Aubyn's, being old-fashioned and _tasteless_ enough not to find any
pleasure in broiling through the hot months in the metropolis, and
leaving the
"Opening lawns, deep glooms, and airy summits,"
of their own domain untenanted in the most attractive season of the
year.
From St. Aubyn's Castle, the long talked of journey into Wales was to
commence. Ellen longed once more to revisit the haunts of her infancy,
and to see her father and her early friends; and St. Aubyn willingly
consented to gratify her.
The child was to travel with them, attended by the faithful Bayfield and
his nurses: they waited till the end of May, knowing that the bad roads
of North Wales would be hardly passable at an earlier period.
They went from St. Aubyn's to Shrewsbury, and from thence to Carnarvon,
stopping on the way, as in their former journey, to see all that was
worthy of observation; and as this route was entirely different from
that they had before taken, many new objects presented themselves to
their notice. Amongst other picturesque scenes, they passed the woody
banks of the Dee, whence they obtained a striking view of the beautiful
and romantic town of Llangollen, with its church, and elegant bridge,
embosomed in trees.
At Llangollen they rested, and though it has in itself nothing
particularly interesting, yet its environs afford much sublime and
pleasing scenery: amongst these the Vale of Crucis is one of the most
lovely secluded situations that fancy can portray; it is adorned by the
fine remains of Valle Crucis Abbey, and its back-ground, formed by a
lofty mountain, on whose summit stands the venerable ruin of Castle
Dinas Bran.
After seeing all that was deserving observation in this charming spot,
they proceeded through a fine romantic country to Carnarvon, and from
thence to Llanwyllan.
The latter part of the roads were intolerably bad, and the English
servants, who had never seen any thing like them, were in momentary
expectation of having their necks broken; indeed, Lord Mordaunt's nurses
walked several miles, fearing lest the baby should be injured; and in
truth, even Ellen, though fearless for herself, felt a little uneasy for
the infant.
All these perils and dangers, however, at length happily past, and
Ellen's heart beat with ecstacy when she saw the white chimnies of
Llanwyllan Farm peeping above the ancient oaks around it. The carriages
stopt before the house, and in an instant Ellen was folded in the arms
of her father: her fair face pressed tenderly to the rough cheek of the
good old man, while the mingled drops of filial love and parental
affection fell in showers from their eyes: repeatedly Powis clasped his
lovely daughter to his heart, and felt enraptured, that though "so great
a lady, his dear Ellen had not forgotten him:" at length he was at
leisure to see and speak to his noble son-in-law, and the awkward air of
respect he endeavoured to assume was soon changed to one of more cordial
affection by the kind greeting Lord St. Aubyn gave him. In the meantime
Ellen stept into the hall where the nurses and servants were waiting,
and taking the infant from Mrs. Bayfield, returned with him into the
parlour, and with delighted looks, placed him in her father's arms.
Oh, moment of exquisite bliss! moment which might have repaid the
sorrows of many years! Can there be in this world an instant of such
pure delight as the daughter feels when she places her first-born on the
bosom of a venerable parent.
Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than heaven;
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek
It would not stain an angel's cheek;
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head.
SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE.
Mrs. Ross's domestic talents had been exerted to the utmost to prepare
Llanwyllan Farm in the best possible manner for its noble guests: she
did not indeed quite understand all the various arrangements which are
absolutely necessary for the tolerable comfort of such a family; but
with the assistance of Dame Grey, who picqued herself on remembering how
things used to be when she lived at 'Squire Davis's, and the ready aid
of the active Joanna, every thing was far beyond Ellen's expectations;
and as she encouraged no fine lady-like airs in her nursery attendants,
nor even in her own woman, none of those vexatious murmurs disturbed her
which servants often have the happy art of contriving where no real
cause for complaint exists; and certainly the furniture for the nursery
was not quite so rich as Lady Juliana had chosen for that at the Castle:
the nurses found that the young Lord slept quite as well, and his cheeks
bloomed quite as freshly beneath the clean white cotton hangings of this
little couch as under the quilted satin cradle at St. Aubyn's.
