Mystery and Confidence Volume Ii Part 10

"I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!"

"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her--"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. G.o.d defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a _Rosolia_ and an _Ellen_: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"

"For G.o.d's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"

"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."

"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and calm her wounded mind."

But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him: delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace--_and I too am innocent_?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous a.s.surances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith in _his_ integrity and honour, a.s.surances which he had so ill repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:

"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not forgive me?"

"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's _wife_, not the wretch he calls me: why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my _shame_ and _ruin_?"

"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"

"Take away the b.l.o.o.d.y sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did _not_ murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me believe St. Aubyn guilty:--I promised him;--he says he is innocent; enough, my love, enough, Ellen will _never doubt you_!" and again she breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."

"She will die! she will die!" wildly exclaimed St. Aubyn, starting up: "run for more help! fetch all the physicians in London. Oh! have I lived to this!"

"You will kill her indeed," said Laura, "if you are not quiet: leave her to us. Doctor B---- will again be here in a few minutes: he says if she can but be quiet, can but be made to understand, all is well; she will recover; but indeed, my Lord, you must leave her now."

"No, Laura, I will not go; I will sit here without speaking; but should she recover her senses, if only for a minute, it will I know comfort her to see me here."

This Laura could readily believe, and therefore made no further objection; but Doctor B---- arriving soon after, comforted them all with the a.s.surance, that though the Countess's fever at present ran high, he had great hopes that perfect quietude, and the medicines he had ordered, would, in all probability, do much for her, especially, aided as they were by youth and an excellent const.i.tution, and that he saw no immediate danger. He strictly enjoined, however, that her chamber might be kept as still as possible, and that at most only two persons should remain there: he entreated St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana to retire, and having prevailed on them to do so, he told Miss Cecil he wished her to be as much as possible one of Lady St. Aubyn's attendants.

"As to Lady Juliana," said he, "she is so very anxious and restless; she will only disturb our fair patient: you, my dear Miss Cecil, I perceive have that happy self-possession, joined with gentleness and activity, which alone can make a good nurse; your voice too is particularly calculated to sooth and persuade a sick person:--you may smile, but believe me, few know how many qualifications are requisite to form a good superintendent of a sick bed, and amongst them I have always found a soft but distinct articulation one of the most considerable.

Think only how a nervous patient is what is emphatically called _worried_ by a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a tone, or sudden question. I a.s.sure you I have often seen weak persons thrown into a fever by these apparently trifling causes; let me, therefore, beg Miss Cecil will take upon herself the task of replying to any questions the Countess may ask, but in as few words as possible: the moment reason returns, sooth her mind by every a.s.surance that the danger she so much feared is over. I shall see Lord St. Aubyn before I quit the house, and place before him the evil to be dreaded, should he pursue this unfortunate business any farther."

CHAP. IX.

Doubt shall for ever quit my strengthen'd heart, And anxious jealousy's corroding smart: Nor other inmate shall inhabit there, But soft belief, young joy, and pleasing care.

PRIOR'S HENRY AND EMMA.

The medicines ordered by her skilful physician had so salutary an effect, that towards midnight Ellen fell into a quiet sleep, from which every thing favourable might be expected. Lady Juliana was therefore prevailed on to retire to bed, Miss Cecil, Jane, and the housekeeper, sitting up with Lady St. Aubyn, the two latter in the anti-chamber. But Lady Juliana was far from being satisfied, notwithstanding the a.s.surances of St. Aubyn that all was at an end between him and Ross: she knew him too well to believe he would pa.s.s over insults so marked; and her watchfulness had convinced her no apology from Ross, in writing or otherwise, had been received. Sir Edward Leicester, too, had called once or twice in the course of the day; and though she had tormented him and her nephew, by resolutely remaining in the room in defiance of the hints St. Aubyn gave of wishing to be alone with his friend, yet she overheard a few words, that more and more convinced her a duel was intended. She left orders, therefore, to be called by day-break; and unable to prevail on St. Aubyn to go to bed, wearied and exhausted by emotions, which, at her time of life, she could ill support, she at length left him to himself.

