stupified, and stood looking like a child who had accidentally cut the string which confined the wheels of some powerful machinery, on hearing its fearful clatter above its head.
"Oh, madam, madam!" cried Emma, wringing her hands, "what will become of us? Your Majesty has offended Lord Edmund for ever, and for that wretch, who, I am certain, is a fiend incarnate!"
"Peace, Emma!" said Elvira, "you forget my rank—I will not be dictated to."
"Pardon me, dear madam, you know I love you, and—"
"I know, also, that you presume upon my love. Begone!"
Emma obeyed, and Elvira was left alone.
Dreadfully agitated, and quite unable to compose herself or arrange the chaos of her thoughts, she walked to the windows of the pavilion, and, opening one of them, looked out upon the gardens. It is already said that these delightful grounds were thrown open to the public; but, in consequence of the ease with which they might be enjoyed, a few half-pay
