Chapter IV: Part 4

"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her--"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a _Rosolia_ and an _Ellen_: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"

"For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"

"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."

"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and calm her wounded mind."

But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him: delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace--_and I too am innocent_?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith in _his_ integrity and honour, assurances which he had so ill repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:

"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not forgive me?"

"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's _wife_, not the wretch he calls me: why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my _shame_ and _ruin_?"

"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"

"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did _not_ murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me believe St. Aubyn guilty:--I promised him;--he says he is innocent; enough, my love, enough, Ellen will _never doubt you_!" and again she breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."

"She will die! she will die!" wildly exclaimed St. Aubyn, starting up: "run for more help! fetch all the physicians in London. Oh! have I lived to this!"

"You will kill her indeed," said Laura, "if you are not quiet: leave her to us. Doctor B---- will again be here in a few minutes: he says if she can but be quiet, can but be made to understand, all is well; she will recover; but indeed, my Lord, you must leave her now."

"No, Laura, I will not go; I will sit here without speaking; but should she recover her senses, if only for a minute, it will I know comfort her to see me here."

This Laura could readily believe, and therefore made no further objection; but Doctor B---- arriving soon after, comforted them all with the assurance, that though the Countess's fever at present ran high, he had great hopes that perfect quietude, and the medicines he had ordered, would, in all probability, do much for her, especially, aided as they were by youth and an excellent constitution, and that he saw no immediate danger. He strictly enjoined, however, that her chamber might be kept as still as possible, and that at most only two persons should remain there: he entreated St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana to retire, and having prevailed on them to do so, he told Miss Cecil he wished her to be as much as possible one of Lady St. Aubyn's attendants.

"As to Lady Juliana," said he, "she is so very anxious and restless; she will only disturb our fair patient: you, my dear Miss Cecil, I perceive have that happy self-possession, joined with gentleness and activity, which alone can make a good nurse; your voice too is particularly calculated to sooth and persuade a sick person:--you may smile, but believe me, few know how many qualifications are requisite to form a good superintendent of a sick bed, and amongst them I have always found a soft but distinct articulation one of the most considerable. Think only how a nervous patient is what is emphatically called _worried_ by a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a tone, or sudden question. I assure you I have often seen weak persons thrown into a fever by these apparently trifling causes; let me, therefore, beg Miss Cecil will take upon herself the task of replying to any questions the Countess may ask, but in as few words as possible: the moment reason returns, sooth her mind by every assurance that the danger she so much feared is over. I shall see Lord St. Aubyn before I quit the house, and place before him the evil to be dreaded, should he pursue this unfortunate business any farther."

CHAP. IX.

Doubt shall for ever quit my strengthen'd heart,
And anxious jealousy's corroding smart:
Nor other inmate shall inhabit there,
But soft belief, young joy, and pleasing care.

PRIOR'S HENRY AND EMMA.

The medicines ordered by her skilful physician had so salutary an effect, that towards midnight Ellen fell into a quiet sleep, from which every thing favourable might be expected. Lady Juliana was therefore prevailed on to retire to bed, Miss Cecil, Jane, and the housekeeper, sitting up with Lady St. Aubyn, the two latter in the anti-chamber. But Lady Juliana was far from being satisfied, notwithstanding the assurances of St. Aubyn that all was at an end between him and Ross: she knew him too well to believe he would pass over insults so marked; and her watchfulness had convinced her no apology from Ross, in writing or otherwise, had been received. Sir Edward Leicester, too, had called once or twice in the course of the day; and though she had tormented him and her nephew, by resolutely remaining in the room in defiance of the hints St. Aubyn gave of wishing to be alone with his friend, yet she overheard a few words, that more and more convinced her a duel was intended. She left orders, therefore, to be called by day-break; and unable to prevail on St. Aubyn to go to bed, wearied and exhausted by emotions, which, at her time of life, she could ill support, she at length left him to himself.

Determined as he was to meet Ross in the morning, and avoiding reflections, which, though he felt how decisive they were against the practice of duelling, he yet thought came too late. St. Aubyn's frame was shaken by various sensations. Recollection of the past, and terror for the future, hung heavily upon him; yet not for himself he feared: but should any thing amiss happen to him, what would become of Ellen--of Ellen, whom he should leave upon a bed of sickness, which, then he felt convinced, would be to her the bed of death!

