THE SENTENCE, AND ITS EXECUTION.
The excitement which reigned in the servants' hall, after they had
withdrawn, in the most respectful silence, from the library, was
extreme. Robert, utterly unable to realize relief in this proof of his
own innocence, could only pace the hall in agony, deploring his mad
carelessness, which, by exposing to temptation, had caused it all; and
Morris and Ellis deepened the remorse by perfectly agreeing with him.
Before they separated, the old steward called them all together; and,
his voice trembling with agitation, the tears actually running down his
furrowed cheeks, told them that even as their mistress had done her duty
to the utmost, ay, more than the utmost by them--for it must have
well-nigh broken her heart to do it--a solemn duty was demanded from
them to her, and that if either man, woman, or child failed in it, he
should know that they had neither feeling, honor, nor gratitude in their
hearts, and deserved and should be scouted by them all; and that duty
was never to let the event of that night pass their lips, even to each
other. It was enough that all mystery and suspicion had been taken from
them, and that time would clear up the remainder; he never would believe
the grandchild of his mistress's father, one she had so loved and cared
for, could willfully act as appearances seemed to say; that he was sure,
one day or other, they would all find there was much more to pity than
to blame; and till then, if they had the least spark of generous or
grateful feeling, they would forget the whole affair, and only evince
their sense of their mistress's conduct, by yet greater respect and
attention to their respective duties.
The old man's speech was garrulous, and perhaps often faulty in grammar,
but it came from the heart, and so went to the heart at once, and not
one held back from the pledge of silence he demanded. There are some who
imagine that the refinement of feeling which alone could actuate
Morris's speech, and its warm and immediate response, is only to be
found among the educated and the rich: how little those who thus suppose
understand the human heart! Kindness begets kindness; and if superiors
will but think of, and seek the happiness, temporal and eternal, of
their inferiors--will but prove that they are considered us children of
one common Father--there needs no equality of rank to create equality of
happiness, or equality of refined, because _true_ feeling.
The next morning, when Mrs. Hamilton had occasion to speak to Morris
about some farm receipts, which had not been forthcoming the preceding
day, she recalled him as he was departing; but the words she had to say
seemed unusually difficult, for her voice audibly faltered, and her face
was completely shaded by her hand. It was simply to ask that which
Morris's loving reverence had already done; and when the old man, in
those earnest accents of heartfelt respect and kindness which never can
be mistaken, related what had passed, his mistress hastily extended her
hand to him, saying, in a tone he never forgot--
"God bless you, Morris! I ought to have known your love for your
master's house would have urged this, without any request from me. I can
not thank you enough." The kiss he ventured to press upon the delicate
hand which pressed his rough palm, was not unaccompanied, though he did
force back the tear, and most respectfully, yet very earnestly, beseech
his mistress not to take on too much. There must be some cause, some
mystery; no one belonging to her could so have acted without some very
fearful temptation, some very powerful reason, and it would all come
straight one day.
But whatever the future, the present was only suffering; for, to obtain
a full confession from Ellen, Mrs. Hamilton felt so absolutely incumbent
on her, that she steadily refused to listen to either pity or affection,
which could shake her firmness; and the opinion and advice of Mr. Howard
strengthened the determination. He had a private interview with Ellen,
but it was attended with so very little success, that he left her far
more bewildered and grieved than he had sought her; but fully convinced
it was mere hardihood and obstinacy, which caused her incomprehensible
and most guilty silence. Not even allowing, as Mrs. Hamilton had, that
there was any evidence of misery and remorse; perhaps she had been more
quiet, more resolutely calm, and if it had not been for the strong
appearances against her, he surely must have seen it was the strength
and quiet of despair, not the defiance he believed.
"This rebellious spirit must be conquered," he said, on rejoining Mrs.
Hamilton, who, with her children and Miss Harcourt, had most anxiously
and yet hopefully awaited the result of his interference. "We should
actually be sharing her sin, if we permit her to conquer us by obduracy
and self-will. Solitary confinement and complete idleness may bring her
to a better temper, and, in fact, should be persisted in, till a full
confession be made. If that fail, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, your niece
should be banished from Oakwood. She must not remain here, a continual
source of anxiety and misery to you, and of successful hardihood to
herself; but of that there will be time enough to think when you have an
answer from Mr. Hamilton; his judgment from a distance may be wiser than
ours on the spot, and irritated as we are by such unaccountable
obstinacy in one we have always thought almost too yielding."
