Rushbrook stood silent, confused, alarmed, and bewildered in his thoughts. Lord Elmwood proceeded:
“Name the person, if there is any, on whom you have bestowed your heart; and though I do not give you the hope that I shall not censure your folly, I will at least not reproach you for having at first denied it.”
To repeat these words in writing, the reader must condemn the young man that he could hesitate to own he loved, if he was even afraid to name the object of his passion; but his interrogator had made the two answers inseparable, so that all evasions of the second, Rushbrook knew would be fruitless, after having avowed the first—and how could he confess the latter? The absolute orders he received from the steward on his first return from his travels, were, “Never to mention his daughter, any more than his late wife, before Lord Elmwood.” The fault of having rudely intruded into Lady Matilda’s presence, rushed also upon his mind; for he did not even dare to say, by what means he had beheld her. But more than all, the threatening manner in which this rational and apparently conciliating speech was uttered, the menaces, the severity which sat upon the Earl’s countenance while he delivered those moderate words, might have intimidated a man wholly independent, and less used to fear than his nephew had been.
“You make no answer, Sir,” said Lord Elmwood, after waiting a few moments for his reply.
“I have only to say, my Lord,” returned Rushbrook, “that although my heart may be totally disengaged, I may yet be disinclined to marriage.”
“May! May! Your heart may be disengaged,” repeated he. “Do you dare to reply to me equivocally, when I have asked a positive answer?”
“Perhaps I am not positive myself, my Lord; but I will enquire into the state of my mind, and make you acquainted with it very soon.”
As the angry demeanour of his uncle affected Rushbrook with fear, so that fear, powerfully (but with proper manliness) expressed, again softened the displeasure of Lord Elmwood; and seeing and pitying his nephew’s sensibility, he now changed his austere voice, and said mildly, but firmly,
“I give you a week to consult with yourself; at the expiration of that time I shall talk with you again, and I command you to be then prepared to speak, not only without deceit, but without hesitation.” He left the room at these words, and left Rushbrook released from a fate, which his apprehensions had beheld impending that moment.
He had now a week to call his thoughts together, to weigh every circumstance, and to determine whether implicitly to submit to Lord Elmwood’s recommendation of a wife, or to revolt from it, and see another, with more subserviency to his will, appointed his heir.