"And was it for this," he exclaimed, as he paced his study, "for this I drew her from her native shades, where, happy and contented, but for me she might have blossomed still. Oh! little, my Ellen, hast thou had cause to rejoice in that elevation which doubtless many have envied thee. Too often have I been to thee the mysterious cause of sorrow and anxiety. Perhaps I shall have been also the cause of thine untimely end."

The idea so dreadfully shook him, he dared no longer think, lest it should quite unman him; but determined to look upon her once more, he took the taper, which burnt beside him, and, with light steps, passed to her apartment. In the anti-room he found the housekeeper and Jane both sleeping in their chairs: all was profoundly still, and he began to fear Ellen was left without a wakeful guard; but at the sound of his footsteps, almost noiseless as they were, and the approaching light, for the bed-room door was open for air, Laura Cecil stole to meet him: she motioned to him to be silent, and advancing a few steps into the anti-room, said, in the lowest whisper, "For heaven's sake, Lord St. Aubyn, why this--why are you not retired to rest?"

"Ah, Laura! dear, kind Laura," he exclaimed, grasping her hand, "how could I rest, while that injured, perhaps that murdered angel lies suffering thus, and through my fault, through my accursed, headlong jealousy!"

"Deeply, indeed," said Laura, "do I lament that appearances should have thus misled you, my Lord, and am indeed astonished at it: had you but waited one hour, ere you so harshly condemned, from me you might have learned her perfect innocence: she pressed me to go with her this morning, which my having a bad head-ache prevented: she told me where she was going, shewed me the letter she had received, detailed her kind plans for relieving the poor widow, and mentioned not having explained her intentions to you, lest you should prevent her going; and she wished so much, she said, to see the _poor little infant_; certainly she did not mention any intention of going to that fatal house where you found her, and which, I am assured, she never thought of till passing the top of the street she recollected the book she so much valued, and which I one day heard her tell Jane to call for; but all this is now unavailing: let me beg you to retire: should the murmur of our voices disturb her, I shall indeed greatly lament it."

"Oh, let me look upon her--once more let me see her! Will she die? Is it possible she may recover?"

"It is very possible, almost certain, from her sleeping so quietly, if you do not disturb her: but think, if she should awake and see you, at this strange hour, with those distracted looks!"

"Yet I must see her _now_--yes, Laura, I must venture all; for how do I know if I shall ever see her more!"

"For heaven's sake, what do you mean? Surely, surely you do not think of--you are not meditating----"

"No matter what," said he hastily; "I must see her _now_."

Laura shrunk back astonished and dismayed; but feeling that he would not be contradicted, she again, with light steps, approached the bed; where, in a profound sleep, the effect of opiates, lay Ellen, "fair lily, and whiter than her sheets;" and but that in the stillness of night her quick short breathings were distinctly heard, it could hardly have been known she lived.

Laura then beckoned St. Aubyn to approach, which he did with trembling steps, and shaded by the curtain, gazed wistfully upon her. Overcome by the touching spectacle of youth, beauty, and innocence, in a few hours almost destroyed by his rash jealousy, the tears now ran down his manly cheeks; and hardly could he restrain the groans which heaved his bosom, while Laura's eyes streamed at the affecting sight before her. At that moment Ellen moved a little, and they both retreated, that if she opened her eyes she might not see them; but she still slept; and only murmuring "dear St. Aubyn," and a few inarticulate words, she was again silent.

Again St. Aubyn asked Laura if it were possible she could recover, and she assured him that Ellen already looked better than she had done an hour before; and at last, after he had knelt and imprinted a soft kiss on one of her hands, which lay on the counterpane, and lifted up his heart to heaven, in silent prayer for her recovery, he was prevailed on to quit the room.

The rest of the night St. Aubyn spent in settling some papers, and adding a few lines to his will, all of which he locked into a drawer, and sealing up the key, directed it to Lady Juliana.

