Chapter III: Part 3

"Come, don't hurry her spirits with your raptures," said Lady Juliana. "She is a good girl, and we shall be very happy together, I dare say. But I find, Sir, you have been waiting for me, of all people, to chaperon your Lady about to all the fine places: I have had enough of them, and at my time of life I do not know any business I have at operas, balls, and plays: however, to oblige you and _my niece_, I will go wherever you wish me. I do not think she is one who will tire me to death: I shall dine with you to-day, and if you choose to let one of your people go to Drury-lane, and inquire if there are places, we may hear the oratorio to-night."

Charmed with this speech, for St. Aubyn knew his aunt well enough to be sure if she had not been thoroughly pleased with Ellen, she would neither have called her niece, nor have staid to dine with them, he most readily accepted the kind offer.

They dined rather earlier than usual, that they might be in time for the opening of the oratorio, which Ellen was anxious to hear. Laura Cecil, in compliment to Lady Juliana, dined with them, and was quite delighted to see the affection, and even respect, with which she treated Lady St. Aubyn: for Lady Juliana was not a person to do things by halves; and having once conquered her own prejudices, was determined to give her niece all the consequence in her power with every other person, and would have been extremely angry with any one, who had dared to treat her with half the contempt she herself had done the day before. Once a friend, she was a friend for life, unless the object of her affections proved really undeserving, and then she hated with as much warmth as she had loved.

Miss Cecil could not be persuaded to go with them to the theatre; and indeed Ellen was afterwards glad of it, for many of the songs were those which the sainted Juliet used to sing with so much sweetness and expression: and exquisitely as they were now performed, yet Ellen still felt something wanting. The soul that used to animate the eyes of Juliet, while she sung, was not there. The lips that had breathed those sacred strains, were so pure, so hallowed, that all the wonders of voice and science, now lavished for her entertainment, could not compensate to Ellen's mind for the pang she felt in recollecting that those eyes, those lips, were closed for ever.

"Mute was the music of her tuneful breath,
And quenched the radiance of her sparkling eyes."

After this evening, Ellen's engagements became more frequent; but she was never seen in public, except with Lady Juliana, and seldom without her Lord. In vain did fashion dictate, or ridicule assail: the sly glance, the pointed sarcasm, alike were vain: she knew herself safe, her reputation secure, with protectors so respectable; yet there was nothing obtrusive or formal in St. Aubyn's attention to his lovely wife: he was neither inseparable from her side, or incapable of attention to any other lady, or expecting Ellen never to speak to any other gentleman. But it was obvious, without being intrusive, that each was the first object of the other, and that their mutual honour and happiness were the most interesting care of both.

Hence no bold and disgusting flattery assailed the ears of Ellen; no forward flirting woman dared dispute with her the heart of St. Aubyn; so pure, so spotless was her character, that, raised as she had suddenly been to a rank which might easily excite the envy of those who thought they had a better claim to it, not even the bold license of the age we live in had dared to breathe one syllable against her.

Thus passed the time till the latter end of April, which was the period fixed for Lady Meredith's famous fete, about which all the great world was going mad. The persons who were invited were expected to wear masquerade dresses, and the house appeared in masquerade, as well as the company. The whole had been new furnished in a fanciful style, and at an enormous expence, for this one evening; and her Ladyship's own dress was literally covered with jewels: she wore the habits and ornaments of an eastern beauty, and her attire was exactly copied from that Lady M. W. Montague describes for the fair Fatima, only, if possible, still more rich and splendid; and, if possible, still more calculated to display as well as to adorn the figure. No words can do justice to the magnificence and splendour of the whole entertainment: the Bow-street officers at the door, and Mr. G---- and his men serving ices and other refreshments in a room fitted up to represent a casino at Naples, with a panorama view of its beautiful bay, &c. gave it all the characteristics of a modern fete; and the number of gay dresses, shining decorations, lights, and music, made the whole appear to Ellen more like a palace in a fairy tale than any thing "which the earth owns." She wore a black domino, but with a very fine set of diamonds, which Lady Juliana had given her the night before: amongst them was a sort of coronet, or chaplet, set to represent sprigs of jessamine and small vine leaves, in commemoration of that which St. Aubyn had woven of those simple materials the day he discovered to her his real rank; for Lady Juliana had heard the whole story, and was much pleased with that little incident.

Their party consisted of Lord and Lady St. Aubyn, Lady Juliana, and Sir Edward Leicester, a particular friend of St. Aubyn's, a very amiable young man, who appeared much charmed with Laura Cecil, and paid her great attention, whenever he had an opportunity of being with her. They spent a very agreeable evening: it concluded with a splendid supper, at which all the company appeared unmasked, and the super-eminence of Lady St. Aubyn's beauty was allowed by all.

A few nights after this, Lord and Lady St. Aubyn, Lady Juliana, Lady Meredith, and her favourite beau, Colonel Lenox, went to the Opera: the entertainment for the evening happened to be the beautiful opera of Artaserse. Ellen, lost in delight at the superb stage decorations, the exquisite beauty of the music, and the interest of the story, which, by the help of the action, and having read it in English, she understood very well, was scarcely sensible of any thing around her, till the scene in which Arbace is accused of the murder of the king. Turning then to speak to St. Aubyn, who sat behind her, she saw him pale, agitated, and trembling: "What is the matter?" asked she, in a voice of alarm; but pressing his hand on her arm, he said, in a low voice, "Be silent--do not notice me."

