Ellen Middleton-A Tale Part 18

As I was pouring out some tea, my hand trembled--Mrs.

Middleton observed it, and said with a smile, "The effects of dissipation, Ellen. We really must pull up, or we shall have you regularly _nervous_."

"How did you like your ball last night, Ellen?" asked Mr.

Middleton.

"Not at all," I answered, and felt my cheeks grow crimson.

"Edward," said Mrs. Middleton, "you renewed your acquaintance with Mrs. Ernsley last night; did you not?"

"Yes, I had not seen her since my return."

As he said these insignificant words, he sighed deeply. I could not help instantly connecting in my mind this sigh of his with something which I fancied Mrs. Ernsley might have told him of, that had fallen under her observation at Brandon; and I said in a tone of irritation, "I know n.o.body whom I would not talk to rather than to Mrs. Ernsley. She invariably takes a wrong view of people and of things."

Edward looked at me steadily, and again I felt my cheeks flushing; and, in my embarra.s.sment, I exclaimed that the fire was very hot, and got up to place a screen before it. He helped me to carry it, and said in a whisper as he did so, "Do not be ashamed of blushing; there is _truth_ in _that_ at least." After this, I did not open my lips again while breakfast lasted.

When my aunt had left the room, and my uncle was completely engrossed by the newspaper, Edward walked to the chimney, leant his back against it, and, taking hold of my gloves, which were lying on the slab, he twisted them in his hand; and then, as by a sudden effort, said, "Ellen, come here."

I obeyed, and in a voice which I felt was humble, though it tried to be careless and gay, I said--"Give me back my gloves, Edward; you are spoiling them."

He detained them an instant, as I took hold of them, and said half sternly, half tenderly--"Have you nothing to say to me? I thought last night--"

"Oh, last night, I was quite beside myself," I interrupted, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "I talked nonsense to everybody, and you must not call me to account for what I may have said or done."

"I am afraid not," he answered coldly; and, taking up a newspaper, he sat down again at the table.

I remained standing where he had left me, with my eyes fixed upon him, vainly endeavouring to find out some means of appeasing him. Nothing but openness and frankness could reinstate me in his favour: and how could I be open and frank?

What _could_ I tell him that would justify my intimacy with Henry? or account for the agitation which his words had caused me? Nothing; nothing short of the _truth;_ and _that_--oh! how wearied I was with that eternal combat with myself--with that everlasting question, so often asked, and so often answered by my own mind. I absolutely shrunk from discussing it with myself again.

I walked impatiently up and down the room, and when Mrs.

Middleton came in with a note in her hand, which she gave me to read, I felt glad of anything which would break the course of these hara.s.sing thoughts. The note was from Henry, to tell his sister that Alice was poorly, and would be glad to see herself or me.

"Shall you go?" I asked.

"Will you, my love?" she answered. "I expect my father at twelve, and your visit will, I have no doubt, be more acceptable to Alice than mine."

"Is the carriage at the door?" I inquired, and, having ascertained that it was, I ran up-stairs to put on my bonnet.

On my way down, I opened the door of the breakfast-room, to see if Edward was gone. He was alone; and as I came in, he said, "Are you going to see Mrs. Lovell?"

"Yes; she is not well, I hear, and wishes to see me."

"Do you like her as much as you once told me that you did?"

"I do like her, and admire her, as you would too, if you knew her. Oh, how you would approve of her! she is so unlike me!" I added, with a deep sigh.

Edward coloured, and said, "Is she happy with Henry?"

"I do not exactly know if she is happy with him; happy at least in the sense which I attach to the word; but I do know that I ardently wish her to be so, and there is truth in _this_, Edward."

"I believe you," he answered, and held out his hand to me; "I believe you in spite of myself." He hesitated, and seemed to wish to say something more, but just at that moment my uncle called him from the next room; again pressing my hand, he took leave of me, and I got into the carriage, and drove off to -- street.

CHAPTER XII.

When I behold a genius bright and base, Of towering talents, and terrestrial alms, Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, The glorious fragments of a soul immortal With rubbish mixed, and glittering in the dust.

YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.

When I arrived, and was shown into the drawing-room, I found, for the first time, Alice and Henry sitting together; she was looking very pale, and her head was resting on her hand; but when I came in, she smiled, and asked me to sit by her. She said her head ached very much, but that it did not signify; it would be better soon.