At day-break his valet, according to order, came to him. To this confidential servant St. Aubyn explained the cause of his going from home so early, and left the pacquet for Lady Juliana in his care, to be delivered to her, should he not return in safety. He then sent to inquire of Jane for her lady, and had the happiness of hearing a favourable account of her. St. Aubyn then set off, attended only by one servant, to the house of Sir Edward Leicester, whose carriage was at the door, and they instantly proceeded to Wimbledon, where, on the spot marked in Charles Ross's letter, they alighted; and telling the coachman to draw off, and wait at a place they pointed out to him, the two friends walked up and down some time, expecting Ross.

In about ten minutes they saw him approaching, but alone: St. Aubyn just touched his hat, and said, "Mr. Ross, where is your friend?"

"My Lord," said Ross, in a firm tone, "I am here, not to fight, not to double the injuries you have already received from me, but to make every concession you can desire. I have brought no friend with me; I trust my honour and my life implicitly in your hands. Are you prepared to hear my explanation?--if not, I am ready to stand your fire."

"I know not, Sir," said St. Aubyn, haughtily, "what has caused this sudden alteration in your sentiments: this meeting was at your own request; and the insults you bestowed on Lady St. Aubyn yesterday make me as desirous of it now as you were when you appointed it."

"Yet, my Lord," said Sir Edward, "hear Mr. Ross: if this affair can be accommodated without bloodshed, I think myself called upon to insist it shall be so."

St. Aubyn bowed with a lofty air to Ross, and said:--

"Well, Sir, your explanation if you please."

Ross now entered into a long detail of the circumstances which had misled him, stated his fears of St. Aubyn under the name of Mordaunt, when he first saw him at Llanwyllan; that no letters from thence had reached him on the station where he had remained for the last half year, till, about a month before his ship had come home, and he had been ordered to London to receive a promotion as unexpected as it was welcome; that he happened to lodge at Mrs. Birtley's, and by chance, finding the volume of Gray Lady St. Aubyn had left there, he recognized the initials "C. F. M. to E. P." in the first page, which the words "Dear Llanwyllan," written in another, confirmed. The answer Mrs. Birtley made to his impatient questions had convinced him who the Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt she spoke of were: this woman had given him also such accounts as led him to believe they were not married, and hence his mad insulting conduct at the theatre had arisen. He next repeated so accurately every word that had passed between him and Ellen, and described their mutual astonishment at meeting so unexpectedly in such a natural manner, that had St. Aubyn doubted before, he could have done so no longer.

"Yet," said Ross, "convinced as I now was how wrong I had been, I could not prevail on myself to apologize to one whom I confess I hated, for he had robbed me of the only woman I ever loved; yet she had never, even in the happy hours of our youth, given me the slightest hope of ever obtaining more than the affection of a sister from her, and even that seemed at times more the effect of habit than choice; for rough and unpolished, my manners repulsed, and choleric and hasty my temper, alarmed the gentle Ellen; yet I still flattered myself, time, and the retired situation in which she lived preventing her extraordinary beauty from being known, might have done much for me; but from the moment Mr. Mordaunt was known to her, I easily perceived that hope was at an end; and now I had only to desire that I might fall by the hand of the man who had raised her to that greatness. I could have done no more than wish for her; I therefore determined to keep my engagement for this morning. But yesterday it came to my knowledge that the promotion intended for me had been granted to the solicitations of Lord St. Aubyn. Struck, ashamed at the base ingratitude of my conduct, I resolved at length to make every explanation, every concession. I have done so, and now, my Lord, it rests with you to accept this apology: if you refuse it, I am ready to stand your fire, for never will I lift my hand in a cause so unjust, and against a man, who, without my knowledge, had so generously befriended me."

"I told you before, Mr. Ross," said St. Aubyn, "that for your excellent father's sake I would overlook that in you which in another man I would instantly have resented. I am not of a vindictive spirit, and the practice of duelling, though I have in some measure been forced to countenance it, is against my principles. You are at liberty, Sir, to retire; I am satisfied."

"I dare not, my Lord," said Ross, "attempt to offer any thanks for the kindness you intended me in my professional career; still less can I consent to profit by it: I have not deserved it at your hands, and declining the promotion offered to me, I shall return to my ship, and leave England as soon as possible, and I hope for ever."

