several minutes and talking upon in different subjects to which his ward replied with a dejection in her voice and manner, he said, Perhaps I am wrong, Miss Milner, but I have observed that you are lately more thoughtful than usual. 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. Are you sorry for that, my Lord? No, I am extremely glad, and I was going to congratulate you upon that change. But give me leave to inquire, to what lucky accident may we attribute this alteration? Your lordship then thinks all my commendable deeds arise from accident, and that I have no virtues of my own. Pardon me, I think you have many. This he spoke emphatically, and her blushes increased. 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. Oh, my Lord, did you know some of them? I am afraid you would think them unpardonable. 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, And did you know some of mine? You might think them equally unpardonable. She turned pale and could no longer guide her needle. In the fond transport of her heart she imagined that his love for her was among the sensations to which he eluded. She was too much embarrassed to reply, and he continued, 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 blamable 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. 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. Well, madam, I submit to your determinations, and shall never again oppose your inclination to remain single. 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. 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? After a short hesitation, she replied, I have no objection. 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. 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, 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 my study to form, such a society as you may approve, but I am certain it will be likewise the study of Lady Elmwood. It was going on, but as if a Ponyard had thrust her to the heart, she writhed under this unexpected stroke. He saw her countenance change. He looked at her steadfastly. It was not a common change from joy to sorrow, from content to uneasiness, which Miss Milnes discovered. She felt, and she expressed anguished. 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. 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. 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 forever deceive me? 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. 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. My Lord! said Miss Woodley with a smile. Perhaps I may call upon you hereafter to fulfill your word. He was totally ignorant what she meant, nor had he the 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. 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.  Still she did not speak, but seemed overcome with sorrow. As her situation became, however, less alarming, her guardian's pity and a fright began to take the color of resentment, and though he did not say so, he was, and looked, highly offended. At this juncture Mr. Sanford entered. Unbeholding 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. Sanford, after casting a look at each of them, appeared in high spirits. You seem unhappy, my lord, he said with a smile. You do not, Mr. Sanford, Lord Elmwood replied. 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.  I never yet despaired of any one, Mr. Sanford, and yet there are persons of whom it is presumption to entertain hopes, and he looked again at Miss Milner. Does your head ache, Miss Milner, asked her friend, seeing her hold it with her hand? Very much, returned she. Mr. Sanford said, Miss Woodley, did you use all those drops Miss Milner gave you for a pain in the head? Yes, answered he, I did. But the question at that moment somewhat embarrassed him. 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. Though Miss Woodley followed her, so that Mr. Sanford 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. End of Volume 3, Chapter 3. Volume 2, Chapter 4 of A Simple Story. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Simple Story by Elizabeth Inchbald. Volume 2, Chapter 4. When the first transports of despair were passed, 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 equaled 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. It was not difficult to guess who this rival was, or if they were a little time in suspense. 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 morning for the late Lord Elmwood was over. This last intelligence made Miss Woodley shudder. She repeated it, however, to Miss Milner word for word. 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. 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. 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 where I to inspire her distant husband with a passion which she may not have inspired, and which I believe she cannot feel? Miss Woodley paused a minute, and then answered, No, but there was a hesitation in her manner of delivery. She did 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. Since the death of the late Earl, she had not been in town, nor had the present Earl been at 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. Sanford, 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. Revived by these conjectures, of which some were true and others were false, the very next day a gloom overspread their bright prospects on Mr. Sanford's saying as he entered the breakfast-room. Miss Fenton, ladies, desired me to present her compliments. Is she in town? asked Mrs. Horton. She came in yesterday morning, returned Sanford, and is at her brother's in Ormond Street. My lord and I supped there last night, and that made us so late home. 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. How does poor Miss Fenton look, Mrs. Horton asked Lord Elmwood, to which question Sanford replied, beautiful, she looks beautifully. She has got over her uneasiness, I suppose, then, said Mrs. Horton, not dreaming that she was asking the questions before her new lover. Uneasy, replied Sanford, uneasy at any trial, this world can send? That would be highly unworthy of her. But sometimes women do fret at such things, replied Mrs. Horton innocently. Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner. If she meant to ride, this delightful day, while she was hesitating, there are different kinds of women, said Sanford, directing his discourse to Mrs. Horton. There is as much difference between some women as between good and evil spirits. Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner again, if she took an airing. She replied no. And beauty, continued Sanford, when endowed upon spirits that are evil, as a mark of their greater, their more extreme wickedness, Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels in paradise. How do you know, said Miss Milner? But the beauty of Lucifer, continued Sanford, in perfect neglect and contempt of her question, was an aggravation of his guilt, because it showed a double share of ingratitude to the divine creator of that beauty. Now you talk of angels, said Miss Milner, I wish I had wings and I should like to fly through the park this morning. You would be taken for an angel in good earnest, said Lord Elmwood. Lord was angry at this little compliment, and cried, I should think the serpent's skin would be much more characteristic. My lord, cried she, does not Mr. Sanford use me ill? Vexed with other things, she felt herself extremely hurt at this, and made the appeal almost in tears. Indeed, I think he does, and he looked at Sanford as if he was displeased. This was a triumph so agreeable to her that she immediately pardoned the offence. But the offender did not so easily pardon her. Good morning, ladies, said Lord Elmwood, rising to go away. My lord, said Miss Woodley, you promise Miss Milner to accompany her one evening to the opera. This is opera night. 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. I am to dine at Mr. Fentons today, he replied, and if he and a sister will go, and you will allow them, part of your box, I will promise to come. 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 favor me with their company. Then, madam, if they come, you may expect me, else not. He bowed and left the room. All the day was passed, an 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 astuities, 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 complexion. But vain was her beauty, vain all her care to decorate that beauty, vain her many looks to her box door and hopes to see it open, Lord Elmwood never came. The music was discord, everything she saw was disgusting, in a word she was miserable. 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. They 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 fiber 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. The moment the opera was finished she flew hastily downstairs as if to fly from the suffering 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.  She was awakened from her reverie, and found Lord Frederick Lonley by her side. Her heart, just then melting with tenderness to another, was perhaps more accessible than here to for, or bursting with resentment, thought this moment to retaliate. Whatever passion reigned that instant, it was favorable 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 economists, upon Lord Frederick endeavored to incite her to a regard for him. Miss Milner was displeased at the attempt and exclaimed, 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? 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. 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. O, in my calendar of love, a solemn Lord Chief Justice, or a devout archbishop, ranks before a licentious king.  But by the error of sincerity, with which it was delivered, she was convinced her recent behavior to Lord Frederick was but the mere effect of chance. Lord Elmwood's carriage drove to his door, just at the time hers did. Mr. Sanford was with him, and they were both come from passing the evening at Mr. Fenton's. So, my Lord, said Miss Woodley, as soon as they met in the apartment, you did not come to us? No, answered he. I was sorry, but I hope you did not expect me. Not expect you, my Lord? Cried Miss Miller. Did you not say that you would come? If I had, I certainly should have come, returned he, but I only said so conditionally. That I am a witness to, cried Sanford, for I was present at the time, and he said it should depend upon Miss Fenton. And she, with her gloomy disposition, said Miss Miller, chose to sit at home? Gloomy disposition, repeated Sanford. She has a great share of sprightliness, and I think I never saw her in better spirits than she was this evening, my Lord. Lord Elmwood did not speak. Miss me, Mr. Sanford, cried Miss Miller. I meant no reflection upon Miss Fenton's disposition. I only meant to censure her taste for staying at home. I think, replied Mr. Sanford, a much heavier censure should be passed upon those who prefer rambling abroad. 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. Oh yes, two gentlemen answered the son of Lady Evans, a lad from school, whom Miss Miller had taken along with her. Not too, asked Lord Elmwood. Neither Miss Miller nor Miss Woodley answered.   And did he hand you into your coach, asked Lord Elmwood earnestly? By mere accident, my Lord, Miss Woodley replied, for the crowd was so great. I think, my Lord, said Sanford, it was very lucky that you were not there. Had Lord Elmwood been with us, we should not have had an occasion for the assistance of any other, said Miss Milner. Lord Elmwood has been with you, madam, returned Sanford very frequently, and yet, Mr. Sanford said Lord Elmwood, interrupting him. It is near bedtime. Your conversation keeps the ladies from retiring. Your lordships does not, said Miss Milner, for you say nothing, because, madam, I am afraid to offend. But do not you also hope to please, and without risking the one, it is impossible to arrive at the other. 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. 