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The next morning, when Lord Elmwood and Sandford met at breakfast, the latter was pale with fear for the success of Lady Elmwood's letter—the Earl was pale too, but there was besides upon his face, something which evidently marked he was displeased. Sandford observed it, and was all humbleness, both in his words and looks, in order to soften him.

As soon as the breakfast was removed, Lord Elmwood drew the letter from his pocket, and holding it towards Sandford, said,

"That, may be of more value to you, than it is to me, therefore I give it you."

Sandford called up a look of surprise, as if he did not know the letter again.

"'Tis Lady Elmwood's letter," said Lord Elmwood, "and I return it to you for two reasons."

Sandford took it, and putting it up, asked fearfully, "What those two reasons were?"

"First," said he, "because I think it is a relick you may like to preserve—my second reason is, that you may shew it to her daughter, and let her know why, and on what conditions, I grant her mother's request."

"You do then grant it?" cried Sandford joyfully; "I thank you—you are kind—you are considerate."

"Be not hasty in your gratitude; you may have cause to recall it."

"I know what you have said;" replied Sandford, "you have said you grant Lady Elmwood's request—you cannot recall these words, nor I my gratitude."

"Do you know what her request is?" returned he.

"Not exactly, my Lord—I told you before, I did not; but it is no doubt something in favour of her child."

"I think not," he replied: "such as it is, however, I grant it: but in the strictest sense of the word—no farther—and one neglect of my commands, releases me from this promise totally."

"We will take care, Sir, not to disobey them."

"Then listen to what they are, for to you I give the charge of delivering them again. Lady Elmwood has petitioned me in the name of her father, (a name I reverence) to give his grandchild the sanction of my protection. In the literal sense, to suffer that she may reside at one of my seats; dispensing at the same time with my ever seeing her."

"And you will comply?"

"I will, till she encroaches on this concession, and dares to hope for a greater. I will, while she avoids my sight, or the giving me any remembrance of her. But if, whether by design or by accident, I ever see or hear from her, that moment, my compliance to her mother's supplication ceases, and I abandon her once more."

Sandford sighed. Lord Elmwood continued:

"I am glad her request stopped where it did. I would rather comply with her desires than not; and I rejoice they are such as I can grant with ease and honour to myself. I am seldom now at Elmwood castle; let her daughter go there; the few weeks or months I am down in the summer, she may easily in that extensive house avoid me—while she does, she lives in security—when she does not—you know my resolution."

Sandford bowed—the Earl resumed:

"Nor can it be a hardship to obey this command—she cannot lament the separation from a parent whom she never knew—" Sandford was going eagerly to prove the error of that assertion, but he prevented him, saying, "In a word—without farther argument—if she obeys me in this, I will provide for her as my daughter during my life, and leave her a fortune at my death—but if she dares—"

Sandford interrupted the menace prepared for utterance, saying, "and you still mean, I suppose, to make Mr. Rushbrook your heir?"

"Have you not heard me say so? And do you imagine I have changed my determination? I am not given to alter my resolutions, Mr. Sandford; and I thought you knew I was not; besides, will not my title be extinct, whoever I make my heir? Could any thing but a son have preserved my title?"

"Then it is yet possible——"

"By marrying again, you mean? No—no—I have had enough of marriage—and Henry Rushbrook I shall leave my heir. Therefore, Sir——"

"My Lord, I do not presume—"

"Do not, Sandford, and we may still be good friends. But I am not to be controlled as formerly; my temper is changed of late; changed to what it was originally; till your religious precepts reformed it. You may remember, how troublesome it was, to conquer my stubborn disposition in my youth; then, indeed, you did; but in my more advanced age, you will find the task too difficult."

Sandford again repeated, "He should not presume—"

To which Lord Elmwood again made answer, "Do not, Sandford;" and added, "for I have a sincere regard for you, and should be loath, at these years, to quarrel with you seriously."

Sandford turned away his head to conceal his feelings.

"Nay, if we do quarrel," resumed Lord Elmwood, "You know it must be your own fault; and as this is a theme the most likely of any, nay, the only one on which we can have a difference (such as we cannot forgive) take care never from this day to resume it; indeed that of itself, would be an offence I could not pardon. I have been clear and explicit in all I have said; there can be no fear of mistaking my meaning; therefore, all future explanation is unnecessary—nor will I permit a word, or a hint on the subject from any one, without shewing my resentment even to the hour of my death." He was going out of the room.

"But before we bid adieu to the subject for ever, my Lord—there was another person whom I named to you—"

"Do you mean Miss Woodley? Oh, by all means let her live at Elmwood House too. On consideration, I have no objection to see Miss Woodley at any time—I shall be glad to see her—do not let her be frightened at me—to her I shall be the same, that I have always been."

"She is a good woman, my Lord," cried Sandford, pleased.