And it was this incomprehensible change of character, in seeming, that
still more perplexed Mrs. Hamilton, and so made her believe there must
be some worse fault, or dangerous entanglement, demanding such resolute
pertinacity in concealment.
Closely connected with Ellis's private apartments, and having neither
inlet nor outlet, save through the short passage opening from her
sitting-room, were two small but not uncomfortable apartments, opening
one into the other, and looking out on a very pretty but quite
unfrequented part of the park. They had often been used when any of
Ellis's children or grandchildren came to see her, and were in
consequence almost sufficiently habitable, without any further
preparation, except the turning one into a sitting-room, which Ellis's
active care speedily accomplished. Her mistress inspected them, at her
desire, suggested one or two additional comforts, and then held a long
confidential conversation with her. She had such perfect confidence in
her (for Ellis had been from a child--married, and become mother and
widow, and married her children--all as an inmate of the Hamilton
family, and had held the confidential post of housekeeper for sixteen
years), that she did not hesitate one moment to commit Ellen entirely to
her care, at least till she could receive an answer about her from her
husband. She depended on her to watch over her health, to see that she
took daily exercise with her, in those parts of the park where she was
not likely to attract notice, as being with her instead of with any
member of her family, and that she took her regular meals; to be with
her whenever she took them, and at casual times in the day, not so as
to remove the impression of solitude and disgrace, but to be enabled to
watch her closely, and the least symptom of a softening spirit to report
instantly to her.
"She will, of course, join us in the hours of devotion, though not
occupying her usual place, for she who has lowered herself, in the sight
of God and man, beneath the humblest of my domestics, may no longer
kneel above them," she said in conclusion. "But of my determination on
that point she is already aware; and she will go with us as usual to
church; I will have no remark made, further than I can avoid. Be as kind
to her as you can, Ellis, consistent with your character as a wise and
watchful guardian. God in mercy grant that her heart may be so softened,
that you will not fill that painful position long. And now to see her."
But Percy's watchful care had so quietly interposed, that his mother
found herself in their usual sitting-room, and in the midst of them all,
before she could seek Ellen; and when, with half reproach, she told him,
that she had still a most painful duty to accomplish, therefore he ought
not to have prevented it, he answered impetuously--
"Mother, you shall not see Ellen any more alone! she has made you
miserable enough already, and each time that she sees you, her deceitful
appearance of remorse and suffering, for they _can not_ be real, or she
would speak, but add to it; send for her here, and tell her your
decision before us all."
And Mrs. Hamilton complied, for she felt as if her firmness would be
less likely to fail, than if Ellen attempted any thing like supplication
with her alone. But not a word of supplication came. Ellen had answered
the summons, by quietly accompanying Ellis, who had been sent for her,
to her aunt's presence, pale, indeed, as marble, but so tearless and
still, as to seem unmoved. An expression of actual relief stole over her
features as she heard her sentence, undisturbed even when told that this
would only be, till Mr. Hamilton's sentence came; as, if she continued
silent until then, of course whatever severer measures he might dictate
would be instantly obeyed. But when Mrs. Hamilton proceeded to say that
she intended writing the whole affair to Edward, that his influence
might awaken her to a sense of the fearfully aggravated guilt she was
incurring by her silence, an expression of the most intense agony
succeeded the previous calm, and sinking down before her, Ellen wildly
implored--
"Oh, aunt Emmeline, in mercy spare him! do not, oh, do not throw such
shame upon him, he who is so brave, admired, honored! do not, oh, if you
have any pity left, do not make him hate me, loathe me too, my own only
brother! he must throw me off. How can he bear such shame upon his name!
Oh, do with me more than you have said, any thing, every thing, but
that. Spare him!"
"Spare him yourself," interposed Percy, sternly.--(He was standing, with
his arms crossed, by a window; Herbert was leaning at the back of Mrs.
