Mystery and Confidence Volume I Part 2

Ross never approved of her or Joanna's learning such things; if he had, he could have instructed them, at least as well as Mr. Mordaunt." "Very true; I did not think of that--well, we will talk to Ellen about it: you will find her at home; I left her busy at work: do speak your mind to her a little; I shall be guided by you and Mr. Ross in all things, seeing you understand such matters better than I do." They then parted, and Mrs. Ross a few minutes after arrived at the Farm; and on walking into the usual sitting-room, instead of finding Ellen at work, she found her surrounded with books and maps, and Mordaunt seated by her side, one arm rested on the back of her chair, while the other was engaged in tracing with the end of his pencil some lines on the map on which Ellen was looking: she was too intently engaged to observe Mrs. Ross's entrance, who stood suspended a moment, while she heard Mordaunt say, "And here, Ellen, here is Northampton--this is the road to Aubyn Castle; and just here----" "What here?" said Ellen, eagerly placing her finger on the spot she supposed to be that on which Mordaunt's habitation stood. "Is it here your house stands?" "Very near that precise spot,"

replied Mordaunt, drawing her hand gently away, and retaining it in his own, while his expressive eyes were fixed on her face: "very near it is my residence; but it is so far from Llanwyllan, that I begin to detest it, and to dread the thoughts of returning to it.--But what am I doing?"

said he, with a deep sigh: "Oh, Ellen, I dare not tell you all my thoughts!" Ellen blushed, sighed, withdrew her hand, and accidentally glancing her eyes upwards, saw Mrs. Ross standing in the door-way, with astonishment, anger, and vexation, painted on her countenance. Ellen started, half screamed, and rose so hastily, she almost overset the table before her. "Bless me, Ma'am," she exclaimed, "I did not see you--I did not know--" "No, I dare say not, Miss Ellen; you were a great deal too much engaged to see or think of me: your servant, Sir. I beg I may not keep you standing; at least _I_ shall sit down, for _I_ am not going yet."

This gentle hint was intended to tell Mordaunt that she meant to outstay him; but she looked at Ellen with "eyes so full of anger," and Ellen turned so pale, and looked so alarmed, that Mordaunt thought he would at least give Mrs. Ross time to cool a little, before he left them together. Ellen began, in much confusion, to gather the books and maps together. "I am sorry to disturb you, but I did not expect," said Mrs.

Ross, "to find you engaged in this manner, at this time of day, whatever you might chuse to do in an evening. I met your father, and he told me you were busy at work, or in the dairy: but," added she, in a low voice, "those things are not thought of _now_." "Indeed, Ma'am," said Ellen, blushing, while the tears started in her eyes, at being so lectured before Mordaunt, "indeed, I had just finished what I had to do in the dairy to-day, and had begun the work you desired me to do, when Mr.

Mordaunt accidentally came in, and the maps we had been looking at last night lying in the window, he was just shewing me--" "Oh, it is all mighty well," interrupted Mrs. Ross; "I have no authority to interfere, I am sure, and do not wish to be impertinent. Pray, Sir," added she, turning to Mordaunt, "_do you stay much longer at Llanwyllan_?" "So,"

thought Mordaunt, "my turn is coming next. I hope, Madam," added he, smiling, "I shall not stay long enough to tire my friends." "Oh, I dare say not, Sir; I dare say you are _pretty sure of that_." This coa.r.s.e and cruel hint covered Ellen with the deepest crimson; and Mordaunt, while his face was scarlet, and his eyes sparkled with an indignation he with difficulty repressed, said, in a lofty tone, "I have not, at least, Madam, been accustomed to incur such a misfortune, and therefore flatter myself I have now done nothing to deserve it." He rose with dignity, and approaching Ellen, who sat almost motionless, he took her trembling hand, bowed respectfully upon it, and said, "I shall do myself the honour of attending your father and yourself, Miss Powis, in the evening." Then slightly bowing to Mrs. Ross, he departed. "Good lack, good lack," said Mrs. Ross, who, awed by his manner, had been silent a moment, "what a dainty speech! The honour of attending Miss Powis! well, what will this world come to! Why, Ellen, child, you are spoilt for a farmer's wife, and will soon begin to fancy yourself a lady indeed."

Ellen, whose spirits were now totally subdued, wept bitterly, and said, "I am sure, Madam, I do not know how I have deserved to be treated thus."

