He was proceeding with the most austere looks, and pointed language, when observing the shame, and the self-reproach that agitated her mind, he divested himself in great measure of his resentment, and said, mildly,
“Let this be a warning to you, how you deal in future with the friends who wish you well. You have hurried me into a mistake that might have cost me my life, or the life of the man you love; and thus exposed you to misery, more bitter than death.”
“I am not worthy of your friendship, Mr. Dorriforth,” said she, sobbing with grief, “and from this moment forsake me.”
“No, Madam, not in the moment you first discover to me, how I can make you happy.”
The conversation appearing now to become of a nature in which the rest of the company could have no share whatever, they were all, except Mr. Sandford, retiring; when Miss Milner called Miss Woodley back, saying, “Stay you with me; I was never so unfit to be left without your friendship.”
“Perhaps at present you can dispense with mine?” said Dorriforth. She made no answer. He then, once more assured her Lord Frederick’s life was safe, and was quitting the room—but when he recollected in what humiliation he had left her, turning towards her as he opened the door, he added,
“And be assured, Madam, that my esteem for you, shall be the same as ever.”
Sandford, as he followed him, bowed, and repeated the same words—“And, Madam, be assured that my esteem for you, shall be the same as ever.”