From this time Mordaunt's visits at Llanwyllan Farm were constant, and
in spite of Mrs. Ross's expected reprehension, Ellen, though always
gentle, humble, and submissive, certainly did not execute all the
needlework planned for her to do; and, worse than that, Farmer Howel's
wife declared she had not above half the usual number of chickens to
carry to market for Ellen Powis that she used to have; and Mrs. Ross
requesting to taste the currant wine, made under her own direction,
found that it had latterly been managed so ill, that it would all become
vinegar. This was a grievous fault, and grievously did Ellen answer it,
for loud and sharp were Mrs. Ross's animadversions; and repeatedly did
she remind Joanna that she had prophesied all this. Joanna walked
sometimes with Ellen, and of course with Mordaunt, for they seemed
inseparable, but found their conversation frequently turning on things
beyond her comprehension, or interrupted by short dialogues, carried on
in a low voice, to which her presence seemed an interruption; yet no one
could say Mordaunt ever directed himself but with the most entire
respect towards Ellen, and politeness towards Joanna. Amongst other
wonders which Mordaunt shewed to Ellen, such as beautiful drawings,
trinkets for gentlemen, &c. and which were to her entirely new, was one
which excited in her, not only admiration, but delight. This was his own
miniature picture, beautifully painted, and a striking likeness. Ellen
had literally never seen a portrait, except some old faded family
pictures, which hung in the hall and staircase of her father's house,
and represented some of the former proprietors: but these dull miserable
daubs hardly conveyed to her an idea of the delightful art of portrait
painting; and when she saw this speaking and elegant resemblance of her
fascinating friend, she was so enchanted and enraptured, that Mordaunt,
contrary to his first intention, requested her to keep it; and she,
ignorant of its value, or the construction the world would have put on
her accepting the picture of a gentleman, as readily received it as she
had done two or three books and drawings he had given her; but different
were the sensations with which she looked at this, to her, most
desirable gift: it was the companion of her solitary hours, and, when
not actually before her eyes, was ever present to her imagination: and
when Mordaunt was absent, his picture was laid by her side; yet a sort
of intuitive feeling made her snatch it up, and conceal it when any one
approached. It is obvious how greatly this indulgence must have
increased those sentiments of tenderness which now so irresistibly
assailed her young and innocent heart. As the autumn advanced, and the
evenings grew longer, Joanna and Ellen were still left less together.
Mordaunt was understood to be continually at the Farm; and even the
unobserving farmers' wives began to conclude his attentions into love,
and to conclude the match between him and Ellen Powis determined on. A
slight cold gave Ellen a reason, or rather an excuse, for staying at
home, when at the end of a week Mrs. Ross determined to go herself to
the Farm and see how Ellen's work went on. In the road she met Powis,
and asking if his daughter were at home, he said, "Yes," and added, "I
don't think she is well; she has a cold, and looks pale. How is it you
and Joanna have not been to see her these two days?" "Nay," said Mrs.
Ross, "I have not seen her for nearly a week. Joanna called the other
day, but I fancy Ellen is better engaged than to want _our_ company."
"How do you mean," said Powis, looking surprized, "why is not Mr.
Mordaunt with her every day?" "Why yes, I believe so--part of every
day--but what need that hinder your coming? He says she is a clever
girl, and she is so anxious to learn what he calls geography, or
something like it, that they spend a good deal of their time at their
books and such like, and I can't but say I relish my newspaper twice as
well now Mr. Mordaunt and Ellen sometimes shew me whereabouts the armies
are, and have made me understand whereabouts France, and Spain, and
England, and so on are, upon the great maps he has brought to our
house."
"'Tis all very well, neighbour Powis, all very well, if you like it: I
hope you will have no reason to repent it; but I am afraid, when your
shirts and stockings want mending, you will not like these new-fangled
ways quite so well." "Why, to be sure, if Ellen neglects her business,
that won't do at all; but I assure you she is very industrious, and
tells me she rises an hour the earlier every morning, to get through her
work, and have time to attend to her books." "Well, neighbour, as long
as you are satisfied, I do not wish to make mischief; but certainly Mr.