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. Perhaps he is melancholy at parting from her, said Miss Woodley. More likely offended, said Sanford, at the manner in which that lady has spoken of her. Who? I? I protest, I said nothing. Nothing? Did you not say that she was gloomy? Nothing but what I thought. I was glad to add, Mr. Sanford. When you think unjustly, you should not express your thoughts. Then perhaps I should never speak. And it were better you did not, if what you say is to give pain. Do you know, madam, that my lord is going to be married to Miss Fenton? Yes, answered Miss Milner. Do you know that he loves her? No, answered Miss Milner. How do you suppose he does not? I suppose that he does, yet I don't know it. Then if you suppose that he does, how can you have the imprudence to find fault with her before him? I did not. To call her gloomy was, I knew, to commend her both to him and to you, who admire such tempers. Whatever her temper is, everyone admires it, and so far from its being what you have described, she has great vivacity, vivacity which comes from the heart. No, if it came from thence, I should admire it, too. But if she has any, it rests there, and no one is the better for it. Pasha! said Miss Woodley. It is time for us to retire. Mr. Sanford, must finish your dispute in the morning. Dispute, madam, said Sanford. 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 honor to possess. Miss Fenton is a most amiable young woman, and worthy of just such a husband as my Lord Elmwood will make her. I am sure, said Miss Woodley, Miss Milner thinks so. She has a high opinion of Miss Fenton. She was at present only justing. But madam, a just is a very pernicious thing, then delivered with a malignant sneer. I have known a just destroy a lady's reputation. I have known a just give one person a distaste for another. I have known a just break off a marriage. But I suppose there is no apprehension of that in the present case, said Miss Woodley, wishing he might answer in the affirmative. Not that I can foresee. No, heaven forbid, he replied, for I look upon them to be formed for each other. Their dispositions, their pursuits, their inclinations, the same. Cations for each other just the same, pure white as snow. And I dare say, not warmer, replied Miss Milner. He looked provoked beyond measure. My dear, cried Miss Woodley, how can you talk thus? I believe in my heart you are only envious because my Lord Elmwood has not offered himself to you. To her, said Sanford, affecting an error of utmost surprise. To her! Do you think he received a dispensation from his vows to become the husband of a coquette? He was going on. Nay, Mr. Sanford, cried Miss Milner, I believe, after all, my worst crime in your eyes is that of being a heretic. 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. Then at present there is an excuse. I thank you, Mr. Sanford. This is the kindest thing you've ever said to me. But I am vexed to see that you are sorry you have said it.  He resumed, indeed I should be much more concerned to see you a disgrace to our religion. Miss Milner had not been in a good humor 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? Though Mr. Sanford was not a man easily intimidated, he was upon his 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. Miss Milner sat down and was so for a moment, but her dead silence was almost as alarming to Sanford as her rage had been, and he did not perfectly recover himself till he saw tears pouring down her face. He then heaved aside 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. End of Chapter 4, Volume 2, Recorded by Pam Moscato. A simple story by Elizabeth Inchbulb. Volume 2, Chapter 5. 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. Weiried 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 was unhappy, she well recollected. When the cause came to her memory, she would have slept again, but it was impossible. Though her rest had been sound, it had not been refreshing. She was far from well, and sent word of her in disposition as an apology for not being present at breakfast. Lord Elmwood looked concerned when the message was delivered. Mr. Sandford shook his head. Miss Milner's health is not good, said Mrs. Horton a few minutes after. Lord Elmwood laid down the newspaper to attend to her. To me there is something very extraordinary about her, continued Mrs. Horton, finding she had caught his lordship's attention. So there is to me, added Sandford with the sarcastic sneer. And so there is to me, said Miss Woodley, with a serious face and a heartfelt sigh. 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. Soon after breakfast Mr. Sandford withdrew to his own apartment. Miss Horton, in a little time, went to hers. Lord Elmwood and Miss Woodley were left alone. He immediately rose from his seat and said, I think Miss Woodley, Miss Milner, was extremely to blame, though I did not choose 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. That I am certain, replied Miss Woodley.  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. You need have none, my lord, replied Miss Woodley, with a smile of confidence. And yet you must own her behavior, has warranted them. Has it not been, in this particular, incoherent and unaccountable? The behavior of a person in love, no doubt, answered Miss Woodley. Don't I say so? replied he warmly. And is not that a just reason for my suspicions? But is there only one man in the world on whom those suspicions can fix? said Miss Woodley, with the color mounting into her face. 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. Perhaps I am mistaken, answered she. Nay, that is impossible too, he returned 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. I believe I am perfectly acquainted with them, replied Miss Woodley, with a significance in her voice and manner which convinced him there was some secret to learn. After a hesitation. It is far from me, replied he, to wish to be entrusted with the private sentiments of those who desire to withhold 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. Miss Woodley sighed, but she did not speak. He seemed to wait for her reply, but as she made none he proceeded. If ever breach of confidence could be tolerated I certainly know no occasion that would so justly authorize 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. Oh, my Lord cried Miss Woodley with a most forcible accent. You are the last person on earth she would pardon me if we're entrusting. 