ding frown, and rushing towards him, took his hand
fearfully, and knelt at his feet. "Mr. Rushbrook is my relation," she
cried in a pathetic voice, "my companion, my friend--before you loved me
he was anxious for my happiness, and often visited me to lament with,
and console me. I cannot see him turned out of your house without
feeling for _him_, what he once felt for _me._"

Lord Elmwood turned aside to conceal his sensations--then raising her
from the floor, he said, "Do you know what he has asked of me?"

"No," answered she in the utmost ignorance, and with the utmost
innocence painted on her face; "but whatever it is, my Lord, though you
do not grant it, yet pardon him for asking."

"Perhaps _you_ would grant him what he has requested?" said her father.

"Most willingly--was it in my gift."

"It is," replied he. "Go to him in the library, and hear what he has to
say; for on your will his fate shall depend."

Like lightning she flew out of the room; while even the grave Sandford
smiled at the idea of their meeting.

Rushbrook, with his fears all verified by the manner in which his uncle
had left him, sat with his head reclined against a bookcase, and every
limb extended with the despair that had seized him.

Matilda nimbly opened the door and cried, "Mr. Rushbrook, I am come to
comfort you."

"That you have always done," said he, rising in rapture to receive her,
even in the midst of all his sadness.

"What is it you want?" said she. "What have you asked of my father that
he has denied you?"

"I have asked for that," replied he, "which is dearer to me than my
life."

"Be satisfied then," returned she, "for you shall have it."

"Dear Matilda! it is not in your power to bestow."

"But he has told me it _shall_ be in my power; and has desired me to
give, or to refuse it you, at my own pleasure."

"O Heavens!" cried Rushbrook in transport, "Has he?"

"He has indeed--before Mr. Sandford and Miss Woodley. Now tell me what
you petitioned for?"

"I asked him," cried Rushbrook, trembling, "for a wife."

Her hand, which had just then taken hold of his, in the warmth of her
wish to serve him, now dropped down as with the stroke of death--her face
lost its colour--and she leaned against the desk by which they were
standing, without uttering a word.

"What means this change?" said he; "Do you not wish me happy?"

"Yes," she exclaimed: "Heaven is my witness. But it gives me concern to
think we must part."