The whole party was speedily arranged, for there was plenty of room and
abundance of provisions.
The Earl and Countess had brought no more servants than were absolutely
necessary; and Bayfield, highly as she was respected by her noble
employers, was not above directing the management of their table, or any
other domestic office which could make her useful, and though Powis, at
first, thinking her a much greater lady than he had been accustomed to
associate with, was very much disposed to treat her as his equal; she
soon convinced him by her respectful conduct towards her lady's father
that she considered herself as greatly his inferior.
As soon as Ellen had looked round the house, and seen the arrangements
for her child's accommodation settled, she began to be anxious to see
her good friends the Rosses; and finding from her father they talked of
not coming till the next day, she begged him to give her his arm, and
she would walk to the Parsonage: all fatigue, she said, had vanished
from the moment she found herself beneath her father's roof.
"Come, my dear father," said she, "let us all go: the baby shall come
too: the dear good people will be delighted to see us; they will give us
some tea, and we can return here to eat our fruit supper: you know we
never used to eat anything else at night, and I hope the cream is as
good as it used to be when I managed the dairy."
Powis looked with delight on the sweet unaffected creature, who was, as
he expressed himself afterwards to Mrs. Ross, "Not a bit set up by her
high fortune, but just as she used to be when only Ellen Powis."
The infant now "awaking from his rosy nap," and arrayed with the nicest
care, his lovely face shaded by a rich lace border to his cap, and his
fine cambric robe cut to shew his fair bosom and dimpled arms, with his
beautiful mother in a plain white gown and straw hat, attended by St.
Aubyn and Powis, set out for the Parsonage.
On the way, Ellen spoke with the sweetest condescension to all she met,
and many of the villagers who knew she was arrived contrived to throw
themselves in her way.
Mrs. Howel, who used to do her many little services at the market-town,
happened now to cross her path, and profoundly courtesying, would have
passed on, but Ellen, saying--"Excuse me a moment, my dear St. Aubyn,"
turned and ran after her.
"How do you do, Mrs. Howel?" said she, holding out her hand, which the
good woman hardly ventured to touch, again courtesying.
Ellen made kind inquiries for all her family by name; and seeing her old
neighbour's eyes involuntarily wandering towards the child, as if she
anxiously wished, but was ashamed to ask a nearer view of him, she
beckoned the nurse to bring him towards her, and said:--
"Do look at my little boy, Mrs. Howel: is he not a fine fellow?"
"Ah, Madam," said the good woman, "he is the loveliest babe I ever saw,
except your Ladyship, at the same age.--God bless him, and God bless
you, Madam; for you deserve every kind of happiness."
"Thank you, thank you, my good neighbour. Come to the Farm and see us
when it is convenient: at present, my Lord is waiting for me, so
good-bye." And she lightly ran on, leaving the farmer's wife charmed and
delighted by her sweetness and kind attention.
They soon reached the Parsonage, and were received with unaffected joy.
Great indeed, at first, was the bustle of poor Mrs. Ross, who, not
hoping for such an honour, was not drest, nor her parlour, though always
neat, in that high state of preparation it would have been had she
expected them; but she was soon convinced that the string of apologies
she meditated were totally unnecessary, by finding the warm-hearted
Ellen first in her own arms, and leaving them to fly to those of Joanna,
and then with sweet filial reverence bending to the kind parental
embrace of the venerable Ross. St. Aubyn and the good Powis, in the
meantime, stood gazing on her with rapturous emotion, and both thinking
there never was so enchanting a creature. The babe was admired,
caressed, and finally pronounced a prodigy of beauty and early
apprehension, and his sweet good-humoured smiles were uninterrupted even
by one frown, though handed from one to the other with raptures which
would have made an infant of a less amiable disposition cross and
fretful.
"Well, my excellent friend," said St. Aubyn, aside to Ross, "you see
once more your lovely pupil, from whom you parted with so much regret,
not, I hope, injured either in person or mind by her intercourse with
the great world. Oh, my good Sir, how infinitely am I indebted to you
for implanting principles in her youthful bosom which have stood the
test of many trying scenes. You and I must have a great deal of
conversation, and I know you will be charmed to hear how admirably she
conducts herself on all occasions."
