CHAPTER I.

WHEN Miſs Milner arrived at Bath, ſhe thought it the moſt altered place ſhe ever ſaw—ſhe was miſtaken— it was ſhe herſelf, who was changed.

The walks were melancholy, the company inſipid, the ball-room fatigue⯑ing — in fine, ſhe had left behind, all that could charm or pleaſe her.

[2]Though ſhe found herſelf far leſs hap⯑py than when ſhe was at Bath before, yet ſhe felt, ſhe would not, to enjoy all that paſt happineſs, be again reduced to the being ſhe was at that time. Thus, does the lover conſider the extinction of his paſſion, with the ſame horror as the li⯑bertine looks upon annihilation; the one would rather live hereafter (though in all the tortures with which his future ſtate is deſcribed) than ceaſe to exiſt; ſo there are no tortures a lover would not ſuffer, rather than ceaſe to love.

In the wide proſpect of melancholy before her, Miſs Milner's fancy caught hold of the only comfort which pre⯑ſented itſelf; and this, ſlender as it was, in the total abſence of every other, her imagination pictured as exceſſive. The [3] comfort was a letter from Miſs Wood⯑ley—a letter wherein the ſubject of her love would moſt aſſuredly be mentioned, and in whatever terms, muſt ſtill be the means of delight.

A letter arrived — ſhe devoured it with her eyes.—The poſt mark on the outſide denoting from whence it came, the name of "Milner Lodge" written on the top, were all ſources of pleaſure — and ſhe read ſlowly every line it contained to procraſtinate the pleaſing expectation ſhe enjoyed, till ſhe ſhould arrive at the name of Dorriforth. At laſt her impatient eye, caught the word three lines beyond the place ſhe was reading—irreſiſtibly, ſhe ſkipped over thoſe lines, and fixed on the point to which ſhe was attracted.

[4]Miſs Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; ſhe made the ſlighteſt mention of Dorriforth, ſaying only, "He was extremely concerned, and even de⯑jected, at the little hope there was of his couſin, lord Elmwood's, recovery."— Short and trivial as this paſſage was, it was ſtill more important to Miſs Milner than any other in the letter—ſhe read it again and again, conſidered, and re⯑flected upon it.—Dejected, thought ſhe, what does that word exactly mean?— did I ever ſee Mr. Dorriforth dejected? —how I wonder does he look in that ſtate?—Thus did ſhe muſe, while the cauſe of his dejection, though a moſt ſerious one, and pathetically deſcribed by Miſs Woodley, ſcarce arreſted her attention once. — She run over with haſte the account of lord Elmwood's [5] ſtate of health; ſhe certainly pitied him while ſhe thought of him, but ſhe did not think of him long. To die was a hard fate for a young nobleman juſt in poſſeſſion of his immenſe fortune, and on the eve of marriage with a beautiful young woman; but Miſs Milner thought Heaven might be ſtill better than all this, and ſhe had no doubt but his lordſhip would go there. The forlorn ſtate of Miſs Fenton ought to have been a ſubject for compaſſion, but ſhe knew that lady had reſignation to bear any lot with pati⯑ence, and that a trial of her fortitude, might be more flattering to her vanity than to be counteſs of Elmwood: in a word, ſhe ſaw nobody's misfortunes equal to her own, becauſe ſhe ſaw no one ſo little able to bear misfortune.

[6]She replied to Miſs Woodley's let⯑ter, and dwelt very long on that ſubject which Miſs Woodley had taken care to paſs over lightly; this was another in⯑dulgence; and to hear from, and to write to her friend, were now the only enjoyments ſhe poſſeſſed. From Bath Miſs Milner paid ſeveral feſtive viſits with lady Luneham — all were alike tedious and melancholy.

But her guardian wrote to her, and though the ſubject was ſorrowful, the letter gave her joy—the ſentiments it expreſſed were but trite and com⯑mon-place, yet ſhe valued them as the deareſt effuſions of friendſhip and af⯑fection; and her hand trembled, and her heart beat with rapture while ſhe wrote the anſwer, though ſhe knew it would [7] not be received with one emotion, ſuch as thoſe which ſhe experienced. In her ſecond letter to Miſs Woodley ſhe pray⯑ed like a perſon inſane to be taken home from confinement, and like a lu⯑natick proteſted, in ſenſible language, ſhe "had no diſorder." But her friend replied, "that very declaration proves its violence." And aſſured her that nothing leſs than placing her affections elſewhere, ſhould induce her to believe, but that ſhe was incura⯑ble.

Miſs Woodley's third letter acquainted Miſs Milner with the death of lord Elm⯑wood—Miſs Woodley was exceedingly affected by this event, and ſaid little elſe on any other ſubject.—Miſs Milner was ſhocked when ſhe read the words "he is dead," and for a moment thought, [8] "How tranſient are all ſublunary things!—within a few years I ſhall be dead—and how felicitous will it then be, if I have reſiſted every temptation to the deluſive pleaſures of this life!" — The happineſs of a peaceful death occupied her contemplation for near an hour; but at length every vir⯑tuous and pious ſentiment this medita⯑tion inſpired, ſerved but to remind her of the many ſentences ſhe had heard fall from her guardian's lips upon the ſame ſubject—her thoughts were again fixed on him, and ſhe could think of nothing beſide.

In a very ſhort time after, her health became impaired from the indiſpoſition of her mind; ſhe languiſhed, and was once in imminent danger. During a ſlight delirium of her fever, Miſs [9] Woodley's name and her guardian's were repeated inceſſantly; lady Lune⯑ham ſent them immediate word of this, and they both haſtened to Bath, and ar⯑rived there, juſt as her diſorder had taken a moſt favourable turn. As ſoon as ſhe became perfectly recollected, her firſt care was, knowing the frailty of her heart, to enquire what ſhe had ut⯑tered while delirious.—Miſs Woodley, who was by her bed-ſide, begged her not to be alarmed on that account, and aſſured her ſhe knew, from all her at⯑tendants, that ſhe had only ſpoken with a friendly remembrance (as was really the caſe) of thoſe perſons who were dear to her.

She wiſhed to know whether her guardian was come to ſee her, but ſhe had not the courage to aſk before Miſs [10] Woodley; and her friend was afraid by the too ſudden mention of his name to diſcompoſe her. Her woman, how⯑ever, after ſome little time, entered the chamber and whiſpered Miſs Wood⯑ley. Miſs Milner aſked inquiſitively "What ſhe ſaid?" and the woman go⯑ing to her, replied ſoftly, "Lord Elm⯑wood, madam, would wiſh to come and ſee you for a few moments, if you will allow him?" Miſs Milner turned her head, and ſtared wildly.

"I thought," ſaid ſhe, "I thought lord Elmwood had been dead—are my ſenſes diſordered ſtill?"

"No, my dear," anſwered Miſs Woodley, "it is the preſent lord Elm⯑wood who wiſhes to ſee you; he whom you left ill when you came hither, is dead."

[11]"And who is the preſent lord Elm⯑wood?" She aſked.

Miſs Woodley after a ſhort heſita⯑tion replied—"Your guardian."

"And ſo he is," cried Miſs Milner, "he is the next heir—I had forgot.— But is it poſſible he is here?"

"Yes—" returned Miſs Woodley with a grave voice and manner, to moderate that glow of ſatisfaction which for a moment ſparkled even in her languid eye, and bluſhed over her pallid coun⯑tenance—"Yes—as he heard you were ill, he thought it right to come and ſee you."

"He is very good." Anſwered ſhe, and the tears ſtarted in her eyes.

"Would you pleaſe to admit his Lordſhip?" Aſked her woman.

"Not yet, not yet," ſhe replied, "let me recollect myſelf firſt." And [12] ſhe looked with a timid doubt upon her friend, to aſk if it was proper.

Miſs Woodley could ſcarce ſupport this humble reference to her judgment from the wan face of the poor invalid, and taking her by the hand, whiſpered in tears, "You ſhall do what you pleaſe."—In a few minutes lord Elm⯑wood was introduced.

To thoſe who ſincerely love, every change of ſituation or circumſtances in the object beloved, appears an advan⯑tage.—So, the acquiſition of a title and eſtate, was in Miſs Milner's eye an im⯑meaſurable advantage to her guardian, not on the ſcore of their real value, but any change inſtead of diminiſhing her paſſion would have ſerved but to en⯑creaſe it—even a change to the utmoſt poverty.

[13]When he entered—the ſight of him ſeemed to be too much for her, and after the firſt glance ſhe turned her head away—the ſound of his voice encou⯑raged her, however, to look once more— and now ſhe rivited her eyes upon him.

"It is impoſſible, my dear Miſs Mil⯑ner," he gently whiſpered, "to ſay, the joy I feel that your diſorder has ſub⯑ſided."

But though it was impoſſible to ſay, it was poſſible to look what he felt, and his looks expreſſed his feelings.—In the zeal of thoſe ſenſations, he laid hold of her hand, and held it between his—this he himſelf did not know—but ſhe did.

"You have prayed for me, my lord, I dare ſay?" Said ſhe, with a ſmile of thanks for thoſe prayers.

[14]"Fervently, ardently!"—Returned he, and the fervency with which he prayed, ſpoke in every feature.

"But I am a proteſtant, my lord, and if I had died ſuch, do you believe I ſhould have gone to Heaven?"

"Moſt aſſuredly, that would not have prevented you."

"But Mr. Sandford does not think ſo."

"He muſt; for he means to go there himſelf."

To keep her guardian with her, Miſs Milner ſeemed inclined to converſe; but Miſs Woodley perceived the temporal as well as the ſpiritual evil of this, and ad⯑viſed his lordſhip to retire.

They had only one more interview before he left the place; at which Miſs Milner was capable of ſitting up—he [15] was with her, however, but a very ſhort time, ſome neceſſary concerns relative to the late lord Elmwood's affairs, cal⯑ling him in haſte to London. Miſs Woodley continued with her friend till ſhe ſaw her entirely reinſtated in her health: during which time his lord⯑ſhip was frequently the ſubject of their private converſation; and upon thoſe occaſions Miſs Milner has ſometimes brought Miſs Woodley to acknowledge, "That could Mr. Dorriforth have foreſeen the early death of the late lord Elmwood, it had been for the greater honour of his religion (conſidering that ancient title would now after him be⯑come extinct), had he preferred mar⯑riage vows, to thoſe of celibacy."

CHAPTER II.

WHEN the time for Miſs Woodley to depart arrived, Miſs Milner entreated earneſtly to accompany her home, and made the moſt ſolemn promiſes that ſhe would guard not only her behavi⯑our, but her very thoughts within the limitation her friend ſhould preſcribe. Miſs Woodley at length yielded thus much, "That as ſoon as lord Elm⯑wood was ſet out on his journey to Italy, where ſhe had heard him ſay he ſhould ſhortly be obliged to go, ſhe would no longer deny her the pleaſure of returning; and if (after the long ab⯑ſence which muſt conſequently take place between him and her) ſhe ſhould then, poſitively affirm the ſuppreſſion of [17] her paſſion was the happy reſult, ſhe would at that time take her word, and riſk the danger of their once more re⯑ſiding together."

With this conceſſion on the ſide of Miſs Woodley they parted; and as winter was now far advanced, that lady returned to her aunt's houſe in town, from whence Mrs. Horton was, how⯑ever, preparing to remove, in order to ſuperintend lord Elmwood's houſe, (which had been occupied by the late earl,) in Groſvenor-ſquare; and Miſs Woodley was to accompany her.

If lord Elmwood was not deſirous Miſs Milner ſhould conclude her viſit and return to his protection, it was partly from the multiplicity of affairs in which [18] he was at this time engaged, and partly from having Mr. Sandford now entirely placed with him as his chaplain; for he dreaded that living in the ſame houſe their natural antipathy might be encreaſed to averſion—upon this ac⯑count he once thought of adviſing Mr. Sandford to take up his abode elſe⯑where; but the great pleaſure his lord⯑ſhip took in his ſociety, joined to the great mortification he knew ſuch a pro⯑poſal would be to his friend, would not ſuffer him to make it.

Miſs Milner all this time was not thinking upon thoſe ſhe hated, but on thoſe ſhe loved.—Sandford never came into her thoughts, while the image of lord Elmwood never left them. One morning, as ſhe ſat talking to lady Luneham on various ſubjects, but [19] thinking alone on him; Sir Harry, with another gentleman, a Mr. Fleetmond, came in, and the converſation turned upon the great improbability there was, during the preſent lord Elmwood's youth, that he ſhould ever inherit the title and eſtate that had now fallen to him—and ſaid Mr. Fleetmond, "Inde⯑pendent of the fortune, it muſt be mat⯑ter of infinite joy to Dorriforth."— "No," anſwered Sir Harry, "inde⯑pendent of the fortune, it muſt be a motive of concern to him; for he muſt now regret, beyond meaſure, his folly in taking prieſt's orders—thus depriving himſelf of the hopes of an heir, by which the title, at his death, will be loſt."

"By no means," replied Mr. Fleet⯑mond, "he may yet have an heir, for he will certainly marry."

[20]"Marry!" Cried Sir Harry.

"Yes," anſwered the other, "it was that I meant by the joy it might proba⯑bly give him, beyond the poſſeſſion of his eſtate and title."

"How be married?" ſaid lady Lune⯑ham, "Has he not taken a vow never to marry?"

"Yes," anſwered Mr. Fleetmond, "but there are no religious vows, from which the great Pontiff of Rome can⯑not grant a diſpenſation—thoſe com⯑mandments made by the church, the church has always the power to diſpenſe withal; and when it is for the general good of religion, his holineſs thinks it incumbent on him, to publiſh his bull to remit all pains and penalties for their non-obſervance; and certainly it is for the honour of the catholics, that this earldom ſhould continue in a ca⯑tholic [21] family—In ſhort, I'll lay a wa⯑ger my lord Elmwood is married within the twelvemonth."

Miſs Milner, who liſtened with at⯑tention, feared ſhe was in a dream, or deceived by the pretended knowledge of Mr. Fleetmond, who might know no⯑thing—but on conſideration, all that he had ſaid was very probable; and to confirm its truth, he was himſelf a Roman Catholic, and muſt be well in⯑formed on the ſubject upon which he ſpoke.—If ſhe had heard the direſt news that ever ſounded in the ears of the moſt ſuſceptible of mortals, the agitation of her mind and perſon could not have been ſtronger—ſhe felt, while every word was ſpeaking, a chill through all her veins—it was a pleaſure too ex⯑quiſite, not to bear along with it the [22] ſenſation of exquiſite pain; of which ſhe was ſo ſenſible, that for a few mo⯑ments it cauſed her to wiſh ſhe had not heard the intelligence; though, very ſoon after, ſhe would not but have heard it for the world.

As ſoon as ſhe had recovered from her firſt aſtoniſhment and joy, ſhe wrote to Miſs Woodley an exact account of what ſhe had heard, and received this anſwer.

This letter was another of thoſe ex⯑cruciating pleaſures, that nearly reduced Miſs Milner to the grave—it took away from her all appetite to food, and from her eyes the power of being cloſed for ſeveral nights—ſhe thought ſo much upon the proſpect of accompliſhing her wiſhes, that ſhe could think of nothing beſide; not even invent a probable excuſe for leaving lady Luneham be⯑fore the appointed time, which was yet two months to come. She wrote to Miſs Woodley to beg her contrivance, to reproach her for keeping the ſecret ſo long from her, and to thank her for having revealed it to her in ſo kind a manner at laſt.—She begged alſo to be [25] acquainted how Mr. Dorriforth (for ſtill ſhe called him by that name) ſpoke and thought of this ſudden change in his deſtiny.

Miſs Woodley's reply was a ſum⯑mons for her to town upon ſome pre⯑tended buſineſs, which ſhe avoided ex⯑plaining, but which entirely ſilenced her ladyſhip's entreaties for her ſtay.

To her queſtion concerning lord Elmwood ſhe anſwered, "It is a ſub⯑ject on which he ſeldom ſpeaks—he ap⯑pears juſt the ſame he ever did, nor could you by any part of his conduct, conceive that any ſuch change had taken place." Miſs Milner exclaimed to herſelf, "I am glad he is not al⯑tered —if his words, looks, or manners were any thing different from what they formerly were, I ſhould not like him ſo well." And juſt the reverſe would have [26] been the caſe, had Miſs Woodley ſent her word he was changed. The day for her leaving Bath was fixed; ſhe ex⯑pected it with rapture, but before its arrival ſunk under the care of expecta⯑tion; and when it came, was ſo much indiſpoſed as to be forced to defer her journey for a week.

At length ſhe found herſelf in Lon⯑don—in the houſe of her guardian—and that guardian no longer bound to a ſingle life, but enjoined to marry. He appeared in her eyes, as in Miſs Wood⯑ley's, the ſame as ever; or perhaps more endearing than ever, as it was the firſt time ſhe had beheld him with hope. —Mr. Sandford did not appear the ſame; yet he was in reality as ſurly and as diſreſpectful in his behaviour to her as uſual; but ſhe did not obſerve, or [27] ſhe did not feel his moroſe temper as heretofore—he ſeemed amiable, mild, and gentle; at leaſt ſuch was the happy medium through which ſhe ſaw him now; for good humour, like the jaun⯑dice, makes every one of its own com⯑plexion.

CHAPTER III.

LORD Elmwood was preparing to go abroad to receive in form, the diſ⯑penſation from his vows; it was, how⯑ever, 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 ſa⯑tisfaction or concern.

Miſs Milner's pride, for the firſt time, began to take the alarm—while he was Mr. Dorriforth, and confined to a ſingle life, his indifference to her charms was rather an honourable, than a re⯑proachful trait in his character, and in reality ſhe admired him for the inſenſi⯑bility —but on the eve of being at li⯑berty, [29] 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 com⯑plained to Miſs Woodley, who adviſed her to have patience, but that was one of the virtues in which ſhe was the leaſt practiſed.

Encouraged, nevertheleſs, by her friend in the commendable deſire of gaining the affections of him, who poſſeſſed all her's, ſhe, however, left no means unat⯑tempted to make the conqueſt—but ſhe began with too great certainty of ſuc⯑ceſs, not to be ſenſible of the deepeſt mortification in the diſappointment— [30] nay, ſhe anticipated a diſappointment, as ſhe had before anticipated her ſuc⯑ceſs, and by turns felt the keeneſt emo⯑tions from hope and from deſpair.

As theſe paſſions alternately govern⯑ed her, ſhe was alternately in ſpirits or dejected; in good or in ill humour; and the frequent viciſſitudes of her proſ⯑pects, at length gave to her behaviour an air of capriciouſneſs, which not all her follies had till now produced.— This was not the way to ſecure the af⯑fections of lord Elmwood; ſhe knew it was not; and before him ſhe was under ſome reſtriction. — Sandford obſerved this, and added to her many other fail⯑ings, hypocriſy. It was plain to ſee Mr. Sandford eſteemed her leſs and leſs every day; and as he was the perſon who moſt of all influenced the opinion [31] of her guardian, he became to her, very ſoon, an object not merely of diſlike, but of abhorrence.

Theſe ſentiments for each other, were diſcoverable in every word and action while they were in each others com⯑pany; but ſtill in his abſence, Miſs Milner's good nature, and little malice, never ſuffered her to utter a ſentence injurious to his intereſt. — Sandford's charity did not extend thus far; and ſpeaking of her with ſeverity one even⯑ing 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. Sandford, I cannot lay to her charge."

