The following evening, when Mordaunt arrived at the Parsonage, he was
met in the little garden before it by Joanna and Ellen. He glanced his
eyes over the countenances of both, and found that of Joanna, which he
had hitherto seen full of smiling vivacity, overspread with gloom: her
eyes were excessively red, and when he spoke to her, they filled with
tears. Ellen also looked as if she had been weeping, but on Mordaunt's
approach, a bright smile gleamed over her face, and a soft blush
restored its animation.
As Mordaunt looked inquiringly at Joanna (dissembling as well as he
could the pleasure Ellen's blush and smile had given him), she turned
her head aside, and the tears ran down her cheeks: "Don't look at her,
don't speak to her, Mr. Mordaunt," said Ellen in a low voice, drawing
him a little on one side: "her brother has left home this morning, and
Joanna has been crying all day." Her voice trembled, and a tear started
in her own eye. Mordaunt softly drew her arm through his; and as Joanna
turned into another walk to hide her distress, he said, "And you too,
Ellen, have been weeping." He had never called her Ellen before, and
felt half ashamed of having done so now, so much respect her native
modesty had inspired; but she, who was always accustomed to be called
Ellen, nor imagined she had any pretension to a higher title, saw
nothing in it extraordinary, and answered in the most unaffected manner,
yet with some tenderness of voice and accent, "It is very true, I also
feel for Charles a sister's affection." "Is he then _very_ amiable, this
happy Charles?" asked Mordaunt. "He is very amiable, that is, very
_good_, very _sensible_," said Ellen: "but why do you call him
happy?"--"Can he be otherwise than happy, rich in the affection of _two_
such charming _sisters_?" "You are very obliging but just now Charles is
not very happy; he is very much grieved at quitting his father, his
mother, and Joanna, and--and--me." Ellen hesitated a little. "But in the
profession he has chosen," said Mordaunt, "he must expect to be
frequently absent from those he loves; and a sailor in general, though
he feels acutely for the moment, soon whistles care away." "Very true,"
answered Ellen; "and I never before knew Charles give way to his
feelings as he has done to-day and yesterday, and that indeed is what
has overcome Joanna so much: he has taken strange fancies into his head,
either that he shall never return, or that _we_, I mean that _I_, shall
have forgotten him if he does." "But why does he fancy this _just now_?"
said Mordaunt, fixing his sparkling eyes upon her. "Oh, I cannot tell
you," answered Ellen, blushing crimson, "half the strange things he has
been saying; but we see so few strangers here, that I believe, that I
fancy Charles supposes,--I mean, he thinks we have suddenly become very
intimate with _you_, and we have said so much respecting books and
subjects rather above what we usually meet with, that Charles, who is a
little rough, and not very fond of reading, says we are growing such
fine ladies, and so much wiser than he is, that he is sure we shall not
be at all sorry he is going."
Mordaunt paused a moment. One of the reflections of the preceding night
passed through his mind--what was he doing? was he making this amiable
young creature unhappy? was he sowing discord between her and a young
man to whom she was perhaps attached, and who certainly was so to her?
and, after all, to what purpose? He continued silent so long, that the
innocent Ellen, looking in his face, and seeing his countenance
discomposed, hastily said, "Pray, Mr. Mordaunt, do not be offended.
Charles is naturally kind and hospitable, and I am sure would blush for
us if we were not attentive to a stranger whose behaviour has been so
obliging to us; but just now his temper is ruffled, and he certainly has
said a great many odd things lately." "Offended I can have no right to
be," answered Mordaunt; "but if I give offence by staying here, Miss
Powis, either to you or _your friends_, I shall indeed be sorry that I
did not, as I at first intended, leave Llanwyllan yesterday." "Pray do
not suppose it. I cannot tell why I repeated all these silly things to
you, but I am so apt to speak all I think, and so unused to form and
ceremony, that I dare say I must appear very strange to you, who have
lived so much in the world. I begin _now_ to wish what I never wished
before." "What is that, Ellen?" "That I also had lived more in the
world, that my manners might have been a little more polished, and not
so--so--strange as I must seem to _you_." "Artless and ever amiable
creature!" exclaimed Mordaunt with a vehemence which almost made her
start: "what, oh, what could the world have done for you! Believe me,
Ellen, for one grace it could have given, it would have robbed you of a
thousand."