Determined as he was to meet Ross in the morning, and avoiding reflections, which, though he felt how decisive they were against the practice of duelling, he yet thought came too late. St. Aubyn's frame was shaken by various sensations. Recollection of the past, and terror for the future, hung heavily upon him; yet not for himself he feared: but should any thing amiss happen to him, what would become of Ellen--of Ellen, whom he should leave upon a bed of sickness, which, then he felt convinced, would be to her the bed of death!

"And was it for this," he exclaimed, as he paced his study, "for this I drew her from her native shades, where, happy and contented, but for me she might have blossomed still. Oh! little, my Ellen, hast thou had cause to rejoice in that elevation which doubtless many have envied thee. Too often have I been to thee the mysterious cause of sorrow and anxiety. Perhaps I shall have been also the cause of thine untimely end."

The idea so dreadfully shook him, he dared no longer think, lest it should quite unman him; but determined to look upon her once more, he took the taper, which burnt beside him, and, with light steps, pa.s.sed to her apartment. In the anti-room he found the housekeeper and Jane both sleeping in their chairs: all was profoundly still, and he began to fear Ellen was left without a wakeful guard; but at the sound of his footsteps, almost noiseless as they were, and the approaching light, for the bed-room door was open for air, Laura Cecil stole to meet him: she motioned to him to be silent, and advancing a few steps into the anti-room, said, in the lowest whisper, "For heaven's sake, Lord St.

Aubyn, why this--why are you not retired to rest?"

"Ah, Laura! dear, kind Laura," he exclaimed, grasping her hand, "how could I rest, while that injured, perhaps that murdered angel lies suffering thus, and through my fault, through my accursed, headlong jealousy!"

"Deeply, indeed," said Laura, "do I lament that appearances should have thus misled you, my Lord, and am indeed astonished at it: had you but waited one hour, ere you so harshly condemned, from me you might have learned her perfect innocence: she pressed me to go with her this morning, which my having a bad head-ache prevented: she told me where she was going, shewed me the letter she had received, detailed her kind plans for relieving the poor widow, and mentioned not having explained her intentions to you, lest you should prevent her going; and she wished so much, she said, to see the _poor little infant_; certainly she did not mention any intention of going to that fatal house where you found her, and which, I am a.s.sured, she never thought of till pa.s.sing the top of the street she recollected the book she so much valued, and which I one day heard her tell Jane to call for; but all this is now unavailing: let me beg you to retire: should the murmur of our voices disturb her, I shall indeed greatly lament it."

"Oh, let me look upon her--once more let me see her! Will she die? Is it possible she may recover?"

"It is very possible, almost certain, from her sleeping so quietly, if you do not disturb her: but think, if she should awake and see you, at this strange hour, with those distracted looks!"

"Yet I must see her _now_--yes, Laura, I must venture all; for how do I know if I shall ever see her more!"

"For heaven's sake, what do you mean? Surely, surely you do not think of--you are not meditating----"

"No matter what," said he hastily; "I must see her _now_."

Laura shrunk back astonished and dismayed; but feeling that he would not be contradicted, she again, with light steps, approached the bed; where, in a profound sleep, the effect of opiates, lay Ellen, "fair lily, and whiter than her sheets;" and but that in the stillness of night her quick short breathings were distinctly heard, it could hardly have been known she lived.

Laura then beckoned St. Aubyn to approach, which he did with trembling steps, and shaded by the curtain, gazed wistfully upon her. Overcome by the touching spectacle of youth, beauty, and innocence, in a few hours almost destroyed by his rash jealousy, the tears now ran down his manly cheeks; and hardly could he restrain the groans which heaved his bosom, while Laura's eyes streamed at the affecting sight before her. At that moment Ellen moved a little, and they both retreated, that if she opened her eyes she might not see them; but she still slept; and only murmuring "dear St. Aubyn," and a few inarticulate words, she was again silent.

Again St. Aubyn asked Laura if it were possible she could recover, and she a.s.sured him that Ellen already looked better than she had done an hour before; and at last, after he had knelt and imprinted a soft kiss on one of her hands, which lay on the counterpane, and lifted up his heart to heaven, in silent prayer for her recovery, he was prevailed on to quit the room.

The rest of the night St. Aubyn spent in settling some papers, and adding a few lines to his will, all of which he locked into a drawer, and sealing up the key, directed it to Lady Juliana.

