The next month was past in receiving and returning visits; and the most
pleasing among them was a sociable day passed at Rose-Hill, the seat of
Sir William Cecil. Miss Cecil promised, if Juliet, who now for some time
had been tolerably well, should continue so, that Ellen should see her;
though she very seldom admitted any company: "But I have said so much of
you," said Laura, "that she is quite anxious to see you; and I am
particularly anxious to familiarize her to you, both as it will I am
sure give her pleasure, and facilitate our being often together."
Accordingly, after dinner, when they left the gentlemen, Miss Cecil led
Lady St. Aubyn to Juliet's apartment.
Never had Ellen seen so interesting a being: this fair creature, now
about fifteen, was a perfect model of beauty and symmetry; though so
slightly formed, she appeared, "like a fairy vision, or some bright
creature of the element:" her cheeks were faintly tinged with a hectic
blush; her eyes were of the most dazzling brightness; her lips like
coral; and her teeth of pearly whiteness; her fair hair was covered with
a fine lace cap, and her fragile form enveloped in a large shawl.
"My love," said Laura, "here is Lady St. Aubyn, who is so good as to
come and see you."
Juliet extended her white hand, and said in a voice of peculiar
harmony, fixing at the same time her sparkling and penetrating eyes on
Ellen's face, as if she wished to read her heart in her countenance,
"Laura says she loves you already, and I am sure _I_ shall." The simple
naivete of her voice and manner went to the heart of Ellen, who could
not help embracing her tenderly, while she felt the tears start to her
eyes at seeing one so young and lovely in a state of health so
precarious.
After a little more conversation, Ellen put her hand accidentally on a
small book which lay half concealed by one of the pillows of Juliet's
couch, and said with that native politeness which ever prevented her
from doing any thing rude or intrusive, "May I look at the subject of
your studies?" "Yes," said Juliet, with an angelic smile, "If you
please." Ellen opened the book. It was in a character totally unknown to
her. "Do you read Greek?" asked the fair Juliet, with a simplicity and
absence of design which proved her question was serious; and this
interrogation, which would from most people to a young woman be
absolutely ridiculous, from Juliet appeared merely a natural wish to
know whether her new friend was as able as herself to read the book she
held in her hand; for strange as it may appear, it was a copy of the New
Testament in Greek; and Juliet read it as easily as if it had been
English.
"My dear Juliet," said Laura, "few females make that language their
study; I conclude, therefore, Lady St. Aubyn does not know it any more
than myself." "Oh, I wish you both did," said Juliet: "if you could but
know the delight I feel from reading the Scripture in its original
language!--If I live till next summer I hope the Hebrew Bible will be as
familiar to me as that book is now."
It is impossible for language to do justice to the perfect innocence and
artlessness with which she spoke: she seemed to think her own wonderful
attainments no more extraordinary than other girls do of being able to
read a newspaper, or work a handkerchief: not a trace of affectation or
pedantry was visible in her manner: she had a childishness of voice and
tone that singularly contrasted with the subjects on which she spoke;
for Laura, willing to let Ellen see what a wonderful creature she was,
led her to speak of astronomy; and a celestial globe happening to be on
a table before her, led her by degrees to display her extraordinary
knowledge in that science--of the dimensions and motions of the heavenly
bodies, their distances from the sun and from each other, &c. all of
which she explained in the clearest and most perspicuous manner, making
such happy allusions to the poets who have touched on the subject, and
illustrating it by such apt comparisons, as shewed her imagination was
as brilliant, as the calculations she readily made proved her memory
was accurate.
Lady St. Aubyn, who had at every leisure hour since her marriage been
engaged in studying this and other interesting subjects of useful
knowledge, could in some degree appreciate the value and extent of this
sweet girl's extraordinary acquirements, and was lost in admiration of
her abilities, and the industry with which, notwithstanding her ill
health, she had cultivated them.
This happened to be a day in which Juliet was unusually well, for in
general she declined all conversation, and spent most of her time in
studying the Scriptures, in devotional exercises, and promoting every
plan which her health would permit her to join in for the relief of the
poor; for her early piety and extensive charity were as remarkable as
her other attainments were wonderful: but this day she was so well, that
at Laura's solicitation, in which Ellen earnestly joined, she placed
herself at a chamber organ that stood in her apartment, which she
touched with great taste and science; and was at last prevailed on to
accompany it with a voice of the most angelic sweetness.
