Chapter II: Part 2

A long pause ensued. Ellen again began her pleasant labours, and Mordaunt, with fresh eagerness, assisted her. At length he said, "When I come back, Ellen, will you permit me to recommend to your perusal some books, which I shall send to my lodgings?" "Ah," said Ellen, "with delight should I peruse them, but Mrs. Ross is so strict, she will not allow me to read at all, if she can help it; and my father expects me to obey her in every respect." "But surely Mr. Ross, who is so literary himself, would willingly indulge such a mind as your's, which so eagerly aspires to superior attainments." "Ah, no; Mr. Ross thinks that in our station any extraordinary refinement would be injurious, and only tend to make us discontented." "Those common-place ideas may do very well for Joanna Ross, and girls of common minds; but you, surely, ought to be guided by other maxims. Talents like your's demand cultivation so imperiously, it is a real cruelty to deny it." "Ah, Mr. Mordaunt, do not talk to me in this manner; I am enough inclined to lament the lowness of my condition; not from ambition, but from a desire of knowledge, which, circumstanced as I am, is quite out of my reach. Rather strive to strengthen my mind, and my anxious wish to do my duty in the station where God has been pleased to place me." "Abhor me, Ellen, if ever you find me endeavouring to subvert one good and useful principle in your spotless mind; but how is Mr. Ross to know what station you may hereafter be called upon to fill, unless, indeed," added Mordaunt, expressively, "_your lot is already determined_?" "Undoubtedly it is," said Ellen (not understanding his allusion to Charles): "what can I have to expect but to remain here, the useful assistant of my father?" "But you may, nay, most probably will marry." "It is unlikely," said Ellen; "but if I should, it will probably be in a line of life which will render any farther literary attainments at best unprofitable; so at least says Mr. Ross, and I look to him as my chief director." "You have hitherto done well in so doing; but circumstances may hereafter arise to alter your views. In the meantime, let me assure you, for the honour of literature, that its female professors do not necessarily, according to a vulgar prejudice, become useless as mothers, mistresses, or domestic economists. I have actually seen a lady high not only in literary knowledge, but in literary fame, who attends with the most exquisite skill and propriety, not only to the management of a large family, but of a large farm, and whose order, neatness, and regularity, can no where be exceeded; yet this excellent woman has published many books, written in a style free from blemish, and full of the purest principles, and of the most superior good sense." "How well she must have arranged her concerns, and managed her time!" "Undoubtedly--and we shall see whether Ellen Powis has not mind enough to become a second Mrs. W----."

At this part of the conversation Powis joined them; and Mordaunt, having chatted a few minutes with him, took his leave. But though he had talked of leaving Llanwyllan on the next day, he did not go until that following; and on the Sunday he attended Mrs. Ross and the young people to the neat parish church, where he was greatly pleased and edified with the serious and dignified manner in which the venerable Ross performed the service. His fine countenance, shaded with grey hair, the rich tones of his voice, and the energetic manner in which he exhorted his rustic congregation, inspired Mordaunt with the utmost respect for him, and with a fervour of devotion he had rarely before experienced. Nor did he less admire the unaffected piety and attention of Mrs. Ross and her two pupils, who, once within the church, appeared too deeply impressed with the intention of their coming, to permit that either look or thought should stray to any other object. As they returned through the church-yard, Mordaunt was delighted to see the neatness, and even elegance with which this repository of the dead was kept. The graves, bound with osier-bands, and decorated with fresh flowers, as is customary through all Wales, excited in him sentiments of the tenderest nature; he was charmed to witness the effects of a love which survived the tomb, and whispered to Ellen, that wherever he lived, he should wish to be buried in Wales. "Idle as it may seem," said he, "to care what becomes of this perishable frame when the immortal spirit is fled, yet in the truth of Gray's inimitable reflections on this subject I cannot but coincide:--

"Even from the grave the voice of Nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires."

As Ellen had never met with Gray, Mordaunt now repeated to her some of the finest stanzas, and promised to send her the poem in the morning following.

What a happiness for her that she had never been condemned to hear this enchanting elegy hacknied till even its beauties are lost in the insipid recitation of girls who learn it as a task.

CHAP. IV.