At that moment the voice of the singer, who performed Arbace, in the most pathetic tone, breathed out, "Sono Innocente," to which Artaserse replies:

Ma l'apparenza O Arbace
T'accusa ti condanna!

A stifled sigh, almost amounting to a groan, from St. Aubyn, met the ear of Ellen. Recovering himself a little, he whispered--"Remember, Ellen, _and I too am innocent_!"

In spite of the precaution with which he spoke, Lady Meredith turned, and asked him if he were unwell.

"I have a violent head-ache," he replied, forcing himself to appear more composed.

"You look pale, indeed, my Lord," returned Lady Meredith: "and Lady St. Aubyn seems quite overcome with this pathetic scene."

She spoke of the opera, but a crimson flush spread over St. Aubyn's face, and complaining of the intolerable heat, he rose, and went out of the box.

"Bless me!" said Lady Juliana: "what is the matter?"

"Only Lord St. Aubyn complains of the head-ache," said Lady Meredith.

"Oh, I know what it is," answered Lady Juliana: "my nephew hates to be disturbed when he is attending to music; and I suppose you, Lady Meredith, have been talking to him, as you always do at the Opera."

Lady Meredith only laughed; and St. Aubyn returning soon after, nothing more passed. When the opera was over, and St. Aubyn and Ellen were alone in the carriage, he still appeared so restless and agitated, that Ellen could not resist addressing to him a few words, indicative of curiosity, if not of alarm. For a time he evaded her tender inquiries; but, at length, grasping her hands with an action expressive of the utmost emotion, he again repeated his former words: "Remember, Ellen, oh, remember that I too am innocent!"

"I know it, I am sure of it," she returned: "but why thus confide by halves? Why torture yourself and me by these mysterious hints?"

"Ah, why indeed!" said he: "I ought to have more command of myself: but that scene--that fatal instrument of a horrid deed!--Appearances how false, yet how convincing!"

"To me," she replied, "appearances are not and never shall be any thing, when opposed to your single assertion, to my confidence in your integrity."

"A thousand thousand thanks," he replied, "for the sweet assurance! Soon, too soon, perhaps, you will be tried!"

"Demanding so much reliance, so much implicit _confidence_ from his wife, under such _mysterious_ conduct, was St. Aubyn willing, if called upon, to grant an equal share to her?"

CHAP. VII.

Think'st thou I'll make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh surmises?--No; to be once in doubt
Is to be resolv'd----
I'll see before I doubt; what I doubt prove.

OTHELLO.

After the scene at the Opera, which effectually destroyed her pleasure there, Lady St. Aubyn felt for some days not at all disposed to enter into the gay parties which were offered for her amusement: a gloom hung over her, and she had a weight on her spirits, which in some degree affected her health. Some one says, "A belief in _presentiment_ is the favourite superstition of feeling minds;" and Ellen was certainly not entirely free from it. Lady Juliana and Miss Cecil perceived the effect without knowing the cause; and supposing it to be merely a temporary indisposition, persuaded her to remain quietly at home for a day or two; but finding the nervous sort of depression under which she laboured was encreased by indulgence, they imagined a moderate share of amusement might remove it; and prevailed on her to take places at Covent-Garden, to see Mrs. Jordan in a favourite comedy.

Laura did not yet shew herself in public; Ellen therefore went to the play with only St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana. They were joined there by two or three gentlemen, and amongst them Sir Edward Leicester, who, between the acts, made so many inquiries for Miss Cecil, and spoke so highly of Lady St. Aubyn's "charming friend," as convinced her he took a deep interest in all that concerned Laura. This gave real pleasure to Ellen, who thought so well of Sir Edward, as to wish he might succeed in rendering the prepossession mutual. They were all extremely well pleased with the play. Who, indeed, that ever saw Mrs. Jordan act was otherwise? And Lady Juliana was rejoiced to see Ellen quite as cheerful as usual. They did not choose to stay the farce, and finding at the end of the play the carriage was in waiting, left the box. Lady Juliana being rather timid, and not very alert in getting into a carriage, St. Aubyn gave her his arm, and requested Sir Edward would take care of Lady St. Aubyn.

As they were crossing the lobby, a gentleman accidentally trod on Ellen's train, and entangled it in his spur, by which she was detained half a minute before it could be disengaged. He begged her pardon, and passed on. St. Aubyn and his aunt not perceiving the circumstance, had advanced some steps before the Countess and Sir Edward. At that moment two or three young men pushed rather rudely by them; and Sir Edward extending his hand, said, "Take care, gentlemen, you incommode the lady."

One of them turned round, and looking in Ellen's face, exclaimed:

"By heaven 'tis she! 'tis Ellen Powis!"

Lady St. Aubyn starting at the name, cast her eyes upon him, and instantly recognized Charles Ross: but before she could speak to him, as she was preparing to do in a friendly manner, he stamped violently, and with a countenance where the utmost rage was expressed, and a dreadful oath, exclaimed:

"Is this the villain that has undone thee?--But where, then, is that accursed Mordaunt? Ah, Ellen! abandoned, miserable girl, art thou, then, so lost already?"

