  After Lord Elmwood had retired into his chamber, it was some time before he read the letter Sandford had given him. He first walked backwards and forwards in the room—he then began to take off some part of his dress, but he did it slowly. At length, he dismissed his valet, and sitting down, took the letter from his pocket. He looked at the seal, but not at the direction; for he seemed to dread seeing Lady Elmwood's handwriting. He then laid it on the table, and began again to undress. He did not proceed, but taking up the letter quickly, (with a kind of effort in making the resolution) broke it open. These were its contents: "My Lord, "Who writes this letter I well know—I well know also to whom it is addressed—I feel with the most powerful force both our situations; nor should I dare to offer you even this humble petition, but that at the time you receive it, there will be no such person as I am, in existence. "For myself, then, all concern will be over—but there is a care that pursues me to the grave, and threatens my want of repose even there. "I leave a child—I will not call her mine: that has undone her—I will not call her yours; that will be of no avail—I present her before you as the granddaughter of Mr. Milner. Oh! do not refuse an asylum even in your own house, to the destitute offspring of your friend; the last, and only remaining branch of his family. "Receive her into your household, be her condition there ever so abject. I cannot write distinctly what I would—my senses are not impaired, but the powers of expression are. The complaint of the unfortunate child in the scriptures (a lesson I have studied) has made this wish cling so fast to my heart, that without the distant hope of its being fulfilled, death would have more terrors than my weak mind could support. "'I will go to my father; how many servants live in my father's house, and are fed with plenty, while I starve in a foreign land?' "I do not ask a parent's festive rejoicing at her approach—I do not even ask her father to behold her; but let her live under his protection. For her grandfather's sake do not refuse this—to the child of his child, whom he entrusted to your care, do not refuse it. "Be her host; I remit the tie of being her parent. Never see her—but let her sometimes live under the same roof with you. "It is Miss Milner, your ward, to whom you never refused a request, who supplicates you—not now for your nephew, Rushbrook, but for one so much more dear, that a denial——she dares not suffer her thoughts to glance that way.—She will hope—and in that hope, bids you farewell, with all the love she ever bore you. "Farewell Dorriforth—farewell Lord Elmwood—and before you throw this letter from you with contempt or anger, cast your imagination into the grave where I am lying. Reflect upon all the days of my past life—the anxious moments I have known, and what has been their end. Behold me, also—in my altered face there is no anxiety—no joy or sorrow—all is over.——My whole frame is motionless—my heart beats no more. Look at my horrid habitation, too,—and ask yourself—whether I am an object of resentment?" While Lord Elmwood read this letter, it trembled in his hand: he once or twice wiped the tears from his eyes as he read, and once laid the letter down for a few minutes. At its conclusion, the tears flowed fast down his face; but he seemed both ashamed and angry they did, and was going to throw the paper upon the fire—he however suddenly checked his hand, and putting it hastily into his pocket, went to bed. |
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