A prattling gossip, on whose tongue
Proof of perpetual motion hung,
Who with a hundred pair of eyes,
The vain attacks of sleep defies;
Who with a hundred pair of wings,
News from the farthest quarters brings,
Sees, hears, and tells, untold before,
All that she knows, and ten times more.

CHURCHILL.

When Mordaunt was gone, Joanna and Ellen returned to their usual manner of living: at first Ellen found a great insipidity in her ordinary occupations. The day seemed unusually tedious, but this by degrees wore off; and had she never seen Mordaunt again, she would certainly have always remembered him with peculiar interest; but the peace of her mind was undisturbed: yet Mordaunt's conversation had been of the most dangerous tendency. What girl of seventeen, tinctured with the natural romance which a life in a country of such sublimity as Wales almost necessarily produces in an ardent mind and feeling heart, but might be led by the voice of flattery to believe herself superior to the mere common employments of domestic life; yet if the flatterer mean to substitute no higher line of occupation in their stead, is it not probable that unhappiness, if not a dereliction from virtue, may be the consequence? Mordaunt's suggestions therefore to a mind more practised in worldly guile would have rendered his intentions extremely equivocal; and the very little Mr. Ross had seen of him made him not only very glad that he was gone, but led him to wish earnestly he might not return; and when a fortnight had elapsed, and no books or packages arrived at the cottage of the Widow Grey, Ross, and, to say the truth, Joanna also, began to hope he would not return. Joanna liked Mordaunt as a companion, and had none of those fears which had crept into the mind of Ross: but her love for her brother, and the certainty that Mordaunt was preferred to him by Ellen, gave her a sort of prejudice against him, and she could not help shewing a sort of triumph at his not returning. Ellen, whose temper was as sweet as her understanding was excellent, bore the little taunts Joanna now and then threw out on her supposed disappointment with great mildness; but when Joanna accused Mordaunt of caprice and insincerity, she sometimes defended him, with candour indeed, but with a little warmth, which excited fresh displeasure in Joanna: and these little disputes insensibly abated the pleasure they used to feel in the society of each other. Nothing could be more ill-judged than Joanna's conduct on this occasion: had she remained silent, Ellen would never have spoken and seldom thought of Mordaunt; but by being forced continually to defend either herself or him, he became more interesting to her; her generous heart not bearing to hear him accused probably without a cause: thus, Joanna, like all people who suffer themselves to be misled by prejudice and ill-humour, increased the evil she wished to obviate, and by rendering her own society less desirable to Ellen, left her more at liberty to receive Mordaunt's visits, if he really should return; and to return it seemed probable at length he intended: for, about three weeks after his departure, several large packages were brought in a light cart to the Widow Grey's, and the driver said he had been hired at Carnarvon, by a strange gentleman who arrived in the mail the night before, and would be with her the next morning. The news of this important event spread quickly through the village, and numerous were the conjectures which followed. Dame Grey had several visitors in the course of the evening to look at these wonderful packages, to conjecture what each might contain, and to endeavour to learn from her what could make a gentleman, so grand as Mr. Mordaunt must be, to come and live in her cottage: to all which the good woman could only reply, that Mr. Ross had told her that the gentleman was coming for his health, and she dared say Mr. Ross knew: at all events, it was nothing to her: the gentleman had agreed to give her twelve shillings a week for her two rooms, which was four shillings more than she expected; but then, to be sure, she was to cook for him, and they all knew she was as pretty a cook as Madam Ross herself; for that, when she lived with 'Squire Davies--The mention of 'Squire Davies was enough for the whole audience; they walked off one by one, and left her to admire and wonder at her lodger's grand packages by herself, dreading nothing more than the tedious tales they knew they must encounter if they staid, now Dame Grey had begun to talk of the days when she lived with 'Squire Davies.