"You need not tell me that, Mr. Sandford; I know her worth." And he left the room.

Sandford, to relieve Miss Woodley and her lovely charge from the suspence in which he had left them, prepared to set off for their habitation, in order himself to conduct them from thence to Elmwood Castle, and appoint some retired part of it for Lady Matilda, against the annual visit her father should pay there. But before he left London, Giffard, the steward, took an opportunity to wait upon him, and let him know, that his Lord had acquainted him with the consent he had given for his daughter to be admitted at Elmwood Castle, and upon what restrictions: that he had farther uttered the severest threats, should these restrictions ever be infringed. Sandford thanked Giffard for his friendly information. It served him as a second warning of the circumspection that was necessary; and having taken leave of his friend and patron, under the pretence that "He could not live in the smoke of London," he set out for the North.

It is unnecessary to say with what delight Sandford was received by Miss Woodley, and the hapless daughter of Lady Elmwood, even before he told his errand. They both loved him sincerely; more especially Lady Matilda, whose forlorn state, and innocent sufferings, had ever excited his compassion and caused him to treat her with affection, tenderness, and respect. She knew, too, how much he had been her mother's friend; for that, she also loved him; and for being honoured with the friendship of her father, she looked up to him with reverence. For Matilda (with an excellent understanding, a sedateness above her years, and early accustomed to the most private converse between Lady Elmwood and Miss Woodley) was perfectly acquainted with the whole fatal history of her mother; and was, by her, taught the respect and admiration of her father's virtues which they justly merited.

Notwithstanding the joy of Mr. Sandford's presence, once more to cheer their solitary dwelling; no sooner were the first kind greetings over, than the dread of what he might have to inform them of, possessed poor Matilda and Miss Woodley so powerfully, that all their gladness was changed into affright. Their apprehensions were far more forcible than their curiosity; they dared not ask a question, and even began to wish he would continue silent upon the subject on which they feared to listen. For near two hours he was so.——At length, after a short interval from speaking, (during which they waited with anxiety for what he might next say) he turned to Lady Matilda, and said,

"You don't ask for your father, my dear."

"I did not know it was proper:" she replied, timidly.

"It is always proper," answered Sandford, "for you to think of him, though he should never think on you."

She burst into tears, and said that she "Did think of him, but she felt an apprehension of mentioning his name"—and she wept bitterly while she spoke.

"Do not think I reproved you," said Sandford; "I only told you what was right."

"Nay," said Miss Woodley, "she does not weep for that—she fears her father has not complied with her mother's request. Perhaps—not even read her letter?"

"Yes, he has read it," returned Sandford.

"Oh Heavens!" exclaimed Matilda, clasping her hands together, and the tears falling still faster.

"Do not be so much alarmed, my dear," said Miss Woodley; "you know we are prepared for the worst; and you know you promised your mother, whatever your fate should be, to submit with patience."

"Yes," replied Matilda, "and I am prepared for every thing, but my father's refusal to my dear mother."

"Your father has not refused your mother's request," replied Sandford.

She was leaping from her seat in ecstasy.

"But," continued he, "do you know what her request was?"

"Not entirely," replied Matilda, "and since it is granted, I am careless. But she told me her letter concerned none but me."

To explain perfectly to Matilda, Lady Elmwood's letter, and that she might perfectly understand upon what terms she was admitted into Elmwood Castle, Sandford now read the letter to her; and repeated, as nearly as he could remember, the whole of the conversation that passed between Lord Elmwood and himself; not even sparing, through an erroneous delicacy, any of those threats her father had denounced, should she dare to transgress the limits he prescribed—nor did he try to soften, in one instance, a word he uttered. She listened sometimes with tears, sometimes with hope, but always with awe, and with terror, to every sentence in which her father was concerned. Once she called him cruel—then exclaimed "He was kind;" but at the end of Sandford's intelligence, concluded "that she was happy and grateful for the boon bestowed." Even her mother had not a more exalted idea of Lord Elmwood's worth than his daughter had formed; and this little bounty just obtained, would not have been greater in her mother's estimation, than it was now in hers. Miss Woodley, too, smiled at the prospect before her—she esteemed Lord Elmwood beyond any mortal living—she was proud to hear what he had said in her praise, and overjoyed at the prospect of being once again in his company; painting at the same time a thousand bright hopes, from watching every emotion of his soul, and catching every proper occasion to excite or increase his paternal sentiments. Yet she had the prudence to conceal those vague hopes from his child, lest a disappointment might prove fatal; and assuming a behaviour neither too much elated or depressed, she advised that they should hope for the best, but yet, as usual, expect and prepare for the worst.——After taking measures for quitting their melancholy abode, within the fortnight, they all departed for Elmwood Castle—Matilda, Miss Woodley, and even Sandford, first visiting Lady Elmwood's grave, and bedewing it with their tears.