Hamilton's chair; Caroline and Miss Harcourt trying very steadily to
work, and Emmeline bending over a drawing, which her tears were utterly
spoiling).--"If the knowledge of your sin make him miserable, as it
must, be yourself the one to save him--you alone can. Speak--break this
determined and most guilty silence, and his influence will not be
needed, and my mother will be silent to him concerning what has passed,
now and forever, as we will all. If you so love him, spare him the shame
you have brought on all of us; if not, it is mere words, as must be the
love you have professed all these years for my mother."
Ellen turned her face toward him for a single minute, with such an
expression of unutterable misery, that he turned hastily away, even his
anger in part subdued, and Mrs. Hamilton could scarcely reply.
"I can not grant your request, Ellen, for to refuse it, appears to me
the only means of softening you. It may be a full fortnight before I can
write to Edward, for we must receive letters first. If during that
interval you choose to give me the only proof of repentance that can
satisfy me, or bring the least hope of returning happiness to yourself,
I shall now know how to act. I would indeed spare your brother this
bitter shame, but if you continue thus obdurate, no entreaties will move
me. Rise, and go with Ellis. Punishment and misery, repentance and
pardon, are all before you; you alone can choose. I shall interfere no
more, till your uncle's sentence comes." And longing to end this painful
scene, for her mistress's sake, Ellis led Ellen from the room, and
conducted her to the apartments assigned her. She felt much too angry
and annoyed at the pain and trouble Ellen, was giving her mistress, to
evince any thing like kindness toward her at first, but she had not been
under her care above a week before her feelings underwent a complete
change.
Suffering as she was enduring, more especially from the conviction,
that to every one of those she loved (for affection for each one of the
family had now returned with almost passionate violence) she must be an
object of hate and loathing, yet that her sin was known, was a relief so
inexpressibly blessed, she felt strengthened to endure every thing else.
She knew, and her God knew, the agonized temptation to the momentary
act, and the cause of her determined silence. She felt there was strange
comfort in that; though she knew no punishment could be too severe for
the sin itself, and she prayed constantly to be enabled to bear it, and
still not to betray her brother; and the consequence of these petitions
was a calm, gentle, deeply submissive demeanor. Not a murmur ever passed
her lips, and Ellis scarcely ever saw the signs of tears, which she
longed for; for the quiet, but fearfully intense suffering, Ellen's very
evident daily portion, alarmed her for its effect upon her always
delicate health. As yet, however, there was no outward appearance of its
failing, it rather bore up, from the cessation of the nervous dread and
constant terror, which she had endured before; and before Mr. Hamilton's
letter arrived, a month after the fatal discovery, Ellis had drawn her
own conclusions, and her manner, instead of being distant and cold, had
become so excessively kind and feeling, that the poor girl felt some
heavy change must be impending, she dared not look to the continuance of
such comfort.
But Mrs. Hamilton never saw her niece, save when no words could pass
between them; and she could not judge as Ellis did. She could only feel,
as each day passed, without bringing the desired proof of sorrow and
amendment, more and more bewildered, and very wretched. Though, for her
children's sake, she so conquered the feeling as, after the first week,
to restore cheerfulness, and promote the various amusements they had all
so enjoyed. Ellen's disappearance had of course to be accounted for, to
the intimate friends with whom they so constantly were; but her
acknowledgment that she had been disappointed in her, and that her
conduct would not allow her any social or domestic indulgence, at least
for a time, satisfied the elder members. Annie, for the first time,
discovered that Caroline was her match in cleverness, merely from her
excessive truth and simplicity, and that, manoeuvre as she might, she
could not discover the smallest clew to this sudden mystery. And Mary,
for the first time, and on this one subject alone, found Herbert and
Emmeline impenetrably reserved.
As soon as Mrs. Langford had been informed by her son, at his mistress's
desire, of the unanswerable proof of his innocence, she hastened to the
Hall, and requesting a private interview with Mrs. Hamilton, placed at
once in her hands all the trinkets and watch, with which she had been at
different times intrusted; related all that had passed between her and
Miss Fortescue, the excessive misery she seemed to be enduring; and
confessed that the few pounds she had given her, as the sums obtained by
the sale of the trinkets, she had advanced herself, having resolved that
nothing should induce her to dispose of them; and that of course it was
the difficulty she had in advancing their right value, which had
occasioned the length of time that had elapsed since Ellen had first
sought her.