Dame Grey not knowing very well what to do respecting her lodger's rooms, which wanted linen, and many other articles she supposed the packages might contain, thought it would be but right, and the proper compliment, if she was to step up and ask Madam Ross and Miss Joanna, and Miss Ellen, if she were there, what she had better do. Mrs. Ross advised her on no account to open any of the parcels, and said, if Mr. Mordaunt did not arrive in time the next day, she would furnish her with linen proper for his bed and table, till his own could be opened: at the same time declaring her readiness to go with Dame Grey, and see that things were put a little out of a litter; to which obliging act she was certainly prompted by the same sort of curiosity as had influenced her poorer neighbours, to see the packages, and judge by their weight and size what they might contain. No one who has ever lived in a small village will wonder at this: such a one will know that no one creature ever appears in a gown of a different colour, or a hat of a different size from what has been seen before, without exciting the utmost curiosity and animadversion; that a wedding, a burial, or a christening, will afford conversation to the whole neighbourhood for many hours; and that if one should be convicted of living, in the most simple concerns, at all different from the generality, oddity, absurdity, stinginess, and, finally, madness, will probably be imputed to him: think then what a feast for the gossips Mr. Mordaunt's parcels must have presented; for by the time Dame Grey and Mrs. Ross arrived, two or three more were in waiting to take a peep at them. Now, amongst these parcels, &c. was one which certainly bore the appearance of being a lady's bonnet-box: "Well," Mrs. Ross said, "this is an odd thing; what can it contain? Sure Mr. Mordaunt is not going to bring a lady with him! He did not say any thing to you, Dame Grey, did he, as if he was married?" "Lord bless me, no, Madam; but, to be sure, Mr. Ross knows, or Farmer Powis." "Poh! they know nothing at all about it: well, we shall see. For my part I should not wonder: he is not a very young man, and most likely is or has been married." Away went two or three of the assembly, eager to spread the report that Mr. Mordaunt and his lady were coming next day to Dame Grey's; that it must be true, for Madam Ross had said so, and moreover, they had seen with their own eyes _Madam Merdan's_ fine bonnet-box, which no doubt contained a power of good things. Some went so far as to settle the probable colour of the lady's bonnet and best gown; and one notable dame, the wife of a farmer, who rented lands adjoining Powis's, thought she would "just step in and tell Miss Ellen and Miss Joanna, that they might smarten themselves a bit, before _Madam Mording_ arrived." To paint the surprize of Ellen and Joanna, who were sitting together when neighbour Price related all these strange circumstances, embellished by her own conjectures and comments, would be impossible. Joanna believed, and was not sorry: Ellen doubted, and said she should be glad if it proved so, as Mrs. Mordaunt would be an agreeable addition to their society. Joanna looked at her with arch and half triumphant eyes; and Ellen, teazed, vexed, and disconcerted, could scarcely refrain from tears. At last the chattering gossip departed, and Joanna's conversation with Ellen ran in the usual strain; but Ellen was unusually unable to endure it. Amongst other things, Joanna told Ellen, if Mrs. Mordaunt came, she supposed her whole time would be engaged with her; and if she did not, perhaps she would think Mordaunt's company quite enough without the addition of hers, and that her mother was convinced she would no longer be as willing to be ruled by her as formerly. Ellen now burst into tears, and told Joanna she knew not what she had done to occasion such very unkind remarks; that she had never given her reason to suppose she did not prefer her company to that of any other person, nor ever, for a moment, hesitated to obey Mrs. Ross in all things: but if it was required of her to give up all acquaintance with a man who had never done any thing to offend her, she must say she could not, nay, would not do it. Joanna, startled by a warmth she had not expected from the generally mild and yielding Ellen, now begged her pardon; and embracing her tenderly, said, she knew she had been wrong in teazing her so much, and would in future drop the subject. Ellen's warm forgiving heart immediately prompted her to say she had perhaps herself been captious; and after an appointment to meet again to-morrow, they parted better friends than they had been for a long time.

