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Sandford, took this moment, in the agitation of her spirits, to alarm her still more by prophetic insinuations; and at length represented to her here, for the first time, the necessity, "That Mr. Dorriforth and she no longer should remain under the same roof." This was like a stroke of sudden death to Miss Milner, and clinging to life, she endeavoured to avert the blow by prayers and by promises. Her friend loved her too sincerely to be prevailed upon.

"But in what manner can I accomplish the separation?" cried she, "for, till I marry, we are obliged, by my father's request, to live in the same house."

"Miss Milner," answered Miss Woodley, "much as I respect the will of a dying man, I regard your and Mr. Dorriforth's present and eternal happiness much more; and it is my resolution that you shall part. If you will not contrive the means, that duty falls on me, and without any invention, I see the measure at once."

"What is it?" cried Miss Milner eagerly. "I will reveal to Mr. Dorriforth, without hesitation, the real state of your heart; which your present inconsistency of conduct will but too readily confirm.”

"You would not plunge me into so much shame, into so much anguish!" cried she, distractedly.

"No," replied Miss Woodley, "not for the world, if you will separate from him by any mode of your own-but that you shall separate is my determination; and in spite of all your sufferings, this shall be the expedient, unless you instantly agree to some other."

"Good Heaven, Miss Woodley! is this your friendship?"

"Yes-and the truest friendship I have to bestow. Think what a task I undertake for your sake and his, when I condemn myself to explain to him your weakness. What astonishment! what confusion! what remorse, do I foresee painted upon his face!--I hear him call you by the harshest names, and behold him fly from your sight for ever, as from an object of his de

testation."

"Oh, spare the dreadful picture. Fly from my sight for ever!-Detest my name! Oh! my dear Miss Woodley, let but his friendship for me still remain, and I will consent to any thing. You may command me-I will go away from him directly-but let us part in friendship-Oh! without the friendship of Mr. Dorriforth, life would be a heavy burthen indeed."

Miss Woodley immediately began to contrive schemes for their separation; and, with all her invention alive on the subject, the following was the only natural one that she could form.

Miss Milner, in a letter to her distant relation at Bath, was to complain of the melancholy of a country life, which she was to say her guardian imposed upon her; and she was to entreat the

lady to send her a pressing invitation that she would pass a month or two at her house; this invitation was to be laid before Dorriforth for his approbation, and the two ladies were to enforce it, by expressing their earnest wishes for his consent. This plan having been properly regulated, the necessary letter was sent to Bath, and Miss Woodley waited with patience, but with a watchful guard upon the conduct of her friend, till the answer should arrive.

During this interim a tender and complaining epistle from Lord Frederick was delivered to Miss Milner; to which, as he received no answer, he prevailed upon his uncle, with whom he resided, to wait upon her, and obtain a verbal reply; for he still flattered himself, that fear of her guardian's anger, or perhaps his interception of the letter which he had sent, was the sole cause of her apparent indifference.

The old gentleman was introduced both to Miss Milner and to Mr. Dorriforth, but received from each an answer so explicit that it left his nephew no longer in doubt but that all farther pursuit was vain.

Sir Edward Ashton about this time also submitted to a formal dismission; and had then the mortification to reflect that he was bestowing upon the object of his affections the tenderest proof of his regard, by having absented himself entirely from her society,

Upon this serious and certain conclusion to the hopes of Lord Frederick, Dorriforth was more astonished than ever at the conduct of his ward. He had once thought her behaviour in this respect was ambiguous, but since her confession of a passion for that nobleman, he had no doubt but in the end she would become his wife. He lamented to find himself mistaken, and thought it proper now to condemn her caprice, not merely in words, but in the general tenor of his behaviour. He consequently became more reserved and more austere than he had been since his first acquaintance with her; for his manner, not from design, but imperceptibly to himself, had been softened since he became her guardian, by that tender respect which he had uniformly paid to the object of his protection.

Notwithstanding the severity he now assumed, his ward, in the prospect of parting from him, grew melancholy; Miss Woodley's love to her friend rendered her little otherwise; and Dorriforth's peculiar gravity, frequently rigour, could not but make their whole party less cheerful than it had been. Lord Elmwood too, at this time was lying dangerously ill of a fever; Miss Fenton of course was as much in sorrow as her nature would permit her to be; and both Sandford and Dorriforth were in extreme concern upon his lordship's

account.