St. Aubyn's generous spirit was moved by this renunciation.

"That promotion, Mr. Ross," he replied, "was sought for you at the request of Lady St. Aubyn, who had not forgotten the friend of her childhood, and in hopes of gratifying your most worthy father, from whom, as well as from your mother and sister, both my wife and myself have experienced much kindness and friendship: I must therefore request you will not renounce it.

"At this moment Lady St. Aubyn is extremely ill, in consequence of the alarming scene to which your mistake and my rashness gave rise: should this illness prove fatal," (and his lips quivered with emotion as he spoke), "never more must you and I meet again! Should she recover, as I hope and trust she will, I am so perfectly satisfied with the explanations I have received, that I shall not be sorry to see your early acquaintance renewed: for the present we part as friends."

Then bowing, he took Sir Edward's arm, and hastened to his carriage, leaving Ross overwhelmed with shame and remorse for the treatment he had given to a man so generous.

On reaching Cavendish Square he found Lady Juliana in the utmost alarm; for missing him when she arose, and hearing at how early an hour he had left the house, she had immediately suspected his errand abroad: she had sent to Sir Edward Leicester's, and learned from the servants that their master and Lord St. Aubyn had gone out together. Still more and more alarmed, Lady Juliana paced from room to room in dreadful agitation, not knowing whither to send or what to do. Soon after eight o'clock, Laura sent a note by Jane to Lady Juliana, saying Lady St. Aubyn was awake, that the delirium had totally subsided, but had left her so extremely weak and low she could hardly speak to be heard, but was anxious to see her and Lord St. Aubyn, whose affectionate inquiries she had heard of with much delight, and was prepared to see him with composure, and without recurring to the past. To trust herself near Ellen, agitated as she was, Lady Juliana knew was impossible; she therefore ordered Jane to say, that having sat up almost the whole night, neither the Earl nor herself was up, but in an hour or two they would be with her; then assuring the girl that the unfortunate misunderstanding of the day before was perfectly explained, she charged her not to drop a hint of it amongst the servants, which Jane readily promised, and faithfully performed.

Soon after this, Doctor B. called, and to him Lady Juliana communicated her fears on St. Aubyn's account: he entreated she would not go near the Countess till her spirits were quieter, and by no means to let any ill tidings reach her, should such arrive: then visiting the sick room, he rejoiced to find his young and lovely patient out of danger, though extremely weak. The excellence of her constitution, assisted by his skill, had triumphed over the disease, and if no new alarm occurred, he doubted not her perfect recovery: leaving strict and repeated orders that no one should be admitted at all likely to hurry her spirits, he left her, and as he passed down the staircase, was rejoiced to see St. Aubyn enter safe and well. The Earl hastened to him with the most eager inquiries for his patient, and listened to his favourable accounts with thankful joy.

"As to Lady Juliana, my good Lord," said the physician, "she is scarcely in her senses; you have frightened her almost to death: come, let me have the pleasure of leading you to her, and telling her at the same time how much better our fair patient is, after which I would advise you both to take some repose, for your countenance tells me you have not had much rest last night, and I promise you, you must not go to Lady St. Aubyn with those pale and haggard looks."

The joy of Lady Juliana at seeing St. Aubyn return safe and unhurt was extreme, and was still increased when he owned to her candidly where he had been, and the satisfactory explanation he had received from Ross, which so completely put an end to this untoward affair for ever.

In the afternoon, St. Aubyn, promising to be as composed as possible, was permitted to see Ellen for a few minutes. Both forbore to speak of what had passed, for both felt they could not endure to recur to it; but the warmth and unaffected tenderness of his manner assured her that all suspicion had been effaced from his mind; while the affectionate softness of her's proved to St. Aubyn that his unkindness was forgiven.