At this moment, when Mordaunt, startled by his own warmth, wished to
have recalled his words, when Ellen became so confused by it, she could
make no answer, Joanna rejoined them, and asked him if he would not walk
in, saying her father and mother were waiting for them. "Indeed, Miss
Ross," said Mordaunt, "I think I have done wrong in coming hither
to-day. Your parents, distrest by parting from their son, should not be
broken in upon by a stranger." "Pray do not judge of them by my folly,"
answered Joanna: "they have parted from Charles before: as his absence
will probably not exceed a few months, they are now quite composed, and
will be glad to see you."
Joanna led the way to a very neat little parlour, where Mr. and Mrs.
Ross, with the tea-table placed before the latter, were waiting to
receive them. Mr. Ross was a man far advanced in life, who in the early
part of it had been accustomed to genteel society, was an excellent
classical scholar, and well grounded in English literature of a superior
class, as well as what is properly termed the Belles Lettres. He had
greatly ameliorated the condition of his parishioners, by introducing
industry and neatness in their habitations, yet he had merely tinctured
the minds of Ellen and Joanna with a love of reading, justly conceiving
that in their station of life much literary knowledge and refinement of
taste would be worse than useless to them. The gay heart of Joanna had
been well content to skim the mere surface; but Ellen, more serious, and
with more native delicacy of taste, had often excited the anger of Mrs.
Ross by the reluctance with which she left her studies, and tore herself
from the polished pages of Addison and Pope, to sit down to heavy
needlework, or make preserves. Every thing worthy of observation which
Ellen heard or read she made her own, not only by the aid of memory, but
by that happy nameless faculty which selects the best of every thing,
and combining ideas with admirable facility, extracts knowledge and wit
from what to common minds presents little better than an uninteresting
blank. An old magazine in Ellen's hands became a commentary on the
history of the times to which it belonged; and while other girls would
have been idling over the tales, or puzzling themselves with the
enigmas, it contained, she was selecting and classing a store of facts
and characteristic anecdotes, which, with a very little assistance,
would have been a foundation for the most accurate historical knowledge:
thus, like the bee, from the most unpromising materials, Ellen extracted
the honey, and left the refuse behind. In this manner, and with the aid
of very few books, she had obtained a degree of information, which many
women, whose educations are most anxiously attended to, never attain.
Another circumstance was, that having no great variety of authors, she
was obliged to repeat the perusal of those she was allowed to read, and
by that means had time thoroughly to digest and comprehend them;
whereas, the young people of the present day have such an endless
variety of books offered to them, that nothing which has not the charm
of novelty can be endured, and scarcely any merit can obtain a second
reading.
Mrs. Ross was a little, bustling, notable woman, who picqued herself
upon her good housewifery, could not endure a _litter_, and thought
books and papers made the most intolerable of any: Mr. Ross was
therefore obliged to confine his to his study, and the girls the few
they were allowed to their own bed-room, which was considered equally
the apartment of Ellen and Joanna. Mr. Ross had heard a great deal for
the last two or three days of Mr. Mordaunt from his daughter and Ellen:
he saw they were greatly pleased with their new acquaintance; but
knowing their simplicity, and the charm of novelty to youth, was
desirous of judging for himself how far the traveller was a proper
companion for them. Ross had formerly seen something of the world, and
was of course more qualified to judge of character than Powis, or two
girls so totally unacquainted with guile as Ellen and Joanna were: he
determined, if he found any thing in the manners of the stranger
repulsive to his ideas of propriety, to put an end to all connection
with him; and Mrs. Ross, who felt assured the traveller must have fallen
in love with one of the girls, resolved, as she expressed it, to keep a
_sharp look out_ upon him: such, however, was the unaffected propriety
of Mordaunt's manners, mingled with somewhat of dignity, to which Mrs.
Ross had never been accustomed, and which Ross had not lately seen, that
the good little woman was awed into silence; and though Charles had
infected her with some of his jealous fears (for such they certainly
were), she soon lost the kind of prejudice she had taken up against the
traveller, was pleased with "_the gentleman_," as she called him, and
could not ascertain at all to her own satisfaction whether Joanna or
Ellen, or either, had been his inducement to remain at Llanwyllan.
Ross was not only charmed with Mordaunt's manners, but had not for years
enjoyed so exquisite a treat as his conversation. The traveller was
fully competent to cope even with Ross on literary ground, understood
the learned languages, was an enthusiast in the classics, an excellent
historian and geographer; and gave Ross in an hour the most perspicuous
account of all that was then passing in the political world.