Pale, gasping for breath at this shocking language, Ellen clung more closely to the arm of Sir Edward, and faintly articulated, "For God's sake let me pass!"

"What do you mean, Sir?" said Sir Edward, fiercely: "Are you intoxicated, or mad? How dare you insult this lady!"

"And how dare you, Sir," answered Charles, approaching in a menacing attitude, "after seducing her from her friends, and from those who loved her, to look me in the face?"

"Madman!" replied Sir Edward, pushing him aside with one hand, while with the other he supported the now almost fainting Ellen. "Gentlemen, I request you will secure him till I place this lady in her carriage, and then I am ready to give him any explanation he may wish for."

Some of the gentlemen, who by this time surrounded them, knowing Charles, said to him: "Come away, Ross; you are very wrong: at any rate, this quarrel shall go no farther."

At this moment St. Aubyn, having placed his aunt in the carriage, wondering at Ellen's delay, returned to seek her; and astonished at what he beheld, exclaimed:

"For heaven's sake, what is the matter? My love, what makes you look so pale? Has any one dared to insult you?"

"Oh! you are there, Sir, are you," said Charles: "I know you: I saw you once, and then foretold what has happened: you are the man who must give me satisfaction."

"Pshaw! he is mad, quite mad," cried Sir Edward; "pay no attention to him; he knows not what he talks of."

The by-standers began to be of the same opinion; and, indeed, his rageful countenance, and the violence of his gesticulations, with the apparent inconsistency of his words, rendered the idea extremely probable; they therefore forcibly held him, and said: "Pass on, gentlemen, and take care of the lady: we will prevent him from following you;" while Ross's friends, supposing either that the wine they knew he had drank had affected him, or that some sudden frenzy had seized him, were amongst the foremost to secure him, especially as a gentleman who now came up said the gentleman and lady were the Earl and Countess of St. Aubyn: but Charles was too outrageous to hear that or any thing else, and called after them aloud, stamping with fury, and swearing terribly:

"Mean, detestable cowards, come back. I am not mad. Give up that wretched girl: let me take her to her father--to mine, who loved her. Mordaunt, vile, hateful Mordaunt! to you I call--Come back, I say!"

St. Aubyn turned, and but that Ellen hung half-fainting on him, he would have obeyed the summons; for he knew that name was addressed to him, and easily guessed who the supposed madman was, and how the mistake which caused his insults might have arisen; but Sir Edward said, "You shall not go back, St. Aubyn, he is mad; or if not, it belongs to me to chastise him."

"Is it not Charles Ross?" said St. Aubyn to Ellen.

"Yes," she faintly replied; "but do not go back; he is certainly out of his senses."

By this time they had reached the carriage, and putting her into it, he shut the door; and saying, "Wait a moment, be not alarmed, I must speak to him," he ran back again, Sir Edward following.

Ross having, as soon as they were out of sight, disengaged himself from the by-standers, was hastening with frantic violence to overtake them: when he saw the two gentlemen, he advanced and said:

"You have thought proper, then, to come back; but what have you done with that unfortunate girl?"

"For the sake of your father, Mr. Ross," said St. Aubyn, "for now I know you, I will be patient and tell you."

"What can you tell me more than I already know?" cried Ross, interrupting him with angry vehemence. "Can you deny that you have seduced her whom I loved better than my own soul? Did you not bring her with you to London? I know it all, Sir: the woman where you lodged found you out. She saw how you had deceived my gentle, innocent Ellen."

"What words are these!" exclaimed St. Aubyn, haughtily. "Whence arises so vile an error?"

"Villain!" exclaimed Charles, with wild impetuosity, "deny not your crimes, but give me the satisfaction of a gentleman."

"You do not act like one," said St. Aubyn: "but here is my card; I am always to be found, and will give you whatever satisfaction you may require."

He threw a card with his address to Charles, who hastily gave St. Aubyn one of his.

"It shall not be," said Sir Edward. "I was the first insulted: this affair is mine."

"Settle it as you please," said Charles: "come one or both, I am ready."

"Very well," said St. Aubyn; "to-morrow we shall be at your service. Come, Sir Edward; Ellen will be terrified to death." They hastened on; and Ross rudely pushing aside those around him, left the theatre.

St. Aubyn and Sir Edward now went as quickly as possible, where they found the Countess, half-fainting, in the arms of Lady Juliana.

"For God's sake," said the latter, as they opened the door, "what is the matter? What have you been doing? Could you find no time or place to quarrel in but in the presence of this poor girl?"

"For heaven's sake, Madam," said St. Aubyn, after having ordered the servants to drive on, "do not talk in that manner. Am I so regardless of this dear creature's comfort, or so prone to quarrel, that I should seek it at such a time as this?"

He then made Ellen lean on him, and soothed her with the most affectionate and tender expressions.

"Oh," said she, reviving; "is he gone? Dear St. Aubyn, tell me, are you safe, has he hurt you?"

"No--no, my love; be composed, all is over; he is gone away satisfied."

"Satisfied!" replied she; "what could he mean? Do you think he is mad, or is it the effect of wine, or some mistake?"

