Chapter III: Part 3

Here Ellen started from her chair, her clasped hands, glowing cheeks, and throbbing bosom, bespeaking an indignant agitation, which would not be controlled. Ross, gently reseating her, said, "Ellen, I wrong not you; I wrong not him, so much as to imagine such a possibility; but there are men, who, though they lead not so decidedly to guilt, yet lead as certainly to misery acute as aught but guilt can make it: and that only for the gratification of a mean and sordid vanity, inconceivable by such as have not witnessed its effects. I had once a sister, Ellen, fair almost as yourself, as gentle, and as virtuous; possessed of a sensibility that was at once her grace and her misfortune. In early life, it fortuned that she met with one of those practised deceivers, who united talents the most superior to manners the most enchanting. By a long series of quiet and silent attentions, by studying her tastes, devoting his time to her, he, without ever addressing to her a word of love, led her, and all who knew her, to believe he was her lover, and would be her husband. At last she was told that such was his usual practice, when he met with any woman who was superior to those around her; but she felt indignant at the accusation, and would not believe it till that belief was forced upon her, by seeing him going over the same ground with another. 'She pined in thought;' and a hectic complaint, to which she was subject, gained fast upon her. A mutual friend came to an explanation with him, while the mean wretch declared he had never made any profession to her, and never even thought of marrying her; but that the world would talk, and he wondered she did not despise it, as he did. A few months terminated the existence of the injured creature. Sweet Emily! thy gentle spirit fled to those regions where no deceit could further betray thee. The wretch at last met his fate in a duel with the brother of one whom he had sought to mislead, as he had done the unfortunate Emily." Ross's voice here failed, and both were silent. "Assure yourself, Ellen," at length resumed Ross, "I was not blind to your talents, and your love of knowledge; and many have been my struggles against the strong inclination I felt to become your instructor. My own children had not, I easily saw, such minds as yours, and I longed to cultivate your vigorous understanding. I resisted, though the temptation was aided by the wish I felt to secure to myself a future companion and assistant in the studies I best loved. Why, Ellen, did I resist? What was the powerful motive which prevented my yielding to such united inducements? It was a wish to secure your welfare and your happiness, which I thought would be most certainly effected by limiting your acquirements to something like an equality with those amongst whom you seemed fated to live. I may have erred in judgment; and since the bent of your inclination so determinately points towards the acquisition of knowledge, I am willing to suppose that I have done so. I will then, Ellen, be your tutor: we will, with Mrs. Ross's assistance, so arrange your hours, that your new employments shall not interfere with your domestic duties; and let me hope, my dear, that the same strength of mind, which so eagerly leads you to literary pursuits, will be manifested in conquering any sentiment too tender for your peace, which may have been excited by one, who, I fear, has merely had in view his own gratification. Should I wrong him--should he hereafter prove that he feels a sincere affection for you, and seeks your happiness, great will be my joy: no selfish or personal consideration shall influence my wishes on this subject. I had hoped that Charles might have been happy with the object of his first affections; but that I see is not _at present_ likely: fear, therefore, no persecution on that subject, either from me, or his mother and sister."

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

Ross, seeing the variety of emotions she had that day undergone had quite exhausted her, advised her to retire to bed, saying she had better sleep there, and in the morning they would talk a little further on her future plans. Ellen, however unwillingly, how much soever her rebellious heart longed to return home, in the hope of seeing Mordaunt if but for a minute, yet felt that Ross had acted so kindly and so wisely, that his reasoning was so founded on truth, that she determined "in all her best to obey him." She retired therefore to the chamber she and Joanna had so often occupied, when no care disturbed their repose, when "sleep sat upon her eyes, peace in her breast." But ah! how changed! Exhausted, wan, and spiritless; her eyes heavy with weeping; her heart agitated with a thousand contending reflections, Ellen long vainly sought repose. Joanna was unusually kind and affectionate--she said little; and all she said was tender and endearing. Ellen felt truly grateful for this goodness, and found her love for her early friend revive, now the roughness which abated it was once more laid aside. At length, thoroughly wearied with the occurrences of the day, "tired Nature's kind restorer--balmy sleep," came to her aid, "and steeped her senses in forgetfulness."

CHAP. VII.

Grief was heavy at her heart,
And tears began to flow!
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell.

