"Good friend, go to him; for by this light of HeavenI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:—If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,Either in discourse or thought, or actual deed;Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,Delighted them in any other form—Comfort, forswear me!—unkindness may do much;And his unkindness may defeat my life,But never taint my love."Othello.
"Good friend, go to him; for by this light of HeavenI know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:—If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,Either in discourse or thought, or actual deed;Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,Delighted them in any other form—Comfort, forswear me!—unkindness may do much;And his unkindness may defeat my life,But never taint my love."
Othello.
Silent and gloomy was the ride homewards. St. Aubyn, bridling with difficulty the jealous rage which consumed him, sat leaning against one side of the carriage, veiling his eyes with his hand, that they might not for an instant fall on Ellen, who, hardly supporting herself with Jane's help, shed no tears, though grief and vexation heaved her bosom with sighs, which almost burst it; for now her recollection wasrestored, the dreadful words in which St. Aubyn first addressed her rung in her ears, and swelled her heart with anguish.
At length they reached Cavendish-Square, and were met in the hall by Lady Juliana, whose pride, at first, wounded by Ellen's being from home when she arrived, had, at length, given way to feelings of alarm at her long absence; but when she saw her lifted from the carriage, pale, trembling, and half-dead, terrified and astonished, she vainly demanded an explanation alternately from St. Aubyn and the frightened Jane; her nephew passing her hastily, and in silence, went into his study, and instantly shut and fastened the door. There he meant to consider with himself what part it became him to take, and how to elucidate this extraordinary event.
Ellen, throwing herself into Lady Juliana's arms, exclaimed, "Oh! my dearest madam, let me die at once, for my Lord is angry with me!"
"Die!" cried Lady Juliana, struggling with a thousand terrors; "Nonsense! for what? Do you suppose no man was ever angry with his wife before? You are so unused to it, it seems strange to you, but you may assure yourself few wives would think it so extraordinary."
By this time they had reached Ellen's dressing-room, where, having placed her on a sofa, and given her some restoratives, Lady Juliana said, "But what is all this about—what offence have you committed?"
"Oh! madam, I know not; but it is too true, St. Aubyn has said such words to me, such words as I never thought to hear from him!"
"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lady Juliana, turning to Jane. "Speak, girl, if you have not quite lost your senses, or do not wish that I should lose mine, and tell me where your lady has been, and what has happened."
Jane, now, as well as the confusion shewas in would let her, repeated the adventures of the morning to Lady Juliana, the visit to the officer's widow, and the old blind lady; and lastly, why they went to Mrs. Birtley's: "And it was I," she said, "that persuaded her Ladyship to go to that disagreeable Mrs. Birtley's—out of pride, I own it—it was out of pride, that she might see what a grand place I had got, and thatmylady was not the sort of person that cross old woman fancied she was; and her Ladyship would not even have alighted or gone into her trumpery parlour, if the horses had not been so frightful, and the coachman said, says he, "my Lady had better alight, for the horses—"
"Grant me patience!" said Lady Juliana: "this girl's tongue is enough to distract me! Well, and when you were in her trumpery parlour, as you call it, what happened then? Was Lord St. Aubyn angry that you went there?"
"Oh! no, my Lady, not for that; butthe instant after we went in, and while Mrs. Birtley was chattering about the book, and about her lodger (and to be sure there never was such another chattering woman in the world, and looking at my lady from head to foot, so saucy-like, I was quite in a passion with her), I saw my lady turn pale, and thinking she was going to faint, I made Mrs. Birtley go for some water, for I knew well enough how your Ladyship would scold ifmyLady was to be ill, and so I told Mrs. Birtley."
"Will this tale ever have an end?" cried the impatient Lady Juliana.
"Well, my Lady, and so just as Mrs. Birtley was gone for the water, and we were got up to go away, in came a young man: I believe, for my part, he was quite mad, not indeed that I am any particular judge of mad people, for I remember the first day your Ladyship came here I thought—but I believe I had better not tellthat;—however, this young manwasmad for certain, for the moment he saw my Lady, he ran to her, and seemed as if he was going to catch her in his arms. I screamed, and when her Ladyship said she was terrified, he quite raved, and called her names, and said something about her shame, and her being ruined, and her jewels, last night, and I don't know what."
