ward, he became
so decidedly of this opinion, that Sandford's never had the most trivial
weight; nor would he even flatter the supposed authority he possessed
over him, by urging him to remain in his house a single day, contrary to
his inclinations. Sandford observed, with grief, this firmness; but
finding it vain to contend, submitted--not, however, with a good grace.

Amidst all the persons affected by this change in Lord Elmwood's
marriage-designs, Miss Fenton was, perhaps, affected the least--she would
have been content to have married, she was content to live single. Mr.
Sandford had been the first who made overtures to her on the part of
Lord Elmwood, and was the first sent to ask her to dispense with the
obligation.--She received both of these proposals with the same insipid
smile of approbation, and the same cold indifference at the heart.

It was a perfect knowledge of this disposition in his intended wife
which had given to Lord Elmwood's thoughts on matrimony, the idea of
dreary winter; but the sensibility of Miss Milner had now reversed that
prospect into perpetual spring; or the dearer variety of spring, summer,
and autumn.

It was a knowledge also of this torpor in Miss Fenton's nature, from
which he formed the purpose of breaking with her; for Lord Elmwood
still retained enough of the sanctity of his former state to have
yielded up his own happiness, and even that of his beloved ward, rather
than have plunged one heart into affliction by his perfidy. This, before
he offered his hand to Miss Milner, he was perfectly convinced would not
be the case--even Miss Fenton herself assured him, that her thoughts were
more upon the joys of Heaven than upon those of earth; and as this
circumstance would, she believed, induce her to retire into a convent,
she thought it a happy, rather than an unhappy, event. Her brother, on
whom her fortune devolved if she took this resolution, was exactly of
her opinion.

Lost in the maze of happiness that surrounded her, Miss Milner
oftentimes asked her heart, and her heart whispered like a flatterer,
"Yes;" Are not my charms even more invincible than I ever believed them
to be? Dorriforth, the grave, the pious, the anchorite Dorriforth, by
their force, is animated to all the ardour of the most impassioned
lover--while the proud priest, the austere guardian is humbled, if I but
frown, into the veriest slave of love. She then asked, "Why did I not
keep him longer in suspense? He