In a very few days Ellen was pronounced convalescent, though her remaining weakness, and Lady Juliana's precautions, confined her to her dressing-room: there, by slow degrees, she learned from her affectionate Laura all the circumstances which had led to Charles Ross's mistake, and that of St. Aubyn, nor could she help acknowledging that appearances had been in both instances against her: relieved however by having all her anxieties removed, and by a full though affecting explanation with St. Aubyn, who gave her the tenderest assurances that every jealous disposition was for ever removed from his mind, she now rapidly recovered: but as the weather was now becoming very warm, and she had had no great reason to delight in London, she earnestly requested to be allowed to return to Castle St. Aubyn; and the advice of her medical attendants coinciding with her wishes, the request was easily granted.

Before she left London, however, she, with her Lord, paid another visit to the officer's widow and her interesting family, and so arranged for them as to ensure them a neat residence a little way out of town, and the certain means of comfortable subsistence for the present; for it was her intention, with St. Aubyn's permission, to form a school, and other useful institutions, in the neighbourhood of the Castle, in which she hoped to render the widow a service, as well as gratify herself, by placing her at the head of the village seminary. She also visited Mr. Dorrington again, and spent a delightful hour amongst his treasures; then leaving her P. P. C. for Lady Meredith, and some other slight acquaintances, she joyfully left London on her way to Northamptonshire, accompanied by the Earl (more tenderly attached than ever), Lady Juliana, and Miss Cecil, Sir Edward Leicester promising to pay them a visit very soon.

Delighted indeed was Ellen once more to breathe the pure air of the country; and as they passed the little inn where they had stopped on their former journey from town, and caught a distant glimpse of the farm-house where he had told her his real name and rank, she tenderly pressed St. Aubyn's hand, and with a soft tear on her cheek, reminded him of the circumstance.

"Ah, my Ellen," he said, "much have we both suffered since that interesting moment, but never more, through fault of mine, shall you shed another tear, save such as now glitter in your eyes--tears of tenderness and affection."

CHAP. X.

She feels it--'tis her son! with rapture wild,
Bath'd in warm tears, from soft sensations prest.
She clasps him to her cheek, her lip, her breast,
And looks with eye unsated on her child.
He knows her, sure!--Sure, answering rapture his,
Leave her at least the visionary bliss!
Lo! his clear eye to her's responsive speaks,
And lo! his little mouth, that wistful seeks
Warm from her lip to suck the sweet o'erflowing kiss.
She hears the silent call--how quickly hears
A mother's heart.

SOTHEBY'S OBERON.

Arrived at the Castle, Ellen once more began to breathe; her colour and appetite returned, and she speedily recovered her strength, and thought she had never been so happy: her Lord's renewed, and even encreased affection, Lady Juliana's sincere attachment, and the pleasing society of Laura Cecil, who remained her guest (Sir William being in Scotland with Lord and Lady Delamore), left her scarcely any thing to wish.

This little party received a very agreeable addition about a week after, by the arrival of Sir Edward Leicester, whose continued attentions to Miss Cecil seemed not ill received by her.

Soon after their return to Castle St. Aubyn, letters from Mr. Ross and Joanna arrived, filled with thanks and rejoicings for the promotion of Charles. They said not a word, nor seemed to know any thing of the late transactions; and Lord and Lady St. Aubyn were glad he had not revealed them. It appeared, that through St. Aubyn's interest, he had been made Lieutenant, and honoured with the command of a small frigate, and was gone to cruize in the Mediterranean. At this latter circumstance Ellen was not sorry; for she could not wish, after what had passed, to see Charles Ross again at present. Every thing, therefore, seemed now smooth before her; and though sometimes her thoughts would wander to the former mysterious expressions of St. Aubyn, and recollecting that the time he appointed for their elucidation was arrived, yet as she heard no more of it, and he seemed to have lost those fits of gloom, which even from the commencement of their acquaintance had been obvious in him, she hoped all was passed over, and determined by no ill-timed curiosity to revive painful ideas in his mind. But she yet fully knew not St. Aubyn, except when thrown off his guard by any sudden emotion: his command over his spirits and features was wonderful; and no one who saw him composed, cheerful, and even gay, could have suspected what at times passed in his mind, nor to what unpleasant scenes he now looked forward. Not even Lady Juliana knew what reason he had to think of the future with apprehension, though with much of what had formerly befallen him she certainly was acquainted.