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? Anything in honour, my Lord. She can desire nothing further, he replied in agitation. Are her desires so unwarrantable that I cannot grant them? Miss Woodley again did not speak. And he continued, Great as my friendship is, there are certainly bounds to it, bounds that shall save her in spite of herself, and he raised his voice. In the disposal of themselves, resumed he with a less vehement tone, that great, that terrific disposal in marriage, at which I have 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 with all a softness in her demeanor 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. My Lord, Miss Milner's taste is not a depraved one. It is but too refined. What can you mean by that, Miss Woodley? You talk mysteriously. Is she not afraid that I will thwart her inclinations? She is sure that you will, my Lord. Then must the person be unworthy of her? Miss Woodley rose from her seat. She clasped her hands. Every look and every gesture proved her alternate resolution and ear resolution of proceeding. Lord Elmwood's attention was arrested before, but now it was fixed to a degree which her extraordinary manner only could occasion. My Lord, said she with a tremulous voice, promise me, declare to me, nay, swear to me, that it shall ever remain a secret in your own breast and I will reveal to you on whom she has placed her affections. This preparation made Lord Elmwood tremble, and he ran over instantly in his mind all the persons he could recollect in order to arrive at the knowledge of 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 himself. 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 may suffer tortures for the manner in which he would next address her. Two seconds gave her his reply. 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. Her drooping head was then lifted up, and she caught the eye of Doraforth. She saw it beam expectation, amazement, joy, ardor, and love. Nay, there was a fire of eminence 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 mitigated against their union. Lord Elmwood was sensible of the embarrassment his presence gave Miss Woodley, and understood the brief approaches 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? I do, my Lord, she answered trembling. I will make no unjust use of what I know, he replied with firmness. I believe you, my Lord. But for what my passions now dictate, continued he. I will 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. 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? See her, replied he, as one to whom you met no injury and to whom you have done none. But she would account it an injury. 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. Miss Woodley was going to say something further, but as if incapable of attending to her he hastened out of the room. End of Volume 2, Chapter 5. Ms. Woodley stood for some time to consider which way she was to go. The first person she met would inquire why she had been weeping, and if Miss Miller 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 swollen eyes that complaining of the headache was a sufficient excuse for them. Miss Miller 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. Sanford appeared highly disappointed. He asked the servant several times what he said when he went out. They replied nothing more than he should not be at home to dinner. I can't imagine where he dines. I can't imagine where he dines," said Sanford. Bless me, Mr. Sanford, can't you guess? Cried Mrs. Wharton, who by this time was made acquainted with his intended marriage. He dines with Miss Fenton, to be sure. No, replied Sanford, he is not there. I came from thence just now. And they had not seen him all day. Poor Miss Miller, on this, ate something. For where we hope for nothing we receive small indulgencies with joy. Notwithstanding the anxiety and the trouble under which Miss Woodley had labored 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 promise 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 harbor 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. Miss Miller, 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. Sanford to play a game at Piquet, and on his excusing himself, Miss Miller offered in his stead and was gladly accepted. They had just begun to play when Lord Elmwood came into the room, Miss Miller'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. Sanford sat reading one of the fathers at the other side of the fireplace. Lord Elmwood, as he advanced to the table, bowed, not having seen the ladies since the morning, or Miss Miller that day. They returned the salute, and he was going up to Miss Miller as if to inquire of her health, when Mr. Sanford, laying down his book, said, My Lord, where have you been all day? I have been very busy, replied he, and walking from the card table went up to him. Miss Miller played one card for another. You have been at Mr. Fenton's this evening, I suppose? Said Sanford. No, not at all today. How came that about, my Lord? Miss Miller played the ace of diamonds instead of the king of hearts. I shall call to-morrow, answered Lord Elmwood, and then walking with a very ceremonious air up to Miss Miller, said, he hoped she was perfectly recovered. Mrs. Horton begged her to mind what she was about, she replied, I am much better, sir. He then returned to Sanford again, but never, during all this time, did as I once encounter Miss Woodleys, and she, with equal care, avoided his. Some cold dishes were now brought up for supper. Miss Miller lost her deal, and the game ended. As they were arranging themselves at the supper table, Do, Miss Miller, said Mrs. Horton, have something warm for your supper, a chicken boiled, or something of that kind. You have eaten nothing today. 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 Miller, to have something provided for you. 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 endeavor 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 joys of his holidays. 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 Miller overflowed with a gratitude that gave place to no sentiment except her love. To relieve the anxiety which her guardian expressed, she endeavored 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, Miss Fenton was indisposed the other night, my Lord, and you did not seem half thus anxious about her. Had Sandford laid all Lord Elmwood's estate and Miss Miller's feet, or presented her with that external 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 the most benign countenance, and felt affliction that she had ever offended him. Miss Fenton, Lord Elmwood replied, has a brother with her. Her health and happiness are in his care. Miss Millner's are in mine. Mr. Sandford said, Miss Millner, I am afraid that I behaved uncivally to you last night. Will you accept of an atonement? No, madam, returned he. I accept no expiation without amendment. Well, then, she said, smiling, suppose I promise never to offend you again. What then? Why, then, you'll break your promise. Do not promise him, said Lord Elmwood, for he means to provoke you to it. In the light conversation the evening passed, and Miss Millner retired to rest in far better spirits than her morning's prospect had given her the least pretence to hope. Miss Woodley, too, had caused 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 hers as with Miss Millner's heart, and she would then have acted without injustice to either. But Miss Fenton had, of late, shunned her society, and even in their company was of a temper to reserve 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. End of Chapter 6, Volume 2, Recorded by Pam Muscato. 