In this posture of affairs, the letter of invitation arrives from Lady Luneham at Bath; it was shown to Dorriforth; and to prove to his ward that

he is so much offended as no longer to feel that excessive interest in her concerns which he once felt, he gives an opinion on the subject with indifference-he desires "Miss Milner will do what she herself thinks proper." Miss Woodley instantly accepts this permission, writes back, and appoints the day upon which her friend means to set off for the visit.

Miss Milner is wounded at the heart by the cold and unkind manners of her guardian, but dares not take one step to retrieve his opinion. Alone, or to her friend, she sighs and weeps: he discovers her sorrow, and is doubtful whether the departure of Lord Frederick from this part of the country is not the cause.

When the time she was to set out for Bath was only two days off, the behaviour of Dorriforth took, by degrees, its natural form, if not a greater share of polite and tender attention than ever. It was the first time he had parted from Miss Milner since he had become her guardian, and he felt upon the occasion, a reluctance. He had been angry with her, he had shown her that he was so, and he now began to wish that he had not. She is not happy (he considered within himself), every word and action declares she is not; I may have been too severe, and added perhaps to her uneasiness. "At least we will part on good terms," said he "Indeed, my regard for her is such I cannot part otherwise."

She soon discerned his returning kindness, and it was a gentle tie that would have fastened her to that spot for ever, but for the firm resistance of Miss Woodley.

"What will the absence of a few months effect?" said she, pleading her own cause; "At the end of a few months at farthest, he will expect me back, and where then will be the merit of this separation ?"

" we

"In that time," replied Miss Woodley, may find some method to make it longer." To this she listened with a kind of despair, but uttered, she "was resigned,"-and she prepared for her departure.

Dorriforth was all anxiety that every circumstance of her journey should be commodious; he was eager she should be happy; and he was eager she should see that he entirely forgave her. He would have gone part of the way with her, but for the extreme illness of Lord Elmwood, in whose chamber he passed most of the day, and slept in Elmwood House every night.

On the morning of her journey, when Dorriforth gave his hand and conducted Miss Milner to the carriage, all the way he led her she could not restrain her tears; which increased, as he parted from her, to convulsive sobs. He was affected by her grief; and though he had previously bid her farewell, he drew her gently on one side, and said, with the tenderest concern, "My dear Miss Milner, we part friends? I hope we do? On my side, depend upon it, that I regret nothing so

much, at our separation, as having ever given you a moment's pain."

"I believe so," was all she could utter, for she hastened from him lest his discerning eye should discover the cause of the weakness which thus overcame her. But her apprehensions were groundless; the rectitude of his own heart was a bar to the suspicion of hers. He once more kindly bade her adieu, and the carriage drove

away.

Miss Fenton and Miss Woodley accompanied her part of the journey, about thirty miles, where they were met by Sir Henry and Lady Luneham. Here was a parting nearly as affecting as that between her and her guardian.

Miss Woodley, who for several weeks had treated her friend with a rigidness she herself hardly supposed was in her nature, now bewailed that she had done so; implored her forgiveness; promised to correspond with her punctually, and to omit no opportunity of giving her every consolation short of cherishing her fatal passion—but in that, and that only, was the heart of Miss Milner to be consoled.

CHAPTER XVIII

WHEN Miss Milner arrived at Bath, she thought it the most altered place she had ever seen-she was mistaken-it was herself that was changed.

The walks were melancholy, the company insipid, the ball-room fatiguing; for--she had left behind all that could charm or please her.

Though she found herself much less happy than when she was at Bath before, yet she felt, that she would not, even to enjoy all that past happiness, be again reduced to the being she was at that period. Thus does the lover consider the extinction of his passion with the same horror as the libertine looks upon annihilation; the one would rather live hereafter, though in all the tortures described as constituting his future state, than cease to exist; so, there are no tortures which a lover would not suffer rather than cease to love.

In the wide prospect of sadness before her, Miss Milner's fancy caught hold of the only com fort which presented itself; and this, faint as it was, in the total absence of every other, her imagination painted to her as excessive. The comfort was a letter from Miss Woodley-a letter in which the subject of her love would most assuredly be mentioned, and in whatever terms, it would still be the means of delight.

A letter arrived-she devoured it with her eyes, --The post mark denoting from whence it came, the name of "Milner Lodge" written on the top, were all sources of pleasure--and she read slowly every line it contained, to procrastinate the

pleasing expectation she enjoyed, till she should arrrive at the name of Dorriforth. At last, her impatient eye caught the word, three lines beyond the place she was reading--irresistibly, she skipped over those lines, and fixed on the point to which she was attracted.

