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"They should not put such things in the papers," said Mrs. Horton, to tempt young women to their ruin." The word ruin grated upon Lord Elmwood's ear; and he said to the servant who came to wait on him while he supped, "Take the supper away." He had not attempted either to eat, or even to sit down; and he now walked backwards and forwards in the room, lost in thought and care.

A little time after, one of Miss Milner's footmen came in upon some occasion, and Mr. Sandford said to him, "Pray did you attend your lady to the masquerade :"

"Yes, Sir," replied the man.

at having transgressed his injunctions for so trivial an entertainment weighed upon her spirits, and added to their 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.

"Yes, my Lord," replied he.

He walked again.

"I should like to know what she was dressed in," said Mrs. Horton; and turning to the servant, "Do you know what your lady had on :" 'Yes, Madam," replied the man; "she was in men's clothes." How!" cried Lord Elmwood.

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Was it a man's or a woman's?" asked he, with a look of the same command.

"Ha, ha, my Lord!" half laughing and half crying; a woman's dress, to be sure, my Lord."

On which Sandford cried,-" Call the footman up, and let him confront her."

He was called; but Lord Elmwood, now disgusted at the scene, withdrew to the further end of the room, and left Sandford to question them.

With all the authority and consequence of a country magistrate, Sandford, his back to the fire, and the witnesses before him, began with the footman.

"In what dress do you say that you saw your lady decorated, when you attended, and went along with her to the masquerade?"

"In men's clothes," replied the man, boldly and firmly as before. Bless my soul, Thomas, now can you say such a thing?" cried the woman.

"What dress do you say she went in "'cried Sandford to her. "In women's clothes, indeed, Sir."

"This is very odd!" said Mrs. Horton.

"Had she on, or had she not on, a coat?" asked Sandford.

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

Do y 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 your mistress; what has a woman to do with any boots ?" Impatient at this mummery, Lord Elmwood rose, ordered the servants out of the room, and then, looking at his watch, found it was near one. "At what hour am I to expect her home?" said he. "Perhaps not till three in the morning," answered Mrs. Horton. "Three more koly six," cried Sandford.

"I can't wai. wih patience till that time," answered Lord Elmwood, with a deep and most anxious sigh.

"You had better go to bed, my Lord," said Mrs. Horton; "and, by sleeping, the time will pass away unperceived." "If I could sleep, Madam."

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

"All night!" repeated Lord Elmwood; "she dares not stay all night."

And yet, after going," said Sandford, "in defiance to your commonds, I should suppose she dared.”

"She is in good.company, at least, my Lord," said Mrs. Horton. "She does not know herself what company she is in," replied he. "How should she," cried Sandford, "where every one hides his face?"

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

She, during this time, was at the scene of pleasure she had painted to herself; and all the pleasure it gave her was, that she was sure she would never desire to go to a masquerade again. Its crowd and, bustle fatigued her-its freedom offended her delicacy: and though she perceived that she was the first object of admiration in the place, yet there was one person still wanting to admire; and the regret

Daylight just peeped through the shutters of the room in which Lord Elmwood and Sandford were sitting, when the sound of her carriage, and the sudden stop it made at the door, caused Lord Elmwood to start from his chair. He trembled extremely, and looked pale. Sandford was ashamed to seem to notice it, yet he could not evinced he was reduced so low as to be glad of such a resource. What exact passion thus agitated Lord Elmwood at this crisis it is hard to define. Perhaps it was indignation at Miss Milner's imprudence, and exultation at being on the point of revenge: perhaps his emotion arose from joy to find she was safe returned: perhaps it was perturbation at the grief he felt that he must upbraid her: perhaps it was not one alone of these sensations, but all of them combined.

She, wearied out with the tedious night's dissipation, and far less joyous than melancholy, had fallen asleep as she rode home, and came half asleep out of her carriage. "Light me to my bedchamber instantly," said she to her maid, who waited in the hall to receive her. But one of Lord Elmwood's valets went up to her, and answered, "Madam, my Lord desires to see you before you retire." Your Lord!" she cried: "is he not from town?"

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"No, Madam, my Lord has been at home ever since you went out; and has been sitting up with Mr. Sandford waiting for you."

She was wide awake immediately. The heaviness was removed from her eyes; but fear, sorrow, and shame, seized upon her heart. She leaned against her maid, as if unable to support herself under those feelings, and said to Miss Woodley," Make my excuse-I cannot see him to-night--I am unfit-indeed I cannot."

