The day at length came, on which Lord Elmwood was expected to dinner. It would have been a high gratification to his daughter to have gone to the topmost window of the house, and have only beheld his carriage enter the avenue; but it was a gratification which her fears, her tremor, her extreme sensibility would not permit her to enjoy.
Miss Woodley and she, sat down that day to dinner in their retired apartments, which were detached from the other part of the house by a gallery; and of the door leading to the gallery, they had a key to impede any one from passing that way, without first ringing a bell; to answer which, was the sole employment of a servant, who was placed there during the Earl’s residence, lest by any accident he might chance to come near that unfrequented part of the house, on which occasion the man was to give immediate notice to his Lady.
Matilda and Miss Woodley sat down to dinner, but did not dine. Sandford dined as usual, with Lord Elmwood. When tea was brought, Miss Woodley asked the servant, who attended, if he had seen his Lord. The man answered, “Yes, Madam; and he looks vastly well.” Matilda wept with joy to hear it.
About nine in the evening, Sandford rang at the bell, and was admitted—never had he been so welcome—Matilda hung upon him, as if his recent interview with her father, had endeared him to her more than ever; and staring anxiously in his face, seemed to enquire of him something about Lord Elmwood, and something that should not alarm her.
“Well—how do you find yourself?” said he to her.
“How are you, Mr. Sandford?” she returned, with a sigh.
“Oh! very well,” replied he.
“Is my Lord in a good temper?” asked Miss Woodley.
“Yes; very well,” replied Sandford, with indifference.
“Did he seem glad to see you?” asked Matilda.