"Would it not go far to prove she really did wish to return the money?"
Mrs. Hamilton thought, long after the widow had left her, and the sums
she had advanced returned with interest. "Was it to return the fatally
appropriated sum, or because she needed more? Ellen had so positively,
and with such agony asserted the first, that it was scarcely possible to
disbelieve her; but what was this fearful difficulty, this pressing
demand by one so young for so much money? Why, if it were comparatively
innocent, would she not speak?" The more she thought, the more perplexed
and anxious she seemed to become. The act itself of endeavoring to
dispose of the trinkets, especially those that had been given and
received, as doubly valuable because they had been worn by her mother,
would have been sufficiently faulty to have occasioned natural
displeasure, but compared with other known and unknown faults, it sunk
into almost nothing. Mrs. Hamilton collected them all together, those
Mrs. Langford had returned, and the few remaining in her niece's drawer,
and carefully put them away, till circumstances might authorize her
returning them to Ellen, and determined on saying nothing more on the
subject either to Ellen or her own family.
One thing Ellis reported to her regarding Ellen, which certainly seemed
like a consciousness of the wrong she had done Robert, and a wish to
atone for it. She begged Ellis so earnestly that she might see him, if
it were only for five minutes, that she could not resist her; and when
he came, she implored him so touchingly, so pleadingly to forgive her
long silence himself, and entreat his mother to do so too; assuring him,
that it was the hope of being able to restore the notes to him, without
revealing her identity, which had caused the silence, that it was
scarcely possible to listen to her unmoved. It was no false humility,
but the deepest, most unfeigned contrition for having been the cause of
injury.
Ten days after Ellen's imprisonment, the letter arrived from Sir Edward
Manly, which Mrs. Hamilton had alluded to as necessary to be received,
before she could write to her nephew, and the news it brought, though
somewhat alloyed, would at another time have been received with the
greatest delight. Edward was returning. In three weeks, or a month at
the utmost, after the receipt of his commander's letter, he might be
with them all; invalided home for a three or four months' leave. There
had been another, and rather severe engagement, in which young Fortescue
had still more distinguished himself; but from his headlong courage had
been severely, but not at all seriously, hurt. Sir Edward intended
sending the pirate frigate which they had taken to England, as she was a
tight-built, well looking craft enough, he wrote, if manned with
honorable men instead of desperate villians; and had nominated Harding
and Fortescue to accompany the second lieutenant, as her officers.
The name of Harding produced no disagreeable reminiscences in Mrs.
Hamilton's mind. It had been so very long since Edward had even
mentioned him, that she had almost forgotten his early fancy for him.
Her only thought now was thankfulness that her gallant nephew had been
preserved, and that he was coming home. It could scarcely be pleasure
she felt, though all the young party did, for there was such an
excitement in Edward's courage, and in his having been in two desperate
engagements, and seen so much, that, with the buoyancy happily natural
to well-disposed youth, they could only think and talk of his return,
forgetting the alloy that must cloud it. Percy and Herbert hoped he
would arrive within the three weeks, as then they should be with him at
least a week or ten days. If delayed, he would very provokingly just
arrive as they would be returning to college.
After much painful deliberation, Mrs. Hamilton determined on making
Herbert her messenger with these unexpected tidings to Ellen; hoping
more than she expressed that his gentle eloquence in bringing before her
the misery to which she must condemn her brother if she would persist in
this silence, and so compel an appeal to him, would have some effect;
especially as she charged him to impress upon her that even now
confession should bring pardon, and concealment of all from Edward.
Herbert gladly undertook the mission, and so feelingly, so earnestly
discharged it, that poor Ellen felt more heart-broken than she had done
yet, and almost incapable of retaining her firmness. But she did; for
danger to Edward seemed more imminent now that he was coming home, to
the very vicinity of his dreaded uncle, than when he was at a distance.