"I know not," said St. Aubyn, hastily; "but be at rest--he is gone--we shall hear no more of him."

"Oh, are you sure--are you quite sure? Dear Lady Juliana, tell me: may I depend upon it? You said something about a duel."

"I talked like a fool, then, if I did," replied Lady Juliana; "but I do not remember any thing of it."

"A duel--ridiculous!" said St. Aubyn, pretending to laugh. "I assure you, Ellen, all is over; pray be composed; there is nothing to fear."

Lady Juliana knew better, but terrified for Ellen, she affected to believe what St. Aubyn said, and between them, they contrived completely to deceive the Countess, who, ignorant of the usages of the world, and not knowing all that had passed, was easily misled. She composed her mind, therefore, in the hope that all was well, though she still trembled, and was so much fluttered, that Lady Juliana, after going home with her, waited till she had seen her in bed; and desiring she might be kept perfectly quiet, she returned to the drawing-room, and endeavoured to learn from St. Aubyn and Leicester what had happened, and what was likely to be the result: but she vainly chid or interrogated either: both persisted in the story that Ross had apologized, and all was over.

Rather better satisfied, though not fully convinced, Lady Juliana soon after left them, determined however to keep a little watch upon the actions of her nephew, with whose temper she was too well acquainted to suppose such a business would be passed over without farther notice.

St. Aubyn gave Ellen such assurances that nothing more would arise from this affair, that, tired out with the agitation she had undergone, she soon fell into a profound sleep, and awakened in the morning perfectly refreshed and composed. At St. Aubyn's request, however, she remained later than usual in bed. Laura Cecil sat by her side, and gave her her breakfast, after which she appeared so entirely well, that no objection was made to her rising.

In the meantime St. Aubyn had received, at his breakfast-table, the following note:--

My Lord,

I find by the card you gave me last night, that the name of
_Mordaunt_ was only assumed to conceal the blackest designs and
most detestable perfidy.

If you do not mean to plead your privilege, I demand a meeting
with you on Wimbolton Common to-morrow morning at seven
o'clock, when I hope to wash out my wrongs, and those of the
injured Ellen, in the blood of a villain.

I shall bring pistols and a friend.

CHARLES ROSS.

_Eight o'Clock, Wednesday morning._

To this St. Aubyn returned the following answer:--

Sir,

I shall be at the place appointed at the time you mention. Sir
Edward Leicester will be with me.

ST. AUBYN.

After dispatching this laconic reply, the Earl went to Ellen's dressing-room. Laura had just left her; Jane only was with her: at the moment he entered, Ellen was reading a note, which, when she saw him, she hastily folded together, and put within the bosom of her morning dress: she seemed a little agitated, and the tears stood in her eyes, but hastening to meet him, she said:--

"My dear St. Aubyn, they told me you were gone out."

"No, my love," said St. Aubyn, a little surprized at the hasty manner in which she spoke; "but I am going out soon."

"Shall you take the barouche or the chariot?"

"Neither; I shall walk to Sir Edward Leicester's: but why; are _you_ going out?"

"Yes--by and bye; I think a little air will do me good."

"Had you not better keep quiet? You know my aunt particularly requested you would do so; she will be here soon: do not go till you have seen her, nor then unless she advises it."

"But I assure you, my Lord, I am perfectly well, and I am sure a little air will be of service."

"Well, do as you please," said St. Aubyn, a little surprized at her adhering so determinately to her idea of going out; for, in general, half a word from him guided her; "but you will not go alone?"

"Oh--no, Laura will go with me."

"Very well, my love; don't fatigue yourself. Where are you going?"

"I don't know exactly: I want to do some shopping."

St. Aubyn then wished her good-morning, and repeating his request that she would take care of herself, left her.

The real fact was this--Jane, who was Ellen's almoner, and brought to her knowledge many cases of distress, of which she would otherwise have been ignorant, had the night before, while her lady was at the play, received a petition from an officer's widow, who stated herself to be living in a small lodging in ---- Street; that she had several children, of whom the youngest was an infant not a month old, born under circumstances of the most acute distress, a few months after its father had fallen in the field of battle; the eldest, a girl of sixteen, in a deep decline: these circumstances, she said, prevented her from waiting herself on Lady St. Aubyn, of whose goodness she had heard much from an old blind lady, her neighbour, whom, in fact, Ellen had supported for some time past, and whom she had visited two or three times with Jane only.

Ellen, warm-hearted and benevolent, was extremely anxious to see this unfortunate family: Jane had given her the letter just before St. Aubyn came into her room, and fearing if she declared her purpose he would oppose it, lest her health should be injured by the emotion she must necessarily feel from the sight of this unhappy mother and her children, she concealed the letter, and did not exactly tell him why she wished so much to go out, though aware that she must appear unusually pertinacious; but she had set her heart with all the fervor of youth on her object: above all, she desired to see the poor little infant, for Ellen, always fond of children, had, since she knew herself likely to become a mother, felt a peculiar interest in young children, and ardently wished to see and provide for one who had so many claims to the compassion of a tender heart; and having really some purchases to make, she gave without consideration _that_ as her only motive for going out. Never before had she departed for an instant from the singular sincerity of her character, and the perfect confidence which she reposed in her husband; dearly did she soon repent of having done so now.