She sung only sacred music, and now delighted Ellen with "Angels ever
bright and fair;" and, "I know that my Redeemer liveth:" and while her
pure lips poured forth these exquisite specimens of musical inspiration,
the soft and pious expression of her heavenly countenance, for ever
fixed and hallowed them in the remembrance of her hearers.
To Ellen she seemed hardly a being of this world, and her young and
enthusiastic heart was melted with the tenderest love for one so very
far superior to any thing she could have imagined.
From this day the St. Aubyns and Cecils spent a great part of their time
together, and the highly polished manners of Miss Cecil, her excellent
judgment, and fine taste, were extremely advantageous to Lady St.
Aubyn. Without losing her natural grace and sweet simplicity, she
gradually acquired more of that style which marks both the woman of
fashion and the possessor of intellectual knowledge; even her beauty
improved with the encreased intelligence of her mind, and the serenity
of her heart; for now for the first time she felt entirely happy;
scarcely a cloud overshadowed her.
St. Aubyn was every day more tender and attentive, and every day
expressed himself more pleased and delighted with his choice. Those
starts of agitation and gloom which on their first acquaintance had
appeared in him so frequently, were now very seldom seen. He received
frequent letters from Spain, which he told Ellen were from his friend
the Marquis of Northington, who was there in a diplomatic situation, and
was engaged in seeking a person, by means of his extensive connections
on the Continent, who alone could unravel some mysterious circumstances
of the most material consequence to _him_. "But when found," said St.
Aubyn, one day when he had by degrees been led to speak on this
subject--"when found, if ever that should happen, I know not that he
will be prevailed on to disclose what I have every reason to believe he
alone can tell. He is a villain!"----(and St. Aubyn's frame shook with
the agitation of smothered rage) "and may from motives of fear or
revenge add to the other injuries he has done me, by withholding that
information which alone can secure _my fame_, perhaps _my life_."
He had never before spoken so much or so calmly on this interesting
subject; and seeing that Ellen listened with great anxiety, and that at
his last words she trembled and turned pale, he added:
"Fear not, my love: for your dear sake I will take every necessary
precaution; and should I find the enemy, who has long, though most
unjustly, threatened to revenge on me an act, horrible indeed, but of
which I was not the author----should I find him still determined on
vindictive measures, I will for a time pass over to the Continent, till
some accommodation can be effected. At all events, my Ellen, remember
you have promised to _believe me innocent_. In the course of the next
summer, this enemy (who, alas! and that is not the least hardship in my
wayward fate, ought by every tie to look upon me as a friend and father)
will be in England, and I shall perhaps be able to clear his mind from
those evil impressions with which an unfortunate chain of circumstances
have stampt it----impressions received in early youth, and which he has
ever since cherished, and brooded over with the most determined
resentment."
At this juncture, when St. Aubyn seemed for the first time inclined to
open his whole heart to his wife, and to disclose to her a story in
which she was so deeply interested, they were interrupted by a servant,
who announced Mrs. Dawkins, and her tender friend Miss Alton, who came
armed with a whole catalogue of sympathetic feelings and notes of
admiration of all kinds to entertain Lady St. Aubyn.
Many were the disasters which had happened since they saw her last:
horses had been lame, servants impertinent, showers of rain had fallen
at the most unlucky moments, even a dinner had been spoilt which had
cost a whole week's preparation, by the cook's inattention in
over-roasting the venison; in short, all the minor evils of life had set
themselves in array against the peace of poor Mrs. Dawkins: and even the
sympathizing Miss Alton could hardly keep pace with lamentations
sufficient for such a doleful list of distresses. She fought her way,
however, as well as she could, and where words failed her, shrugs,
sighs, and the whole artillery of gesticulation, were employed in their
stead.
What then became of poor Ellen, who could at best only sit "with sad
civility and an aching head," amid this alternate din of complaint and
compassion? But Mrs. Dawkins was pre-determined to like and be pleased
with every thing the lovely Countess did or omitted to do, and construed
the silence and acquiescence with which she heard every thing into the
kindest attention and most obliging concern for the troubles of her
friends.