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 Millner, she the happiest of human beings, Miss Woodley partaking in the joy, Mr. Sanford 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 Millner. 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 Millner and was displeased with everyone. 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 advisor 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 do soon, to oblige your lady, I will continue along with you. 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 Sandfords 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. 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. 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. 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. Lost in the maze of happiness that surrounded her, Miss Milner often times 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? Doraforth, the grave, the pious, the ancherite, Doraforth, by their force, is animated to all the adore of the most impassioned lover. While the proud priest, the austere guardian, is humbled, if I but frown, into the various slave of love. But 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 woman, and 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 practiced by casual occurrences, and the dear-bought sentiment of being loved in spite of her faults, a glory-proud woman ever aspired to, was at present the ambition of Miss Milner. 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? 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. 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 word 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, seemed to become her. Among the many causes of complaint which she gave him, want of economy, in the disposal of her income was one. Tables 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 he did not approve. 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 showing to Miss Woodley, and more especially to Mr. Sandford, how much she dared upon the strength of his affections. 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. 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, and all the accounts of her conduct he gave to her guardian. Lord Elmwood knew, on the other hand, that Mr. Sandford's failing was to think ill of Miss Milner. He pitted him for it, and he pitted her for it. And in all the aggravation which his representations gave to her real follies, affection for them both, in the heart of Dora Forth, stood between that and every other impression. But facts are glaring, and he at length beheld those faults in their true colors. Though previously pointed out by the prejudice of Mr. Sandford. As soon as Sandford perceived his friend's uneasiness. "'There, my lord,' cried he exultingly, "'did I not always say the marriage was an improper one? But you would not be ruled.  When you 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. My observations, however, my lord, would have been of most use to you, for I have seen what to avoid. But mine have been the most gratifying,' replied he, "'for I have seen what I must always love.'" Sandford sighed and lifted up his hands. 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 pre-possessed in her favor by your prejudice against her, for I believe it was compassion at your unkind treatment that first gained her my heart. "'I,' my lord,' cried Sandford, "'do not load me with the birthing, with the mighty birthing of your love for her. 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 terms, 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.' "'I depend upon your word, it will then,' replied Sandford, eagerly. "'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. But my lord!' "'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. "'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. "'I will meet no one, I will consult no one. My own judgment shall be the judge, and in a few months marry or banish me from her forever. 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 word. 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 economy, in a word a wife without discretion, had been perpetually present in his mind. Mr. Sandford, although he was a man of understanding, of learning, and a complete casualty, 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 busyed 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. There was not then some reason for him to suppose he had 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, believe what your enemies say of you rather than what is said by your friends. This rule attended to would make a thousand people amiable who are now the reverse, and would have made him a perfectly upright character for could an enemy to whom he would have listened have whispered to Sanford 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, all will 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 exaltation, 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. Had anyone said this to Sanford, 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, Where's your friend? Where's Lady Elmwood? Miss Woodley smiled and answered. She was gone with such and such ladies to an auction. But why give her that title already, Mr. Sanford? Because he answered, I think she will never have it. Bless me, Mr. Sanford, said Miss Woodley. You shock me. I thought I should, he replied he, and therefore I told it you. For heaven's sake, what has happened? Nothing new, her indiscretions only. I know she is impredent, 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. He does 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 deathbed he would not retract it. No entreaties would prevail upon him.  