She could only feel thankful--if concealment were indeed so absolutely
necessary as he had declared it to be--that Mr. Hamilton was still from
home, and might continue to be so during Edward's visit. It was
difficult to repress the sickening shudder, when Herbert chanced to
mention that Harding was her brother's companion in his voyage home, and
difficult, not to express more disappointment than the occasion
warranted, that Edward had not answered her last letter. He must have
received it, Herbert said, for Sir Edward acknowledged his father's in
which hers to Edward had been inclosed. He left her after a very long
interview, deeply grieved at the failure of all his persuasions, all his
remonstrances, but compelled, he could not satisfactorily explain why,
either to himself or to his family, to pity far more than to blame.
Percy declared, as did Caroline and Miss Harcourt, that it must be only
his own too kind and gentle disposition, which never could blame anybody
or any thing. Mrs. Hamilton was bitterly disappointed; Mr. Howard
insisted that such obduracy demanded nothing but the sternest treatment,
and he only wished Mr. Hamilton's letter could arrive at once. He saw
Ellen again himself twice in the five weeks, which elapsed between the
discovery of her sin and the arrival of Mr. Hamilton's answer; but if
kindness had so failed, it was comparatively easy to resist his
well-intentioned, but in this case utterly mistaken sternness. He was in
general so kind even in his judgments, that Mrs. Hamilton thought he
must have some reason to believe Ellen so thoroughly hardened, and from
his report of her was enabled to impart her husband's sentence with more
firmness, than had she listened to her own kind, still loving heart.
It was as she and Mr. Howard had both expected. Ellen was no longer to
remain at Oakwood, but to be placed under the care of a maiden lady,
living in Yorkshire, a relation of Mr. Hamilton, and one who had
occasionally visited Oakwood, and was, therefore, well known to Mrs.
Hamilton, and to Ellis too, and regarded with such dislike by the
latter, as to make her actually venture to entreat her mistress not to
send Miss Ellen to her; she was sure it would break her heart. Now Miss
Seldon was one of the worthiest women that ever breathed--honest,
straightforward, truth-speaking literally to a fault, but as hard as she
was true. Whether she ever had any feelings or not, Mrs. Hamilton, with
all her penetration, never could discover; but the good she did was
immense in practical benevolence, though the quick sympathy, the kindly
word, the indulgent thought, seemed utterly unknown. She had no pity for
faults or failings, always declaring forbearance and love were all
folly; "if a branch were in the slightest degree decayed, cut it off; if
the blight extend to the root, destroy it," she was fond of saying. As
for youthful follies or errors, she had no patience with them, for never
having been, or rather felt young herself, she could not understand the
age in others. Ellis had not discrimination enough to discern the good
which lay under this very disagreeable exterior; Mrs. Hamilton had; and
suffering as she knew a residence with her must be to Ellen, if indeed
she were really the character she had seemed in childhood--though the
last few months had so contradicted it--she felt her husband had decided
wisely, spite of the misery which still even the very thought of sending
her orphan niece so completely from her, was to herself. Mr. Hamilton's
letter read harshly, but his wife knew his high, almost stern
principles; he had not seen Ellen's evident anguish; he could only judge
from the relation which had been sent him, and all which that told was
indeed against her. Of course he said, if she had confessed, and her
confession in any degree, pleaded for her, his wife would use her own
judgment as to the period of her banishment; but he could not imagine
any cause for her conduct sufficiently excusing, as to demand the
avoidance of his sentence altogether.
Miss Seldon's last visit to Oakwood was sufficiently well remembered by
the young Hamiltons (though, it was before their cousins had arrived
from India), for them all--even Percy and Caroline, the most indignant
against Ellen--to think of their father's sentence with the deepest
regret, and with almost dread for its effect on Ellen.
"If she did but know her, she must speak," was Emmeline's exclamation.
"I did not feel quite sure that I was my own happy self, all the time
she was with us."
"The atmosphere was frozen twenty degrees below zero in all the rooms
she frequented, though it was otherwise a hot summer," rejoined Percy;
"and in Yorkshire--"
"Pray do not joke, dear Percy; I can not bear to think of Ellen going
away from us at all, much less to such a guardian, though I know she is
very good," answered Herbert.