"And what is that, my lord?" (cried Sandford, eagerly) "What is that one fault, which Miſs Milner has not?"

[32]"I never," replied his lordſhip, "heard Miſs Milner, in your abſence, utter a ſyllable to your diſadvantage."

"She durſt 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 cenſure her, and yet imagine I will ſuffer it."

"My lord," replied Sandford, "I am undeceived now, and ſhall never take that liberty again."

As his lordſhip always treated Sand⯑ford with the utmoſt reſpect, he began to fear he had been deficient upon this occaſion; and the diſpoſition which had induced him to take his ward's part, was likely, in the end, to prove un⯑favourable to her; for perceiving Sand⯑ford [33] was offended at what had paſſed, as the only means of retribution, his lordſhip began himſelf to lament her volatile and captious propenſities; in which lamentation Sandford, now for⯑getting his affront, joined with the heartieſt concurrence, adding,

"That you Sir having now other cares to employ your thoughts, ought to inſiſt upon her marrying, or her retiring wholly into the country."

She returned home juſt as this con⯑verſation was finiſhed, and Sandford the moment ſhe entered rung for his candle to retire. Miſs Woodley, who had been at the opera with Miſs Mil⯑ner, cried,

"Bleſs me, Mr. Sandford, are you not well; you are going to leave us ſo early?"

[34]He replied, "No, I have a pain in my head."

Miſs Milner, who never heard com⯑plaints without ſympathy, roſe imme⯑diately from her ſeat, ſaying,

"I think I never heard you, Mr. Sandford, complain of indiſpoſition be⯑fore—will you accept of my ſpecifick for the head-ach? indeed it is a certain relief — I'll fetch it inſtantly."

She went haſtily out of the room, and returned with a bottle, which, ſhe aſſured him, "was a preſent from lady Lune⯑ham, and would certainly cure him." —And ſhe preſſed it upon him with ſuch an anxious earneſtneſs, that with all his churliſhneſs he could not refuſe taking it.

This was but a common-place ci⯑vility, ſuch as is paid by one enemy to another every day; but the man⯑ner was the material part — the un⯑affected [35] concern, the attention, the good will, ſhe demonſtrated in this lit⯑tle incident, was that which was remark⯑able; and which immediately took from lord Elmwood the diſpleaſure to which he had been juſt before excited, or ra⯑ther transformed it into a degree of ad⯑miration. Even Sandford was not in⯑ſenſible to her behaviour, and in re⯑turn, when he left the room, "wiſhed her a good night."

To her and to Miſs Woodley, who had not been witneſſes of the preceding converſation, what ſhe had done ap⯑peared of no merit, but to the mind of lord Elmwood it had much; and upon the departure of Sandford he began to be unuſually cheerful. He firſt, re⯑proached the ladies for not offering him a place in their box at the opera.

[36]"Would you have gone, my lord?" Aſked Miſs Milner, highly delighted.

"Certainly," returned he, "had you invited me."

"Then from this day, my lord, I give you a general invitation: nor ſhall any other company be admitted, but what you approve."

"I am very much obliged to you." Anſwered his lordſhip.

"And you," continued ſhe, "who have been only accuſtomed to church-muſick, will be more than any one, enchanted on hearing the ſoft, harmoni⯑ous ſounds of love."

"What raviſhing pleaſures are you preparing for me!" returned he, "I know not whether my weak ſenſes will be able to ſupport them."

She had her eyes upon him as he ſpoke this, and diſcovered in his, which [37] were fixed upon her, a ſenſibility unex⯑pected—a kind of faſcination, which enticed her to look on, while her eye⯑lids 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 ſtopt the con⯑verſation.

Miſs Woodley, who had been a ſilent obſerver for ſome time, now thought a word or two from her, would be accept⯑able rather than troubleſome.

"And pray, my lord," ſaid ſhe, when do you go to France?"

"To Italy you mean,"—ſaid he, "not at all—my ſuperiors are very indulgent, for they diſpenſe with all my duties.—I ought, and meant, to have gone abroad; but as variety of concerns require my [38] preſence in England, every neceſſary ce⯑remony 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 probably be a loſer by the venture."—Soon after this, he wiſhed the ladies good night, and re⯑tired.

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 bid Mrs. Horton [39] immediately good night, and in her friend's apartment gave way to all the language of the tendereſt paſſion, warm with the confidence of meeting its return.—She deſcribed the ſentiments ſhe had read in lord Elmwood's looks, and though Miſs Woodley had be⯑held them too, Miſs Milner's fancy heightened every glance; and her con⯑ſtruction became, by degrees, ſo ex⯑tremely favourable to her own wiſhes, that had not her friend been preſent, and known in what meaſure to eſtimate thoſe ſymptoms; ſhe muſt infalliably have thought, by the joy to which they gave birth, his lordſhip had openly avowed a paſſion for her.

Miſs Woodley, therefore, thought it her duty to allay thoſe extacies, and re⯑preſented to her, ſhe might be deceived [40] in her hopes—or even ſuppoſing his lordſhip's inclinations tended towards her, there were yet great obſtacles be⯑tween them.—"Would Sandford, who governed, or at leaſt directed his al⯑moſt every thought and purpoſe, not be conſulted upon this? and if he was; on 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, for fear her friend ſhould be miſled by her wiſhes, yet in her own mind ſhe ſcarce har⯑boured a doubt that any thing would thwart them.—The ſucceeding circum⯑ſtance proved ſhe was miſtaken.

Another gentleman of family and fortune made overtures to Miſs Milner; [41] 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 for⯑merly pleaded for Sir Edward and lord Frederick; and thus at once deſtroyed all thoſe plans of happineſs poor Miſs Milner had meditated.

In conſequence, her melancholy hu⯑mour was now predominant; and for ſeveral days ſhe ſtaid entirely at home, and yet was denied to all her viſitants. —Whether this aroſe from pure melan⯑choly, or the ſtill lingering hope of making her conqueſt, by that ſedateneſs of manners ſhe knew her guardian ad⯑mired, perhaps ſhe herſelf did not know. —Be that as it may, lord Elmwood could not but obſerve this change, and [42] one morning thought fit to mention, and applaud it.

Miſs Woodley and ſhe were working together when he came into the room; and after ſitting ſeveral minutes, and talking upon indifferent ſubjects; to which his ward replied with a dejection in her voice and manner—he ſaid,

"Perhaps I am wrong, Miſs Mil⯑ner, but I have obſerved you are lately grown more thoughtful than uſual."

She bluſhed, as ſhe always did when the ſubject was herſelf.—He continued, "Your health appears perfectly reſtor⯑ed, and yet you do not take delight in your former recreations."

"Are you ſorry for that, my lord?"

"No, madam, I am extremely glad; and I was going to congratulate you upon the change—but give me leave to [43] enquire, to what lucky accident we are to attribute this alteration?"

"Your lordſhip then thinks all my commendable deeds, ariſe from acci⯑dent; and that I have no virtues of my own."

"Pardon me, Miſs Milner, I think you have many." This he ſpoke em⯑phatically; and the blood flowed to her face more than at firſt.

He reſumed—"How can I doubt of a lady's virtues, when her countenance gives ſuch evident proofs of them?—be⯑lieve 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."

[44]This was ſo much to the purpoſe, Miſs Woodley found herſelf uneaſy—but ſhe needed not—Miſs Milner loved too ſincerely, to reveal it to the object.— His lordſhip anſwered,

"And did you, Miſs Milner, know ſome of mine, you might think them equally unpardonable."

She turned pale, and could no longer guide her needle—in the fond tranſ⯑ports of her heart ſhe imagined, the ſenſations to which he alluded, was his love for her.—She was too much em⯑barraſſed to reply, and he continued,

"We have all a great deal to pardon in one another; and I know not whe⯑ther the officious perſon who forces, even his good advice, is not as blame⯑able as the obſtinate one, who will not liſten to it.—And now, having made a preface to excuſe you, ſhould you once [45] more refuſe mine, I will venture to give it."

"My lord," returned ſhe, "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 ſin⯑gle."

This ſentence, as it excluded his ever ſoliciting for himſelf, gave her the ut⯑moſt pain; and ſhe caſt a glance of her eye at him full of reproach. — He did not obſerve it, but went on.

"Continuing unmarried, it ſeems to have been your father's intention, you ſhould continue under my immediate care; but as I mean for the future to re⯑ſide chiefly in the country—anſwer me [46] 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 with which this was ſpoken; —he ſaw it, and to ſoften her ſtill more with the ſenſe of his eſteem for her, he encreaſed his earneſtneſs while he ſaid,

"If you will take the reſolution to quit London for the time I mention, there ſhall be no means unemployed to make the country all you can wiſh—I ſhall inſiſt upon Miſs Woodley's ac⯑companying [47] you; 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 Elm⯑wood—"

He was going on, but as if a poniard had thruſt her 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 uneaſi⯑neſs, which Miſs Milner diſcovered—ſhe felt, and ſhe expreſſed anguiſh.—Lord Elmwood was alarmed and ſhocked. — She did not weep, but ſhe called Miſs Woodley to come to her, with a voice that indicated a degree of agony.

"My lord," (cried Miſs Woodley, ſeeing his conſternation, and trembling leſt he ſhould gueſs the ſecret), "My [48] lord, Miſs Milner has again deceived you—you muſt not take her from Lon⯑don—it is that, 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," ex⯑claimed he, "how am I to accompliſh her wiſhes? what am I to do? how can I judge, while ſhe will not confide in me, but thus groſsly deceives me?"

She leaned, pale as death, on the ſhoulder of Miſs Woodley, her eyes fixed, with a ſeeming 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 her's."

"My lord," cried Miſs Woodley with a ſmile, "perhaps I may call upon you hereafter, to fulfil your word."

[49]He was totally ignorant what ſhe meant, nor had he leiſure from the confuſion of his thoughts to reflect upon her meaning; he nevertheleſs re⯑plied, with warmth, "Do—you will find I'll perform it.—Do—I will faithfully perform it."

Though Miſs Milner was conſcious this declaration could not, in delicacy, ever be brought 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, although they are determined never to uſe it, ſo ſhe upon this, was comforted and grew better.—She now lifted up her head from Miſs Woodley, and leaned it on her hand as ſhe ſat by the ſide of a table—ſtill ſhe did not ſpeak, but ſeemed overcome with ſorrow.— [50] As her ſituation became, however, leſs alarming; her guardian's pity and af⯑fright began to take the colour of re⯑ſentment; and though he did not ſay ſo, he was, and looked highly offended.

At this juncture Mr. Sandford en⯑tered.—On beholding the preſent party, it needed not his ſagacity to ſee, at the firſt view, they were all uneaſy; but in⯑ſtead of the ſympathy this might have excited in ſome diſpoſitions, Mr. Sand⯑ford, after caſting a look at each of them, appeared in high ſpirits.

"You ſeem unhappy, my lord." Said he, with a ſmile.

"You do not—Mr. Sandford." Re⯑plied his lordſhip.

"No, my lord, nor would I, were I in your ſituation,"—returned he, "What ſhould make a man of ſenſe out of tem⯑per [51] but a worthy object?"—And he looked at Miſs Milner.

"There are no objects unworthy our care." Replied lord Elmwood.

"But there are objects on whom all care is fruitleſs, your lordſhip will al⯑low."

"I never yet deſpaired of any one, Mr. Sandford."

"And yet there are perſons, of whom it is preſumption, to entertain hopes." — And he looked again at Miſs Mil⯑ner.

"Does your head ach, Miſs Mil⯑ner?" Aſked Miſs Woodley, ſeeing her hold it with her hand.

"Very much." Returned ſhe.

"Mr. Sandford," ſaid Miſs Wood⯑ley, "Did you uſe all thoſe drops Miſs Milner gave you for a pain in the head?"

[52]"Yes," anſwered he, "I did."— But the queſtion at that moment ſome⯑what 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 and deſpondently out of the room.

Though Miſs Woodley followed her, ſo that Mr. Sandford was left alone with lord Elmwood, and might have conti⯑nued 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.

CHAPTER IV.

AS ſoon as the firſt tranſports of de⯑ſpair were over, Miſs Milner ſuffered herſelf to be once more in hope—ſhe found there were no other means to ſupport her life; and to her no ſmall joy, her friend, Miſs Woodley, 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 hea⯑ven; and whatever vows lord Elmwood had made to another, ſhe juſtly ſuppoſ⯑ed, no woman's love for him, equalled Miſs Milner's—it was prior to all others too, and that eſtabliſhed a claim, at leaſt to contend for ſucceſs; and in a [54] 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 ar⯑rived at the certainty, by inquiring of Mr. Sandford; who, unſuſpicious why ſhe aſked, readily informed her the in⯑tended lady Elmwood, was no other than Miſs Fenton; and that her marriage with his lordſhip would be ſolemnized as ſoon as the mourning for the late lord Elmwood was expired.—This laſt in⯑telligence made Miſs Woodley ſhud⯑der—however, ſhe repeated it to Miſs Milner, word for word.

"Happy! happy, woman!" exclaim⯑ed Miſs Milner of Miſs Fenton; "ſhe has received the firſt fond impulſes of his heart, and has had the tranſcen⯑dent [55] happineſs of teaching him to love!"

"By no means," returned Miſs Woodley, finding there was no other method to comfort her; "do not ſup⯑poſe lord Elmwood's marriage is the reſult of love—it is no more than a duty, a neceſſary piece of buſineſs, 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 this ſame propriety, you muſt per⯑ceive ſtill exiſts."

It was eaſy to convince Miſs Milner all her friend ſaid was truth, for ſhe wiſhed it to be ſo. "And oh!" ſhe exclaimed, "could I but ſtimulate paſſion, in the place 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 [56] think it would be unjuſt to Miſs Fen⯑ton, were I to inſpire her deſtined huſ⯑band with a paſſion which ſhe may not have inſpired, and which I believe ſhe herſelf 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 wait to give her time to recall the word, or to alter its meaning by adding others to it, but run 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, never⯑theleſs, to juſtify this determination, and ſatisfy the conſcience of Miſs Woodley, they both concluded, Miſs Fenton's heart was not engaged in the intended [57] marriage, and conſequently ſhe was in⯑different whether it took place or not.

Since the death of the late earl, that young lady had not been in town; nor had the preſent lord been near the ſpot where ſhe reſided ſince the week her lover died; of courſe, nothing like love could be declared at ſo early a period; and if it had been made known ſince, it muſt only have been by letter, or by the deputation of Mr. Sandford, whom they knew had been once in the coun⯑try to viſit her; but how little he was qualified to enforce a tender paſſion, was a comfortable reflection.

Revived with theſe conjectures, of which ſome were true, and others falſe; the very next day a dark gloom over⯑ſpread their bright proſpects, on Mr. [58] Sandford's ſaying, as he entered the breakfaſt-room,

"Miſs Fenton, ladies, deſired me to preſent her compliments to you."

"Is ſhe in town?" Aſked Mrs. Hor⯑ton.

"She came to town yeſterday morn⯑ing," returned Sandford, "and is at her brother's, in Ormond ſtreet; my lord and I ſupped there laſt night, and that made us ſo late home."

His lordſhip entered ſoon after, and confirmed what had been ſaid, by bow⯑ing to his ward, and telling her, "Miſs Fenton had charged him with her kindeſt reſpects."

"How does poor Miſs Fenton look?" Mrs. Horton aſked lord Elmwood.

To which queſtion Sandford replied, "Beautiful—ſhe looks beautifully."

[59]"She has got over her uneaſineſs, I ſuppoſe then?" Said Mrs. Horton—not knowing ſhe was aſking the queſtion be⯑fore her new lover.

"Uneaſy!" replied Sandford, "un⯑eaſy at any trial this world can ſend? that had been highly unworthy of her."

"But ſometimes women do fret at ſuch things." Replied Mrs. Horton in⯑nocently.

Lord Elmwood aſked Miſs Milner— "If ſhe meant to ride, this charming day?"

While ſhe was heſitating—

"There are very different kind of women," (anſwered Sandford, directing his diſcourſe to Mrs. Horton,) "there is as much difference between ſome women, as between good and evil ſpirits."

[60]Lord Elmwood aſked Miſs Milner again—if ſhe took an airing?

She replied, "No."

"And beauty," continued Sandford, "when endowed upon ſpirits that are evil, is a mark of their greater, their more extreme wickedneſs.—Lucifer was the moſt beautiful of all the angels in paradiſe—"

"How do you know?" Said Miſs Milner.

"But the beauty of Lucifer" (con⯑tinued Sandford, in perfect neglect and contempt of her queſtion,) "was an aggravation of his guilt; becauſe it ſhewed a double ſhare of ingratitude to the Divine Creator of that beauty."

"Now you talk of angels," ſaid Miſs Milner, "I wiſh I had wings; and I ſhould like to fly through the park this morning."

[61]"You would be taken for an angel in good earneſt." Said lord Elmwood.

Sandford was angry at this little compliment, and cried, "Then inſtead of the wings, I would adviſe the ſer⯑pent's ſkin."

"My lord," cried ſhe, "does not Mr. Sandford uſe me ill?"—Vext with other things, ſhe felt herſelf extremely hurt at this, and made the appeal al⯑moſt in tears.

"Indeed, I think he does." An⯑ſwered his lordſhip, and he looked at Sandford as if he was diſpleaſed.

This was a triumph ſo agreeable to her, ſhe immediately pardoned the of⯑fence; but the offender did not ſo eaſily pardon her.

"Good morning, ladies." Said his lordſhip, riſing to go away.

"My lord," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "you promiſed Miſs Milner to accom⯑pany [62] her one evening to the opera; this is opera night."

"Will you go, my lord?" Aſked Miſs Milner, in a voice ſo ſoft, he ſeemed as if he wiſhed, but could not reſiſt it."

"I am to dine at Mr. Fenton's to⯑day," he replied, "and if he and his ſiſter will go; and you will allow them part of your box, I will promiſe to come."

This was a condition that did not pleaſe her, but as ſhe felt a ſtrong deſire to ſee him in the company of his intended bride, (for ſhe fancied ſhe could perceive his moſt ſecret ſen⯑timents, could ſhe once ſee them to⯑gether) ſhe anſwered not ungraciouſly, "Yes, my compliments to Mr. and Miſs Fenton, and I hope they will fa⯑vour me with their company."

[63]"Then, madam, if they come, you may expect me—elſe not." And he bowed and left the room.

All the day was paſſed in anxious ex⯑pectation by Miſs Milner, what would be the event of the evening; for upon the ſkill of her penetration that even⯑ing, all her future proſpects ſhe thought depended.—If ſhe ſaw by his looks, his words, or aſſiduity, he loved Miſs Fen⯑ton, ſhe flattered herſelf ſhe would never think of him again with hope; but if ſhe obſerved him treat her with inattention or indifference, ſhe meant to cheriſh from that moment the fondeſt expectations. —Againſt that ſhort evening her toilet was conſulted the whole day; and the alternate hope and fear which fluttered at her heart, gave a more than uſual brilliancy to her eyes, and more than [64] uſual bloom to her complexion.—But in vain was her beauty; vain all the pains ſhe had taken to decorate that beauty; vain the many looks ſhe caſt towards her box-door to ſee it open; lord Elmwood did not come.

The muſick was diſcord—every thing ſhe ſaw, was diſguſting—in a word, ſhe was miſerable.