The two girls sat attentive auditors: Ellen seemed all ear. Mrs. Ross at
last began to fidget a little, and soon after walked off to superintend
some domestic concerns, but, unusually indulgent, suffered the girls to
remain. The evening passed on, and Ross was so engaged with his guest,
that walking could not be proposed. Mordaunt expressed himself so
charmed with Llanwyllan, that he said, if he could be accommodated with
a neat lodging, he should after about a fortnight's absence, which was
absolutely necessary, endeavour to obtain Lord St. Aubyn's consent to an
arrangement, which might permit him to remain there some time; that he
found the pure air from the mountains agreed with him, and thought two
or three months, divested of the cares of business, in that peaceful
retirement, would quite restore his health. Ross knew that if Powis
heard his proposal, he would, in the warmth and cordiality of his heart,
offer Mordaunt apartments at Llanwyllan Farm, where indeed there was
plenty of room; but Ross also knew, though Powis did not, that
apartments under the same room with such a lovely girl as Ellen Powis,
for a man not passed the meridian of life, would be highly improper, and
even in that retired place would subject Ellen to unpleasant remarks; he
therefore immediately said that there were two neat quiet rooms at the
house of a widow in the village, who, having lately lost her son, would
be glad to let them; that she was a very civil old woman, and had
formerly been cook in a gentleman's family; and though the rooms might
not be furnished quite well enough for Mr. Mordaunt, yet any little
accommodation might easily be added at an inconsiderable expense from
Carnarvon, which was not more than twelve miles from Llanwyllan.
Mordaunt eagerly caught at the proposal, and said that a few guineas,
when compared to the recovery of his health, were not material to him;
it was therefore settled that he should go with Ross the next day to
look at the rooms. Mordaunt then rose to take leave, but the entrance of
Mrs. Ross, followed by the servant with a couple of hot roasted
chickens, &c. prevented him, and an earnest invitation to stay and
partake of their supper, which indeed seemed to have been greatly
enlarged on his account, could not be resisted. Mordaunt of course
complied: the conversation became more general: Mrs. Ross's tarts,
home-made wines, &c. were excellent, and Mordaunt praised them too much
not to become a favourite with the good lady. He sat by Ellen, and a few
words spoken to her occasionally in a low voice, and, still more, the
expressive manner in which they were said, began to raise suspicions in
Ross's mind that she was in reality the magnet which attracted the
stranger. He was not blind to her superior beauty and native elegance,
and considered her as more peculiarly his care, inasmuch as he knew the
guileless simplicity of Powis, and that he was by no means calculated to
have the guidance of so lovely a girl. Ross determined therefore to
watch carefully over Ellen, and if he saw any thing too particular in
Mordaunt's conduct towards her, to advise Powis to send her from home
during the traveller's stay at Llanwyllan, which, as Powis had a
relation at Bangor, would be very possible. Ellen was to sleep that
night at the Parsonage; and as soon as Mordaunt took his leave, the two
girls retired together.
Ellen was so silent, that Joanna began to rally her on the subject of
the stranger, and amongst other things said, "Indeed, Ellen, I believe
poor Charles was right. Mr. Mordaunt will soon take his place in your
affections." "_His_ place, _Charles's_ place! no, indeed, Joanna!"
"Well, you may say what you please, Ellen; but Charles never gained half
so much attention from you as you bestowed on Mr. Mordaunt's
conversation to-night"--"Perhaps not: Charles never conversed on such
agreeable topics." "Then why do you say you do not, nor shall, like him
so well as you do Charles?" "I did not say so." "Well, but you said he
would not take Charles's place in your affections, and that is the same
thing." "Nor will he. I love Charles as a brother, you as a sister; but
does it follow no other man or woman can be agreeable to me--must I
cease to love you both before I can be pleased with another?" "No,
certainly; but Charles I am persuaded would not much relish such a
degree of liking for another, as Mordaunt seems to have gained from
you." "I cannot help that: I shall never think myself obliged to consult
Charles respecting my likings or dislikings." "What, not if you marry
him?" "Marry Charles!"--"Aye, _marry Charles_, Miss Powis: what is there
so wonderful in that?" "Dear Joanna, I do not know you to-night. _Miss
Powis!_ and in that reproachful tone: what have I done to offend you,
and why do you call me _Miss Powis_?" "Then why do you seem so surprised
at the idea of marrying Charles, and look as if you quite scorned the
thought?" "Because such an idea never entered my mind: I might well
therefore seem surprised; though, as to scorn, I never felt or could
have looked it." "If Mordaunt had said half as much to you as Charles
has, you would easily have seen _his_ meaning." "You are not kind,
Joanna. I thought you had liked Mordaunt too." "So I do; but I do not
like that he should prevent Charles from gaining your love." "Then, be
assured, that cannot be: I love Charles as a brother, but if I had never
seen Mordaunt, or any other man, I would not have been Charles's wife.
