much uneasiness which I have perceived in him from the first of our
acquaintance: but ah! generous, though misled, Lord de Montfort, can you
really believe him guilty? Can you doubt the innocence of a man whose
life of virtue, whose tender affectionate nature, surely point him out
as of all men the least likely to have committed an action so horrid!
Surely he cannot have fully and clearly explained to you all the
circumstances which preceded this sad event. May I, without too much
wounding your feelings, venture to recapitulate what he has told me.
Surely a story so clear, so consistent, must at once exonerate him from
having had any part in that guilty, that horrid deed."
He bowed assent, and Ellen as succinctly, but as clearly as possible,
brought into one point of view, all the circumstances which were
favourable to St. Aubyn, yet veiling with the most touching delicacy and
consideration those which bore hardest on the fame of Rosolia; affecting
to believe that the wretch De Sylva (whom she asserted St. Aubyn and
Mrs. Bayfield had certainly seen at her window the night before) had
come without her knowledge, and that the same man, meeting her in the
lonely hermitage, had committed the shocking deed for the sake of the
valuables she wore.
It seemed as if Edmund had chiefly resisted the evidences in St. Aubyn's
favour, lest by yielding to them, he must have pronounced his sister
guilty: whether this being now less pressed upon him, or that Ellen
herself, fully convinced of St. Aubyn's innocence, and perhaps less
impassioned than he had been when stating the same story, had placed
circumstances more clearly before him, he evidently gave greater
credence to the tale than he had ever before done. Her sweetness of
voice and manner, and the graceful tenderness with which she spoke of
St. Aubyn's virtues; or his honourable and disinterested conduct to her,
both before and since their marriage, and of the perfect love which
bound them to each other, and wrapt her life in his; tears of tenderness
and blushes of indignation marked the varying sensations which filled
her bosom at the bare idea of his being suspected of such a crime, and
animated her beauty with new graces, appeared to impress him deeply with
sentiments of admiration and esteem. When she paused, he sighed and
said:--
"Is it in nature to resist such a pleader, or to believe the man so
loved by one so pure and spotless, can be himself capable of the
blackest crimes? No, Lady St. Aubyn, were your natures so dissimilar it
would be impossible that you could so love, so confide in him."
At that instant a soft plaintive voice was heard at the opening door,
the voice of an infant. Edmund started, for he had forgotten Lady St.
Aubyn had recently become a mother, and a painful recollection pressed
on his heart of the infant so dearly loved, so deeply lamented, the
child of his idolized Rosolia!
The nurse now appeared with the babe in her arms, for wondering at her
Lady's usually lengthened absence from the nursery, she came to request
some directions concerning the child: supposing all the gentlemen were
gone out together, when she saw Lord de Montfort she would have
retreated but Ellen advancing, took the infant in her arms and said:
"Give him to me, nurse; I will but shew him to Lord de Montfort, and
bring him to the nursery myself:" then unfolding his mantle, she pressed
him to her tender bosom: and when the nurse was gone, with light
graceful steps advancing towards Edmund, (who rose from his seat to meet
her) she said:
"See here, my Lord, a still more powerful pleader; one pure and spotless
indeed, whose opening prospects must be clouded, whose innocent name
must be blasted, if you persist in your intentions, if you seek his
father's destruction. Look at this babe, and tell me if your gentle
nature can doom him to such cruel misfortunes as your denunciation of
his father must bring upon his guiltless head."
Edmund, the noble Edmund, stooped, and gazing on the child, was not
ashamed to shed tears of tenderness and compassion on his sweet face.
The lovely creature opened its eyes, and with the same soft look of
confiding innocence which marked his mother's features, stretched out
his little hands and smiled.
"Oh! this is too much! indeed too much!" exclaimed De Montfort. "I must
not be a man to see this sweet, this lovely infant, and you, angelic
woman, and dare to breathe one injurious wish against that man on whom
the happiness of both depends! From henceforth I dismiss for ever all my
revengeful, perhaps my ill-founded schemes: never shall word or look of
mine attempt to injure the happy, the enviable St. Aubyn. Surely Heaven
would not have favoured him with felicity so rare, had a deed so cruel
as that of which I suspected him stained his soul! I will try to think,
to believe so. Assure yourself, at least, loveliest of women, that from
me he has nothing more to fear; and may Heaven's choicest blessings be
showered on you, and on this sweet, this lovely infant!"