On Joanna's arrival at home, she inquired of her mother the foundation of the strange story she had heard from Mrs. Price; and could hardly help laughing when she learnt on what slight grounds the report had been raised. Mrs. Ross, however, still defended the probability of her own conjectures, and added, that she was, however, quite sure there were a great many books among the parcels, and she supposed she should now have less work done than ever, for that both Joanna and Ellen would never be easy, unless they were walking with Mordaunt, or reading some of the new trumpery he had sent down. "Dear mother," said Joanna, "why should you think so? You know I am not so very fond of reading, though I like it very well in turn, and should still more, if I had not so many other things to do: and as to Ellen, though I believe she has more pleasure in reading than any thing else in the world; yet you know she is so good and gentle, she never refuses to do any thing you wish her to do." "Aye! that has been; but mark my words, Joanna, you will see alterations you do not expect." This was one of those equivocal prophecies by which Mrs. Ross, like the Vicar of Wakefield, endeavoured to impress her family with an opinion of her penetration: she did not succeed so well as Dr. Primrose, for Mr. Ross never paid the smallest attention to them: and Joanna had so rarely seen one of them fulfilled, that she generally thought nothing about them. In the present instance, however, she certainly felt a little uneasy, and began to fear that poor Charles must forego all hopes of Ellen Powis: for Joanna was in her own mind convinced that Mordaunt greatly admired Ellen, and she was sure Ellen thought him a being of a superior order: and Joanna was too innocent and too unsuspicious to imagine, for a moment, that if Mordaunt liked Ellen, he could have any view but marriage. Ellen, on her side, felt more vexation this night than she could well account for: she could hardly doubt the truth of what Mrs. Price asserted to have heard from Mrs. Ross, namely, that Mordaunt was married, and his lady coming to Llanwyllan with him, this she fancied she should be very glad of: but then she was hurt that Mordaunt should have kept this circumstance a profound secret, and never once adverted to it when he talked, as he had done repeatedly during the two last days of his stay at Llanwyllan, of the pleasure he proposed to himself in the society of Mr. Ross, Ellen, and Joanna.

CHAP. V.

And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich.

HAMLET.