Ross never approved of her or Joanna's learning such things; if he had,
he could have instructed them, at least as well as Mr. Mordaunt." "Very
true; I did not think of that--well, we will talk to Ellen about it: you
will find her at home; I left her busy at work: do speak your mind to
her a little; I shall be guided by you and Mr. Ross in all things,
seeing you understand such matters better than I do." They then parted,
and Mrs. Ross a few minutes after arrived at the Farm; and on walking
into the usual sitting-room, instead of finding Ellen at work, she found
her surrounded with books and maps, and Mordaunt seated by her side, one
arm rested on the back of her chair, while the other was engaged in
tracing with the end of his pencil some lines on the map on which Ellen
was looking: she was too intently engaged to observe Mrs. Ross's
entrance, who stood suspended a moment, while she heard Mordaunt say,
"And here, Ellen, here is Northampton--this is the road to Aubyn Castle;
and just here----" "What here?" said Ellen, eagerly placing her finger
on the spot she supposed to be that on which Mordaunt's habitation
stood. "Is it here your house stands?" "Very near that precise spot,"
replied Mordaunt, drawing her hand gently away, and retaining it in his
own, while his expressive eyes were fixed on her face: "very near it is
my residence; but it is so far from Llanwyllan, that I begin to detest
it, and to dread the thoughts of returning to it.--But what am I doing?"
said he, with a deep sigh: "Oh, Ellen, I dare not tell you all my
thoughts!" Ellen blushed, sighed, withdrew her hand, and accidentally
glancing her eyes upwards, saw Mrs. Ross standing in the door-way, with
astonishment, anger, and vexation, painted on her countenance. Ellen
started, half screamed, and rose so hastily, she almost overset the
table before her. "Bless me, Ma'am," she exclaimed, "I did not see
you--I did not know--" "No, I dare say not, Miss Ellen; you were a great
deal too much engaged to see or think of me: your servant, Sir. I beg I
may not keep you standing; at least _I_ shall sit down, for _I_ am not
going yet."
This gentle hint was intended to tell Mordaunt that she meant to outstay
him; but she looked at Ellen with "eyes so full of anger," and Ellen
turned so pale, and looked so alarmed, that Mordaunt thought he would at
least give Mrs. Ross time to cool a little, before he left them
together. Ellen began, in much confusion, to gather the books and maps
together. "I am sorry to disturb you, but I did not expect," said Mrs.
Ross, "to find you engaged in this manner, at this time of day, whatever
you might chuse to do in an evening. I met your father, and he told me
you were busy at work, or in the dairy: but," added she, in a low voice,
"those things are not thought of _now_." "Indeed, Ma'am," said Ellen,
blushing, while the tears started in her eyes, at being so lectured
before Mordaunt, "indeed, I had just finished what I had to do in the
dairy to-day, and had begun the work you desired me to do, when Mr.
Mordaunt accidentally came in, and the maps we had been looking at last
night lying in the window, he was just shewing me--" "Oh, it is all
mighty well," interrupted Mrs. Ross; "I have no authority to interfere,
I am sure, and do not wish to be impertinent. Pray, Sir," added she,
turning to Mordaunt, "_do you stay much longer at Llanwyllan_?" "So,"
thought Mordaunt, "my turn is coming next. I hope, Madam," added he,
smiling, "I shall not stay long enough to tire my friends." "Oh, I dare
say not, Sir; I dare say you are _pretty sure of that_." This coarse and
cruel hint covered Ellen with the deepest crimson; and Mordaunt, while
his face was scarlet, and his eyes sparkled with an indignation he with
difficulty repressed, said, in a lofty tone, "I have not, at least,
Madam, been accustomed to incur such a misfortune, and therefore flatter
myself I have now done nothing to deserve it." He rose with dignity, and
approaching Ellen, who sat almost motionless, he took her trembling
hand, bowed respectfully upon it, and said, "I shall do myself the
honour of attending your father and yourself, Miss Powis, in the
evening." Then slightly bowing to Mrs. Ross, he departed. "Good lack,
good lack," said Mrs. Ross, who, awed by his manner, had been silent a
moment, "what a dainty speech! The honour of attending Miss Powis! well,
what will this world come to! Why, Ellen, child, you are spoilt for a
farmer's wife, and will soon begin to fancy yourself a lady indeed."
Ellen, whose spirits were now totally subdued, wept bitterly, and said,
"I am sure, Madam, I do not know how I have deserved to be treated
thus."
Softened by her distress, for with all her sharpness, Mrs. Ross loved
Ellen, and really had her welfare at heart, she began to relent, and
said more softly, "Why now, Ellen, child, hear me. Do you think it is
right or creditable for a young girl like you to be constantly receiving
the visits of such a man as Mr. Mordaunt? Tell me, Ellen, will he make
you his wife?"