"Now, my good fellow, do not attempt to say a word for Nancy Seldon; she
was the only person in the world I ever heard you acknowledge you
disliked; so what must she be? Worthy! no doubt, or my father would not
have trusted Ellen to her, but for any thing else--"
"Poor Ellen! she little knows to what her obstinacy is condemning her,"
rejoined Caroline; "I wish she did and then she might spare herself and
mamma, too; though I fear even confession would not help her much now."
Mrs. Hamilton might and did think with them all, but she could not
swerve from her duty. She wrote at once to Miss Seldon, not entering
into particulars, but merely asking if she would consent to take charge
of a relative, whose conduct demanded more rigid watchfulness and care,
and an entire cessation of indulgence, than could be the case in the
family circle at Oakwood. She and her husband had such perfect
confidence in her, she said, that if she could oblige them by
undertaking the duty, they knew, without any assurance on her part, that
she would discharge it faithfully. The yearly sum they offered was
large, because they wished their young relative to have all the comforts
and appurtenances of a gentlewoman, and the advantages of the best
education, the city near which she resided, could afford. Mrs. Hamilton
had no doubt of the affirmative nature of the reply, for Miss Seldon
owed the recovery of her fortune and position entirely to the exertions
of Mr. Hamilton; and she had told him, once for all, that if she could
but serve or oblige him in any way, great or small, it would make her
far happier than she had ever been, or was likely to be in her solitary
life. The letter written and dispatched, Mrs. Hamilton summoned Ellen
once more to her presence.
The scene was again the library, where she had been writing, and the
time nearing the short twilight of October. It was three weeks, rather
more, since Sir Edward Manly's letter had been received, and Edward was,
therefore, almost daily expected. The feelings with which his unhappy
sister looked to his return it would be a vain attempt to define. At
times the intense longing to see him again, caused a wild, almost sick
feeling of pleasure, that she might, perhaps, so soon do so; then came
all that had passed, and she pictured his anger, his loathing--true it
had been for him, but he had not thought of such a deed. He would, he
must hate and spurn her, too; and the idea of meeting him became
absolute agony. Then--and she shuddered in dread--would he think that he
must acknowledge it was for him she had thus acted? and, if so, had she
not betrayed instead of saving him? Incident after incident in their
childhood rose before her, to give her hope that he would be silent now
as then, and not betray himself; but these contending terrors, united
with the constant though silent suffering of her banishment from all she
loved, the utter hopelessness as to the end of this trial, had not been
without their effect on the outward frame. Ellis did not see it, from so
constantly watching her, and from Ellen never refusing to take the
exercise she desired her, and not making a single complaint as to the
pain it was sometimes to walk, and always to swallow her meals; but as
she stood opposite to her aunt, in the full light of the oriel
window--her approach had been so noiseless, Mrs. Hamilton, who was
bending over some papers, did not see her till she chanced to look
up--the attenuation of form and feature was so very visible, that her
aunt could not prevent herself from starting painfully, and the words
with which she had intended to address her froze on her lips. It was
with the utmost difficulty she refrained from folding her to her heart,
and trying, by every means affection could devise, to soothe or remove
that anguish, whatever its nature, far too deep and constant for one so
very young; but how dared she do this, when, by this determined silence,
Ellen so defied her authority, and seemed so resolved that neither
severity nor kindness, nor her own sufferings should humble her spirit,
though they had even affected her frame?
Conquering with a powerful effort the pleadings of affection, Mrs.
Hamilton calmly entered on the subject for which she had summoned her,
reading to her a greater part of her uncle's letter, hoping that its
severity would spare her the pain of any additional remarks. Every word
seemed to burn itself on Ellen's brain. What she had hoped she knew not,
for she thought she had never hoped at all, but the words, "No cause can
be excusing enough to justify the entire setting aside this sentence,"
seemed by its agony to tell her that the thought _had_ entered her mind,
if the real cause were by any chance discovered would she be forgiven,
and in time restored to confidence and love? And now it was over, even
that hope was gone.