The families round the Castle paid every polite attention to Lady St. Aubyn on her return: many, who had been absent when she was there before, now visited her; and though for the present she declined entering into large parties, every one seemed rejoiced to see her once more amongst them. Not the least delighted was Miss Alton, who with unfading charms, and exhaustless professions of regard, came eagerly to greet the charming Countess's return, to rejoice in her perfect recovery, and to assure her how much she had suffered at hearing she was ill in London.

"And oh! my dear Lady St. Aubyn," said she, "think how shocked I was to hear some rude wretch had annoyed you at the theatre, and that your excellent lord had like to have fought a duel about it. Oh! how thankful I am that these frightful scenes did not more materially injure your valuable health, and that you are returned to us, if possible, more beautiful than ever."

"And who, my dear Miss Alton," said Laura, who alone retained composure enough to answer her (for this familiar recurrence to scenes so painful had greatly disturbed Lady St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana), "who told you all this wonderful story?"

"Oh, it was a cousin of mine, who happened to be coming out of the playhouse just as it happened, and wrote me word of it; and that the gentlemen had exchanged cards: so you see I had pretty good authority."

"Yes," replied Lady Juliana, with her usual asperity, "and no doubt made pretty good use of it. Pray, Ma'am, did you think it necessary to send a man and horse round the neighbourhood with this amusing piece of intelligence; or were you contented with your own personal exertions?"

"Dear Lady Juliana, I am sure I thought no harm; I only just mentioned it----"

"To every one who would hear you, no doubt. If, at least, you had spared us the recital, it would have been quite as delicate, and more consistent with your _tender feelings_ for Lady St. Aubyn."

Poor Miss Alton, quite shocked to find she had given such offence to the old lady, of whom she stood in great awe, vainly attempted to rally her spirits, and soon after took her leave, earnestly wishing Lady Juliana had staid in London; for she foresaw the entre of the Castle would not be so easily granted to her now as it had been when only the kind-hearted Countess presided; and trembling, lest, if she were not more cautious in future, she should not be admitted to see the little stranger when it arrived, and take cake and caudle in Lady St. Aubyn's apartment.

"See," said Lady Juliana, drawing herself up, "see, my dear, the consequence of admitting such low, uneducated people to any degree of intimacy! This gossipping woman would not have ventured to hint at what had passed, had you kept her at a proper distance: but the easy impudence of such people in these degenerate times astonishes me. In the days of the Countess of St. Aubyn, my mother, _she_ would scarcely have spoken to such a sort of person as this Miss--what do you call her?" For when Lady Juliana felt proud or indignant, she had a great knack of forgetting any name which had not a title tacked to it; though no one remembered more accurately those which had.

"Ah!" thought Ellen, "how with pride so overbearing could I ever have hoped to be myself exempted from this general censure of such sort of persons! How fortunate I may think myself, to have overcome a prejudice of such long standing."

In the society of a few agreeable neighbours, and the ever-pleasing conversation of Laura, the time passed serenely till the end of August: yet there were moments when gloom seemed again to steal over the features of St. Aubyn. His foreign letters arrived more frequently, but appeared to give him no satisfaction. With Ellen he studiously avoided all conversation on the subject of his anxiety: for he dreaded, in her present state, the least alarm, and delayed by every means in his power the apparently fast approaching crisis of his fate, till her safety should have been secured.

At length, after some hours of uneasy watching, and the most painful anxiety, Lady Juliana announced to him the birth of a _son_, who, notwithstanding all the alarms his mother had undergone in London, seemed likely as well as herself to do well. Lady Juliana was in raptures at this event, to which she had so long looked forward with impatience. Nothing that money could procure was wanting to decorate either the infant or the chamber where he lay, which, as well as that of the Countess, had been entirely new furnished in the most superb and commodious manner at her expence, Lady Juliana having insisted on paying for every thing prepared, even to the elegant cradle lined with quilted white satin; and not even Lady Meredith had softer cushions than those on which the infant heir reposed.

