ELLEN AND KATHERINE.
Turn we now to the farm-house of the Bennets near Hounslow—the residence
of Katherine Wilmot.
The morning was dry and beautiful—one of those mornings which sometimes
cheer us towards the end of January, and give us a short foretaste of
the approaching spring.
It was nine o'clock, when the door of the farm-house opened, and two
young females came forth to enjoy the fresh air of a charming day.
These were Ellen Monroe—(for by her maiden name must we continue to call
her, as she herself maintained it for the present)—and Katherine Wilmot.
Never had Ellen appeared more beautiful; nor Katherine more sweetly
interesting.
They had evidently been conversing on a subject which gave them
pleasure; and they were both intent on continuing the same delightful
topic during their walk.
The subject of that discourse had inspired Ellen with emotions of pride,
as well as of joy. She walked with a dignity and yet an elegance of
motion which denoted the vigour of that vital system which was so highly
developed in her voluptuous style of beauty. The generous and noble
feelings of the heart shone in the light of her deep blue eyes, and in
the animation of that countenance where the fair and red were so
exquisitely blended. They were indicated, too, by the expression of that
short and somewhat haughty upper lip which belonged to the classic
regularity of her features, and in the dilation of the rose-tinted
nostrils.
Ellen was a finer and far lovelier creature than Katherine;—but the
latter was characterised by more of that tender sensibility and touching
interest which physiologists deem the development of the intellectual
system. The eyes were intensely expressive; and over her features a
soft, pale, and modest light seemed to be shed. Her figure was delicate
and slight, and contrasted strongly with that luxuriant expansion which
constituted the fine and not less symmetrical proportions of Ellen.
"I shall really experience deep regret to leave your dwelling-place,
dear Katherine," observed Ellen, as they entered a hard and dry pathway
leading through the fields; "for even at this season, it possesses many
attractions superior to the vicinity of a great city."
"In the warmer months it is a beautiful spot," returned Katherine. "But
you will not leave me to-day? Consider—you have only been here a few
hours——"
"Since yesterday morning," exclaimed Ellen, with a smile; "and in that
time we have formed a friendship which may never, I hope, be
interrupted."
"Oh! never," said Katherine warmly. "It was so kind of you to come and
find me out in my seclusion—so considerate to make me acquainted with
all those wonderful events which have occurred to my benefactor——"
"Nay—neither kind nor considerate," again interrupted Ellen. "Richard's
letter, dated from the city of Abrantani on the 10th, and received by my
father the day before yesterday, enjoined him to send me to see you—to
make your acquaintance—to assure myself that you are well and happy—and
to communicate to you tidings which Richard feels will be welcome to all
his friends."
"Oh! welcome indeed!" exclaimed Katherine, with grateful enthusiasm.
"How much do I owe to him—and how worthy is he of that rank which has
rewarded his grand deeds! Such a man could not long remain a humble
individual: his great talents—his noble heart—his fine qualities were
certain to elevate him above the sphere in which he was born."
"And now will the name of Markham go down to posterity," said Ellen,
proudly: "and the glory which Richard has thrown around it, will be to
some degree shared by all who bear it. Oh! this was prophesied to me but
a little while ago;—and yet, _then_ how far was I from suspecting that
the realisation of the prediction was so near at hand, especially too,
as that prediction was not uttered with any reference to Richard—but to
another,—_that other alluding to himself_!"