She longed impatiently for the cur⯑tain 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." She ſaid to herſelf.—Or could ſhe have thought [65] of him without joining in the ſame idea Miſs Fenton, her anguiſh had been ſupportable; but while ſhe pictured them as lovers, the tortures of the rack give but a few degrees more pain than ſhe endured.

There are but few perſons who ever felt the real paſſion of jealouſy, becauſe few have felt the real paſſion of love; but to thoſe who have experienced them both, jealouſy not only affects the mind, but every fibre of the frame is a victim to it; and Miſs Milner's every limb ached, with agonizing torment, while Miſs Fenton, courted and beloved by lord Elmwood, was preſent to her ima⯑gination.

The moment the opera was finiſhed, ſhe flew haſtily down ſtairs, as if to fly [66] from the ſufferings ſhe experienced.— She did not go into the coffee-room, though repeatedly perſuaded by Miſs Woodley, but waited at the door till her carriage drew up.

Piqued — heart-broken — full of re⯑ſentment to the object of her uneaſi⯑neſs; as ſhe ſtood inattentive to all that paſſed, a hand gently laid hold of her's, and the moſt humble and inſinuating voice ſaid, "Will you permit me to hand you to your carriage?" She was awaked from her reverie, and found lord Frederick Lawnly by her ſide.— Her heart, juſt then melting with ten⯑derneſs to another, was perhaps more acceſſible than heretofore, or burſting with reſentment, thought this the mo⯑ment to retaliate. Whatever paſſion reigned that inſtant, it was favourable [67] 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 ſlighteſt love in return, ſhe felt a gratitude proportionate to the in⯑ſenſibility with which ſhe had been treated by her guardian, and lord Fre⯑derick was not very erroneous if he miſ⯑took 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⯑ly, and diſappeared. Miſs Woodley wiſhed to divert her thoughts from the object which could only make her wretched, and as they rode home, by many encomiums upon lord Frederick, endeavoured to incite her to a regard for him; Miſs Milner was diſpleaſed at the attempt, and exclaimed,

[68]"What, love a rake, a man of pro⯑feſſed gallantry? impoſſible.—To me, a common rake is as odious, as a com⯑mon proſtitute is to a man of the niceſt feelings.—Where can be the pride of inſpiring a paſſion, fifty others can equally inſpire? or the tranſport of be⯑ſtowing favours, where the appetite is already cloyed by fruition of the ſelf⯑ſame enjoyments?"

"Strange," cried Miſs Woodley, "that you, who poſſeſs ſo many follies incident to your ſex, ſhould, in the diſ⯑poſal of your heart, have ſentiments ſo contrary to women in general."

"My dear Miſs Woodley," returned ſhe, "put in competition the languid love of a debauchee, with the vivid af⯑fection of a ſober man, and judge which has the dominion? Oh! in my calen⯑der of love, a ſolemn lord chief juſtice, [69] or a devout archbiſhop, ranks before a licentious king."

Miſs Woodley ſmiled at an opinion which ſhe knew half her ſex would laugh at; but by the air of ſincerity with which it was delivered, ſhe was con⯑vinced, her late behaviour to lord Fre⯑derick was but the mere effect of chance.

Lord Elmwood's carriage drove to his door juſt at the time her's did; Mr. Sandford was with him, and they were both come from paſſing 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 his lordſhip, "I was ſorry; but I hope you did not ex⯑pect me."

[70]"Not expect you, my lord?" cried Miſs Milner, "did not you ſay you would come?"

"If I had, I certainly ſhould have come," returned he, "but I only ſaid ſo conditionally."

"That I am witneſs to," cried Sand⯑ford, "for I was preſent at the time, and his lordſhip ſaid it ſhould depend upon Miſs Fenton."

"And ſhe, with her gloomy diſpoſi⯑tion," ſaid Miſs Milner, "choſe to ſit at home."

"Gloomy diſpoſition?" repeated Sandford, "She is a young lady with 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.

"Bleſs me, Mr. Sandford," cried Miſs Milner, "I meant no reflection [71] upon Miſs Fenton's diſpoſition; I only meant to cenſure her taſte for ſtaying at home."

"I think," replied Sandford, "a much greater cenſure ſhould be paſſed upon thoſe, who prefer rambling a⯑broad."

"But I hope, ladies, my not com⯑ing," ſaid his lordſhip, "was no cauſe of inconvenience to you; you had ſtill a gentleman with you, or I ſhould cer⯑tainly have come."

"Oh! yes, two gentlemen." An⯑ſwered the young ſon of lady Evans, a lad from ſchool, whom Miſs Milner had taken along with her, and to whom his lordſhip had alluded.

"What two?" Aſked lord Elm⯑wood.

Neither Miſs Milner or Miſs Wood⯑ley anſwered.

[72]"You know, madam," ſaid young Evans, "that handſome gentleman who handed you into your carriage, and you called my lord."

"Oh! he means lord Frederick Lawnley." Said Miſs Milner careleſsly, but a bluſh of ſhame ſpread over her face.

"And did he hand you into your coach?" Aſked his lordſhip, earn⯑eſtly.

"By mere accident, my lord," Miſs Woodley replied, "for the crowd was ſo great—"

"I think, my lord," ſaid Sandford, "it was very lucky you were not there."

"Had lord Elmwood been with us, we ſhould not have had occaſion for the aſſiſtance of any other." Said Miſs Milner.

[73]"Lord Elmwood has been with you, madam," returned Sandford, "very frequently, and yet—"

"Mr. Sandford," ſaid his lordſhip, interrupting him, "it is near bed-time, your converſation keeps the ladies from retiring."

"Your lordſhip's does not." Said Miſs Milner, "for you ſay nothing."

"Becauſe, madam, I am afraid to offend."

"But does not your lordſhip alſo hope to pleaſe? and without riſking the one, it is impoſſible to arrive at the other."

"I think, at preſent, the riſk of one 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 Mil⯑ner, "is very grave—he does not look [74] like a man who has been paſſing his evening with the woman he loves."

"Perhaps he is melancholy at part⯑ing from her." Said Miſs Woodley.

"More likely offended," ſaid Sand⯑ford, at the manner in which that lady has ſpoken of her."

"Who, I?" cried Miſs Milner, "I proteſt I ſaid nothing but—"

"Nothing, madam? did not you ſay ſhe was gloomy?"

"But, what I thought—I was going to add, Mr. Sandford."

"When you think unjuſtly, you ſhould not expreſs your thoughts."

"Then, perhaps, I ſhould never ſpeak."

"And it were better you did not, if what you ſay, is to give pain.—Do you know, madam, that my lord is going to be married to Miſs Fenton?"

[75]"Yes." Anſwered Miſs Milner.

"Do you know that he loves her?"

"No." Anſwered Miſs Milner.

"How, madam! do you ſuppoſe he does not?"

"I ſuppoſe he does, yet I don't know it."

"Then ſuppoſing 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 praiſe her both to him and to you, who admire ſuch tem⯑pers."

"Whatever her temper is, every one admires it; and ſo far from its being what you have deſcribed, ſhe has a great deal of vivacity; vivacity which pro⯑ceeds from the heart."

"No, if it proceeded, I ſhould ad⯑mire it too; but it reſts there, and no one is the better for it.

[76]"Come, Miſs Milner," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "it is time to retire; you and Mr. Sandford muſt finiſh your diſ⯑pute in the morning."

"Diſpute, madam!" ſaid Sandford, "I never diſputed with any one be⯑neath a doctor of divinity in my life.—I was only cautioning your friend not to make light of virtues, which it would do her honour to poſſeſs. — Miſs Fen⯑ton is a moſt amiable young woman, and worthy 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 jeſting."

"But, madam, jeſts are very perni⯑cious things, when delivered with a malignant ſneer.—I have known a jeſt deſtroy a lady's reputation — I have [77] known a jeſt give one perſon a diſtaſte for another—I have known a jeſt break off a marriage."

"But I ſuppoſe there is no appre⯑henſion of that, in the preſent caſe?" Said Miſs Woodley—wiſhing he might anſwer in the affirmative.

"Not that I can foreſee." Replied he. —"No, Heaven forbid; for I look upon them to be formed for each other —their diſpoſitions, their purſuits, their inclinations the ſame.—Their paſſions for each other juſt the ſame—pure— white as ſnow."

"And I dare ſay, not warmer." Re⯑plied Miſs Milner.

He looked provoked beyond mea⯑ſure.

"Dear Miſs Milner," cried Miſs Woodley, "how can you talk thus? I believe in my heart you are only [78] envious my lord did not offer himſelf to you."

"To her!" ſaid Sandford, affecting an air of the utmoſt ſurpriſe, "to her? Do you think his lordſhip received a diſpenſation from his vows to become the huſband of a coquette—a—" he was going on.

"Nay, Mr. Sandford," cried Miſs Milner, "I believe my greateſt crime in your eyes, is being a heretick."

"By no means, madam—it is the only circumſtance that can apologize for your faults; and had you not that excuſe, there would be none for you."

"Then, at preſent, there is an ex⯑cuſe—I thank you, Mr. Sandford; this is the kindeſt thing you ever ſaid to me. But I am vext to ſee you are ſorry, you have ſaid it."

[79]"Angry at your being a heretick?" 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 humour during the whole evening—ſhe had been provoked to the full extent of her patience ſeveral times; but this harſh ſentence hurried her beyond all bounds, and ſhe aroſe from her ſeat in the moſt violent agitation, and exclaimed, "What have I done to be treated thus?"

Though Mr. Sandford was not a man eaſily intimidated, he was on this occaſion evidently alarmed; and ſtared about him with ſo ſtrong 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 af⯑fection [80] and pity, "My dear Miſs Mil⯑ner, be compoſed."

Miſs Milner ſat down, and was ſo for a minute; but her dead ſilence was nearly as alarming to Sandford as her rage had been; and he did not perfectly recover himſelf till he ſaw a flood of tears pouring down her face; he then heaved a ſigh of content that it had ſo ended, but in his heart reſolved never to forget the ridiculous affright into which he had been put.—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 prayers, ſo when he came to that part which ſupplicates "Grace for the wicked," he named Miſs Milner's name, with the moſt fervent devotion.

CHAPTER V.

AMONG the many ſleepleſs nights Miſs Milner paſſed, the preſent was not one of them; it is true ſhe had a weight of care upon her heart, even heavier than uſual, but its burthen had over⯑come her ſtrength; and wearied out with hopes, with fears, and at the end with diſappointment and rage, ſhe ſunk into a profound ſlumber as ſoon as ſhe was laid down—but the more forget⯑fulneſs had prevailed, the greater was the force of remembrance when ſhe awoke—At firſt, ſo ſound had her ſleep been, ſhe had a difficulty in calling to mind why ſhe was unhappy; but that ſhe was unhappy, ſhe well recollected —and when the cauſe came to her me⯑mory, [82] ſhe would have ſlept again, but that was impoſſible.

Though her reſt had been ſound, it had not been refreſhing; ſhe was far from well, and ſent word ſo as an apo⯑logy for not being preſent at breakfaſt. Lord Elmwood looked concerned when the meſſage was delivered; Mr. Sand⯑ford ſhook his head.

"Miſs Milner's health is not good." Said Mrs. Horton a few minutes after

Lord Elmwood laid down the news⯑paper to attend to her.

"To me there is ſomething very ex⯑traordinary about her." Continued Mrs. Horton, finding ſhe had caught his lord⯑ſhip's attention.

"So there is to me." Added Sand⯑ford, with a ſarcaſtick ſneer.

[83]"And ſo there is to me." Said Miſs Woodley, with a moſt ſerious face, and 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; Mrs. Horton in a little time went to her's, and lord Elmwood and Miſs Woodley were left alone.—His lordſhip immedi⯑ately roſe from his ſeat, and ſaid,

"I think, Miſs Woodley, Miſs Mil⯑ner was extremely to blame, though I did not chooſe to tell her ſo before Mr. Sandford, in giving my lord Frederick an opportunity of ſpeaking to her; un⯑leſs [84] ſhe means he ſhall renew his ad⯑dreſſes."

"That, I am ſure, my lord," re⯑plied Miſs Woodley, "ſhe does not mean—and I aſſure you, my lord, ſe⯑riouſly, it was by mere accident ſhe ſaw him yeſterday evening; or permitted him to attend her to her carriage."

"I am glad to hear it;" he returned quickly; "for although I am not of a ſuſpicious nature, yet in regard to her affection for him, I cannot but have my doubts."

"You need have none, my lord." Replied Miſs Woodley, with a ſmile of confidence.

"And yet you muſt own her behavi⯑our has warranted them — has it not been in this particular incoherent, un⯑definable, unaccountable!"

[85]"The behaviour of a perſon in love, no doubt." Said Mis 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 theſe ſuſpicions ſhould fix?" Said Miſs Woodley with the colour mounting into her face.

"Not that I know of—not one more that I know of." Returned he, with aſtoniſhment at what ſhe had inſinuated, and yet with a perfect aſſurance ſhe was in the wrong.

"Perhaps I am miſtaken." Replied ſhe.

"Nay, that is impoſſible too—" re⯑turned he with anxiety, "You ſhare her confidence; you are perpetually with her; and provided ſhe did not confide [86] in you, you muſt know, muſt be ac⯑quainted with her inclinations."

"I believe I am perfectly acquainted with them." Replied Miſs Woodley, with a ſignificance in her voice and man⯑ner 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 with⯑hold them from me, much leſs would I take any unfair means of being inform⯑ed of them—to aſk any more from you, I believe, would be unfair—yet I can⯑not 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 I take for her happineſs, I take in the moſt perplexing uncertainty."

[87]Miſs Woodley ſighed, but did not ſpeak.—He ſeemed to wait for her re⯑ply, but as ſhe made none, he pro⯑ceeded.

"If ever a breach of confidence could be tolerated, I certainly know no occaſion that would ſo juſtly authoriſe ſuch a meaſure as the preſent.—I am not only proper from my character, but from my circumſtances to be relied up⯑on—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 from every peril ari⯑ſing from my being truſted."

"Oh! my lord," cried Miſs Wood⯑ley, with a moſt forcible accent, "you are the laſt perſon on earth, ſhe would pardon me for intruſting."

[88]"Why ſo?" (ſaid he warmly,) "But that is the way—the perſon who is our friend we miſdoubt—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 believe that I would do any thing to make Miſs Milner happy?"

"Any thing in honour, my lord."

"She can deſire nothing farther."— He replied in agitation—"Are her de⯑ſires ſo unwarrantable 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.

[89]"In the diſpoſal of themſelves," reſumed he, with a leſs vehement tone, "that great, that terrifick diſpoſal in marriage, (at which I have ever looked with affright and diſ⯑may) there is no accounting for the raſhneſs of a woman's choice, or ſome⯑times 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 her own value, I do. — Independent of her fortune, ſhe has beauty to captivate the heart of any man; and with all her follies, ſhe has a frankneſs in her manner, an unaffected wiſdom in her thoughts, a vivacity in her converſation, and withal, a ſoftneſs in her demeanour, that might alone en⯑gage the affections of a man of the niceſt ſentiments, and the ſtrongeſt un⯑derſtanding.—I will not ſee all theſe qualities and accompliſhments debaſed. [90] —It is my office to protect her from the conſequences of a degraded choice, and I will."

"My lord, Miſs Milner's taſte is not a depraved one; it is but too much re⯑fined."

"What do you mean by that, Miſs Woodley? you talk myſteriouſly.—Is ſhe not afraid I will thwart her inclina⯑tions?"

"She is ſure you will, my lord."

"Then muſt not the perſon be un⯑worthy of her?"

Miſs Woodley roſe from her ſeat, the tears trinkled down her cheeks, ſhe claſped her hands, and every look, every geſture proved her alternate re⯑ſolution, and irreſolution of proceeding farther. — Lord Elmwood's attention was arreſted before, but now it was fix⯑ed [91] to a degree, which her manner could only occaſion.

"My lord," ſaid ſhe, with a tremu⯑lous voice, "promiſe me, declare to me, ſwear to me, it ſhall [...] remain a ſe⯑cret in your own breaſt, and I will re⯑veal to you, on whom ſhe has placed her affections."

This ſolemn preparation made lord Elmwood tremble; and he run over inſtantly in his mind all the perſons he could recollect, in order to arrive at the knowledge by thought, quicker than by words.—It was in vain he tried, and he once more turned his enquiring eyes upon Miſs Woodley.—He ſaw her ſilent and covered with confuſion.—Again he ſearched his own thoughts, nor inef⯑fectually as before.—At the firſt glance [92] the object was preſented, and he beheld himſelf.

The rapid emotion of varying paſ⯑ſions, which immediately darted over his features, informed Miſs Woodley her ſecret was diſcovered—ſhe hid her face, while the tears that fell down to her boſom, confirmed him in the truth of his ſuggeſtion beyond what oaths could have done.—A ſhort interval of ſilenced followed, during which ſhe ſuf⯑fered tortures for the manner in which he would next ſpeak to her—two ſe⯑conds gave her this reply.

"For God's ſake take care what you are doing—you are deſtroying my proſ⯑pects of futurity—you are making this world too dear to me."

Her drooping head was then lifted up, and as ſhe caught the eye of Dor⯑riforth, [93] ſhe ſaw it beam expectation, amaze, joy, ardour, love. — Nay, there was a fire, a vehemence in the quick faſcinating rays it ſent forth, ſhe never before had ſeen — it filled her with alarm—ſhe wiſhed him to love Miſs Milner, but to love her with mo⯑deration.—Miſs Woodley was too little verſed in the ſubject to know, that, had been, not to love at all; at leaſt not to the extent of breaking through en⯑gagements, and all the various obſta⯑cles, that ſtill militated againſt their union.

Lord Elmwood was ſenſible of the embarraſſment his preſence gave Miſs Woodley, and underſtood the reproaches which ſhe ſeemed to vent upon herſelf in ſilence.—To relieve her from both, he laid his hand with force upon his heart, and ſaid, "Do you believe me?"

[94]"I do, my lord." She anſwered, trembling.

"I will make no unjuſt uſe of what I know." Returned he, with firmneſs.

"I believe you, my lord."

"But for what my paſſions now dic⯑tate," continued he, "I will not an⯑ſwer.—They are confuſed—they are tri⯑umphant at preſent.—I have never yet, however, been vanquiſhed by them; and even upon this occaſion, my rea⯑ſon ſhall combat to the laſt—that, 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 meant no injury, and to whom you have done none."

[95]"But ſhe would account it ſuch, my lord."

"We are not judges of what belongs to ourſelves;" — he replied, — "I am tranſported at the tidings you have re⯑vealed, and yet, perhaps, I had better never have heard them."

Miſs Woodley was going to ſay ſomething farther, but as if incapable of attending to her, he haſted out of the room.

CHAPTER VI.

MISS Woodley ſtood for ſome time to conſider which way ſhe was to go.— The firſt perſon ſhe met would enquire, why ſhe had been weeping to that ex⯑ceſs her eyes were ſcarce diſcernible? and if Miſs Milner was to aſk the queſ⯑tion, in what words could ſhe tell, or in what manner deny the truth?—To avoid her, was her firſt caution, and ſhe took the only method; ſhe had a hackney-coach ordered, rode ſeveral miles out of town, and returned to dinner with ſo little remains of her ſwoln eyes, that complaining of the head-ach was a ſuf⯑ficient excuſe for them.

