"No ill consequence, I hope, my Lord!" said Dorriforth, with a firmness in his voice, and with an eye so fixed, that his antagonist hesitated for a moment in want of a reply; and Miss Milner softly whispering to him, as her guardian turned his head, to avoid an argument, he bowed acquiescence. Then, as if in compliment to her, he changed the subject; and with an air of ridicule he cried-"I wish, Mr. Dorriforth, you would give me absolution of all my sins, for I confess they are many, and manifold."

"Hold, my Lord," exclaimed Dorriforth, "do not confess before the ladies, lest, in order to excite their compassion, you should be tempted to accuse yourself of sins you have never yet committed." At this Miss Milner laughed, seemingly so well pleased, that Lord Frederick, with a sarcastic sneer, repeated

"From Abelard it came,

And Eloisa still must love the name." Whether from an inattention to the quotation, or from a consciousness it was wholly inapplicable, Dorriforth heard it without one emotion of shame or of anger-while Miss Milner seemed shocked at the implication; her pleasantry was immediately suppressed, and she threw open the sash, and held her head out at the window, to conceal the embarrassment these lines had occasioned.

The Earl of Elmwood was at that juncture announced- a Catholic nobleman, just come of age, and on the eve of marriage. His visit was to his cousin, Mr. Dorriforth; but as all ceremonious visits were alike received by Dorriforth, Miss Milner, and Mrs. Horton's family, in one common apartment, Lord Elmwood was ushered into this, and of course directed the conversation to a different topic.

CHAPTER VI.

WITH an anxious desire that the affection, or acquaintance, between Lord Frederick and Miss Milner might be finally dissolved, her guardian received, with infinite satisfaction, overtures of marriage from Sir Edward Ashton. Sir Edward was not young or handsome, old or ugly, but immensely rich, and possessed of qualities that made him worthy of the happiness to which he aspired. He was the man whom Dorriforth would have chosen before any other for the husband of his ward; and his wishes made him sometimes hope, against his cooler judgment, that Sir Edward would not be rejected. He was resolved, at all events, to try the force of his own power in the strongest recommendation of him.

Notwithstanding that dissimularity of opinion, which, in almost every instance, subsisted between Miss Milner and her guardian, there was in general the most punctilious observance of good manners from each towards the other-on the part of Dorriforth more especially; for his politeness would sometimes appear even like the result of a system which he had marked out for himself, as the only means to keep his ward restrained within the same limitations. Whenever he addressed her there was an unusual reserve upon his countcnance, and more than usual gentleness in the tone of his voice: this appeared the effect of sentiments which her birth and situation inspired, joined to a studied mode of respect, best calculated to enforce the same from her. The wished-for consequence was produced; for though there was an instinctive rectitude in the understanding of Miss Milner that would have taught her without other instruction what manners to observe towards her deputed father, yet, from some volatile thought, or some quick sense of feeling, which she had not been accustomed to correct, she was perpetually on the verge of treating him with levity; but he would on the instant recal her recollection by a reserve too awful, and a gentleness too sacred for her to violate. The distinction which both required was thus, by his skilful management alone, preserved.

politeness, and said :--"I wish you would show a better taste than thus pointedly to disapprove of Sir Edward." "How, Mr. Dorriforth, can you expect me to give proofs of a good taste, when Sir Edward, whom you consider with such high esteem, has given so bad an example of his, in approving me?" Dorriforth wished not to flatter her by a compliment she seemed to have sought for, and for a moment hesitated what answer to make. "Reply, Sir, to that question," she said.

"Why, then, Madam," returned he, "it is my opinion, that supposing what your humility has advanced be just, yet Sir Edward will not suffer by the suggestion; for in cases where the heart is so immediately concerned, as I believe Sir Edward's to be, taste, or rather reason, has little power to act."

"You are in the right, Mr. Dorriforth: this is a proper justification of Sir Edward, and when I fall in love, I beg that you will make the same excuse for me."

"Then," said he, earnestly, "before your heart is in that state which I have described, exert your reason." "I shall," answered she, "and assuredly not consent to marry a man whom I could never love."