Ellen was engaged the next morning with her needle when Mordaunt suddenly entered the room (for the ceremony of announcing visitors was never thought of at Llanwyllan): she rose hastily, as hastily sat down again, turned pale, then red, and in answer to his hasty inquiries, said--"Are you alone, Sir?" "Alone," replied Mordaunt, surprized beyond measure; "yes, certainly: did you expect to see anyone with me?" "Yes--no, that is, I thought we were told that Mrs. Mordaunt, that your wife was to come with you." "My wife!" exclaimed Mordaunt, turning first as red and then as pale as Ellen had done, almost in the words of Othello, and perhaps not perfectly unlike him in feeling; "What wife? I have no wife." "I beg your pardon, indeed," said Ellen, "for giving you such a strange reception, but we were really told that your lady was certainly coming with you." "What could have given rise," said Mordaunt, regaining his composure, "to such a ridiculous tale? And did _you_, Ellen, could you believe it?" "I own I thought it strange," replied she, "that you had never mentioned it, and I doubted the truth of the story; but Joanna seemed to credit it, and I was told Mrs. Ross had asserted it, but I daresay," added she, smiling, "that it was one of those gossip's tales of which we have so many in this village." Mordaunt said he was wholly unable to account for it, and advancing to the table where she had been sitting, for hitherto they had both continued standing, said--"Shall I disturb you if I sit down by you for half-an-hour?" "Certainly not," said Ellen: "you will allow me to go on with my work." But Ellen's hand did not second her intention, for it shook so much, she was obliged to put down the work, and to say, half laughing, by way of covering her confusion--"I have flurried myself so ridiculously by fancying I was going to see a stranger, that I must rest till my hand is a little more steady." Mordaunt, for the first time, took the trembling hand within his own, and pressing it very gently, said:--"You have not shaken hands with me on my return, Ellen, yet I hoped you would have been glad to see your friend Mordaunt once more: will you allow me the title?" he added, gazing on her intently. Poor Ellen, who had not really any of the usual complimentary phrases, such as "you do me honour, &c." knew neither which way to look nor what to say; and Mordaunt, softly raising her hand to his lips, relinquished it, and pitying her visible confusion, endeavoured to relieve it by saving:--"I think you are a little, a very little paler and thinner than when I left Llanwyllan." "I have been taking a great deal of exercise," said Ellen; "and I think you too, Mr. Mordaunt, are changed: you look pale, and seem fatigued." "Oh yes, Ellen, yes; I have encountered much since we parted--much fatigue both of body and mind. In these sweet shades I hope once more to be at peace: oh, that I might never leave them more, 'the world forgetting, by the world forgot;' that I might, that I could remain here for ever! Would _you_, Ellen, would _you_ endeavour to sooth my cares, and to restore my peace of mind?" He again seized her hand, and wildly grasping, pressed it to his throbbing forehead. Ellen looked at him with eyes of apprehension; his energy, his apparent agitation alarmed her: he saw the surprize he had excited, and dropping her hand, said:--"Forgive me, I am not myself to-day; but I must indeed be lost before I can for a moment forget the perfect respect I owe you." His countenance became at once more composed, and after a moment's pause, he said smiling:--"And how is the poor straw hat which I spoilt the night before I went away?" "Indeed you did not spoil it," said Ellen, laughing; "it would not easily be injured." "Oh, certainly, it was completely spoilt, and as I was the author of the mischief, though you would not give me any commission for Bristol or Bath, I could not resist the desire I felt to replace the loss which I know you cannot do here, and I have accordingly chosen one for you, which, though extremely simple, will, I am sure, be particularly becoming: I have also added one for Joanna, not exactly like your's in shape, because it would be ridiculous; I mean it would not be becoming to her style of face." "You are too good: I am sorry you should have had so much trouble." "Oh, the trouble certainly of doing any thing for _you_ and your friend must be insupportable; terrible as it was, however, if you will do me the favour of wearing this simple bonnet I shall think it overpaid: there is also a little parcel for Mrs. Ross: and some books for our good friend Mr. Ross: nor have I forgotten my first and truly valued friend your father: his little remembrance I shall take the liberty of sending here; but shall I order the box with the other things to Mr. Ross's or here?" "Mrs. Ross and Joanna are going to pass this afternoon with me," said Ellen; "if you will therefore persist in taking so much trouble, we will examine our presents, which are, I dare say, very elegant." "I thank you a thousand times for not reproving my presumption in fancying I could chuse a hat for you. I will send the box presently, and when the contents have been looked at, may I join your little party and walk with you?" "Certainly; we shall be glad of your company." Mordaunt soon after went away, though Powis, who came in, and seemed heartily glad to see him, pressed him to partake their homely fare at dinner, but promising to come again in the afternoon, Mordaunt declined staying then. Powis was haunted by no fears on his daughter's account: his open hospitable temper made him always ready to receive the stranger, and he saw not far enough into the human heart to suspect that one so eminently gifted by nature and improved by art, as Mordaunt was, must have some paramount inducement to fix himself for two or three months amongst the woods of Llanwyllan. Honest, simple, and credulous, he implicitly believed what Mordaunt had told him respecting his health, and the delight he took in the wild scenery around the village; and pleased with his company, would willingly have had him a constant inmate of his house; yet he doated on, and highly appreciated Ellen; but he fancied that Charles Ross had gained her affections, and looked forward to her marriage with him as a thing determined on. Ellen felt a little awkward on the subject of the bonnet, for she had never mentioned to Mrs. Ross or Joanna that Mordaunt had spent two or three hours at the Farm the night before he left Llanwyllan; as to the straw hat, it was, in reality, not injured, although he chose to fancy it was spoilt by way of excuse for ordering another; she, therefore, did not like to mention the circumstance at all, dreading Mrs. Ross's sharp questions and Joanna's looks; in fact, she did not wish to mention the intended presents, and half resolved to appear surprized when the box arrived: this, however, her natural dislike to deceit deterred her from attempting, though Joanna's late conduct had taught her a reserve she never before had felt towards her. The moment dinner was over Ellen went to her chamber, where she took unusual pains in dressing herself as nicely as her very moderate wardrobe would allow; a neat plain white gown or two being the extent of her finery. Mrs. Ross would seldom allow Ellen or Joanna to wear any thing better than a grey stuff, or small printed calico, yet in spite of her expected rebuke, the very best white gown was this afternoon put on; her hair was nicely and delicately arranged under a cap smaller than those she usually wore; for going without a cap or hat, was, in Mrs. Ross's idea, quite bold and improper. Neither Joanna nor Ellen had ever seen a feather or artificial flower, except once, when mere children, Powis had taken them for a few days to Carnarvon, where a few were exhibited; but as to wearing any, they would as soon have thought of putting on diamonds, so different were their simple ideas from those of the very fine ladies we now see every day walking or riding to market, with their ear-rings and necklaces, fine lace frills, green veils, au parasols: expect them soon with foot-boys at their heels. Yet Powis could have given his daughter a thousand pounds; and Ross, though not rich, was in a station of life which might have entitled Joanna to expect some little indulgences, of which, however, she never even thought. Two or three small bows of pale pink ribbon were the only ornament of Ellen's caps, and her slender waist was surrounded by a short sash of the same colour; a bouquet of late roses and jessamine was placed in her bosom; and the gentle agitation of her spirits animated her eyes and complexion: she looked exquisitely lovely; so fresh--so new--so bright--the poet might have said of her--"she looked like Nature in the world's first spring." She had just completed her nosegay, when Mrs. Ross and Joanna arrived; the former with a new assortment of work prepared for Ellen's completion, who sighed when she saw the quantity to be executed. "Bless me, Ellen," said Mrs. Ross; "why you are dressed up as fine as a lady; one would think you were going to a wedding or a christening.--I hope you have not invited Mrs. Price and Mrs. Howel to-day," (the wives of two neighbouring farmers, who drank tea once or twice a year with Ellen and the Ross's) "for I am come in my old gown, and Joanna in her every-day cotton: why, child, are you dressed so much?" "I don't know, ma'am: I thought my coloured gown was dirty, and the day was so fine and warm, I thought this would be cooler." "Umph," said Mrs. Ross, looking at her with eyes sharpened by curiosity, and then nodding at Joanna, as much as to say you see I was right, she drew up her head and was silent a moment; then, by her next question, shewing the turn her thoughts had taken, she said: "Has Mr. Mordaunt been here?" "Yes, ma'am," said poor Ellen, blushing like crimson. "Umph," again said Mrs. Ross, and again she nodded at Joanna. Joanna, looking slily at Ellen, added, while she could hardly refrain from laughing--"And his wife?" "No," said Ellen, looking up at Joanna, and smiling, for she could not help being diverted at the oddity of her tone and look. Just at this moment in came the maid with a small parcel and a large bonnet-box, which, she said, a boy had brought from Dame Grey's. "God bless my heart," said Mrs. Ross, "why that is the very box I saw at Mr. Mordaunt's, and which made me fancy he was married." Ellen explained as well as she could, but certainly not very clearly, what the contents were; and Joanna was so diverted with the absurdity of the report raised by such a trifle, that she burst into a loud and incontrollable fit of laughing, in which Ellen heartily joined; and though Mrs. Ross scolded, and was quite angry that they would not cease laughing and open the box, they laughed on, when the door opened, and in came Mordaunt. He supposed the box had been received and opened an hour before, not knowing his messenger had stopped to play by the way, and was quite astonished to see them gathered round it, the two girls laughing, and Mrs. Ross half scolding and half laughing too. He was hastily retreating; but his presence operated like an electric shock on the whole party. Ellen was half ashamed; and Mrs. Ross and Joanna, who always felt a degree of awe from the dignity of his manner, were afraid he would be offended: the former endeavoured to explain the cause of their mirth; and Mordaunt no sooner heard what had given rise to the report which had so much perplexed him, than--"Albeit unused to the laughing mood," he could not keep his countenance. The explanation, however, was not unpleasant to him, for he had been quite at a loss to guess how any report of him, whether true or false, could have reached Llanwyllan. The box was now opened, a ceremony at which Mordaunt would willingly not have been present, though he certainly wished to see whether the hat was becoming to Ellen.