St. Aubyn, charmed with the lovely little creature, and to see its mother safe, appeared as if he had no wish ungratified, and left no tender attention unpaid which might ensure his Ellen's health and comfort. As she approached towards convalescence, Laura Cecil was her constant and most delightful companion, and well knew how to cheer and adorn the hours which were necessarily given to the quietude of her own apartments. The infant was rather delicate though healthy; but safe in its mother's fostering cares it strengthened every day, without those cares----

Ah! what avails the cradle's damask roof,
The eider bolster, or embroidered woof,
Oft hears the gilded couch unpitied plains,
And many a tear, the tassel'd cushion stains!
No voice so sweet attunes his cares to rest,
So soft no pillow as his mother's breast!
Thus charm'd to sweet repose, when twilight hours
Shed their soft influence on celestial bowers,
The cherub, Innocence, with smile divine,
Shuts his white wings, and sleeps on beauty's shrine.

DARWIN.

Incessantly anxious about the babe, Lady St. Aubyn could not soon permit it to be removed from her apartments, it lay therefore with its nurse in a smaller room within that where Lady St. Aubyn slept.

It was about six weeks after this event, so interesting to all parties, had taken place, and Ellen had for some time been returned to the society of her own family, that one day, just as they had finished dinner, St. Aubyn was told two gentlemen in a chaise and four had just arrived, and requested to speak to him immediately. He changed colour, but conquering his purturbation, desired they might be shewn into his study, and he would go to them. "Who are they?" said Lady Juliana. "I did not know, nephew, you expected any company." "Perhaps," said St. Aubyn, evading her questions, "they may not remain here an hour, perhaps till to-morrow morning." He hastily left the room, and Ellen was convinced these strangers were the persons at whom St. Aubyn had often hinted as connected with the mystery which hung around him: she trembled, and felt dismayed, but endeavoured to be as composed as possible. In a few minutes after St. Aubyn had left the room, Mr. Mordaunt was sent for; and as he had been some time an invalid, St. Aubyn desired a carriage might be dispatched to bring him to the Castle. Ellen passing soon after up stairs to the nursery, crossed him in the hall, followed by his assistant with a quantity of papers and parchments: they bowed, and went into the study. "Oh, I know now," said Lady Juliana, who was with her, "who St. Aubyn has with him: it is I suppose Lord De Montfort, and his guardian and tutor, Mr. O'Brien, a Catholic priest, who has the entire management of the young man, and will I suppose now have the entire direction of his estates, which have till now been under the care of my nephew, who was appointed by his father's will the young Earls guardian, as far as related to his English property, till he should be twenty-four, though his Catholic relations have had the care of his person. Rejoiced shall I be when St. Aubyn has finally concluded all his concerns with that family. Heaven knows they have given him trouble enough already! and this young man I know hates him. I don't suppose he will stay an hour after the accounts are settled, indeed he would not have come at all, only Mordaunt having all the affairs in his hands, and being too unwell to go from home, it was I conclude necessary: this I know, if these people stay here to-night, I shall remain in my own room."

Ellen carefully and anxiously attended to all she said, yet this discourse gave her no clue by which to unravel the mysterious speeches of St. Aubyn. After spending an hour in the nursery, both ladies returned to the drawing-room, and sent a servant to know if coffee should be carried into the study, or if Lord St. Aubyn and his guests would join the ladies. Orders were given for tea and coffee in the study; and Lady Juliana could not restrain her curiosity enough to refrain asking who was with Lord St. Aubyn: from the servant she learned that the party consisted of his Lordship, Mr. Mordaunt, his clerk, and two strange gentlemen, one elderly, the other young, and apparently in ill health. This confirmed her surmises, and soon after tea, not wishing to see Lord De Montfort, should he make his appearance, she retired to her own room, leaving Ellen and Laura together, with a strict injunction to the former not to be kept up too late.

Ellen's anxiety made her somewhat silent; and Laura, never very talkative, easily fell into her present humour, so that for some time very little conversation passed between them. Laura was netting, and Ellen attempting a drawing; but her hand was unsteady, and her attention divided, therefore finding she should not succeed, she threw down her pencil, and listened in silence to a loud equinoxial wind, which howled around, and shook with "murmur not unlike the dash of ocean on his sounding shores" the ancient trees which grew near the mansion. A chilling sensation insensibly stole upon her, and at length, to break the melancholy silence of the apartment, rather than that she wished to speak, she said, "'Tis a rough night, and cold."

