"Or

Miss Woodley hesitated-he continued. has this conversation altered them?"

She hesitated again, then answered-" This conversation has altered them."

"And yet you confide in it!" cried Sandford, looking at her with contempt.

"Certainly I do," replied Miss Woodley. "Do not you then, Mr. Sandford?" asked Dorriforth.

"I would advise you to act as if I did," replied Sandford.

"Then, Miss Milner," said Dorriforth, "you see Lord Frederick no more--and I hope I have your permission to apprise him of this arrange

ment."

"You have, sir," she replied with a completely unembarrassed countenance and voice.

Her friend looked at her as if to discover some lurking wish, adverse to all these protestations, but she could not discern one. Sandford too fixed his penetrating eyes upon her, as if he would look through her soul, but, finding it perfectly composed, he cried out,

"Why then not write his dismission herself, and save you, Mr. Dorriforth, the trouble of any farther contest with him?"

"Indeed, Miss Milner," said Dorriforth, "that would oblige me; for it is with great reluctance that I meet him upon this subject-he was extremely impatient and importunate when he was last with me-he took advantage of my ecclesiastical situation to treat me with a levity and ill breeding that I could ill have suffered upon any other consideration than a compliance with my duty."

“Dictate what you please, Mr. Dorriforth, and I will write it," said she, with a warmth like the most unaffected inclination. "And while you, sir," she continued, "are so indulgent as not to distress me with the importunities of any gentleman to whom I am averse, I think myself equally bound, to rid you of the impertinence of every one to whom you may have objection."

"But," answered he, "rest assured I have no material objection to my Lord Frederick, except from that dilemna, in which your acquaintance with him has involved us all; and I should conceive the same against any other man, where the same circumstance occurred. As you have now, however, freely and politely consented to the manner in which it has been proposed that you shall break with him, I will not trouble you a moment longer upon a subject on which I have so frequently explained my wishes, but conclude it by assuring you, that your ready acquiescence has given me the sincerest satisfaction."

"I hope, Mr. Sandford," said she, turning to him with a smile, "I have given you satisfaction likewise?"

Sandford could not say yes, and was ashamed to say no; he, therefore, made answer only by his looks, which were full of suspicion. She,

notwithstanding, made him a very low courtesy. Her guardian then handed her out of the apartment into her coach, which was waiting to take her, Miss Woodley, and himself home.

CHAPTER XIII.

NOTWITHSTANDING the seeming readiness with which Miss Milner had resigned all farther acquaintance with Lord Frederick, during the short ride home she appeared to have lost great part of her wonted spirits; she was thoughtful, and once sighed heavily. Dorriforth began to fear that she had not only made a sacrifice of her affections, but of her veracity; yet, why she had done so, he could not comprehend.

As the carriage moved slowly through a lane beween Elmwood castle and her own house, on casting her eyes out of the window, Miss Milner's countenance was brightened in an instant, and that instant Lord Frederick, on horseback, was at the coach door, and the coachman stopped.

"Oh, Miss Milner," cried he (with a voice and manner that could give little suspicion of the truth of what he said), "I am overjoyed at the happiness of seeing you, even though it is but an accidental meeting."

She was evidently glad to see him; but the earnestness with which he spoke seemed to put her upon her guard not to express the like satisfaction, and she said, in a cool constrained manner, she "was glad to see his lordship."

The reserve with which she spoke gave Lord Frederick immediate suspicion who was in the coach with her, and turning his head quickly, he met the stern eye of Dorriforth; upon which, without the smallest salutation, he turned from him again abruptly and rudely. Miss Milner was confused, and Miss Woodley in torture, at this palpable affront, to which Dorriforth alone appeared indifferent.

"Go on," said Miss Milner to the footman, "desire the coachman to drive on."

"No," cried Lord Frederick, "not till you have told me when I shall see you again."

"I will write you word, my lord,” replied she, something alarmed. "You shall have a letter immediately after I get home."

As if he guessed what its contents were to be, he cried out with warmth, "Take care, then, madam, how you treat me in that letter-and you, Mr. Dorriforth," turning to him, "do you take care what it contains; for if it be dictated by you, to you I shall send the answer."

Dorriforth, without making any reply, or casting a look at him, put his head out of the window on the opposite side, and called, in a very angry tone, to the coachman, "How dare you not drive on, when your lady orders you?”