The entrance of a sandwich tray fortunately gave some pause to this
melancholy duet; and the excellent hot-house fruits, rich cake, &c.
seemed to arrive in good time to refresh both ladies after so much
exertion. At last they took their leave, but the moment for confidence
was past; indeed, St. Aubyn, in no humour for trifling, had made his
escape at one door, as they entered at the other: of course, the
conversation was not then resumed.
Not to interrupt the course of the narrative, we omitted in the proper
place to notice that Lord and Lady St. Aubyn had, immediately on their
arrival at the Castle, written letters of explanation to Powis and
Joanna, and he permitted Mr. Ross to publish what he alone knew the real
rank and title of the person Ellen had married.
We will not pretend to describe the astonishment excited by this
intelligence amongst the inhabitants of Llanwyllan: the honest and
unaspiring Powis declared he would much rather Ellen had married a man
nearer her own rank in life, for he was afraid, poor dear child, she
would be bewildered amongst such fine people, and in such a great house:
for his part, even if he were able to travel so far, he should not like
to go to such a grand place as she described the Castle to be; besides,
he was afraid they would be ashamed to see such a rough, ignorant fellow
as he was among their fine company: and if Ellen was above calling him
father, he should wish himself in the grave.
The tears started in his eyes at the painful idea, and the good Ross
could hardly dissipate his apprehensions of being forsaken by his only
child, by reminding him of her excellent qualities and tender affection
for him, and of the kindness with which Lord St. Aubyn had treated him
through the whole of his acquaintance.
Mrs. Ross was in ten times a greater bustle than ever; she could not
rest till she had told the surprizing news to every one she met, and at
intervals she scolded Mr. Ross heartily for not letting her into the
secret, as if she were not as worthy to be trusted as any body else for
secrecy and prudence; "she that had been a mother to Ellen, was no
gossip, and minded nothing but her own business!" but when he reminded
her that even Ellen, deeply as she was interested, was not permitted to
know it, she could not but acknowledge she had no great right to expect
to be better informed.
As to Joanna, with the natural vanity of youth, she was elated beyond
measure at the idea of her dear Ellen's being a _real lady_, and the
hope of visiting her one day or other in her fine castle, and seeing all
her beautiful things, while Mrs. Ross made no doubt Ellen had a dress
for every day in the week, and her caps trimmed with fine lace; then she
laughed at the recollection of having once "scolded Ellen for putting on
her best white gown when she expected Mr. Mordaunt, as we called him,
and now I should not wonder if she wears as good in a morning!"--"Dear
mother," said Joanna, who, from the slight view she had of what she
fancied the world, when she went with St. Aubyn and Ellen to Carnarvon,
imagined herself better instructed in fashionable matters--"dear mother,
I daresay she does not wear such gowns at all; I should not wonder if
her maid had as good: I am sure I saw a lady's maid on a travelling
carriage at Carnarvon much better dressed than either of us." "Well,
bless me, what will the world come to," said Mrs. Ross, "when such folks
as those wear white gowns and flappits!" Alas, poor Mrs. Ross! could she
have seen some ladies' maids!--
All these things Joanna told Ellen in a letter the longest she had ever
written, and greatly was St. Aubyn diverted with the simplicity of their
ideas. The good Ross wrote to St. Aubyn, and expressed his high
satisfaction at the very just and honourable manner in which he had
performed all his engagements respecting Ellen, and requested to hear
from time to time whatever might arise concerning those important
circumstances which the Earl had done him the honour to confide to him.
"What can we do for these very good people, my dear Ellen?" said St.
Aubyn: "they have no wants nor wishes beyond their present possessions.
If I send them any articles of luxury, or the means of encreasing their
present expenses, I know not that I should render them happier. I could
easily procure a valuable living for Mr. Ross, and told him so; but he
assured me nothing should induce him to leave his present flock, and
that he had not a wish to rise to a higher sphere, or for any thing in
the world, but a few more books; and for those I have sent an order to
my bookseller, requesting they may be immediately forwarded to
Carnarvon. I shall also enclose to Ross a larger payment for my good old
landlady and cook, dame Grey, than I thought it prudent to make while we
remained at Llanwyllan. Is there any thing else my Ellen can think
of?"--"There are," answered Ellen, in a low voice, "some very poor
people at Llanwyllan, that Joanna and I used to be as kind to as we
could. I should like, if you approve of it, to send Joanna a little
money for their use." "By all means, send whatever you think proper, and
as often as you please; never consult me, but do all that your kind and
generous heart prompts you to do on all occasions--think also if there
is any thing Mrs. Ross and Joanna would be pleased to have. You must be
a better judge of their wishes than I can be."--He then took out his
pocketbook, and gave her notes to a large amount, telling her, with a
smile, that her expences were so small, he should forget he had a wife
if she were not a little more profuse. "Well, but Ellen," said St.