[97]Miſs Milner was enough recovered to be preſent at dinner, though ſhe ſcarce taſted a morſel. Lord Elmwood did not dine at home, at which Miſs Wood⯑ley rejoiced, but at which Mr. Sand⯑ford appeared highly diſappointed.— He aſked the ſervants, ſeveral times, what his lordſhip ſaid when he went out? they replied, "nothing more than that he ſhould not be at home to din⯑ner." — "I can't imagine where he dines?" Said Sandford.—"Bleſs me, Mr. Sandford, can't you gueſs?" (cried Mrs. Horton, who by this time was made acquainted with his intended mar⯑riage), "he dines with Miſs Fenton to be ſure." —"No," replied Sandford, "he is not there; I came from thence juſt now, and they had not ſeen him all day."—Poor Miſs Milner, on this, put [98] a mouthful into her mouth; for where we hope for nothing, we receive ſmall indulgences with joy,

Notwithſtanding the anxiety and trouble under which Miſs Woodley had laboured all the morning, her heart for many weeks had not felt ſo light as it did this day at dinner—The confidence ſhe repoſed in the promiſes of lord Elm⯑wood—the firm reliance ſhe had upon his delicacy and his juſtice — the una⯑bated kindneſs with which her friend received her, while no one ſuſpicious thought, ſhe knew, had taken harbour in her boſom—and the conſcious in⯑tegrity of her own intentions, however ſhe might be miſled by her judgment, all conſpired to comfort her with the hope, ſhe had done nothing ſhe ought to wiſh recalled.—But although ſhe felt [99] thus tranquil, in reſpect to what ſhe had divulged, yet ſhe felt a great deal em⯑barraſſed with the dread of next ſeeing lord Elmwood.

Miſs Milner, not having ſpirits to go abroad, paſſed the evening at home— ſhe read part of a new opera, played upon her guitar, muſed, ſighed, occa⯑ſionally talked with Miſs Woodley, and ſo paſſed the tedious hours till near ten, when Mrs. Horton aſked Mr. Sandford to play a game at piquet, and on his excuſing himſelf, Miſs Milner offered in his ſtead, and was gladly accepted. —They had juſt begun to play when lord Elmwood came into the room— Miſs Milner's countenance immediate⯑ly brightened, and although ſhe was in a negligent morning dreſs, and looked paler than uſual, ſhe did not look leſs [100] beautiful—Miſs Woodley was leaning on the back of her chair to obſerve the game, and Mr. Sandford ſat reading one of the Greek Fathers at the other ſide of the fire place. Lord Elmwood as he advanced to the table bowed, not having ſeen the ladies ſince morning, or Miſs Milner that day; they re⯑turned his ſalute, and he was going up to Miſs Milner, (ſeemingly to enquire of her health,) when Mr. Sandford, laying down his book, ſaid,

"My lord, where have you been all day?"

"I have been very buſy." Replied his lordſhip, and walking from the card-table went up to him.

Miſs Milner began to make miſtakes, and play one card for another.

"You have been at Mr. Fenton's this evening, I ſuppoſe?" Said Sandford.

[101]"No, not at all to-day." Replied his lordſhip.

"How came that about, my lord?" Cried Sandford.

Miſs Milner played the ace of dia⯑monds, inſtead of the king of hearts.

"I ſhall call to-morrow." Anſwered his lordſhip, and going with a very ceremonious air up to Miſs Milner, ſaid, "He hoped ſhe was perfectly re⯑covered."

Mrs. Horton begged her "To mind what ſhe was about."

"She replied, "I am much better, Sir."

He then returned to Sandford again: but never, during all this time, did his eye once encounter Miſs Woodley's, and ſhe, with equal care, avoided his.

[102]Some cold diſhes were now brought up for ſupper—Miſs Milner loſt deal, and the game ended.

As they were arranging themſelves at the ſupper-table, "Do, Miſs Mil⯑ner," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "have ſome⯑thing warm for your ſupper? a chicken boiled? or ſomething of that kind? you have eat nothing all day."

With the feeling of humanity, and ap⯑parently no other ſenſation—but ne⯑ver did he feel philanthropy ſo forcibly —lord Elmwood ſaid, "Let me beg of you, Miſs Milner, 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 had been; her [103] gratitude was expreſſed by bluſhes, and by aſſuring his lordſhip ſhe was now "ſo well as to be able to ſup on what was before her."—She ſpoke, however, and had not made the trial; for the mo⯑ment ſhe carried a piece to her lips, ſhe laid it on her plate again, and turned paler, from the vain endeavour to force her appetite. Lord Elmwood had ever been attentive to her, but now he watch⯑ed her as he would a child; and when he ſaw by her ſtruggles ſhe could not eat, he took her plate from her; gave her ſomething elſe; and all with a care and watchfulneſs in his looks, as if he had been a tender-hearted boy, and ſhe his darling bird, the loſs of which, would embitter all the joy of his holi⯑days.

[104]This attention had ſomething about it ſo tender, ſo officious, and yet ſo ſincere, that it brought the tears into Miſs Woodley's eyes, attracted the no⯑tice of Mr. Sandford, and the obſerva⯑tion of Mrs. Horton, while the heart of Miſs Milner overflowed with a grati⯑tude that gave place to no ſentiment, except her love.

To relieve that anxiety her guardian expreſſed, ſhe endeavoured to appear cheerful, and that anxiety, at length, really made her ſo.—He now preſſed her to take one glaſs of wine with ſuch ſolicitude, he ſeemed to ſay a thouſand things beſide — Sandford ſtill made his obſervations, and being unuſed to conceal his thoughts before the preſent company, he ſaid, bluntly,

[105]"Miſs Fenton was indiſpoſed the other night, my lord, and yet you did not ſeem half ſo anxious about her health."

Had Sandford laid all lord Elm⯑wood's eſtate at Miſs Milner's feet, or preſented her with that eternal bloom which adorns the face of a goddeſs, he would have done leſs to endear himſelf to her, than by that ſingle ſentence— ſhe looked at him with the moſt be⯑nign countenance, and felt affliction that ſhe had ever offended him.

"Miſs Fenton," (lord Elmwood re⯑plied) "has a brother with her; her health and happineſs are in his care, Miſs Milner's are in mine."

"Mr. Sandford," ſaid Miſs Milner, "I am afraid I behaved very uncivilly to [106] you laſt night; will you accept of an atonement?

"No, madam," returned he, "I ac⯑cept no expiation without amendment."

"Well then," ſaid ſhe, ſmiling, "ſup⯑poſe I promiſe never to offend you again, what then?"

"Why then, you'll break your pro⯑miſe." Returned he, churliſhly.

"Do not promiſe," ſaid lord Elm⯑wood, "for he means to provoke you to it."

In the like converſation the evening was paſſed, and Miſs Milner retired to reſt in far better ſpirits than the morn⯑ing's proſpect had given her to hope for. Miſs Woodley too, had cauſe to be well pleaſed, but her pleaſure was in a great meaſure eclipſed by the reflec⯑tion, "there was ſuch a perſon as Miſs [107] Fenton;" ſhe could not but fear, that in doing Miſs Milner a right, ſhe had, perhaps, done that lady a wrong—ſhe wiſhed ſhe had been equally acquainted with her heart, as ſhe was with Miſs Milner's, and ſhe would then have acted without injuſtice to either; but Miſs Fenton had of late ſhunned their ſociety, and even in their company ſhe was of a temper too reſerved to diſco⯑ver her mind; Miſs Woodley was therefore obliged to act to the beſt of her judgment only, and leave all events to providence.

CHAPTER VII.

WITHIN a few days, in the houſe of lord Elmwood, every thing, and every perſon wore a new face.—His lord⯑ſhip was the profeſt lover of Miſs Mil⯑ner—ſhe, the happieſt of human beings —Miſs Woodley partaking in her joy —while Mr. Sandford was lamenting with the deepeſt concern, that Miſs Fenton had been ſupplanted; and what added moſt poignantly to his ſorrow was, that ſhe had been ſupplanted by Miſs Milner.—Though a church man, he bore his diſappointment with the impatience of one of the laity; he could hardly ſpeak to lord Elmwood; he would not look at Miſs Milner, and was diſpleaſed with every body. — It [109] was his intention when he firſt became acquainted with lord Elmwood's reſolu⯑tion, to quit his houſe; and as his lordſhip had, with the utmoſt degree of inflexi⯑bility, reſiſted all his good counſel and advice upon this ſubject, he reſolved, in quitting him, never to be his adviſer or counſellor 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 might 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 your faithful pilot would point out, he will, nevertheleſs, ſail in [110] your company, and lament over your watery grave. The more you ſlight my advice, the more you want it, and till you command me to leave your houſe, (as I ſuppoſe you will ſoon do, to ob⯑lige your lady) I will continue along with you."

Lord Elmwood liked him ſincerely, and was glad he took this reſolution; yet as ſoon as his lordſhip's reaſon and af⯑fections had once told him, he ought to break with Miſs Fenton, and marry his ward, he became ſo decidedly of that opinion, Sandford's never had the moſt trivial weight upon the ſubject, nor would he flatter the ſuppoſed authority he poſſeſſed over him, by urging him to remain in his houſe a ſingle day, con⯑trary to his inclinations. Sandford be⯑held, with grief, this firmneſs, but find⯑ing [111] it vain to contend, ſubmitted—not, however, with a good grace.

Amidſt all the perſons affected by this change in lord Elmwood's mar⯑riage deſigns, Miſs Fenton was, per⯑haps, the leaſt—ſhe would have been content to have married, ſhe was con⯑tented to live ſingle — Mr. Sandford was the firſt who made overtures to her on the part of lord Elmwood, and the firſt ſent to aſk her to diſpenſe with the obligation — She received both theſe propoſals with the ſame inſipid ſmile of approbation, and the ſame cold indiffer⯑ence 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 proſpect of dreary [112] winter; but the ſenſibility of Miſs Mil⯑ner had now reverſed that proſpect to perpetual ſpring; or the dearer variety of ſpring, ſummer, and autumn.

It was a knowledge alſo of this tor⯑por in Miſs Fenton's nature, from which he formed the purpoſe of break⯑ing with her; for lord Elmwood ſtill retained enough of the prieſt's ſanctity, to have yielded up his own happineſs, and even that of his beloved ward, ra⯑ther 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, aſ⯑ſured him, her thoughts were more in⯑clined towards the joys of Heaven than earth; and as this circumſtance would, ſhe believed, induce her to retire to a convent, ſhe thought it a happy, rather [113] 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 which ſurrounded her, Miſs Milner oftentimes aſked her heart, and her heart whiſpered like a flatterer, "Yes." Are not my charms even more invincible than I ever believed them to be? Dorriforth, the grave, the ſanctified, the anchorite Dor⯑riforth, by their force is animated to all the ardour of the moſt impaſſioned lover—while the proud prieſt, the auſ⯑tere guardian, is humbled, if I but frown, into the verieſt ſlave of love.— She then aſked, "Why did I not keep him longer in ſuſpenſe? he could not have loved me more, I believe; but my power over him might have been [114] greater ſtill.—I am the happieſt of wo⯑men in that affection he has proved to me, but I wonder whether it would ex⯑iſt under ill treatment? if it would not, he ſtill does not love me as I wiſh to be loved—if it would, my triumph, my felicity, would be enhanced."—Theſe thoughts were mere phantoms of the brain, and never by ſyſtem put into action; but repeatedly indulged, they were practiſed by caſual occurrences; and the dear-bought experiment of be⯑ing beloved in ſpite of her faults, (a glory proud women ever aſpire to) was, at preſent, the ambition of Miſs Milner.

Unthinking woman! ſhe did not re⯑flect, that to the ſearching eye of lord Elmwood ſhe had faults, with her every care to conceal or overcome them, ſufficient to try all his love, and [115] all his patience. But what female is not fond of experiments? to which, how few are there, that do not fall a ſacri⯑fice!

Perfectly ſecure of the affections of the man ſhe loved, her declining health no longer threatened her; her declin⯑ing ſpirits returned as before; and the ſuſpicions of her guardian being now changed to the liberal confidence of a doating lover, ſhe now again profeſſed all her former follies, all her faſhionable levities, and indulged them with leſs reſtraint than ſhe had ever done.

For a while, blinded by his paſſion, lord Elmwood encouraged and admired every new proof of her reſtored happi⯑neſs; nor till ſufferance had tempted her to proceed beyond her uſual bounds, [116] did he remonſtrate.—But ſhe, who as his ward, had been ever gentle, and (when he ſtrenuouſly oppoſed) always obedient; he now found as a miſ⯑treſs, ſometimes haughty; and to oppo⯑ſition, always inſolent.—He was ſur⯑priſed, but the novelty pleaſed him.— And Miſs Milner, whom he tenderly loved, could put on no change, or ap⯑pear in any new character that did not, for the time ſhe adopted it, ſeem to become her.

Among the many cauſes of com⯑plaint ſhe gave him, want of oeconomy in the diſpoſal of her income was one. —Bills and drafts came upon him with⯑out number, while the account, on her part, of money expended, amounted but to articles of dreſs ſhe ſometimes never wore; toys that were out of faſhion [117] before they were paid for; and charities directed by the force of whim.—Another complaint was, as uſual, extreme late hours, and often-times company he did not approve.

She was charmed to ſee his love ſtruggling with his cenſure—his polite⯑neſs with his anxiety—and by the light, frivilous, or reſentful manner, in which ſhe treated his admonitions, ſhe tri⯑umphed in ſhewing to Miſs Woodley, and, more eſpecially to Mr. Sandford, how much ſhe dared upon the ſtrength of his affections.

Every thing 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 [118] occaſion paſs of taſting all thoſe plea⯑ſures which were not likely ever to re⯑turn; but which, eager as ſhe was in their purſuit, ſhe ſtill placed in no kind of competition with thoſe ſhe hoped would ſucceed; thoſe more ſedate, and far greater joys ſhe had in domeſtic contemplation — and often, merely to haſten on the tedious hours that inter⯑vened, ſhe varied and diverted them with the many recreations her intended huſband could not approve.

It ſo happened, and it was unfortu⯑nate it did, that a law-ſuit and ſome 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 [119] he was thus off his guard, Sandford ne⯑ver was—and had Miſs Milner been the deareſt thing on earth to him, he could not have watched her more nar⯑rowly; or had ſhe been the fraileſt thing on earth, he could not have been more hard upon her, in all the ac⯑counts of her conduct he gave to lord Elmwood.—His lordſhip knew Sand⯑ford's failing was to think ill of Miſs Milner, he pitied him for it, and he pitied her for it—and all the aggrava⯑tion his repreſentations gave to her real follies, affection for them both, in the heart of Dorriforth, ſtood between every other impreſſion.

But facts are glaring; and he at length beheld thoſe faults in their true colours, although previouſly pointed out by the prejudice of Mr. Sandford.

[120]As ſoon as Sandford perceived his lordſhip's uneaſineſs, "There, my lord!" cried he, exultingly, "Did I not always ſay the marriage was an improper one? — but you would not be ruled — you would not ſee."

"Can you blame me for not ſeeing," replied his lordſhip, "when you your⯑ſelf were blind?—Had you been diſpaſ⯑ſionate, had you ſeen Miſs Milner's vir⯑tues 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 cha⯑ritable," replied his lordſhip, "for I have ſeen—what I muſt always love."

[121]Sandford ſighed, and lifted up his hands.

"Mr. Sandford," reſumed his lord⯑ſhip, with a voice and manner ſuch as he puts on when not all the power of Sandford, or any other, can change his fixed determination, "Mr. Sandford," reſumed he, "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's; nor will I ſuffer myſelf to be again prepoſ⯑ſeſſed in her favour by your prejudice againſt her— for I believe it was com⯑paſſion at your unkind treatment of her, that firſt gained her my heart."

"I, my lord?" cried Sandford, "Do not load me with the burthen—with the mighty burthen of your love for her."

"Do not interrupt me." Said his lordſhip; "Whatever your meaning has [122] been, the effect of your unkindneſs to her, is what I ſay.—Now, I will no longer," continued he, "have an enemy ſuch as you have been, to heighten her charms, which are too tranſcendent in their native ſtate. I will hear no more complaints againſt her, but I will watch her cloſely myſelf—and if I find her mind and heart (ſuch as my ſuſpicions have of late whiſpered) too frivolous for that ſubſtantial happineſs I look for with an object ſo beloved; depend up⯑on 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 his lordſhip, "and your injuſtice ſhall make me more cautious, leſt I follow your ex⯑ample."

[123]"But, my lord—"

"My mind is made up, Mr. Sand⯑ford." Returned he, interrupting him, "I am no longer engaged to Miſs Milner than ſhe ſhall deſerve I ſhould— but in my obſervations 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 for ever."

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 con⯑tent [124] —they bore the ſymptoms of a me⯑nace that would be executed; and he parted from his patron with congratula⯑tions upon his wiſdom, and 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 domeſtick wrangles—a family without ſubordination—a houſe without oeconomy—in a word, a wife without diſcretion, had been perpetually preſent to his mind.

Mr. Sandford, although he was a man of underſtanding, of learning, and a complete caſuiſt; yet, all the faults he himſelf committed, were entirely—for want of knowing better.—He conſtantly [125] 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 time the ſuperior of all with whom he lived, had been ſo buſied with inſtructing others, he had not recollected he him⯑ſelf wanted inſtructions — and in ſuch awe did his ſeverity keep all about him, that notwithſtanding he had many friends, not one told him of his failings—(except juſt now lord Elm⯑wood, but who, in this inſtance, as a man in love, he would not credit)— Was there not then ſome reaſon for him to ſuppoſe he had no faults?—his enemies, indeed, hinted that he had, but enemies he never hearkened to; and thus, with all his good ſenſe, wanted the ſenſe to follow the rule, Be⯑lieve [126] what your enemies ſay of you, rather than what is ſaid by your friends; this rule attended to, would make many a one amiable that is now the reverſe, and had made him, a perfect upright character.—For could an enemy, to whom he would have liſtened, whiſper⯑ed to Sandford as he left lord Elm⯑wood's ſtudy, "Cruel, barbarous man! you go away with your heart ſatisfied, nay, even elated in the proſpect, that Miſs Milner's hopes, on which ſhe alone exiſts; thoſe hopes which keep her from the deepeſt affliction, and cheriſh her with joy and gladneſs, will all be diſap⯑pointed—you flatter yourſelf it is for the ſake of your friend lord Elmwood you rejoice; becauſe he has eſcaped a dan⯑ger—you wiſh him well, but there is another cauſe for your exultation which you will not ſeek to know—it is, that [127] in his ſafety ſhall dwell the puniſhment of his ward.—For ſhame! for ſhame! forgive her faults, as this of your's needs forgiveneſs."

Had any one ſaid this, to Sandford, whom he would have credited; or had his own heart ſuggeſted it, he was a man of that rectitude and conſcientiouſneſs, he would have returned immediately to lord Elmwood, and have endeavoured to ſtrengthen all his favourable opinions of his intended wife—but having no ſuch monitor as this, he walked on, highly contented, and meeting Miſs Woodley, ſaid, with an air of triumph,

"Where's your young lady?—where's lady Elmwood?"

Miſs Woodley ſmiled, and anſwered— ſhe was gone with ſuch and ſuch ladies [128] to an auction.—"But why give her that title already, Mr. Sandford?"

