“But in what manner can I accomplish the separation?” cried she, “for till I marry we are obliged, by my father’s request, to live in the same house.”
“Miss Milner,” answered Miss Woodley, “much as I respect the will of a dying man, I regard your and Mr. Dorriforth’s present and eternal happiness much more; and it is my resolution that you shall part. If you will not contrive the means, that duty falls on me, and without any invention I see the measure at once.”
“What is it?” cried Miss Milner eagerly.
“I will reveal to Mr. Dorriforth, without hesitation, the real state of your heart; which your present inconsistency of conduct will but too readily confirm.”
“You would not plunge me into so much shame, into so much anguish!” cried she, distractedly.
“No,” replied Miss Woodley, “not for the world, if you will separate from him by any mode of your own—but that you shall separate is my determination; and in spite of all your sufferings, this shall be the expedient, unless you instantly agree to some other.”
“Good Heaven, Miss Woodley! is this your friendship?”
“Yes—and the truest friendship I have to bestow. Think what a task I undertake for your sake and his, when I condemn myself to explain to him your weakness. What astonishment! what confusion! what remorse, do I foresee painted upon his face! I hear him call you by the harshest names, and behold him fly from your sight for ever, as an object of his detestation.”
“Oh spare the dreadful picture.—Fly from my sight for ever! Detest my name! Oh! my dear Miss Woodley, let but his friendship for me still remain, and I will consent to any thing. You may command me. I will go away from him directly—but let us part in friendship—Oh! without the friendship of Mr. Dorriforth, life would be a heavy burthen indeed.”
Miss Woodley immediately began to contrive schemes for their separation; and, with all her invention alive on the subject, the following was the only natural one that she could form.