“How transient are all sublunary things! Within a few years _I_ shall be dead—and how happy will it then be, if I have resisted every temptation to the alluring pleasures of this life!” The happiness of a peaceful death occupied her contemplation for near an hour; but at length, every virtuous and pious sentiment this meditation inspired, served but to remind her of the many sentences she had heard from her guardian’s lips upon the same subject—her thoughts were again fixed on him, and she could think of nothing besides. In a short time after this, her health became impaired from the indisposition of her mind; she languished, and was once in imminent danger. During a slight delirium of her fever, Miss Woodley’s name and her guardian’s were incessantly repeated; Lady Luneham sent them immediate word of this, and they both hastened to Bath, and arrived there just as the violence and danger of her disorder had ceased. As soon as she became perfectly recollected, her first care, knowing the frailty of her heart, was to enquire what she had uttered while delirious. Miss Woodley, who was by her bedside, begged her not to be alarmed on that account, and assured her she knew, from all her attendants, that she had only spoken with a friendly remembrance (as was really the case) of those persons who were dear to her. She wished to know whether her guardian was come to see her, but she had not the courage to ask before her friend; and she in her turn was afraid by the too sudden mention of his name, to discompose her. Her maid, however, after some little time, entered the chamber, and whispered Miss Woodley. Miss Milner asked inquisitively “What she said?” The maid replied softly, “Lord Elmwood, Madam, wishes to come and see you for a few moments, if you will allow him.” At this reply Miss Milner stared wildly. “I thought,” said she, “I thought Lord Elmwood had been dead—are my senses disordered still?” “No, my dear,” answered Miss Woodley, “it is the present Lord Elmwood who wishes to see you; he whom you left ill when you came hither, _is_ dead.” “And who is the present Lord Elmwood?” she asked. Miss Woodley, after a short hesitation, replied—“Your guardian.” “And so he is,” cried Miss Milner; “he is the next heir—I had forgot. But is it possible that he is here?” “Yes—” returned Miss Woodley with a grave voice and manner, to moderate that glow of satisfaction which for a moment sparkled even in her languid eye, and blushed over her pallid countenance. “Yes—as he heard you were ill, he thought it right to come and see you.” “He is very good,” she answered, and the tear started in her eyes. “Would you please to see his Lordship?” asked her maid. “Not yet, not yet,” she replied; “let me recollect myself first.” And she looked with a timid doubt upon her friend, to ask if it was proper.