"Becauſe," anſwered he, "I think ſhe will never have it."

"Bleſs me, Mr. Sandford!" ſaid Miſs Woodley, "you ſhock me!"

"I thought I ſhould," replied he, "and that is why I tell it you."

"For Heaven's ſake, what has hap⯑pened?" Cried ſhe.

"Nothing new — her indiſcretions only."

"I know ſhe is imprudent," ſaid Miſs Woodley; "I can ſee ſhe is often to blame—but then my lord ſurely loves her, and love will overlook a great deal."

"He does love her—but he has un⯑derſtanding and reſolution.—He loved his ſiſter too, tenderly loved her, and yet when he had taken the reſolution; [129] paſſed his word he would never ſee her again; even upon her death-bed he would not retract it — no entreaties could prevail upon him.—And now, though he maintains, and I dare ſay loves her child, yet you remember when you brought him home he would not bear him in his ſight."

"Poor Miſs Milner!"—Said Miſs Woodley in the moſt pitying accents.

"Nay," ſaid Sandford, "lord Elm⯑wood has not yet paſſed his word, that he will never ſee her more—he has only threatened to ſay ſo — but I know enough of him to know, his threats are generally the ſame as the actions done."

"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 behave with more cir⯑cumſpection."

[130]"By no means,"—cried Sandford, haſtily, "What would you warn her for?—it will do her no good—beſides," added he, "I don't know whether his lordſhip does not expect ſecreſy from me on this ſubject, and if he does—"

"But, with all deference to your opinion," ſaid Miſs Woodley, (and with all deference did ſhe ſpeak) "don't you think, Mr. Sandford, that ſecreſy upon this occaſion would be wicked? for conſider the anguiſh it may cauſe my friend, and if by adviſing her we can ſave her from—" She was going on.

"You may call wicked, madam, not to inform her of it," cried he, "but I call a breach of promiſe (if I did give my promiſe, which I don't ſay I did) much more ſinful."

[131]"I ſuppoſe you are right; Sir," ſaid Miſs Woodley, with humility; "but if you have given your promiſe, I have not given mine, and therefore may di⯑vulge—"

"There now!" cried Sandford, "there is how you judge of this matter.—You judge of things as they are in reality, not what they are by conſtruction; the only way to judge of any thing.—If I did make a promiſe to lord Elmwood —(which, I again ſay, I don't know that I did)—the promiſe was, that I would not communicate the ſecret; meaning, not tell it to Miſs Milner herſelf. — I have not; and therefore have kept my word—and in revealing it to you, I did it with a full perſuaſion you would conceal it; which confi⯑dence, on my part, binds you as much [132] as the moſt ſolemn promiſe you could have given."

"The fault will be mine, then, not yours, if it comes to the knowledge of Miſs Milner?"

"Certainly."

"Then, as it will be my fault, do not you, Sir, be uneaſy about it."—

He was going to explain again, 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 ſhe had no one uſe for; but bought them becauſe they were ſaid to be cheap.—Among the reſt was a lot of books on chemiſtry, and ſome Latin authors.

"Why, madam," cried Sandford, looking over the catalogue, where her purchaſes were marked by a pencil, [133] "do you know what you have done? you can't read a word of theſe books."

"Can't I, Mr. Sandford? but I aſſure you, you will be vaſtly pleaſed with them when you ſee how elegantly they are bound."

"My dear," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "why have you bought china? you and lord Elmwood have more now, than you have places to put them in."

"Very true, Mrs. Horton—I forgot that—but then you know I can give theſe away."

Lord Elmwood was in the room at the concluſion of this converſation— he ſhook his head and ſighed.

"My lord," ſaid ſhe, "I have had a very pleaſant morning, but I wiſhed for you—if you had been with me I ſhould have bought a great many other things; [134] but I did not like to appear unreaſon⯑able in your abſence."

"Sandford fixed his inquiſitive eyes upon lord Elmwood, to obſerve his countenance—his lordſhip ſmiled, but appeared thoughtful.

"And, oh! my lord, I have bought you a preſent." Said ſhe.

"I do not wiſh for a preſent, Miſs Milner."

"What, not from me?—very well."

"If you preſent me with yourſelf, madam, it is all I aſk."

Sandford moved upon his chair as if he ſat uneaſy.

Why then, Miſs Woodley," ſaid Miſs Milner, "you ſhall have the pre⯑ſent.—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 morn⯑ing, [135] and he looked divinely; I longed to ſpeak to him."

Miſs Woodley caſt, by ſtealth, an eye of apprehenſion upon lord Elm⯑wood's face, and trembled to behold it red as ſcarlet.

Sandford ſtared with both his eyes full upon him; then drew himſelf up⯑right on his chair, and took a pinch of ſnuff upon the ſtrength of his uneaſineſs.

A ſilence enſued.

After a ſhort time—"You all appear very 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 to her, ſhe took her out of the room.

[136]The moment ſhe was gone, Mr. Sand⯑ford roſe nimbly from his ſeat, rubbed his hands, walked briſkly acroſs the room, then aſked his lordſhip, in a cheerful tone, "Whether he dined at home to-day?"

That which had given Sandford ſpirits to ſpeak with cheerfulneſs, had de⯑preſſed lord Elmwood's ſo much, that he ſat ſilent and dejected.—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 be⯑lieve."

"I have not yet determined where I ſhall dine." Replied he, taking no no⯑tice of the concluſion of her ſpeech.

[137]"My lord, if you mean to go to the hotel, I'll go with you, if you pleaſe." Cried Sandford, officiouſly.

"With all my heart, Sandford." Re⯑plied his lordſhip; and they both went out together before Miſs Milner re⯑turned to the apartment.

CHAPTER VIII.

MISS Woodley, for the firſt time, diſobeyed the will of Mr. Sandford; and as ſoon as Miſs Milner and ſhe were alone, informed her of all he had re⯑vealed to her; accompanying the recital with every teſtimony of ſympathy and affection.—But had the genius of Sand⯑ford preſided over this diſcovery, it could not have influenced the mind of Miſs Milner to receive the intelligence, more exactly oppoſite to the intention of the informer. Inſtead of ſhudder⯑ing with fear at the menace lord Elm⯑wood had uttered, ſhe boldly ſaid, ſhe "Dared him to perform it." "He durſt not." Repeated ſhe.

[139]"Why durſt not?" Said Miſs Wood⯑ley.

"Becauſe he loves me too well—be⯑cauſe 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 in⯑conſiderately—what do you mean by proof?"

"I mean, I will do ſomething that any prudent man ought not to forgive; and yet, with that vaſt ſhare of pru⯑dence he poſſeſſes, I will force him ſtill to yield to his love."

"But ſuppoſe you ſhould be diſap⯑pointed, and he ſhould not yield?" Said Miſs Woodley.

[140]"Then, I have only loſt a man who had no regard for me."

"He may have a great regard for you, notwithſtanding."

"But for the love I have, and do ſtill bear 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 jeſting—till her ſervant came to tell her dinner was ſerved. — Upon entering the dining⯑room, and ſeeing his lordſhip's place at table vacant, ſhe ſtarted back. She was [141] diſappointed of the pleaſure ſhe expected in dining with him; and his ſudden ab⯑ſence ſo immediately after the intelli⯑gence ſhe had received from Miſs Woodley, encreaſed her uneaſineſs.— She drew her chair, and ſat down with an indifference, that ſaid ſhe ſhould not eat; and as ſoon as ſhe was ſeated, ſhe put her fingers ſullenly to her lips, nor touched her knife and fork, or ſpoke a word in reply to any thing that was ſaid to her during the whole din⯑ner.—Miſs Woodley and Mrs. Horton were both too well acquainted with the good diſpoſition of her heart, to take offence, or any notice of this behaviour. —They dined, and wiſely ſaid nothing either to provoke or ſooth her.—Juſt as the dinner was going to be removed, a loud rap came at the door—"Who is that?" Said Mrs. Horton.—One of [142] the ſervants went to the window, and anſwered, "My lord and Mr. Sand⯑ford, madam."—"Come back to din⯑ner, as I live." Cried Mrs. Horton.—

Miſs Milner ſtill continued her poſi⯑tion 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 on lord Elmwood's return, had ſent there.

His lordſhip and Sandford entered.

"I am glad you are returned, my lord," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "for Miſs Mil⯑ner would not eat a morſel."

"It was becauſe I had no appe⯑tite." Returned ſhe, bluſhing like crimſon.

[143]"We ſhould not have come back," ſaid Sandford, "but at the place where we went to dine, all the rooms were filled with ſmoke."

"It has been a very windy day in⯑deed," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "and one part of this houſe, is now in a ſmo⯑ther."

Lord Elmwood put the wing of a fowl on Miſs Milner's plate, but with⯑out previouſly aſking if ſhe choſe any; yet ſhe condeſcended to eat—they ſpoke to each other too in the courſe of con⯑verſation, yet it was with a reſerve that appeared as if they had been quarrel⯑ling, and ſo felt to themſelves, though no ſuch circumſtance had happened.

About two weeks paſſed away in this kind of diſtant behaviour on both ſides; without either venturing a direct [144] quarrel, and without either expreſſing (except inadvertently) their ſtrong af⯑fection for each other.

During this time they were once, however, nearly becoming the deareſt friends in expreſſions, as well as in ſen⯑timents.—This aroſe from a favour he granted in compliance to what he knew was her earneſt deſire; and, as a fa⯑vour which he had refuſed to the re⯑peated requeſts of many friends, ſhe could not but eſteem the high value of the obligation.

She and Miſs Woodley had taken an airing to ſee the poor child, young Ruſhbrook; and on their return, his lordſhip inquiring of the ladies how they had paſſed their morning, Miſs Milner frankly told him; and added, [145] "What pain it gave her to leave the child behind, as he ſtill cried to come away with her."

"Go for him then to-morrow," ſaid his lordſhip, and bring him home."

"Home!" She repeated, with ſur⯑priſe.

"Yes," replied he, "if you deſire it, this ſhall be his home—you ſhall be a mother, and I will, henceforward, be a father to him."

Sandford, who was preſent, looked unuſually four at this high token of his lordſhip's regard to 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 preju⯑dice, his tear the force of nature.

Ruſhbrook was brought home; and whenever lord Elmwood wiſhed to ſhew [146] a kindneſs to Miſs Milner, without di⯑recting 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, ſtrug⯑gles for power between Miſs Milner and her guardian, there was not one perſon witneſs to theſe incidents, who did not ſuppoſe, all would at laſt end in wed⯑lock—for the moſt common obſerver perceived, ardent love was the founda⯑tion of every diſcontent, as well, as of every joy they experienced.—One great incident, however, totally reverſed the proſpect of all future accommodation.

The faſhionable Mrs. G— gave a maſked ball; tickets were preſented to perſons of the firſt quality, and [147] among the reſt, three were ſent to Miſs Milner.—She had never been at a maſ⯑querade, and received them with ex⯑tacy—more eſpecially as the maſque being at the houſe of a woman of faſh⯑ion, 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 vext at the prohibition, but more at the manner in which it was delivered, and flatly ſaid, "She ſhould certainly go."

She expected a ſevere rebuke for this, but what alarmed her much more, he never replied a word; but looked with a reſignation which foreboded her more ſorrow, than the ſevereſt reproaches would have done. — She ſat for a mi⯑nute reflecting how to rouſe him from [148] this compoſure—ſhe firſt thought of at⯑tacking him with upbraidings; then ſhe thought of ſoothing him; and at laſt of laughing at him.—This was the leaſt ſupportable of all, and yet this ſhe ven⯑tured upon.

"I am ſure your lordſhip," ſaid ſhe, "with all your ſaintlineſs, can have no objection to my being preſent at the maſquerade, provided 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, my lord—nay, I queſtion not, if under that inviting attire, even the pi⯑ous Mr. Sandford would not ogle me."

"Huſh."—Said Miſs Woodley.

"Why huſh?" cried Miſs Mil⯑ner, aloud, though Miſs Woodley [149] 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," re⯑plied lord Elmwood, "gives evident proofs what authors you have read; you may ſpare yourſelf the trouble of quoting them."

Her pride was hurt at this, beyond bearing; and as ſhe could not, like him, govern her anger, it fluſhed in her face, and almoſt forced the tears.

"My lord," ſaid Miſs Woodley, (in a voice ſo ſoft and peaceful, it ought to have calmed the reſentment of both,) "my lord, ſuppoſe you were to ac⯑company Miſs Milner? there are tickets for three, and you can then have no objection."

[150]Miſs Milner's brow was immedi⯑ately ſmoothed; her eye beamed hope; and ſhe fetched a ſigh in anxious ex⯑pectation he would conſent.

"I go, Miſs Woodley?" he replied, with aſtoniſhment, "Do you imagine I would play the buffoon at a maſque⯑rade?"

Miſs Milner's face changed to its former ſtate.

"I have ſeen many 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 ſeemed now to be tempted to its height, and he anſwered, "If you ſuſpect it, madam, you ſhall find me changed."

[151]Pleaſed, ſhe had been able at laſt to irritate him, ſhe ſmiled with a degree of triumph, and in that humour was going to reply; but before ſhe could ſpeak four words, and before ſhe thought of it, he abruptly left the room.

She was highly offended at this in⯑ſult, and declared, "From that mo⯑ment ſhe baniſhed him her heart for ever." And to prove ſhe ſet both his love and anger at defiance, ſhe imme⯑diately ordered her chariot, and ſaid, ſhe "was going to ſome of her ac⯑quaintance, whom ſhe knew had tickets, and with whom ſhe would fix upon the dreſs ſhe meant to appear in at the maſquerade; for nothing, unleſs ſhe was locked up, ſhould alter the reſolution ſhe had taken, of being there." To re⯑monſtrate [152] at that moment, Miſs Wood⯑ley knew would be in vain; the chariot came to the door, and ſhe drove away.

She did not return to dinner, nor till late in the evening; lord Elmwood was at home, but never once mentioned her name.

She came home, after he had retired to bed, and in great ſpirits; the firſt time ſhe ever appeared careleſs what he might think of her behaviour:—but her whole thoughts were occupied upon the buſineſs ſhe had been about, and her dreſs engroſſed all her converſation as ſoon as Miſs Woodley and ſhe were alone.—She told Miſs Woodley, ſhe had been ſhewn the greateſt variety of beau⯑tiful and becoming dreſſes ſhe had ever beheld, and yet, ſaid ſhe, "I have fixed [153] upon a very plain one; but one I look ſo well in, you will hardly know me when I have it on."

"You are ſeriouſly then reſolved to go," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "provided you hear no more on the ſubject from your guardian?"

"Whether I do or not, Miſs Wood⯑ley, 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 means, never to have him for a huſband."

"As he pleaſes—for if he will not ſubmit to be my lover, I will not ſub⯑mit to be his wife — nor has he the af⯑fection I require in a huſband."

[154]Thus, the old ſentiments were re⯑peated as heretofore, and prevented a ſeparation till towards morning.

Miſs Milner, for that night, dreamt leſs of her guardian than of the maſ⯑querade. 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 all the thouſand preparations for the night; one of which, was to take every particle of powder out of her hair, and have it curled all over in falling ring⯑lets.—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 try⯑ing on, and was ſtruck with aſtoniſh⯑ment at the elegance of the habit, and [155] the beautiful effect it had upon her graceful perſon; but moſt of all, ſhe was aſtoniſhed at her venturing on ſuch a character—for although it was there pre⯑ſentative of the goddeſs of Chaſtity, yet from the buſkins, and the petticoat made to feſtoon far above the ankle, it had, on the firſt glance, the appearance of a a female much leſs virtuous. — Miſs Woodley admired the dreſs, yet object⯑ed 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 for the univerſe."

"And yet," returned the other, with a ſigh, "Why am I then thus pleaſed with this dreſs? for I had rather he ſhould [156] admire me than all the world beſide, and yet he is not to ſee me in it."

"But he would not admire you thus." Said Miſs Woodley.

"How ſhall I contrive to avoid him," ſaid Miſs Milner, "if he ſhould offer to hand me into my carriage? — but I believe he will not be in good hu⯑mour enough for that."

"You had better dreſs at the la⯑dies' houſe with whom you go." Said Miſs Woodley; and this was agreed upon.

At dinner they learnt, his lordſhip was to go that evening to Windſor, in order to be in readineſs for the king's hunt, early in the morning; and this intelligence having diſperſed Miſs Mil⯑ner's fears, ſhe concluded to dreſs at home."

[157]Lord Elmwood appeared at dinner in an even, but not in a good-temper; — the ſubject of the maſquerade was never brought up, or indeed was once in his thoughts; for though he was of⯑fended at his ward's behaviour on the occaſion, and thought ſhe committed a fault in telling him, "She would go," yet he never ſuſpected ſhe meant to do ſo, not even at the time ſhe ſaid it, much leſs that ſhe would perſiſt, coolly and deliberately in ſo direct a contradiction to his will.—She, for her part, flattered herſelf his going to Windſor, was intended in order to give her an opportunity of paſſing the even⯑ing as ſhe pleaſed, without his being obliged to know of it, and conſe⯑quently to complain.—Miſs Woodley, [158] who was willing to hope as ſhe wiſhed, began to be of the ſame opinion; and, without reluctance, dreſt herſelf as a wood-nymph, to accompany her friend.

CHAPTER IX.

AT half after eleven, Miſs Milner's chair, and another with Miſs Woodley, took them from lord Elmwood's houſe to call upon the party (a group of wood-nymphs and huntreſſes) which were to acompany them, and make up the ſuit of Diana.

They had not left the houſe two minutes, when a thundering rap came at the door—it was lord Elmwood in a poſt chaiſe. — Upon ſome occaſion the next day's hunt was put off: he had been made acquainted with it, and came from Windſor at that late hour. —After his lordſhip had told Mrs. Hor⯑ton and Mr. Sandford, who were ſitting [160] together, the cauſe of his ſudden re⯑turn, and ſome ſupper was ordered for him, he inquired, "What company had juſt left the houſe?"

"We have been alone the whole evening, my lord." Replied Mrs. Hor⯑ton.

"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.

"Nor has Miſs Milner?" Aſked he.

This brought Mrs. Horton to her recollection, and ſhe cried, "Oh! now I know."—And then checked her⯑ſelf, as if ſhe knew too much.

"What do you know, madam?" Said his lordſhip, ſharply.

[161]"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 Sandford, "and I ſuſpect, that is at preſent your caſe."

"Then I know more than I wiſh to know, I am ſure, Mr. Sandford." Re⯑turned ſhe, ſhrugging up her ſhoulders.

Lord Elmwood was all impatience. "Explain, madam, explain." Cried he.

"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 the maſquerade."

"What of that? ſhe is not gone there?" He cried.

"I am not ſure ſhe is," returned Mrs. Horton, "but if your lordſhip [162] ſaw two ſedan chairs going out of this houſe, I cannot but ſuſpect it muſt be Miſs Milner, and my niece going to the maſquerade."

His lordſhip made no anſwer, but rung the bell violently.—A ſervant en⯑tered.—"Send Miſs Milner's woman hither," ſaid he, "immediately." — The man withdrew.

"Nay, my lord," cried Mrs. Hor⯑ton, "any of the other ſervants could tell you juſt as well, whether Miſs Mil⯑ner is at home, or gone out."