GOLDSMITH'S HERMIT.

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

STANZAS TO THE MOON.

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

With soften'd feelings on thy beams I gaze,
And their mild influence stealing on my heart,
Enchanting visions in my bosom raise,
Sweet friendship comes her blessings to impart:
In Ellen's form she comes! Oh, fairest form!
Oh, sweetest voice, that from the grief-worn soul
E'er stole its cares, e'er bade the beating storm
Of sorrow cease, and could each woe controul!

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

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

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

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

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

They had been a few minutes returned to the house, and were just sitting down to their simple supper, when Powis came in; and hastening to meet Ellen, whom he had not seen for nearly two days, he tenderly kissed her. She loved her father most affectionately, and had met him so eagerly, that she did not for the instant perceive Mordaunt, who had followed him into the room, and advanced towards her. She was startled; and fearing what reception her friends would give him, she turned pale, and trembled, which her father perceiving, said, "Why, Ellen, it is only Mr. Mordaunt: you are not frightened at him, are you? Why, you have not seen him these two or three days, he tells me. Come, shake hands with him, and tell him you are glad to see him." Not for worlds could Ellen have articulated one word; but Mordaunt, taking advantage of her father's friendly commands, took the hand she could not--dared not offer; and pressing it vehemently between his own, said in a low voice, "No, Ellen, do not _say_ you are _glad_ to see me: the formal coldness of such an expression from you would be worse to me than that averted look which leads me to believe, at least to fear, the sight of me is far from pleasing to you."

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

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

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

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

CHAP. VIII.

"Are then the sons of interest only wise?
Can pomp alone essential good impart?
Mistaken world; ah! why thus vainly prize
Those gifts which but contract the human heart?

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

The reflections of a long and sleepless night determined Mordaunt on the line of conduct he ought to pursue; and as soon as he thought the early breakfast at the Parsonage would be ended, he walked thither, and asking for Mr. Ross, was shewn into the little study, which that good man called exclusively his own. Yet here, in the very last place where he would have expected to find her, to his utter astonishment he saw Ellen. Ellen alone--seated at a table covered with books, from one of which she appeared learning something, or rather to have been so employed, for at the moment he entered her thoughts had wandered; and she was sitting, one fair hand holding the open book, the other covering her eyes. Supposing the person who entered to be Mr. Ross, who had that day commenced the office of her tutor, she looked up; but seeing Mordaunt, the book fell from her hand, and she vainly endeavoured to rise from her seat--a ceremony not yet exploded by the unfashionable inhabitants of Llanwyllan. Mordaunt sprang eagerly forward, exclaiming, "Here Ellen! Good Heavens! could I have hoped to see you here! At last then we meet again, without the irksome restraint of surrounding witnesses, of almost hostile eyes! Fear not, dearest, for ever dearest Ellen." Seeing she looked half alarmed at his unusual warmth, for in general his manner towards her was, though tender, composed,--"fear not: never may word nor look of mine give you reasonable cause of alarm or vexation. Worlds would I give for one hour's uninterrupted conversation with you--but now another moment may prevent my saying more. Tell me then, sweetest girl, may I, will you permit me to apply to Mr. Ross for his interest with you, and with your father, till I can hope that my assiduities, if not my merit, may have excited in you a tenderer sentiment than mere esteem?"

Bewildered--perplexed--hardly knowing or understanding what she heard, or believing that Mordaunt could be in earnest in what she could not but suppose a declaration of his love, Ellen gasped, trembled, and half fainted in his supporting arms.

At this moment Ross entered, and seeing this extraordinary scene, gazed with surprize, almost with dismay, upon them. "I was told," said he, gravely advancing, "that Mr. Mordaunt wished to speak to _me_. What is the matter Ellen? are you ill?" "Forgive my vehemence, dear Ellen," said Mordaunt. "I have startled your tender spirits by my impatience: permit me to conduct you to your friends; or shall Mr. Ross and I retire together?"

