She had felt something like affright before she saw him; but her reason told her she had nothing to fear, as he was away. But now, the appearance of a stranger whom she had never before seen; the authority in his looks, as well as in the sound of his steps; a resemblance to the portrait she had been shown of him; a start of astonishment which he gave on beholding her; but above all—her _fears_ confirmed her that it was him. She gave a scream of terror—put out her trembling hands to catch the balustrades for support—missed them—and fell motionless into her father’s arms. He caught her, as by the same impulse, he would have caught any other person falling for want of aid. Yet when he found her in his arms, he still held her there—gazed on her attentively—and once pressed her to his bosom. At length trying to escape the snare into which he had been led, he was going to leave her on the spot where she fell, when her eyes opened and she uttered, “Save me.” Her voice unmanned him. His long-restrained tears now burst forth—and seeing her relapsing into the swoon, he cried out eagerly to recall her. Her name did not, however, come to his recollection—nor any name but this—“Miss Milner—Dear Miss Milner.” That sound did not awaken her; and now again he wished to leave her in this senseless state, that not remembering what had passed, she might escape the punishment. But at this instant, Giffard, with another servant, passed by the foot of the stairs: on which, Lord Elmwood called to them—and into Giffard’s hands delivered his apparently dead child; without one command respecting her, or one word of any kind; while his face was agitated with shame, with pity, with anger, with paternal tenderness. As Giffard stood trembling, while he relieved his Lord from this hapless burthen, her father had to unloose her hand from the side of his coat, which she had caught fast hold of as she fell, and grasped so closely, it was with difficulty released.—On attempting to take the hand away he trembled—faltered—then bade Giffard do it. “Who, I, my Lord! I separate you!” cried he. But recollecting himself, “My Lord, I will obey your commands whatever they are.” And seizing her hand, pulled it with violence—it fell—and her father went away. Matilda was carried to her own apartments, laid upon the bed, and Miss Woodley hasted to attend her, after listening to the recital of what had passed. When Lady Elmwood’s old and affectionate friend entered the room, and saw her youthful charge lying pale and speechless, yet no father by to comfort or sooth her, she lifted up her hands to Heaven exclaiming, with a burst of tears, “And is this the end of thee, my poor child? Is this the end of all our hopes?—of thy own fearful hopes—and of thy mother’s supplications! Oh! Lord Elmwood! Lord Elmwood!” At that name Matilda started, and cried, “Where is he? Is it a dream, or have I seen him?” “It is all a dream, my dear,” said Miss Woodley.