Katherine cast a glance of surprise towards her companion, whose last
words were unintelligible to her; and Ellen, apparently recollecting
herself, hastened to add, "But I was speaking of matters which are yet
unknown—yet strange to you. Think no more of my observations on that
topic. There are times when the soul is lost and bewildered in the
contemplation of the world's strange events and marvellous vicissitudes;
and such has often been the case with me during the last few days. It
was on the 16th of January that we received the letter which imparted us
the tidings of Richard's first exploit—the capture of Estella. Oh! how
sincerely I prayed for his success—and yet I trembled for him! My
father, too, had some misgivings; but we endeavoured to reassure each
other, mutually concealing our fears. Two or three days afterwards we
received the news of his triumphant entry into Villabella;—another
interval of a few days, and we had a letter from him, giving us a brief
account of the Battle of Piacere. Our fears were almost entirely
dissipated by the tidings of this glorious achievement; and if any
doubts yet lingered, they were completely dispelled by the news of the
great victory of Abrantani. Oh! how well has he earned that coronet
which now adorns his brow!—how well does that proud title of Marquis
become the great, the generous, and the good!"
"Would that his struggles were over, and that the civil war was put an
end to in Castelcicala!" exclaimed Miss Wilmot—for the news of the great
victory beneath the walls of Montoni were yet unknown in England.
"I have no fears for the result," said Ellen: "a conqueror has he
hitherto been—and a conqueror will he remain! Heaven itself prospers him
in this undertaking: the wise dispensations of Providence are apparent
throughout his career in the Grand Duchy. Had the first expedition,
which landed at Ossore, succeeded, there were great chiefs—Grachia and
Morosino—who would have taken the lead in the State. But the enterprise
failed—and those patriots were numbered with the slain. The idea of
releasing from their captivity his companions in that fatal affair, led
Richard to the attack of Estella. He succeeded—and he stood alone at the
head of the movement. There was not a chief amongst the patriots to
dispute his title to that elevated situation."
"Yes—the finger of heaven was assuredly visible in all those
circumstances which led to my benefactor's greatness," remarked
Katherine. "Methinks that when I see him again, I shall be strangely
embarrassed in his presence:—instead of addressing him by the familiar
name of _Mr. Markham_, my lips must tutor themselves to breathe the
formal words '_My Lord_,' and '_Your Lordship_;' and——"
"Oh! you wrong our noble-hearted friend—our mutual benefactor,"
interrupted Ellen. "Rank and distinction—wealth and glory cannot change
_his_ heart: he will only esteem them as the elements of an influence
and of a power to do much good."
The young ladies paused in their conversation, because two persons were
approaching along the pathway.
A man muffled in a large cloak, and with a countenance of cadaverous
repulsiveness scowling above the collar, advanced first; and behind him
walked a female whose bowed form denoted the decrepitude of old age.
There was an interval of perhaps a dozen yards between them; for the
woman was unable to keep pace with the more impatient progress of the
man.
"Is this the way, young ladies, to Farmer Bennet's?" demanded the
foremost individual, when he was within a few feet of Ellen and
Katherine.
"It is," replied Kate. "You may see the roof appearing from the other
side of yonder eminence. Mr. Bennet is not, however, within at this
moment: he has gone to a neighbouring village on business, and will not
return till two o'clock."
"Then you know Farmer Bennet?" exclaimed the Resurrection Man—for he was
the individual who had addressed the young ladies.
But before Katherine could give any reply, an exclamation of
astonishment broke from the lips of Ellen, whose eyes had just
recognised the countenance of the old hag.
"Well, Miss—do I have the pleasure of meeting you once more?" said the
detestable woman, with a leer comprehensively significant in allusion to
the past: then, as her eyes wandered from Ellen's countenance to that of
Katherine, she suddenly became strangely excited, and exclaimed, "Ah!
Miss Wilmot!"
"Is _this_ Miss Wilmot?" demanded the Resurrection Man, with an
impatient glance towards Katherine, while he really addressed himself to
the old hag.
"My name is Wilmot," said Kate, in her soft and somewhat timid tone.
"Was it for me that your visit to the farm was intended?"
"Neither more nor less, Miss," answered the Resurrection Man. "This
person," he continued, indicating his horrible companion, "has something
important to say to you."
"Yes—and we must speak alone, too," said the hag.