Poor Miss Milner, said Miss Woodley, in the most pitying accents. Nay, said Sanford, Lord Elmwood has not yet 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. 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. By no means, cried Sanford 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, but with all deference to your opinions, said Miss Woodley, and with all deference did she speak. Don't you think, Mr. Sanford, 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 what she was going on. 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 was divulged to me in confidence. She 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. Why, madam, cried Sanford, 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. Don't I, Mr. Sanford? But I assure you that you will be very much pleased with them, when you see how elegantly they are bound. 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. Very true, Mrs. Horton, I forgot that. But then you know I can give these away." Lord Elmwood was in the room at the conclusion of this conversation. He shook his head inside. My Lord, said she, I have had a very agreeable morning, but I wished for you. If you had not been with me, I should have bought a great many other things. But I did not like to appear unreasonable in your absence. Sanford fixed his inquisitive eyes upon Lord Elmwood to observe his countenance. He smiled, but appeared thoughtful. And, oh my Lord, I have bought you a present, said she. I do not wish for a present, Miss Milner. What not from me? Very well. You present me with yourself, it is all that I ask. Sanford moved upon his chair as if he sat uneasy. Why, then, Miss Woodley, said Miss Milner, you 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. Miss Woodley cast by stealth an eye of apprehension upon Lord Elmwood's face and trembled at seeing it flushed with resentment. Sanford 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, a silence ensued. After a short time, you all appear melancholy, said Miss Milner. I wish I had not come home yet. Miss Woodley was in agony. She saw Lord Elmwood's extreme displeasure, and dreaded lest he should express it by some words he could not recall, or she could not forgive, therefore whispering to her, she had something particular to say. She took her out of the room. The moment she was gone, Mr. Sanford 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, that which had given Sanford 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 not dine at home. 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. I have not yet determined where I shall dine," replied he, taking no notice of the conclusion of her speech. My lord, if you mean to go to the hotel, I'll go with you if you please," cried Sanford, officiously. With all my heart Sanford, and they both went out together before Miss Milner returned to the apartment. End of Chapter 7 Volume 2 Miss Woodley for the first time disobeyed the will of Mr. Sanford, and as soon as Miss Milner and she were alone, repeated all that he had revealed to her, accompanying the recital with her usual testimonies of sympathy and affection. But had the genius of Sanford 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. Why dares not, said Miss Woodley, because he loves me too well, because his own happiness is too dear to him. I believe he loves you, replied Miss Woodley, and yet there is a doubt if there shall be no longer a doubt, cried Miss Milner, I'll put him to the proof. For shame, my dear, you talk inconsiderately. What can you mean by proof? I mean I will do something that no prudent man ought to forgive, and yet with all his vast share of prudence he shall forgive it and make a sacrifice of just resentment to partial affection. But if you should be disappointed, and he should not make the sacrifice, said Miss Woodley, then I have only lost a man who had no regard for me. He may have a great regard for you, not withstanding. But for the love I have felt, and do still feel for my Lord Elmwood, I will have something more than a great regard in return. You have his love, I am sure. But is it such as mine? I could love him if he had a thousand faults, and yet, said she, recollecting herself, and yet I believe his being faultless was the first cause of my passion. Thus she talked on, sometimes in anger, sometimes apparently gesting, 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 finger sullenly to her lips, nor touched her knife and fork, nor spoke a word and replied to anything 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 soothe 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. Sanford, Madam. Come back to dinner as I live, cried Mrs. Horton. 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. Lord Elmwood and Sanford entered. I am glad you are returned, my Lord, said Mrs. Horton, for Miss Milner would not eat a morsel. It was only because I had no appetite, returned she, blushing like crimson. We should not have come back, said Sanford, but at the place where we went to dine all the rooms were filled with company. 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 quarreling and felt so to themselves, though no such circumstance had happened. Two weeks passed away in this kind of distant behavior 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. 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. 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.  Home, she repeated, with surprise.  Lord Elmwood, 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. Rushbrook was brought home, and whenever Lord Elmwood wished to show 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. 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. 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 mask 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. 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 upbratings, 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. 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. He made no reply. 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. Sanford would not owe me. Hush, said Miss Woodley. 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. 