“I cannot,” said she, “if Mr. Sandford is with him.”
The servant opened the door, and she and Miss Woodley went in. Lord Elmwood, by this time, was composed, and received her with a slight inclination of his head—she bowed to him in return, and said, with some marks of humility,
“I suppose, my Lord, I have done wrong.”
“You have indeed, Miss Milner,” answered he; “but do not suppose, that I mean to upbraid you: I am, on the contrary, going to release you from any such apprehension for the future.”
Those last three words he delivered with a countenance so serious and so determined, with an accent so firm and so decided, they pierced through her heart. Yet she did not weep, or even sigh; but her friend, knowing what she felt, exclaimed, “Oh?” as if for her.
She herself strove with her anguish, and replied, (but with a faltering voice) “I expected as much, my Lord.”
“Then, Madam, you perhaps expect all that I intend?”
“In regard to myself,” she replied, “I suppose I do.”
“Then,” said he, “you may expect that in a few days we shall part.”
“I am prepared for it, my Lord,” she answered, and, while she said so, sunk upon a chair.