"How!" exclaimed her father.
She saw the impending frown, and rushing towards him, took his hand fearfully, and knelt at his feet. "Mr. Rushbrook is my relation," she cried in a pathetic voice, "my companion, my friend--before you loved me he was anxious for my happiness, and often visited me to lament with, and console me. I cannot see him turned out of your house without feeling for _him_, what he once felt for _me._"
Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations--then raising her from the floor, he said, "Do you know what he has asked of me?"
"No," answered she in the utmost ignorance, and with the utmost innocence painted on her face; "but whatever it is, my Lord, though you do not grant it, yet pardon him for asking."
"Perhaps _you_ would grant him what he has requested?" said her father.
"Most willingly--was it in my gift."
"It is," replied he. "Go to him in the library, and hear what he has to say; for on your will his fate shall depend."
Like lightning she flew out of the room; while even the grave Sandford smiled at the idea of their meeting.
Rushbrook, with his fears all verified by the manner in which his uncle had left him, sat with his head reclined against a bookcase, and every limb extended with the despair that had seized him.
Matilda nimbly opened the door and cried, "Mr. Rushbrook, I am come to comfort you."
"That you have always done," said he, rising in rapture to receive her, even in the midst of all his sadness.
"What is it you want?" said she. "What have you asked of my father that he has denied you?"
"I have asked for that," replied he, "which is dearer to me than my life."
"Be satisfied then," returned she, "for you shall have it."
"Dear Matilda! it is not in your power to bestow."
"But he has told me it _shall_ be in my power; and has desired me to give, or to refuse it you, at my own pleasure."
"O Heavens!" cried Rushbrook in transport, "Has he?"
"He has indeed--before Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley. Now tell me what you pet.i.tioned for?"
"I asked him," cried Rushbrook, trembling, "for a wife."
Her hand, which had just then taken hold of his, in the warmth of her wish to serve him, now dropped down as with the stroke of death--her face lost its colour--and she leaned against the desk by which they were standing, without uttering a word.
"What means this change?" said he; "Do you not wish me happy?"
"Yes," she exclaimed: "Heaven is my witness. But it gives me concern to think we must part."
"Then let us be joined," cried he, falling at her feet, "till death alone can part us."
All the sensibility--the reserve--the pride, with which she was so amply possessed, returned to her that moment. She started and cried, "Could Lord Elmwood know for what he sent me?"
"He did," replied Rushbrook--"I boldly told him of my presumptuous love, and he has given to you alone, the power over my happiness or misery.
Oh! do not doom me to the latter."
Whether the heart of Matilda, such as it has been described, _could_ sentence him to misery, the reader is left to surmise--and if he supposes that it could _not_, he has every reason to suppose that their wedded life, was--a life of happiness.
He has beheld the pernicious effects of an _improper education_ in the destiny which attended the unthinking Miss Milner.--On the opposite side, what may not be hoped from that school of prudence--though of adversity--in which Matilda was bred?
And Mr. Milner, Matilda"s grandfather, had better have given his _fortune_ to a distant branch of his family--as Matilda"s father once meant to do--so that he had given to his daughter
A PROPER EDUCATION.