"And who, for Heaven's sake, was this man?" asked the astonished Lady Juliana.
"Oh, it was Ross! Charles Ross!" sobbed Ellen; "and St. Aubyn came in while he was speaking to me, and said I came there to meet him, to his very lodgings; and then I fainted quite away."
"So, so, so!" repeated Lady Juliana; "a pretty piece of work! I see what this mistake will end in! But stay; surely it is not too late: I will go to St. Aubyn."
"Yes, go to him, Madam, for Heaven's sake go to him, and explain it to him. Assure him I could not have an idea that Charles Ross lodged at Mrs.Birtley's. Oh! how cruel to be obliged to make this explanation: can St. Aubyn really think so ill of me? Yet, surely, surely he will be undeceived—this is only a momentary start of passion!"
Lady Juliana shook her head, for she knew St. Aubyn's temper; and how hardly he would endure to hear even her on such a subject; yet, if he would but condescend to hear what the servants, who attended the Countess in this unfortunate excursion, what this Mrs. Birtley would say, their stories would doubtless confirm that of Ellen; for of the truth of that story Lady Juliana had not the smallest doubt; but she knew how St. Aubyn's pride would revolt, and his delicacy be hurt, by the necessity of interrogating such people on the conduct of his wife.
She felt herself indeed angry with Ellen for the childish impatience which had taken her out in the morning, after the fright of the night before had rendered repose so desirable, and for going to Mrs.Birtley's at all; but she could easily forgive a folly apparently of so little importance, since it was quite impossible for Ellen to have foreseen the chain of circumstances which followed, and involved her in so much distress.
How St. Aubyn happened to go to the same place, no one could guess; it appeared, indeed, extremely unlikely that he should have done so; but, as singular coincidences no less singular do sometimes occur, though their rarity makes us call them improbable, unless they arise within our own immediate knowledge.
The real truth was this: St. Aubyn, recollecting that Charles Ross had said the night before, "the woman where you lodged found you out," had determined to ascertain, from this woman herself, what she had told Ross, and how she had dared to speak of him and Ellen in such terms; and to explain who her Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt really were, that nofarther slander, even in Mrs. Birtley's narrow circle, might attach to the purity of Lady St. Aubyn's character, had walked thither from Sir Edward Leicester's, with whom he had sat some time, arranging the particulars of their intended meeting with Charles Ross the next morning; there, to his utter astonishment, he found Lady St. Aubyn's carriage in waiting; and inquiring of the servants where she was, was answered, in that house, meaning Mrs. Birtley's.
"And Miss Cecil?"
"No, my Lord; Miss Cecil did not come out with my Lady, only Mrs. Jane."
St. Aubyn recollected Ellen's apparent agitation in the morning; the letter he had found her reading, and which she so hastily concealed; her having said Laura would go with her; yet she had come with only her maid, a young ignorant girl, come to the very house where he believed Ross was residing; that Ross, ofwhom, though almost unknown to himself, some secret jealousy had always lurked in his heart.
All these circumstances rose at once to his memory; and, without waiting to knock or ring, the door standing open, he rushed hastily into the parlour, where the first object that struck his sight was his wife, his beloved, his adored Ellen, while her hand was held by the man on earth he most detested, the man who but the night before had insulted her and outraged him! What could he think? Was it wonderful that the fury which swelled his heart broke into words of reproach and anger? Was it not rather wonderful he could so far command himself, so far reflect, as to return with her apparently calm, and that he did not at once cast from him a woman who must have appeared so ungrateful and insincere?
Lady Juliana having with the aid of Miss Cecil and Jane put Ellen to bed,would have retired to seek her nephew, leaving Laura shocked, astonished, and grieved, remaining with her friend; but seeing the flush of fever on her cheek, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes, they sent without delay to the family physician, who, after asking a few questions, and learning the Countess had been alarmed, and was then under the influence of terror for her lord, who, Laura whispered to him, they feared was meditating a duel with a gentleman who had insulted Lady St. Aubyn, the doctor shook his head, and said if her mind were not quieted immediately, he would not be answerable for the consequences: she had, he said, every symptom of an alarming fever, and that if she were not soothed, and kept quiet, the worst event might be expected both to herself and the unborn babe.