Both hats were of straw, equally fine; but that intended for Ellen had an elegant simplicity in the form, which seemed made on purpose for her. At the bottom of the box was found a parcel, directed for Mrs. Ross, which contained a handsome dark sarsnet for a gown, with which the good lady was so delighted, that she quite overwhelmed Mordaunt with thanks and compliments, to which he put a stop by requesting to see the bonnets on their respective owners.

"I am not dressed fit to wear such a bonnet," said Joanna, glancing her eyes on Ellen; "but--" "Aye," said Mrs. Ross, "very true: I believe you knew your bonnet was trimmed with pale pink, Ellen, and put on those ribbons on purpose to match it." "No, indeed," said Ellen, half hurt at the suggestion. Mordaunt saw with what unusual care she was adorned, and could not help being pleased at it. He was himself drest with particular nicety, and was really as handsome and fine a figure as Ellen was beautiful. The bonnets were tried on, and highly approved. Ellen, indeed, was, if possible, improved by hers. The parcel for Powis contained some handsome articles of plate likely to be useful to him; and Mr. Ross's books, which were sent to the Parsonage, consisted of Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, uniformly and elegantly bound, and of superior editions. Thus the taste of all parties seemed to have been consulted, and every one of course was pleased with the kind attention.

CHAP. VI.