Miss Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; she made the slightest mention possible of Dorriforth; saying only "He was extremely concerned, and even dejected, at the little hope there was of his cousin Lord Elmwood's recovery." Short and trivial as this passage was, it was still more important to Miss Milner than any other in the letter-she read it again and again, considered, and reflected upon it. Dejected, thought she, what does that word exactly mean ?-did I ever see Mr. Dorriforth dejected ?-how, I wonder, does he look in that state? Thus did she muse, while the cause of his dejection, though a most serious one, and pathetically described by Woodley, scarce arrested her attention. She ran over with haste the account of Lord Elmwood's state of health; she certainly pitied him while she thought of him, but she did not think of him long. To die, was a hard fate for a young nobleman just in possession of his immense fortune and on the eve of marriage with a beautiful young wo man; but Miss Milner thought that an abode in heaven might be still better than all this, and she had no doubt but that his Lordship would be an inhabitant there. The forlorn state of Miss Fenton ought to have been a subject for her compassion, but she knew that lady had resignation to bear any lot with patience, and that a trial of her fortitude might be more flattering to her vanity than to be Countess of Elmwood: in a word, she saw no one's misfortunes equal to her own, because she knew no one so little able to bear misfortune.

She replied to Miss Woodley's letter, and dwelt very long on that subject which her friend had passed over lightly; this was another indulgence; and this epistolary intercourse was now the only enjoyment she possessed. From Bath she paid several visits with Lady Luneham-all were alike tedious and melancholy.

But her guardian wrote to her, and though it was on a topic of sorrow, the letter gave her joy -the sentiments it expressed were merely common-place, yet she valued them as the dearest effusions of friendship and affection; and her hands trembled, and her heart beat with rapture while she wrote the answer, though she knew it would not be received by him with one emotion like those which she experienced. In her second letter to Miss Woodley, she prayed like a person insane to be taken home from confinement, and like a lunatic protested, in sensible language, she "had no disorder." But her friend replied, "That very declaration proves its violence." And she assured her, nothing less than placing her affections elsewhere should induce her to believe but that she was incurable.

The third letter from Milner Lodge brought the news of Lord Elmwood's death. Miss Woodley was exceedingly affected by this event, and said little else on any other subject. Miss Milner was shocked when she read the words "He is dead," and instantly thought,

"How transient are all sublunary things!Within a few years I shall be dead-and how happy will it then be, if I have resisted every temptation to the alluring pleasures of this life!" The happiness of a peaceful death occupied her contemplation for near an hour; but at length, every virtuous and pious sentiment this meditation inspired served but to remind her of the many sentences she had heard from her guardian's lips upon the same subject-her thoughts were again fixed on him, and she could think of nothing besides.

In a short time after this, her health became impaired from the indisposition of her mind; she languished, and was once in imminent danger. During a slight delirium of her fever, Miss Woodley's name and her guardian's were incessantly repeated; Lady Luneham sent them immediate word of this, and they both hastened to Bath, and arrived there just as the violence and danger of her disorder had ceased. As soon as she became perfectly recollected, her first care, knowing the frailty of her heart, was to inquire what she had uttered while delirious. Miss Woodley, who was by her bed-side, begged her not to be alarmed on that account, and assured her she knew, from all her attendants, that she had only spoken with a friendly remembrance (as was really the case) of those persons who were dear to her.

She wished to know whether her guardian was come to see her, but she had not the courage to ask before her friend; and she in her turn was afraid by the too sudden mention of his name, to discompose her. Her maid, however, after some little time, entered the chamber, and whispered Miss Woodley. Miss Milner asked inquisitively "What she said?"

The maid replied softly, "Lord Elmwood, madam, wishes to come and see you for a few moments, if you will allow him."

At this reply Miss Milner stared wildly.

"I thought," said she, "I thought Lord Elmwood had been dead-are my senses disordered still?"

"No, my dear," answered Miss Woodley, "it is the present Lord Elmwood who wishes to see you; he whom you left ill when you came hither is dead."

"And who is the present Lord Elmwood?" she asked.

Miss Woodley, after a short hesitation, replied— "Your guardian."

"And so he is," cried Miss Milner: "he is the next heir-I had forgot. But is it possible that he is here ?"