The sound of Dorriforth's voice in anger was

to the servants so unusual that it acted like electricity upon the man, and he drove away at the instant with such rapidity that Lord Frederick was in a moment many yards behind. As soon, however, as he recovered from the surprise into which this sudden command had thrown him, he rode with speed after the carriage, and followed it, till it arrived at the door of Miss Milner's house; there, giving himself up to the rage of love, or to rage against Dorriforth for the contempt he had shown to him, he leaped from his horse when Miss Milner stepped from her carriage, and, seizing her hand, entreated her "Not to desert him, in compliance with the injunctions of monkish hypocrisy."

Dorriforth heard this, standing silently by, with a manly scorn upon his countenance.

Miss Milner struggled to loose her hand, saying, "Excuse me from replying to you now, my lord."

In return, he lifted her hand eagerly to his lips, and began to devour it with kisses; when Dorriforth, with an instantaneous impulse, rushed forward, and struck him a violent blow in the face. Under the force of this assault, and the astonishment it excited, Lord Frederick staggered, and letting fall the hand of Miss Milner, her guardian immediately laid hold of it, and led her into the house.

She was terrified beyond description; and with extreme difficulty Mr. Dorriforth conveyed her to her own chamber, without taking her in his arms. When, by the assistance of her maid, he had placed her upon a sofa-overwhelmed with shame and confusion for what he had done, he fell upon his knees before her, and "implored her forgiveness for the indelicacy he had been guilty of in her presence." And that he had alarmed her, and had forgotten the respect which he thought sacredly her due, seemed the only circumstance which then dwelt upon his thoughts.

She felt the indecorum of the posture he had condescended to take, and was shocked. To see her guardian at her feet struck her with a sense of impropriety, as if she had seen a parent there. With agitation and emotion, she conjured him to rise; and, with a thousand protestations, declared, "That she thought the rashness of the action was the highest proof of his regard for her."

Miss Woodley now entered: her care being ever employed upon the unfortunate, Lord Frederick had just been the object of it; she had waited by his side, and, with every good purpose, had preached patience to him, while he was smarting under the pain, but more under the shame of his chastisement. At first, his fury threatened a retort upon the servants around him (and who refused his entrance into the house) of the punishment he had received. But, in the certainty of an amende honorable, which must hereafter be made, he overcame the many temptations which the moment offered, and remounting his horse, rode away from the scene of his disgrace.

No sooner had Miss Woodley entered the room and Dorriforth had resigned to her the care of his ward, than he flew to the spot where he had left Lord Frederick, negligent of what might be the event if he still remained there. After inquiring, and being told that he was gone, Dorriforth retired to his own apartment-with a bosom torn by more excruciating sensations than those which he had given to his adversary.

The reflection which struck him first with remorse, as he shut the door of his chamber, was :"I have departed from my character-from the sacred character, the dignity of my profession and sentiments—I have departed from myself.—I am no longer the philosopher, but the ruffian-I have treated with an unpardonable insult a young nobleman, whose only offence was love, and a fond desire to insinuate himself into the favour of his mistress. I must atone for this outrage in whatever manner he may choose; and the law of honour and, of justice (though in this one instance contrary to the law of religion) enjoins, that if he demands my life in satisfaction for his wounded feelings, it is his due. Alas! that I could but have laid it down this morning, unsullied with a cause for which it will make inadequate atonement!"

His next reproach was-"I have offended, and filled with horror, a beautiful young woman, whom it was my duty to have protected from those brutal manners to which I myself have exposed her."

Again-"I have drawn upon myself the just upbraidings of my faithful preceptor and friend ; of the man in whose judgment it was my delight to be approved-above all, I have drawn upon myself the stings of conscience.

"Where shall I pass this sleepless night?" cried he, walking repeatedly across his chamber; "Can I go to the ladies? I am unworthy of their society. Shall I go and repose my disturbed mind on Sandford? I am ashamed to tell him the cause of my uneasiness. Shall I go to Lord Frederick, and, humbling myself before him, beg his forgiveness? He would spurn me for a coward. No,"

-(and he lifted up his eyes to Heaven) "Thou all great, all wise and omnipotent Being, Thou whom I have most offended, it is to Thee alone that I have recourse in this hour of tribulation, and from Thee alone I solicit comfort. The confidence with which I now address myself to Thee, encouraged by that long intercourse which religion has effected, I here acknowledge to repay me amply, in this one moment, for the many years of my past life, devoted with my best, though imper fect, efforts to thy service."

CHAPTER XIV.