Softened by her distress, for with all her sharpness, Mrs. Ross loved Ellen, and really had her welfare at heart, she began to relent, and said more softly, "Why now, Ellen, child, hear me. Do you think it is right or creditable for a young girl like you to be constantly receiving the visits of such a man as Mr. Mordaunt? Tell me, Ellen, will he make you his wife?"

This was a question Ellen had never dared to ask herself. In the beautiful language of Shakespeare, which Mordaunt had lately given her, and with which she was so enchanted, she often allowed herself only three hours sleep in a night, that she might find time to read, she had often repeated to herself--

---- It were all one, That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it: he is so above me; In his bright radiance, and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.

This question from Mrs. Ross, therefore, struck her heart with a pang of unutterable anguish, and she felt almost dying, while she owned, that so far from offering her his hand, Mordaunt had never spoken one word of love to her. Mrs. Ross, however, was rather pleased at the latter part of this confession, for she began to fear worse for the innocent and guileless Ellen than the capture of her heart; that, she had no doubt, might soon be retrieved when Mordaunt quitted the country, and Ellen could have no farther acquaintance with him; but she had begun to fear that his views were such as might involve Ellen in infamy, as well as misfortune: these fears, however, she had feeling enough to conceal from their object, and only dwelt upon the trouble she was preparing for herself, by giving so much of her time and regard to a man who, it evidently appeared, had no thoughts of her. In vain did Ellen murmur the word "Friendship," and faintly protest neither Mordaunt nor herself had the least idea of any thing beyond. Mrs. Ross, though her knowledge of the world was not extensive, knew enough to be convinced of the fallacy of such pretensions, and she ceased not till she drew from the dejected Ellen a promise to see less of Mordaunt, and to regain, as speedily as possible, her former mode of life. "And let me, Ellen, also, see you looking blooming and merry again," said she. "I wish, with all my heart, this man had never found his way to Llanwyllan: you used to be active, industrious, and happy; not a care to distress you, not a trouble to take away your colour; but now Charles would not know you again."

"Charles!" thought Ellen, while a strange feeling, not unmingled with indignant comparison, swelled her heart, and gave a transient colour to her cheek. "What is Charles to me? Why am I always to be teased about him? They will teach me to hate, instead of loving him." "Well, Ellen, may I suppose you will take my advice?" "Certainly, Ma'am," said Ellen, with a deep sigh; "but," added she, hesitating, "you know, Ma'am, Mr.

Mordaunt said he would be here this evening. You would not wish me--it would look very particular, very rude." "Never mind that. Come, you say you have done all you had to do in the dairy, so put on your hat, take your work, and come and dine with us like a good girl, as you used to be; you can leave word you were obliged to go out, and the sooner you let him see you are determined to avoid him the better." Ellen dared not refuse; she hesitated some excuse about her father's dining alone, which Mrs. Ross obviated by saying he would only run home, and take his dinner, and out again, and would not want her. Waiting, therefore, while poor Ellen put on her hat, and bathed her eyes, she dragged her away with her, and kept her all day at the Parsonage. Nay, under pretence of finishing their work, she would not suffer either Ellen or Joanna to stir out, though the weather was beautiful. Late in the evening Mr. Ross came in; he spoke with such particular kindness, and in so soothing a tone to Ellen, that the tears, which she had with difficulty restrained all day, ran down her cheeks, and she hastily rose, under pretence of looking at the moon, and went to the open window: there leaning her head over the window-seat, into which the jasmine crept, she hoped the torrents of tears she was shedding might fall un.o.bserved; but the good Ross, who had followed her, and now stood at a small distance from her, perceived, by her air and action, that she was weeping, though no one else noticed it; for Ellen's was

"Mute, silent sorrow, free from female noise, Such as the majesty of grief destroys."

He was distressed to see her sorrow, and gently approaching, he took her hand, (while she, half starting, turned her head aside) and said, "My dear Ellen, I lament to see you so dejected; a.s.sure yourself, we love you as our own child, and would in all things consult your happiness.

But reflect, my dear, on the change a few short weeks have produced: this man, this Mordaunt; nay, blush not, Ellen; for who can doubt it is on his account you weep--I own him elegant in person, polished in manners,

"Complete in person and in mind, With all good grace to grace a gentleman!"

