“My Lord, I have never yet refused to follow your advice, but where my own peace of mind was so nearly concerned, as to have made me culpable, had I complied.” “Well, Madam, I submit to your determinations; and shall never again oppose your inclination to remain single.” This sentence, as it excluded the idea of soliciting for himself, gave her the utmost pain; and her eye glanced at him, full of reproach. He did not observe it, but went on. “While you continue unmarried, it seems to have been your father’s intention that you should continue under my immediate care; but as I mean for the future to reside chiefly in the country—answer me candidly, do you think you could be happy there, for at least three parts of the year?” After a short hesitation, she replied, “I have no objection.” “I am glad to hear it,” he returned eagerly, “for it is my earnest desire to have you with me—your welfare is dear to me as my own; and were we apart, continual apprehensions would prey upon my mind.” The tear started in her eye, at the earnestness that accompanied these words; he saw it, and to soften her still more with the sense of his esteem for her, he increased his earnestness while he said, “If you will take the resolution to quit London for the time I mention, there shall be no means omitted to make the country all you can wish—I shall insist upon Miss Woodley’s company for both our sakes; and it will not only be _my_ study to form such a society as you may approve, but I am certain it will be likewise the study of Lady Elmwood——” He was going on, but as if a poniard had thrust her to the heart, she writhed under this unexpected stroke. He saw her countenance change—he looked at her steadfastly. It was not a common change from joy to sorrow, from content to uneasiness, which Miss Milner discovered—she felt, and she expressed anguish—Lord Elmwood was alarmed and shocked. She did not weep, but she called Miss Woodley to come to her, with a voice that indicated a degree of agony. “My Lord,” (cried Miss Woodley, seeing his consternation and trembling lest he should guess the secret,) “My Lord, Miss Milner has again deceived you—you must not take her from London—it is that, and that alone, which is the cause of her uneasiness.” He seemed more amazed still—and still more shocked at her duplicity than at her torture. “Good Heaven!” exclaimed he, “How am I to accomplish her wishes? What am I to do? How can I judge, if she will not confide in me, but thus for ever deceive me?” She leaned, pale as death, on the shoulder of Miss Woodley, her eye fixed with apparent insensibility to all that was said, while he continued, “Heaven is my witness, if I knew—If I could conceive the means how to make her happy, I would sacrifice my own happiness to hers.” “My Lord,” said Miss Woodley with a smile, “perhaps I may call upon you hereafter to fulfil your word.”