"Yes" returned Miss Woodley with a grave

voice and manner, to moderate that glow of satisfaction which for a moment sparkled even in her languid eye, and blushed over her pallid countenance. "Yes-as he heard you were ill, he thought it right to come and see you."

"He is very good," she answered, and the tear started in her eyes.

"Would you please to see his lordship?" asked her maid.

"Not yet, not yet," she replied; " let me recollect myself first." And she looked with a timid doubt upon her friend, to ask if it was proper.

Miss Woodley could hardly support this humble reference to her judgment, from the wan face of the poor invalid, and, taking her by the hand, whispered, "You shall do what you please." In a few minutes Lord Elmwood was introduced.

To those who sincerely love, every change of situation or circumstances in the object beloved, appears an advantage. So, the acquisition of a title and estate was, in Miss Milner's eye, an inestimable advantage to her guardian; not on account of their real value; but that any change, instead of diminishing her passion, would have served only to increase it even a change to the utmost poverty.

When he entered-the sight of him seemed to be too much for her, and after the first glance she turned her head away. The sound of his voice encouraged her to look once more-and then she riveted her eyes upon him.

"It is impossible, my dear Miss Milner," he gently whispered, "to say, what joy I feel that your disorder has subsided."

But though it was impossible to say, it was possible to look what he felt, and his looks expressed his feelings. In the zeal of those sensations, he laid hold of her hand, and held it between his-this he did not himself know-but she did.

"You have prayed for me, my lord, I make no doubt?" said she, and smiled, as if thanking him for those prayers.

Fervently, ardently!"-returned he ;-and the fervency with which he had prayed, spoke in every feature.

"But I am a Protestant, you know, and if I had died such, do you believe I sould have gone to heaven ?"

"Most assuredly, that would not have prevented you."

"But Mr. Sandford does not think so." "He must; for he hopes to go there himself."

To keep her guardian with her, Miss Milner seemed inclined to converse; but her solicitous friend gave Lord Elmwood a look, which implied that it might be injurious to her, and he retired.

They had only one more interview before he left the place; at which Miss Milner was capable of sitting up :-he was with her, however, but a

very short time, some necessary concerns, relative to his late kinsman's affairs, calling him in haste to London. Miss Woodley continued with her friend till she saw her entirely reinstated in her health during which time her guardian was frequently the subject of their private conversation; and upon those occasions Miss Milner has sometimes brought Miss Woodley to acknowledge, "that could Dorriforth have possibly foreseen the early death of the last Lord Elmwood, it had been more for the honour of his religion (as that ancient title would now after him become extinct), if he had preferred marriage vows to those of celibacy."

CHAPTER XIX.

WHEN the time for Miss Woodley's departure arrived, Miss Milner entreated earnestly to accompany her home, and made the most solemn promises that she would guard not only her behaviour, but her very thoughts, within the limitation her friend should prescribe. Miss Woodley at length yielded thus far, "That as soon as Lord Elmwood was set out on his journey to Italy, where she had heard him say that he should soon be obliged to go, she would no longer deny her the pleasure of returning; and if (after the long absence which must consequently take place between him and her) she could positively affirm the suppression of her passion was the happy result, she would then take her word, and risk the danger of seeing them once more reside together."

This concession having been obtained, they parted; and, as winter was now far advanced, Miss Woodley returned to her aunt's house in town, from whence Mrs. Horton was, however, preparing to remove, in order to superintend Lord Elmwood's house (which had been occupied by the late earl), in Grosvenor Square; and her niece was to accompany her.

If Lord Elmwood was not desirous that Miss Milner should conclude her visit and return to his protection, it was partly the multiplicity of affairs in which he was at this time engaged, and partly from having Mr. Sandford now entirely placed with him as his chaplain; for he dreaded that, living in the same house, their natural antipathy might be increased even to aversion. Upon this account, he once thought of advising Mr. Sandford to take up his abode elsewhere; but the great pleasure he took in his society, joined to the bitter mortification he knew such a proposal would be to his friend, would not suffer him to make it.

Miss Milner all this time was not thinking upon those she hated, but on those she loved. Sandford never came into her thoughts, while the image of Lord Elmwood never left them. One morning, as she sat talking to Lady Luneham on

various subjects, but thinking alone on him, Sir Harry Luneham, with another gentleman, a Mr. Fleetmond, came in, and the conversation turned upon the improbability there had been, at the present Lord Elmwood's birth, that he should ever inherit the title and estate which had now fallen to him-and, said Mr. Fleetmond, "Independent of rank and fortune, this unexpected occurrence must be matter of infinite joy to Mr. Dorriforth."