To me be Nature's volume broad display'd;
And to peruse its all instructing page,
Or haply catching inspiration thence,
Some easy passage raptured to translate,
My sole delight.

She lov'd: but such her guileless passion was,
As in the dawn of time, inform'd the heart
Of innocence and undissembling truth.

THOMSON'S SEASONS.

From this time Mordaunt's visits at Llanwyllan Farm were constant, and in spite of Mrs. Ross's expected reprehension, Ellen, though always gentle, humble, and submissive, certainly did not execute all the needlework planned for her to do; and, worse than that, Farmer Howel's wife declared she had not above half the usual number of chickens to carry to market for Ellen Powis that she used to have; and Mrs. Ross requesting to taste the currant wine, made under her own direction, found that it had latterly been managed so ill, that it would all become vinegar. This was a grievous fault, and grievously did Ellen answer it, for loud and sharp were Mrs. Ross's animadversions; and repeatedly did she remind Joanna that she had prophesied all this. Joanna walked sometimes with Ellen, and of course with Mordaunt, for they seemed inseparable, but found their conversation frequently turning on things beyond her comprehension, or interrupted by short dialogues, carried on in a low voice, to which her presence seemed an interruption; yet no one could say Mordaunt ever directed himself but with the most entire respect towards Ellen, and politeness towards Joanna. Amongst other wonders which Mordaunt shewed to Ellen, such as beautiful drawings, trinkets for gentlemen, &c. and which were to her entirely new, was one which excited in her, not only admiration, but delight. This was his own miniature picture, beautifully painted, and a striking likeness. Ellen had literally never seen a portrait, except some old faded family pictures, which hung in the hall and staircase of her father's house, and represented some of the former proprietors: but these dull miserable daubs hardly conveyed to her an idea of the delightful art of portrait painting; and when she saw this speaking and elegant resemblance of her fascinating friend, she was so enchanted and enraptured, that Mordaunt, contrary to his first intention, requested her to keep it; and she, ignorant of its value, or the construction the world would have put on her accepting the picture of a gentleman, as readily received it as she had done two or three books and drawings he had given her; but different were the sensations with which she looked at this, to her, most desirable gift: it was the companion of her solitary hours, and, when not actually before her eyes, was ever present to her imagination: and when Mordaunt was absent, his picture was laid by her side; yet a sort of intuitive feeling made her snatch it up, and conceal it when any one approached. It is obvious how greatly this indulgence must have increased those sentiments of tenderness which now so irresistibly assailed her young and innocent heart. As the autumn advanced, and the evenings grew longer, Joanna and Ellen were still left less together. Mordaunt was understood to be continually at the Farm; and even the unobserving farmers' wives began to conclude his attentions into love, and to conclude the match between him and Ellen Powis determined on. A slight cold gave Ellen a reason, or rather an excuse, for staying at home, when at the end of a week Mrs. Ross determined to go herself to the Farm and see how Ellen's work went on. In the road she met Powis, and asking if his daughter were at home, he said, "Yes," and added, "I don't think she is well; she has a cold, and looks pale. How is it you and Joanna have not been to see her these two days?" "Nay," said Mrs. Ross, "I have not seen her for nearly a week. Joanna called the other day, but I fancy Ellen is better engaged than to want _our_ company." "How do you mean," said Powis, looking surprized, "why is not Mr. Mordaunt with her every day?" "Why yes, I believe so--part of every day--but what need that hinder your coming? He says she is a clever girl, and she is so anxious to learn what he calls geography, or something like it, that they spend a good deal of their time at their books and such like, and I can't but say I relish my newspaper twice as well now Mr. Mordaunt and Ellen sometimes shew me whereabouts the armies are, and have made me understand whereabouts France, and Spain, and England, and so on are, upon the great maps he has brought to our house."

"'Tis all very well, neighbour Powis, all very well, if you like it: I hope you will have no reason to repent it; but I am afraid, when your shirts and stockings want mending, you will not like these new-fangled ways quite so well." "Why, to be sure, if Ellen neglects her business, that won't do at all; but I assure you she is very industrious, and tells me she rises an hour the earlier every morning, to get through her work, and have time to attend to her books." "Well, neighbour, as long as you are satisfied, I do not wish to make mischief; but certainly Mr. 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 coarse 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 unobserved; 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; assure 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."