"And how the knight, with tender fire,
To paint his faithful passion strove."
_Lay of the Last Minstrel._
"Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie,
Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die."--_Byron._
On the afternoon following her arrival at home, Ellen Ravensworth was
sitting alone in her drawing-room, when Lord Wentworth was announced. As
he entered, unable to restrain her natural and full feelings, the young
girl flew to meet him, as though she welcomed a brother.
"How glad I am to see you looking so well, and so like yourself, Ellen!"
said the Earl, as he took both her hands in his own; "come let me look
at you, little unbeliever! I could not have told you had been ill! And
how came you to doubt my pledge, Ellen, or think my ring spoke
falsehood?"
As he spoke the Earl still held her hands, and the lovers gazed on each
other with an expression of unspeakable delight.
"Oh welcome, welcome, Lord Wentworth! How happy I am to meet you again.
Come, sit down by me on the sofa. I have so much to tell you."
"First answer my question," said the Earl, as he seated himself beside
her; "tell me, Ellen, how came you to doubt my ring,--how to doubt a
peer's word?"
"Oh ask me not," said Ellen, smiling; "I cannot tell why. I know not how
I could doubt you one moment; but it is past now, and you forgive me;
see, I wear your ring on my hand still!"
"Forgive you, dearest! nay, I should ask your forgiveness,--at least you
have proved yourself a dear, faithful girl. Ah! Ellen, you little know
how pained I was to hear you were so ill, and then I did not know the
cause. Oh! that I could find the author of that villainous paragraph!
How you must have suffered!"
"I forget it all now,--it has passed away like a cloud; and this meeting
seems all the brighter for it, as summer seems all the brighter when
contrasted with the wintry snows."
"Yet those snows are sacred to me, Ellen. Do you forget that it was on
the snows our love was born: may it resemble them in purity, and not,
like them, fade away in summer's sunshine."
"It will not fade,--it cannot; and oh! how shall I ever pay the debt of
gratitude to dear Lady Arranmore? I love her as a sister; it was owing
to her that all this happiness was mine."
"She deserves your love, Ellen; and I hope you will shortly see her
again. Edith and the Marquis join us at the Towers on the day after
to-morrow; we have quite a gay assembly there; and I was almost
forgetting my chief object in calling here to-day,--which was to ask you
all out next week to join our party. I shall take no refusal, Ellen; so
tell that to your father when you give him this note," said the Earl,
handing her an invitation.
"How kind of you! the country must be looking so pretty now,--the Towers
must be in all their beauty."
"They are. After all, no place like home,--when the weather is as
propitious as it has been this season,--an important item in this
climate. I hear you had charming weather for your tour, and enjoyed it
much."
"Oh, lovely! I do not think I saw a cloud hardly the whole time. The
Alps were splendid, and we toured the whole of the Oberland; but Leman,
blue Lake Leman, is my pet! I shall always look back on the days spent
there as the happiest in my life yet; for it was there I met your
sister, and there----"
Ellen paused, but the Earl finished her sentence--
"There you found I was still true,--is not that it?"
Ellen blushed assent.
"It is curious," she continued: "at first I preferred the desolate
grandeur of the Alps,--the brawling torrents, rent rocks, and giant
pines; but now I seem to love rather the still lake, the river, the
woodland, and plain."
"I fancy, Ellen, we always like the scenery that corresponds with our
prevailing tone of mind. When we are misanthropic and gloomy, we love
the dark woods, the gloomy gaps of rivers, the naked rock, and cold
avalanche; but when we are happy we turn to sunny plains, and the bright
greenwood,--a double reason why you should bend your steps to the
Towers, where all is haymaking, sunshine, and merriment; at least if you
are now in a happy state of mind."
"Be sure I shall only be too glad to look on the rustic scenery of the
Towers," said Ellen.
"And now tell me, Ellen, all about your travels; I shall be able to
enter into it all the better as I know every inch of ground in
Switzerland. You know the Captain, Frank, and I only toured it last
year. Which did you think the most grand scenery?"