He bent one knee to the ground, and, with reverential awe, kissed
Ellen's hand, lifting his expressive eyes towards that Heaven he was
invoking in her favour: then rising, he took the babe from her arms,
kissed its hands, its cheeks, its lips, and returning it to its mother,
with hasty and agitated steps quitted the apartment: leaving her
impressed with feelings of joy, gratitude, and the tenderest esteem for
this noble, though somewhat eccentric being.
Folding her babe to her fond maternal heart, which seemed to feel even
increased affection for it from the late trying scenes, she passed with
it to the nursery, where Laura found her a few minutes after, and
announced the return of the gentlemen from their ride.
"Where is St. Aubyn?" said Ellen, with a countenance where tears and
smiles contended: "I must see him immediately."
"It is near the time appointed by Mr. Mordaunt to conclude Lord de
Montfort's business," said Laura, "and I believe he is gone to his
study: but what is the matter, Ellen, you look agitated yet joyful? I
never saw you more radiant in beauty; something I am sure has happened
to light up your face in this manner."
Ellen smiled, and said, "Oh, flatterer! but I cannot stay to tell you
now; only I hope I have been fortunate enough to adjust a difference of
long standing between Lord de Montfort and St. Aubyn, and I am impatient
to tell my Lord the result of my morning's conversation with the
former--here, take the babe, Laura, and keep him if you will till I come
again, unless Lady Juliana comes, as usual, and snatches him away." She
then hastened to St. Aubyn, whom she found alone, and had just time to
tell him the result of the conference she had held with Edmund, but not
the particulars, before Mr. Mordaunt and the other gentlemen assembled.
As De Montfort entered the study, Lady St. Aubyn was quitting it, but he
stopped her one moment, and said in a low voice, "Stay, madam, and
witness your power over me." Then advancing, he held out his hand to St.
Aubyn, and said to him in Italian, which he knew O'Brien did not
understand, "Be all our animosity banished for ever." Yet so strong had
been, and perhaps still were his prejudices, that the hand he offered
trembled, and he turned pale, when St. Aubyn took it.
"I never felt any, Edmund," said he. "I made large allowances for you,
and felt towards you a brother's love: my friendship and best offices
are your's at all times."
He then apologized to the gentlemen present for speaking a strange
language, and accounted for this little scene, by saying, that an
unhappy disagreement which had taken place long ago between himself and
Lord de Montfort was now fortunately adjusted.
Ellen just staid long enough to congratulate St. Aubyn in a low voice on
this happy termination of an affair which cost him so much uneasiness,
and turning to Edmund, she said, "You dine with us, my Lord:" he bowed
in silent acquiescence, and she retired, happiest at that moment of the
happy.
Lord de Montfort and Mr. O'Brien remained that day at the Castle, and
the former, though still at times sunk in reverie, yet was composed; and
sometimes almost cheerful. A weight seemed removed from his mind, and
though his manner to St. Aubyn was still constrained and distant, there
were moments when he appeared with difficulty to prevent himself from
appearing friendly and cordial.
Ellen saw, that were they often together, Edmund's long-rooted and
cherished prejudices would insensibly wear away; and on that account
regretted that he would not be prevailed on to stay longer than till the
next morning.
That evening, Laura Cecil, who had been quite pleased to see De Montfort
resuming in some degree the manners which in his boyhood made him so
agreeable, returned to Rose Hill, where Sir Edward Leicester was soon
expected, to whom, it was supposed, she would be married before
Christmas.
Lord St. Aubyn willingly consented that Ellen should inform his faithful
Bayfield of her knowledge of their transactions in Spain, and the happy
reconciliation between her Lord and Lord de Montfort; and Bayfield, who
almost idolized Ellen before, now considering her as the cause of an
event so desirable, felt her love and veneration redoubled.
In the course of the evening, Lord St. Aubyn hinted to Mr. O'Brien, that
some of his family had been disturbed by Lord de Montfort's having left
his room while sleeping, and Mr. O'Brien said, that after any great
emotion, his pupil sometimes did so, but that it rarely happened,
frequently not for months together; in reality, no farther disturbance
took place, and the two gentlemen departed the next morning, leaving the
inhabitants of the Castle with very different sensations from those they
had felt at their first arrival.
