Miss Woodley pressed her closely in her arms, and vowed, “That while she was unhappy, from whatever cause, she still would pity her.”
“Go to Mr. Dorriforth then, and prevent him from imposing upon Lord Frederick.”
“But that imposition is the only means of preventing the duel,” replied Miss Woodley. “The moment I have told him that your affection was but counterfeited, he will no longer refuse accepting the challenge.”
“Then at all events I am undone,” exclaimed Miss Milner, “for the duel is horrible, even beyond every thing else.”
“How so?” returned Miss Woodley, “since you have declared you do not care for Lord Frederick?”
“But are you so blind,” returned Miss Milner with a degree of madness in her looks, “as to believe I do not care for Mr. Dorriforth? Oh! Miss Woodley! I love him with all the passion of a mistress, and with all the tenderness of a wife.”
Miss Woodley at this sentence sat down—it was on a chair that was close to her—her feet could not have taken her to any other. She trembled—she was white as ashes, and deprived of speech. Miss Milner, taking her by the hand, said,
“I know what you feel—I know what you think of me—and how much you hate and despise me. But Heaven is witness to all my struggles—nor would I, even to myself, acknowledge the shameless prepossession, till forced by a sense of his danger”——
“Silence,” cried Miss Woodley, struck with horror.
“And even now,” resumed Miss Milner, “have I not concealed it from all but you, by plunging myself into a new difficulty, from which I know not how I shall be extricated? And do I entertain a hope? No, Miss Woodley, nor ever will. But suffer me to own my folly to you—to entreat your soothing friendship to free me from my weakness. And, oh! give me your advice, to deliver me from the difficulties which surround me.”