Miss Woodley was alarmed at the prospect of going to him by herself, and thus, perhaps, irritating him still more: she, therefore, said, "He has sent for you; for Heaven's sake do not disobey him a second time."

“No, dear Madam, don't," cried her woman; "for he is like a lion-he has been scolding me."

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"Good God!" exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone that seemed prophetic: "then he is not to be my husband, after all!" "Yes," cried Miss Woodley, "if you will only be humble and appear sorry. You know your power over him, and all may yet be weli.” She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears startling from them, her lips trembling. Do I not appear sorry?" she cried. The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened their steps to the door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood was. "No," replied Miss Woodley to her last question, this shuddering is only fright: say to him you are sorry, and beg his pardon.” "I cannot," replied she, "if Mr. Sandford be with him." The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley went in. Lord Elmwood, by this time, was composed, and received her with a slight inclination of his head: she bowed to him in return, and said, with some marks of humility, "I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong."

"You have, indeed, Miss Milner," answered he; "but do not suppose that I mean to upbraid you: I am, on the contrary, going to release you from any such apprehension for the future.”

Those last three words he delivered with a countenance so serious and so determined, with an accent so firm and so decided, they piered through her heart. Yet she did not weep, or even sigh; but her friend, 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, iny Lord.'

Then, Madam, you perhaps expect all that I intend" "In regard to myself," she replied, "I suppose I do.” "Then," said he, "you may expect that in a few days we shall

part.'

"I am prepared for it, my Lord," she answered, and, while she said so, sunk upon a chair.

My Lord, what you have to say farther," said Miss Woodley, in tears, defer till the morning: Miss Milner, you see, is not able to bear it now."

"I have nothing to say farther," replied he, coolly: "I have now only to act.'

"Lord Elmwood," cried Miss Milner, divided between grief and anger, "you think to terrify me by your menaces; but I can part with you: Heaven knows I can. Your late behaviour has reconciled me to a separation."

On this he was going out of the room, but Miss Woodley, catching hold of him, cried, "Oh! my Lord, do not leave her in this sorrow: pity her weakness, and forgive it." She was proceeding; and he seemed as if inclined to listen, when Sandford called out in a tone of voice so harsh, "Miss Woodley, what do you mean?" She gave a start, and desisted.

Lord Elmwood then turned to Sandford, and said, "Nay, Mr. Sandford, you need entertain no doubts of me: I have judged, and have deter

He was going to say determined, but Miss Milner, who dreaded the word, interrupted the period, and exclaimed, "Oh! could my poor

father know the days of sorrow I have experienced since his death, how would he repent his fatal choice of a protector!"

This sentence, in which his friend's memory was recalled, with an additional allusion to her long and secret love for him, affected Lord Elmwood. He was much moved, but ashamed of being so, and as soon as possible conquered the propensity to forgive. Yet, for a short interval, he did not know whether to go out of the room or to remain in it; whether to speak or to be silent. At length he turned towards her, and said, "Appeal to your father in some other form: in that (pointing at her dress), he will not know you. Reflect upon him, too, in your moments of dissipation, and let his memory control your indiscretions; not merely in an hour of contradiction call peevishly upon his name, only to wound the dearest friend you have.'

There was a degree of truth, and a degree of passionate feeling, in the conclusion of this speech, that alarmed Sandford: he caught up one of the candles, and, laying hold of his friend's elbow, drew him out of the room, crying, "Come, my Lord, come to your bed-chamber -it is very late-it is morning-it is time to rise." And by a continual repetition of these words, in a very loud voice, he wilfully drowned whatever Lord Elmwood, or any other person, might have wished either to have said or to have heard.

In this manner Lord Elmwood was forced out of the apartment, and the evening's vicissitudes ended.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Two whole days passed in the bitterest suspense on the part of Miss Milner, while neither one word nor look from Lord Elmwood denoted the most trivial change of the sentiments he had declared on the night of the masquerade. Still those sentiments or intentions were not explicitly delivered: they were more like intimations than solemn declarations: for though he had said "he would never reproach her 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. Miss Woodley, seeing the distress of her mind (as much as she endeavoured to conceal it), entreated, nay, implored of her to permit her to be a mediator; to suffer her to ask for a private interview with Lord Elmwood, and, if she found him inflexible, to behave with a proper spirit in return; but if he appeared not absolutely averse to a reconciliation, to offer it in so cautious a manner that it might take place without farther uneasiness on either side. But Miss Milner peremptorily forbade this, and, acknowledging to her friend every weakness she felt on the occasion, yet concluded with solemnly declaring, that "after what had passed between her and Lord Elmwood, he must be the first to make a concession before she herself would condescend to be reconciled."