At day-break his valet, according to order, came to him. To this confidential servant St. Aubyn explained the cause of his going from home so early, and left the pacquet for Lady Juliana in his care, to be delivered to her, should he not return in safety. He then sent to inquire of Jane for her lady, and had the happiness of hearing a favourable account of her. St. Aubyn then set off, attended only by one servant, to the house of Sir Edward Leicester, whose carriage was at the door, and they instantly proceeded to Wimbledon, where, on the spot marked in Charles Ross's letter, they alighted; and telling the coachman to draw off, and wait at a place they pointed out to him, the two friends walked up and down some time, expecting Ross.

In about ten minutes they saw him approaching, but alone: St. Aubyn just touched his hat, and said, "Mr. Ross, where is your friend?"

"My Lord," said Ross, in a firm tone, "I am here, not to fight, not to double the injuries you have already received from me, but to make every concession you can desire. I have brought no friend with me; I trust my honour and my life implicitly in your hands. Are you prepared to hear my explanation?--if not, I am ready to stand your fire."

"I know not, Sir," said St. Aubyn, haughtily, "what has caused this sudden alteration in your sentiments: this meeting was at your own request; and the insults you bestowed on Lady St. Aubyn yesterday make me as desirous of it now as you were when you appointed it."

"Yet, my Lord," said Sir Edward, "hear Mr. Ross: if this affair can be accommodated without bloodshed, I think myself called upon to insist it shall be so."

St. Aubyn bowed with a lofty air to Ross, and said:--

"Well, Sir, your explanation if you please."

Ross now entered into a long detail of the circ.u.mstances which had misled him, stated his fears of St. Aubyn under the name of Mordaunt, when he first saw him at Llanwyllan; that no letters from thence had reached him on the station where he had remained for the last half year, till, about a month before his ship had come home, and he had been ordered to London to receive a promotion as unexpected as it was welcome; that he happened to lodge at Mrs. Birtley's, and by chance, finding the volume of Gray Lady St. Aubyn had left there, he recognized the initials "C. F. M. to E. P." in the first page, which the words "Dear Llanwyllan," written in another, confirmed. The answer Mrs.

Birtley made to his impatient questions had convinced him who the Mr.

and Mrs. Mordaunt she spoke of were: this woman had given him also such accounts as led him to believe they were not married, and hence his mad insulting conduct at the theatre had arisen. He next repeated so accurately every word that had pa.s.sed between him and Ellen, and described their mutual astonishment at meeting so unexpectedly in such a natural manner, that had St. Aubyn doubted before, he could have done so no longer.

"Yet," said Ross, "convinced as I now was how wrong I had been, I could not prevail on myself to apologize to one whom I confess I hated, for he had robbed me of the only woman I ever loved; yet she had never, even in the happy hours of our youth, given me the slightest hope of ever obtaining more than the affection of a sister from her, and even that seemed at times more the effect of habit than choice; for rough and unpolished, my manners repulsed, and choleric and hasty my temper, alarmed the gentle Ellen; yet I still flattered myself, time, and the retired situation in which she lived preventing her extraordinary beauty from being known, might have done much for me; but from the moment Mr.

Mordaunt was known to her, I easily perceived that hope was at an end; and now I had only to desire that I might fall by the hand of the man who had raised her to that greatness. I could have done no more than wish for her; I therefore determined to keep my engagement for this morning. But yesterday it came to my knowledge that the promotion intended for me had been granted to the solicitations of Lord St. Aubyn.

Struck, ashamed at the base ingrat.i.tude of my conduct, I resolved at length to make every explanation, every concession. I have done so, and now, my Lord, it rests with you to accept this apology: if you refuse it, I am ready to stand your fire, for never will I lift my hand in a cause so unjust, and against a man, who, without my knowledge, had so generously befriended me."

"I told you before, Mr. Ross," said St. Aubyn, "that for your excellent father's sake I would overlook that in you which in another man I would instantly have resented. I am not of a vindictive spirit, and the practice of duelling, though I have in some measure been forced to countenance it, is against my principles. You are at liberty, Sir, to retire; I am satisfied."

"I dare not, my Lord," said Ross, "attempt to offer any thanks for the kindness you intended me in my professional career; still less can I consent to profit by it: I have not deserved it at your hands, and declining the promotion offered to me, I shall return to my ship, and leave England as soon as possible, and I hope for ever."

St. Aubyn's generous spirit was moved by this renunciation.