p the house, I went up to the sitting-room with the
expectation of seeing Miss Trevannion, and bidding her farewell. I was
not disappointed; I found her at her netting, having just lighted the
lamp which hung over the table.
"Miss Trevannion," said I, advancing respectfully towards her, "I
have fulfilled my promise, and I have received my reward"--she looked
up at me--"which is, I am dismissed from this house and your presence
for ever."
"I trust," said she, after a pause, "that you have not exceeded my
wishes. It appears to me so strange, that I must think that such is
the case. My father never could have dismissed you in this way for
merely expressing an opinion, Mr. Elrington. You must have gone too
far."
"Miss Trevannion, when you meet your father, you can then ascertain
whether I have been guilty of intemperance or rudeness, or a proper
want of respect in making the communication--which I did in exactly
the manner you yourself proposed, and my reward has been such as I
state."
"You have a better reward, Mr. Elrington, if what you assert is really
correct. You have the reward of having done your duty; but I cannot
imagine that your dismissal has arisen from the mere expression of an
opinion. You'll excuse me, Mr. Elrington, that as a daughter, I
cannot, in justice to a much respected father, believe that such is
the case."
This was said in so cold a manner, that I was nettled to the highest
degree. Miss Trevannion had promised me her gratitude, instead of
which I felt that she was doubting my word, and, as it were, taking
the side of her father against me. And this was the return from her. I
could have upbraided her, and told her what I felt; namely, that she
had taken advantage of my feelings towards her to make me a cat's-paw
to obtain her end with her father; and that now, having failed, I was
left to my fate, without even commiseration; but she looked so calm,
so grave, and so beautiful, that I could not do it. I commanded my
wounded feelings, and replied:
"Since I have the misfortune to meet the displeasure of the daughter
as well as of the father, Miss Trevannion, I have not another word to
say, but farewell, and may you prosper."
My voice faltered as I said the last words, and, bowing to her, I
quitted the room. Miss Trevannion did not even say farewell to me, but
I thought that her lips appeared to move, as quitting the room I took
my last look upon her beautiful face. I shut the door after
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