od. Thus
does the lover consider the extinction of his passion with the same
horror as the libertine looks upon annihilation; the one would rather
live hereafter, though in all the tortures described as constituting his
future state, than cease to exist; so, there are no tortures which a
lover would not suffer, rather than cease to love.

In the wide prospect of sadness before her, Miss Milner's fancy caught
hold of the only comfort which presented itself; and this, faint as it
was, in the total absence of every other, her imagination painted to her
as excessive. The comfort was a letter from Miss Woodley--a letter, in
which the subject of her love would most assuredly be mentioned, and in
whatever terms, it would still be the means of delight.

A letter arrived--she devoured it with her eyes. The post mark denoting
from whence it came, the name of "Milner Lodge" written on the top, were
all sources of pleasure--and she read slowly every line it contained, to
procrastinate the pleasing expectation she enjoyed, till she should
arrive at the name of Dorriforth. At last, her impatient eye caught the
word, three lines beyond the place she was reading--irresistibly, she
skipped over those lines, and fixed on the point to which she was
attracted.

Miss Woodley was cautious in her indulgence; she made the slightest
mention of Dorriforth; saying only, "He was extremely concerned, and
even dejected, at the little hope there was of his cousin, Lord
Elmwood's, recovery." Short and trivial as this passage was, it was
still more important to Miss Milner than any other in the letter--she
read it again and again, considered, and reflected upon it. Dejected,
thought she, what does that word exactly mean?--did I ever see Mr.
Dorriforth dejected?--how, I wonder, does he look in that state? Thus did
she muse, while the cause of his dejection, though a most serious one,
and pathetically described by Miss Woodley, scarce arrested her
attention once. She ran over with haste the account of Lord Elmwood's
state of health; she certainly pitied him while she thought of him, but
she did not think of him long. To die, was a hard fate for a young
nobleman just in possession of his immense fortune, and on the eve of
marriage with a beautiful young woman; but Miss Milner thought that an
abode in Heaven might be still better than all this, and she had no
doubt but his Lordship would go thither. The forlorn state of Miss
Fenton ought to have been a