"Pshaw! Miss Milner, this is the old argument. He may love you too well to spoil you. Consider that he is your guardian as well as your lover: he means also to become your husband; and he is a man of such nice honour, that he will not indulge you with any power before marriage, to which he does not intend to submit hereafter."

"But tenderness, affection, the politeness due from a lover to his mistress demands his submission; and, as I now despair of enticing, I will oblige him to it: at least I'll make the experiment, and know my fate at once."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Invite Lord Frederick to the house, and ask my guardian's consent for our immediate union: you will then see what effect that measure will have 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 be the result. Or, would you force Mr. Dorriforth (I mean Lord Elmwood) to another duel with my Lord Frederick?"

"No, call him Dorriforth," answered she, with the tears stealing from her eyes: "I thank you for calling him so; for by that name alone is he dear to me."

"Nay, Miss Milner, with what rapture did you not receive his love as Lord Elmwood!"

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

Notwithstanding Miss Milner indulged herself in all these soft bewailings to her friend, before Lord Elmwood she maintained a degree of pride and steadiness which surprised even him, who, perhaps, thought less of her love for him than any other person. She now began to fear she had gone too far in discovering her affection, and resolved to make a trial of a contrary method. She determined, to retrieve that haughty character which had inspired so many admirers with passion, and take the chance of its effect upon this only suitor, to whom she ever acknowledged a mutual attachment. But although she resumed and acted this character well-so well that every one but Miss Woodley thought her in earnest; yet, with nice and attentive anxiety, she watched even the slightest circumstances

that might revive her hopes, or confirm her despair. Lord Elmwood's behaviour was calculated only to produce the latter: he was cold, polite, and perfectly indifferent. Yet, whatever his manners now were, they did not remove from her recollection what they had been. She recalled, with delight, the ardour with which he had first declared his passion to her, and the thousand proofs he had since given of its reality. From the constancy of his disposition she depended that sentiments like these were not totally eradicated; and from the extreme desire which Mr. Sandford now, more than ever, discovered of depreciating her in his patron's esteem; from the now more than common zeal which urged him to take Lord Elmwood from her company, whenever he had it in his power, she was led to believe that while his friend entertained such strong fears of his relapsing into love, she had reason to indulge the strongest hopes that he would relapse.

But the reserve, and even indifference, that she had so well assumed for a few days, and which might, perhaps, have effected her design, she had not the patience to persevere in without calling levity to their aid. She visited repeatedly without saying where, or with whom ; kept later hours than usual-appeared in the highest spirits; sung, laughed, and never heaved a sigh but when she was alone.

She

Still Lord Elmwood protracted a resolution, that he was determined he would never break when taken. Miss Woodley was excessively uneasy, and with cause. She saw her friend was providing herself with a weight of cares which se might soon find infinitely too much for her strength to bear. would have reasoned with her, but all her arguments had long since proved unavailing. She wished to speak to Lord Elmwo upon the subject, and (unknown to her) plead her excuse; but he apprehended Miss Woodley's intention, and evidently shunned her. Mr. Sandford was now the only person to whom she could speak of Miss Milner; and the delight he took to expatiate on her faults was more sorrow to her friend than not to speak of her at all. She, therefore, sat a silent spectator, waiting with dread for the time when she, who now scorned her advice, would fly to her in vain for comfort. Sandford had, however, said one thing to Miss Woodley which gave her a ray of hope. During their conversation on the subject (no: by way of consolation to her, but as a reproach to Lord Elmwood), he one day angrily exclaimed, "And yet, notwithstanding all this provocation, he has, not come to the determination that he will think no more of her: he lingers, and he hesitates. I never saw him so weak upon any occasion before."

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

Amongst her unpardonable indiscretions, during this trial upon the temper of her guardian, was the frequent mention of many gentlemen who had been her professed admirers, and the mention of them with partiality. Teased, if not tortured, by this, Lord Elmwood still behaved with a manly evenness of temper, and neither appeared provoked on the subject nor insolently careless. In a single instance, however, this calmness was near deserting him.