The particular tenderness of this address, and this almost open avowal of the interest he took in her, still more and more surprized Ross. Ellen rose, and with difficulty supporting herself, murmured she would go to Mrs. Ross--"Do so," said Ross; "but let _me_ assist you.--Mr. Mordaunt, be seated; I will return to you immediately."--Without speaking more to her, he took her arm in his, and having seated her in the parlour, (where fortunately Joanna was alone), he told her to compose herself, and returned to a visitor whom every hour made him think more perplexing and extraordinary. Mordaunt extended his hand, and grasping Ross's within it, said, with noble frankness, "You have been, my dear Sir,--perhaps still are displeased with me: but the time is come when the mysteries which surround me shall be cleared away. If you will grant me your attention for an hour I will relate to you some circumstances upon which I must at present beg you to be silent; but to the truth of all which I pledge myself by every asseveration which can bind the man of principle and honour."

They were seated, and Mordaunt related to Ross many events, and disclosed many secrets, which we shall for the present take leave to pass over. Having finished the astonishing recital, he said, "And now, my dear Sir, having heard all I know of myself, and all I may hereafter fear, will you candidly tell me whether I may hope not only for your consent, but for your good wishes that I may marry Ellen Powis? May I, do you think, venture to make her mine, when perhaps a few months may involve me in so much vexation if not disgrace? And do you think I may hope such a share of affection from her as will reconcile her to future events, of whatever nature they may be?"--"I see," said Ross, "that my cautious fears for her peace have a little precipitated your measures. It might have been better, perhaps, to let things go on quietly till the return of that young man you have mentioned to me from abroad might have explained his future intentions: perhaps his opinions may have altered during his absence: be that as it may, if you were now to leave Llanwyllan without coming to a farther explanation with Ellen, I fear her peace would be too deeply endangered; for though I would scrupulously guard her delicacy, and leave the declaration of her sentiments to her own lips, yet it would be idle to deny my conviction that she has seen her _friend Mordaunt_ with what I believe I must call _preference_. Is not that the proper word, think you, Sir?" He smiled, and added such kind professions of regard for Mordaunt, and expressed so much delight at his truly disinterested love for Ellen, as left our traveller nothing to wish from him.

It was determined that not even Ellen should know at present the circumstances Mordaunt had revealed to Ross. "If she knows them," said Mordaunt, "she will think duty calls upon her to impart at least some of them to her father, and we are sure our worthy friend Powis will make no secret of them; you cannot doubt, Mr. Ross, how greatly it would annoy me to have them known while we remain at Llanwyllan; when we are gone, the leading circumstances will not remain a secret long, for I hope for your kind interest with Ellen and her father, that I may take her with me ere long, before winter has rendered travelling over your 'staircase roads,' as some one expresses it, unpleasant, if not unsafe. I am perhaps presuming too far, but I think, I hope, from Ellen's gentle tremor and not repugnant looks, when just now I was hurried into something very like a declaration of my love, though I came purposely to consult you before I made it, that she will not be inexorable." "I think," replied Ross, "I may venture to assure you she will not even affect a hesitation which her heart disclaims. Ellen has been brought up in the most perfect modesty, but at the same time in the most perfect sincerity, and it is really out of her power to conceal her sentiments; and to me, who have known her from her infancy, they are as obvious as if her heart was open to my view; but I will not say more," said he, with a benevolent smile.--"I ought not to betray my darling little pupil: by the bye," added he, turning to the books, &c. "my office of schoolmaster will, I suppose, soon be taken from me; I might as well not have attempted to take it out of your hands." Mordaunt laughed, and asked Ross if he might not request to see Ellen then. "You may easily imagine my anxiety," added he. "Why," said Ross, "there is something so formidable in sending for the poor little girl, and seating her formally to hear what you undoubtedly are impatient to say, that if you can allow her a little time to compose herself, after the flurry she has had this morning already, I really think it will be better. Will you partake of our humble dinner to-day--can you eat at our unfashionable early hour? for the good people here, amongst other things, are amazed at your usual hours; if you can, pray favour me; and after dinner I will so far relax my late vigilance, as to permit you to speak to Ellen apart for ten minutes: will that be long enough?" "Not quite," said Mordaunt, half laughing; "but how shall we manage with Mrs. Ross, who, I believe, holds me in very serious aversion, and with Joanna, who will, I know, have her mother's commands not to stir from Ellen?" "How well you have read us all," said Ross, laughing in his turn: "but trust to me: I will remove all these formidable obstacles--yet do not fancy my good woman has any dislike to you; whatever displeasure she has shewn originated in her vexation at seeing your influence had deranged the plans she thought best for Ellen to pursue, and endangered, as we feared, her happiness; for though she may not shew it exactly according to the manner a more enlightened mind might chuse, assure yourself Mrs. Ross loves Ellen with the affection of a mother." "I doubt it not," replied Mordaunt with vivacity: "who can see and not love that exquisite creature?--what a person--what a mind she has! You may believe, after all I have told you, that 'for several virtues have I liked several women.' I may go on and add, that 'she, so perfectly and so peerless, was created of every creature's best.'"

