He once again approached her, and again was going to seize her hand; when the report of a pistol, and a confused noise of persons assembling towards the apartment prevented him.
He started—but looked more surprised than alarmed—her alarm was augmented; for she supposed this tumult was some experiment to intimidate her into submission. She wrung her hands, and lifted up her eyes to Heaven, in the last agony of despair, when one of Lord Margrave’s servants entered hastily and announced,
“Lord Elmwood!”
That moment her father entered—and with all the unrestrained fondness of a parent, folded her in his arms.
Her extreme, her excess of joy on such a meeting, and from such anguish rescued, was, in part, repressed by his awful presence. The apprehensions to which she had been accustomed, kept her timid and doubtful—she feared to speak, or clasp him in return for his embrace, but falling on her knees, clung round his legs, and bathed his feet with her tears.——These were the happiest moments that she had ever known—perhaps, the happiest he had ever known.
Lord Margrave, on whom Lord Elmwood had not even cast a look, now left the room; but as he quitted it, called out,
“My Lord Elmwood, if you have any demands on me,”—
The Earl interrupted him, “Would you make me an executioner? The law shall be your only antagonist.”
Matilda, quite exhausted, yet upheld by the sudden transport she had felt, was led by her father out of this wretched dwelling—more despicable than the beggar’s hovel.