Entering the drawing-room one evening, he stared on seeing Lord Frederick Lawnley there, in earnest conversation with Miss Milner. Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley were both indeed present, and Lord Frederick was talking in an audible voice upon some indifferent subjects, but with that impressive manner in which a man never fails to speak to the woman he loves, be the subject what it may. The moment Lord Elmwood started, which was the moment he entered, Lord Frederick arose.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord," said Lord Elmwood; "I protest I did not know you.'

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

"I hope you are not hurt," said Lord Elmwood to Miss Milner; but his voice was so much affected by what he felt, that he could scarce articulate the words. Not with the apprehension that she was hurt was he thus agitated; for the gaiety of her manners convinced him that could not be the case, nor did he indeed suppose any acci dent of the kind mentioned had occurred; but the circumstance of unexpectedly seeing Lord Frederick had taken him off his guard; and being totally unprepared, he could not conceal indications of the surprise and of the shock it had given him.

Lord Frederick, who had heard nothing of his intended union with his ward (for it was even kept a secret, at present, from every scr vant in the house), imputed this discomposure to the personal resentment he might bear him, in consequence of their duel; for though Lord Elmwood had assured the uncle of Lord Frederick (who once waited upon him on the subject of Miss Milner) that all resentment was, on his part, entirely at an end, and that he was willing to consent to his ward's marriage with his nephew, if she would concur; yet Lord Frederick doubted the sincerity of this protestation, and would still have had the delicacy not to have entered Lord Elmwood's house, had he not been encouraged by Miss Milner, and emboldened by his love. Personal resentment was therefore the construction he

ferent cause.

put upon Lord Elmwood's emotion on entering the room; but Miss Milner and Miss Woodley knew his agitation to arise from a far difAfter his entrance, Lord Frederick did not attempt once to resume his seat; but having bowed most respectfully to all present, he took his leave, while Miss Milner followed him as far as the door, and repeated her thanks for his protection.

Lord Elmwood was hurt beyond measure; but he had a second concern, which was, that he had not the power to conceal how much he was affected. He trembled. When he attempted to speak, he stammered: he perceived his face burning with confusion; and thus one confusion gave birth to another, till his state was pitiable. Miss Milner, with all her assumed gaiety and real insolence, had

OL

"There was, however, a paleness in her face, a deadness in her eye."p. 33.

not, however, the insolence to seem as if she observed him; she had only the confidence to observe him by stealth. And Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley having opportunely begun a discourse upon some trivial occurrences, gave him time to recover himself by degrees. Still it was merely by degrees; for the impression which this incident had made was deep, and not easily to be erased. The entrance of Mr. Sandford, who knew nothing of what had happened, was, however, another relief; for he began a conversation with him, which they very soon retired into the library to terminate. Miss Milner, taking Miss Woodley with her, went directly to her own apartment, and there exclaimed in rapture--"He is mine!-he loves me !-and he is mine for ever!"

Miss Woodley congratulated her upon believing so, but confessed she herself" had her fears."

"What fears?" cried Miss Milner. "Don't you perceive that he loves me?"

"I do," said Miss Woodley; "but that I always believed; and I think if he loves you now he has yet the good sense to know that he has reason 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"

The same arguments were going to be repeated; but Miss Woodley interrupted her, by requiring an explanation of her conduct as to Lord Frederick, whom, at least, she was treating with cruelty, if she only made use of his affection to stimulate that of Lord Elmwood. "By no means, my dear Miss Woodley," returned she. "I have, indeed, done with my Lord Frederick from this day, and he has certainly given me the proof I wanted of Lord Elmwood's love; but then I did not engage him to this by the smallest ray of hope. No; do not suspect me of such artifice while my heart was another's; and I assure you, seriously, that it was from the circumstance we described he came with me home: yet, I must own, that if I had not had this design upon Lord Elmwood's jealousy in idea, I would have walked on foot through the streets, rather than have suffered his rival's civilities. But he pressed his services so violently, and my

Lady Evans (in whose coach I was when the accident happened) pressed me so violently to accept them, that he cannot expect any farther meaning from this acquiescence that 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, when it has given me such convincing proofs of Lord Elmwood's love. Did you see him? I am afraid you did not see how he trembled, nor observe how that manly voice faltered, as mine does sometimes? His proud heart was humbled too, as mine is sometimes. Oh! Miss Woodley, I have been counterfeiting indifference to him-I now find that all his indifference to me has been counterfeit also, and that we not only love, but love equally."