Mordaunt does not, cannot think any thing of me: and I hope, Joanna, I
am not such a bold girl as to fall in love, as they call it, with a man
who will not, I am sure, ever cast a serious thought on _me_, who is so
very much above me." "Then why do you declare so seriously against
Charles: you never did so before?" "Because you never pressed me so
earnestly before, and I assure you I never thought of it." "But what are
your objections to Charles as a husband?" "Many, Joanna, many: he is too
hasty, too passionate: he would frighten me." "And how do you know
Mordaunt is not passionate?" "Still Mordaunt!" said Ellen, a little
impatiently: "what signifies to me whether he is passionate or not? He
will never be more to me than an agreeable acquaintance,"--"Well, I
think Mordaunt has at times an odd look with his eyes, and a gloom on
his countenance that is frightful." "Frightful! Mordaunt's countenance
frightful! I never saw any thing so handsome; and the expression is the
softest--his smile the sweetest--" Ellen paused with some embarrassment,
and Joanna answered a little spitefully, "That may be, when he looks at
_you_; and then you blush, and cast down your eyes, and of course do not
see how _he_ looks; but I tell you that he _has_ a gloom that is
_frightful_, though you are so astonished at the word, and so delighted
with him." Here the shrill voice of Mrs. Ross calling to them from her
own room, "Girls, girls, do you mean to talk all night," put an end to
the conference, and they hastily said "Good night," less pleased with
each other than they had ever been before. Joanna was angry with Ellen
for preferring Mordaunt to Charles, and Ellen thought Joanna extremely
captious, and out of humour.
The next day, Mordaunt, accompanied by Mr. Ross, looked at the lodgings
he had proposed for him, and agreed immediately to take them for three
months, to commence at the expiration of three weeks from the present
time, during which, he said, he must take a journey to Bath, where he
should see Lord St. Aubyn, and obtain his consent to an arrangement
which would admit of his leaving Northamptonshire for that time; and
that during his absence from Llanwyllan he should send some books and
other additional comforts to his new lodgings: he should set out, he
said, the next day but one, for he was impatient to begin his journey,
that he might return the sooner. On the intermediate day, he walked to
the Farm, and, strange to tell, found Ellen without Joanna.
Ellen had been very busy all day, and a little coldness still hung about
Joanna, who could not forget her decided rejection of Charles: she had
also been much employed, and told Ellen the evening before she should
not see her on that day. "But Mr. Mordaunt will," added she, with some
asperity, "and that will make full amends for my absence." "You are
unkind, Joanna," answered Ellen, "and will make me wish Mr. Mordaunt had
never visited Llanwyllan." Joanna shook her head with an air of
incredulity, and left her. Mordaunt found Ellen therefore alone, and
busily engaged amongst her shrubs and flowers. The brisk evening air,
exercise, and the delight she took in her employment, had given fresh
beauty to her complexion, and new animation to her eyes. After the first
greetings had passed, he requested to assist her, and mounting a ladder,
which a Welsh boy, who was executing the more laborious parts of the
employment held for him, he busied himself in giving a new turn to the
festoons which hung from tree to tree. Ellen stood below, and as she
looked up to direct him, a long shoot of the clematis fell from his
hand, and became entangled in her straw hat. Fearing to break it, he
descended, and while he endeavoured to untwist it, the straw hat fell to
the ground; and as Ellen had not, as usual, her modest muslin cap, her
beautiful hair became for the first time exposed to his view, and he
stood gazing at her bright auburn ringlets and fair-polished temples, as
if transfixed. Beautiful as he had always thought her, he never saw her
look so beautiful as now, and her increasing colour at length reminded
him that his gaze was becoming oppressive. Instantly he withdrew his
eyes, and taking up the hat, and brushing off some dust which adhered to
it, he presented it to her with an air of respect, and said, "I am a
very awkward gardener; I have spoiled your bonnet." "Indeed," said
Ellen, "on the contrary, I should think you had practised it all your
life, you seem so well versed in the employment."--"Would to heaven I
had," answered Mordaunt, "and never known any thing beyond the culture
of these shrubs, and the sweet shades of Llanwyllan." And now Ellen saw
for the first time a peculiar expression in his eyes, and a gloom over
his countenance, which reminded her of what Joanna had said respecting
him; but Ellen put a different construction upon it, and had she known
Shakespeare would have said, "He wrings at some distress: would I might
free it, what-e'er it be."
To divert his thoughts, she said, in the softest tone, "What a wish! How
different are my sentiments! I would give worlds, had my lot resembled
your's; had I been employed not solely in the culture of these trees,
myself almost as much a vegetable, but, like you, cultivating my mind,
my manners, and forming myself into a companion for--the wise and good!"