"Perhaps not." Replied he.

The maid entered.

"Where is your lady?" Said he.

The woman had received no orders to conceal where her lady was gone, and yet ſome ſecret influence which go⯑verns the thoughts of all waiting wo⯑men [163] and chamber maids, whiſpered to her, ſhe ought not to tell the truth.

"Where is your lady?" Repeated lord Elmwood, 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 maſque⯑rade?" Said he.

"I don't know, my lord, upon my word; but, I believe, my lord, it is not."

Sandford, as ſoon as lord Elmwood had aſked the laſt queſtion, run haſtily to the table, at the other ſide of the room, ſnatched ſomething from it, and returned to his place again — and as [164] ſoon as the maid ſaid, "It was not the night of the maſquerade," he exclaim⯑ed, "But it is, my lord, it is—yes, it is." And ſhowing a news-paper he held in his hand, pointed to the paragraph which contained the information.

"Leave the room," ſaid lord Elm⯑wood to the woman, "I have done with you."—She withdrew.

"Yes, yes, here it is." Repeated Sandford, with the paper in his hand. —He then read the paragraph: "The maſquerade at the honourable Mrs. G—'s this evening—" "This evening, my lord, you find:" "it is expected will be the moſt brilliant, of any thing of the kind, for theſe many years paſt."

"They ſhould not put ſuch things in the papers," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "to tempt young women to their ruin." [165] The word ruin, ſeemed to grate upon his lordſhip'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 to eat, or even to ſit down; and he now walked backwards and forwards in the room, loſt in thought and care.

A little time after, one of Miſs Mil⯑ner's footmen came in upon ſome occa⯑ſion, and Mr. Sandford ſaid to him, "Pray did you attend your lady to the maſquerade?"

"Yes, Sir." Replied the man.

Lord Elmwood ſtopt himſelf ſhort in his walk, and ſaid to the ſervant, "You did?"

"Yes, my lord." Replied he.

His lordſhip walked again.

[166]"I ſhould like to know what ſhe was dreſt 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 mens cloaths."

"How?" cried lord Elmwood.

"You tell a ſtory to be ſure." Said Mrs. Horton to the ſervant,

"No," cried Sandford, "I am ſure he does not; for he is an honeſt good young man, and would not tell a lie upon any account,—would you?"

Lord Elmwood ordered Miſs Mil⯑ner's woman to be again ſent up.—She came.

"In what dreſs did your lady go to the maſquerade?" Aſked his lordſhip, and with a look ſo extremely moroſe, it ſeemed to command her to anſwer in a word, and to anſwer truly.

[167]A mind, with a ſpark of ſenſibility more than ſhe 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 dreſs?" Aſked his lordſhip with the ſame commanding look.

"Ha, ha, my lord," (half laughing and half crying,) "a woman's dreſs to be ſure, my lord."

On which Sandford cried,

"Call the footman up, and let him confront her."

He was called; but lord Elm⯑wood, now diſguſted with the ſcene, ſat down at the farther end of the room, and left Sandford to queſtion them.

[168]With all the authority and conſe⯑quence of a country magiſtrate, Sand⯑ford, with his back to the fire and the witneſſes before him, began with the footman.

"In what dreſs do you ſay, you ſaw your lady, when you attended, and went along with her, to the maſque⯑rade?"

"In mens cloaths." Replied the man, boldly and firmly as before.

"Bleſs my ſoul, George, how can you ſay ſuch a thing?" Cried the wo⯑man.

"In what dreſs, do you ſay ſhe went in?" Cried Sandford to her.

"In women's cloaths, indeed, Sir."

"This is very odd!" ſaid Mrs, Horton.

[169]"Had ſhe on, or had ſhe not on, a Coat?" Aſked Sandford.

"Yes, Sir, a petticoat." Replied the woman.

"Do you ſay ſhe had on a petticoat?" Said Sandford to the man.

"I can't anſwer exactly for that," replied he, "but I know ſhe had boots on."

"They were not boots," replied the maid, with vehemence, "indeed, Sir, (turning to Sandford) they were only half boots."

"My girl," ſaid Sandford, kindly to her, "your own evidence convicts her. —What has a woman to do with any boots?"

Impatient at this mummery, lord Elmwood roſe from his ſeat, and or⯑dered the ſervants out of the room; and [170] then looking at his watch, found it was near one. "At what time am I to ex⯑pect her at home?" Said he.

"Perhaps not till three in the morn⯑ing." Anſwered Mrs. Horton▪

"Three! ſix, more likely." Cried Sandford.

"I can't wait with patience till that time." Anſwered his lordſhip with a moſt anxious ſigh.

"You had better go to bed, my lord," ſaid Mrs. Horton, "and by ſleeping, the time will paſs away un⯑perceived."

"If I could ſleep, madam." Returned he.

"Will you play a game of cards, my lord?" ſaid Sandford, "for I will not leave you till ſhe comes home; and though I am not uſed to ſit up all night—"

[171]"All night," repeated his lordſhip, "ſhe durſt not ſtay all night."

"And yet, after going," ſaid Sand⯑ford, "in defiance to your commands, I ſhould ſuppoſe ſhe dares?"

"She is in good company, at leaſt, my lord." Said Mrs. Horton.

"She does not know herſelf, what company ſhe is in." Replied his lord⯑ſhip.

"How ſhould ſhe?" cried Sandford, "where every one hides his face."

Till five o'clock in the morning, in ſuch converſation as this, the hours paſſed away. — Mrs. Horton, indeed, retired to her chamber at two; and left the gentlemen to a graver diſcourſe, but a diſcourſe ſtill leſs advantageous to poor Miſs Milner.

[172]She, during this time, was at the ſcene of pleaſure ſhe had pictured to herſelf, and all the pleaſure it gave her was, that ſhe was ſure ſhe ſhould never deſire to go to a maſquerade again. — The crowd and buſtle fatigued her—the freedom offended her delicacy — and though ſhe perceived ſhe was the firſt object of admiration in the place, yet there was one perſon ſtill wanting to ad⯑mire; and the remorſe at having tranſ⯑greſſed 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.

Day-light juſt peeped through the ſhutters of the room where his lord⯑ſhip [173] and Sandford were ſitting, when the ſound of her carriage, and its ſud⯑den ſtop at the door, cauſed lord Elm⯑wood as ſuddenly to ſtart from his ſeat. —He trembled extremely, and looked pale.—Sandford was aſhamed to ſeem to notice it, yet he could not help aſking him, "To take a glaſs of wine." —He took it—and for once evinced he was reduced ſo low, as to be glad of ſuch a reſource.

What paſſion thus agitated lord Elm⯑wood at this criſis, it is hard to define. —Perhaps it was indignation at Miſs Milner's imprudence, and the ſatisfac⯑tion he felt at being on the point of re⯑venge — perhaps his emotion aroſe from joy, to find ſhe was ſafe — perhaps it was perturbation at the regret he felt that he muſt upbraid her — perhaps it [174] was one alone of theſe ſenſations, but moſt probably, it was them all com⯑bined.

She, wearied out with the tedious night's diſſipation, and leſs joyous than melancholy, had fallen aſleep as ſhe rode home, and when the carriage ſtopt, came half aſleep out of it. — "Light me to my bed-chamber in⯑ſtantly." Said ſhe to her woman, 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 go to bed."

"Your lord, man?" cried ſhe, "Is he not out of town?"

"No, madam, my lord has been at home ever ſince you went out, and has [175] been ſitting up with Mr. Sandford, wait⯑ing for your return."

She was wide awake inſtantly. — The heavineſs was removed from her eyes, but fear, grief, and ſhame, ſeized upon her heart. — She leaned againſt her woman, as if unable to ſupport her⯑ſelf under thoſe feelings, and ſaid to Miſs Woodley,

"Make my excuſe—I can't ſee him to night—I am unfit—indeed I can⯑not."

Miſs Woodley was alarmed at the thought of going to him by herſelf, and thus perhaps aggravating 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," cried her wo⯑man, "for he is like a lion—he has been ſcolding me."

[176]"Good God!" exclaimed Miſs Mil⯑ner, (and in a tone that ſeemed pro⯑phetic) "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 rung furi⯑ouſly, and they mended their pace to the door of the apartment where his lordſhip was.

"No, this is only fright,"—replied Miſs Woodley, "Say to him you are ſorry, and beg his pardon."

"I cannot," ſaid ſhe, "if Mr. Sand⯑ford is with him."

[177]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 inclina⯑tion 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, I mean to upbraid you; I am, more⯑over, going to releaſe you from any ſuch apprehenſion for the future."

Thoſe laſt three words he ſpoke with a countenance ſo ſerious and ſo deter⯑mined, with an accent ſo firm and ſo decided, they pierced through her heart. —She did not however weep, or even ſigh; but her friend, Miſs Woodley, [178] knowing what ſhe felt, exclaimed, "Oh!" as if for her.

She herſelf ſtrove with her anguiſh, and replied, (but with a faltering voice) "I expected as much, my lord."

"Then, madam, you may perhaps expect all that I intend?"

"In regard to myſelf," ſhe replied, "I ſuppoſe I do."

"Then," ſaid he, "you may ex⯑pect 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 farther," re⯑plied he, coolly, "I have now only to act."

[179]"Lord Elmwood," cried Miſs Mil⯑ner, divided between grief and anger, "you think to frighten me by your menaces, but I can part with you; hea⯑ven 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 inclined to liſten to her, when Sandford called out in ſo ſharp a tone,

"Miſs Woodley, what do you mean?" ſhe gave a ſtart, and deſiſted.

His lordſhip turned to Sandford and ſaid, "Nay, Mr. Sandford, you need entertain no doubts of me; I have judged, and have deter—"

[180]He was going to ſay determined; but Miſs Milner, who dreaded to hear the word, interrupted the period, and exclaimed, "Oh! could my poor fa⯑ther know the grief, the days of ſorrow, I have experienced ſince his death, how would he repent his fatal choice in a protector!"

This ſentence, wherein his friend's memory was recalled, with the addi⯑tional alluſion to her long, and ſecret affection for himſelf, affected lord Elm⯑wood much — he was moved, but aſhamed of being ſo, and as ſoon as poſſible, conquered the propenſity. — 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,

[181]"Appeal to your father in ſome other form, in that (pointing to her dreſs) he will not know you.—Re⯑flect upon him too in your moments of diſſipation, and let his idea controul your indiſcretions—not merely in an hour of contradiction call peeviſhly up⯑on his name, only to wound the deareſt friend you have."

There was a degree of truth, and a degree of feeling, in the concluſion of this ſpeech, that alarmed Sandford, and he caught up one of the candles, and laying hold of his lordſhip's elbow, drew him out of the room, crying, "Come, my lord, come to your bed-chamber, it is very late—it is morn⯑ing—it is time to riſe." And by a con⯑tinual repetition of theſe words, in a very loud voice, drowned whatever his [182] lordſhip, or any other perſon, might have wiſhed to have ſpoken, or heard. —In this manner, lord Elmwood was taken out of the apartment, and the evening's entertainment concluded.

CHAPTER X.

TWO whole days paſſed in the bit⯑tereſt ſuſpenſe on the part of Miſs Mil⯑ner, while neither one word or look from lord Elmwood, denoted the moſt trivial change of thoſe ſentiments he had declared on the night of the maſquerade. —Still thoſe ſentiments, or intentions, were not explicitly delivered; they were more like intimations, than ſolemn de⯑clarations — for though he had ſaid, "He would never reproach her for the future," and that "ſhe might expect they ſhould part," he had not poſitively ſaid they ſhould; and upon this doubtful meaning of his words, ſhe hung with the ſtrongeſt agitation of hope, and of fear.

[184]Miſs Woodley ſeeing the diſtreſs of her mind, (much as ſhe endeavoured to conceal it) entreated, nay implored, of her, to permit her to be a mediator; to ſuffer her to aſk for a private inter⯑view with lord Elmwood, and provided ſhe found him inflexible, behave with a proper degree of ſpirit in return; but if he appeared not abſolutely averſe to a reconciliation, to offer it to him in ſo cautious a manner, it might take place without farther uneaſineſs on either ſide. But Miſs Milner pe⯑remptorily forbad this, and acknow⯑ledging to her friend every weakneſs ſhe felt on the occaſion, yet concluded with ſolemnly declaring, "That after what had paſſed between her and lord Elmwood, he muſt be the firſt to make [185] a conceſſion, before ſhe herſelf would condeſcend to be reconciled."

"I believe, I know lord Elmwood's temper," replied Miſs Woodley, "and I do not think he will be eaſily induced to beg pardon for a fault, which he thinks you have committed."

"Then he does not love me."

"Pſhaw! Miſs Milner, this is the old argument.—He may love you too well to ſpoil you—conſider, he is your guar⯑dian as well as your lover, he means alſo to become your huſband; and he is a man of ſuch nice honour, he will not give you a ſpecimen of that power be⯑fore marriage, which he does not in⯑tend to ſubmit to hereafter."

"But tenderneſs, affection, the po⯑liteneſs due from a lover to his miſtreſs, demands this ſubmiſſion; and as I now deſpair of enticing, I will oblige him [186] to it—at leaſt I'll make the trial, and know my fate at once."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Invite my lord Frederick to the houſe, and aſk my guardian's conſent for our immediate union; you will then ſee, what effect that has upon his pride."

"But you will then make it too late for him to be humble.—If you reſolve on this, my dear Miſs Milner, you are undone at once—you may thus hurry yourſelf into a marriage with a man you do not love, and the miſery of your whole future life may be the reſult.— Or, would you force Mr. Dorriforth (I mean lord Elmwood) to another duel with my lord Frederick?"

"No, call him Dorriforth—" an⯑ſwered ſhe, with the tears ſtealing from her eyes, "I thank you for calling him [187] ſo; for by that name alone, is he dear to me."

"Nay, Miſs Milner, with what rap⯑ture did you not receive his love, as lord Elmwood."

"But under that title he has been barbarous; under the firſt, he was all friendſhip and tenderneſs."

Notwithſtanding Miſs Milner in⯑dulged herſelf in all thoſe ſoft bewail⯑ings to her friend—before lord Elm⯑wood ſhe maintained a degree of pride and ſteadineſs which ſurpriſed even him, who had perhaps ever thought leſs of her love for him, than any other perſon. — She now began to fear ſhe had gone too far in diſcovering her affection, and reſolved to make trial of a contrary method. — She determined to retrieve that haughty character which had in⯑ſpired [188] ſo many of her admirers with paſſion, and take the chance of the ef⯑fect upon this only one, to whom ſhe ever acknowledged a mutual love.—But, although ſhe acted this character well — ſo well, that every one but Miſs Woodley thought her in earneſt—yet, with the niceſt and moſt attentive anx⯑iety, did ſhe watch even the ſlighteſt circumſtance, that might revive her hopes, or confirm her deſpair. Lord Elmwood's behaviour was calculated to produce the latter—he was cold, polite, and perfectly indifferent.—Yet, whatever his manners now were, they did not re⯑move from her recollection what they had been—ſhe recalled, with delight, the ardour with which he had firſt de⯑clared his paſſion to her, and the thou⯑ſand proofs he had ſince given of its re⯑ality.—From the conſtancy of his diſ⯑poſition, [189] ſhe depended a great deal, that thoſe ſentiments were not totally eradi⯑cated; and from the extreme deſire, which Mr. Sandford now, more than ever, diſcovered to depreciate her in his patron's eſteem—from the now, more than common earneſtneſs, with which he never failed to take lord Elmwood from her company, whenever he had it in his power, ſhe was led to believe, that while his friend entertained ſuch ſtrong fears of his lordſhip relapſing into love, ſhe had reaſon to indulge the ſtrongeſt hopes that he would.

But the reſerve, and even indifference ſhe had ſo well aſſumed for a few days, and which might perhaps have effected her deſigns, ſhe had not the patience to perſevere in, without calling levity to their aid.—She viſited repeatedly with⯑out [190] ſaying where, or with whom — kept later hours than uſual—appear⯑ed in the higheſt ſpirits; ſung, laugh'd, and never heaved a ſigh, but when ſhe was alone.

Still, lord Elmwood protracted a re⯑ſolution, he was determined not to break when once taken.

Miſs Woodley was extremely uneaſy, and with cauſe; ſhe ſaw her friend was providing herſelf with a weight of cares, ſhe would ſoon find too much for her ſtrength to bear—ſhe would have rea⯑ſoned wih her, but all her arguments had long ſince proved unavailing.—She ſtrongly wiſhed to ſpeak to lord Elm⯑wood upon the ſubject, and (unknow⯑ing to her) plead her excuſe; but he apprehended Miſs Woodley's intention [191] and evidently ſhunned her.—Mr. Sand⯑ford was now the only perſon to whom ſhe could ſpeak of Miſs Milner, and the delight he took to expatiate on her faults, was more ſorrow to her friend, than not to ſpeak of her at all. She, therefore, ſat a ſilent ſpectator, waiting with dread for that time, when ſhe, who now ſcorned her advice, would fly to her in vain for comfort.

Sandford had, however, ſaid one thing to Miſs Woodley, which gave her a ray of hope. During their con⯑verſation on this ſubject (not by way of conſolation to her, but as a re⯑proach to lord Elmwood), he one day angrily exclaimed, "And yet, notwith⯑ſtanding all this provocation, he has not come to the determination to think no more of her—he lingers and heſitates [192] —I never ſaw him ſo weak upon any occaſion before."

This was joyful hearing to Miſs Woodley; ſtill, ſhe could not but re⯑flect, the longer he was in coming to this determination, the more irrevocable it would be, when once taken; and every moment ſhe paſſed, ſhe trembled leſt that ſhould be the moment, in which lord Elmwood reſolved to baniſh Miſs Milner from his heart.

Among the unpardonable indiſcre⯑tions, ſhe was guilty of during this trial upon the temper of her guardian, was the frequent mention of many gentlemen, who had been her profeſt admirers, and mentioning them with partiality.—Teaſed, if not tortured by this, lord Elmwood ſtill behaved with a manly evenneſs of temper, and neither [193] provoked on the ſubject, or inſolently careleſs.—In a ſingle inſtance, however, this calmneſs had nearly deſerted him.

Entering the drawing-room, one evening, he ſuddenly ſtarted, on ſeeing lord Frederick Lawnly there, in earneſt converſation with Miſs Milner.

Mrs. Horton and Miſs Woodley were both indeed preſent, and lord Frede⯑rick was talking in an audible voice, and upon ſome indifferent ſubjects; but with that impreſſive manner, in which a man never fails to ſpeak to the woman he loves, be the ſubject what it will.— The moment lord Elmwood ſtarted, which was the moment he entered, lord Frederick aroſe.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," ſaid lord Elmwood, "I proteſt I did not know you."

[194]"I ought to entreat your lordſhip's pardon," returned lord Frederick, "for this intruſion, which an accident alone has occaſioned. Miſs Milner has been nearly overturned, by the careleſsneſs of a lady's coachman, in whoſe carriage ſhe was, and therefore ſuffered me to bring her home in mine."

"I hope you are not hurt." Said lord Elmwood to Miſs Milner, but his voice was ſo much affected, by what he felt, he could ſcarcely articulate the words.— Not with the apprehenſion ſhe was hurt, was he thus agitated, for the gaiety of her manners convinced him that could not be the caſe, nor did he indeed ſuppoſe any accident, ſuch as was mentioned, had occurred; but the circumſtance of unexpectedly ſeeing lord Frederick had taken him off his guard, and being to⯑tally unprepared, he could not conquer [195] thoſe ſigns of ſurpriſe, and the ſhock it had given him.