"Unless your heart be already disposed of, Miss Milner, what can make you speak with such a degree of certainty?

He thought on Lord Frederick when he uttered this, and he riveted' his eyes upon her as if to penetrate her most secret inclinations, and yet trembling for what he might find there, she blushed, and her looks would have confirmed her guilty, if the unembarrassed and free tone of her voice, more than her words, had not preserved her from that

sentence.

"No," she replied, "my heart is not stolen away; and yet I can venture to declare that Sir Edward will never possess it."

"I am sorry, for both your sakes, that these are your sentiments," he replied. "But as your heart is still your own,"-and he seemed rejoiced to find it was-"permit me to warn you how you part with a thing so precious. The dangers, the sorrows you hazard in bestowing it, are greater than you may possibly be aware of. The heart once gone, our thoughts, our actions, are no more our own, than that isHe seemed forcing himself to utter all this, and yet he broke off as if he could have said much more, if the extreme delicacy of the subject had not restricted him.

When he left the room, and she heard the door close after him, she said with an inquisitive thoughtfulness, "What can make good people so skilled in all the weaknesses of the bad? Mr. Dorriforth, with all

One morning he took an opportunity, before her and Miss Woodley, to introduce and press the subject of Sir Edward Ashton's hopes. He first spoke warmly in his praise; then plainly said that she possessed the power of making so deserving a man happy to the summit of his wishes. A laugh of ridicule was the only answer; but a sudden frown from Dorriforth having silenced her mirth, he resumed his usual

those prudent admonitions, ap

pears rather like a man who has passed his life in the gay world, experienced all its dangerous allurements, all its repentant sorrows, than like one who has lived his whole time secluded in a monastic college, or in his own study. Then he speaks with such exquisite sensibility on the subject of love, that he commends the very thing which he attempts to depreciate. I do not think my Lord Frederick would make the passion appear in more pleasing Colours by painting its delights, than Mr. Dorriforth could in describing its sorrows; and if he talks to me frequently in this manner, I shall certainly take pity on Lord Frederick, for the sake of his adversary's cloquence."

Miss Woodley, who heard the conclusion of this speech, with the tenderest concern, cried,"Alas! you then think seriously of Lord Frederick !"

"Suppose I do, wherefore that alas! Miss Woodley?"

66

Because I fear you will never

be happy with him."

"That is plainly saying he will not be happy with me.'

"I do not know: I cannot speak of marriage from experience," answered Miss Woodley; "but I think I can guess what it is."

"Nor can I speak of love from experience," replied Miss Milner; "but I think I can guess

what it is." "But do not fall in love, my dear," cried Miss Woodley, with her accustomed simplicity of heart, as if she had been asking a favour that depended upon the will of the person entreated; "pray do not fall in love without the approbation of your guardian."

Her young friend smiled at the inefficacious prayer, but promised to do all she could to oblige her.

CHAPTER VII.

SIR EDWARD, not wholly discouraged by the denial with which Dorriforth had, with delicacy, acquainted him, still hoped for a kind reception; and he was so often at the house of Mrs. Horton, that Lord Frederick's jealousy was excited; and the tortures he suffered in consequence convinced him, beyond a doubt, of the sincerity of his affection. Every time he beheld the object of his passion (for he still continued his visits, though not so frequently as heretofore), he pleaded his cause with such ardour, that Miss Woodley, who was sometimes present, and ever compassionate, could not resist wishing him success. He now unequivocally offered marriage, and entreated that he might lay his proposals before Mr. Dorriforth; but this was positively forbidden. Her reluctance he imputed, however, more to the known partiality of her guardian for the addresses of Sir Edward, than to any motive which depended upon herself; and to Mr. Dorriforth he conceived a greater dislike than ever; believing that through his interposition, in spite of his ward's attachment, he might yet be deprived of her. But Miss Milner declared, both to him and to her friend, that love had at present gained no influence over her mind. Yet did the watchful Miss Woodley oftentimes hear a sigh escape from her unknown to herself, till she was reminded of it; and then a crimson blush would instantly overspread her face. This seeming struggle with her passion endeared her more than ever to Miss Woodley; and she would even risk the displeasure of Mr. Dorriforth, by her compliance with every new pursuit that might amuse those leisure hours which her friend, she now perceived, passed in heaviness of heart.

