“Oh, Madam,” cried Sandford, “he is grown a libertine now, and I would not believe his word, if he were to give it you.”
“Then, Sir,” returned Dorriforth angrily, “you may believe my word, for I will keep that which I gave to you. I will give Lord Frederick all the restitution in my power. But my dear Miss Milner, let not this alarm you; we may not find it convenient to meet this many a day; and most probably some fortunate explanation may prevent our meeting at all. If not, reckon but among the many duels that are fought, how few are fatal: and even in that case, how small would be the loss to society, if——” He was proceeding.
“I should ever deplore the loss!” cried Miss Milner; “on such an occasion, I could not survive the death of either.”
“For my part,” he replied, “I look upon my life as much forfeited to my Lord Frederick, to whom I have given a high offence, as it might in other instances have been forfeited to the offended laws of the land. Honour, is the law of the polite part of the land; we know it; and when we transgress against it knowingly, we justly incur our punishment. However, Miss Milner, this affair will not be settled immediately, and I have no doubt, but that all will be as you could wish. Do you think I should appear thus easy,” added he with a smile, “if I were going to be shot at by my Lord Frederick?”
“Very well!” cried Sandford, with a look that evinced he was better informed.
“You will stay within then, all this day?” said Miss Milner.
“I am engaged to dinner,” he replied; “it is unlucky—I am sorry for it—but I’ll be at home early in the evening.”
“Stained with human blood,” cried Sandford, “or yourself a corpse.”
The ladies lifted up their hands!—Miss Milner rose from her seat, and threw herself at her guardian’s feet.
“You kneeled to me last night, I now kneel to you,” (she cried) “kneel, never desiring to rise again, if you persist in your intention. I am weak, I am volatile, I am indiscreet, but I have a heart from which some impressions can never—oh! never, be erased.”