"No!" ejaculated Ellen, hastily and firmly; "that may not be. I am Miss
Wilmot's friend—the friend, too, of one in whom she places great
confidence; and whatever you may have to communicate to her cannot be a
secret in respect to me."
And, as she uttered these words, she glanced significantly at her young
companion.
"Yes," said Kate, who understood the hint conveyed in that look,
although she was of course entirely ignorant of the motives of Ellen's
precaution: "yes—whatever you may wish to communicate to me must be told
in the presence of my friend."
"But the business is a most delicate one," cried the Resurrection Man.
"Oh! I have no doubt of that," exclaimed Ellen, with a contemptuous
smile which the hag fully comprehended.
"Do you know this young lady?" asked the Resurrection Man, in an under
tone, of the old woman, while he rapidly indicated Ellen.
"I know that young lady well," said the hag aloud, and with a meaning
glance: "I know you well,—do I not, Miss Monroe?"
"I am not disposed to deny the fact," replied Ellen, coolly; "and I can
assure you that my disposition is as resolute and determined as you have
always found it to be. Therefore, if you have aught to communicate to
Miss Wilmot, say it quickly—or come with us to the farm, where you will
be more at your ease: but, remember, I do not quit this young lady while
you are with her."
"You will repent of this obstinacy, Miss—you will repent of this
obstinacy," muttered the hag.
"It may be so," said Ellen: "nevertheless, menaces will not deter me
from my purpose."
"If you thwart me, I can proclaim matters that you would wish
unrevealed," retorted the hag, but in a whisper apart to Ellen.
"Act as you please," exclaimed this young lady aloud, and with a superb
glance of contemptuous defiance. "Your impertinence only convinces me
the more profoundly of the prudence of my resolution to remain with Miss
Wilmot."
The hag made no reply: she knew not how to act.
Tidkins was not, however, equally embarrassed. He saw that Ellen was
acquainted with the old woman's character, and that she entertained
suspicions of a nature which threatened to mar the object of his visit
to that neighbourhood.
"Miss Monroe," he said,—"for such, I learn, is your name,—I beg of you
to allow my companion a few moments' conversation with your young
friend. They need not retire a dozen yards from this spot; and your eye
can remain upon them."
"No," returned Ellen, positively: "your companion shall have no private
conference with Miss Wilmot. Miss Wilmot's affairs are no secret to
me;—she has voluntarily made me acquainted with her past history and her
present condition—and she cannot now wish me to remain a stranger to the
object of your visit, however delicate be the nature of that business."
"I am desirous that Miss Monroe should hear your communications," added
Kate.
"I will not speak to Miss Wilmot in the presence of witnesses," said the
old hag.
"Then we have nothing farther to prevent us from returning to the farm
immediately," exclaimed Ellen; and, taking Katherine's arm, she turned
away with a haughty inclination of her head.
"Neither need we remain here any longer, Mr. Tidkins," said the hag.
"Tidkins!" repeated Ellen, with a convulsive shudder—for the name
reached her ear as she was leading her young friend homeward:—"Tidkins!"
she murmured, the blood running cold in her veins; "my God! what new
plot can now be contemplated?"
And she hurried Katherine along the path, as if a wild beast were behind
them.
"Do you know those people?" asked Miss Wilmot, alarmed by her
companion's tone and manner.
"Unfortunately," replied Ellen, in a low voice and with rapid
utterance,—"unfortunately I can attest that the woman whom we have just
met, is the vilest of the vile; and the mention of that man's name has
revealed to me the presence of a wretch capable of every atrocity—a
villain whose crimes are of the blackest dye—an assassin whose enmity to
our benefactor Richard is as furious as it is unwearied. Come,
Katharine—come: hasten your steps;—we shall not be in safety until we
reach the farm."
And the two young ladies hurried rapidly along the path towards the
dwelling, every now and then casting timid glances behind them.
But the Resurrection Man and the old hag had not thought it expedient to
follow.