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.