Alarmed beyond measure, Lady Juliana now ran to seek St. Aubyn. With some difficulty she prevailed on him togrant her admittance, and with still greater, to hear what she had to say. She repeated the whole story Jane had told her: he shook his head, was silent, but not convinced. She saw his incredulity, and with some hesitation proposed to interrogate the men servants who went out with their lady as to the real cause of her alighting at Mrs. Birtley's. He started indignantly from the idea; but Lady Juliana assuring him she could ask in such a way as should give them no suspicion why they were questioned, he at last consented, and ringing the bell, she ordered the coachman to be sent to her.
"John," said she, "your lady has been frightened at something or other this morning during her absence from home. Were the horses restive?"
"No, my Lady: the horses went as quiet as lambs to —— Street, where we stopped while my Lady went into a house, I believe to see a poor family, asher Ladyship does sometimes; and then we went to the poor old blind lady's, that Mrs. Jane says her Lady maintains; and after that we went to another house, where my Lady said she would not alight, and told Mrs. Jane to make haste and get the book, for she would not stop an instant; but I was afraid to turn the carriage with her Ladyship in it, the street being very narrow just there, and a dray standing at the house opposite, for fear the horses should prance a little, which my Lady is always afraid of; and so I begged her just to alight a minute while I turned, which she seemed not to like to do, but the old lady of the house coming out and persuading her, she said she would get out for a minute, and the people staring at her as she stood on the pavement, she went into the house, and I believe something or somebody frightened her, for as I drew up to the door, which was not directly, for the horses were a little unruly, I saw a young man go intothe parlour where my Lady was waiting, and a minute after, I heard Mrs. Jane scream; and I was going in, and so was James, but just as I was getting off my box, and Richard was standing at the head of the horses, my Lord came up, and afterwards I found my Lady had fainted away."
"Then your Lady had only been there a short time?"
"Not above ten minutes I am sure, Madam, and as Mrs. Jane screamed when the gentleman went into the parlour, I think he must have frightened her."
"Very well, John: I was afraid it was the horses, and if so, Lady St. Aubyn should never have gone with them again."
"Oh, no, my Lady, the horses are quiet enough, poor things, only that narrow street made me think my Lady had better alight."
The man then retired, and Lady Juliana said:—"Well, St. Aubyn, are you now satisfied?"
"Not quite; all this might have been contrivance and art."
"How is it possible you can think so! Did you ever see the slightest trace of either in Ellen?"
"Yes, to-day. Why did she tell me Laura was going with her? Why conceal where she was going?"
"Laura lamented just now not having gone out with Ellen, as she requested on account of a bad head-ache: as to Ellen's not telling you where she was going, that arose from a fear lest you should prevent, what, with the natural impatience of youth, she had set her heart upon. But if you still doubt, let us inquire of this woman, this Mrs.——what's her name?—the mistress of the house where you lodged: she can tell what Lady St. Aubyn's errand was there, and why she alighted."
"Good God! Madam," said St. Aubyn, peevishly, "would you have me go about collecting evidences whether Iought to believe my wife blameless, or the most deceitful of women?"
"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which ought to know her best!"
Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have observed, ereshe had given to her an affection and confidence so tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he hastily said:—"But the letter! What letter was that I found her reading?"
"What letter?" asked Lady Juliana.
"One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it into the fold of her morning dress."
"And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed, he hastily said:
"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. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between aRosoliaand anEllen: 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 God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let mego 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 andplaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith inhisintegrity and honour, assurances 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'swife, 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 myshameandruin?"
"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimedSt. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"
"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace didnotmurder 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 willnever 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 sherecover 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 assurance, 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 constitution, 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, "sheis 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 calledworriedby a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a tone, or sudden question. I assure 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 assurance 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."
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.
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 assurances of St. Aubyn that all was at an end between him and Ross: she knew him too well to believe he would pass over insults so marked; and her watchfulness had convinced herno 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; yetnot 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, passed to her apartment. In the anti-room he found the housekeeper andJane 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 thepoor little infant; certainly she did not mention any intention of going to that fatal house where you found her, and which, I am assured, she never thought of till passing 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 hernow—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 hernow."
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 assured 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 prayerfor 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, thetwo 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 circumstances 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 passed 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, mymanners 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 ingratitude 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 aman, 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.
