Sandford read on.
“It is on Lady Matilda’s account you hate me, and use me thus.”
Sandford put down the book hastily, and put both his hands by his side.
“Yes,” resumed Rushbrook, “you think I am wronging her.”
“I think you insult her,” exclaimed Sandford, “by this rude mention of her name; and I command you at your peril to desist.”
“At my peril! Mr. Sandford? Do you assume the authority of my Lord Elmwood?”
“I do on this occasion; and if you dare to give your tongue a freedom”——
Rushbrook interrupted him—“Why then I boldly say, (and as her friend you ought rather to applaud than resent it) I boldly say, that my heart suffers so much for her situation, that I am regardless of my own. I love her father—I loved her mother more—but I love her beyond either.”
“Hold your licentious tongue,” cried Sandford, “or quit the room.”
“Licentious! Oh! the pure thoughts that dwell in her innocent mind, are not less sensual than mine towards her. Do you upbraid me with my respect, my pity for her? They are the sensations which impel me to speak thus undisguised, even to you, my open—no, even worse—my secret enemy!”