"But what has he been to you? A friend! No, Ellen; he found you cheerful, contented with your lot, and happily engaged in the active duties of your station. What has he done for you? He has inspired you with views above the state where Providence has placed you. He has made your former useful occupations, your former simple friends, insipid to you; he has sought to give a degree of refinement to your taste, of delicacy to your sentiments, of which I well know nature has made you fully capable; but unless he means to transplant you to a soil where these flowers may flourish, believe me, Ellen, he has done you no kindness. He has only prepared for you years of anguish, of vain regret, of useless discontent, which will for ever destroy not only the glow upon your cheek, but the spring and elasticity of your mind. I will not ask you what are his professions; I will only suppose, that if they are serious, your father and your friends would not be strangers to them."

Here Ellen sunk into a chair, and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Ross and Joanna, seeing that Ross was talking to her, had stolen out of the room. "It grieves me to distress you, my dear girl," said the benevolent Ross, and his gentle voice became tremulous; "but, Ellen, let my experience benefit you. There are characters in the world of which your innocent nature can form no idea. I will not offend your delicacy, nor indeed my own belief, by supposing, for an instant, that Mordaunt is one of those villains who seek the seduction of innocence."

Here Ellen started from her chair, her clasped hands, glowing cheeks, and throbbing bosom, bespeaking an indignant agitation, which would not be controlled. Ross, gently reseating her, said, "Ellen, I wrong not you; I wrong not him, so much as to imagine such a possibility; but there are men, who, though they lead not so decidedly to guilt, yet lead as certainly to misery acute as aught but guilt can make it: and that only for the gratification of a mean and sordid vanity, inconceivable by such as have not witnessed its effects. I had once a sister, Ellen, fair almost as yourself, as gentle, and as virtuous; possessed of a sensibility that was at once her grace and her misfortune. In early life, it fortuned that she met with one of those practised deceivers, who united talents the most superior to manners the most enchanting. By a long series of quiet and silent attentions, by studying her tastes, devoting his time to her, he, without ever addressing to her a word of love, led her, and all who knew her, to believe he was her lover, and would be her husband. At last she was told that such was his usual practice, when he met with any woman who was superior to those around her; but she felt indignant at the accusation, and would not believe it till that belief was forced upon her, by seeing him going over the same ground with another. 'She pined in thought;' and a hectic complaint, to which she was subject, gained fast upon her. A mutual friend came to an explanation with him, while the mean wretch declared he had never made any profession to her, and never even thought of marrying her; but that the world would talk, and he wondered she did not despise it, as he did.

A few months terminated the existence of the injured creature. Sweet Emily! thy gentle spirit fled to those regions where no deceit could further betray thee. The wretch at last met his fate in a duel with the brother of one whom he had sought to mislead, as he had done the unfortunate Emily." Ross's voice here failed, and both were silent.

"a.s.sure yourself, Ellen," at length resumed Ross, "I was not blind to your talents, and your love of knowledge; and many have been my struggles against the strong inclination I felt to become your instructor. My own children had not, I easily saw, such minds as yours, and I longed to cultivate your vigorous understanding. I resisted, though the temptation was aided by the wish I felt to secure to myself a future companion and a.s.sistant in the studies I best loved. Why, Ellen, did I resist? What was the powerful motive which prevented my yielding to such united inducements? It was a wish to secure your welfare and your happiness, which I thought would be most certainly effected by limiting your acquirements to something like an equality with those amongst whom you seemed fated to live. I may have erred in judgment; and since the bent of your inclination so determinately points towards the acquisition of knowledge, I am willing to suppose that I have done so. I will then, Ellen, be your tutor: we will, with Mrs. Ross's a.s.sistance, so arrange your hours, that your new employments shall not interfere with your domestic duties; and let me hope, my dear, that the same strength of mind, which so eagerly leads you to literary pursuits, will be manifested in conquering any sentiment too tender for your peace, which may have been excited by one, who, I fear, has merely had in view his own gratification. Should I wrong him--should he hereafter prove that he feels a sincere affection for you, and seeks your happiness, great will be my joy: no selfish or personal consideration shall influence my wishes on this subject. I had hoped that Charles might have been happy with the object of his first affections; but that I see is not _at present_ likely: fear, therefore, no persecution on that subject, either from me, or his mother and sister."

Ross was silent; and Ellen, who had hitherto remained so from the mingled feelings of pride, regret, and tenderness, which swelled her heart, now fearing to seem sullen, faintly articulated, "You are very good and kind: I will be all I can--all, if possible, you wish me to be."