Lord Frederick, who had heard no⯑thing of his intended union with his ward, (for it was even kept a ſecret, at preſent, from every ſervant in the houſe) imputed this diſcompoſure, to the perſonal reſentment his lordſhip might bear him, in conſequence of their duel; for, notwithſtanding lord Elmwood had aſſured the uncle of lord Frederick, (who once waited upon him on the ſubject of Miſs Milner) that all reſentment was, on his part, entire⯑ly at an end; and that he was willing to conſent to the ladies marriage with his nephew, if ſhe herſelf would con⯑cur, yet lord Frederick doubted the ſin⯑cerity of this, and would ſtill have had the delicacy not to have entered lord Elmwood's houſe, but, encouraged by [196] Miſs Milner, and emboldened by his love. Perſonal reſentment was then the conſtruction he put upon lord Elmwood's emotion on entering the room, but Miſs Milner and Miſs Woodley knew his agi⯑tation to ariſe from a far different cauſe.

After his entrance, lord Frederick did not attempt to reſume his ſeat, but bow⯑ing moſt reſpectfully to all preſent, took his leave; while Miſs Milner followed him, as far as the door, repeating her thanks and gratitude for his protec⯑tion.

Lord Elmwood was hurt beyond meaſure; but he had a ſecond concern, and that was, he had not the power to conceal how much he was affected.—He trembled—when he attempted to ſpeak, he ſtammered — he perceived his face [197] burning with the blood that had fluſhed to it from confuſion, and thus one con⯑fuſion gave birth to another, till his ſtate was pitiable.

Miſs Milner, with all her aſſumed gaiety and real inſolence, had not, how⯑ever, the inſolence to ſeem to obſerve his ſituation; ſhe had only the confidence to obſerve it by ſtealth. — And Mrs. Horton and Miſs Woodley, having op⯑portunely begun a diſcourſe upon ſome trivial occurrences, gave him time to recover himſelf by degrees—yet, ſtill it was merely by degrees, for the impreſ⯑ſion this incident had made, was deep, and not eaſily to be eraſed.—The en⯑trance of Mr. Sandford, who knew no⯑thing of what had happened, was alſo ſome relief, and his lordſhip and he en⯑tered into a converſation, which they [198] very ſoon retired into the library to ter⯑minate. — Miſs Milner, taking Miſs Woodley with her, went directly to her own apartment, and there exclaimed to her friend, in rapture,

"He is mine—he loves me—and he is mine for ever."

Miſs Woodley congratulated her up⯑on believing ſo, but confeſſed, ſhe her⯑ſelf, "had her fears."

"What fears?" cried Miſs Milner, "don't you perceive he loves me?"

"I do," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "but that, I always ſuppoſed; and, I think, if he loves you now, he has ſtill the good ſenſe to know, he has cauſe to hate you."

"What has good ſenſe to do with love?" returned Miſs Milner, "If a lover of mine ſuffers his underſtanding to get the better of his affection—"

[199]And the ſame arguments were again going to be repeated, but Miſs Wood⯑ley interrupted her, by requiring an ex⯑planation of her conduct, not in reſpect to her guardian, but to lord Frederick; whom, at leaſt, ſhe muſt allow, ſhe was treating with cruelty, if ſhe only made uſe of his affection, to ſtimulate that of lord Elmwood's.

"By no means, my dear Miſs Wood⯑ley."—Returned ſhe—"I have, indeed, done with my lord Frederick from this day; and he has certainly given me the proof I wanted of lord Elmwood's love; but then, I did not engage him to this, by the ſmalleſt degree of hope.—No, do not ſuſpect me of that, while my heart was another's.—And I aſſure you, ſeri⯑ouſly, it was from the circumſtance we deſcribed, that he came with me home— yet, I muſt own, that had I not had this [200] deſign upon lord Elmwood's jealouſy in idea, I would have walked on foot through the ſtreets, rather than have ſuffered his rival's civilities. — But he preſſed his ſervices ſo violently, and my lady Evan's (in whoſe chariot I was, when the acci⯑dent happened) preſſed me ſo violently to accept them, that he cannot expect any farther meaning from my acquieſ⯑cence, than my own convenience."

Miſs Woodley was going to reply, when ſhe reſumed,

"Nay, if you intend to ſay I have done wrong, ſtill I am not ſorry for it, while it has given me ſuch convincing proofs of lord Elmwood's love.—Did you ſee him? I am afraid you did not ſee how he trembled?—and that manly, firm voice faltered, as mine does ſome times—his proud heart was humbled too; as mine is ſome times. — Oh! [201] Miſs Woodley, I have been counter⯑feiting indifference to him; I now find all his indifference has been counterfeit too, and we not only love, but we love equally."

"Suppoſing this, all as you hope; I yet think it highly neceſſary, your guar⯑dian ſhould be informed, ſeriouſly in⯑formed, that it was mere accident, (for, at preſent, that plea ſeems but as a ſubterfuge) which brought lord Frede⯑rick hither."

"No, that will be deſtroying the work ſo ſucceſsfully began.—I will not ſuffer any explanation to take place, but let my lord Elmwood act juſt as his love ſhall dictate; and now I have no longer a doubt of its exceſs, inſtead of ſtooping to him, I wait in the cer⯑tain expectation, of his ſubmiſſion to me."

CHAPTER XI.

IN vain, for three long days, did Miſs Milner wait impatiently for this ſub⯑miſſion; not a ſign, not a ſymptom ap⯑peared—nay, lord Elmwood had, ſince the evening of lord Frederick's viſit, (which, at the time it happened, ſeem⯑ed to affect him ſo exceedingly) become juſt the ſame man, he was before the circumſtance occurred; except, indeed, ſomething leſs thoughtful, and now and then cheerful; but without the ſmalleſt appearance, that his cheer⯑fulneſs was affected.—Miſs Milner was vext; ſhe was alarmed; but was aſhamed to confeſs thoſe humiliating ſenſations, even to Miſs Woodley—ſhe aſſumed, therefore, the vivacity ſhe had [203] ſo long aſſumed, but gave way, when alone, to a ſtill greater degree of me⯑lancholy than uſual. She no longer ap⯑plauded her ſcheme of bringing lord Frederick to the houſe, and trembled, leſt, on ſome pretence, he ſhould dare to call again. But as theſe were feel⯑ings her pride would not ſuffer her to diſcloſe to her friend, who would have condoled along with her, their effects were doubly poignant.

Sitting in her dreſſing-room, one forenoon with Miſs Woodley, and bur⯑thened with a load of grief, ſhe bluſh⯑ed to acknowledge; while her com⯑panion was charged with apprehenſions ſhe was as loath to diſcloſe; one of lord Elmwood's valets tapped gently at the door, and delivered a letter to Miſs Milner.—By the perſon who brought [204] it, as well as by the addreſs, ſhe knew it came from lord Elmwood, and laid it down upon her toilet, as if fearful to un⯑fold it.

"What is that?" Said Miſs Wood⯑ley.

"A letter from my guardian." Re⯑plied Miſs Milner.

"Good Heaven!" Exclaimed Miſs Woodley.

"Nay," returned ſhe, "it is, I have no doubt, to beg my pardon." But her reluctance to open it, plainly evinced ſhe did not think ſo."

"Do not read it yet." Said Miſs Woodley.

"I do not intend." Replied ſhe, trembling extremely.

"Will you dine firſt?" Said Miſs Woodley.

[205]"No—for not knowing its contents, I ſhall not know how to conduct my⯑ſelf towards him."

Here a ſilence enſued—during this ſilence, Miſs Milner took up the letter —looked earneſtly at the hand-writing on the out ſide—at the ſeal—inſpected into its folds—and ſeemed to wiſh, by ſome equivocal method, to gueſs at the contents, without daring to come at the certain knowledge of them.

Curioſity, at length, got the better of her fears; ſhe opened the letter, and ſcarce able to hold it while ſhe read, read the following words:

[210]After reading every ſyllable of this letter, it dropped from Miſs Milner's hands; but ſhe uttered not a word.— There was, however, a paleneſs in her face, a deadneſs in her eye, and a kind of palſy over her frame, which Miſs Woodley, who had ſeen her in every ſtage of her uneaſineſs, never had ſeen before.

"I do not want to read the letter," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "your looks tell me its contents."

"They will then diſcover to lord Elmwood," replied ſhe, "what I feel; but heaven forbid—that would ſink me even lower than I am."

Scarce able to crawl, ſhe roſe, and looked in the glaſs, as if to arrange her features, ſo as to impoſe upon him: [211] alas! this was of no avail; a ſerenity of mind, could, alone, effect what ſhe de⯑ſired.

"You muſt endeavour," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "to feel that diſpoſition, you wiſh to make appear."

"I will," replied ſhe, "I will feel a proper pride—and a proper ſcorn of this treatment."

And ſo deſirous was ſhe to attain the appearance of theſe ſentiments, ſhe made the ſtrongeſt efforts to calm her thoughts, in order to acquire it.

"I have but a few days to remain with him," ſhe ſaid to herſelf, "and we part for ever—in thoſe few days, it is not only my duty to obey his com⯑mands, or rather comply with his re⯑queſt, but it is alſo my wiſh to leave upon his mind, an impreſſion, which may not add to the ill opinion he has [212] formed of me, but, perhaps, ſerve to diminiſh it.—If, in every other inſtance, my conduct has been blameable, he ſhall, at leaſt in this, acknowledge its merit.— The fate I have drawn upon myſelf, he ſhall find I can be reſigned to; and he ſhall be convinced, that the woman, of whoſe weakneſs he has had ſo many fatal proofs, is yet in poſſeſſion of ſome fortitude—fortitude to bid him farewell without diſcovering one affected, or one real pang, though her death ſhould be the immediate conſequence."

Thus ſhe reſolved, and thus ſhe acted. —The ſevereſt judge could not have arraigned her conduct from the day ſhe received lord Elmwood's letter, to the day of his departure.—She had, in⯑deed, involuntary weakneſſes, but none with which ſhe did not ſtruggle, and [213] in general her ſtruggles were victori⯑ous.

The firſt time ſhe ſaw him after the receipt of his letter, was on the even⯑ing of the ſame day—ſhe had a little concert of amateurs in muſick, and was, herſelf, ſinging and playing when he en⯑tered the room; the connoiſſeurs im⯑mediately perceived ſhe loſt the tune, but lord Elmwood was no connoiſſeur in the art, and did not obſerve it.

They occaſionally ſpoke to each other during the evening, but the ſubjects were general—and though their manners every time they ſpoke were perfectly polite, they were not tinctured with the ſmalleſt degree of familiarity.—To deſcribe his behaviour exactly, it was the ſame as his letter, polite, friendly, compoſed, [214] and reſolved.—Some of the company ſtaid ſupper, which prevented the em⯑barraſſment that muſt unavoidably have ariſen, had the family been by them⯑ſelves.

The next morning each breakfaſted in their ſeparate apartments — more company dined with them, and in the evening, and at ſupper, lord Elmwood was from home.

Thus all paſſed on as peaceably as he had requeſted, and Miſs Milner had not betrayed one particle of frailty; when, the third day at dinner, ſome gentlemen of his acquaintance being at table, one of them ſaid,

"And ſo, my lord, you abſolutely ſet off on Tueſday morning?"

[215]This was Friday.

Sandford and he both replied at the ſame time, "Yes." And Sandford, but not lord Elmwood, looked at Miſs Mil⯑ner when he ſpoke.—Her knife and fork gave a ſudden ſpring in her hand, but no other emotion witneſſed what ſhe felt.

"Ay, Elmwood," cried another gen⯑tleman at table, "you'll bring home, I am afraid, a foreign wife, and that I ſhan't forgive."

"It is his errand abroad, I make no doubt." Said another viſitor.

Before his lordſhip could return an anſwer, Sandford cried, "And what objection to a foreigner for a wife? do not crowned heads all marry foreigners? and who happier in the marriage ſtate than ſome kings?"

Lord Elmwood directed his eyes to the ſide of the table, oppoſite to that where Miſs Milner ſat.

[216]"Nay," (anſwered one of the gueſts, who was a country gentleman) "what do you ſay, ladies—do you think my lord ought to go out of his own nation for a wife?" And he looked at Miſs Milner, for the reply.

Miſs Woodley, uneaſy at her friend's being thus forced to give an opinion upon ſo delicate a ſubject, endeavoured to ſatisfy the gentleman, by anſwering to the queſtion herſelf: "Whoever my lord Elmwood marries, Sir," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "he, no doubt, will be happy."

"But what ſay you, young lady?" Aſked the gentleman, ſtill keeping his eyes on Miſs Milner.

"That whoever his lordſhip marries, he deſerves to be happy." Returned ſhe, with the utmoſt command of her voice and looks; for Miſs Woodley, [217] by replying firſt, had given her time to collect herſelf.

The colour flew to lord Elmwood's face, as ſhe delivered this ſhort ſen⯑tence; and Miſs Woodley flattered her⯑ſelf, ſhe ſaw a tear ſtart in his eye.

Miſs Milner did not look that way.

In an inſtant his lordſhip found means to change the ſubject, but that of his journey, ſtill employed the converſa⯑tion; and what horſes, ſervants, and carriage he took with him, was mi⯑nutely aſked, and ſo accurately an⯑ſwered either by himſelf or by Mr. Sandford, that Miſs Milner, although ſhe had beheld her doom before, till now had received no circumſtantial ac⯑count of it—and as circumſtances add to, or diminiſh all we feel, hearing theſe things told, encreaſed the bitterneſs of their truth.

[218]Soon after dinner, the ladies retired, and from that time, though Miſs Mil⯑ner's behaviour ſtill continued the fame, yet her looks and her voice were totally altered—for the world, ſhe could not have looked cheerfully; for the world, ſhe could not have ſpoken with a ſprightly accent; ſhe frequently began in one, but not three words had ſhe uttered, be⯑fore her tones ſunk into the flatteſt de⯑jection.—Not only her colour, but her features became changed; her eyes loſt their brilliancy, her lips ſeemed to hang without the power of motion, her head drooped, and her dreſs was wholly neglected.—Conſcious of this diſtreſt appearance, and conſcious of the weakneſs from whence it aroſe, it was her deſire to hide herſelf from the only object ſhe could have wiſhed [219] to have charmed. — Accordingly, ſhe ſat alone, or with Miſs Woodley in her own apartment, as much as was conſiſtent with that civility her guar⯑dian had requeſted, and which for⯑bade her from totally abſenting her⯑ſelf.

Miſs Woodley felt ſo acutely the torments of her friend, that had not her reaſon told her the inflexible mind of lord Elmwood was fixed beyond her power to ſhake, ſhe had caſt herſelf at his feet, and implored the return of his affection and tenderneſs as the only means to ſave his once beloved ward from an untimely grave. But her un⯑derſtanding — her knowledge of lord Elmwood's firm and immoveable tem⯑per; and all his grievous provocations —her knowledge of his word, long ſince [220] given to Sandford, "That if once re⯑ſolved, he would not recall his reſolu⯑tion."—The certainty of the many plans that had been arranged for his travels, all agreed to convince her, that by any interference, ſhe only expoſed Miſs Mil⯑ner's tendereſt love and delicacy to a contemptuous rejection.

If the converſation did not every day turn upon the ſubject of lord Elmwood's departure—a converſation he evidently avoided himſelf—yet every day ſome new preparation for his journey, ſtruck the ear or the eye of Miſs Milner—and had ſhe beheld a frightful ſpectre, ſhe could not have ſhuddered with more horror, than when ſhe unexpectedly paſ⯑ſed his large trunks in the hall, nailed and corded, ready to be ſent off to meet him at Venice.—At the ſight, ſhe flew [221] from the company that happened to be along with her, and ſtole to the firſt lonely corner of the houſe to conceal her tears—ſhe reclined her head upon her hands, and bedewed them with the ſudden anguiſh that had overcome her. —She heard a footſtep advancing to⯑wards the ſpot where ſhe hoped to have been concealed; ſhe lifted up her eyes, and beheld lord Elmwood.—Pride was the firſt emotion his preſence inſpired— pride, which aroſe from the humility into which ſhe was plunged.

She inſtantly ſtifled her tears, and looked at him earneſtly, as if to imply, "What now, my lord?"

He only anſwered with a bow, which expreſſed theſe words alone: "I beg your pardon." And immediately withdrew.

[222]Thus each underſtood the other's lan⯑guage, without either uttering a word.

The juſt conſtruction, which ſhe put upon his looks and behaviour upon this occaſion, kept up her ſpirits for ſome little time; and ſhe bleſſed heaven, re⯑peatedly, for the ſingular favour of ſhew⯑ing to her, clearly, by this accident, his negligence of her ſorrows, his total indifference.

The next day was the eve of that, on which he was to depart—and the one on which ſhe was to bid adieu to Dorriforth, to her guardian, to lord Elmwood; to all her hopes at once.

The moment ſhe awoke on Monday morning, the recollection, that this was, [223] perhaps, the laſt day ſhe was ever again to ſee him, ſoftened all the reſentment his yeſterday's conduct had given birth to, and forgetting his auſterity, and all ſhe once termed, cruelties; ſhe now only remembered his friendſhip, his anxious tenderneſs, and his love.— She was impatient to behold him, and promiſed to herſelf, for this laſt day, to neglect no one opportunity of being with him. For that purpoſe ſhe did not breakfaſt in her own room, as ſhe had done for ſeveral mornings before, but went into the breakfaſt-room, where all the family generally met. — She was rejoiced on hearing his voice as ſhe opened the door, yet the ſound made her tremble ſo much, ſhe could ſcarcely totter to the table.

[224]Miſs Woodley looked at her as ſhe entered, and was never ſo ſhocked at ſeeing her; for never had ſhe yet ſeen her look ſo ill.—As ſhe approached, ſhe made an inclination of her head to Mrs. Horton, and then to her guardian, as was her cuſtom, when ſhe firſt ſaw them in a morning—his lordſhip looked in her face as he bowed, then turned his eyes upon the fire place, rubbed his forehead, and began talking with Mr. Sandford.

Sandford, during breakfaſt, by acci⯑dent, caſt his eyes upon Miſs Milner; his attention was caught by her deathly countenance, and he looked earneſtly. —He then turned to lord Elmwood to ſee if he was obſerving her appearance — he was not — and ſo much were her [225] thoughts engaged on him alone, ſhe did not once perceive Sandford gazing at her.

Mrs. Horton after a little while ob⯑ſerved, "It was a beautiful morning."

Lord Elmwood ſaid, "He thought he heard it rain in the night."

Sandford cried, "For his part he ſlept too well to know." And then (un⯑aſked) held a plate with buiſcuits to Miſs Milner—it was the firſt civility he had ever in his life offered her; ſhe ſmiled at the whimſicality of the cir⯑cumſtance, but took one in return for his attention.—He looked grave be⯑yond his uſual gravity, and yet not with his uſual ill temper. She did not eat what ſhe had ſo politely taken, but laid it down ſoon after.

[226]Lord Elmwood was the firſt who roſe from breakfaſt, and did not return to dinner.

At dinner, Mrs. Horton ſaid, "She hoped his lordſhip would, however, fa⯑vour them with his company at ſup⯑per."

