“No, my Lord,” replied he; but not candidly—nor with any appearance of candour: for though he spoke hastily, it was rather like a man frightened than assured. He hurried to tell the falsehood he thought himself obliged to tell, that the pain and shame might be over; but there he was deceived—the lie once told was as troublesome as in the conception, and added another confusion to the first. Lord Elmwood now fixed his eyes upon him with a sullen contempt, and rising from his chair, said, “Rushbrook, if you have been so inconsiderate as to give away your heart, tell me so at once, and tell me the object.” Rushbrook shuddered at the thought. “I here,” continued the Earl, “tolerate the first untruth you ever told me, as the false assertion of a lover; and give you an opportunity of recalling it—but after this moment, it is a lie between man and man—a lie to your friend and father, and I will not forgive it.” Rushbrook stood silent, confused, alarmed, and bewildered in his thoughts. Lord Elmwood proceeded: “Name the person, if there is any, on whom you have bestowed your heart; and though I do not give you the hope that I shall not censure your folly, I will at least not reproach you for having at first denied it.” To repeat these words in writing, the reader must condemn the young man that he could hesitate to own he loved, if he was even afraid to name the object of his passion; but his interrogator had made the two answers inseparable, so that all evasions of the second, Rushbrook knew would be fruitless, after having avowed the first—and how could he confess the latter? The absolute orders he received from the steward on his first return from his travels, were, “Never to mention his daughter, any more than his late wife, before Lord Elmwood.” The fault of having rudely intruded into Lady Matilda’s presence, rushed also upon his mind; for he did not even dare to say, by what means he had beheld her. But more than all, the threatening manner in which this rational and apparently conciliating speech was uttered, the menaces, the severity which sat upon the Earl’s countenance while he delivered those moderate words, might have intimidated a man wholly independent, and less used to fear than his nephew had been. “You make no answer, Sir,” said Lord Elmwood, after waiting a few moments for his reply. “I have only to say, my Lord,” returned Rushbrook, “that although my heart may be totally disengaged, I may yet be disinclined to marriage.” “May! May! Your heart _may_ be disengaged,” repeated he. “Do you dare to reply to me equivocally, when I have asked a positive answer?” “Perhaps I am not positive myself, my Lord; but I will enquire into the state of my mind, and make you acquainted with it very soon.”