Balls, plays, incessant company, at length roused her guardian from that mildness with which he had been accustomed to treat her. Night after night his sleep had been disturbed by fears for her when abroad; morning after morning it had been broken by the clamour of her return. He therefore gravely said to her one forenoon, as he met her accidentally upon the staircase-"I hope, Miss Milner, you pass this evening at home"

Unprepared for the sudden question, she blushed and replied, "Yes;" though she knew she was engaged to a brilliant assembly, for which her milliner had been consulted a whole week.

She, however, flattered herself that what she had said might be excused as a mistake, the lapse of memory, or some other trifling fault, when he should know the truth. The truth was earlier divulged than she expected; for just as dinner was removed, her footman delivered a message to her from her milliner concerning a new dress for the evening the present evening particularly marked. Her guardian looked astonished!

"I thought, Miss Milner, you gave me your word that you would pass this evening at home?"

"I mistook; for I had before given my word that I should pass it abroad."

"And mean, perhaps, to make it of more consequence than it deserves, by being offended."

"Whether or not I am offended-you shall find I am." And he looked so.

She caught his piercing eyes--hers were immediately cast down; and she trembled either with shame or with resentment. Mrs. Horton rose from her chair-moved the decanters and fruit round the table--stirred the fire-and came back to her chair again, before another word was uttered. Nor had this good woman's officious labours taken the least from the awkwardness of the silence, which, as soon as the bustle she had contrived was over, returned in its full force.

"What can be worse, Madamı ?" cried Miss Milner. disappointed of the ball?"

"Am not I

"You don't mean to go, then?" said Mrs. Horton. "I commend your prudence; and I dare say it is more than your guardian gives you credit for.' "Do you think I would go," answered Miss Milner, with an eagerness that, for a time, suppressed her tears, "in contradiction to his will" "It is not the first time, I believe, you have acted contrary to that, Miss Milner," replied Mrs. Horton, and affected a tenderness of voice to soften the harshness of her words.

66

If you think so, Madam, I see nothing that should prevent me now.' And she went eagerly out of the room, as if she had resolved to disobey him. This alarmed poor Miss Woodley.

"My dear aunt," she cried to Mrs. Horton, "follow and prevail upon Miss Milner to give up her design; she means to be at the ball, in opposition to her guardian's will."

Then," said Mrs. Horton, "I'll not be instrumental in deterring her. If she does go, it may be for the best; it may give Mr. Dorriforth a clearer knowledge, what means are proper to convert her from evil."

66

'But, my dear Madam, she must be preserved from the evil of disobedience; and, as you tempted, you will be the most likely to dissuade her. But if you will not, I must endeavour."

Miss Woodley was leaving the room to perform this good work, when Mrs. Horton, in imitation of the example given her by Dorriforth, cried," Niece, I command you not to stir out of this room this evening.

Miss Woodley obediently sat down; and though her thoughts and heart were in the chamber of her friend, she never marked by one impertinent word, or by one line of her face, the restraint she suffered. At the usual hour, Mr. Dorriforth and his ward were summoned to tea. He entered with a countenance which evinced the remains of anger; his eye gave testimony of his absent thoughts; and, though he took up a pamphlet affecting to read, it was plain to discern that he scarcely knew he held it in his hand.

Mrs. Horton began to make tea with a mind as intent upon something else as Dorriforth's. She longed for the event of this misunderstanding; and though she wished no ill to Miss Milner, yet with an inclination bent upon seeing something new, without the fatigue of going out of her own house, she was not over scrupulous what that novelty might be. But for fear she should have the imprudence to speak a word upon the subject which employed her thoughts, or even to look as if she thought of it at all, she pinched her lips close together, and cast her eyes on vacancy, lest their significant regards might expose her to detection. And for fear that any noise should intercept even the sound of what might happen, she walked across the room more softly than usual, and more softly touched every thing she was obliged to lay her hand on.