On asking Laura to go with her, she unexpectedly declined it, having a bad head-ache, and tried to persuade Ellen not to go herself, but to send Jane, and go some other time: but Ellen was so unusually fixed on her point, and her imagination was so impressed with the idea of the _poor little infant_, that, for a wonder, she was not to be prevailed on; and fearing, lest Lady Juliana should come and prevent her, she ordered the carriage directly, and set out.

She drove first to ---- Street, where she found the distrest family in all the poverty and affliction which had been described to her--the unfortunate mother, still weak, and scarcely able to support herself, obliged to act as nurse, not only to the infant, but to her eldest daughter, who, pale and languishing, seemed ready every moment to breathe her last, while two or three other children were playing in the room, distracting by their unconscious noise the poor invalids.

The tender and compassionate Ellen felt her heart opprest at this melancholy sight, and hastened as much as possible to relieve it: she held herself the baby in her arms, while she sent Jane to seek a nurse for the poor girl, and to the woman of the house where they lodged, to whom she spoke herself; and requested she would take charge of the other children, till the mother was more able to do so. She gave the widow an ample supply of money to procure every thing necessary for her herself and family, and after promising to send a physician to attend the poor girl, and kissing the baby, she departed, followed by thanks and blessings, "not loud but deep," and went to see the poor old blind lady, who, always delighted to hear her sweet voice and kind expressions, detained her as long as she could.

Returning home, rejoicing in the good she had done, feeling herself animated by the purest pleasure, and quite well in health, Ellen suddenly recollected that she was close by the street where Mrs. Birtley lived, with whom she had lodged the first time she was in London; and she thought she would just stop at the door, and ask for the book she had left there, for which Jane had, as she said, always forgotten to call: it was that very volume of Gray which Mordaunt had given her, and as his first gift she was really anxious to recover it. Meaning merely to stop at the door, and send Jane in for it, she pulled the check, and ordered the coachman to drive down that street, and stop at No. 6, and told Jane for what purpose she was going.

"Oh, my Lady," said the talkative girl, "I shall be rejoiced that Mrs. Birtley should see you in all your grandeur: she will be surprized after all she had the impertinence to say."

"Indeed," said Ellen, "I never thought of that: she will wonder to see me under such a different appearance, and perhaps say something in the hearing of the servants. I will not go."

"Oh, my Lady," answered Jane, "she need not know who you are: only ask for the book, and come away directly: she will not know a bit the more what your Ladyship's real name is; and I suppose she is not enough amongst the grand people to know the livery or carriage."

"True," said Ellen: "well, you shall go in and ask for the book, but do not explain any thing to her."

"Oh, no, indeed, my Lady," said Jane; "so far from it, I shall enjoy seeing her puzzle----"

While they spoke, the carriage stopped at the door of Mrs. Birtley. Ellen, who half repented having come, sat back in the carriage, and told Jane to go in and ask for the book, and not to say she was there, for she would not alight: but notwithstanding Ellen's caution, Mrs. Birtley, having been drawn to the window by seeing such an elegant equipage stop at her door, caught a glimpse of her as the footman opened the door of the chariot for Jane to alight, came to the side of the carriage, and with civility asked her if she would not walk in. Ellen, feeling more and more the absurdity of which she had been guilty in coming to the door of a woman who she knew entertained of her a doubtful opinion, and to whom she could not explain herself, coldly declined the offer; but the coachman said he feared the horses would not turn very well, as the street was rather narrow, and that it would be better if her Ladyship pleased to alight for a moment, lest she should be alarmed.

Mrs. Birtley stared at the "_Ladyship_" as much as she had done at the _coronetted carriage_ and fine horses; for she was not quite so ignorant of _grand people_, as Jane, in the plenitude of her own newly-acquired knowledge, had supposed her.

Ellen, vexed at her own folly in coming thither, was now obliged to get out of the carriage; and several people passing by, staring first at the carriage, and then at Ellen, she thought it would be better to go for an instant into the house. Mrs. Birtley shewed her into the parlour, and requesting she would be seated, added, "My lodger is gone out, and will not, I suppose, be back till dinner-time: he is generally out all the morning. I believe he knows something of you, Ma'am."

"Of me!" repeated Ellen, surprized.

"Yes, Ma'am: for when he came here about a week ago, he saw, by accident, that book Mrs. Jane has in her hand; and some writing there was in it seemed to put him into a great passion. He made me tell him how I came by the book, and asked me a thousand questions about you: what was the name of the gentleman you came with, if you were young and handsome, and I don't know what; and I believe what I told him put him into a great rage, for he stampt and swore like a madman."

Ellen, vexed and astonished, sorry she had come there, and feeling a certain dread of she hardly knew what stealing over her, now turned extremely pale; and Jane exclaimed, "Oh, my Lady will faint: get some water!"

"Your _Lady_! Why she is Mrs. Mordaunt, is not she, _or calls herself so_?" asked Mrs. Birtley with some contempt.

"Don't stand there asking questions," said the impatient Jane: "but fetch some water. Lord, I wish we were at home: if my Lady should be ill, how Lady Juliana will scold, and my Lord."