Aubyn, "surely this is not all you have to ask for the friends of your
youth! don't make me fancy either that you are forgetful, or _think more
than you choose to express for some of them_." "My dear Lord, what do
you mean?" said Ellen, a little startled by the manner in which he
spoke, "Nay, don't be alarmed," replied St. Aubyn, with a smile, "_I_
was thinking of one certainly not so much in _my_ favour as he ought to
be in _your's_, for he deprived me once of your society for a whole day,
for which, and some certain pangs and anxieties, I cannot quite forgive
him." "I cannot guess who you mean." "Is that really true?" "Most
perfectly so." "Certainly," said St. Aubyn, "I can only mean Charles
Ross." "Oh poor Charles!" exclaimed Ellen: "I really had quite forgotten
him."
"Now that was excessively ungrateful," said St. Aubyn, laughing, "for I
dare engage he has not forgotten you: well, are you still enough his
friend to wish to do him service?"
"Certainly," said Ellen: "I shall always feel a regard for him, though
just at that moment I was not thinking of him: but what service can I
do him, my Lord?"
"If _you_ give him your interest with me, I may, perhaps, try, and most
likely shall succeed, in getting him promotion. Should you wish this to
be done?"
"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Ellen, animated and sparkling with the
pleasing idea of serving her early friend, and of the joy his promotion
would give his parents and sister, "nothing could give me more
pleasure."
"Not too much of that bright colour and sparkling eye, though, Ellen,"
said St. Aubyn, half in jest, half gravely: "I shall be jealous."
"You have so much reason!"
"Well, be cautious, I am in that point a Turk, and bear no rival _near_
the throne."
Ellen, half vexed, would have said something, but embracing her
tenderly, he stopt her by saying, "Not a word, my love, I am perfectly
satisfied," and left her a little disconcerted, and half fearing that
she had disturbed or displeased him.
In the familiar intercourse which now took place between Miss Cecil and
Lady St. Aubyn, the former shook off her reserve, and imparted to Ellen,
not indeed all the particulars of her early disappointment, but that she
had endured the most painful trials that the perfidy and inconsistent
conduct of one sincerely loved could inflict; yet dignified on this, as
on every other subject, she never expatiated upon it, or said any thing
disrespectful of the author of her sufferings: though she never fully
explained the cause of her separation from her unworthy lover, it was
understood, that a full conviction of his bad conduct, and that his
address to her had chiefly been induced by mercenary motives, had
induced her to discard him, and to resist all his subsequent entreaties
to be forgiven.
One day, when Lord St. Aubyn and Sir William Cecil were engaged at a
great public dinner in the neighbourhood, Ellen had the pleasure of
dining tete-a-tete with her agreeable friend: they had spent two hours
in Juliet's apartment, who every time they met gained more and more on
Ellen's affections, and was become excessively attached to her, when the
sweet girl, feeling fatigued, said she would lie down for an hour, and
then she should be well enough to enjoy their company at tea, which she
requested they would take in her apartment; they went therefore to pass
this hour in Miss Cecil's dressing-room, who, opening a writing-desk to
shew Ellen a drawing she had just finished, undesignedly displayed to
the quick eye of Lady St. Aubyn a little book, marked "Manuscript
Poetry."
"Your own," said Ellen, laying her hand on it playfully, "or extracts?"
"Why," returned Laura, "as Lord St. Aubyn thought proper to betray a
secret which he learnt when we were children together, I will not deny
that little volume contains some insignificant attempts of my own."
"Oh let me see some of them, pray do," said Ellen: "assure yourself I
will make no ill use of your confidence. I really am quite delighted
with this opportunity, for I have long wished to see some specimens of
your talents in this way." Thus urged, Laura allowed her to read two or
three of the little poems contained in the volume, and at her earnest
request, permitted her afterwards to have copies of the two following