Fitz-Edward, to whom this scene was wholly unexpected, returned to the company he had left with Mrs. Ashwood. He had not any notion of Delamere's design when he went to him, but heartily concurred in its execution; and tho' he did not believe Delamere intended to marry Emmeline, yet his morals were such, that he congratulated himself on the share he had had in putting her into his power, and went back with the air of a man vastly satisfied with the success of his exploit. 'Goodness! colonel,' exclaimed Mrs. Ashwood, 'supper has been waiting for you this half hour. Upon my word we began to suspect that you and Miss Mowbray were gone together. But pray where is she?' 'Miss Mowbray, Madam! I really have not been so happy as to be of her party.' 'Why, where in the world can she be?' continued Mrs. Ashwood. 'However, as the colonel is come we will go to supper. [_The company were standing round the table._] I suppose Miss Mowbray will come presently; she has a pretty romantic notion of contemplation by moonlight.' Supper, however, was almost over, and Miss Mowbray did not appear. Mrs. Ashwood, engaged wholly by the gallant colonel, thought not of her; but Rochely remarked that her absence was somewhat singular. 'So it is I declare,' said Miss Galton; 'do Mrs. Ashwood send and enquire for her again.' The chambers, the drawing-room, dressing-room, closets, and garden were again searched. Miss Mowbray was not to be found! Mrs. Ashwood was alarmed--Rochely in dismay--and the whole company confusedly broke up; each retiring with their several conjectures on the sudden disappearance of the fair Emmeline. CHAPTER IV For some moments after Emmeline found herself in the chaise, astonishment and terror deprived her of speech and even of recollection. While Delamere, no longer able to command his transports at having at length as he hoped secured her, gave way to the wildest joy, and congratulated himself that he had thus forced her to break a promise which only injustice he said could have extorted, and only timidity and ill-grounded prejudice have induced her to keep. 'Do you then hope, Sir,' said Emmeline, 'that I shall patiently become the victim of your rashness? Is this the respect you have sworn ever to observe towards me? Is this the protection you have so often told me I should find from you? And is it thus you intend to atone for all the insults of your family which you have so repeatedly protested you would never forgive? by inflicting a far greater insult; by ruining my character; by degrading me in my own eyes; and forcing me either to violate my word solemnly given to your father, or be looked upon as a lost and abandoned creature, undone by your inhuman art. I must now, indeed, seem to _deserve_ your mother's anger, and the scorn of your sister; and must be supposed every way wretched and contemptible.' A shower of tears fell from her eyes, and her heart seemed bursting with the pain these cruel reflections gave her.