ALTHOUGH Miss Milner had not foreseen any fatal event resulting from the indignity offered to

Lord Frederick, yet she passed a night very different from those to which she had been accustomed. No sooner was she falling into a sleep than a thousand vague but distressing ideas darted across her imagination. Her heart would sometimes whisper to her when she was half asleep, "Lord Frederick is banished from you for ever." She shakes off the uneasiness this consideration brings along with it-she then starts, and sees the blow still aimed at him by Dorriforth. No sooner has she driven away this painful image than she is again awakened by beholding her guardian at her feet suing for pardon. She sighs, she trembles, and is chilled with terror.

Relieved by tears, towards the morning she sinks into a slumber, but, waking, finds the same images crowding all together upon her mind:she is doubtful to which to give the preferenceone, however, rushes the foremost, and continues

80.

She knows not the fatal consequence of ruminating, nor why she dwells upon that more than upon all the rest, but it will give place to none.

She rises languid and disordered; and, at breakfast, adds fresh pain to Dorriforth by her altered appearance.

He had scarcely left the room, when an officer waited upon him with a challenge from Lord Frederick. To the message delivered by this gentleman, he replied,

"Sir, as a clergyman, more especially of the church of Rome, I know not whether I am not exempt from answering a demand of this kind; but not having had forbearance to avoid an offence, I will not claim an exemption that would only indemnify me from making reparation."

"You will then, sir, meet Lord Frederick at the appointed hour?" said the officer.

"I will, sir; and my immediate care shall be to find a gentleman who will accompany me."

The officer withdrew, and when Dorriforth was again alone, he was going once more to reflect, but he durst not. Since yesterday, reflection, for the first time, was become painful to him; and even as he rode the short way to Lord Elmwood's immediately after, he found his own thoughts were so insufferable that he was obliged to enter into conversation with his servant. Solitude, that formerly charmed him, would, at those moments, have been worse than death.

At Lord Elmwood's, he met Sandford in the hall, and the sight of him was no longer welcome : -he knew how different the principles which he had just adopted were to those of that reverend friend, and without Sandford's complaining, or even suspecting what had happened, his presence was a sufficient reproach. He passed him as hastily as he could, and inquiring for Lord Elmwood, disclosed to him his errand. It was to ask him to be his second ;-the young earl started, and wished to consult his tutor, but that his kinsman strictly forbade; and having urged his reasons with arguments which at least the earl could not

refute, he was at length prevailed upon to promise that he would accompany him to the field, which was at the distance only of a few miles, and the parties were to be there at seven on the same evening.

As soon as his business with Lord Elinwood was settled, Dorriforth returned home, to make preparations for the event which might ensue from this meeting. He wrote letters to several of his friends, and one to his ward, in writing which, he could with difficulty preserve the usual firmness of his mind.

Sandford, going into Lord Elmwood's library soon after his relation had left him, expressed his surprise at finding he was gone; upon which that nobleman, having answered a few questions, and given a few significant hints that he was intrusted with a secret, frankly confessed what he had promised to conceal.

Sandford, as much as a holy man could be, was enraged at Dorriforth for the cause of the challenge, but was still more enraged at his wickedness in accepting it. He applauded his pupil's virtue in making the discovery, and congratulated himself that he should be the instrument of saving not only his friend's life, but of preventing the scandal of his being engaged in a duel.

In the ardour of his designs, he went immediately to Miss Milner's-entered that house which he had so long refused to enter, and at a time when he was upon aggravated bad terms with its

owner.

He asked for Dorriforth, went hastily into his apartment, and poured upon him a torrent of rebukes. Dorriforth bore all he said with the patience of a devotee, but with the firmness of a man. He owned his fault, but no eloquence could make him recall the promise he had given to repair the injury. Unshaken by the arguments, persuasions, and menaces of Sandford, he gave an additional proof of that inflexibility for which he had been long distinguished—and, after a dispute of two hours, they parted, neither of them the better for what either had advanced, but Dorriforth something the worse ;-his conscience gave testimony to Sandford's opinion, "that he was bound by ties more sacred than worldly honour." But while he owned, he would not yield to the duty.

Sandford left him, determined, however, that Lord Elmwood should not be accessary in his guilt, and this he declared; upon which Dorriforth took the resolution of seeking another second.

