She immediately snatched it from him, and withdrew into her chamber.
He followed, saying, in a low voice, “Dear Miss Woodley, hear me.”
At that juncture Lady Matilda, who was in an inner apartment, came out of it into Miss Woodley’s. Perceiving a gentleman, she stopped short at the door.
Rushbrook cast his eyes upon her, and stood motionless—his lips only moved. “Do not depart, Madam,” said he, “without hearing my apology for being here.”
Though Matilda had never seen him since her infancy, there was no occasion to tell her who it was that addressed her—his elegant and youthful person, joined to the incident which had just occurred, convinced her it was Rushbrook: she looked at him with an air of surprise, but with still more, of dignity.
“Miss Woodley is severe upon me, Madam,” continued he, “she judges me unkindly; and I am afraid she will prepossess you with the same unfavourable sentiments.”
Still Matilda did not speak, but looked at him with the same air of dignity.
“If, Lady Matilda,” resumed he, “I have offended you, and must quit you without pardon, I am more unhappy than I should be with the loss of your father’s protection—more forlorn, than when an orphan boy, your mother first took pity on me.”
At this last sentence, Matilda turned her eyes on Miss Woodley, and seemed in doubt what reply she was to give.
Rushbrook immediately fell upon his knees—“Oh! Lady Matilda,” cried he, “if you knew the sensations of my heart, you would not treat me with this disdain.”