Miss Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; she made the slightest mention of Dorriforth; saying only, “He was extremely concerned, and even dejected, at the little hope there was of his cousin, Lord Elmwood’s, recovery.” Short and trivial as this passage was, it was still more important to Miss Milner than any other in the letter—she read it again and again, considered, and reflected upon it. Dejected, thought she, what does that word exactly mean?—did I ever see Mr. Dorriforth dejected?—how, I wonder, does he look in that state? Thus did she muse, while the cause of his dejection, though a most serious one, and pathetically described by Miss Woodley, scarce arrested her attention once. She ran over with haste the account of Lord Elmwood’s state of health; she certainly pitied him while she thought of him, but she did not think of him long. To die, was a hard fate for a young nobleman just in possession of his immense fortune, and on the eve of marriage with a beautiful young woman; but Miss Milner thought that an abode in Heaven might be still better than all this, and she had no doubt but his Lordship would go thither. The forlorn state of Miss Fenton ought to have been a subject for compassion, but she knew that lady had resignation to bear any lot with patience, and that a trial of her fortitude might be more flattering to her vanity than to be Countess of Elmwood: in a word, she saw no one’s misfortunes equal to her own, because she saw no one so little able to bear misfortune. She replied to Miss Woodley’s letter, and dwelt very long on that subject which her friend had passed over lightly; this was another indulgence; and this epistolary intercourse was now the only enjoyment she possessed. From Bath she paid several visits with Lady Luneham—all were alike tedious and melancholy. But her guardian wrote to her, and though it was on a topic of sorrow, the letter gave her joy—the sentiments it expressed were merely common-place, yet she valued them as the dearest effusions of friendship and affection; and her hands trembled, and her heart beat with rapture while she wrote the answer, though she knew it would not be received by him with one emotion like those which she experienced. In her second letter to Miss Woodley, she prayed like a person insane to be taken home from confinement, and like a lunatic protested, in sensible language, she “Had no disorder.” But her friend replied, “That very declaration proves its violence.” And she assured her, nothing less than placing her affections elsewhere, should induce her to believe but that she was incurable. The third letter from Milner Lodge brought the news of Lord Elmwood’s death. Miss Woodley was exceedingly affected by this event, and said little else on any other subject. Miss Milner was shocked when she read the words “He is dead”, and instantly thought,