"I _am_ charmed," said Ross, while an affectionate tear stood in his
eye, "charmed with all I see and hear of both: indeed, my Lord, that
lovely unaffected creature adorns the rank to which you have raised her:
the choice you made reflects as much honour on your penetration as I
hope it will ensure happiness to your future life; nor could any young
person have better stood the trying test of sudden elevation, of that
admiration which doubtless has surrounded her. Now see how sweetly she
returns to us without one high air, one look of dissatisfaction at the
inferiority of accommodations or manners she must see.
"Polite as all her life in courts had been,
Yet good as she the courts had never seen."
"You have, indeed," said St. Aubyn, "most happily characterized her; but
you cannot think half so highly of her as I have reason to do."
By this time the tea was over; and Ellen, wrapping up her boy, sent him
home; but instead of returning with him, she remained at the Parsonage
all the evening, delighted herself, and delighting all around her.
"Well," said Mrs. Ross, after her visitors were departed, "well, I never
saw any thing in my life so strange! Why, I thought to have seen a fine
lady, all dressed in silks and jewels, and looking stiff and
formal-like; and I thought to have said, my Lady Countess, and your
Ladyship--and behold! here she comes in a plain white gown, but little
better than one I scolded her for wearing once--you remember it,
Joanna?--And flies to me, kisses me, and calls me dear mamma, as she
used to do; and if I had been to have died for it, I could not call her
any thing but Ellen, and child, the whole evening almost, except once or
twice I recollected myself, and said my Lady, when we were at the window
together, and she put her dear arms round my neck, and said dear mamma,
I am _your_ Ellen!--and then she is grown such a beauty!--to be sure,
she always was as pretty a creature as could be I thought, but now she
looks somehow so sensible, and so happy; and then her carriage is so
easy, and yet so grand, that if I did not know to the contrary, I should
think she was born a great princess.--And then the sweet baby--with his
little laughing mouth, and pretty eyes!--And my Lord too, to be so
kind--that I once as good as told I wished he would go away from
Llanwyllan: and so I did wish it, for could I ever have thought it would
come to such honour and happiness for Ellen!"
Ross and Joanna listened with smiles to this long harangue, and though
not quite so fluent in their praises, were at least equally charmed and
delighted with herself.
St. Aubyn and his Ellen remained thus beloved and happy at Llanwyllan
for some time, during which Ellen visited with the utmost kindness every
farmhouse of which she had formerly known the inhabitants, and
gladdening every poor cottage not only with her smiles, but with more
substantial marks of her favour and benevolence.
In the course of the first fortnight Ellen learned that there was a
mutual attachment between her friend Joanna and a young clergyman, who
did the duty of a parish not more than three miles from those filled by
the worthy Ross, and learning from that good man that he had no
objection to the match, for that Mr. Griffiths was a man of excellent
character, and well suited to Joanna, both in age and temper, and that
the only possible objection was the narrowness of his income, and there
being no parsonage-house on the living he served, nor any house within
many miles where they could reside, she consulted with her Lord, and the
next opportunity said to Ross:
"My dear Sir, I have a proposal to make to you. It is the mutual request
of my Lord and myself, and you cannot think how much you will oblige us
by complying."
"I know not," said Ross, "what I could refuse to either of you."
"My father," said she, "complains much of the loneliness of his winter
evenings; yet he does not like to remove from Llanwyllan and come to
live near us, as we earnestly wished him to do; but he says our modes of
life are so different from those to which he has been accustomed, and
the journey appears so alarmingly long to him, who has never been fifty
miles from home, that he says he must be contented with the hope of
seeing us here sometimes, and end his life where he began it. But ah, my
dear Sir, his wishes, as well as our's, are, that you and Mrs. Ross
would remove to Llanwyllan Farm, and leave this house for Joanna and
your future son-in-law. You are now, we all think, too much advanced in
life to serve three churches, as you have done for many years: give up
two of them to Mr. Griffiths, with the stipend attached to them: and
surely, surely, my dearest Sir, you will not refuse from Ellen, from
your little pupil, a trifling token of her love to make your life and
dear Mrs. Ross's comfortable, and to enable you to give Joanna to her
lover with a sufficiency to make them easy."
