sacrificed her own and her husband's future peace; she did not, however,
elope with her paramour, but escaped to shelter herself in the most
dreary retreat, where she partook of no comfort but the still
unremitting friendship of Miss Woodley. Even her child she left behind,
that she might be under her father's protection. Conceive, then, how
sharp her agony was on beholding the child sent after her as the
perpetual outcast of its father. Lord Elmwood's love to his wife had
been extravagant--the effect of his hate was the same. Once more he met
Lord Frederick 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