"Grant me patience," said Mrs. Birtley, as she left the room to fetch some drops and water: "the girl makes me mad with her Lords and Ladies. Poor fool, I suppose they have imposed upon her too finely."

Not one minute had she been gone, when Ellen finding herself better, and not meaning to wait Mrs. Birtley's return, and farther questions, had risen, and by Jane's help almost reached the door to go to the carriage, which through the window she saw drawing up, when that door opened, and Charles Ross entered the room: amazed beyond the power of words to describe, he saw her standing--saw Ellen in his apartment! And forgetting every thing but that he had once dearly loved her, he rushed towards, and would have caught her in his arms, but she evaded his grasp; and catching hold of Jane (who, frightened, gave a sudden scream), said, "He here! Oh, how I am terrified!"

"Terrified, Ellen!" he wildly repeated: "_once_ you were not terrified by my appearance."

"No, Sir," she replied, with as much spirit as she could assume: "for once I should have expected friendship and protection, not insult."

"Ah, wretched girl!" he exclaimed: "once you deserved and wished for my friendship and protection; but now, that fine gaudy carriage, this elegant dress, the jewels, in which I saw you last night, all tell a dreadful tale--all speak of your shame, of your ruin."

"Of my shame! of my ruin! what, oh, what do you mean?"

"Aye, what indeed!" said the enraged Jane: "let my Lady pass, impertinent fellow, and don't stand there talking in that insolent manner. Do, my Lady, let me call the footmen. I wish my Lord was here: he would soon teach you better manners."

"Cease, Jane," said Ellen, shaking like a leaf: "cease this shocking altercation. Of your insulting language, Mr. Ross, I know not the meaning: it is well for you Lord St. Aubyn does not hear you thus address his wife."

"His wife! his wife! Is it possible? Have I wronged both him and you? Stay, Ellen, a moment, for heaven's sake--for St. Aubyn's--for my father's: you know not the mischief one word of explanation may prevent."

She stopped, she turned: he seized her hands to detain her. Oh, unfortunate Ellen!

At that moment St. Aubyn himself entered the room. He rushed impetuously forward, exclaiming, "Dissembling woman! Was it for this you left your home--to meet this villain--to come to his very lodging in search of him?"

"Oh, no! oh, no!" sobbed Ellen, as she sunk at his feet in a swoon so deep, so death-like, that it seemed as if her life had left her.

"Oh, you have killed my Lady!" cried Jane: "my dear Lady! Oh, my Lord, we came here for a book, and not----"

"Peace, peace!" sternly interrupted St. Aubyn: "I will not hear a word. Is she dead?"

"Oh, Lord, I hope not! How can your Lordship talk so shockingly? Oh, Mrs. Birtley, for God's sake help my Lady--call assistance!"

Between them they raised her: for Charles, confounded, shocked, and half distracted, dared not, and St. Aubyn, gloomy, cold, and stern, would not assist her. At length returning life mantled on her cheek, and her first incoherent words were, "St. Aubyn, dear St. Aubyn, save me!"

St. Aubyn, somewhat calmer, and fearing he might have been too rash, struggled with the jealous pangs which rent his heart, and approaching her, said, "How is it, Ellen--are you better?"

"Yes, better, my love; but sick, oh, sick at heart!"

"Compose yourself; all is well."

A little revived, she looked up, but was too languid to discern the expression of his countenance, which contradicted the kindness of his words; for St. Aubyn felt there was much, very much to be explained, before she could be to him again the Ellen she had been--if, indeed, the perfect confidence he once felt in her could ever be restored; yet fearing quite to destroy her, he constrained himself. Mrs. Birtley, now convinced how unjust had been her suspicions, and Jane, eagerly endeavoured to explain how Lady St. Aubyn came to be there; but motioning with an air of proud dignity to them to be silent, he said, "Enough, I am satisfied!" But his gloomy looks contradicted his words, and turning to Ross, he said, in a low voice, "You and I, Sir, shall meet again." Then, with Jane's assistance, he raised Ellen, and lifting her into the carriage, and putting Jane in, followed himself.

"Home!" fiercely exclaimed St. Aubyn, and home they went; but oh, to a home how different from that of the day before!

CHAP. VIII.

"Good friend, go to him; for by this light of Heaven
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel:--
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love,
Either in discourse or thought, or actual deed;
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense,
Delighted them in any other form--
Comfort, forswear me!--unkindness may do much;
And his unkindness may defeat my life,
But never taint my love."

OTHELLO.

Silent and gloomy was the ride homewards. St. Aubyn, bridling with difficulty the jealous rage which consumed him, sat leaning against one side of the carriage, veiling his eyes with his hand, that they might not for an instant fall on Ellen, who, hardly supporting herself with Jane's help, shed no tears, though grief and vexation heaved her bosom with sighs, which almost burst it; for now her recollection was restored, the dreadful words in which St. Aubyn first addressed her rung in her ears, and swelled her heart with anguish.

At length they reached Cavendish-Square, and were met in the hall by Lady Juliana, whose pride, at first, wounded by Ellen's being from home when she arrived, had, at length, given way to feelings of alarm at her long absence; but when she saw her lifted from the carriage, pale, trembling, and half-dead, terrified and astonished, she vainly demanded an explanation alternately from St. Aubyn and the frightened Jane; her nephew passing her hastily, and in silence, went into his study, and instantly shut and fastened the door. There he meant to consider with himself what part it became him to take, and how to elucidate this extraordinary event.