She rose, and putting a pocket-book into his hand, said, "Not one word:
I will not hear one word. For once, your Ellen will be obstinate, and
not listen even to _you_."
She ran out of the room, and seeking Joanna, made her put on her bonnet,
and come with her to dine at the Farm, leaving a gay message with Mrs.
Ross, that she should hope to hear a favourable answer to her request
the next day.
This hint was sufficient to send the good lady to know of Ross what Lady
St. Aubyn meant: she found him overwhelmed with tender gratitude. The
pocket-book contained notes to a large amount, with a slip of paper
containing these words:
My dear Sir,
I have adapted the enclosed rather to your very limited wishes
than to my own sense of what I ought to have done. Pray let
this little transaction never be mentioned more, unless any
plan more pleasing to you than that I shall propose when I give
you this should occur to you. If my request be at all
unpleasant to you, pray reject it without hesitation.
Your ever obliged
ELLEN ST. AUBYN.
Ross now explained to his wife what had passed, and they both agreed no
plan could be devised more desirable for all parties; and that it would
be both rude and ungrateful to refuse a present, which, however, they
sincerely wished had been of less value.
All was soon finally settled to the great joy of Powis, who was
delighted with the idea of his friendly inmates. The young lovers also
were full of grateful joy, and Ellen relinquished the idea she had at
one time entertained of taking Joanna home with her: Ross objected to
it, as he did not wish her to be introduced into scenes of life so
different from those she had been, or ever would be again accustomed to;
and Griffiths did not like the idea of her going to such a distance:
nay, Joanna herself, much as she had wished to see St. Aubyn Castle,
seemed now very well contented to remain for life in the vale of
Llanwyllan.
CHAP. VII.
The sky it seems would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd
With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. Oh! the cry did knock
Against my very heart!--Poor souls, they perish'd!
SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST.
St. Aubyn had related to Ross the conclusion of those circumstances
which he had confided to him before his marriage with Ellen, and though
that venerable man rejoiced that Edmund's vindictive intentions had been
so happily conquered, neither he nor the Earl felt entirely satisfied on
the subject.
Lord De Montfort was certainly an excentric character, and it was
possible his impetuous feelings might yet take another direction,
especially if the bigotted Catholics, by whom he generally was
surrounded, should obtain any intimation of those apparent facts which
militated so much against the character of St. Aubyn, and which only his
own word opposed; and that they might do so, was by no means improbable,
when his occasional night-wanderings were remembered, in which, as he
had done to Ellen, he might hereafter to some other reveal what would
induce them to insist on an explanation.
Ellen, it was true, had so touched him with admiration and tenderness,
that he could not resist her influence, but now removed from any chance
of seeing her again, there was no saying what new turn his ardent
imagination would take.
All these ideas, which St. Aubyn had carefully concealed from his wife,
he communicated to his venerable friend, who could not deny their
rationality. The wishes of both centered in one point, and that was the
discovery of De Sylva; and nothing could be more improbable than that he
should now be found after years had elapsed, in which the agents of St.
Aubyn, and of the Marquis of Northington, had sought him in vain, though
their search had been extended through every great city in Spain,
Portugal, France, Italy, and England: it was, in fact, most likely,
either that he was dead, or had so completely changed his appearance and
name as to be living obscurely, perhaps on one of the very spots where
they had vainly endeavoured to find him.
These wishes and reflections they never discussed except when without
other witnesses, being mutually unwilling to impart any of their
anxieties to Lady St. Aubyn, who, happy in her benevolent plans, in the
society of her father and early friends, in the improving beauty and
health of her lovely boy, and the undeviating and increasing love of St.
Aubyn, seemed not to have a care remaining.
From Charles Ross, about this time, his father received letters,
expressive of the happiness he felt in his present situation, and of
gratitude to Lord St. Aubyn, who had procured it for him, adding, he
hoped to remain on his present station for some months, as they were
constantly taking prizes, and his share already amounting to a
considerable sum of money.