"Indeed," said Ross, "I have ever highly appreciated Ellen, but I believe not highly enough, for I never thought of her making a conquest so important: the little gipsy is not aware of the power of her charms." "Ah," said Mordaunt, shrinking, "do not lead my thoughts that way, do not let me suppose, if she knew them better, my success with her might be less to be hoped; that when the world shall have taught her to estimate them more highly--" "Ah, beware of jealousy," said Ross. "Name not the horrid word," cried Mordaunt, with some emotion; "too much reason have I to know its misery; but with your virtuous, with your pious Ellen, I shall surely be secure." "Doubt it not," replied Ross, gravely; "if ever human being might be relied on for truth, for sincerity, for singleness of heart, that being is Ellen Powis; yet the world is a dangerous school, and you, I hope, will watch with unceasing care over your inexperienced pupil, whose very virtues may betray her, if not into error, into the appearance of it."

A few more words passed between them, and then Mordaunt retired to dress for dinner, a custom from which he never departed even in this retired spot.

During this long conference, poor Mrs. Ross had been in a complete fidget (to use her own word) to know its subject: her curiosity had long since reached its highest point, and she repeated almost incessantly to Ellen and Joanna, who sat at work beside her,--"Well, what in the whole world can Mr. Mordaunt have to say to Mr. Ross--well, what can they be talking of all this time? Dear, I hope they won't quarrel." "Quarrel!" repeated Joanna, while Ellen's work dropt from her fingers, and she looked amazed and terrified: "quarrel! my dear mother, what should they quarrel about? Besides, did you ever know my father quarrel with anybody?" "No: true enough, he has a very fine temper; but then, _that_ Mr. Mordaunt seems so hasty, and sometimes looks so strangely, that--besides, I thought he seemed quite angry when we went away last night." She then opened the parlour door, which was exactly opposite to that of the study, and stood a minute as if to catch the sound of their voices.

"Well, I declare they are talking still, but not loud: bless me! I actually heard one of them laugh." "So much the better, mamma," said Joanna; "I always like to hear people laugh; it shews there is no mischief going on." "Not at all, not at all, Joanna," said Mrs. Ross, whose irritated curiosity disposed her to contradiction. "I am sure I have often thought, when I have heard you two girls chattering and laughing, that you were planning some mischief." "Well, mamma, I am sure we never executed it, for you know we were always the best girls in the world." "Pretty well, pretty well sometimes," replied Mrs. Ross, half smiling in the midst of her bustle.

At length the study door opened, and Mordaunt was seen to pass through the little garden before the house, to which Ross attended him: they shook hands at parting. "You see, mamma, they have not quarrelled," said Joanna; "so far from it, I have a great notion they are better pleased with each other than they have been lately;" and she glanced slily at Ellen, for Joanna had little doubt what subject had employed, at least, part of the time they had been together.

As soon as Mordaunt was gone, Ross came into the parlour, and said,--"What have we for dinner to-day, my dear?" "Well, Mr. Ross, I don't think I ever heard you ask before in all my life." "Possibly not, my dear; but I wish to know, because Mr. Mordaunt dines with us." "Mr. Mordaunt!" repeated Mrs. Ross: "well, of all things, that is the last I should have expected. Why, _now_ I am surprized indeed:--then we have such an odd dinner to-day;--nothing but----" "Never mind, my dear, never mind, you can easily make a little alteration: come with me, and I will tell you more; in the meantime, girls, go and make yourselves very smart. Mr. Mordaunt is only gone home to dress, and will be here again soon; of course, as he is so nice in his own appearance, he will expect to find you lasses dressed to receive him." "Dear Mr. Ross," said the good woman, staring at him, "I do not know you to-day! What in the world is come to you? First you inquire about dinner, and then you tell the girls to go and dress themselves; two things which I never knew you take the slightest concern in before."