"That promotion, Mr. Ross," he replied, "was sought for you at the request of Lady St. Aubyn, who had not forgotten the friend of her childhood, and in hopes of gratifying your most worthy father, from whom, as well as from your mother and sister, both my wife and myself have experienced much kindness and friendship: I must therefore request you will not renounce it.
"At this moment Lady St. Aubyn is extremely ill, in consequence of the alarming scene to which your mistake and my rashness gave rise: should this illness prove fatal," (and his lips quivered with emotion as he spoke), "never more must you and I meet again! Should she recover, as I hope and trust she will, I am so perfectly satisfied with the explanations I have received, that I shall not be sorry to see your early acquaintance renewed: for the present we part as friends."
Then bowing, he took Sir Edward's arm, and hastened to his carriage, leaving Ross overwhelmed with shame and remorse forthe treatment he had given to a man so generous.
On reaching Cavendish Square he found Lady Juliana in the utmost alarm; for missing him when she arose, and hearing at how early an hour he had left the house, she had immediately suspected his errand abroad: she had sent to Sir Edward Leicester's, and learned from the servants that their master and Lord St. Aubyn had gone out together. Still more and more alarmed, Lady Juliana paced from room to room in dreadful agitation, not knowing whither to send or what to do. Soon after eight o'clock, Laura sent a note by Jane to Lady Juliana, saying Lady St. Aubyn was awake, that the delirium had totally subsided, but had left her so extremely weak and low she could hardly speak to be heard, but was anxious to see her and Lord St. Aubyn, whose affectionate inquiries she had heard of with much delight, and wasprepared to see him with composure, and without recurring to the past. To trust herself near Ellen, agitated as she was, Lady Juliana knew was impossible; she therefore ordered Jane to say, that having sat up almost the whole night, neither the Earl nor herself was up, but in an hour or two they would be with her; then assuring the girl that the unfortunate misunderstanding of the day before was perfectly explained, she charged her not to drop a hint of it amongst the servants, which Jane readily promised, and faithfully performed.
Soon after this, Doctor B. called, and to him Lady Juliana communicated her fears on St. Aubyn's account: he entreated she would not go near the Countess till her spirits were quieter, and by no means to let any ill tidings reach her, should such arrive: then visiting the sick room, he rejoiced to find his young and lovely patient out of danger, though extremely weak. The excellence of herconstitution, assisted by his skill, had triumphed over the disease, and if no new alarm occurred, he doubted not her perfect recovery: leaving strict and repeated orders that no one should be admitted at all likely to hurry her spirits, he left her, and as he passed down the staircase, was rejoiced to see St. Aubyn enter safe and well. The Earl hastened to him with the most eager inquiries for his patient, and listened to his favourable accounts with thankful joy.
"As to Lady Juliana, my good Lord," said the physician, "she is scarcely in her senses; you have frightened her almost to death: come, let me have the pleasure of leading you to her, and telling her at the same time how much better our fair patient is, after which I would advise you both to take some repose, for your countenance tells me you have not had much rest last night, and I promise you, you must not go to Lady St. Aubyn with those pale and haggard looks."
The joy of Lady Juliana at seeing St. Aubyn return safe and unhurt was extreme, and was still increased when he owned to her candidly where he had been, and the satisfactory explanation he had received from Ross, which so completely put an end to this untoward affair for ever.
In the afternoon, St. Aubyn, promising to be as composed as possible, was permitted to see Ellen for a few minutes. Both forbore to speak of what had passed, for both felt they could not endure to recur to it; but the warmth and unaffected tenderness of his manner assured her that all suspicion had been effaced from his mind; while the affectionate softness of her's proved to St. Aubyn that his unkindness was forgiven.
In a very few days Ellen was pronounced convalescent, though her remaining weakness, and Lady Juliana's precautions, confined her to her dressing-room: there, by slow degrees, she learned fromher affectionate Laura all the circumstances which had led to Charles Ross's mistake, and that of St. Aubyn, nor could she help acknowledging that appearances had been in both instances against her: relieved however by having all her anxieties removed, and by a full though affecting explanation with St. Aubyn, who gave her the tenderest assurances that every jealous disposition was for ever removed from his mind, she now rapidly recovered: but as the weather was now becoming very warm, and she had had no great reason to delight in London, she earnestly requested to be allowed to return to Castle St. Aubyn; and the advice of her medical attendants coinciding with her wishes, the request was easily granted.
