Lord Elmwood went immediately into the apartment where Sandford, Miss Woodley, and Matilda, were sitting, and cried with an angry voice, and with his countenance disordered, “Rushbrook has offended me beyond forgiveness.—Go, Sandford, to the library, where he is, and tell him this instant to quit my house, and never dare to return.” Miss Woodley lifted up her hands and sighed. Sandford rose slowly from his seat to execute the office. While Lady Matilda, who was arranging her music books upon the instrument, stopped from her employment suddenly, with her face bathed in tears. A general silence ensued, till Lord Elmwood, resuming his angry tone, cried, “Did you hear me, Mr. Sandford?” Sandford now, without a word in reply, made for the door—but there Matilda impeded him, and throwing her arms about his neck, cried, “Dear Mr. Sandford, do not.” “How!” exclaimed her father. She saw the impending frown, and rushing towards him, took his hand fearfully, and knelt at his feet. “Mr. Rushbrook is my relation,” she cried in a pathetic voice, “my companion, my friend—before you loved me he was anxious for my happiness, and often visited me to lament with, and console me. I cannot see him turned out of your house without feeling for _him_, what he once felt for _me_.” Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations—then raising her from the floor, he said, “Do you know what he has asked of me?” “No,” answered she in the utmost ignorance, and with the utmost innocence painted on her face; “but whatever it is, my Lord, though you do not grant it, yet pardon him for asking.” “Perhaps _you_ would grant him what he has requested?” said her father. “Most willingly—was it in my gift.” “It is,” replied he. “Go to him in the library, and hear what he has to say; for on your will his fate shall depend.” Like lightning she flew out of the room; while even the grave Sandford smiled at the idea of their meeting. Rushbrook, with his fears all verified by the manner in which his uncle had left him, sat with his head reclined against a bookcase, and every limb extended with the despair that had seized him. Matilda nimbly opened the door and cried, “Mr. Rushbrook, I am come to comfort you.” “That you have always done,” said he, rising in rapture to receive her, even in the midst of all his sadness. “What is it you want?” said she. “What have you asked of my father that he has denied you?” “I have asked for that,” replied he, “which is dearer to me than my life.” “Be satisfied then,” returned she, “for you shall have it.” “Dear Matilda! it is not in your power to bestow.” “But he has told me it _shall_ be in my power; and has desired me to give, or to refuse it you, at my own pleasure.” “O Heavens!” cried Rushbrook in transport, “Has he?” “He has indeed—before Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley. Now tell me what you petitioned for?” “I asked him,” cried Rushbrook, trembling, “for a wife.”