most distractedly) about the fields, looking
repeatedly at his watch, and wishing the time would stand still, till he
was ready to go back with his errand compleated.

Every field he passed, brought him nearer to the house on which his
imagination was fixed; but how, without forfeiting every appearance of
that respect which he so powerfully felt, could he attempt to enter
it?--he saw the indecorum, resolved not to be guilty of it, and yet
walked on till he was within but a small orchard of the door. Could he
then retreat?--he wished he could; but he found that he had proceeded too
far to be any longer master of himself. The time was urgent; he must
either behold her, and venture her displeasure, or by diffidence during
one moment, give up all his hopes perhaps for ever.

With that same disregard to consequences, which actuated him when he
dared to supplicate Lord Elmwood in his daughter's behalf, he at length
went eagerly to the door and rapped.

A servant came--he asked to "Speak with Miss Woodley, if she was quite
alone."

He was shown into an apartment, and Miss Woodley entered to him.

She started when she beheld who it was; but as he did not see a frown
upon her face, he caught hold of her hand, and said persuasively,

"Do not be offended with me. If I mean to offend you, may I forfeit my
life in atonement."

Poor Miss Woodley, glad in her solitude to see any one from Elmwood
House, forgot his visit was an offence, till he put her in mind of it;
she then said, with some reserve,

"Tell me the purport of your coming, Sir, and perhaps I may have no
reason to complain?"

"It was to see Lady Matilda," he replied, "or to hear of her health. It
was to offer her my services--it was, Miss Woodley, to convince her, if
possible, of my esteem."

"Had you no other method, Sir?" said Miss Woodley, with the same
reserve.

"None;" replied he, "or with joy I should have embraced it; and if you
can inform me of any other, tell me I beseech you instantly, and I will
immediately be gone, and pursue your directions."

Miss Woodley hesitated.

"You know of no other means, Miss Woodley," he cried.

"And yet I cannot commend this," said she.

"Nor do I. Do not imagine because you see me here, that I approve my
conduct; but reduced to this necessity, pity the motives that have urged
it."

Miss Woodley did pity them; but as she would not own that she did, she
could think of nothing else to say.

At this instant a bel