Lord Elmwood, irritated by this posture, as a sign of the presumptuous hope that he might be forgiven, suffered now his anger to burst all bounds; and raising his voice, he exclaimed in a rage, “Leave my house, Sir. Leave my house instantly, and seek some other home.” Just as these words were begun, Sandford opened the library door, was witness to them, and to the imploring situation of Rushbrook. He stood silent with amazement! Rushbrook arose, and feeling in his mind a presage, that he might never from that hour, behold his benefactor more; as he bowed in token of obedience to his commands, a shower of tears covered his face; but Lord Elmwood, unmoved, fixed his eyes upon him, which pursued him with enraged looks to the end of the room. Here he had to pass Sandford; who, for the first time in his life, took hold of him by the hand, and said to Lord Elmwood, “My Lord, what’s the matter?” “That ungrateful villain,” cried he, “has dared to insult me.—Leave my house this moment, Sir.” Rushbrook made an effort to go, but Sandford still held his hand; and meekly said to Lord Elmwood, “He is but a boy, my Lord, and do not give him the punishment of a man.” Rushbrook now snatched his hand from Sandford’s, and threw it with himself upon his neck; where he indeed sobbed like a boy. “You are both in league,” exclaimed Lord Elmwood. “Do you suspect me of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook?” said Sandford, advancing nearer to the Earl. Rushbrook had now gained the point of remaining in the room; but the hope that privilege inspired (while he still harboured all the just apprehensions for his fate) gave birth, perhaps, to a more exquisite sensation of pain, than despair would have done. He stood silent—confounded—hoping that he was forgiven—fearing that he was not. As Sandford approached still nearer to Lord Elmwood, he continued, “No, my Lord, I know you do not suspect me, of partiality to Mr. Rushbrook—has any part of my behaviour ever discovered it?” “You now then only interfere to provoke me.” “If that were the case,” returned Sandford, “there have been occasions, when I might have done it more effectually—when my own heart-strings were breaking, because I would not provoke, or add to what you suffered.” “I am obliged to you, Mr. Sandford:” he returned, mildly. “And if, my Lord, I have proved any merit in a late forbearance, reward me for it now; and take this young man from the depth of despair in which I see he is sunk, and say you pardon him.” Lord Elmwood made no answer—and Rushbrook, drawing strong inferences of hope from his silence, lifted up his eyes from the ground, and ventured to look in his face: he found it composed to what it had been, but still strongly marked with agitation. He cast his eyes away again, in confusion. On which his uncle said to him—“I shall postpone executing your obedience to my late orders, till you think fit once more to provoke them—and then, not even Sandford, shall dare to plead your excuse.”