"Suppose this all as you hope, I yet think it highly necessary that your guardian should be informed, seriously informed, it was mere accident (for, at present, that plea seems but as a subterfuge), which brought Lord Frederick hither."

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

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN vain, for three long days, did Miss Milner wait impatiently for this submission; not a sign, not a symptom appeared. Nay, Lord Elmwood had, since the evening of Lord Frederick's visit (which, at the time it took place, seemed to affect him so exceedingly,) become just the same man he was before the circumstance occurred; except, indeed, that he was less thoughtful, and now and then cheerful; but without any appearance that his cheerfulness was affected. Miss Milner was vexed-she was alarmed-but was ashamed to confess those humiliating sensations even to Miss Woodley. She supported, therefore, when in company, the vivacity she had so long assumed; but gave way, when alone, to a still greater degree of melancholy than usual. She no longer applauded her scheme of bringing Lord Frederick to the house, and was terrified lest, on some pretence, he should dare to call again. But as these were feelings which her pride would not suffer her to disclose even to her friend, who would have condoled with her, their effects were doubly poignant.

Sitting in her dressing-room one forenoon with Miss Woodley, and burdened with a load of grief that she blushed to acknowledge, while her companion was charged with apprehensions that she too was loath to disclose, one of Lord Elmwood's valets tapped gently at the door, and delivered a letter to Miss Milner. By the person who brought it, as well as by the address, she knew it came from Lord Elmwood, and laid it down upon her toilet, as if she was fearful to unfold it.

"What is that?" said Miss Woodley.

"A letter from Lord Elmwood," replied Miss Milner. "Good Heaven!" exclaimed Miss Woodley.

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"Nay," returned she, "it is, I have no doubt, a letter to beg my pardon.' But her reluctance to open it plainly evinced she did not think so. "Do not read it yet," said Miss Woodley.

"I do not intend it," replied she, trembling extremely. "Will you dine first?" said Miss Woodley.

"No: for not knowing its contents, I shall not know how to conduct myself towards him."

Here a silence followed. Miss Milner took up the letter--looked earnestly at the handwriting on the outside-at the seal--inspected its folds-and seemed to wish, by some equivocal method, to guess at the contents, without having the courage to come at the certain knowledge of them. Curiosity at length got the better of her fears: she opened the letter, and, scarcely able to hold it while she read, she read the following words::

"MADAM,-While I considered you only as my ward, my friendship for you was unbounded; when I looked upon you as a woman formed to grace a fasionable circle, my admiration equalled my friendship; and when fate permitted me to behold you in the tender light of a betrothed wife, my soaring love left those humbler passions at a distance.

"That you have still my friendship, my admiration, and even my love, I will not attempt to deceive either myself or you by disavowing; but still with a firm assurance, I declare, that prudence outweighs them all; and I have not, from henceforward, the slightest desire to be regarded by you in any other respect than as one who wishes you well. That you ever beheld me in the endearing quality of a destined and an affectionate husband (such as I would have proved) has been a deception upon my hopes. They acknowledge the mistake, and are humbled; but I entreat you to spare their farther trial, and for a single week not to insult me with the open preference of another. In the short space of that period I shall have taken my leave of youfor ever.

"I shall visit Italy, and some other parts of the continent; from whence I propose passing to the West Indies, in order to inspect my possessions there; nor shall I return to England till after a few years absence; in which time I hope to become once more reconciled to the

also my wish to leave upon his mind an impression which may not add to the ill impression he has formed of me, but, perhaps, serve to diminish it. If, in every other instance, my conduct has been blameable, he shall, at least in this, acknowledge its merit. The fate I have drawn upon myself he shall find I can be resigned to; and he shall be convinced that the woman, of whose weakness he has had so many fatal proofs, is yet in possession of some fortitude-fortitude to bid him farewell, without discovering one affected or one real pang, though her death should be the consequence of her suppressed sufferings."