To which Sandford replied, "No doubt, for you will hardly any of you ſee him in the morning; as we ſhall be off by ſix, or ſoon after."

Sandford was not going abroad with lord Elmwood, but was to go with him as far as Dover.

Theſe words of his—"not ſee lord Elm⯑wood in the morning"—[never again to ſee him after this evening,] were like the knell of death to Miſs Milner.—She felt the ſymptoms of fainting, and eagerly ſnatched a glaſs of wine, which the ſer⯑vant [227] was holding to Sandford, (who had called for wine) and drank a part of it.— As ſhe returned the glaſs to the ſervant, ſhe began to apologize to Mr. Sandford for her ſeeming rudeneſs, but before ſhe could utter what ſhe meant, he ſaid, good-naturedly, "Never mind — you are very welcome—I am glad you took it."—She looked at him to obſerve, whether he had really ſpoken kindly, or ironically; but before his countenance could ſatisfy her, her thoughts were away from that trivial circumſtance, and again fixed upon lord Elmwood.

The moments ſeemed tedious till he came home to ſupper, and yet, when ſhe reflected for how ſhort a time the reſt of the evening would continue, ſhe wiſhed to defer the hour of his return, for months.—At ten o'clock he arrived, [228] and at half after ten the family, without any viſitor, met at ſupper.

Miſs Milner had conſidered, that the period for her to counterfeit appear⯑ances, was diminiſhed now to a very ſhort one; and ſhe rigourouſly enjoin⯑ed herſelf not to ſhrink from that little which remained.—The certain end, that would be ſo ſoon put to this painful deception, encouraged her to ſtruggle through it with redoubled zeal; and this was but neceſſary, as her weakneſs encreaſed.—She therefore liſtened, ſhe talked, and even ſmiled with the reſt of the company, nor did their vivacity ſeem to ariſe from a much leſs com⯑pulſive ſource than her own.

It was paſt twelve, when lord Elm⯑wood looked at his watch, and riſing [229] from his ſeat, went up to Mrs. Horton, and taking her hand, ſaid, "Till I ſee you again, madam, I ſincerely wiſh you every happineſs."

Miſs Milner fixed her eyes upon the table before her.

"My lord," replied Mrs. Horton, "I ſincerely wiſh you health and hap⯑pineſs likewiſe."

He then went to Miſs Woodley, and taking her hand, repeated much the ſame, as he had ſaid to Mrs. Horton.

Miſs Milner now trembled beyond all power of concealment.

"My lord," replied Miſs Woodley, a good deal affected, "I ſincerely hope my prayers for your happineſs may be heard."

She and Mrs. Horton were both ſtanding as well as his lordſhip; but [230] Miſs Milner kept her ſeat, till his eye was turned upon her, and he moved ſlowly towards her; ſhe then roſe—and every one who was preſent attentive to what he would now ſay, and how ſhe would receive what he ſaid, caſt their eyes upon them, and liſtened with impa⯑tience.—They were all diſappointed— he did not utter a ſyllable.—Yet he took her hand, and held it cloſely between his. —He then bowed moſt reſpectfully, and left her.

No, "I wiſh you well;—I wiſh you health and happineſs." No "Prayers for bleſſings on her." — Not even the word "farewell," eſcaped his lips—per⯑haps, to have attempted any of theſe, might have choaked his utterance.

She had behaved with fortitude the whole evening, and ſhe continued to [231] do ſo, till the moment he turned away from her.—Her eyes then overflowed with tears, and in the agony of her mind, not knowing what ſhe did, ſhe laid her cold hand upon the perſon next to her— it happened to be Sandford; but not obſerving it was him, ſhe graſped his hand with violence — yet he did not ſnatch it away, nor look at her with his wonted ſeverity. — And thus ſhe ſtood, ſilent and motionleſs, while his lordſhip lighted a candle, he took from the ſide-board, bowed once more to all the company, and retired.

Sandford had ſtill Miſs Milner's hand fixed upon his; and when the door was ſhut after lord Elmwood, he turned his head to look in her face, and turned it with ſome marks of apprehenſion for the grief he might find there. — She [232] ſtrove to overcome that grief, and after a heavy ſigh, ſat down, as if reſigned to the fate to which ſhe was decreed.

Inſtead of following lord Elmwood, as uſual, Sandford poured out a glaſs of wine, and drank it.—A general ſilence enſued for near three minutes.—At laſt turning himſelf round on his ſeat, to⯑wards Miſs Milner, who ſat like a ſta⯑tue of deſpair at his ſide, "Will you breakfaſt with us to-morrow?" Said he.

She made no anſwer.

"We ſhan't breakfaſt before half af⯑ter ſix," continued he, "I dare ſay; and if you can riſe ſo early—why do."

"Miſs Milner," ſaid Miſs Woodley, (for ſhe caught, eagerly, at the hope of her paſſing this night in leſs unhappi⯑neſs than ſhe had foreboded) "pray [233] riſe at that hour to breakfaſt; Mr. Sand⯑would not invite you, if he thought it would diſpleaſe his lordſhip."

"Not I." Replied Sandford, chur⯑liſhly.

"Then deſire her woman to call her." Said Mrs. Horton to Miſs Wood⯑ley.

"Nay, ſhe will be awake, I have no doubt." Returned her niece.

"No;" replied Miſs Milner, "ſince lord Elmwood has thought proper to take his leave of me, without even ſpeaking a word; by my own deſign, never will I ſee him again." And here a flood of tears burſt forth, as if her heart burſt at the ſame time.

"Why did not you ſpeak to him?" cried Sandford — "pray did you bid him farewell? — and I don't ſee why [234] one is not as much to be blamed, in that reſpect, as the other."

"I was too weak to ſay, I wiſhed him happy;" cried Miſs Milner, "but, hea⯑ven is my witneſs, I do wiſh him ſo from my ſoul."

"And do you imagine, he does not wiſh you ſo too?" cried Sandford.— "You ſhould judge him by your own heart; and what you feel for him, ima⯑gine he feels for you, my dear."

Though "my dear" is a trivial phraſe, yet from certain people, and upon certain occaſions, it is a phraſe of infinite comfort and aſſurance. — Mr. Sandford ſeldom ſaid "my dear" to any one; to Miſs Milner never; and upon this occaſion, and from him, it was an expreſſion moſt precious.

[235]She turned to him with a look of gratitude; but as ſhe only looked, and did not ſpeak, he roſe up, and ſoon af⯑ter ſaid, with a friendly tone he had ſeldom ſpoken with in her preſence, "I ſincerely wiſh you a good night."

As ſoon as he was gone, Miſs Mil⯑ner exclaimed, "However my fate may have been precipitated by the unkind⯑neſs of Mr. Sandford, yet, for that par⯑ticle of concern he has ſhown for me this night, I will always be grateful to him."

"Ay," cried Mrs. Horton, "good Mr. Sandford may ſhow his kindneſs now, without any danger from its con⯑ſequences.—Now his lordſhip is going away for ever, he is not afraid of your ſeeing him once again." And ſhe thought ſhe praiſed him by this ſug⯑geſtion.

CHAPTER XII.

WHEN Miſs Milner retired to her bed-chamber, Miſs Woodley went with her, nor would leave her the whole night—but in vain did ſhe perſuade her to go to reſt, ſhe abſolutely refuſed; and declared ſhe would never, from that hour, indulge the ſmalleſt repoſe. — "The part I undertook to perform," cried ſhe, "is over; I will now, for my whole life, appear in my own character, and give a looſe to the anguiſh I en⯑dure."

As day light ſhowed itſelf, "And yet I might ſee him once again." Said ſhe. "I might ſee him within theſe two hours, if I pleaſed, for Mr. Sand⯑ford invited me."

[237]"If you think, my dear Miſs Mil⯑ner," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "that a ſe⯑cond parting from lord Elmwood, would but give you a ſecond agony, in the name of heaven do not ſee him any more —but, if you think your mind would be eaſier, were you to bid each other adieu in a more direct manner than you did laſt night, let us go down and breakfaſt with him.—I'll go before, to prepare him for your reception—you ſhall not unexpectedly ſurpriſe him—and I will let him know, it is by Mr. Sandford's invitation you are coming."

She liſtened with a ſmile to this pro⯑poſal, yet objected to the indelicacy of her wiſhing to ſee him, after he had taken his leave—but as Miſs Wood⯑ley, nevertheleſs, perceived ſhe was in⯑clined to infringe this delicacy, of which ſhe had ſo proper a ſenſe, ſhe eaſily per⯑ſuaded [238] her, it was impoſſible for the moſt ſuſpicious perſon (and lord Elm⯑wood was far from ſuch a character) to ſuppoſe, that by paying him a viſit at that period of time, could be with the moſt diſtant idea of regaining his heart, or of altering one reſolution he had taken.

In this opinion, Miſs Milner acqui⯑eſced, yet ſhe had not the courage to come to the determination ſhe would go.

Day light now no longer peeped, but ſtared broad upon them.—Miſs Milner went to the looking-glaſs, breathed upon her hands and rubbed them on her eyes; put ſome powder into her hair; yet ſaid, after all, "I dare not ſee him again."

"You may do as you pleaſe," ſaid Miſs Woodley, "but I will. I that [239] have lived for ſo many years under the ſame roof with him, and on the moſt friendly terms, and he going away, perhaps for theſe ten years, perhaps for ever; I ſhould think it a diſreſpect not to ſee him to the laſt moment of his remaining in the houſe."

"Then do you go," ſaid Miſs Mil⯑ner, eagerly, "and if he ſhould aſk for me, I will gladly come, you know; but if he does not aſk for me, I will not— and pray do not deceive me."

Miſs Woodley gave her her word not to deceive her; and ſoon after, as they heard the ſervants paſs about the houſe, and the clock had ſtruck ſix, Miſs Woodley went to the breakfaſt-room.

She found lord Elmwood there in his travelling dreſs, ſtanding penſively by the fire place—and, as he did not dream of [240] ſeeing her, he ſtarted when ſhe entered, and with an appearance of alarm ſaid, "Dear Miſs Woodley, what's the mat⯑ter?" — She replied, "Nothing, my lord; but I could not be ſatisfied with⯑out ſeeing your lordſhip once again, while I had it in my power."

"I thank you." He returned with a ſigh, and the heavieſt and moſt in⯑telligent ſigh, ſhe ever heard him con⯑deſcend to give.—She imagined, alſo, he looked as if he wiſhed to aſk how Miſs Milner did, but would not allow himſelf the indulgence.—She was half inclined to mention her to him, and debating in her mind whether ſhe ſhould or not, Mr. Sandford came into the room; ſaying, as he entered,

"For heaven's ſake, my lord, where did you ſleep laſt night?"

[241]"Why do you aſk?" Said his lord⯑ſhip.

"Becauſe," replied Sandford, "I went into your bed-chamber but now, and I found your bed made.—You have not ſlept there to-night."

"I have ſlept no where;" anſwered his lordſhip, "I could not ſleep—and having ſome papers to look over, and to riſe early, I thought I might as well not go to bed at all."

Miſs Woodley was pleaſed at the frank manner in which he made this confeſſion, and could not reſiſt the ſtrong impulſe to ſay, "You have done juſt then, my lord, like Miſs Milner, for ſhe has not been in bed the whole night."

Miſs Woodley ſpoke this in a neg⯑ligent manner, and yet, lord Elmwood echoed back the words with ſolici⯑tude [242] and tenderneſs, "Has not Miſs Milner been in bed the whole night?"

"If ſhe is up, why does not ſhe come and take ſome coffee?" Said Sandford, as he began to pour it out.

"If ſhe thought it would be agree⯑able," returned Miſs Woodley, "I dare ſay ſhe would." And ſhe looked at lord Elmwood while ſhe ſpoke, though ſhe did not abſolutely addreſs him; but he made no reply.

"Agreeable!" returned Sandford, an⯑grily, "Has ſhe then a quarrel with any body here? or does ſhe ſuppoſe any body here bears enmity to her?—Is ſhe not in peace and charity?"

"Yes," replied Miſs Woodley, "that I am ſure ſhe is."

"Then bring her hither," (ſaid he) "directly.—Would ſhe have the wick⯑edneſs [243] to imagine we are not all friends with her?"

Miſs Woodley left the room, and found Miſs Milner almoſt in deſpair, left ſhe ſhould hear lord Elmwood's carriage drive off before her friend's re⯑turn.

"Did he ſend for me?" were the words ſhe uttered as ſoon as ſhe ſaw her.

"Mr. Sandford did, in his preſence," returned Miſs Woodley, "and you may go with the utmoſt decorum, or I would not tell you ſo."

She required no proteſtations of this, but readily followed her beloved adviſer, whoſe kindneſs never appeared in half the amiable light as at that moment.

On entering the room, through all the dead white of her preſent complex⯑ion, [244] ſhe bluſhed to a crimſon.—Lord Elmwood roſe from his ſeat, and brought a chair for her to ſit down.

Sandford looked at her inquiſitively, then ſipped his tea, and ſaid, "He ne⯑ver made tea to his own liking."

Miſs Milner took a cup, but had ſcarce ſtrength to hold it.

It ſeemed but a very ſhort time they were at breakfaſt, when the carriage, that was to take his lordſhip away, drove to the door.—Miſs Milner ſtarted at the ſound; ſo did he; but ſhe had nearly dropped her cup and ſaucer: on which Sandford took them out of her hand, ſaying,

"Perhaps you had rather have cof⯑fee?"

Her lips moved, but he could not hear what ſhe ſaid.

[245]A ſervant came in, and told lord Elmwood, "The carriage was at the door."

He replied, "Very well." But though he had breakfaſted, he did not attempt to move.

At laſt, riſing briſkly from his ſeat, as if it was neceſſary to go in haſte, when he did go; he took up his hat, which he had brought with him into the room, and was turning to Miſs Wood⯑ley to take his leave, when Sandford cried, "My lord, you are in a great hurry."—And then, as if he wiſhed to give poor Miſs Milner every moment he could, added, (looking about) "I don't know where I have laid my gloves."

His lordſhip, after repeating to Miſs Woodley his laſt night's farewell, now [246] went up to Miſs Milner, and taking one of her hands, again held it be⯑tween his, but ſtill without ſpeaking— while ſhe, unable to ſuppreſs her tears as heretofore, ſuffered them to fall in torrents.

"What is all this?" Cried Sandford, going up to them in anger.

They neither of them replied, or changed their ſituation.

"Seperate this moment." — Cried Sandford — "Or reſolve never to be ſeparated but by death."

The commanding, and awful manner in which he ſpoke this ſentence, made them both turn to him in amazement! and almoſt petrified with the ſenſation his words had cauſed.

He left them for a moment, and go⯑ing to a ſmall book-caſe in one corner of the room, took out of it a book, [247] and returning with it in his hand, ſaid,

"Lord Elmwood, do you love this woman?"

"More than my life." Replied his lordſhip, with the moſt heartfelt ac⯑cents.

He then turned to Miſs Milner— "Can you ſay the ſame by him?"

She ſpread her hands over her eyes, and cried, "Oh, heavens!"

"I believe you can ſay ſo;" returned Sandford, "and in the name of God, and your own happineſs, ſince this is the caſe, let me put it out of your power to part."

Lord Elmwood gazed at him with wonder! and yet, as if enraptured by the ſudden appearance of a change in his proſpects.

[248]She, ſighed with a trembling kind of extacy; while Sandford, with all the pomp and dignity of a clergyman in his official character, delivered theſe words:

"My lord, while I thought my coun⯑ſel might ſave you from the worſt of misfortunes, conjugal ſtrife, I impor⯑tuned you hourly; and ſet forth your danger in the light it appeared to me.— But though old, and a prieſt, I can ſub⯑mit to think I have been in an error; and I now firmly believe, it is for the welfare of you both, to become man and wife.—My lord, take this woman's marriage vows; you can aſk no fairer promiſes of her reform; ſhe can give you none half ſo ſacred, half ſo binding; and I ſee by her looks ſhe will mean to keep them.—And my dear," continued he, addreſſing himſelf to her, "act but [249] under the dominion of thoſe vows, to a huſband of ſenſe and virtue, like him, and you will be all that I, himſelf, or even heaven can deſire.—Now then, lord Elmwood, this moment give her up for ever; or this moment conſtrain her by ſuch ties from offending you, ſhe ſhall not dare to violate."

Lord Elmwood ſtruck his forehead in doubt and agitation; but ſtill hold⯑ing her hand, he cried, "I cannot part from her."—Then feeling this reply as equivocal, he fell upon his knees, and cried, "Will you pardon my heſitation?—and will you, in mar⯑riage, ſhow me that tender love you have not ſhown me yet?—will you, in poſſeſſing all my affections, bear with all my infirmities?"

[250]She raiſed him from her feet, and by the expreſſion of her face, the tears with which ſhe bathed his hands, gave him confidence.

He turned to Sandford—then place⯑ing her by his own ſide, as the form of matrimony requires, gave this as a ſign for Sandford to begin the ceremony.— On which, he opened his book, and— married them.

While with a countenance—manner —and voice, ſo ſerious, and ſo fervent, did he perform theſe rites, that the idea of jeſt, or even of lightneſs, was far from the mind of every one preſent.

Miſs Milner, covered with ſhame, ſunk on the boſom of Miſs Woodley.

When the ring was wanting, lord Elmwood ſupplied it with one from his own hand, but throughout all the reſt of [251] the ceremony, appeared loſt in zealous devotion to heaven. — Yet, no ſooner was it finiſhed; than his thoughts ſeemed to deſcend to this world.—He embraced his bride with all the tranſ⯑port of the fondeſt, happieſt bride⯑groom, and in raptures called her by the endearing name of, "wife."

"But ſtill, my lord," cried Sand⯑ford, "you are only married by your own church and conſcience, not by your wife's; or by the law of the land; and let me adviſe you not to defer that mar⯑riage long, leſt in the time you diſ⯑agree, and ſhe yet refuſe to become your legal ſpouſe.

"I think there is danger," returned his lordſhip, "and therefore our ſecond marriage muſt take place to-morrow."

[252]To this the ladies objected, and it was left to Sandford to fix their ſecond wedding-day, as he had done their firſt. — He, after conſideration, gave four days interval.

Miſs Woodley then recollected (for every one elſe had forgot it) that the carriage was ſtill at the door to convey lord Elmwood abroad.—It was of courſe diſmiſſed—and one of thoſe great inci⯑dents of delight Miſs Milner that morn⯑ing taſted, was to look out of the win⯑dow, and ſee this very carriage drive from the door unoccupied.

Never was there a more rapid change from deſpair to happineſs—to happineſs moſt ſupreme—than was that, which Miſs Milner, and lord Elmwood expe⯑rienced within one ſingle hour.

[253]The few days that intervened be⯑tween this and their legal marriage, were paſſed in the delightful care of preparing for that happy day — yet, with all its delights inferior to the firſt; when every joy was doubled by the expected ſorrow.

Nevertheleſs, on that firſt wedding-day, that joyful day, which reſtored her loſt lover to her hopes again; even on that very day, after the ſacred ceremony was over, Miſs Milner—(with all the fears, the tremors, the ſuperſtition of her ſex)—felt an excruciating ſhock; when, looking on the ring lord Elmwood had put upon her finger, in haſte, when he married her, ſhe perceived it was a— MOURNING RING.