Mrs. Hamilton paused for a reply or an observation, but none came, and
she continued, impressively--"I can scarcely hope, Ellen, that as even
the idea of sparing your only brother shame and misery, on his return
home, expecting nothing but joy, after nearly three years' separation
and exposure to danger, has had no effect in softening you, that your
uncle's sentence will. Once I should have believed that only the thought
of leaving me, and going to the care of a stranger, would have urged you
to speak directly. I can believe this no longer; but as I wish you to be
with Edward, at least part of his stay with us, I shall postpone your
leaving us, one month from to-day. If, indeed, Edward's influence be
such that, for his sake, you will make me a full confession and answer
clearly and distinctly every question I put to you, your residence with
Miss Seldon shall be limited to three, six, ten, or twelve months,
according to the nature of the motive of this incomprehensible and,
apparently most sinful conduct. If you leave us still obdurate, years
will, in all probability, pass before we can feel sufficiently confident
in the restored integrity and openness of your character to permit your
return to us. The pain you are inflicting upon me it is useless to dwell
upon. As the child of my only and most dearly loved sister, I have loved
you, hoped for you, with little less intensity of affection than that I
have borne toward my own; for I felt that, with the sole exception of
your brother, I was the only being you had on earth united to you by
ties of blood. How this conduct repays my love and care you must answer
to yourself; I can only be sensible of bitter disappointment."
Again she stopped, evidently expecting a reply, but Ellen still remained
silent. The short twilight of autumn had set in so suddenly, that Mrs.
Hamilton was not aware her niece's cheek had become still paler, and
that her white lips quivered repeatedly, as if she several times tried
to speak, but could not. After a silence of some minutes, she said--
"If you are determined not to speak, Ellen, you may retire. I have told
you all I wished to say, except that till you leave us though you will
still occupy your present rooms, and be still under Ellis's care, you
are at liberty to employ yourself, and go about the house and grounds as
usual."
Ellen turned to go, still in that unbroken silence; she had reached the
low step dividing the upper part from the lower part of the room, and
whether she did not see it, or from some other cause, the room suddenly
reeled before her, and she fell heavily forward. To spring toward her,
raise her tenderly, bear her to the nearest couch, though she so
trembled herself at finding Ellen quite insensible, as to render the
task unusually difficult, and to ring hastily for Ellis, was the work of
a minute, but it was many minutes before their united efforts could
bring back consciousness.
"I knew it would break her heart, poor lamb!" was Ellis's exclamation,
in a tone of most unusual excitement; "thank God, thank God! Master
Edward's coming home, and that she is not to go till he does."
"Have you so much confidence in his influence?" asked her mistress, as,
unable to resist the impulse, she bent down and repeatedly kissed the
cold brow and cheek, to which she was so earnestly striving to restore
warmth, "God in mercy grant you may be right!"
"Right? Dear my lady!" (whenever Ellis was strongly moved, she always so
addressed her mistress;) "I would stake your confidence in me, which is
all my life's worth, if Master Edward is not at the bottom of it all,
and that this poor child is sacrificing herself for some fancied danger
to him! I saw enough of that work when they were young children, and I
have noticed enough since she has been under my care."
"Edward!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton, so bewildered, as to stop for the
moment chafing Ellen's cold hand; "Edward! bearing the high character he
does; what can he have to do with it?"
"I don't know, my lady, but I am sure he has. Young men, ay, some of the
finest and bravest among us, get into difficulties sometimes, and it
don't touch their characters as their officers see them, and Master
Edward was always so terrified at the mere thought of my master knowing
any of his faults; but--hush! we must not let her know we suspect any
thing, poor lamb; it will make her still more miserable. You are better
now, dear Miss Ellen, are you not?" she added, soothingly, as Ellen
feebly raised her hand to her forehead, and then slowly unclosed her
eyes, and beheld her aunt leaning over her, with that same expression of
anxious affection, which her illness had so often caused in her
childhood. Sense, or rather memory, had not quite returned, and her
first words were, with a faint but happy smile--
"I am better, dear aunt, much better; I dare say I shall soon be well."
But it was only a momentary forgetfulness; swift as thought came the
whole of what had so lately passed--her uncle's letter, her aunt's
words, and murmuring, in a tone how painfully changed! "I
forgot--forgive me," she buried her face in the pillow.
"Ellen, my dear Ellen! why will you persist in making yourself and me so
miserable, when a few words would make us happier?" exclaimed Mrs.
