est
falsehoods rather than reveal the truth."

"What can you mean?" cried Miss Woodley, with the strongest amazement in
her face.

"Do you suppose I love Lord Frederick? Do you suppose I _can_ love him?
Oh fly, and prevent my guardian from telling him such an untruth."

"What can you mean?" repeated Miss Woodley; "I protest you terrify me."
For this inconsistency in the behaviour of Miss Milner, appeared as if
her senses had been deranged.

"Fly," she resumed, "and prevent the inevitable ill consequence which
will ensue, if Lord Frederick should be told this falsehood. It will
involve us all in greater disquiet than we suffer at present."

"Then what has influenced you, my dear Miss Milner?"

"That which impels all my actions--an unsurmountable instinct--a fatality,
that will for ever render me the most miserable of human beings; and yet
you, even you, my dear Miss Woodley, will not pity me."

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