"No," answered Sir Harry, "independent of rank and fortune, it must be a motive of concern to him; for he must now regret, beyond measure, his folly in taking priest's orders-thus depriving himself of the hopes of an heir, so that his title, at his death, will be lost."

"By no means," replied Mr. Fleetmond; "he may yet have an heir, for he will certainly marry." "Marry!" cried the baronet.

"Yes," answered the other, "it was that I meant by the joy it might probably give him, beyond the possession of his estate and title."

"How be married?" said Lady Luneham, "has he not taken a vow never to marry?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Fleetmond, "but there are no religious vows, from which the sovereign pontiff at Rome cannot grant a dispensation: as those commandments which are made by the church, the church has always the power to revoke: and when it is for the general good of religion, his holiness thinks it incumbent on him to publish his bull, and remit all penalties for their non-observance. Certainly it is for the honour of the Catholics, that this earldom should continue in a catholic family. In short, I will venture to lay a wager, my Lord Elmwood is married within a year.

Miss Milner, who listened with attention, feared she was in a dream, or deceived by the pretended knowledge of Mr. Fleetmond, who might know nothing:-yet all that he had said was very probable; and he was himself a Roman Catholic, so that he must be well informed on the subject upon which he spoke. If she had heard the direst news that ever sounded in the ear of the most susceptible of mortals, the agitation of her mind and person could not have been stronger-she felt, while every word was speaking, a chill through all her veins a pleasure too exquisite, not to bear along with it the sensation of exquisite paig; of which she was so sensible that for a few moments it made her wish that she had not heard the intelligence; though, very soon after, she would not but have heard it for the world.

As soon as she had recovered from her first astonishment and joy, she wrote to Miss Woodley an exact account of what she had heard, and received this answer:

"I am sorry any body should have given you this piece of information, because it was a task, in executing which, I had promised myself extreme satisfaction:-but from the fear that your health was not yet strong enough to support, without

some danger, the burthen of hopes which I knew would, upon this occasion, press upon you, I deferred my communication, and it has been anticipated. Yet, as you seem in doubt as to the reality of what you have been told, perhaps this confirmation of it may fall very little short of the first news; especially when it is enforced by my request, that you will come to us, as soon as you can with propriety leave Lady Luncham.

"Come, my dear Miss Milner, and find in your once rigid monitor a faithful confidante. I will no longer threaten to disclose a secret you have trusted me with, but leave it to the wisdom or sensibility of his heart (who is now to penetrate into the hearts of our sex, in search of one that may beat in unison with his own), to find the secret out. I no longer condemn, but congratulate you on your passion; and will assist you with all my advice and my earnest wishes, that it may obtain a return."

This letter was another of those excruciating pleasures that almost reduced Miss Milner to the grave. Her appetite forsook her; and she vainly endeavoured, for several nights, to close her eyes. She thought so much upon the prospect of accomplishing her hopes, that she could admit no other idea; not even invent one probable excuse for leaving Lady Luneham before the appointed time, which was then at the distance of two months. She wrote to Miss Woodley to beg her contrivance, to reproach her for keeping the intelligence so long from her, and to thank her for having revealed it in so kind a manner at last. She begged also to be acquainted how Mr. Dorriforth (for still she called him by that name) spoke and thought of this sudden change in his prospects.

Miss Woodley's reply was a summons for her to town upon some pretended business, which she avoided explaining, but which entirely silenced Lady Luneham's entreaties for her stay.

To her question concerning Lord Elmwood she answered, "It is a subject on which he seldom speaks he appears just the same he ever did, nor could you by any part of his conduct conceive that any such change had taken place." Miss Milner exclaimed to herself, "I am glad he is not altered -if his words, looks, or manners were any thing different from what they formerly were, I should not like him so well." And just the reverse would have been the case, had Miss Woodley sent her word he was changed. The day for her leaving Bath was fixed; she expected it with rapture, but before its arrival, she sunk under the care of ex pectation; and when it came, was so much indisposed, as to be obliged to defer her journey for a week.

At length she found herself in London-in the house of her guardian-and that guardian no longer bound to a single life, but enjoined to marry. He appeared in her eyes, as in Miss Woodley's, the same as ever; or perhaps more endearing than ever, as it was the first time she had beheld his

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