“But instruct me how I am to inspire her with confidence,” returned Dorriforth; “how I am to impress her with a sense of that, which is for her advantage?”
“You can work no miracles,” replied Sandford, “you are not holy enough.”
“And yet my ward,” answered Dorriforth, “appears to be acquainted with that mystery; for what but the force of a miracle can induce her to contradict to-day, what before you, and several other witnesses, she positively acknowledged yesterday?”
“Do you call that miraculous?” cried Sandford; “the miracle had been if she had not done so—for did she not yesterday contradict what she acknowledged the day before? and will she not to-morrow disavow what she says to-day?”
“I wish that she may—” replied Dorriforth mildly, for he saw the tears flowing down her face at the rough and severe manner in which Sandford had spoken, and he began to feel for her uneasiness.
“I beg pardon,” cried Sandford, “for speaking so rudely to the mistress of the house—I have no business here, I know; but where you are, Mr. Dorriforth, unless I am turned out, I shall always think it my duty to come.”
Miss Milner curtsied, as much as to say, he was welcome to come. He continued,
“I was to blame, that upon a nice punctilio, I left you so long without my visits, and without my counsel; in that time, you have run the hazard of being murdered, and what is worse, of being excommunicated; for had you been so rash as to have returned your opponent’s fire, not all my interest at Rome would have obtained remission of the punishment.”
Miss Milner, through all her tears, could not now restrain her laughter. On which he resumed;
“And here do I venture, like a missionary among savages—but if I can only save you from their scalping knives—from the miseries which that lady is preparing for you, I am rewarded.”