Miss Woodley thought it her duty to be mute; and now the gingle of a tea-spoon was like a deep-toned bell, all was so quiet.

Mrs. Horton, too, in the self-approving reflection that she was not in a quarrel or altercation of any kind, felt herself at this moment remarkably peaceful and charitable. Miss Woodley did not recollect herself so, but was so in reality. In her, peace and charity were instinctive virtues; accident could not increase them.

The tea had scarcely been made, when a servant came with Miss Milner's compliments, and she "did not mean to have any tea." The pamphlet shook in Dorriforth's hand while this message was delivered. He believed her to be dressing for her evening's entertainment; and now studied in what manner he should prevent or resent her disobedience to his commands. He coughed-drank his teaendeavoured to talk, but found it difficult-sometimes he read; and in this manner near two hours were passed away, when Miss Milner came into the room-not dressed for a ball, but as she had risen from dinner. Dorriforth read on, and seemed afraid of looking up, lest he should see what he could not have pardoned. She drew a chair, and sat at the table by the side of her delighted friend.

After a few minutes' pause, and some little embarrassment on the part of Mrs. Horton, at the disappointment she had to encounter from this unexpected dutiful conduct, she asked Miss Milner, ma'am," in a voice so languid, compared with her usual one, that Dorriforth lifted up his eyes from the book; and seeing her in the same dress that she had worn all the day, turned them hastily away from her again-not with a look of triumph, but of confusion.

Her hand fell motionless from that which she held-she appeared motionless herself - till Mrs. Horton, "beseeching her not to be uneasy at the treatment she had received," made her tears flow as if her heart was breaking.

Whatever he might have suffered if he had seen Miss Milner decorated, and prepared to bid defiance to his commands, yet even upon that trial, he would not have endured half the painful sensations he now for a moment felt-he felt himself to blame.

He feared he had treated her with too much severity --he admired her condescension, accused himself for having exacted it—he longed to ask her pardon-he did not know how.

Mrs. Horton secretly enjoyed this scene, though the well-meaning of her heart and the ease of her conscience did not suffer her to think o. She, however, declared she had "ng prognosticated it would come to this ;" and she "only thanked Heaven it was no worse.'

With all these sentiments crowding fast upon his heart, he still read, or seemed to read, as if he took no notice of what was passing; till a servant came into the room and asked Miss Milner at what time she

would want the carriage? to which she repled, "I don't go out tonight." Dorriforth then laid the book out of his hand, and, by the time the servant had left the room, thus began:

“Miss Milner, I give you, I fear, some unkind proofs of my regard. It is often the ungrateful task of a friend to be troublesome-sometimes unmannerly. Forgive the duties of my office, and believe that no one is half so much concerned if it robs you of any degree of happiness as I myself am."

What he said, he looked with so much sincerity, that had she been burning with rage at his late behaviour, she must have forgiven him for the regret which he so forcibly expressed. She was going to reply, but found she could not, without accompanying her words with tears; therefore, after the first attempt, she desisted.

On this he rose from his chair, and going to her, said, "Once more show your submission by obeying me a second time to-day. Keep your appointment; and be assured that I shall issue my commands with more circumspection for the future, as I find how strictly they are complied with.' Miss Milner, the gay, the vain, the dissipated, the haughty Miss Milner, sunk underneath this kindness, and wept with a gentleness and patience which did not give more surprise than it gave joy to Dorriforth. He was charmed to find her disposition so tractableprophesied to himself the future success of his guardianship, and her eternal as well as temporal happiness from this specimen of compliance.