CHAP. V.
My noble gossips, you have been too liberal;
I thank you for it--so shall this _child_,
When _he_ has so much English.
HENRY VIII.
Lady St. Aubyn had received so little pleasure from visiting London the
preceding winter, that she earnestly requested not to remove from the
Castle till after Christmas, when Laura entreated her to spend a month
or six weeks there after her marriage, and wished, as the Countess had
not yet been presented, that ceremony might take place when she was
herself introduced: Lord and Lady Delamore were also expected to be in
London at that time, and Ellen promised herself great pleasure from
becoming acquainted with her. It was therefore determined, that she
should meet Sir Edward, and Laura (who would then be Lady Leicester), in
town the beginning of February, and remain quietly in the country till
that time, where she would have leisure to fulfil those maternal duties
she had voluntarily taken upon herself, and from the due exercise of
which her sweet child grew, and improved every day.
Before they left the Castle, the young heir was christened with all due
splendor. Sir William Cecil and Sir Edward Leicester, Lady Juliana and
Miss Cecil, were sponsors. The christening suit of fine Brussels lace
for the infant, over white satin, and a similar dress for the fair
mother, were the gift of Lady Juliana; the other sponsors were also very
liberal in their presents to their godson.
The hilarity attending this ceremony was not confined within the walls
of the Castle, where, however, all the genteeler part of the
neighbourhood were elegantly entertained, while all the poorer sort were
most hospitably regaled under some temporary buildings and marquees
erected for the purpose in the park, where immense fires dispelled the
coldness of winter, at the same time that they served to dress the
provisions intended to regale the crowd assembled round them. Each
family was also liberally supplied with bread, meat, clothing, and
money, according to its numbers and their respective wants; and as Lady
St. Aubyn and Miss Cecil, attended by Bayfield and Jane, did not
themselves disdain to visit the cottages, and see what was really
requisite for the comfort of their inhabitants, every thing was ordered
with intelligence and regularity, and imposition almost totally
prevented.
Mrs. Neville, the poor officer's widow mentioned before, had for some
time been settled as manager of the Schools of Industry, and other
useful institutions, which Lady St. Aubyn had set on foot during the
summer: her eldest daughter was gone to "that bourne from which no
traveller returns;" but the others, healthy and happy, were in training
for such situations as they seemed calculated to fill. Mrs. Neville was
also very useful in distributing the gifts to the poor, and the
preparations for their entertainment.
A grand display of fireworks finished the amusements of the evening, for
St. Aubyn observed that was the only species of mere entertainment which
all ranks and ages could partake of; and in the present instance, he
wished not only to benefit, but to gratify all his neighbours.
Miss Alton and Mrs. Dawkins were amongst the company received at the
Castle, and so delighted were they with the young heir, so charmed with
the splendour and elegance of the repast, that, contrary to usual
custom, no lamentations or tender sympathetic sighs disturbed the gaiety
of the day.
Soon after this grand fete, the whole family set out for London; and
Lady St. Aubyn, not satisfied with any superintendent of her nursery but
Mrs. Bayfield, begged she might go with them, and be removed entirely
from the more fatiguing post she had hitherto filled.
Jane, now called Mrs. Williamson, having been for some time under Mrs.
Bayfield's direction, was placed in her vacant department, and another,
somewhat more fashionable, lady's woman engaged to attend the Countess.
In London they met the new married pair, and the bride's fair sister,
Lady Delamore, whose extraordinary beauty excited Ellen's admiration,
while her likeness to the sweet departed Juliet involuntarily claimed
her affection.
With such very agreeable friends, and under the respectable protection
of Lady Juliana, Lady St. Aubyn found London a very different scene from
what it had appeared to her the year before: she now possessed also a
greater degree of confidence in herself, and having no longer any thing
to fear, the gloomy hints of St. Aubyn, and her consequent dread, being
for ever explained and removed, she felt a more cheerful flow of
spirits, and enjoyed the amusements which were so amply in her power:
yet still those spirits were softened by the most retiring delicacy; and
those amusements, partaken with moderation and decorum. Still her high
character stood unblemished, and even elevated in the public opinion;
and the splendour of her beauty, which every one thought but now come to
its full perfection, attracted none but _respectful_ admirers.