Ross, seeing the variety of emotions she had that day undergone had quite exhausted her, advised her to retire to bed, saying she had better sleep there, and in the morning they would talk a little further on her future plans. Ellen, however unwillingly, how much soever her rebellious heart longed to return home, in the hope of seeing Mordaunt if but for a minute, yet felt that Ross had acted so kindly and so wisely, that his reasoning was so founded on truth, that she determined "in all her best to obey him." She retired therefore to the chamber she and Joanna had so often occupied, when no care disturbed their repose, when "sleep sat upon her eyes, peace in her breast." But ah! how changed! Exhausted, wan, and spiritless; her eyes heavy with weeping; her heart agitated with a thousand contending reflections, Ellen long vainly sought repose.

Joanna was unusually kind and affectionate--she said little; and all she said was tender and endearing. Ellen felt truly grateful for this goodness, and found her love for her early friend revive, now the roughness which abated it was once more laid aside. At length, thoroughly wearied with the occurrences of the day, "tired Nature's kind restorer--balmy sleep," came to her aid, "and steeped her senses in forgetfulness."

CHAP. VII.

Grief was heavy at her heart, And tears began to flow!

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, His gentle accents fell.

GOLDSMITH'S HERMIT.

In the morning Mrs. Ross and Joanna left Mr. Ross and Ellen together for a few minutes: he drew his chair close to hers, and said, "Do not think, Ellen, I wish to tease or distress you; but tell me, will it not be better that you remain our guest for the present? You cannot, when left alone at Llanwyllan, refuse to admit Mr. Mordaunt without a particularity which it is on all accounts better to avoid: but here, even if he comes, you may see him with propriety; and when he finds no opportunity of entertaining you alone, he will probably cease to visit us, and perhaps leave Llanwyllan altogether." His mild expressive eyes glanced over Ellen's countenance: he saw her shrink and tremble at the painful idea he had excited; and while her every feature expressed the most exquisite anguish, the good man gently sighed, and removing his eyes from her face, endeavoured to conceal his knowledge of her distress. As he seemed to wait her answer, Ellen made a strong effort, and said, "The plan you propose, Sir, is undoubtedly the best: if you will be troubled with me, I will remain as long as you please." This matter settled, Ross undertook to reconcile Powis to spare Ellen for a short time; and reading her apprehensions in her countenance, said softly, "Fear not: I will give him sufficient reasons, without exciting his displeasure, or even his suspicion of our real motive." Ross accordingly went to the Farm, and meeting with Powis in one of the fields near the house, he told him that Ellen was not quite well, though better than she had been the night before, and therefore his wife wished to detain her a few days at the Parsonage to remove her cold, and would herself visit the Farm for an hour or two, to settle the concerns of the dairy, poultry-yard, &c. &c. and that they should be very glad to see him in the evening, or at any of their meals, when he could make it convenient. These little arrangements between the two families had till very lately been so frequent, that Powis felt not the least surprize, though he owned he was sorry Ellen had not come home the night before, as Mr. Mordaunt had seemed rather hurt about it; "And he has been so very civil and kind, you know, neighbour Ross, that one would not wish to affront him." So perfectly unsuspicious was this good man, that not a thought crossed his mind of the possible intention of Mordaunt's visits; and secure in Ellen's fancied affection for Charles Ross, he never dreamt of her thinking of any other man. Ross silently acquiesced in what he said, and then went into the house to deliver some directions to the servant, and which, he said, Mrs. Ross should go herself in the course of the day to see executed. In the common sitting-room Ross found the maps and books at which Mordaunt and Ellen had been looking the preceding day (his wife had told him the circ.u.mstances of her visit): he was rather surprized at the neatness and even elegance of their binding, though merely what might be called school-books in geography and grammar, and found that the maps were excellent and expensive. On the window lay a beautifully bound volume or two of Shakespeare, Thomson's Seasons, marked and underlined at the description of Lavinia, Cowper's Poems, and two or three others; in all of which was written, "Ellen Powis, the gift of her friend Constantine." And in two or three were short pa.s.sages in Italian and French, written in a small hand with a pencil, expressive of admiration and regard, and evidently applied to Ellen. From one of them dropt the following

STANZAS TO THE MOON.