"Yes," said Laura; and they both drew nearer the fire.

"Do you know Lord De Montfort?" asked Ellen.

"I have seen him when a boy," replied Laura, "and think I should know him again, though six or seven years make a great alteration at his age."

"Was he handsome?"

"Yes, but not so much so as his sister."

"Is he like her?"

"A little, but of a darker complexion: her's was a clear lively brown; dark hazle eyes, full of spirit, and indeed at times of scorn, a Grecian nose, full lips, the upper one curled a little, which gave a haughty air to her countenance; Edmund was thinner, paler, and his eyes had a softer look."

"Edmund is his name?"

"He has a long list of names, according to the Spanish custom; but his sister always called him Edmund, which was his father's."

"I wonder whether we shall see him?"

"Of course,--I suppose so," said Laura, with some surprize: "it is too late for him to quit the Castle to-night, and he will without doubt pay his compliments to you before he departs."

"I think," replied Ellen, "from what Lady Juliana said just now, that St. Aubyn and Lord De Montfort are not on very good terms, that made me doubt whether he would stay the night."

"It may be so," said Laura, "yet unless they are decidedly at enmity, the young man cannot avoid seeing you."

Soon after the supper tray was brought into the room, and on its being announced to the gentlemen, St. Aubyn came to the library, accompanied by Mr. Mordaunt and Mr. O'Brien, the latter of whom he introduced to the ladies. St. Aubyn looked pale, and his manners had lost some of its usual composure. O'Brien was a grave, respectable old man, of Irish extraction, but bred in a convent abroad, and speaking English but imperfectly.

"I will return to the study," said St. Aubyn, "and see once more if I can persuade Lord De Montfort to take some refreshment. You remember De Montfort, Miss Cecil?--He is my other guest, but he pleads fatigue, and disinclination to see any one, and will not be prevailed on to take even a glass of wine. I will once more endeavour to induce him to join you."

"Indeed, my Lord," said Ellen, "I hope he will: if he be fatigued, he must the more need refreshment."

"My love," said St. Aubyn, "will you have the goodness to order beds to be prepared for Lord De Montfort and Mr. O'Brien. They remain here this night."

He then left the room, and Ellen ringing the bell, desired Mrs. Bayfield might be sent to her dressing-room, whither a few minutes after she went herself to give orders respecting the beds. As she passed the study door, which was not quite close, she distinctly heard St. Aubyn say:--

"For Heaven's sake, De Montfort, be persuaded; do not wrong me so cruelly! Why condemn me on mere appearances?"

Ellen passed hastily on, and heard St. Aubyn close the door with some violence, warned perhaps by the light she carried that some one might overhear him.

In her dressing-room she met Mrs. Bayfield, and was instantly struck with her pale countenance and agitated appearance.

"My good Bayfield," said Ellen, "I sent for you to request you would see chambers prepared for the strange gentlemen; but you look ill, pray go to bed: Jane shall go with the housemaids and see that all is right."

"I am not ill, my Lady," said Mrs. Bayfield; "but a glimpse I caught of Lord De Montfort just now, and the tone of his voice, reminded me of so many painful events--"

She paused, sighed, and the tears ran down her cheeks as she added:

"I wish he had not come here; I wish he was gone back to Spain; I cannot bear to see him."

"His likeness to your late lady affects you perhaps, my good friend?" said Ellen.

"Oh, no, Madam; it is not that; he is like her to be sure; but it is not _that_. I feel so uneasy when I see him.--He does not love my Lord; and yet he used to love him. But forgive me, Madam; I forget myself: will your Ladyship please to give your orders now?"

"I will leave all to your care, my good Bayfield. I suppose the gentlemen will like to be near each other: the two chambers at the end of the gallery where I sleep (those next to that your Lord sleeps in at present, I mean) will suit them best, I think: see that they have good fires, for it is cold to-night: the wind is really alarming."

"Your Ladyship had better take another shawl round your shoulders: the staircase is cold."

Ellen thanked her careful old friend, and returned to the company.

END OF VOL. II.

B. CLARKE, Printer, Well Street, London.

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