hought her
unworthy of all pardon.

CHAPTER V.

Six weeks have now elapsed since Miss Milner has been in London
partaking with delight all its pleasures, while Dorriforth has been
sighing with apprehension, attending to her with precaution, and praying
with zealous fervour for her safety. Her own and her guardian's
acquaintance, and, added to them, the new friendships (to use the
unmeaning language of the world) which she was continually forming,
crowded so perpetually to the house, that seldom had Dorriforth even a
moment left him from her visits or visitors, to warn her of her
danger:--yet when a moment offered, he caught it eagerly--pressed the
necessity of "Time not always passed in society; of reflection; of
reading; of thoughts for a future state; and of virtues acquired to make
old age supportable." That forcible power of genuine feeling, which
directs the tongue to eloquence, had its effect while she listened to
him, and she sometimes put on the looks and gesture of assent--sometimes
even spoke the language of conviction; but this the first call of
dissipation would change to ill-timed raillery, or peevish remonstrance,
at being limited in delights her birth and fortune entitled her to
enjoy.

Among the many visitors who attended at her levees, and followed her
wherever she went, there was one who seemed, even when absent from her,
to share her thoughts. This was Lord Frederick Lawnly, the younger son
of a Duke, and the avowed favourite of all the most discerning women of
taste.

He was not more than twenty-three; animated, elegant, extremely
handsome, and possessed of every accomplishment that would captivate a
heart less susceptible of love than Miss Milner's was supposed to be.
With these allurements, no wonder if she took pleasure in his company--no
wonder if she took pride in having it known that he was among the number
of her devoted admirers. Dorriforth beheld this growing intimacy with
alternate pain and pleasure--he wished to see Miss Milner married, to see
his charge in the protection of another, rather than of himself; yet
under the care of a young nobleman, immersed in all the vices of the
town, without one moral excellence, but such as might result eventually
from the influence of the moment--under such care he trembled for her
happiness--yet trembled more lest her heart should be purloined without
even the authority of matrimonial views.

With sentiments like these, Dorriforth could