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.