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Of the many restless nights that Miss Milner passed, this was not one. It is true, she had a weight of care upon her heart, even heavier than usual, but the burden had overcome her strength: wearied out with hopes, with fears, and, at the end, with disappointment and rage, she sunk at once into a deep slumber. But the more forgetfulness had then prevailed, the more powerful was the force of remembrance when she awoke. At first, so sound her sleep had been, that she had a difficulty in calling to mind why she was unhappy; but that she was unhappy she well recollected—when the cause came to her memory, she would have slept again—but it was impossible.

Though her rest had been sound, it had not been refreshing—she was far from well, and sent word of her indisposition, as an apology for not being present at breakfast. Lord Elmwood looked concerned when the message was delivered—Mr. Sandford shook his head.

"Miss Milner's health is not good!" said Mrs. Horton a few minutes after.

Lord Elmwood laid down the newspaper to attend to her.

"To me, there is something very extraordinary about her!" continued Mrs. Horton, finding she had caught his Lordship's attention.

"So there is to me!" added Sandford, with a sarcastic sneer.

"And so there is to me!" said Miss Woodley, with a serious face and a heartfelt sigh.

Lord Elmwood gazed by turns at each, as each delivered their sentiments—and when they were all silent, he looked bewildered, not knowing what judgment to form from any of these sentences.

Soon after breakfast, Mr. Sandford withdrew to his own apartment: Mrs. Horton, in a little time, went to hers: Lord Elmwood and Miss Woodley were left alone. He immediately rose from his seat, and said,

"I think, Miss Woodley, Miss Milner was extremely to blame, though I did not chuse to tell her so before Mr. Sandford, in giving Lord Frederick an opportunity of speaking to her, unless she means that he shall renew his addresses."

"That, I am certain," replied Miss Woodley, "she does not mean—and I assure you, my Lord, seriously, it was by mere accident she saw him yesterday evening, or permitted his attendance upon her to her carriage."

"I am glad to hear it," he returned quickly; "for although I am not of a suspicious nature, yet in regard to her affections for him, I cannot but still have my doubts."

"You need have none, my Lord," replied Miss Woodley, with a smile of confidence.

"And yet you must own her behaviour has warranted them—has it not been in this particular incoherent and unaccountable?"

"The behaviour of a person in love, no doubt," answered Miss Woodley.

"Don't I say so?" replied he warmly; "and is not that a just reason for my suspicions?"

"But is there only one man in the world on whom those suspicions can fix?" said Miss Woodley, with the colour mounting into her face.

"Not that I know of—not one more that I know of," he replied, with astonishment at what she had insinuated, and yet with a perfect assurance that she was in the wrong.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," answered she.

"Nay, that is impossible too," returned he with anxiety—"You share her confidence—you are perpetually with her; and if she did not confide in you, (which I know, and rejoice that she does) you would yet be acquainted with all her inclinations."

"I believe I am perfectly acquainted with them," replied Miss Woodley, with a significance in her voice and manner which convinced him there was some secret to learn.

After a hesitation——

"It is far from me," replied he, "to wish to be entrusted with the private sentiments of those who desire to with-hold them from me; much less would I take any unfair means to be informed of them. To ask any more questions of you, I believe, would be unfair. Yet I cannot but lament that I am not as well informed as you are. I wish to prove my friendship to Miss Milner, but she will not suffer me—and every step that I take for her happiness, I take in the most perplexing uncertainty."

Miss Woodley sighed—but she did not speak. He seemed to wait for her reply; but as she made none, he proceeded—

"If ever breach of confidence could be tolerated, I certainly know no occasion that would so justly authorise it as the present. I am not only proper from character, but from circumstances, to be relied upon—my interest is so nearly connected with the interest, and my happiness with the happiness of my ward, that those principles, as well as my honour, would protect her against every peril arising from my being trusted."

"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 passions, 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 God'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 embarrassment 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 passions 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.