The child of a sister once beloved, who married a young officer against her brother's consent, was at the age of three years left an orphan, destitute of all support but from his uncle's generosity; but though Dorriforth maintained, he would never see him. Miss Milner, whose heart was a receptacle for the unfortunate, no sooner was told the melancholy history of Mr. and Mrs. Rushbrook, the parents of the child, than she longed to behold the innocent inheritor of her guardian's resentment, and took Miss Woodley with her to see the boy. He was at a farm-house a few miles from town; and his extreme beauty and engaging manners wanted not the sorrows to which he had been born, to give him farther recommendation to the kindness of her who had come to visit him. She looked at him with admiration and pity, and having endeared herself to him by the most affectionate words and caresses, on her bidding him farewell, he cried most piteously to go along with her. Unused at any time to resist temptations, whether to reprehensible or to laudable actions, she yielded to his supplications; and having overcome a few scruples of Miss Woodley's, determined to take young Rushbrook to town, and present him to his uncle. This design was no sooner formed than executed. By making a present to the nurse, she readily gained her consent to part with him for a day or two; and the excess of joy denoted by the child on being placed in the carriage repaid her beforehand for every reproof she might receive from her guardian, for the liberty she had taken.

"Besides," said she to Miss Woodley, who had still her fears, "do you not wish his uncle should have a warmer interest in his care than duty? It is duty alone which induces Mr. Dorriforth to provide for him but it is proper that affection should have some share in his benevolence; and how, when he grows older, will he be so fit an object of the love which compassion excites, as he is at present:"

Miss Woodley acquiesced. But before they arrived at their own door it came into Miss Milner's remembrance, that there was a grave sternness in the manners of her guardian when provoked, the recollection of which made her a little apprehensive for what she had done. Her friend, who knew him better than she did, was more so. They both became silent as they approached the street where they lived; for Miss Woodley having once represented her fears, and having suppressed them in resignation to Miss Milner's better judgment, would not repeat them--and Miss Milner would not confess that they were now troubling her.

Just, however, as the coach stopped at their home, she had the forecast and the humility to say, "We will not tell Mr. Dorriforth the child is his nephew unless he should appear fond and pleased with him, and thea think we may venture without any danger." This was agreed; and when Dorriforth entered the room just before dinner, poor Harry Rushbrook was introduced as the son of a lady who frequently visited there. The deception passed: his uncle shook hands with him; and at length, highly pleased with his engaging manner and applicable replies, took him on his knee, and caressed him with affection. Miss Milner could scarcely restrain the joy it gave her; but unluckily Dorriforth said soon after to the child, "And now tell me your name.'

"Harry Rushbrook," replied he, with force and clearness of voice. Dorriforth was holding him fondly round the waist, as he stood with his feet upon his knees; and at this reply he did not throw him from him, but he removed his hands, which had supported him, so sud

denly, that the child, to prevent falling on the floor, threw himself about his uncle's neck. Miss Milner and Miss Woodley turned aside to conceal their tears. "I had like to have been down," cried Harry, fearing no other danger. But his uncle took hold of each hand which had twined around him, and placed him immediately on the ground. The dinner being that instant served, he gave no greater marks of his resentment than calling for his hat, and walking instantly out of the house.

Miss Milner cried for anger; yet she did not show less kindness to the object of this vexatious circumstance: she held him in her arms while she sat at table, and repeatedly said to him (though he had not the sense to thank her), "That she would always be his friend." The first emotions of resentment against Dorriforth being passed, she returned with her little charge to the farm-house, before it was likely his uncle should come back; another instance of obedience, which Miss Woodley was impatient her guardian should know. She therefore inquired where he was gone, and sent him a note for the sole purpose of acquainting him with it, offering at the same time an apology for what had happened. He returned in the evening seemingly reconciled; nor was a word mentioned of the incident which had occurred in the former part of the day: still in his countenance remained the evidence of a perfect recollection of it, without one trait of compassion for his helpless nephew.

CHAPTER IX.

THERE are few things so mortifying to a proud spirit as to suffer by immediate comparison: men can hardly bear it, but to women the punishment is intolerable; and Miss Milner now laboured under this humiliation to a degree which gave her no small inquietude. Miss Fenton, young, of exquisite beauty, elegant manners, gentle disposition, and discreet conduct, was introduced to Miss Milner's acquaintance by her guardian, and frequently, sometimes inadvertently, held up by him as a pattern for her to follow; for when he did not say this in direct terms, it was insinuated by the warmth of his panegyric on those virtues in which Miss Fenton excelled, and which his ward was obviously deficient. Conscious of her own inferiority in these subjects of her guardian's praise, Miss Milner, instead of being inspired to emulation, was provoked to envy,

Not to admire Miss Fenton was impossible to find one fault with her person or sentiments was equally impossible--and yet to love her was unlikely.

