Educated in the school of adversity, and inured to retirement from her infancy, she had acquired a taste for all those amusements which a recluse life affords. She was fond of walking and riding—was accomplished in the arts of music and drawing, by the most careful instructions of her mother—and as a scholar, she excelled most of her sex, from the pains which Sandford had taken with that part of her education, and the superior abilities he possessed for the task.
In devoting certain hours of the day to study with him, others to music, riding, and such amusements, Matilda’s time never appeared tedious at Elmwood Castle, although she received and paid no one visit—for it was soon divulged in the neighbourhood, upon what stipulation she resided at her father’s, and studiously intimated, that the most prudent and friendly behaviour of her true friends, would be, to take no notice whatever that she lived among them: and as Lord Elmwood’s will was a law all around, such was the consequence of that will, known, or merely supposed.
Neither did Miss Woodley regret the want of visitors, but found herself far more satisfied in her present situation, than her most sanguine hopes could have formed. She had a companion whom she loved with an equal fondness, with which she had loved her deceased mother; and frequently, in this charming mansion, where she had so often beheld Lady Elmwood, her imagination represented Matilda as her friend risen from the grave, in her former youth, health, and exquisite beauty.
In peace, in content, though not in happiness, the days and weeks passed away till about the middle of August, when preparations began to be made for the arrival of Lord Elmwood. The week in which he was to come was at length fixed, and some part of his retinue was arrived before him. When this was told Matilda, she started, and looked just as her mother at her age had often done, when in spite of her love, she was conscious that she had offended him, and was terrified at his approach. Sandford observing this, put out his hand, and taking hers, shook it kindly; and bade her (but it was not in a cheering tone) “not be afraid.” This gave her no confidence; and she began, before her father’s arrival, to seclude herself in the apartments allotted for her during the time of his stay; and in the timorous expectation of his coming, her appetite declined, and she lost all her colour. Even Miss Woodley, whose spirits had been for some time elated with the hopes she had formed, on drawing near to the test, found those hopes vanished; and though she endeavoured to conceal it, she was full of apprehensions. Sandford, had certainly fewer fears than either; yet upon the eve of the day on which his patron was to arrive, he was evidently cast down.
Lady Matilda once asked him—“Are you certain, Mr. Sandford, you made no mistake in respect to what Lord Elmwood said, when he granted my mother’s request? Are you sure he did grant it? Was there nothing equivocal on which he may ground his displeasure should he be told that I am here? Oh do not let me hazard being once again turned out of his house! Oh! save me from provoking him perhaps to curse me.” And here she clasped her hands together with the most fervent petition, in the dread of what might happen.
“If you doubt my words or my senses,” said Sandford, “call Giffard, and let him inform you; the same words were repeated to him as to me.”
Though from her reason, Matilda could not doubt of any mistake from Mr. Sandford, yet her fears suggested a thousand scruples; and this reference to the steward she received with the utmost satisfaction, (though she did not think it necessary to apply to him) as it perfectly convinced her of the folly of the suspicions she had entertained.
“And yet, Mr. Sandford,” said she, “if it is so, why are you less cheerful than you were? I cannot help thinking but it must be your expectation of Lord Elmwood, which has occasioned this change.”
“I don’t know,” replied Sandford, carelessly, “but I believe I am grown afraid of your father. His temper is a great deal altered from what it once was—he raises his voice, and uses harsh expressions upon the least provocation—his eyes flash lightning, and his face is distorted with anger upon the slightest motives—he turns away his old servants at a moment’s warning, and no concession can make their peace. In a word, I am more at my ease when I am away from him—and I really believe,” added he with a smile, but with a tear at the same time, “I really believe, I am more afraid of him in my age, than he was of me when he was a boy.”
Miss Woodley was present; she and Matilda looked at one another; and each of them saw the other turn pale at this description.