Daylight just peeped through the shutters of the room in which Lord Elmwood and Sandford were sitting, when the sound of her carriage, and the sudden stop it made at the door, caused Lord Elmwood to start from his chair. He trembled extremely, and looked pale. Sandford was ashamed to seem to notice it, yet he could not help asking him, “To take a glass of wine.” He took it—and for once, evinced he was reduced so low, as to be _glad_ of such a resource. What passion thus agitated Lord Elmwood at this crisis, it is hard to define—perhaps it was indignation at Miss Milner’s imprudence, and exultation at being on the point of revenge—perhaps it was emotion arising from joy, to find that she was safe—perhaps it was perturbation at the regret he felt that he must upbraid her—perhaps it was not one alone of these sensations, but all of them combined. She, wearied out with the tedious night’s dissipation, and far less joyous than melancholy, had fallen asleep as she rode home, and came half asleep out of her carriage. “Light me to my bed-chamber instantly,” said she to her maid, who waited in the hall to receive her. But one of Lord Elmwood’s valets went up to her, and answered, “Madam, my Lord desires to see you before you retire.” “Your Lord!” she cried, “Is he not out of town?” “No, Madam, my Lord has been at home ever since you went out; and has been sitting up with Mr. Sandford, waiting for you.” She was wide awake immediately. The heaviness was removed from her eyes, but fear, grief, and shame, seized upon her heart. She leaned against her maid, as if unable to support herself under those feelings, and said to Miss Woodley, “Make my excuse—I cannot see him to-night—I am unfit—indeed I cannot.” Miss Woodley was alarmed at the idea of going to him by herself, and thus, perhaps, irritating him still more: she, therefore, said, “He has sent for _you_; for heaven’s sake, do not disobey him a second time.” “No, dear Madam, don’t,” cried her woman, “for he is like a lion—he has been scolding me.” “Good God!” (exclaimed Miss Milner, and in a tone that seemed prophetic) “Then he is not to be my husband, after all.” “Yes,” cried Miss Woodley, “if you will only be humble, and appear sorry. You know your power over him, and all may yet be well.” She turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, the tears starting from them, her lips trembling—“Do I not appear sorry?” she cried. The bell at that moment rang furiously, and they hastened their steps to the door of the apartment where Lord Elmwood was. “No, this shuddering is only fright,” replied Miss Woodley—“Say to him you are sorry, and beg his pardon.” “I cannot,” said she, “if Mr. Sandford is with him.” The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley went in. Lord Elmwood, by this time, was composed, and received her with a slight inclination of his head—she bowed to him in return, and said, with some marks of humility, “I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong.”