ck in a duel, the effect of which was to leave his adversary
so defaced with scars as never again to endanger the honour of a
husband. He was himself dangerously wounded, yet nothing but the
assurance that his opponent was slain could tear him from the field.

Now, after ten years of exile, the once gay, volatile Miss Milner lay
dying with but one request to make--that her daughter should not suffer
for her sin. Sandford was with her; by all the influence he ever had
over Lord Elmwood, by his prayers, by his tears, he promised to implore
him to own his child. She could only smile her thanks, but she was
sufficiently sensible of his words to make a sign as if she wished to
embrace him; but, finding life leaving her fast, with a struggle she
clung to her child, and died in her arms.

_V.--His Daughter's Happiness_

Yet all that her mother's last appeal could obtain for the hapless
Matilda, not as her child, but as the granddaughter of Mr. Milner, was
the shelter of her father's roof on condition that she avoided his
sight. When by accident or design he ever saw or heard from her, that
moment his compliance with her mother's request ceased, and he abandoned
her once more. Still, the joy of being, even in so remote a way, under
her father's care, was extreme for her, though it was tempered with
jealousy of Rushbrook--a feeling which even her noble heart could not
completely quell--jealousy which was shared on her account by both Miss
Woodley and Mr. Sandford, and frequently made them unjust to Harry, whom
they regarded as an interloper.

But his passionate gratitude to Lady Elmwood, by whose entreaties he had
been restored to his uncle's favour, had made him adore her daughter
with an equal passion. He gazed with wonder at his uncle's insensibility
to his own happiness, and would gladly have led him to the jewel he cast
away, though even his own expulsion should be the fatal consequence.

At last, by accident, Lord Elmwood returned unexpectedly home when
Matilda was descending the staircase, and, in her affright, she fell
motionless into her father's arms. He caught her, as by the same impulse
he would have caught anyone falling for want of aid. Yet, when he found
her in his arms, he still held her there--gazed on her attentively--and
pressed her to his bosom.

At length, trying to escape the snare into which he had been led, he was
going to leave her on the spot where she fell, when her eyes opened, and
she utter