Ellen, throwing herself into Lady Juliana's arms, exclaimed, "Oh! my dearest madam, let me die at once, for my Lord is angry with me!"

"Die!" cried Lady Juliana, struggling with a thousand terrors; "Nonsense! for what? Do you suppose no man was ever angry with his wife before? You are so unused to it, it seems strange to you, but you may assure yourself few wives would think it so extraordinary."

By this time they had reached Ellen's dressing-room, where, having placed her on a sofa, and given her some restoratives, Lady Juliana said, "But what is all this about--what offence have you committed?"

"Oh! madam, I know not; but it is too true, St. Aubyn has said such words to me, such words as I never thought to hear from him!"

"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lady Juliana, turning to Jane. "Speak, girl, if you have not quite lost your senses, or do not wish that I should lose mine, and tell me where your lady has been, and what has happened."

Jane, now, as well as the confusion she was in would let her, repeated the adventures of the morning to Lady Juliana, the visit to the officer's widow, and the old blind lady; and lastly, why they went to Mrs. Birtley's: "And it was I," she said, "that persuaded her Ladyship to go to that disagreeable Mrs. Birtley's--out of pride, I own it--it was out of pride, that she might see what a grand place I had got, and that _my_ lady was not the sort of person that cross old woman fancied she was; and her Ladyship would not even have alighted or gone into her trumpery parlour, if the horses had not been so frightful, and the coachman said, says he, "my Lady had better alight, for the horses--"

"Grant me patience!" said Lady Juliana: "this girl's tongue is enough to distract me! Well, and when you were in her trumpery parlour, as you call it, what happened then? Was Lord St. Aubyn angry that you went there?"

"Oh! no, my Lady, not for that; but the instant after we went in, and while Mrs. Birtley was chattering about the book, and about her lodger (and to be sure there never was such another chattering woman in the world, and looking at my lady from head to foot, so saucy-like, I was quite in a passion with her), I saw my lady turn pale, and thinking she was going to faint, I made Mrs. Birtley go for some water, for I knew well enough how your Ladyship would scold if _my_ Lady was to be ill, and so I told Mrs. Birtley."

"Will this tale ever have an end?" cried the impatient Lady Juliana.

"Well, my Lady, and so just as Mrs. Birtley was gone for the water, and we were got up to go away, in came a young man: I believe, for my part, he was quite mad, not indeed that I am any particular judge of mad people, for I remember the first day your Ladyship came here I thought--but I believe I had better not tell _that_;--however, this young man _was_ mad for certain, for the moment he saw my Lady, he ran to her, and seemed as if he was going to catch her in his arms. I screamed, and when her Ladyship said she was terrified, he quite raved, and called her names, and said something about her shame, and her being ruined, and her jewels, last night, and I don't know what."

"And who, for Heaven's sake, was this man?" asked the astonished Lady Juliana.

"Oh, it was Ross! Charles Ross!" sobbed Ellen; "and St. Aubyn came in while he was speaking to me, and said I came there to meet him, to his very lodgings; and then I fainted quite away."

"So, so, so!" repeated Lady Juliana; "a pretty piece of work! I see what this mistake will end in! But stay; surely it is not too late: I will go to St. Aubyn."

"Yes, go to him, Madam, for Heaven's sake go to him, and explain it to him. Assure him I could not have an idea that Charles Ross lodged at Mrs. Birtley's. Oh! how cruel to be obliged to make this explanation: can St. Aubyn really think so ill of me? Yet, surely, surely he will be undeceived--this is only a momentary start of passion!"

Lady Juliana shook her head, for she knew St. Aubyn's temper; and how hardly he would endure to hear even her on such a subject; yet, if he would but condescend to hear what the servants, who attended the Countess in this unfortunate excursion, what this Mrs. Birtley would say, their stories would doubtless confirm that of Ellen; for of the truth of that story Lady Juliana had not the smallest doubt; but she knew how St. Aubyn's pride would revolt, and his delicacy be hurt, by the necessity of interrogating such people on the conduct of his wife.

She felt herself indeed angry with Ellen for the childish impatience which had taken her out in the morning, after the fright of the night before had rendered repose so desirable, and for going to Mrs. Birtley's at all; but she could easily forgive a folly apparently of so little importance, since it was quite impossible for Ellen to have foreseen the chain of circumstances which followed, and involved her in so much distress.

How St. Aubyn happened to go to the same place, no one could guess; it appeared, indeed, extremely unlikely that he should have done so; but, as singular coincidences no less singular do sometimes occur, though their rarity makes us call them improbable, unless they arise within our own immediate knowledge.

The real truth was this: St. Aubyn, recollecting that Charles Ross had said the night before, "_the woman where you lodged found you out_," had determined to ascertain, from this woman herself, what she had told Ross, and how she had dared to speak of him and Ellen in such terms; and to explain who her Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt really were, that no farther slander, even in Mrs. Birtley's narrow circle, might attach to the purity of Lady St. Aubyn's character, had walked thither from Sir Edward Leicester's, with whom he had sat some time, arranging the particulars of their intended meeting with Charles Ross the next morning; there, to his utter astonishment, he found Lady St. Aubyn's carriage in waiting; and inquiring of the servants where she was, was answered, in that house, meaning Mrs. Birtley's.

