ingratitude, and its effects."

"Very true," said Miss Woodley, with a heavy sigh.

"What ingratitude?" asked Matilda, "do you suppose Mr. Rushbrook is the
cause that my father will not see me? Oh do not pay Lord Elmwood's
motive so ill a compliment."

"I do not say that he is the absolute cause," returned Sandford; "but if
a parent's heart is void, I would have it remain so, till its lawful
owner is replaced--usurpers I detest."

"No one can take Lord Elmwood's heart by force," replied his daughter,
"it must, I believe, be a free gift to the possessor; and as such,
whoever has it, has a right to it."

In this manner she would plead the young man's excuse--perhaps but to
hear what could be said in his disfavour, for secretly his name was
bitter to her--and once she exclaimed in vexation, on Sandford's saying
Lord Elmwood and Mr. Rushbrook were gone out shooting together,

"All that pleasure is now eclipsed which I used to take in listening to
the report of my father's gun, for I cannot now distinguish his, from
his parasite's."

Sandford, (much as he disliked Rushbrook) for this expression which
comprised her father in the reflection, turned to Matilda in extreme
anger--but as he saw the colour mount into her face, for what, in the
strong feelings of her heart had escaped her lips, he did not say a
word--and by her tears that followed, he rejoiced to see how much she
reproved _herself._

Miss Woodley, vexed to the heart, and provoked every time she saw Lord
Elmwood and Rushbrook together, and saw the familiar terms on which this
young man lived with his benefactor, now made her visits to him very
seldom. If Lord Elmwood observed this, he did not appear to observe it;
and though he received her politely when she did pay him a visit, it was
always very coldly; nor did she suppose if she never went, he would ever
ask for her. For his daughter's sake, however, she thought it right
sometimes to shew herself before him; for she knew it must be
impossible that, with all his apparent indifference, he could ever see
_her_ without thinking for a moment on his child; and what one fortunate
thought might some time bring about, was an object much too serious for
her to overlook. She therefore, after remaining confined to her
apartments near three weeks, (excepting those anxious walks she and
Matilda stole, while Lord Elmwood dined, or before he rose in a morning)
went one forenoon into his apartments, where, as usual, she