The St. Aubyns frequently saw Lord de Montfort, who had purchased a
house in town, and was living in very high style, though still under the
direction of Mr. O'Brien, but evidently choosing to be more his own
master than he had been in Spain, to which country he seemed at present
to have no thoughts of returning; his grandfather's will having left him
free to choose his own residence, though he was under a necessity of
visiting Spain at least once in two years.
To Lord St. Aubyn he was polite, though distant: strangers could not
have perceived any thing in his manner indicative of dislike or
resentment; but those who knew what had passed, could at times discover
a particular cast of his eye, a certain tone in speaking to the Earl,
which marked a _recollection_, at least, of former enmity, and were by
St. Aubyn hardly to be endured.
To Ellen he at all times shewed an attention so devoted, and his
expressive eyes displayed so much admiration, that some of those who
witnessed them began to fancy they had discovered the cause of that
gloom which still overshadowed him, and had, from the time of his first
arrival, excited the remarks of every one, and made him the object of
the insipid jests and witless railleries of those who could conceive no
cause but _love_ for the dejection of a young man who could scarcely
count the thousands which swelled his rent-roll.
Love! ill-star'd passion! doom'd vain scorn to bear,
To meet the busy mocker's idle jest;
Nor then allow'd its misery to declare;
Nor then indulge the woe but half supprest.
For of the pure, though enthusiastic attachment he felt for Ellen, such
minds could form no idea.
One evening, at the play, whither Lady St. Aubyn went with a large
party, amongst whom were Lady Meredith and several gentlemen in her
train, they saw in the box opposite to theirs Lord de Montfort leaning
against the side of it, in his usual state of gloomy apathy--his eyes
half closed, his fine hair disordered, and his whole person expressing a
sort of desolation, which waked emotions of pity in Ellen's gentle
heart: she could not see him without compassion, he appeared so
completely an insulated being, and even in the very morning of life, so
totally without any kind connection or affectionate friend to soothe his
melancholy--that melancholy, of which she so well knew the original
cause, that, as she looked towards him, she could not forbear a sigh;
and the sorrow she really felt appeared in her expressive countenance.
Lady Meredith, who had been attentively watching her with a degree of
malice, of which Ellen had not supposed her capable, now gently touched
Lady St. Aubyn with her fan, and said--
"Upon my word, my dear, I could in pity to the love-sick woe-begone De
Montfort have almost wished he could have seen that soft look, and heard
that tender sigh: no doubt it would have gone a great way towards
rendering him a more cheering object, and that I am sure we should all
have rejoiced in, for at present he really casts a gloom over all our
amusements."
"I do not understand you," said Ellen, with surprize.
"Indeed!" replied Lady Meredith: "I hardly supposed you would have
carried affectation so far. Here, Hamilton," added she, laughing and
turning to the gentleman next her, "Lady St. Aubyn cannot imagine why
her pity and a very kind look should have any effect on Lord de
Montfort."
"Pity and a gentle look from so much beauty," replied Sir James
Hamilton, with affected gravity, "must certainly have a most powerful
effect on the heart of any man--assuredly still more on that of one so
devoted as De Montfort's appears to be."
"I know not, Sir," said Ellen, with modest grace, yet with spirit, "if I
am to consider this as a specimen of that fashionable sort of wit which
you call quizzing or hoaxing. Are not these the _elegant_ terms of the
day? But I am willing to think it no more, as I am convinced you cannot
seriously lose sight of the respect you owe me as a married woman, so
far as to imagine Lord de Montfort can feel, or I permit, a greater
degree of attachment than his long connection with Lord St. Aubyn may
well account for."
Then turning to St. Aubyn, she said in a gay tone--
"Help me, my Lord, to convince Lady Meredith that Lord de Montfort has
really not fallen violently in love with me: how far he may entertain
such a sentiment for her, I will not pretend to say."
St. Aubyn laughed, and said--
"For his own sake, Ellen, I hope he has not been so improvident as to
dispose of his heart in your favour; though I should be happy to hear he
had selected any fair one at liberty to reward his passion."
This well-timed appeal to her husband, and the unembarrassed manner with
which both had spoken, effectually silenced those who hoped to have
extracted much amusement from the confusion of the timid and delicate
Ellen.
Presently afterwards, on meeting her eyes, De Montfort's seemed lighted
up with pleasure, and quitting his box, he came to that where she sat.
