“My dear Millicent,” at length Elizabeth said, “if you like Dr. Leroy so much—if your parting from him costs you so much—why don’t you make it up with him? Oh! pray do look well into your heart, and see who really has the most of it. Is not this London affair a mere temporary illusion? Is not the old love really at the bottom yet?”
“No! no!” said Millicent, “it is not that; but it is because I am born to make people miserable. Didst thou ever see such misery as in poor Frank’s face? And now he is determined to quit his home, his practice, his mother, who doats on him, and go to India. Think—think! what grief I have occasioned to him—to his mother—to my own dear parents——”
“And to yourself, dear Millicent,” added Miss Drury. “They may say that the days of witchcraft are over if they will, but,” she said, starting up, “I should like—nay, I must see Dr. Leroy before he leaves Ventnor. He will not really sacrifice his fine practice, and ruin everything, by some rash act. Come, come, let us go!”
She hurried Millicent away; they mounted their horses by the aid of the gate, and rode rapidly down hill, and to Ventnor. As they rang at their gate, Tom Boddily appeared promptly.
“Tom!” said Miss Drury, “have you seen Dr. Leroy?”
“Yes, ma’am; I let him have the horse I ride, and told him where to find you.”
“And where is he now? Run—tell him I must see him!”
Tom shook his head. “He’s gone, ma’am—gone by the three o’clock coach; he just caught it as it started.”
Elizabeth walked into the house in silence. “He is gone!” she repeated. “It is too late! Heaven help us.”
“Oh, let us go too!” said Millicent; “I am wretched here—I am on thorns; but where shall I be at peace?” and she sat down, and looked the victim of despair.