The soft expressive pause spoke volumes to the heart of Mordaunt, and he
could not help replying, "You are already a fit companion for angels."
A long pause ensued. Ellen again began her pleasant labours, and
Mordaunt, with fresh eagerness, assisted her. At length he said, "When I
come back, Ellen, will you permit me to recommend to your perusal some
books, which I shall send to my lodgings?" "Ah," said Ellen, "with
delight should I peruse them, but Mrs. Ross is so strict, she will not
allow me to read at all, if she can help it; and my father expects me to
obey her in every respect." "But surely Mr. Ross, who is so literary
himself, would willingly indulge such a mind as your's, which so eagerly
aspires to superior attainments." "Ah, no; Mr. Ross thinks that in our
station any extraordinary refinement would be injurious, and only tend
to make us discontented." "Those common-place ideas may do very well for
Joanna Ross, and girls of common minds; but you, surely, ought to be
guided by other maxims. Talents like your's demand cultivation so
imperiously, it is a real cruelty to deny it." "Ah, Mr. Mordaunt, do not
talk to me in this manner; I am enough inclined to lament the lowness of
my condition; not from ambition, but from a desire of knowledge, which,
circumstanced as I am, is quite out of my reach. Rather strive to
strengthen my mind, and my anxious wish to do my duty in the station
where God has been pleased to place me." "Abhor me, Ellen, if ever you
find me endeavouring to subvert one good and useful principle in your
spotless mind; but how is Mr. Ross to know what station you may
hereafter be called upon to fill, unless, indeed," added Mordaunt,
expressively, "_your lot is already determined_?" "Undoubtedly it is,"
said Ellen (not understanding his allusion to Charles): "what can I have
to expect but to remain here, the useful assistant of my father?" "But
you may, nay, most probably will marry." "It is unlikely," said Ellen;
"but if I should, it will probably be in a line of life which will
render any farther literary attainments at best unprofitable; so at
least says Mr. Ross, and I look to him as my chief director." "You have
hitherto done well in so doing; but circumstances may hereafter arise to
alter your views. In the meantime, let me assure you, for the honour of
literature, that its female professors do not necessarily, according to
a vulgar prejudice, become useless as mothers, mistresses, or domestic
economists. I have actually seen a lady high not only in literary
knowledge, but in literary fame, who attends with the most exquisite
skill and propriety, not only to the management of a large family, but
of a large farm, and whose order, neatness, and regularity, can no where
be exceeded; yet this excellent woman has published many books, written
in a style free from blemish, and full of the purest principles, and of
the most superior good sense." "How well she must have arranged her
concerns, and managed her time!" "Undoubtedly--and we shall see whether
Ellen Powis has not mind enough to become a second Mrs. W----."
At this part of the conversation Powis joined them; and Mordaunt, having
chatted a few minutes with him, took his leave. But though he had talked
of leaving Llanwyllan on the next day, he did not go until that
following; and on the Sunday he attended Mrs. Ross and the young people
to the neat parish church, where he was greatly pleased and edified with
the serious and dignified manner in which the venerable Ross performed
the service. His fine countenance, shaded with grey hair, the rich tones
of his voice, and the energetic manner in which he exhorted his rustic
congregation, inspired Mordaunt with the utmost respect for him, and
with a fervour of devotion he had rarely before experienced. Nor did he
less admire the unaffected piety and attention of Mrs. Ross and her two
pupils, who, once within the church, appeared too deeply impressed with
the intention of their coming, to permit that either look or thought
should stray to any other object. As they returned through the
church-yard, Mordaunt was delighted to see the neatness, and even
elegance with which this repository of the dead was kept. The graves,
bound with osier-bands, and decorated with fresh flowers, as is
customary through all Wales, excited in him sentiments of the tenderest
nature; he was charmed to witness the effects of a love which survived
the tomb, and whispered to Ellen, that wherever he lived, he should wish
to be buried in Wales. "Idle as it may seem," said he, "to care what
becomes of this perishable frame when the immortal spirit is fled, yet
in the truth of Gray's inimitable reflections on this subject I cannot
but coincide:--
"Even from the grave the voice of Nature cries,
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires."
As Ellen had never met with Gray, Mordaunt now repeated to her some of
the finest stanzas, and promised to send her the poem in the morning
following.
What a happiness for her that she had never been condemned to hear this
enchanting elegy hacknied till even its beauties are lost in the insipid
recitation of girls who learn it as a task.