l manners, to which I myself have exposed her."

Again--"I have drawn upon myself the just upbraidings of my faithful
preceptor and friend; of the man in whose judgment it was my delight to
be approved--above all, I have drawn upon myself the stings of my
conscience."

"Where shall I pass this sleepless night?" cried he, walking repeatedly
across his chamber; "Can I go to the ladies? I am unworthy of their
society. Shall I go and repose my disturbed mind on Sandford? I am
ashamed to tell him the cause of my uneasiness. Shall I go to Lord
Frederick, and humbling myself before him, beg his forgiveness? He would
spurn me for a coward. No"----(and he lifted up his eyes to Heaven) "Thou
all great, all wise and omnipotent Being, Thou whom I have most
offended, it is to Thee alone that I have recourse in this hour of
tribulation, and from Thee alone I solicit comfort. And the confidence
in which I now address myself to Thee, encouraged by that long
intercourse which religion has effected, repays me amply in this one
moment, for the many years of my past life devoted with my best, though
imperfect, efforts to thy service."

CHAPTER XIV.

Although Miss Milner had not foreseen any fatal event resulting from the
indignity offered to Lord Frederick, yet she passed a night very
different from those to which she had been accustomed. No sooner was she
falling into a sleep, than a thousand vague, but distressing, ideas
darted across her imagination. Her heart would sometimes whisper to her
when she was half asleep, "Lord Frederick is banished from you for
ever." She shakes off the uneasiness this idea brings along with it--she
then starts, and sees the blow still aimed at him by Dorriforth. No
sooner has she driven away this painful image, than she is again
awakened by beholding her guardian at her feet sueing for pardon. She
sighs, she trembles, and is chilled with terror.

Relieved by tears, towards the morning she sinks into a slumber, but
waking, finds the same images crowding all together upon her mind: she
is doubtful to which to give the preference--one, however, rushes the
foremost, and continues so. She knows not the fatal consequence of
ruminating, nor why she dwells upon that, more than upon all the rest,
but it will give place to none.

She rises languid and disordered, and at breakfast, adds fresh pain to
Dorriforth by her altered appearance.

He had scarce left the room, when an officer waited upon him wit