That serenity of mind which kept her features in a continual placid form, though enchanting at the first glance, upon a second or third fatigued the sight for want of variety; and to have seen her distorted with rage, convulsed with mirth, or in deep dejection, had been to her advantage. But her superior soul appeared above those emotions, and there was more inducement to worship her as a saint than to love her as a woman. Yet Dorriforth, whose heart was not formed (at least not educated) for love, regarding her in the light of friendship only, beheld her as the most perfect model for her sex. Lord Frederick, on first seeing her, was struck with her beauty, and Miss Milner apprehended she had introduced a rival; but he had not seen her three times, before he called her "the most insufferable of Heaven's creatures," and vowed there was more charming variation in the plain features of Miss Woodley.

Miss Milner had a heart affectionate to her own sex, even where she saw them in possession of superior charms; but whether from the spirit of contradiction, from feeling herself more than ordinarily offended by her guardian's praise of this lady, or that there was a reserve in Miss Fenton that did not accord with her own frank and ingenuous disposition, so as to engage her esteem, certain it is that she took infinite satisfaction in hearing her beauty and virtues depreciated or turned into ridicule, particularly if Mr. Dorriforth was present. This was painful to him on many accounts; perhaps an anxiety for his ward's conduct was not among the least; and whenever the eircumstance occurred, he could with difficulty restrain his angor. Miss Fenton was not only a person whose qualities he admired; but she was soon to be allied to him by her nearest relation, Lord Elmwood, a young nobleman whom he sincerely loved.

Lord Elmwood had discovered all that beauty in Miss Fenton which every common observer could not but see. The charms of her mind and of her fortune had been pointed out by his tutor; and the utility of the marriage, in perfect submission to his precepts, he never permitted himself to question.

This preceptor held with a magisterial power tne government of his pupil's passions; nay, governed them so entirely, that no one could perceive (nor did the young lord himself know) that he had any.

This rigid monitor and friend was a Mr. Sandford, bied a Jesuit in the same college at which Dorriforth had since been educated; but previous to his education the order had been compelled to take another

name. Sandford had been the tutor of Dorriforth as well as of his cousin, Lord Elmwood, and by this double tic he seemed now entailed upon the family. As a Jesuit, he was consequently a man of carning: possessed of steadiness to accomplish the end of any design once meditated, and of sagacity to direct the views of men more powerful, but less ingenious than himself. The young carl, accustomed in his infancy to fear him as his master, in his youthful manhood received every new indulgence with gratitude, and at length loved him

pursuit he was more rapid in his success than even in procuring esteem. It was an enterprise in which he succeeded with Miss Milner even beyond his most sanguine wish.

She had been educated at an English boarding-school, and had no idea of the superior and subordinate state of characters in a foreign seminary; besides, as a woman, she was privileged to say any thing she pleased; and, as a beautiful woman, she had a right to expect that whatever she pleased to say should be admired.

Sandford knew the hearts of women, as well as those of men, though he had passed but little of his time in their society. He saw Miss Milner's heart at the first sight of her person; and beholding in that small circumference a weight of folly that he wished to eradicate, he began to toil in the vineyard, eagerly courting her detestation of him, in the hope he could also make her abominate herself. In the mortifications of slight he was expert; and being a man of talents, whom all companies, especially those of her friends, respected, he did not begin by wasting that reverence he so highly valued upon ineffectual remonstrances, of which he could foresee the reception, but wakened her attention by his neglect of her. He spoke of her in her presence as of an indifferent person; sometimes forgetting even to name her when the subject required it; then would ask her pardon, and say that he "really did not recollect her," with such seeming sorrow for his fault, that she could not suppose the offence intended, and of course felt the affront more acutely.

