The colour flew to Lord Elmwood’s face, as she delivered this short sentence; and Miss Woodley persuaded herself, she saw a tear start in his eye.
Miss Milner did not look that way.
In an instant he found means to change the subject, but that of his journey still employed the conversation; and what horses, servants, and carriages he took with him, was minutely asked, and so accurately answered, either by himself or by Mr. Sandford, that Miss Milner, although she had known her doom before, till now had received no circumstantial account of it—and as circumstances increase or diminish all we feel, the hearing these things told, increased the bitterness of their truth.
Soon after dinner the ladies retired; and from that time, though Miss Milner’s behaviour continued the same, yet her looks and her voice were totally altered—for the world, she could not have looked cheerfully; for the world, she could not have spoken with a sprightly accent; she frequently began in one, but not three words could she utter, before her tones sunk into dejection. Not only her colour, but her features became changed; her eyes lost their brilliancy, her lips seemed to hang without the power of motion, her head drooped, and her dress was neglected. Conscious of this appearance, and conscious of the cause from whence it arose, it was her desire to hide herself from the only object she could have wished to have charmed. Accordingly, she sat alone, or with Miss Woodley in her own apartment as much as was consistent with that civility which her guardian had requested, and which forbade her totally absenting herself.
Miss Woodley felt so acutely the torments of her friend, that had not her reason told her, that the inflexible mind of Lord Elmwood, was fixed beyond her power to shake, she had cast herself at his feet, and implored the return of his affection and tenderness, as the only means to save his once-beloved ward from an untimely death. But her understanding—her knowledge of his firm and immoveable temper; and of all his provocations—her knowledge of his word, long since given to Sandford, “That if once resolved, he would not recall his resolution”—the certainty of the various plans arranged for his travels, all convinced her, that by any interference, she would only expose Miss Milner’s love and delicacy, to a contemptuous rejection.
If the conversation did not every day turn upon the subject of Lord Elmwood’s departure—a conversation he evidently avoided himself—yet, every day, some new preparation for his journey, struck either the ear or the eye of Miss Milner—and had she beheld a frightful spectre, she could not have shuddered with more horror, than when she unexpectedly passed his large trunks in the hall, nailed and corded, ready to be sent off to meet him at Venice. At the sight, she flew from the company that chanced to be with her, and stole to the first lonely corner of the house to conceal her tears—she reclined her head upon her hands, and bedewed them with the sudden anguish, that had overcome her. She heard a footstep advancing towards the spot where she hoped to have been concealed; she lifted up her eyes, and saw Lord Elmwood. Pride, was the first emotion his presence inspired—pride, which arose from the humility into which she was plunged.
She looked at him earnestly, as if to imply, “What now, my Lord?”
He only answered with a bow, which expressed; “I beg your pardon.” And immediately withdrew.
Thus each understood the other’s language, without either having uttered a word.
The just construction she put upon his looks and behaviour upon this occasion, kept up her spirits for some little time; and she blessed heaven, repeatedly, for the singular favour of shewing to her, clearly, by this accident, his negligence of her sorrows, his total indifference.