Oh, thou bright moon! whose beams, however fair, So lately my sad eyes unheeding saw; Whose soothing light from its unceasing care, My heavy soul so vainly strove to draw; I bid thee witness now, that pale despair, Her comfortless dominion o'er my mind, Reluctant yields, and hope begins to share, The empire of my soul, with visions kind!

With soften'd feelings on thy beams I gaze, And their mild influence stealing on my heart, Enchanting visions in my bosom raise, Sweet friendship comes her blessings to impart: In Ellen's form she comes! Oh, fairest form!

Oh, sweetest voice, that from the grief-worn soul E'er stole its cares, e'er bade the beating storm Of sorrow cease, and could each woe controul!

Several erasures and interlineations proved this to be an original, and probably an unfinished performance.

Ross saw in all this new reason to be alarmed: he no longer wondered at the progress this insinuating man had made in the affections of Ellen, and most earnestly did he wish that Mordaunt had never seen her, or had selected her for his wife. Yet even in that case there was something to consider: they knew nothing of Mordaunt but what he had told them. There was certainly something equivocal in the total retirement of such a man from the world: he might have been driven from it rather by his vices than by his misfortunes: yet there was in the appearance and manners of Mordaunt, an uprightness, a loftiness of carriage, that looked not like that of a man debased and bowed down by guilt. While Ross thus meditated, Mordaunt suddenly came in--his eyes sparkling, and his cheeks glowing: for hearing some one moving in the parlour, and having seen Powis in the fields at a distance, he concluded it could be no one but Ellen: his impatient step, extended hand, and pleased countenance, at once explained to Ross what his expectation had been. On seeing him, Mordaunt half started back, exclaiming, "I thought----" Then recovering himself, he again advanced, and offering his hand to Mr. Ross, said with much cordiality, "My dear Sir, I am glad to see you: it is sometime since we met." There was a charm in the voice and manner of Mordaunt that few could withstand, however unkindly disposed towards him. Ross, who had from the first felt pleased with him, although he now on Ellen's account was angry, yet could not prevail on himself to appear displeased; yet there was a coolness in his expression that was visible enough to so acute an observer as Mordaunt. Whatever was his motive, however, he chose not to notice it, but continued to speak with frankness and vivacity, inquiring for Mrs. Ross and Joanna. At last, glancing his eyes round the room, he said, "Are you alone this morning, my good Sir? Miss Powis, I learnt, slept at your house last night: I hope she is not ill?" Through all the a.s.sumed composure of his look, and affected indifference of his tone, Ross plainly saw that Mordaunt made this inquiry with real anxiety; but of the true motive of that anxiety he was extremely doubtful. He replied somewhat coldly, "Ellen is certainly not quite well, and Mrs. Ross thinks her _safest_ under her own _care at present_." This speech, which might to a guilty conscience have conveyed "more than met the ear," seemed to be literally interpreted by Mordaunt; and thrown off his guard, he evinced great agitation, while he exclaimed, "Safest! Good G.o.d! You do not surely apprehend any danger in her complaints?" "Not exactly that," said Ross (not displeased at his warmth), "but she has a bad cold; and Mrs. Ross has a high opinion of her own skill as a nurse: we shall therefore keep Ellen with us for a few days at least. If she should then not be better, I shall advise her father to let her change the air."

This suggestion seemed to complete the dismay of Mordaunt: he trembled, and turned pale. Ross, bowing, wished him "good morning," and walked away. Mordaunt, after a moment's recollection, followed him hastily, and as they walked, endeavoured to enter into a more general conversation, apparently in the hope that he was going home, and that by going with him, he might see Ellen: but Ross was going to visit a sick parishioner at some distance. Mordaunt was therefore obliged to take leave of him at the door of his own lodgings: he ventured to say, as they parted, "I shall take an early opportunity of inquiring for my friends at the Parsonage, Mr. Ross." In answer to which Ross bowed, and said, but not very cordially, he should be glad to see him.

"And must I bear all this!" said Mordaunt, as they parted: "to what have I reduced myself? Yet this, and more, sweet Ellen, will I bear for thee!

Yet to what purpose? Can I, dare I, link thee to such a fate as mine may be? Yet can I leave thee, or bear to be so near, and not to see thee? To be forbidden, at least by looks forbidden to approach thee: to encounter the angry glances of a narrow-minded woman, and even by her benevolent husband to be received with coldness almost bordering on contempt? Yes, Ellen, I will bear it all! Would to heaven they would have left us to ourselves, till time--till the full conviction of her affection--they need not have feared." Thus in broken sentences murmured Mordaunt, as he strode impatiently across his narrow apartment, and determined nothing should prevent him from seeing Ellen, and ascertaining whether Ross's fears for her health were not merely a pretence for separating them.

