than she had formerly done, and even gave some proofs
of the native goodness of her disposition, yet she scrupulously avoided
naming Lady Matilda; and when he diffidently inquired of her health, a
cold restraint overspread Miss Woodley's face, and she left him
instantly. To Sandford it was still more difficult for him to apply; for
though frequently together, they were never sociable; and as Sandford
seldom disguised his feelings, to Rushbrook he was always extremely
severe, and sometimes unmannerly.

In this perplexed situation, the country air was rather of detriment
than service to the invalid; and had he not, like a true lover, clung
fast to hope, while he could perceive nothing but despair, he would have
returned to town, rather than by his stay have placed in a subordinate
state, the object of his adoration. Persisting in his hopes, he one
morning met Miss Woodley in the garden, and engaging her a longer time
than usual in conversation, at last obtained her promise "She would that
day dine with him and Mr. Sandford." But no sooner had she parted from
him, than she repented of her consent; and upon communicating it,
Matilda, for the first time in her life, darted upon her kind companion,
a look of the most cutting reproach and haughty resentment. Miss
Woodley's own sentiments had upbraided her before; but she was not
prepared to receive so pointed a mark of disapprobation from her young
friend, till now duteous and humble to her as to a mother, and not less
affectionate. Her heart was too susceptible to bear this disrespectful
and contumelious frown, from the object of her long-devoted care and
concern; the tears instantly covered her face, and she laid her hands
upon her heart, as if she thought it would break. Matilda was moved, but
she possessed too much of the manly resentment of her father, to
discover what she felt for the first few minutes. Miss Woodley, who had
given so many tears to her sorrows, but never till now, one to her
anger, had a deeper sense of this indifference, than of the anger
itself, and to conceal what she suffered, left the room. Matilda, who
had been till this time working at her needle, seemingly composed, now
let her work drop from her hand, and sat for a while in a deep reverie.
At length she rose up, and followed Miss Woodley to the other apartment.
She entered grave, majestic and apparently serene, while her poor heart
fluttered with a thousand distressing sensations. She approached