Before she left London, however, she, with her Lord, paid another visit to the officer's widow and her interesting family, and so arranged for them as to ensure them a neat residence a little way outof town, and the certain means of comfortable subsistence for the present; for it was her intention, with St. Aubyn's permission, to form a school, and other useful institutions, in the neighbourhood of the Castle, in which she hoped to render the widow a service, as well as gratify herself, by placing her at the head of the village seminary. She also visited Mr. Dorrington again, and spent a delightful hour amongst his treasures; then leaving her P. P. C. for Lady Meredith, and some other slight acquaintances, she joyfully left London on her way to Northamptonshire, accompanied by the Earl (more tenderly attached than ever), Lady Juliana, and Miss Cecil, Sir Edward Leicester promising to pay them a visit very soon.
Delighted indeed was Ellen once more to breathe the pure air of the country; and as they passed the little inn where they had stopped on their former journey from town, and caught a distant glimpseof the farm-house where he had told her his real name and rank, she tenderly pressed St. Aubyn's hand, and with a soft tear on her cheek, reminded him of the circumstance.
"Ah, my Ellen," he said, "much have we both suffered since that interesting moment, but never more, through fault of mine, shall you shed another tear, save such as now glitter in your eyes—tears of tenderness and affection.
"
She feels it—'tis her son! with rapture wild,Bath'd in warm tears, from soft sensations prest.She clasps him to her cheek, her lip, her breast,And looks with eye unsated on her child.He knows her, sure!—Sure, answering rapture his,Leave her at least the visionary bliss!Lo! his clear eye to her's responsive speaks,And lo! his little mouth, that wistful seeksWarm from her lip to suck the sweet o'erflowing kiss.She hears the silent call—how quickly hearsA mother's heart.Sotheby's Oberon.
She feels it—'tis her son! with rapture wild,Bath'd in warm tears, from soft sensations prest.She clasps him to her cheek, her lip, her breast,And looks with eye unsated on her child.He knows her, sure!—Sure, answering rapture his,Leave her at least the visionary bliss!Lo! his clear eye to her's responsive speaks,And lo! his little mouth, that wistful seeksWarm from her lip to suck the sweet o'erflowing kiss.She hears the silent call—how quickly hearsA mother's heart.
Sotheby's Oberon.
Arrived at the Castle, Ellen once more began to breathe; her colour and appetite returned, and she speedily recovered her strength, and thought she had never been so happy: her Lord's renewed, and even encreased affection, Lady Juliana's sincere attachment, and the pleasing society of Laura Cecil, who remained her guest (Sir William being in Scotlandwith Lord and Lady Delamore), left her scarcely any thing to wish.
This little party received a very agreeable addition about a week after, by the arrival of Sir Edward Leicester, whose continued attentions to Miss Cecil seemed not ill received by her.
Soon after their return to Castle St. Aubyn, letters from Mr. Ross and Joanna arrived, filled with thanks and rejoicings for the promotion of Charles. They said not a word, nor seemed to know any thing of the late transactions; and Lord and Lady St. Aubyn were glad he had not revealed them. It appeared, that through St. Aubyn's interest, he had been made Lieutenant, and honoured with the command of a small frigate, and was gone to cruize in the Mediterranean. At this latter circumstance Ellen was not sorry; for she could not wish, after what had passed, to see Charles Ross again at present. Every thing, therefore, seemed now smooth before her;and though sometimes her thoughts would wander to the former mysterious expressions of St. Aubyn, and recollecting that the time he appointed for their elucidation was arrived, yet as she heard no more of it, and he seemed to have lost those fits of gloom, which even from the commencement of their acquaintance had been obvious in him, she hoped all was passed over, and determined by no ill-timed curiosity to revive painful ideas in his mind. But she yet fully knew not St. Aubyn, except when thrown off his guard by any sudden emotion: his command over his spirits and features was wonderful; and no one who saw him composed, cheerful, and even gay, could have suspected what at times passed in his mind, nor to what unpleasant scenes he now looked forward. Not even Lady Juliana knew what reason he had to think of the future with apprehension, though with much of what had formerly befallen him she certainly was acquainted.