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. Her pride was heard 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. 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. Miss Milner's brow was immediately smoothed, and she fetched a sigh in anxious expectation that he would consent. I go, Miss Woodley, he replied with astonishment. Do you imagine I would play the buffoon at a masquerade? Miss Milner's face changed into its former state. I have seen grave characters there, my lord, said Miss Woodley. Dear Miss Woodley, cried Miss Milner, why persuade Lord Elmwood to put on a mask just at the time he has laid it aside? His patience was now tempted to its height, and he answered, If you suspect me of inconsistency, madam, you shall find me changed. Pleased that she had been able at last to irritate him, she smiled with a degree of triumph, and in that humor was going to reply, but before she could speak four words and before she thought of them, he abruptly left the room. She was highly offended at this insult, and declared, from that moment she banished him from her heart forever, 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. 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. 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 shown 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 I look so well in that you will hardly know me when I have it on. You are seriously, then, resolved to go, said Miss Woodley, if you hear no more on the subject from your guardian? Whether I do here or not, Miss Woodley, I am equally resolved to go. But you know, my dear, he has desired you not, and you used always to obey his commands. As my guardian I certainly did obey him. And I could obey him as a husband, but as a lover I will not. Yet that is the way never to have him for a husband. As he pleases, for if he will not submit to be my lover, I will not submit to be his wife, nor has he the affection that I require in a husband. Thus the old sentiments, repeated again and again, prevented a separation till towards morning. 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. Where is Lord Elmwood, said Miss Milner? He must not see me. No, for heaven's sake, cried Miss Woodley, I would not have him see you in such a disguise for the universe. 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? But he would not admire you so dressed, said Miss Woodley. 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 humor enough for that. You had better dress at the house of the ladies with whom you go, said Miss Woodley, and this was agreed upon. 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. 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, and 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. 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. They had not left the house two minutes when a thundering wrap came at the door. It was Lord Elmwood in a post-chase. 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. Sanford, who were sitting together, of the cause of his sudden return, and had supper ordered for him, he inquired, What company had just left the house? We have been alone the whole evening, my lord, replied Mrs. Horton. Nay, returned he, I saw two chairs, with several servants, come out of the door as I drove up, but what livery I could not discern. We have had no creature here, repeated Mrs. Horton. Where has Miss Milner had visitors, asked he. This brought Mrs. Horton to her recollection, and she cried, Oh, now I know, and then checked herself, as if she knew too much. What do you know, madam, said he sharply. Nothing, said Mrs. Horton, I know nothing, and she lifted up her hands and shook her head. So all people say, who know a great deal, cried Sanford, and I suspect that is at present your case. Then I know more than I wish, I am sure, Mr. Sanford, returned she, shrugging up her shoulders. Lord Elmwood was all impatient. Explain, madam, explain. Dear my lord, said she, if your lordship will recollect, you may just have the same knowledge that I have. Recollect what? said he sternly. The quarrel you and your ward had, about to masquerade. What of that? She has not gone there, he cried. 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 that it must be Miss Milner and my niece going to the masquerade. He made no answer, but rang the bell violently. A servant entered. Send Miss Milner's maid hither, said he, immediately. The man withdrew. 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. Perhaps not, replied he. The maid entered. Where is your mistress, said Lord Elmwood? The woman had received no orders to conceal where the ladies were gone, yet a secret influence which governs the thought of all waiting women and chambermaids whispered to her that she ought not to tell the truth. Where is your mistress, repeated he, in a louder voice than before? Gone out, my lord, she replied. Where? My lady did not tell me. And don't you know? No, my lord, she answered, and without blushing. Is this the night of the masquerade, said he? I don't know, my lord, upon my word, but I believe, my lord, it is not. Sanford, 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 showing a newspaper in his hand pointed to the paragraph which contained the information. Leave the room, said Lord Elmwood to the woman. I have done with you. She withdrew. Yes, yes, here it is, repeated Sanford with the paper in his hand. He then read the paragraph. The masquerade at the honourable Mrs. G.'s this evening.  They should not put such things in the papers, said Mrs. Horton, to tempt young women to their ruin. The word ruin graded 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.  