CHAPTER I.
_A letter from Giffard, Lord Elmwood's House Steward, to Miss Woodley._
"MADAM,
"My Lord, above a twelvemonth ago, acquainted me he had permitted his daughter to reside in his house; but at the same time he informed me, the grant was under a certain restriction, which, if ever broken, I was to see his then determination (of which he also acquainted me) put in execution. In consequence of Lady Matilda's indisposition, Madam, I have ventured to delay this notice till morning.--I need not say with what concern I now give it, or mention to you, I believe, what is forfeited. My Lord staid but a few hours yesterday, after the unhappy circumstance on which I write, took place; nor did I see him after, till he was in his carriage; he then sent for me to the carriage door, and told me he should be back in two days time, and added, 'Remember your duty.' That duty, I hope, Madam, you will not require me to explain in more direct terms.--As soon as my Lord returns, I have no doubt but he will ask me if it is fulfilled, and I shall be under the greatest apprehension, should his commands not be obeyed.
"If there is any thing wanting for the convenience of your and Lady Matilda's departure, you have but to order it, and it is at your service--I mean likewise any cash you may have occasion for. I should presume to add my opinion where you might best take up your abode; but with such advice as you will have from Mr. Sandford, mine would be but assuming.
"I would also have waited upon you, Madam, and have delivered myself the substance of this letter; but I am an old man, and the changes I have been witness to in my Lord's house since I first lived in it, has encreased my age many years; and I have not the strength to see you upon this occasion. I loved my deceased Lady--I love my Lord--and I love their child--nay, so I am sure does my Lord himself; but there is no accounting for his resolutions, or for the alteration his disposition has lately undergone.
"I beg pardon, Madam, for this long intrusion, and am, and ever will be, (while you and my Lord's daughter are so) your afflicted humble servant,
"ROBERT GIFFARD.
"Elmwood House,
"Sept. 12."
When this letter was brought to Miss Woodley, she knew what it containedbefore she opened it, and therefore took it with an air ofresignation--yet though she guessed the momentous part of its contents,she dreaded in what words it might be related; and having now noessential good to expect, hope, that will never totally expire, clung atthis crisis to little circumstances, and she hoped most fervently, theterms of the letter might not be harsh, but that Lord Elmwood haddelivered his commands in gentle language. The event proved he had; andlost to every important comfort, she felt grateful to him for this smallone.
Matilda, too, was cheered by this letter, for she expected somethingworse; and the last line, in which Giffard said he knew "His Lordshiploved her," she thought repaid her for the purport of the other part.
Sandford was not so easily resigned or comforted--he walked about theroom when the letter was shewn to him--called it cruel--stifled his tears,and wished to show his resentment only--but the former burst through allhis endeavours, and he sunk into grief.
Nor was the fortitude of Matilda, which came to her assistance on thefirst onset of this trial, sufficient to arm her, when the moment cameshe was to quit the house--her father's house--never to see that, or himagain.
When word was brought that the carriage was at the door, which was toconvey her from all she held so dear, and she saw before her theprospect of a long youthful and healthful life, in which misery anddespair were all she could discern; that despair seized her at once, andgaining courage from it, she cried,
"What have I to fear if I disobey my father's commands once more?--hecannot use me worse. I'll stay here till he returns--again throw myselfin his way, and then I will not faint, but plead for mercy. Perhaps wereI to kneel to him--kneel, like other children to their parents, and beghis blessing, he would not refuse it me."
"You must not try:" said Sandford, mildly.
"Who," cried she, "shall prevent me flying to my father? Have I anotherfriend on earth? Have I one relation in the world but him? This is thesecond time I have been turned out of his house. In my infant state mycruel father turned me out; but then, he sent me to a mother--now I havenone; and I will stay with him."
Again the steward sent to let them know the coach was waiting.
Sandford, now, with a determined countenance, went coolly up to LadyMatilda, and taking her hand, seemed resolved to lead her to thecarriage.
Accustomed to be awed by every serious look of his, she yet resistedthis; and cried, "Would _you_ be the minister of my father's cruelty?"
"Then," said Sandford solemnly to her, "farewell--from this moment youand I part. I will take my leave, and do you remain where you are--atleast till you are forced away. But I'll not stay to be driven hence--forit is impossible your father will suffer any friend of yours to continuehere, after this disobedience. Adieu."
"I'll go this moment," said she, and rose hastily.
Miss Woodley took her at her word, and hurried her immediately out ofthe room.
Sandford followed slow behind, as if he had followed at her funeral.
When she came to that spot on the stairs where she had met her father,she started back, and scarce knew how to pass it. When she had--"There heheld me in his arms," said she, "and I thought I felt him press me tohis heart, but I now find I was mistaken."
As Sandford came forward, to hand her into the coach, "Now you behavewell;" said he, "by this behaviour, you do not entirely close allprospect of reconciliation with your father."
"Do you think it is not yet impossible?" cried she, clasping his hand."Giffard says he loves me," continued she, "and do you think he mightyet be brought to forgive me?"
"Forgive you!" cried Sandford.
"Suppose I was to write to him, and entreat his forgiveness?"
"Do not write yet," said Sandford, with no cheering accent.
The carriage drove off--and as it went, Matilda leaned her head from thewindow, to survey Elmwood House from the roof to the bottom. She casther eyes upon the gardens too--upon the fish ponds--even the coach houses,and all the offices adjoining--which, as objects that she should neversee again--she contemplated, as objects of importance.
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