The families round the Castle paid every polite attention to Lady St. Aubyn on her return: many, who had been absent when she was there before, now visited her; and though for the present she declined entering into large parties, every one seemed rejoiced to see her once more amongst them. Not the least delighted was Miss Alton, who with unfading charms, and exhaustless professions of regard, came eagerly to greet the charming Countess's return, to rejoice in her perfect recovery, and to assure her how much she had suffered at hearing she was ill in London.
"And oh! my dear Lady St. Aubyn," said she, "think how shocked I was to hear some rude wretch had annoyed you at the theatre, and that your excellent lord had like to have fought a duel about it. Oh! how thankful I am that thesefrightful scenes did not more materially injure your valuable health, and that you are returned to us, if possible, more beautiful than ever."
"And who, my dear Miss Alton," said Laura, who alone retained composure enough to answer her (for this familiar recurrence to scenes so painful had greatly disturbed Lady St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana), "who told you all this wonderful story?"
"Oh, it was a cousin of mine, who happened to be coming out of the playhouse just as it happened, and wrote me word of it; and that the gentlemen had exchanged cards: so you see I had pretty good authority."
"Yes," replied Lady Juliana, with her usual asperity, "and no doubt made pretty good use of it. Pray, Ma'am, did you think it necessary to send a man and horse round the neighbourhood with this amusing piece of intelligence; or wereyou contented with your own personal exertions?"
"Dear Lady Juliana, I am sure I thought no harm; I only just mentioned it——"
"To every one who would hear you, no doubt. If, at least, you had spared us the recital, it would have been quite as delicate, and more consistent with yourtender feelingsfor Lady St. Aubyn."
Poor Miss Alton, quite shocked to find she had given such offence to the old lady, of whom she stood in great awe, vainly attempted to rally her spirits, and soon after took her leave, earnestly wishing Lady Juliana had staid in London; for she foresaw the entré of the Castle would not be so easily granted to her now as it had been when only the kind-hearted Countess presided; and trembling, lest, if she were not more cautious in future, she should not be admitted to see the little stranger when it arrived, andtake cake and caudle in Lady St. Aubyn's apartment.
"See," said Lady Juliana, drawing herself up, "see, my dear, the consequence of admitting such low, uneducated people to any degree of intimacy! This gossipping woman would not have ventured to hint at what had passed, had you kept her at a proper distance: but the easy impudence of such people in these degenerate times astonishes me. In the days of the Countess of St. Aubyn, my mother,shewould scarcely have spoken to such a sort of person as this Miss—what do you call her?" For when Lady Juliana felt proud or indignant, she had a great knack of forgetting any name which had not a title tacked to it; though no one remembered more accurately those which had.
"Ah!" thought Ellen, "how with pride so overbearing could I ever have hoped to be myself exempted from this general censure of such sort of persons!How fortunate I may think myself, to have overcome a prejudice of such long standing."
In the society of a few agreeable neighbours, and the ever-pleasing conversation of Laura, the time passed serenely till the end of August: yet there were moments when gloom seemed again to steal over the features of St. Aubyn. His foreign letters arrived more frequently, but appeared to give him no satisfaction. With Ellen he studiously avoided all conversation on the subject of his anxiety: for he dreaded, in her present state, the least alarm, and delayed by every means in his power the apparently fast approaching crisis of his fate, till her safety should have been secured.
At length, after some hours of uneasy watching, and the most painful anxiety, Lady Juliana announced to him the birth of ason, who, notwithstanding all the alarms his mother had undergone in London, seemed likely as well as herself to do well. Lady Juliana was in raptures at this event, to which she had so long looked forward with impatience. Nothing that money could procure was wanting to decorate either the infant or the chamber where he lay, which, as well as that of the Countess, had been entirely new furnished in the most superb and commodious manner at her expence, Lady Juliana having insisted on paying for every thing prepared, even to the elegant cradle lined with quilted white satin; and not even Lady Meredith had softer cushions than those on which the infant heir reposed.
St. Aubyn, charmed with the lovely little creature, and to see its mother safe, appeared as if he had no wish ungratified, and left no tender attention unpaid which might ensure his Ellen's health and comfort. As she approached towards convalescence, Laura Cecil was her constant and most delightful companion, and well knew how to cheer and adorn thehours which were necessarily given to the quietude of her own apartments. The infant was rather delicate though healthy; but safe in its mother's fostering cares it strengthened every day, without those cares——