In passing through the house on his return home, Sandford met, by accident, Mrs. Horton, Miss Milner, and the other two ladies returning from a saunter in the garden. Surprised at the sight of Mr. Sandford in her house, Miss Milner would not express that surprise, but going up to him with all the friendly benevolence which in general played about her heart, she took hold of one of his hands, and pressed it with a kindness which told him more forcibly that he was welcome

than if she had made the most elaborate speech to convince him of it. He, however, seemed little touched with her behaviour, and as an excuse for breaking his word, cried,

"I beg your pardon, madam, but I was brought hither in my anxiety to prevent murder." "Murder!" exclaimed all the ladies.

"Yes," ," answered he, addressing himself to Miss Fenton, "your betrothed husband is a party concerned; he is going to be second to Mr. Dorriforth, who means this very evening to be killed by my Lord Frederick, or to kill him, in addition to the blow that he gave him last night."

Mrs. Horton exclaimed, "If Mr. Dorriforth dies, he dies a martyr.”

Miss Woodley cried with fervour, "Heaven forbid!"

Miss Fenton cried, "Dear me!"

While Miss Milner, without uttering one word, sunk speechless on the floor.

They lifted her up and brought her to the door which entered into the garden. She soon recovered; for the tumult of her mind would not suffer her to remain inactive, and she was roused, in spite of her weakness, to endeavour to ward off the impending disaster. In vain, however, she attempted to walk to her guardian's apartment-she sunk as before, and was taken to a settee, while Miss Woodley was dispatched to bring him to her.

Informed of the cause of her indisposition, he followed Miss Woodley with a tender anxiety for her health, and with grief and confusion that he had so carelessly endangered it. On his entering the room Sandford beheld the inquietude of his mind, and cried, "Here is your quardian," with a cruel emphasis on the word.

He was too much engaged by the sufferings of his ward to reply to Sandford. He placed himself on the settee by her, and with the utmost tenderness, reverence, and pity, entreated her not to be concerned at an accident in which he, and he alone had been to blame; but which he had no doubt would be accommodated in the most amicable

"Oh, madam," cried Sandford, "he is grown a libertine now, and I would not believe his word, if he were to give it you."

"Then, sir," returned Dorriforth angrily, "you may believe my word, for I will keep that which I gave to you. I will give Lord Frederick all the restitution in my power. But, my dear Miss Milner, let not this alarm you; we may not find it convenient to meet this many a day; and most probably some fortunate explanation may prevent our meeting at all. If not, reckon but among the many duels that are fought, how few are fatal:

and even in that case, how small would be the loss to society, if" He was proceeding.

"I should ever deplore the loss !" cried Miss Milner; "on such an occasion, I could not survive the death of either."

"For my part," he replied, "I look upon my life as much forfeited to my Lord Frederick, to whom I have given a high offence, as it might in other instances have been forfeited to the offended laws of the land. Honour is the law of the polite part of the land; we know it; and when we transgress against it knowingly, we justly incur our punishment. However, Miss Milner, this affair will not be settled immediately, and I have no doubt but that all will be as you could wish. Do you think I should appear thus easy," added he with a smile, "if I were going to be shot at by my Lord Frederick ?”

"Very well!" cried Sandford, with a look that evinced he was better informed.

"You will stay within then, all this day?" said Miss Milner.

"I am engaged to dinner," he replied; "it is unlucky-I am sorry for it-but I'll be at home early in the evening."

"Stained with human blood," cried Sandford, "or yourself a corpse."

The ladies lifted up their hands!—Miss Milner rose from her seat, and threw herself at her guardian's feet.

"You kneeled to me last night, I now kneel to you" (she cried), "kneel, never desiring to rise again, if you persist in your intention,-I am weak, I am volatile, I am indiscreet, but I have a heart from which some impressions can never,— Oh! never be erased."

He endeavoured to raise her, she persisted to kneel and here the affright, the terror, the anguish, she endured, discovered to her her own senments-which, till that moment, she had doubted --and she continued,

"I no longer pretend to conceal my passion-I love Lord Frederick Lawnley." Her guardian started.

"Yes to my shame I love him," cried she, all emotion: "I meant to have struggled with the weakness, because I supposed it would be displeasing to you-but apprehension for his safety has taken away every power of restraint, and I beseech you to spare his life."

"This is exactly what I thought," cried Sandford, with an air of triumph.

"Good heaven!” cried Miss Woodley.
"But it is very natural," said Mrs. Horton.

"I own," said Dorriforth (struck with amaze, and now taking her from his feet with a force that she could not resist), "I own Miss Milner, I am greatly affected and wounded at this contradiction in your character."