Ross laughed and took her away, and Joanna, looking smilingly at Ellen, said--"Are you quite as much at a loss to understand all this as my mother, Ellen? Come, do exert yourself a little, and perhaps by and bye, with Mordaunt's assistance, you may find out the meaning of some of these extraordinary things." Ellen half laughed, and blushing, told her she was very teasing; but the pleasure which shone in her eyes evinced she was tolerably sure the cause of these new appearances, when explained, would not be disagreeable. Mrs. Ross came in again with a face of wonder, and saying only--"Lord bless me! well,--what strange things have come to pass!--come, Ellen, child, make haste and dress yourself as nicely as possible--come, Joanna, I want you--there are fifty things to do," took Joanna away. Ross joined Ellen, who was hastily putting up her work, impatient to escape to her own room, and reflect in quiet; and taking her hand with paternal tenderness, while his fine countenance was radiant with benevolent joy, said:--

"Compose yourself, my dear child; abate as much as possible this evident emotion; for though with pleasure I tell you every wish of your heart is likely to be fulfilled, nay in some respects perhaps exceeded, yet I would have you receive Mr. Mordaunt's declaration, of what I believe to be the sincerest regard, with something of composure, nay, even of dignity: for though, my dear girl, your station in life may, and does render you his inferior, yet, with your mind and person, he ought to think the affection of a heart so guileless no mean acquisition. Go, my dear, to your room, and tranquillize the too visible agitation of your spirits."

Ellen affectionately kissed the kind hand which held her own, and silently retired.

CHAP. IX.

----The sun goes down;
Far off his light is on the naked crags
Of Penmanmawr and Arvon's ancient hills;
And the last glory lingers yet awhile,
Crowning old Snowdon's venerable head,
That rose amid his mountains----
----Where Mona the dark island stretch'd
Her shore along the ocean's lighter line.

SOUTHEY'S MADOR.

Pass we over the succeeding interview between Mordaunt and Ellen--its general style may be easily imagined; and the particulars of scenes like that seldom give pleasure, unless to those whom they immediately concern. It will be needless to specify that Ellen modestly, though frankly, confessed the influence he had obtained over her affections, and consented to be his wife: one, only one, painful objection arose in her mind--the probable distance she must be removed from her father, and the doubtfulness of her seeing him again, at least for years. These objections Mordaunt did his best to obviate, by reminding her that Powis was yet in a green old age, and would be well able to visit them; and that he would engage to revisit Llanwyllan with her, in the course of a year or two. Here, however, Mordaunt sighed deeply, and his countenance assumed that inexplicable gloom, with which reflexions on the past, or anticipations of the future, seemed always to inspire him: recovering himself a little, he added, "Remember, however, Ellen, this promise must be in some measure conditional. There are circumstances in my situation, which I have explained to Mr. Ross, which may affect my honour--almost strike at my life. Say, Ellen, can you willingly encounter those storms of adverse fate, which may assail, and, perhaps, make me an exile from my native country for ever? Can you give me so much of your confidence as to believe, whatever appearances may be, I am innocent?"

"Your words are full of mystery," said Ellen, in a faltering tone; "yet my heart is so fully convinced of your honour and veracity, that I can venture to promise no appearances shall ever shake my confidence in either--and if Mr. Ross knows those circumstances to which you allude, and yet is willing to join our hands, I have the best security that my heart has not misled my judgment."

"Admirable creature!" exclaimed Mordaunt: "how, in this sequestered situation, have you learnt so to temper the warmth of that innocent heart by the nicest rules of modesty and discrimination? How good you are, not to insist on my explaining all these mysteries!--Believe me, Ellen, I only postpone it in order to avoid as much as possible giving you pain. Perhaps, before any explanation becomes necessary, the clouds which have so long hovered over me may be dispersed. There is a clue, which (if the united efforts of myself and of the best of friends can attain it) will yet be found, that will unravel all that makes against me; and all will then be well." Here, for the present, the matter rested; and though to suppose Ellen void of curiosity would be to suppose her stupid, yet so entire was the confidence which she felt in Mordaunt's affection, and Ross's judgment, that she was perfectly satisfied to rest implicitly on them.