change of state I am enjoined-a change I now most fervently wish could be entirely dispensed with. "The occasion of my remaining here a week longer is to settle some necessary affairs, among which the principal is, that of delivering to a friend, a man of worth and of tenderness, all those writings which have invested me with the power of my guardianship. He will, the day after my departure (without one upbraiding word), resign them to you in my name; and even your most respected father, could he behold the resignation, would concur in its propriety. "And now, my dear Miss Milner, let not affected resentment, contempt, or levity, oppose that serenity, which for the week to come I wish to enjoy. By complying with this request, give me to believe, that since you have been under my care, you think I have at least faithfully discharged some part of my duty. And, wherever I have been inadequate to your expectations, attribute my demerits to some infirmity of mind, rather than to a negligence of your happiness. Yet be the cause what it will, since these faults have existed, I do not attempt to disavow or extenuate them, and I beg your pardon.

"However time and a succession of objects may eradicate more tender sentiments, I am sure never to lose the liveliest anxiety for your welfare; and with all that solicitude, which cannot be described, I entreat for

your own sake, for mine, when we shall be far asunder, and for the sake of your dead father's memory, that upon every important occasion, you will call your serious judgment to direct you. "I am, Madam, "Your sincerest "friend, "ELMWOOD."

After she had read every syllable of this letter carefully, it dropped from her hands; but she uttered not a word. There was, however, a paleness in her face, a deadness in her eye, and a kind of palsy over her frame, which Miss Woodley, who had seen her in every stage of her unhappiness, never had seen before.

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

Thus she resolved, and thus she acted. The severest judge could not have arraigned her conduct, from the day she received Lord Elmwood's letter to the day of his departure. She had, indeed, involuntary weaknesses, but none with which she did not struggle, and in general her struggles were victorious.

"They will, then, discover to Lord Elmwood," replied she, "what I feel; but, Heaven forbid-that would sink me even lower than I am.'

Scarce able to move, she rose, and looked in ner glass, as if to arrange her features, and impose upon him: alas! it was of no avail -a contented mind could alone affect what she desired,

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

"I will," replied she: "I will feel a proper pride, and, consequently, a proper indifference to this treatment.'

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

"I have but a few days to remain with him," she said to herself, and we part for ever. During those few days it is not only my duty to obey his commands, or rather comply with his request, but it is

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

"Ay, Elmwood," cried another gentleman at table, "you'll bring home, I am afraid, a foreign wife, and that I sha'n't forgive." "It is his errand abroad I make no doubt," said another visitor. Before he could return an answer, Sandford cried, "And what objection to a foreigner for a wife? Do not crowned heads all marry foreigners? And who happier in the married state than some kings?" Lord Elmwood directed his eyes to the side of the table opposite to that where Miss Milner sat.

"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, Madam?" asked the visitor, still keeping his eyes on Miss Milner.

"That whoever Lord Elmwood marries, he deserves to be happy," she returned, with the utmost command of her voice and looks; for Miss Woodley, by replying first, had given her time to collect herself. The colour flew to Lord Elmwood's face, as she delivered this short sentence; and Miss Woodley persuaded herself she saw a tear start in his eye.

Miss Milner did not look that way.

In an instant he found means to change the topic, but that of his journey still employed the conversation; and what horses, servants, and carriages he took with him, was minutely asked, an I so accurately answered, either by himself or by Mr. Sandford, that Miss Milner, although she had known her doom before, till now had received no circumstantial account of it; and as circumstances increase or diminish all we feel, the hearing these things in detail described increase the bitterness of their truth.

Soon after dinner the ladies retired; and from that time, though Miss Milner's behaviour continued the same, yet her looks and her voice were totally altered. For the world, she could not have looked cheerful; for the world, she could not have spoken with a sprightly accent; she frequently began in one, but not three words did she utter, before her tones sunk into a melody of dejection. Not only her colour but her features became changed; her eyes lost their brilliancy, her lips seemed to hang without the power of motion; her head drooped, and her dress looked neglected. Conscious of this appearance, and conscious of the cause from whence it arose, it was her desire to hide herself from the fatal object, the source of her despondency. Accordingly, she sat alone, or with Miss Woodley in her own apartment, as much as was consistent with that civility which her guardian had requested, and which forbade her from totally absenting Miss Woodley felt so accutely the torments of her friend, that had not her reason told her that the inflexible mind of Lord Elmwood was fixed beyond her power to shake, she had cast herself at his feet and implored the return of his affection and tenderness, as the only means to save his once-beloved ward from an untimely grave. But her understanding-her knowledge of his firm and immovable temper, and of all his provocations-her knowledge of his word, long since given to Sandford, "that if once resolved, he would not recal his resolution," the certainty of the various plans arranged for his travels, all convinced her, that by any interference, she would only expose Miss Milner's love and delicacy to a contemptuous rejection.

herself.