The whole day pa.s.sed heavily with Ellen, yet Mrs. Ross and Joanna were unusually kind to her: no hinted doubt, no implied accusation of herself and Mordaunt met her ear; but her heart was ill at ease, and her forced employments irksome. She longed to lie in her own quiet parlour, where, if Mordaunt might not come, at least she might think of him without restraint. Ross returned to dinner: he took no notice of Ellen's dejection, nor mentioned having met with Mordaunt; but told her he had seen her father, who was quite satisfied she should stay with them awhile, and try to recover her health, and that he thought it probable they should see him in the evening. As the afternoon was remarkably clear, and not too warm (for the autumn was by this time far advanced), he invited the girls to walk with him, instead of resuming their work, to which Mrs. Ross gave her consent without a murmur, only begging they would not walk too far, as she thought Ellen not strong enough to bear much fatigue. To this they agreed, and Ellen found the calm soft air revive her. Ross led the conversation to the wonders of nature: he explained in familiar terms the structure of some flowers he gathered, and made them admire the wisdom of that Being, who had formed those blossoms so exquisitely fair. Thence he descanted on the nature and properties of some rare plants, and was on all so eloquent and so instructive, that Ellen felt her heart expand more lightly, and some degree of pleasure take possession of her mind. "But ah!" thought she, "why is not Mordaunt partaker of this sweet conversation? Why are two men, so well fitted to gratify and delight each other, thus to be estranged? Surely, Mr. Ross does not properly appreciate either the qualities of Mordaunt's mind, or the excellence of his heart and principles. Had he heard from him the sentiments which have charmed me--did he know the delicacy of his taste, and his abhorrence of every thing mean and base, he could not suppose him the wretch he last night described." Yet Ellen was so candid and unprejudiced, she could allow great reason in many of Ross's suggestions; and her high opinion of his judgment, and the general liberality with which it was exercised, filled her heart with uneasy fears.

They had been a few minutes returned to the house, and were just sitting down to their simple supper, when Powis came in; and hastening to meet Ellen, whom he had not seen for nearly two days, he tenderly kissed her.

She loved her father most affectionately, and had met him so eagerly, that she did not for the instant perceive Mordaunt, who had followed him into the room, and advanced towards her. She was startled; and fearing what reception her friends would give him, she turned pale, and trembled, which her father perceiving, said, "Why, Ellen, it is only Mr.

Mordaunt: you are not frightened at him, are you? Why, you have not seen him these two or three days, he tells me. Come, shake hands with him, and tell him you are glad to see him." Not for worlds could Ellen have articulated one word; but Mordaunt, taking advantage of her father's friendly commands, took the hand she could not--dared not offer; and pressing it vehemently between his own, said in a low voice, "No, Ellen, do not _say_ you are _glad_ to see me: the formal coldness of such an expression from you would be worse to me than that averted look which leads me to believe, at least to fear, the sight of me is far from pleasing to you."

A vivid blush spread over her countenance, and she suddenly lifted her eyes to him with an expression of reproachful yet gentle timid affection, that at once explained to him all that her heart was filled with. Joy, delight, and an expression of the most tender love and admiration, took possession of Mordaunt's fine features: he seemed transfixed, and stood gazing on her, still holding her hand, as if he had no longer power over his own actions. "Why, how you stand," said honest Powis, laughing, "staring at one another as if you had never met before! Come, neighbour Ross, I am come to eat a bit of your cold meat: I have been in the fields all the evening, and made but a short dinner, Ellen not being at home. Come, let us sit down, and begin supper."