I advised her not to keep near her a large nosegay of lilacs and seringa, the odour of which was overpowering.

"I do not think they hurt me," she said; "and it was so kind of him" (looking at Henry) "to get them for me this morning, that it is a pleasure to look at them."

He coloured slightly, as she said this; and taking the jug in which they were, he carried it to the open window.

"I was not aware that they were bad for you, Alice," he said; "but if they are, you must keep them at a distance."

"She is really very unwell," he continued, turning to me; "she has overtired herself completely. Ellen, you must persuade her to give up going to that horrid hospital; she stayed there so many hours yesterday, that it has brought on this feverish attack. The doctor saw her this morning, and says that it comes from nervous exhaustion. You will give it up, Alice; won't you?"

"If you wish it," she answered, in a tone of voice which had a note of sadness in it.

"She stayed there till twelve o'clock last night," (he whispered to me; and there was some emotion in his voice;) "in a little close room, with a dying woman."

"While we were at the ball," I thought to myself; and taking Alice's hand, I kissed it with a feeling like remorse; though, G.o.d knows, I had not wronged her, in word or in thought.

After a few minutes, during which she made a few languid attempts at conversation, her head sunk back on the pillow of the couch, and she fell asleep. Her hands were joined together, and supported her cheek; the transparent paleness of her complexion made her delicately-chiselled features appear as if they were carved out of the purest marble, and in that att.i.tude of perfect repose she looked more beautiful than I had ever yet seen her.

Henry and I sat silently for some time, by the side of her couch. When her regular breathing and her divided lips showed that she had fallen into a deep slumber, he got up and partly closed the shutters; then opening the door of the back sitting-room, he beckoned to me to follow him. I did so; but, putting on my bonnet and shawl at the same time, I prepared to go away immediately.

On which he said to me in a low voice, "Now, Ellen, for once I can speak to you alone, and without interruption, and you must listen to me."

I answered in the same tone, but with the most determined accent, "This tyranny is intolerable, and I cannot submit to it; if, as you have often hinted to me, you have the power and the will to make me miserable,--to destroy the small remnant of happiness which I can ever enjoy,--do so! I am at your mercy."

"At _my_ mercy!" he exclaimed, "at _my_ mercy! Ellen, the time is come when everything must be revealed to you, when there must be no secrets between us; and all I implore is, that you will hear me. It is of the utmost importance to you, even more than for me, that you should do so. I saw by your manner yesterday, and by Edward Middleton's also, that subjects of such vital importance as those we have to discuss together cannot be carried on in common conversation, without conveying an impression which might be injurious to your reputation; and you cannot imagine how much this idea has tormented me. Your peace of mind, your reputation, Ellen, are dearer to me than life itself; and such love as mine cannot be selfish--"

"Henry, Henry, your very words belie you. I am indeed fallen low in your eyes, since you, the husband of another, dare to speak of love to me."

"Not of such love as mine. You do not think, Ellen, you cannot believe that I am such a wretch as here, in my own house, with my wife ill in that next room, to speak to you of my love with any object but that of proving to you, that to the uttermost of my power I will guard you from the evils which hang over your head. Be calm, Ellen; be reasonable, I implore you (he continued, as I wrung my hands, and then clasped them in an att.i.tude of despair;) Alice did not close her eyes last night.

After undergoing great fatigue, she is now fallen asleep, and will probably slumber on for some hours. We may never have another such opportunity of speaking without restraint or interruption; and nothing can seem more natural than that you should remain here, and be ready to comfort and amuse her when she does wake."

"Deceit! deceit! everlasting deceit!" I exclaimed, as I sunk down on a chair which he had placed for me near the window.

"How my soul loathes it, how I hate and despise myself!"

"But will it not be some comfort to you, Ellen, to open your heart to me? Have I not been a friend to you? You see how guarded I am--how careful to choose words that can neither shock nor offend you. Show me confidence, show me kindness, and you can obtain from me every effort that a man can make, every sacrifice which a woman can require from one whose whole soul is bound up in her, whose existence but one long dream of her... But this is not what I meant to say," he exclaimed, abruptly, and getting up, he walked up and down the room, and pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes: then sitting down again, he said, "I had better begin by giving you an account of the circ.u.mstances of my life, which will explain the difficulties I have been entangled in, the sufferings I have endured, aggravated by remorse, and by the consciousness that I had brought them on myself."