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

She looked at him earnestly, as if to imply, "What now, my Lord?"

He only answered with a bow, which expressed, "I beg your pardon," and immediately withdrew.

Thus cach understood the other's language, without either having uttered a word.

The just construction she put upon his looks and manner upon this occasion kept up her spirits for some little time; and she blessed Heaven for the singular favour of showing to her, clearly, by this accident, his negligence of her sorrows-his total indifference.

The next day was the eve of that on which he was to depart-of the day 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, perhaps, the last day she was ever again to see him, softened all the resentment his yesterday's conduct had raised; forgetting his austerity, and all she had once termed cruelties, she now only remembered his friendship, his tenderness, and his love. She was impatient to see him, and promised herself, for this last day, to neglect no one opportunity of being with him. For that purpose she did not breakfast in her own room, as she had done for several mornings before, but went into the breakfast-room, where all the family in general met. She was rejoiced on hearing his voice as she opened the door; yet

the mere sound made her tremble so much, that she could scarc totter to the table.

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

Sandford, during breakfast, by accident cast a glance upon Miss Milner: his attention was caught by her death-like countenance, and he looked earnestly. He then turned to Lord Elmwood, to see if he was observing her appearance: he was not-and so much were her thoughts engaged on him alone, that she did not once perceive Sandford gazing at her.

Mrs. Horton, after a little while, observed, "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 (unasked) had a plate with biscuits to Miss Milner-it was the first civility he had ever in his life offered her-she smiled at the whimsicality of the circumstance, but she took one in return for his attention. He looked grave beyond his usual gravity, and yet not with his usual ill temper. She did not cat what she had so politely taken, but laid it down soon after.

Lord Elmwood was the first who rose from breakfast, and he dia not return to dinner.

At dinner Mrs. Horton said, "she hoped he would, however, favour them with his company at supper."

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 Elmwood in the morning" (which conveyed the sense, never again to see him after this evening), were like the knell of death to Miss Milner. She felt the symptoms of fainting, and hurried by the dread of a swoon, snatched from the hand of a servant a glass of water, which Sandford had just then called for, and drank it hastily. As she returned the glass to the servant, she began to apologise to Mr. Sandford; but before she could utter what she intended, he said, rather kindly, "Never mind, you are welcome: I am glad you took it." She looked at him to observe whether he had really spoken kindly, or ironically; but before his countenance could satisfy her, her thoughts were called away from that trivial matter, and again fixed upon Lord Elmwood.

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

Miss Milner had considered that the period for her to counterfeit appearances was diminished now to a most contracted one; and she rigorously enjoined herself not to shrink from the little which remained. The certain end that would be so soon put to this painful deception, encouraged her to struggle through it with redoubled zeal; and this was but necessary as her weakness increased. She therefore listened, she talked, and even smiled with the rest of the company, nor did their vivacity seem to arise from a much less compulsive source than her own.

It was past twelve when Lord Elmwood looked at his watch, and rising from his chair, went up to Mrs. Horton, and, taking her hand, said, "Till I see you again, Madam, I sincerely wish you every happiness.' Miss Milner fixed her eyes upon the table before her.

My Lord," replied Mrs. Horton, "I sincerely wish you health and happiness 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 Lord Elmwood; but Miss Milner kept her seat till his eye was turned upon her, and he moved slowly towards her: she then rose; every one who was present attentive to what he would now say, and how she would receive what he said, here cast their eyes upon them, and listened with impatience. They were all disappointed: he did not utter a syllable. Yet he took her hand, and held it closely between his. He then bowed most respectfully, and left her.

No sentence of, "I wish you well,”—“I wish you health and happiness;" no "prayers for blessings on her;"-not even the word farewell" escaped his lips. Perhaps, to have attempted any of these might have impeded his utterance.

She had behaved with fortitude the whole evening, and she continued to do so till the moment he turned away from her. Her eyes then overflowed with tears, and in the agony of her mind, not knowing what she did, she laid her cold hand upon the person next to her: it happened to be Sandford; but not observing it was he, she