The Earl or Countess never mentioned either to his parents or sister his
mad mistake respecting them during his stay in London, nor the
mischievous consequences of it, unwilling to give them pain by a
knowledge of those unpleasant transactions.
The situation of Llanwyllan was not above a mile from the sea-shore, and
frequently Ellen and Joanna, attended by the nurses and child, walked
thither, Lady St. Aubyn thinking that the fine breeze invigorated and
strengthened both herself and little Constantine; nor had the
indulgences which her unexpected elevation had procured for her rendered
her unequal to a long country ramble, or less pleased to explore the
haunts of her infancy. Frequently St. Aubyn and Mr. Griffiths, who was a
sensible intelligent young man, with the education and manners of a
gentleman, were their escorts: but there was nothing to fear on this
unfrequented shore, for though ships often passed at a distance, there
was not even a fishing town within three miles of their accustomed walk.
About the middle of July, the weather for three or four days became so
excessively hot, as seemed to preclude any exercise, except very late in
the evening: this uncommon degree of warmth was followed by a tremendous
storm of thunder and lightning; and though the weather cleared a little
in the middle of the day, the evening again closed with a renewal of the
tempestuous weather, attended by a violent wind.
While the weather had been tolerable, the Rosses had walked to the Farm
to spend the remainder of the day, and were there when the tempest began
again with added horrors, and indeed not one of the party was totally
without alarm, lest the violence of the wind should injure the ancient
mansion.
One of the men who had been sent to Carnarvon in the morning on some
commission, and whose road lay near the sea, returned about nine
o'clock. The thunder and lightning had by that time abated, but the
violent wind continued, attended by torrents of rain and excessive
darkness. This man said he had seen a large ship near the coast, and
evidently in great danger, from the beach on which she was driving being
rocky and inaccessible, the tide coming in, and the wind blowing from
the sea, which he said was rougher than he had ever seen it, and the
ship laboured so much he feared she must be lost.
This account soon travelled from the servants'-hall to the parlour: the
cheeks of the females were blanched by terror, and Mrs. Ross, clasping
her hands together, exclaimed,
"God preserve my poor Charles!"
"He is far enough from hence, my dear," said the good Ross, "and in all
probability quite out of the way of this tremendous weather."
"Perhaps so," said Mrs. Ross, "but I never hear the wind blow without
thinking of him, and a sailor's life is so uncertain, one never knows
where they are, or what they are exposed to."
While she spoke, they distinctly heard the sound of a gun fired at sea.
"Hark!" said St. Aubyn, "that is a signal gun! and again!
another!--those are guns of distress: can we do nothing for these poor
creatures?"
"Oh! try, pray try," said Ellen: "but without exposing yourselves to
danger, it is, I fear, impossible."
"There will be no danger for us in going down to the shore," said St.
Aubyn. "You and I, my young friend," (speaking to Griffiths) "with the
men servants, and all the assistance we can collect in the village, will
hasten thither: we can at least light some fires on the beach, or make
signals of some kind or other, which may be of service; you, my dear
Sir," (speaking to Powis) "and Mr. Ross, will stay and sooth the fears
of the ladies."
"Oh, but," said Ellen, "do not expose yourselves too much: the weather
is dreadful."
"We will take care of ourselves, my love, depend upon it: there are
plenty of box-coats in the hall; we will wrap ourselves up, and if we
save one life our trouble will be amply repaid."
"God bless you for your goodness," said Mrs. Ross, "and prosper your
undertaking! Oh! these poor sailors have perhaps mothers and sisters
praying for them, as we do for poor Charles." She wept, and Joanna and
Ellen could not restrain their tears.
The gentlemen, attended by all St. Aubyn's male servants, and several
stout workmen belonging to the Farm, now sallied forth with lanterns,
and such torches as could be hastily prepared: their numbers were
considerably augmented by many of the villagers, who, independent of the
rewards St. Aubyn offered, were prompted by humanity and curiosity to
assist.