“My mother loved him too, Mr. Sandford.” “Yes,” answered Sandford, “he has been a _grateful_ man to your poor mother.—She did not suppose when she took him into the house; when she intreated your father to take him; and through her caresses and officious praises of him, first gave him that power which he now possesses over his uncle; she little foresaw, at that time, his ingratitude, and its effects.” “Very true,” said Miss Woodley, with a heavy sigh. “What ingratitude?” asked Matilda, “do you suppose Mr. Rushbrook is the cause that my father will not see me? Oh do not pay Lord Elmwood’s motive so ill a compliment.” “I do not say that he is the absolute cause,” returned Sandford; “but if a parent’s heart is void, I would have it remain so, till its lawful owner is replaced—usurpers I detest.” “No one can take Lord Elmwood’s heart by force,” replied his daughter, “it must, I believe, be a free gift to the possessor; and as such, whoever has it, has a right to it.” In this manner she would plead the young man’s excuse—perhaps but to hear what could be said in his disfavour, for secretly his name was bitter to her—and once she exclaimed in vexation, on Sandford’s saying Lord Elmwood and Mr. Rushbrook were gone out shooting together, “All that pleasure is now eclipsed which I used to take in listening to the report of my father’s gun, for I cannot now distinguish his, from his parasite’s.” Sandford, (much as he disliked Rushbrook) for this expression which comprised her father in the reflection, turned to Matilda in extreme anger—but as he saw the colour mount into her face, for what, in the strong feelings of her heart had escaped her lips, he did not say a word—and by her tears that followed, he rejoiced to see how much she reproved _herself_.