"And Miss Cecil?"

"No, my Lord; Miss Cecil did not come out with my Lady, only Mrs. Jane."

St. Aubyn recollected Ellen's apparent agitation in the morning; the letter he had found her reading, and which she so hastily concealed; her having said Laura would go with her; yet she had come with only her maid, a young ignorant girl, come to the very house where he believed Ross was residing; that Ross, of whom, though almost unknown to himself, some secret jealousy had always lurked in his heart.

All these circumstances rose at once to his memory; and, without waiting to knock or ring, the door standing open, he rushed hastily into the parlour, where the first object that struck his sight was his wife, his beloved, his adored Ellen, while her hand was held by the man on earth he most detested, the man who but the night before had insulted her and outraged him! What could he think? Was it wonderful that the fury which swelled his heart broke into words of reproach and anger? Was it not rather wonderful he could so far command himself, so far reflect, as to return with her apparently calm, and that he did not at once cast from him a woman who must have appeared so ungrateful and insincere?

Lady Juliana having with the aid of Miss Cecil and Jane put Ellen to bed, would have retired to seek her nephew, leaving Laura shocked, astonished, and grieved, remaining with her friend; but seeing the flush of fever on her cheek, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes, they sent without delay to the family physician, who, after asking a few questions, and learning the Countess had been alarmed, and was then under the influence of terror for her lord, who, Laura whispered to him, they feared was meditating a duel with a gentleman who had insulted Lady St. Aubyn, the doctor shook his head, and said if her mind were not quieted immediately, he would not be answerable for the consequences: she had, he said, every symptom of an alarming fever, and that if she were not soothed, and kept quiet, the worst event might be expected both to herself and the unborn babe.

Alarmed beyond measure, Lady Juliana now ran to seek St. Aubyn. With some difficulty she prevailed on him to grant her admittance, and with still greater, to hear what she had to say. She repeated the whole story Jane had told her: he shook his head, was silent, but not convinced. She saw his incredulity, and with some hesitation proposed to interrogate the men servants who went out with their lady as to the real cause of her alighting at Mrs. Birtley's. He started indignantly from the idea; but Lady Juliana assuring him she could ask in such a way as should give them no suspicion why they were questioned, he at last consented, and ringing the bell, she ordered the coachman to be sent to her.

"John," said she, "your lady has been frightened at something or other this morning during her absence from home. Were the horses restive?"

"No, my Lady: the horses went as quiet as lambs to ---- Street, where we stopped while my Lady went into a house, I believe to see a poor family, as her Ladyship does sometimes; and then we went to the poor old blind lady's, that Mrs. Jane says her Lady maintains; and after that we went to another house, where my Lady said she would not alight, and told Mrs. Jane to make haste and get the book, for she would not stop an instant; but I was afraid to turn the carriage with her Ladyship in it, the street being very narrow just there, and a dray standing at the house opposite, for fear the horses should prance a little, which my Lady is always afraid of; and so I begged her just to alight a minute while I turned, which she seemed not to like to do, but the old lady of the house coming out and persuading her, she said she would get out for a minute, and the people staring at her as she stood on the pavement, she went into the house, and I believe something or somebody frightened her, for as I drew up to the door, which was not directly, for the horses were a little unruly, I saw a young man go into the parlour where my Lady was waiting, and a minute after, I heard Mrs. Jane scream; and I was going in, and so was James, but just as I was getting off my box, and Richard was standing at the head of the horses, my Lord came up, and afterwards I found my Lady had fainted away."

"Then your Lady had only been there a short time?"

"Not above ten minutes I am sure, Madam, and as Mrs. Jane screamed when the gentleman went into the parlour, I think he must have frightened her."

"Very well, John: I was afraid it was the horses, and if so, Lady St. Aubyn should never have gone with them again."

"Oh, no, my Lady, the horses are quiet enough, poor things, only that narrow street made me think my Lady had better alight."

The man then retired, and Lady Juliana said:--"Well, St. Aubyn, are you now satisfied?"

"Not quite; all this might have been contrivance and art."

"How is it possible you can think so! Did you ever see the slightest trace of either in Ellen?"

"Yes, to-day. Why did she tell me Laura was going with her? Why conceal where she was going?"

"Laura lamented just now not having gone out with Ellen, as she requested on account of a bad head-ache: as to Ellen's not telling you where she was going, that arose from a fear lest you should prevent, what, with the natural impatience of youth, she had set her heart upon. But if you still doubt, let us inquire of this woman, this Mrs.----what's her name?--the mistress of the house where you lodged: she can tell what Lady St. Aubyn's errand was there, and why she alighted."

"Good God! Madam," said St. Aubyn, peevishly, "would you have me go about collecting evidences whether I ought to believe my wife blameless, or the most deceitful of women?"

"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which ought to know her best!"

Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have observed, ere she had given to her an affection and confidence so tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he hastily said:--"But the letter! What letter was that I found her reading?"

"What letter?" asked Lady Juliana.

"One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it into the fold of her morning dress."

"And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed, he hastily said:

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