Mordaunt the next day made his application for Powis's consent to his marrying Ellen. His surprize at the proposal was such as evidently shewed it had never entered his imagination. After expressing his astonishment, he hesitated, and then replied: "Why, look ye, Mr. Mordaunt, you appear to be a gentleman, and I dare say have a good income. I can give Ellen a few hundreds now, and a few at my death; and I only want to be sure that you can maintain her in some sort of comfort.--You must tell me a little more of your situation in life; and though I like you very well, I should be glad to know from somebody who knows you what sort of a character you bear. Now don't be angry--I am a plain spoken man, and no more suspicious than another: but when you come and ask me for my only child, and to take her away, God knows where, into strange parts, I had need know whether you are likely to be kind to her."

Mordaunt seemed a little confused at this harangue; but replied: "You are very right, my good friend; I have already explained myself, my situation in life, and all circumstances, to Mr. Ross, who is of opinion I may marry your daughter, without doing her any injury in point of fortune--for your farther satisfaction, however, I refer you to the Rev. Doctor Montague, domestic chaplain to the Earl of St. Aubyn, at St. Aubyn Castle, Northamptonshire--his Lordship is at present not in England. That gentleman will give you every necessary detail respecting me; and should his account be satisfactory, I may then hope all obstacles are removed."

"You speak very handsomely, and like a gentleman, as I doubt not you are: but you will excuse my being a little anxious about my child--truth, to say, I do not like the notion of her going so far from me; but if she likes you (and I suppose you are pretty well agreed, or you would not come to me), I will never let my own comfort hinder her happiness; yet I tell you honestly, I had rather she had married Charles Ross, as I thought likely." At these words Mordaunt's countenance was overcast: he feared there had been some attachment between the young people; and such was the delicacy of his sentiments, that had he been certain of it, all his love for Ellen, passionate as it certainly was, would not have induced him to marry her; on this head, therefore, he was determined to be satisfied. He wrote Doctor Montague's address for Powis, and then went directly to the Parsonage, where Ellen still remained. He found her alone; and though he looked delighted to see her, she yet fancied she saw a little alteration in his manner, which disturbed her. He told her he had seen her father, and a part of what passed, omitting the mention of money concerns, which he thought would distress her.

When he was silent, she said: "Tell me, Mr. Mordaunt, am I mistaken in supposing you out of spirits to-day? I fear my father's rough manner has vexed you."--"No, Ellen, not that." "Then there is something, I am sure." "And do you already know me so well?" said Mordaunt. "I am ashamed to confess how unreasonable I am when you are so good and so confiding: but it is true--your father dropt a hint which alarmed me. He spoke of Charles Ross in terms that--forgive me, Ellen--that led me to fear, whatever might now be the case, he had not always been indifferent to you."

Ellen blushed a little, and said, with a calm smile, "It is certainly true, that Charles Ross professed a great attachment to me; and I believe his friends and my father earnestly wished we should at some time or other be married. Joanna, in particular, was very anxious, and has within a few months been quite uneasy on this subject, and indeed made me so too--for it was impossible----" She paused: then added, "I certainly felt the regard of a sister for Charles, but never more. If I had not--if you had never----" She hesitated, blushed, and said, with some warmth, "I never could have loved him enough to marry him."

Charmed, and with every suspicion laid at rest by this frank avowal, Mordaunt now was truly happy--for, till now, though hardly known to himself, a lurking doubt of Charles had at times hung about him. Mordaunt's former knowledge of the world had had the effect upon his heart, which it too often has, of repressing its confidence, and making it distrustful and suspicious. Great indeed had been his reasons for hardly believing the existence of real virtue, till he knew Ellen: her perfect innocence, her sweet simplicity, blended with the tenderest sensibility and acutest discernment, had once more restored his faith, and he now hoped and believed no future jealousies would cross his path. Yet surely he was venturing on doubtful ground. Great indeed must have been his risk in transplanting so fair a flower from the wildest part of Wales into the polished interior of England, and, probably, into a situation widely different from that she had hitherto filled! What could have implanted in the mind of a man so prone to jealousy as Mordaunt certainly was, so perfect a confidence in Ellen's veracity and virtue? It was, that he had observed in her an exalted, though not enthusiastic _piety_. Mordaunt, though a man of the world, was also a religious man; and in conversing, as he had done, frequently with Ellen on the subject of religion, he found her principles so fixed, and her mind so decidedly made up, and on such reasonable grounds, that he hesitated not in pronouncing her a Christian upon principle, and as such entitled to the firm confidence he felt in her sincerity and virtue.

