CHAPTER X.
After this incident, Miss Woodley left her apartments less frequentlythan before--she was afraid, though till now mistrust had been a strangerto her heart, she was afraid that duplicity might be concealed under theapparent friendship of Rushbrook; it did not indeed appear so from anypart of his behaviour, but she was apprehensive for the fate of Matilda;she disliked him too, and therefore she suspected him. Near three weeksshe had not now paid a visit to Lord Elmwood, and though to herselfevery visit was a pain, yet as Matilda took a delight in hearing of herfather, what he said, what he did, what his attention seemed mostemployed on, and a thousand other circumstantial informations, in whichSandford would scorn to be half so particular, it was a deprivation toher, that Miss Woodley did not go oftener. Now too, the middle ofNovember was come, and it was expected her father would soon quit thecountry.
Partly therefore to indulge her hapless companion, and partly because itwas a duty, Miss Woodley once again paid Lord Elmwood a morning visit,and staid dinner. Rushbrook was officiously polite, (for that was theepithet she gave his attention in relating it to Lady Matilda) yet sheowned he had not that forward impertinence she had formerly discoveredin him, but appeared much more grave and sedate.
"But tell me of my father," said Matilda.
"I was going, my dear--but don't be concerned--don't let it vex you."
"What? what?" cried Matilda, frightened by the preface.
"Why, on my observing that I thought Mr. Rushbrook looked paler thanusual, and appeared not to be in perfect health, (which was really thecase) your father expressed the greatest anxiety imaginable; he said hecould not bear to see him look so ill, begged him, with all thetenderness of a parent, to take the advice of a physician, and added athousand other affectionate things."
"I detest Mr. Rushbrook," said Matilda, with her eyes flashingindignation.
"Nay, for shame," returned Miss Woodley; "do you suppose I told youthis, to make you hate him?"
"No, there was no occasion for that," replied Matilda; "my sentiments(though I have never before avowed them) were long ago formed; he wasalways an object which added to my unhappiness; but since his daringintrusion into my apartments, he has been an object of my hatred."
"But now, perhaps, I may tell you something to please you," cried MissWoodley.
"And what is that?" said Matilda, with indifference; for the firstintelligence had hurt her spirits too much to suffer her to listen withpleasure to anything.
"Mr. Rushbrook," continued Miss Woodley, "replied to your father, thathis indisposition was but a slight nervous fever, and he would defer aphysician's advice till he went to London"--on which Lord Elmwood said,"And when do you expect to be there?"--he replied, "Within a week or two,I suppose, my Lord." But your father answered, "I do not mean to gomyself till after Christmas." "No indeed, my Lord!" said Mr. Sandford,with surprise: "you have not passed your Christmas here these manyyears." "No," returned your father; "but I think I feel myself moreattached to this house at present, than ever I did in my life."
"You imagine, then, my father thought of me, when he said this?" criedMatilda eagerly.
"But I may be mistaken," replied Miss Woodley. "I leave you to judge.Though I am sure Mr. Sandford imagined he thought of you, for I saw asmile over his whole face immediately."
"Did you, Miss Woodley?"
"Yes; it appeared on every feature except his lips; those he kept fastclosed, for fear Lord Elmwood should perceive it."
Miss Woodley, with all her minute intelligence, did not however acquaintMatilda, that Rushbrook followed her to the window when the Earl was outof the room, and Sandford half asleep at the other end of it, andinquired respectfully but anxiously for _her_; adding, "It is myconcern for Lady Matilda which makes me thus indisposed: I suffer morethan she does; but I am not permitted to tell her so, nor can I hope,Miss Woodley, you will." She replied, "You are right, Sir." Nor did shereveal this conversation, while not a sentence that passed except that,was omitted.
When Christmas arrived, Lord Elmwood had many convivial days at ElmwoodHouse, but Matilda was never mentioned by one of his guests, and mostprobably was never thought of. During all those holidays, she wasunusually melancholy, but sunk into the deepest dejection when she wastold the day was fixed, on which her father was to return to town. Onthe morning of that day she wept incessantly; and all her consolationwas, "She would go to the chamber window that was fronting the doorthrough which he was to pass to his carriage, and for the first time,and most probably for the last time in her life, behold him."
This design was soon forgot in another:--"She would rush boldly into theapartment where he was, and at his feet take leave of him for ever--shewould lay hold of his hands, clasp his knees, provoke him to spurn her,which would be joy in comparison to this cruel indifference." In thebitterness of her grief, she once called upon her mother, and reproachedher memory--but the moment she recollected this offence, (which wasalmost instantaneously) she became all mildness and resignation. "Whathave I said?" cried she; "Dear, dear saint, forgive me; and for yoursake I will bear all with patience--I will not groan, I will not evensigh again--this task I set myself to atone for what I have dared toutter."
While Lady Matilda laboured under this variety of sensations, MissWoodley was occupied in bewailing and endeavouring to calm hersorrows--and Lord Elmwood, with Rushbrook, was ready to set off. TheEarl, however, loitered, and did not once seem in haste to be gone. Whenat last he got up to depart, Sandford thought he pressed his hand, andshook it with more warmth than ever he had done in his life. Encouragedby this supposition, Sandford said, "My Lord, won't you condescend totake your leave of Miss Woodley?"
"Certainly, Sandford," replied he, and seemed glad of an excuse to sitdown again.
Impressed with the idea of the state in which she had left his onlychild, Miss Woodley, when she came before Lord Elmwood to bid himfarewell, was pale, trembling, and in tears. Sandford, notwithstandinghis patron's apparently kind humour, was shocked at the construction hemust put upon her appearance, and cried, "What, Miss Woodley, are younot recovered of your illness yet?" Lord Elmwood, however, took nonotice of her looks, but after wishing her her health, walked slowly outof the house; turning back frequently and speaking to Sandford, or tosome other person who was behind him, as if part of his thoughts wereleft behind, and he went with reluctance.
When he had quitted the room where Miss Woodley was, Rushbrook, timidbefore her, as she had been before her benefactor, went up to her, allhumility, and said, "Miss Woodley, we ought to be friends: our concern,our devotion is paid to the same objects, and one common interest shouldteach us to be friendly."
She made no reply.--"Will you permit me to write to you when I am away?"said he; "You may wish to hear of Lord Elmwood's health, and of whatchanges may take place in his resolutions.--Will you permit me?" At thatmoment a servant came and said, "Sir, my Lord is in the carriage, andwaiting for you." He hastened away, and Miss Woodley was relieved fromthe pain of giving him a denial.
No sooner was the chaise, with all its attendants, out of sight, thanLady Matilda was conducted by Miss Woodley from her lonely retreat, intothat part of the house from whence her father had just departed--and shevisited every spot where he had so long resided, with a pleasingcuriosity that for a while diverted her grief. In the breakfast anddining rooms, she leaned over those seats with a kind of filial piety,on which she was told he had been accustomed to sit. And, in thelibrary, she took up with filial delight, the pen with which he had beenwriting; and looked with the most curious attention into those booksthat were laid upon his reading desk. But a hat, lying on one of thetables, gave her a sensation beyond any other she experienced on thisoccasion--in that trifling article of his dress, she thought she sawhimself, and held it in her hand with pious reverence.
In the mean time, Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook were proceeding on theroad, with hearts not less heavy than those which they had left atElmwood House; though neither of them could so well define the c
ause ofthis oppression, as Matilda could account for the weight which oppressedher's.
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