St. Aubyn seeing a little smile still playing on the countenances of
Lady Meredith and some of her gay friends, determined to shew his
perfect confidence in his wife, turned round to him, and said--
"De Montfort, how are you? I am quite glad you found us out, for nothing
is more stupid than being at the play without a party. We have plenty of
room: go and sit between Lady Meredith and Lady St. Aubyn; I am sure I
shall make you happy by placing you there, they are both such
favourites: we have just been disputing which of them you preferred."
"You did me great honour," replied Edmund, "in speaking of me at all."
"St. Aubyn only jests," said Ellen: "we were not, I assure you, debating
on the subject."
"No, indeed," replied Lady Meredith, laughing, "that question may be
easily settled: we were all unanimously agreed, I assure you, my Lord."
Edmund, not exactly liking the turn of her countenance, was going to
reply with some warmth, and probably might, with that chivalric
gallantry which marked his character, have openly avowed, what he
undoubtedly thought, that Ellen was the first and most admirable of
women, if she had not stopt him by saying--
"Oh, pray Lord De Montfort, let Lady Meredith enjoy the diversion she is
seeking: she has been in a teasing humour the whole evening."
"Pray, Lady Meredith," said Lady Juliana, with a grave air, "let us have
no more of this rattle: Lady St. Aubyn is not fashionable enough to wish
to be the _favourite_ of any man but her husband."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" cried Lady Meredith, "do not let us make a
serious business of it. Be assured, my dear Lady St. Aubyn, I had no
intention of getting you a grave lecture: though really," she added, in
a low tone, "I was quite in hopes you were going to be a little like
other people, and not be kept in awe any longer by that starched
specimen of old maidenism. You cannot think, my dear, how much a little
flirting would improve your beauty: then it gives an air of ease and
fashion, which, _entre nous_, is the only thing you want to make you
quite enchanting."
Ellen only smiled at this rattle, but with an air so little encouraging,
she soon put an end to it; yet, to one less fixed in principle, Lady
Meredith would have been a dangerous companion; and certain it is, more
women are ruined by listening to precepts of this nature, half in
earnest, half in jest, accompanied by a sort of _persiflage_ which few
can withstand, than even by the wiles of men: against these a woman of
virtue is on her guard; but she listens without fear to a female older
than herself, and whom she thinks better versed in the ways of the
world, till insensibly she adopts the same sentiments, and acquires that
hateful worldly tone which affects to laugh at every thing serious and
praiseworthy.
Ellen, however, was not so easily misled: her natural penetration
detected the fallacy; and all the shafts of Lady Meredith's ridicule
fell, by her, unheeded.
On the way home, Lady Juliana inveighed bitterly against the flirting
manners and ill-judged raillery of Lady Meredith, who, she said, instead
of improving as she grew older, was every year worse and worse, and was
enough to spoil the conduct of a whole nation of women.
"Pray, my dear," said she, "don't you be led by her nonsense: I hope she
will not persuade you to follow her example. Indeed, nephew, I wondered
at you for placing that odd, wild-looking young De Montfort next my
niece: he does not please me at all."
In short, the old lady was so thoroughly out of humour, that they were
very glad to set her down at her own house.
Two or three days after this, Lord de Montfort took leave of the St.
Aubyns, before he left London, on his way with a party of young men to
see Oxford and Cambridge, and afterwards to go to the Lakes, not meaning
to be again in London till September. He carried with him the most
exalted opinion of Lady St. Aubyn, but he thought of her rather as an
angel than a woman, and was devoted to her with a purity of attachment
inconceivable by the worldly-minded.
CHAP. VI.
She sees once more those lovely plains expand,
Where the first flow'ret lured her infant hand.
No where she thinks the sun so mildly gleams,
As on the banks where first she drank its beams:
So green no other mead, so smiles no other land!
Thou little spot, where first I suck'd the light,
Thou witness of my earliest smile and tear--
Loved haunt!
SOTHEBY'S OBERON.
Nothing more of any moment occurred during the stay of Lord and Lady St.
Aubyn in London, for De Montfort's departure, and the perfect attachment
which subsisted between the noble pair, silenced those tongues, and
stopped those remarks, which Edmund's too obvious admiration had
prepared to annoy Lady St. Aubyn.