Mordaunt now told her he should be absent all the next day, for it was necessary to write to one or two of his friends of the intended change in his prospects; and that, as he did not like to trust his letters to any common messenger, and indeed expected there were some of consequence lying for him at Carnarvon, he should go thither himself to fetch them; that as the distance was rather beyond what he liked to walk, especially now the days were so much shortened, he should borrow Ross's pony, and hoped to return in the evening. This scheme he executed accordingly; and Ross, understanding from Powis the mode proposed for his gaining farther intelligence of Mordaunt, thought, as Ellen was now returned to the Farm, it would be as well if Mordaunt absented himself in those little excursions he used so much to delight in, and restrained his visits to her in some degree, till her father's scruples were finally removed. To this, however, reluctantly they agreed; and Mordaunt accordingly spent the greatest part of the next week in viewing the face of the country, returning to his lodgings in the evening. Impatient of this vexatious restraint, Mordaunt, after three or four days, proposed to Ross and the girls an excursion to Snowdon, which, though he had seen, they had not, though living within ten or twelve miles of it. Mrs. Ross, who had of late greatly relaxed her vigilance respecting Ellen's industry, gave her consent; and mounted on their little Welsh ponies, the happy party set out with the day-break, a full moon promising to assist them on their return.

Leaving their horses at Dolbaden Castle, and taking guides with refreshments, each being armed with a spiked stick, they began the toilsome ascent. Ross, being fatigued, remained half way seated on an immense stone, till they should return. As they ascended the mountain, they perceived that its summit was covered with clouds, though, when they set out, it was perfectly clear, and the guides had assured them the day would be favourable. They now, however, began to apprehend that the thick clouds would prevent them from enjoying the reward of their labours, by depriving them of the view from the top of the mountain. The guides, notwithstanding, had still hopes that the day would ultimately clear up, and the event justified their expectations; for when within about half a mile of the summit, a fine breeze arose, and rolled the clouds like a curtain "down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side," gradually disclosing its hollow apertures and broken precipices, with every variety of mountain, valley, lake, and stream; and below them, in every direction, a map of exquisite beauty, containing Carnarvon, the county of Chester, part of the North of England and Ireland, the Isle of Anglesea, and the Irish coast.

Here Mordaunt, sitting down with his fair companions, one on each side, on a low wall, which was probably built by shepherds for the safety of their flocks, but which now serves as a resting-place to travellers, expatiated with rapture on this amazingly sublime prospect. The "Bard" of Gray, and many of the beautiful passages of Mason's Elfrida and Caractacus were familiar to him; and these, with every grace of voice and action, he repeated, till the charmed and enthusiastic Ellen almost fancied she saw the white-robed druids with their crowns of mistletoe and golden harps pass in review before her. After having sufficiently rested, and taken some refreshment, they cautiously descended; and joining Ross, pursued the downward course of a mountain-stream of great beauty, which was frequently hurried over low rocks, forming numerous small but elegant cascades, till they reached the Castle, where they had left their ponies, and then returned by moonlight to Llanwyllan.

The next four or five days were employed in similar excursions. Not having been able on the day of their visit to Snowdon to extend their ride to Beth-gelert, their next object was to see the grave of the greyhound, and the romantic pass between Merioneth and Carnarvonshire, called Pont Aberglaslyn. At the grave of the greyhound Mordaunt repeated to his fair companions the interesting legend connected with it, and Spencer's elegant poem on the subject:--that little tale is so affecting, that, even at this remote period of time, no tender heart can hear it without lamenting the fate of the faithful and ill-requited Gelert. Ellen was not ashamed to drop a tear at the recital[1]. "Alas!" cried Mordaunt: "such is too frequently the fatal consequence of trusting to _appearances_! This excellent and unfortunate animal fell a sacrifice to circumstances, which, however apparently conclusive, were fallacious." He sighed, and fell for a few minutes into a gloomy silence, from which the soft voice of Ellen alone had power to rouse him.