She had behaved with fortitude the whole evening, and she continued to do so, till the moment he turned away from her. Her eyes then overflowed with tears, and in the agony of her mind, not knowing what she did, she laid her cold hand upon the person next to her—it happened to be Sandford; but not observing it was he, she grasped his hand with violence—yet he did not snatch it away, nor look at her with his wonted severity. And thus she stood, silent and motionless, while Lord Elmwood, now at the door, bowed once more to all the company, and retired. Sandford had still Miss Milner’s hand fixed upon his; and when the door was shut after Lord Elmwood, he turned his head to look in her face, and turned it with some marks of apprehension for the grief he might find there. She strove to overcome that grief, and after a heavy sigh, sat down, as if resigned to the fate to which she was decreed. Instead of following Lord Elmwood, as usual, Sandford poured out a glass of wine, and drank it. A general silence ensued for near three minutes. At last, turning himself round on his seat, towards Miss Milner, who sat like a statue of despair at his side, “Will you breakfast with us to-morrow?” said he. She made no answer. “We shan’t breakfast before half after six,” continued he, “I dare say; and if you can rise so early—why do.” “Miss Milner,” said Miss Woodley, (for she caught eagerly at the hope of her passing this night in less unhappiness than she had foreboded) “pray rise at that hour to breakfast; Mr. Sandford would not invite you, if he thought it would displease Lord Elmwood.” “Not I,” replied Sandford, churlishly. “Then desire her maid to call her:” said Mrs. Horton to Miss Woodley. “Nay, she will be awake, I have no doubt;” returned her niece. “No;” replied Miss Milner, “since Lord Elmwood has thought proper to take his leave of me, without even speaking a word; by my own design, never will I see him again.” And her tears burst forth, as if her heart burst at the same time. “Why did not _you_ speak to _him_?” cried Sandford—“Pray did _you_ bid _him_ farewell? and I don’t see why one is not as much to be blamed, in that respect, as the other.” “I was too weak to say I wished him happy,” cried Miss Milner; “but, Heaven is my witness, I do wish him so from my soul.” “And do you imagine he does not wish you so?” cried Sandford. “You should judge him by your own heart; and what you feel for him, imagine he feels for you, my dear.” Though “_my dear_” is a trivial phrase, yet from certain people, and upon certain occasions, it is a phrase of infinite comfort and assurance. Mr. Sandford seldom said “my dear” to any one; to Miss Milner never; and upon this occasion, and from him, it was an expression most precious. She turned to him with a look of gratitude; but as she only looked, and did not speak, he rose up, and soon after said, with a friendly tone he had seldom used in her presence, “I sincerely wish you a good night.”