"I think almost the wildest was on the road to Hospenthal; night
overtook us as we were near Pont du Diable. I shall never forget the
terrific grandeur of that dark torrent as it thundered below."
"Nor I either," said Lord Wentworth; "for it was on that very road that
a most ridiculous _contretemps_ occurred."
"Do let me hear it," said Ellen. "I shall have all the more interest
from knowing the ground."
"We started, then," said the Earl,[E] "a party of six strong, from
Fluellen, after lunching there. I remember it was a fiercely hot day in
the end of August, and the sun shot down on our heads with tropical heat
as we drove along the valley. Our party consisted of my two brothers,
young Scroop and Musgrave, and a naval officer, Wilson. I hope you will
meet them all next week, and you can ask them if they remember it. When
we got near the Devil's Bridge, even some time before it, night came on,
and the stars twinkled out one by one; the road also became very steep,
and we proposed that some should get out of the carriage and walk.
Accordingly Wilson descended, and soon forged ahead, and was lost in the
darkness. He had a bugle, on which he blew hunting blasts, and we heard
him from time to time blowing his horn high above. Meantime Frank and
Scroop and the Captain also began walking on, and hoped soon to overtake
him. When they had passed the bridge, Scroop began to think it was
rather a dangerous place, and remarked it was imprudent in Captain
Wilson, who was our purser, to walk on unarmed. They saw two
dangerous-looking fellows creeping up towards them from the river, but
it was too dark to recognise who or what they were. They said, '_Bon
soir_,' but received no answer. Suddenly one of the two commenced
walking on fast, as if to catch them up; but, determined they should not
be done, they too quickened their pace. The guide, however, passed them,
and two or three whistles were interchanged. They now began to feel sure
they were robbers, but being armed, determined to fight if attacked.
However they reached the Hospenthal without being called on to defend
themselves, and at once inquired for their friend, whom they felt sure
they had not passed, and were not a little alarmed to hear he had not
arrived. Meantime Wilson, who had been one of the two dangerous-looking
customers, the other being a guide he was speaking to, fell back and
rejoined us in the carriage, declaring that neither Scroop nor my
brothers had passed him. We were much alarmed in our turn, fearing they
had lost their way; and when we found them safe, I shall never forget
the laugh we had in the hall, nor the way we welcomed each other. The
_maitre d'hotel_ was quite furious at the row, as tourists go to bed
early."
"How amusing!" said Ellen. "I shall be sure and ask the Captain about
it, when I see him."
"Well, I have been telling my tour instead of you; but I shall have
plenty of time to hear all about it when we meet at the Towers,--that is
if you can make up your mind to be contented with my company. Do you
think with me you could really own a happy mind?"
"Can you doubt it?--can you then think I could be unhappy, with you so
near me?"
"And how could you doubt me?" said the Earl, rising. "And now, Ellen, I
must say adieu for the present. Don't forget the note, and we shall meet
again next Monday; and ere I go, Ellen dearest, I must claim the first
kiss of affection to seal my promise!"
As Ellen did not resist, the Earl pressed his lips to the fair girl's
brow, and ere she could at all recover from the giddy state of joy he
left her in, was gone; and the first thing that aroused her from her
loving reverie was the sound of his horse's hoofs clattering along the
dry road to the Towers, and with a fluttering heart she sat down to
re-enact the whole scene, with memory's aid. He had called her his
dearest Ellen; had pledged his love with a sacred kiss; had invited her
to his home,--what more did she want? The last shadow of doubt was
dispelled,--she was his love, he was her choice, her own! From this
delightful occupation she was disturbed, as once on a former occasion,
by another visitor, who now stood before her. He had entered the
apartment, and advanced almost to where she was sitting, ere she
perceived him. She started up with a faint exclamation, when she
recognised his features, and the words, "Miss Ravensworth!"--"Captain
L'Estrange!" broke from the two old allies who met thus in so singular
and unseasonable a way. It was the meeting of two cold waves,--it was
the chafing of two chill rivers! Ellen blushed crimson as she beheld her
old admirer, and thought how often he had stood in that selfsame room in
how different a guise. L'Estrange turned ashy pale as he thought how
often and how differently that young girl had received him in this
identical place. For some moments they both seemed fixed to the spot,
and not a word could either speak. They both felt the constraint of the
situation, and for a while were unable to overcome the _gene_ that
existed between them. At last Ellen broke the ice of ceremony, and
said--
"I suppose, Captain L'Estrange, I must be the first to break silence,
and ask you to be seated."