Yes, sir, replied the man. Lord Elmwood stopped himself short in his walk, and said to the servant, You did? Yes, my lord, replied he. He walked again. I should like to know what she was dressed in, said Mrs. Horton, and turning to the servant. Do you know what your lady had on? Yes, madam, replied the man. She was in men's clothes. How, cried Lord Elmwood, you tell a story to be sure, said Mrs. Horton to the servant. No, cried Sanford, 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. Lord Elmwood ordered Miss Milner's woman to be again sent up. She came. In what dress did your lady go to the masquerade, asked he, and with a look so extremely morose, it seemed to command the answer in a single word, and that word to be truth? A mind with a spark of sensibility more than this woman possessed could not have equivocated with such an interrogator, but her reply was, She went in her own dress, my lord. Was it a man's or a woman's, asked he, with a look of the same command? Ha-ha, my lord, half laughing and half crying. A woman's dress, to be sure, my lord. On which Sanford cried, call the footman up, and let him confront her. He was called, but Lord Elmwood, now disgusted at the scene, withdrew to the further end of the room, and left Sanford to question them. With all the authority and consequence of a country magistrate, Sanford, his back to the fire and the witnesses before him, began with the footman. In what dress do you say, that you saw your lady, when you attended, and went along with her, to the masquerade? In men's clothes, replied the man, boldly and firmly as before. Bless my soul, George! How can you say such a thing, cried the woman. What dress do you say, she went in, cried Sanford to her. In women's clothes, indeed, sir. This is very odd, said Mrs. Horton. Had she on, or had she not on, a coat, asked Sanford. Yes, sir, a petticoat, replied the woman. Do you say she had on a petticoat, said Sanford to the man? I can't answer exactly for that, replied he, but I know she had boots on. They were not boots, replied the maid with vehemence. Indeed, sir, turning to Sanford, there were only half boots. My girl, said Sanford kindly to her, your own evidence convicts your mistress. What has a woman to do with any boots? 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? Perhaps not till three in the morning, answered Mrs. Horton. Three, more likely six, cried Sanford. I can't wait with patience till that time, answered Lord Elmwood, with a most anxious sigh. You had better go to bed, my Lord, said Mrs. Horton, and by sleeping the time will pass away unperceived.   And yet after going, said Sanford, in defiance to your commands, I should suppose she dared. She is in good company, at least, my Lord, said Mrs. Horton. She does not know herself what company she is in, replied he. How should she, cried Sanford, where everyone hides his face? Till five o'clock in the morning, in conversations such as this, the hours passed away. Mrs. Horton, indeed, retired to her chamber at two, and left the gentleman to a more serious discourse, but a discourse still less advantageous to poor Miss Milner. 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. They just peeped through the shutters of the room in which Lord Elmwood and Sanford 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. Sanford 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 glad of such a resource. That passion thus agitated Lord Elmwood at this crisis, it is hard to define. Perhaps it was indignation at Miss Milner's imprudence, an 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 he must have braided her. Perhaps it was not one alone of these sensations, but all of them combined. 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. Like me to buy 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. Your Lord, she cried, is he not out of town? No, Madam, my Lord has been at home ever since you went out and has been sitting up with Mr. Sanford waiting for you. She was wide awake immediately. The heaviness was removed from her eyes, but fear, grief, and shame seized upon her heart. She leaned against her maid, as if unable to support herself under those feelings, and said to Miss Woodley, Make my excuse. I cannot see him tonight. I am unfit. Indeed I cannot. 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 you, for heaven's sake do not disobey him a second time. No, dear Madam, don't, cried her woman, for he is like a lion, he has been scolding me. Good God! exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone that seemed prophetic. Then he is not to be my husband, after all. Yes, cried Miss Woodley, if you will only be humble and appear sorry. You know your power over him, and all may yet be well. She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears starting from them, her lips trembling. Do I not appear sorry? She cried. The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened their steps to the door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood was. No, this shuddering is only fright, replied Miss Woodley. Say to him you are sorry, and beg his pardon. I cannot, said she, if Mr. Sanford is with him. 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, I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong. You have indeed, Miss Milner, answered he, but do not suppose that I mean to upgrade you. I am, on the contrary, going to release you from any such apprehension for the future. Those last three words he delivered with accountinance 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, O, as if for her. She herself strove with her anguish, and replied, but with a faltering voice, I expect it as much, my Lord. Then, madam, you perhaps expect all that I intend? In regard to myself, she replied, I suppose I do. Then, said he, you may expect that in a few days we shall part. I am prepared for it, my Lord, she answered, and while she said so, sunk upon a chair. My Lord, what you have to say farther, said Miss Woodley, in tears. Defer till the morning. Miss Milner, you see, is not able to bear it now. I have nothing to say further, replied he coolly. I have now only to act. 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. 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 Sanford called out in a tone of voice so harsh, Miss Woodley, what do you mean? She gave a start and assisted. Lord Elmwood then turned to Sanford and said, Nay, Mr. Sanford, you need entertain no doubts of me. I have judged, and have deterred. He was going to say determined, 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? 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, 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 control your indiscretions. Not merely in an hour of contradiction call peevishly upon his name, only to wound the dearest friend you have. There was a degree of truth and a degree of passionate feeling in the conclusion of this speech that alarmed Sanford. 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. In this manner, Lord Elmwood was forced out of the apartment, and the evening's entertainment concluded.