Nothing could equal the awkwardness of Mordaunt's situation: he felt himself an intruder, yet could not tear himself away. Ross, his wife, and Joanna, had indeed all spoken to him with civility; but there was something in their manner which fully convinced him he was no welcome guest; and though Ellen looked somewhat pale, yet he saw in her no sign of such a state of health as should make her residence with Mrs. Ross necessary. Relieved by this conviction (for he had really been alarmed for her), he yet felt mortified in perceiving that she was kept there on purpose to avoid his visits. At length, a little recovering himself, he relinquished her hand, and said, "Pray let me be no interruption: I am going instantly: I merely called to inquire how Miss Powis was this evening, and am happy to find her not so ill as I feared." He now bowed, and was retiring, when Ross, ashamed of appearing so inhospitable, pressed him to sit down with them; and Joanna (pitying Ellen's confusion, who was quite distressed at her father's apparent surprize at the coolness--to him unaccountable--of Mordaunt's reception), said with great good-nature, "Here's a chair, Mr. Mordaunt; and as you never eat any thing but fruit at night, see what fine peaches and grapes we have."

Mordaunt, charmed by the kind invitation, and by seeing the chair mentioned was placed between herself and Ellen, could not resist the temptation: he sat down, and vainly endeavoured to behave as he used to do: but there was a visible restraint over the whole party, except Powis; and though Ross attempted several times to keep up something like conversation, it soon languished, and every one seemed weary and uneasy--the mind of each was pre-occupied; and what either said, appeared to be far from the thing they were thinking of. Once or twice Mordaunt spoke in a low voice to Ellen; but she, awed by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Ross, answered only in the briefest way possible, and rarely lifted her eyes from the table. He asked her at last if she should be at home to-morrow. She replied in the negative. "Nor the next day?" "I believe not." "Good G.o.d! and how long is this to last?" "I do not know: Mrs. Ross thinks I shall be better here for awhile." "And do you never walk?" "Yes: we walked this evening with Mr. Ross."

Mordaunt saw that every thing possible was done to prevent their meeting, and that he must come to some decision speedily. Of Ellen's love, he could no longer doubt: his own for her he had for some time felt to be that overwhelming sentiment, which must finally conquer all opposing circ.u.mstances; but there were such in his fate as ought (at least he thought so) to have prevented him from linking hers with it; yet he had insensibly been so led on, he saw there was no retreating, and determined shortly to come to an explanation with Ross and her father, though much he wished a further time had been allowed. These reflexions, which in spite of himself and the habit of self-command he had so hardly acquired, sank him into silence; and at length, Powis, tired of the gloom and heaviness which seemed hung over the whole party, so different from what their little suppers used to be, told them he thought they were all very stupid, and he would go home and go to bed.

Then shaking Ross by the hand, he went round the table to Ellen, kissed her, and wished her good night, telling her to get quite well as fast as possible, for he wanted her at home. Mordaunt bade them good night at the same time, and went away with Powis.

CHAP. VIII.

"Are then the sons of interest only wise?

Can pomp alone essential good impart?

Mistaken world; ah! why thus vainly prize Those gifts which but contract the human heart?

"Why only _folly_ that fond pa.s.sion call, Which Heaven itself implanted in the mind; Links each to each, and, harmonizing all, Swells the rapt heart with sympathy refin'd."

The reflections of a long and sleepless night determined Mordaunt on the line of conduct he ought to pursue; and as soon as he thought the early breakfast at the Parsonage would be ended, he walked thither, and asking for Mr. Ross, was shewn into the little study, which that good man called exclusively his own. Yet here, in the very last place where he would have expected to find her, to his utter astonishment he saw Ellen.

Ellen alone--seated at a table covered with books, from one of which she appeared learning something, or rather to have been so employed, for at the moment he entered her thoughts had wandered; and she was sitting, one fair hand holding the open book, the other covering her eyes.

Supposing the person who entered to be Mr. Ross, who had that day commenced the office of her tutor, she looked up; but seeing Mordaunt, the book fell from her hand, and she vainly endeavoured to rise from her seat--a ceremony not yet exploded by the unfashionable inhabitants of Llanwyllan. Mordaunt sprang eagerly forward, exclaiming, "Here Ellen!

Good Heavens! could I have hoped to see you here! At last then we meet again, without the irksome restraint of surrounding witnesses, of almost hostile eyes! Fear not, dearest, for ever dearest Ellen." Seeing she looked half alarmed at his unusual warmth, for in general his manner towards her was, though tender, composed,--"fear not: never may word nor look of mine give you reasonable cause of alarm or vexation. Worlds would I give for one hour's uninterrupted conversation with you--but now another moment may prevent my saying more. Tell me then, sweetest girl, may I, will you permit me to apply to Mr. Ross for his interest with you, and with your father, till I can hope that my a.s.siduities, if not my merit, may have excited in you a tenderer sentiment than mere esteem?"