This preparation made Lord Elmwood tremble, and he ran over instantly in his mind all the persons he could recollect, in order to arrive at the knowledge by thought, quicker than by words. It was in vain he tried; and he once more turned his inquiring eyes upon Miss Woodley. He saw her silent and covered with confusion. Again he searched his own thoughts; nor ineffectually as before. At the first glance, the object was presented, and he beheld—_himself_. The rapid emotion of varying passions, which immediately darted over his features, informed Miss Woodley that her secret was discovered—she hid her face, while the tears that fell down to her bosom, confirmed the truth of his suggestion, beyond what oaths could have done. A short interval of silence followed, during which, she suffered tortures for the manner in which he would next address her—two seconds gave her this reply: “For God’s sake take care what you are doing—you are destroying my prospects of futurity—you are making this world too dear to me.” Her drooping head was then lifted up, and she caught the eye of Dorriforth; she saw it beam expectation, amazement, joy, ardour, and love.——Nay, there was a fire, a vehemence in the quick fascinating rays it sent forth, she never before had seen—it filled her with alarm—she wished him to love Miss Milner, but to love her with moderation. Miss Woodley was too little versed in the subject, to know, this would have been not to love at all; at least, not to the extent of breaking through engagements, and all the various obstacles that still militated against their union. Lord Elmwood was sensible of the embarrassment his presence gave Miss Woodley, and understood the reproaches which she seemed to vent upon herself in silence. To relieve her from both, he laid his hand with force upon his heart, and said, “Do you believe me?” “I do, my Lord,” she answered, trembling. “I will make no unjust use of what I know,” he replied with firmness. “I believe you, my Lord.” “But for what my passions now dictate,” continued he, “I will not answer. They are confused—they are triumphant at present. I have never yet, however, been vanquished by them; and even upon this occasion, my reason shall combat them to the last—and my reason shall fail me, before I do wrong.” He was going to leave the room—she followed him, and cried, “But, my Lord, how shall I see again the unhappy object of my treachery?” “See her,” replied he, “as one to whom you meant no injury, and to whom you have done none.” “But she would account it an injury.” “We are not judges of what belongs to ourselves,” he replied—“I am transported at the tidings you have revealed, and yet, perhaps, I had better never have heard them.” Miss Woodley was going to say something farther, but as if incapable of attending to her, he hastened out of the room. CHAPTER VI.