"Oh! my Lord," cried Miss Woodley, with a most forcible accent, "_You_ are the last person on earth she would pardon me for entrusting."

"Why so?" said he, warmly. "But that is the way--the person who is our friend we distrust--where a common interest is concerned, we are ashamed of drawing on a common danger--afraid of advice, though that advice is to save us.----Miss Woodley," said he, changing his voice with excess of earnestness, "do you not believe, that I would do anything to make Miss Milner happy?"

"Any thing in honour, my Lord."

"She can desire nothing farther," he replied in agitation. "Are her desires so unwarrantable, that I cannot grant them?"

Miss Woodley again did not speak--and he continued----

"Great as my friendship is, there are certainly bounds to it--bounds that shall save her in spite of herself:"--and he raised his voice.

"In the disposal of themselves," resumed he, with a less vehement tone, "that great, that terrific disposal in marriage, (at which I have always looked with fear and dismay) there is no accounting for the rashness of a woman's choice, or sometimes for the depravity of her taste. But in such a case, Miss Milner's election of a husband shall not direct mine.

If she does not know how to estimate her own value, I do. Independent of her fortune, she has beauty to captivate the heart of any man; and with all her follies, she has a frankness in her manner, an unaffected wisdom in her thoughts, a vivacity in her conversation, and withal, a softness in her demeanour, that might alone engage the affections of a man of the nicest sentiments, and the strongest understanding. I will not see all these qualities and accomplishments debased. It is my office to protect her from the consequences of a degrading choice, and I will."

"My Lord, Miss Milner's taste is not a depraved one; it is but too refined."

"What can you mean by that, Miss Woodley? You talk mysteriously. Is she not afraid that I will thwart her inclinations?"

"She is sure that you will, my Lord."

"Then must the person be unworthy of her."

Miss Woodley rose from her seat--she clasped her hands--every look and every gesture proved her alternate resolution and irresolution of proceeding. Lord Elmwood's attention was arrested before; but now it was fixed to a degree which her extraordinary manner only could occasion.

"My Lord," said she, with a tremulous voice, "promise me, declare to me, nay, swear to me, that it shall ever remain a secret in your own breast, and I will reveal to you, on whom she has placed her affections."

This preparation made Lord Elmwood tremble, and he ran over instantly in his mind all the persons he could recollect, in order to arrive at the knowledge by thought, quicker than by words. It was in vain he tried; and he once more turned his inquiring eyes upon Miss Woodley. He saw her silent and covered with confusion. Again he searched his own thoughts; nor ineffectually as before. At the first glance, the object was presented, and he beheld--_himself._

The rapid emotion of varying pa.s.sions, which immediately darted over his features, informed Miss Woodley that her secret was discovered--she hid her face, while the tears that fell down to her bosom, confirmed the truth of his suggestion, beyond what oaths could have done. A short interval of silence followed, during which, she suffered tortures for the manner in which he would next address her--two seconds gave her this reply:

"For G.o.d's sake take care what you are doing--you are destroying my prospects of futurity--you are making this world too dear to me."

Her drooping head was then lifted up, and she caught the eye of Dorriforth; she saw it beam expectation, amazement, joy, ardour, and love.----Nay, there was a fire, a vehemence in the quick fascinating rays it sent forth, she never before had seen--it filled her with alarm--she wished him to love Miss Milner, but to love her with moderation. Miss Woodley was too little versed in the subject, to know, this would have been not to love at all; at least, not to the extent of breaking through engagements, and all the various obstacles that still militated against their union.

Lord Elmwood was sensible of the embarra.s.sment 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?"

"I do, my Lord," she answered, trembling.

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

"I believe you, my Lord."

"But for what my pa.s.sions now dictate," continued he, "I will not answer. They are confused--they are triumphant at present. I have never yet, however, been vanquished by them; and even upon this occasion, my reason shall combat them to the last--and my reason shall fail me, before I do wrong."

He was going to leave the room--she followed him, and cried, "But, my Lord, how shall I see again the unhappy object of my treachery?"

"See her," replied he, "as one to whom you meant no injury, and to whom you have done none."

"But she would account it an injury."

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

Miss Woodley was going to say something farther, but as if incapable of attending to her, he hastened 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? and if Miss Milner was to ask the question, in what words could she tell, or in what manner deny the truth? To avoid her was her first caution, and she took the only method; she had a hackney-coach ordered, rode several miles out of town, and returned to dinner with so little remains of her swoln eyes, that complaining of the head-ache was a sufficient excuse for them.

Miss Milner was enough recovered to be present at dinner, though she scarce tasted a morsel. Lord Elmwood did not dine at home, at which Miss Woodley rejoiced, but at which Mr. Sandford appeared highly disappointed. He asked the servants several times, what he said when he went out? They replied, "Nothing more than that he should not be at home to dinner."

"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 marriage) "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, ate something; for where we hope for nothing, we receive small indulgencies 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 that she reposed in the promises of Lord Elmwood--the firm reliance she had upon his delicacy and his justice--the unabated kindness with which her friend received her, while she knew that no one suspicious thought had taken harbour in her bosom--and the conscious integrity of her own intentions, though she might have been misled by her judgment, all comforted her with the hope, she had done nothing she ought to wish recalled. But although she felt thus tranquil, in respect to what she had divulged, yet she was a good deal embarra.s.sed with the dread of next seeing Lord Elmwood.

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

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

"I have been very busy," replied he, and walking from the card-table, went up to him.

Miss Milner played one card for another.

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

"No; not at all to-day."

"How came that about, my Lord?"

Miss Milner played the ace of diamonds instead of the king of hearts.

"I shall call to-morrow," answered Lord Elmwood; and then walking with a very ceremonious air up to Miss Milner, said, "He hoped she was perfectly recovered."

Mrs. Horton begged her "To mind what she was about." She replied, "I am much better, Sir."

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

Some cold dishes were now brought up for supper--Miss Milner lost her deal, and the game ended.

As they were arranging themselves at the supper-table, "Do, Miss Milner," said Mrs. Horton, "have something warm for your supper; a chicken boiled, or something of that kind; you have eat nothing to-day."