CHAPTER XII.
When Miss Milner retired to her bed-chamber, Miss Woodley went with her, nor would leave her the whole night—but in vain did she persuade her to rest—she absolutely refused; and declared she would never, from that hour, indulge repose. “The part I undertook to perform,” cried she, “is over—I will now, for my whole life, appear in my own character, and give a loose to the anguish I endure.”
As daylight showed itself—“And yet I might see him once again,” said she—“I might see him within these two hours, if I pleased, for Mr. Sandford invited me.”
“If you think, my dear Miss Milner,” said Miss Woodley, “that a second parting from Lord Elmwood would but give you a second agony, in the name of Heaven do not see him any more—but, if you hope your mind would be easier, were you to bid each other adieu in a more direct manner than you did last night, let us go down and breakfast with him. I’ll go before, and prepare him for your reception—you shall not surprise him—and I will let him know, it is by Mr. Sandford’s invitation you are coming.”
She listened with a smile to this proposal, yet objected to the indelicacy of her wishing to see him, after he had taken his leave—but as Miss Woodley perceived that she was inclined to infringe this delicacy, of which she had so proper a sense, she easily persuaded her, it was impossible for the most suspicious person (and Lord Elmwood was far from such a character) to suppose, that the paying him a visit at that period of time, could be with the most distant idea of regaining his heart, or of altering one resolution he had taken.
But though Miss Milner acquiesced in this opinion, yet she had not the courage to form the determination that she would go.
Daylight now no longer peeped, but stared upon them. Miss Milner went to the looking-glass, breathed upon her hands and rubbed them on her eyes, smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress; yet said, after all, “I dare not see him again.”
“You may do as you please,” said Miss Woodley, “but I will. I that have lived for so many years under the same roof with him, and on the most friendly terms, and he going away, perhaps for these ten years, perhaps for ever, I should think it a disrespect not to see him to the last moment of his remaining in the house.”
“Then do you go,” said Miss Milner, eagerly; “and if he should ask for me, I will gladly come, you know; but if he does not ask for me, I will not—and pray don’t deceive me.”
Miss Woodley promised her not to deceive her; and soon after, as they heard the servants pass about the house, and the clock had struck six, Miss Woodley went to the breakfast room.