"But did I not say so?" cried Sandford, interrupting him. "However," continued he, "you may take my

word, though you have deceived me in yours, that Lord Frederick's life is secure. For your sake I would not endanger it for the universe. But let this be a warning to you"

He was proceeding with the most austere looks, and pointed language, when observing the shame and the self-reproach that agitated her mind, he divested himself in a great measure of his resentment, and said, mildly,

"Let this be a warning to you, how you deal in future with the friends who wish you well. You have hurried me into a mistake that might have cost me my life, or the life of the man you love; and thus exposed you to misery, more bitter than death."

"I am not worthy of your friendship, Mr. Dorriforth," said she, sobbing with grief, "and from this moment forsake me."

"No, madam, not in the moment you first discover to me, how I can make you happy."

The conversation appearing now to become of a nature in which the rest of the company could have no share whatever, they were all, except Mr. Sandford, retiring; when Miss Milner called Miss Woodley back, saying, "Stay you with me; I was never so unfit to be left without your friendship."

"Perhaps at present you can dispense with mine?" said Dorriforth. She made no answer. He then once more assured her Lord Frederick's life was safe, and was quitting the room-but when he recollected in what humiliation he had left her, turning towards her as he opened the door, he added,

"And be assured, madam, that my esteem for you shall be the same as ever."

Sandford, as he followed him, bowed and repeated the same words-" And, madam, be assured that my esteem for you shall be the same as

ever."

CHAPTER XV.

THIS taunting reproof from Sandford made little impression upon Miss Milner, whose thoughts were all fixed on a subject of much more importance than the opinion which he entertained of her. She threw her arms about her friend the moment they were left alone, and asked, with anxiety, "What she thought of her behaviour?" Miss Woodley, who could not approve of the duplicity she had betrayed, still wished to reconcile her as much as possible to her own conduct, and replied, she "highly commended the frank. ness with which she had, at last, acknowledged her sentiments."

"Frankness!" cried Miss Milner, starting. "Frankness, my dear Miss Woodley! What you have just now heard me say is all a falsehood." 'How, Miss Milner!"

66

"Oh, Miss Woodley," returned she, sobbing upon her bosom, "pity the agonies of my heart, my heart by nature sincere, when such are the fatal propensities it cherishes that I must submit to the grosest falsehoods rather than reveal the truth."

"What can you mean ?" cried Miss Woodley, with the strongest amazement in her face.

"Do you suppose I love Lord Frederick? Do you suppose I can love him?-Oh, fly, and prevent my guardian from telling such an untruth."

"What can you mean?" repeated Miss Woodley; "I protest you terrify me." For this inconsistency in the behaviour of Miss Milner appeared as if her senses had been deranged.

"Fly," she resumed, "and prevent the inevitable ill consequence which will ensue, if Lord Frederick should be told of this falsehood. It will involve us all in greater disquiet than we suffer at present."

"Then what has influenced you, my dear Miss Milner ?"

"That which impels all my actions-an insurmountable instinct--a fatality that will for ever render me the most miserable of human beings; and yet you, even you, my dear Miss Woodley, will not pity me."

Miss Woodley pressed her closely in her arms, and vowed, "That while she was unhappy, from whatever cause, she still would pity her."

"Go to Mr. Dorriforth then, and prevent him from imposing upon Lord Frederick."

"But that imposition is the only means of preventing the duel," replied Miss Woodley. "The moment I have told him that your affection was but counterfeited, he will no longer refuse accepting the challenge."

"Then at all events I am undone," exclaimed Miss Milner, "for the duel is horrible, even beyond every thing else."

"How so?" returned Miss Woodley, "since you have declared that you do not care for my Lord Frederick ?"

"But are you so blind," returned Miss Milner, with a degree of madness in her looks, "as to believe I do not care for Mr. Dorriforth? Oh! Miss Woodley! I love him with all the passion of a mistress, and with all the tenderness of a wife."

Miss Woodley at this sentence sat down-it was on a chair that was close to her-her feet could not have taken her to any other. She trembled she was as white as ashes, and deprived of speech. Miss Milner, taking her by the hand, said,

"I know what you feel-I know what you think of me and how much you hate and despise me. But Heaven is witness to all my struggles -nor would I, even to myself, acknowledge the shameless prepossession, till forced by a sense of his danger"

"Silence," cried Miss Woodley, struck with

horror.