As she spoke, she herself resumed her former place on the sofa.
L'Estrange drew a chair opposite her, and sat down too. He thought to
speak, but the words choked in his throat, and again silence reigned.
Each seemed to avoid the other's eye; and when, by chance, their eyes
did meet,--
"The point of foeman's lance
Had given a milder pang."
"May I ask the reason of this interview, which seems so painful to you,
Captain L'Estrange?"
"And can you ask, can you not guess, Ellen,--I mean Miss Ravensworth,
for such is the name I suppose by which I should now address you? But
you will pardon me if the old familiar name occasionally escapes me. Can
you not guess the reason? It is as a peacemaker I come then. Oh, Miss
Ravensworth, you cannot think how long it took me to summon resolution
for this meeting! Oh! I pray Heaven it may not be in vain. I cannot bear
to live at enmity with any one, least of all with one I once
loved--still love--so well; and who once avowed her love to me; let us
be friends; let us once more love each other."
"I have no quarrel with you, Captain L'Estrange. I hope I have always
behaved in a friendly manner. I hope always to be your friend," said
Ellen, in a cold voice.
"My friend! and nothing more? Can our relationship extend no further?"
For some moments Ellen was silent, and hesitated as to her reply, then
in a calm collected voice she said:
"I am deeply grieved if I vex you, Captain L'Estrange. I will be your
friend, but ask no more; my acquaintance with you ends with friendship."
"Oh, Ellen, this from you!" exclaimed the unhappy young man. "Have you
then forgotten all? Have you forgotten what you once were to me? are all
your promises forgotten? have you no more than this to say to him who
was once your lover, who is so still? Oh, my lost heart!" And unable to
control his feelings he hid his face in his hands.
"I have not forgotten," replied Ellen, in a voice tremulous with
emotion, for she deeply felt for the disappointed lover. "I have not
forgotten anything, nor have I forgotten how Edward L'Estrange was the
first to quarrel, and when Ellen Ravensworth withdraws her love, she
does so never to give it back again."
"Have pity on me. Oh! be as you have been in happier, better days. I
acknowledge my fault--deeply I repent it. Oh, Ellen, Ellen! forgive, and
forget."
"I forgive you, and from my heart. I cannot so soon forget. Besides, you
ask an impossibility; my heart is no longer mine to give, even if I
wished. I am no longer free even though I desired. I will be explicit, I
will hide nothing. Edward L'Estrange, I love another. I love you not. I
will be your friend, more I cannot, I will not be."
"Ellen, may you never feel the pangs that now wring my heart; may you
never know what it is to be deserted as I am now: yet methinks you know
not him with whom you have trusted your heart; you may repent your
choice yet."
"I understand you not, Captain L'Estrange."
"Then I will be more concise. Perhaps you are not aware it is said you
are not the only lady who holds a place in Lord Wentworth's heart?
Perhaps you do not know it is whispered a fairer lady engrosses a larger
share of the Earl's love than you do?"
"Captain L'Estrange, I believe it not: I deem the Earl too noble. I
think too highly of his love to entertain such base thoughts of him."
"You believe it not? What would you then say did I tell you, proud
maiden, I have seen this lady? I know her, have heard her speak of him;
I trust you may never have cause to feel bitterly the truth of what I
tell you."
"And what proof have I of the ingenuous nature of your story? May I not
think it a lure to work on my jealousy, and gain you back the love of
which I judged you unworthy?"
"Miss Ravensworth, you are severe: to prove this is not an idle fiction,
but stern truth--sad reality, I will show you the young lady's portrait,
the acknowledged mistress of the Earl; and it is said she only became so
on a promise of marriage, should there be any liability of its becoming
known."