While, with every other person she was the principle, the cause, upon whom a whole party depended for conversation, cards, music, or dancing, with Mr. Sandford she found that she was of no importance. Sometimes she tried to consider this disregard of her as merely the effect of ill-breeding; but he was not an ill-bred man: he was a gentleman by birth, and one who had kept the best company -a man of sense and learning. out knowing it," she said; for she had not dived so deeply into the "And such a man slights me withpowers of simulation, as to suspect that such careless manners were the result of art.

This behaviour of Mr. Sandford had its desired effect: it humbled her in her own opinion more than a thousand sermons would have done, preached on the vanity of youth and beauty. She felt an inward shame at the insignificance of these qualities that she never knew before; and would have been cured of all her pride, had she not possessed a degree of spirit beyond the generality of her sex; such a degree as even Mr. Sandford, with all his penetration, did not expect to find. She determined to resent his treatment; and, entering the lists as his declared enemy, give to the world a reason why he did not acknowledge her sovereignty, as well as the rest of her devoted subjects.

She now commenced hostilities against all his arguments, his

learning, and his favourite axioms; and by a happy talent of ridicule, in want of other weapons for this warfare, she threw in the way could have substituted in penance. Many things he bore like a martyr-at others, his fortitude would forsake him, and he would of the holy father as great trials of his patience as any that his order call on her guardian, his former pupil, to interpose with his authority: she would then declare that she only had acted thus to "to try the good man's temper, and that if he had combated with his fretfulness a few moments longer, she would have acknowledged his claim to canonisation; but that, having yielded to the sallies of his anger, he must now go through numerous other probations."

If Miss Fenton was admired by Dorriforth, by Sandford she was adored; and, instead of placing her as an example to Miss Milner, he spoke of her as of one endowed beyond Miss Milner's imitation. Often, with a shake of his head, and a sigh, would he say, -"No; I am not so hard upon you as your guardian: I only desire power of you to love Miss Fenton; to resemble her, I believe, is above your ability."

This was too much to bear composedly; and poor Miss Woodley, who was generally a witness of these controversies, felt a degree of sorrow at every sentence which, like the foregoing, chagrined and distressed her friend. Yet, as she suffered, too, for Mr. Sandford, the joy of her friend's reply was mostly abated by the uneasiness it gave to lum. But Mrs. Horton felt for none but the right reverend priest; and often did she feel so violently interested in his cause, that she could not refrain giving an answer herself in his behalf-thus doing the duty of an adversary with all the zeal of an advocate.

MR. SANDFORD, finding his friend, Dorriforth, frequently perplexed in the management of his ward, and he himself thinking her incorrigible, gave his counsel, that a suitable match should be immediately sought out for her, and the care of so dangerous a person given into other hands. Dorriforth acknowledged the propriety of this advice, but lamented the difficulty of pleasing his ward as to the quality of her lover; for she had refused, besides Sir Edward Ashton, many others of equal pretensions. "Depend upon it, then," cried Sandford, "that her affections are engaged; and it is proper you should know to whom." Dorriforth thought he did know, and mentioned Lord Frederick; but said that he had no farther authority for this her, then," cried Sandford, "into the country; and if Lord Fredesupposition than what his observation had given him, for that every rick should not follow, there is an end of your suspicions."-"I explanation both upon his and her side had been evaded. "Take shall not easily prevail upon Miss Milner to leave town," replied he, "while it is in the highest fashion."-"You can but try," returned

rick will, of course, be in the country; and as his uncle's estate is near our residence, he will not then so evidently follow her, as he would if I could induce her to go immediately."

It was agreed the attempt should be made. Instead of receiving this abrupt proposal with uneasiness, Miss Milner, to the surprise of

Lord Frederick Lawnley.

ail present, immediately consented, and gave her guardian an opportunity of saying several of the kindest and politest things upon her ready compliance.

"A token of approbation from you, Mr. Dorriforth," returned she, "I always considered with high estimation: but your commendations are now become infinitely superior in value by their scarcity; for I do not believe that since Miss Fenton and Mr. Sandford came to town, I have received one testimony of your esteem."

