"Make my excuse--I cannot see him to-night--I am unfit--indeed I cannot."

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

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

"Good G.o.d!" (exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone that seemed prophetic) "Then he is not to be my husband, after all."

"Yes," cried Miss Woodley, "if you will only be humble, and appear sorry. You know your power over him, and all may yet be well."

She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears starting from them, her lips trembling--"Do I not appear sorry?" she cried.

The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened their steps to the door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood was.

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

"I cannot," said she, "if Mr. Sandford is with him."

The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley went in. Lord Elmwood, by this time, was composed, and received her with a slight inclination of his head--she bowed to him in return, and said, with some marks of humility,

"I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong."

"You have indeed, Miss Milner," answered he; "but do not suppose, that I mean to 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 pierced 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, my Lord."

"Then, Madam, you perhaps expect _all_ that I intend?"

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

"Then," said he, "you may expect that in a few days we shall part."

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

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

"I have nothing to _say_ further," replied he coolly--"I have now only to act."

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

On this he was going out of the room--but Miss Woodley, catching hold of him, cried, "Oh! my Lord, do not leave her in this sorrow--pity her weakness, and forgive it." She was proceeding; and he seemed as if inclined to listen, when 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 much--he was moved, but ashamed of being so, and as soon as possible conquered the propensity to forgive. Yet, for a short interval, he did not know whether to go out of the room, or to remain in it; whether to speak, or to be silent. At length he turned towards her, and said,

"Appeal to your father in some other form--in that (pointing at her dress) he will not know you. Reflect upon him, too, in your moments of dissipation, and let his idea controul 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 pa.s.sionate 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 repet.i.tion of these words, in a very loud voice, drowned whatever Lord Elmwood, or any other person might have wished either to have said or to have heard.

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

CHAPTER X.

Two whole days pa.s.sed in the bitterest suspense on the part of Miss Milner, while neither one word or 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, (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 pa.s.sed between her and Lord Elmwood, _he_ must be the first to make a concession, before she herself would condescend to be reconciled."

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

"Then he does not love me."

"Pshaw! Miss Milner, this is the old argument. He may love you too well to spoil you--consider 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 trial, 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 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 may be the result. Or, would you force Mr. Dorriforth (I mean Lord Elmwood) to another duel with my Lord Frederick?"

"No, call him Dorriforth," 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 t.i.tle 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 trial of a contrary method. She determined to retrieve that haughty character which had inspired so many of her admirers with pa.s.sion, and take the chance of its effect upon this only one, to whom she ever acknowledged a mutual attachment. But although she 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sion 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.

But the reserve, and even indifference, that she had so well a.s.sumed 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.

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, that she would soon find infinitely too much for her strength to bear--she would have reasoned with her, but all her arguments had long since proved unavailing. She wished to speak to Lord Elmwood 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, (not 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."