As he spoke Captain L'Estrange handed an exquisitely painted miniature
likeness of Juana to Ellen's hands. She glanced on it with an apathetic
look, as if doubtful whether to believe it, or no.
"And what proof have I this lady is Lord Wentworth's choice beyond your
prejudiced word? Do not think me rude, or uncourteous in questioning
your veracity; but I am a lawyer's daughter, and have been accustomed to
require proofs for everything."
"And there then they lie," said L'Estrange, handing her a number of
letters. "Behold my proofs: I am a better lawyer than you took me for:
these are letters from the Earl to Juana Ferraras; read them and then
judge for yourself."
"I forbear to ask you how you gained possession of these letters," said
Ellen, as she took them--"certainly never meant for your eye, nor for
mine either, and I should ill deserve Lord Wentworth's trust could I
demean myself to play the part of a base spy, and peruse them in order
to gain an insight into his private life. To his God he alone stands, or
falls; if he has failings he is but mortal, and fallible as you and I;
and with all his errors I love him too well to play the traitor in the
camp. So perish all calumnies on his name!" With these words she threw
them behind the small fire, seldom found too warm in Scotland's early
summer, and watched them consume away. When they were all reduced to
ashes, turning round to Captain L'Estrange, who stood in stupid
astonishment at another miscarriage in his plans, she said: "If you
think to shake my trust thus you are sadly mistaken: it only proves how
little you know Ellen Ravensworth; nay, how little you know woman's
heart at all. When she loves, it is not the immaculate being of the
poet's fancy she loves, but man--with all his failings, with all his
faults. Not an unfallen angel, but man, fallen as he is; and thus,
instead of lessening my passion you have but fed it, and fanned the
flame. I love him seven-fold more. I do not love the error, but the
erring; and perhaps it remains for me to wean his mind from such sordid
affections to the pure fire of hallowed love, to point the way to better
things; and by God's help I may have the opportunity of so doing,
whatever may be our future relations in life."
"Then I am lost; there remains no hope for me," cried L'Estrange, in a
bitter voice. "Oh, Ellen, Ellen, suffer me so to call you; here on my
bended knee behold me; by all our former love, by all that is most pure
and holy, return to me again! Restore me to your favour. Let me prove
myself still worthy of your esteem, of your love. On this point turns
the whole course of my future life; on one word hangs my eternal weal or
woe. If you say 'Yes;' if you will restore me to your love--take me,
faulty, worthless though I be--you may lead _me_ to better things; guide
_me_ to purer founts, and I am happy. But if you say, 'No,' you drive me
to desperation; you shut the door of hope in this world and the next;
you drive me to drown in the pleasures of sin the bitter remembrances of
parted bliss; you seal my speechless doom, for time and for eternity.
Which is it? I wait your answer."
With his hands clasped together in an earnestness of despairing hope
beyond the power almost of fancy to conceive, the unhappy lover knelt at
Ellen's feet. Calm as the young girl's outward expression was, it
needed no practised eye to detect the deep emotions that worked within
her bosom, as she faltered, in a voice scarcely audible, to her
suffering suppliant--
"I am deeply moved for you; I feel for you with all my heart, but I
cannot, cannot go beyond what I have already spoken. Seek God's
mercy--He will bind your broken heart; you are worthy of better things
than you predict for yourself. Edward L'Estrange, it gives me the most
unfeigned pain to be obliged to answer _NO!_"
The last fatal word was uttered with a distinctness awful to the
unfortunate listener. For a burning moment he still knelt as though he
heard not; he scarce seemed to draw his breath; an air of speechless
anguish clouded his dark eye; and then, as if all at once he realized
his wayward fate, he smote his hands together, and while the veins
swelled almost to bursting on his brow, exclaimed, in a voice of agony
Ellen could never forget:
"Oh God, help me!--I am truly most miserable."
Then, springing up, he rushed from the room without one farewell word.
When he was gone, Ellen seemed first to breathe; she buried her face in
her hands, and sobs of woe, wrung from a full heart, showed how deeply
she felt her old lover's misery, and how keenly another's woe touched
her tender spirit.