Had these words been uttered with pleasantry, they might have passed without observation; but at the conclusion of the period, resentment flew to Miss Milner's face, and she darted a piercing look at Mr. Sandford, which more pointedly expressed that she was angry with him, than if she had spoken volumes in her usual strain of raillery. Dorriforth was confused; but the concern which she had so plainly evinced for his good opinion throughout all that she had been saying silenced any rebuke he might else have given her, for this unwarrantable charge against his friend. Mrs. Horton was shocked at the irreverent manner in which Mr. Sandford was treated; and Miss Woodley turned to him with a benevolent smile upon her face, hoping to set him an example of the manner in which he should receive the reproach. Her good wishes did not succeed; yet he was perfectly unruffled, and replied with coolness,-"The air of the country has affected the lady already: but it is a comfortable thing," continued he, "that in the variety of humours to which some women are exposed, they cannot be uniform even in deceit." "Deceit!" cried Miss Milner: "in what am I deceitful? Did I ever pretend that I had an esteem for you?"

"That would not have been deceit, Madam, but merely good manners."

"I never, Mr. Sandford, sacrificed truth to politeness." "Except when the country has been proposed, and you thought it politeness to appear satisfied."

"And I was satisfied, till I recollected that you might probably be of the party. Then, every grove was changed into a wilderness, every rivulet into a stagnated pool. and every singing bird into a croaking raven."

"A very poetical description!" returned he, calmly. But, Miss Milner, you need not have had any apprehensions of my company in the country; for I understand the seat to which your guardian means to go belongs to you; and you may depend upon it, Madam, that I will never enter a house in which you are the mistress."

"Nor any house, I am certain, Mr. Sandford, but in which you are yourself the master."

"What do you mean, Madam? (and for the first time, he elevated his voice :) am I the master here"

"Your servants," replied she, looking at the company, "will not tell you so; but I do.'

"You condescend, Mr. Sandford," cried Mrs. Horton, "in talking so much to a young heedless woman; but I know you do it for her good."

"Well, Miss Milner," cried Dorriforth (and the most cutting thing he could say), "since I find my proposal of the country has put you out of humour, I shall mention it no more."

With all that quantity of resentment, anger, or rage, which sometimes boiled in the veins of Miss Milner, she was yet never wanting in that respect towards her guardian which withheld her from ever uttering one angry sentence directed immediately to him; and a severe word of his, instead of exasperating, was sure to subdue her. This was the case at present: his words wounded her to the heart, but she had not the asperity to reply to them as she thought they merited, and she burst into tears. Dorriforth, instead of being concerned, as he usually was, at seeing her uneasy, appeared on the present occasion provoked. He thought her weeping was a new reproach to his friend, Mr. Sandford, and that to suffer himself to be moved by it would be a tacit condemnation of his friend's conduct She understood his thoughts, and getting the better of her tears, apologised for her weakness, adding, "She could never bear with indifference an unjust accusation.'

"To prove that mine was unjust, Madam," replied Dorriforth, "be prepared to quit London, without any marks of regret, within a few days."

She bowed assent: the necessary preparations were agreed upon; and while with apparent satisfaction she adjusted the plan of her journey (like those who behave well, not so much to please themselves as to vex their enemies,) she secretly triumphed in the mortification she hoped that Mr. Sandford would receive from her obedient behaviour.

The news of this intended journey was, of course, soon made public. There is a secret charm in being pitied, when the misfortune is but ideal; and Miss Milner found infinite gratification in being told more" that hers was a cruel case, and that it was unjust and barbarous to force so much beauty into concealment, while London was filled with her admirers, who, like her, would languish in consequence of her solitude." These things, and a thousand such, a thousand times repeated, she still listened to with pleasure; yet preserved the constancy not to shrink from her resolution of submitting.

Those involuntary sighs, however, that Miss Woodley had long ago observed, became still more frequent; and a tear half starting in her eye, was an additional subject of her friend's observation. Yet, though Miss Milner at those times was softened into melancholy, she by no means appeared unhappy. Her friend was acquainted with love only by name; yet she was confirmed from these increased