Hamilton, almost imploringly, as she bent over her.
"Do not urge her now, dear my lady, she is not well enough; give her
till Master Edward comes; I am sure she will not resist him," answered
Ellis, very respectfully, though meaningly, as her look drew her
mistress's attention to the shudder which convulsed Ellen's slight
frame, at the mention of her brother.
Pained and bewildered more than ever, Mrs. Hamilton, after waiting till
the faintness seemed quite gone, and thinking that if the restraint of
her presence were removed, Ellen might be relieved by tears, left her,
desiring Ellis to let her know in a short time how she was. The moment
the door closed, Ellen threw her arms round Ellis's neck, exclaiming
passionately--
"Take me away--take me away, dear Ellis; I can not bear this room--it
seems all full of misery! and I loved it so once, and I shall love it
again, when I am miles and miles away, and can not see it--nor any one
belonging to it. Oh, Ellis, Ellis! I knew you were too kind. I was too
glad and contented to be with you; it was not punishment enough for my
sin--and I must go away--and I shall never, never see my aunt again--I
know I shall not. Oh! if I might but die first! but I am too wicked for
that; it is only the good that die."
And almost for the first time since her sin had been discovered, she
gave way to a long and violent fit of weeping, which, though terrible
while it lasted, as the anguish of the young always is, greatly relieved
her, and enabled her after that day not to revert in words (the thought
never left her till a still more fearful anxiety deadened it) to her
uncle's sentence again.
Mrs. Hamilton sat for a very long time alone after she had left Ellen.
Ellis's words returned to her again and again so pertinaciously, that
she could not break from them. Edward! the cause of it all--could it be
possible?--could it be, that he had plunged himself into difficulties,
and afraid to appeal to his uncle or her, had so worked on Ellen as not
only to make her send relief, but actually so to keep his secret, as to
endure every thing rather than betray it? Circumstance after
circumstance, thought after thought, so congregated upon her, so seemed
to burst into being, and flash light one from the other, that her mind
ached beneath their pressure. Ellen's unhappiness the day his last
letter had been received, her sudden illness--had it taken place before
or after Robert had lost the money? She could not satisfy herself, for
her husband's sudden summons to Feroe, hasty preparations, and
departure, had rendered all the month confused and unsatisfactory in its
recollections. So intense was the relief of the idea, that Mrs. Hamilton
feared to encourage it, lest it should prove a mere fancy, and urge
softer feelings toward her niece than ought to be. Even the supposition
made her heart yearn toward her with such a feeling of love, almost of
veneration, for the determined self-devotion, so essentially woman's
characteristic, that she resolutely checked its ascendency. All her
previous fancies, that Ellen was no ordinary child, that early suffering
and neglect had, while they produced some childish faults, matured and
deepened the capabilities of endurance and control, from the
consciousness (or rather existence, for it was not the consciousness to
the child herself) of strong feeling, returned to her, as if determined
to confirm Ellis's supposition. The disappearance of her allowance; her
assertion, that she was seeking Mrs. Langford's cottage, by that shorter
but forbidden path, to try and get her to dispose of her trinkets, when
the wind blew the notes to her hand--all now seemed connected one with
the other, and confirmed. She could well understand, how in a moment of
almost madness they might have been used without thought, and the
after-effect upon so delicate a mind and conscience. Then, in
contradiction to all this (a mere hypothesis raised on nothing firmer
than Ellis's supposition), came the constantly favorable accounts of
Edward; his captain's pride and confidence in him; the seeming
impossibility that he could get into such difficulties, and what were
they? The name of Harding rushed on her mind, she knew not why or
how--but it made her tremble, by its probable explanation of the whole.
A coarse or even less refined mind, would have either appealed at once
to Ellen, as to the truth of this suspicion, or thought herself
justified in looking over all Edward's letters to his sister, as thus
to discover the truth; but in Mrs. Hamilton's pure mind the idea never
even entered, though all her niece's papers and letters were in her
actual possession. She could only feel to her heart's core with Ellis,
"Thank God, Master Edward's coming home!" and pray earnestly that he
might be with them, as they hoped and anticipated, in a few, a very few
days.