This was a question Ellen had never dared to ask herself. In the
beautiful language of Shakespeare, which Mordaunt had lately given her,
and with which she was so enchanted, she often allowed herself only
three hours sleep in a night, that she might find time to read, she had
often repeated to herself--
---- It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it: he is so above me;
In his bright radiance, and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
This question from Mrs. Ross, therefore, struck her heart with a pang of
unutterable anguish, and she felt almost dying, while she owned, that so
far from offering her his hand, Mordaunt had never spoken one word of
love to her. Mrs. Ross, however, was rather pleased at the latter part
of this confession, for she began to fear worse for the innocent and
guileless Ellen than the capture of her heart; that, she had no doubt,
might soon be retrieved when Mordaunt quitted the country, and Ellen
could have no farther acquaintance with him; but she had begun to fear
that his views were such as might involve Ellen in infamy, as well as
misfortune: these fears, however, she had feeling enough to conceal from
their object, and only dwelt upon the trouble she was preparing for
herself, by giving so much of her time and regard to a man who, it
evidently appeared, had no thoughts of her. In vain did Ellen murmur the
word "Friendship," and faintly protest neither Mordaunt nor herself had
the least idea of any thing beyond. Mrs. Ross, though her knowledge of
the world was not extensive, knew enough to be convinced of the fallacy
of such pretensions, and she ceased not till she drew from the dejected
Ellen a promise to see less of Mordaunt, and to regain, as speedily as
possible, her former mode of life. "And let me, Ellen, also, see you
looking blooming and merry again," said she. "I wish, with all my heart,
this man had never found his way to Llanwyllan: you used to be active,
industrious, and happy; not a care to distress you, not a trouble to
take away your colour; but now Charles would not know you again."
"Charles!" thought Ellen, while a strange feeling, not unmingled with
indignant comparison, swelled her heart, and gave a transient colour to
her cheek. "What is Charles to me? Why am I always to be teased about
him? They will teach me to hate, instead of loving him." "Well, Ellen,
may I suppose you will take my advice?" "Certainly, Ma'am," said Ellen,
with a deep sigh; "but," added she, hesitating, "you know, Ma'am, Mr.
Mordaunt said he would be here this evening. You would not wish me--it
would look very particular, very rude." "Never mind that. Come, you say
you have done all you had to do in the dairy, so put on your hat, take
your work, and come and dine with us like a good girl, as you used to
be; you can leave word you were obliged to go out, and the sooner you
let him see you are determined to avoid him the better." Ellen dared not
refuse; she hesitated some excuse about her father's dining alone, which
Mrs. Ross obviated by saying he would only run home, and take his
dinner, and out again, and would not want her. Waiting, therefore, while
poor Ellen put on her hat, and bathed her eyes, she dragged her away
with her, and kept her all day at the Parsonage. Nay, under pretence of
finishing their work, she would not suffer either Ellen or Joanna to
stir out, though the weather was beautiful. Late in the evening Mr. Ross
came in; he spoke with such particular kindness, and in so soothing a
tone to Ellen, that the tears, which she had with difficulty restrained
all day, ran down her cheeks, and she hastily rose, under pretence of
looking at the moon, and went to the open window: there leaning her head
over the window-seat, into which the jasmine crept, she hoped the
torrents of tears she was shedding might fall unobserved; but the good
Ross, who had followed her, and now stood at a small distance from her,
perceived, by her air and action, that she was weeping, though no one
else noticed it; for Ellen's was
"Mute, silent sorrow, free from female noise,
Such as the majesty of grief destroys."
He was distressed to see her sorrow, and gently approaching, he took her
hand, (while she, half starting, turned her head aside) and said, "My
dear Ellen, I lament to see you so dejected; assure yourself, we love
you as our own child, and would in all things consult your happiness.
But reflect, my dear, on the change a few short weeks have produced:
this man, this Mordaunt; nay, blush not, Ellen; for who can doubt it is
on his account you weep--I own him elegant in person, polished in
manners,
"Complete in person and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman!"
"But what has he been to you? A friend! No, Ellen; he found you
cheerful, contented with your lot, and happily engaged in the active
duties of your station. What has he done for you? He has inspired you
with views above the state where Providence has placed you. He has made
your former useful occupations, your former simple friends, insipid to
you; he has sought to give a degree of refinement to your taste, of
delicacy to your sentiments, of which I well know nature has made you
fully capable; but unless he means to transplant you to a soil where
these flowers may flourish, believe me, Ellen, he has done you no
kindness. He has only prepared for you years of anguish, of vain regret,
of useless discontent, which will for ever destroy not only the glow
upon your cheek, but the spring and elasticity of your mind. I will not
ask you what are his professions; I will only suppose, that if they are
serious, your father and your friends would not be strangers to them."
Here Ellen sunk into a chair, and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Ross and Joanna,
seeing that Ross was talking to her, had stolen out of the room. "It
grieves me to distress you, my dear girl," said the benevolent Ross, and
his gentle voice became tremulous; "but, Ellen, let my experience
benefit you. There are characters in the world of which your innocent
nature can form no idea. I will not offend your delicacy, nor indeed my
own belief, by supposing, for an instant, that Mordaunt is one of those
villains who seek the seduction of innocence."
Here Ellen started from her chair, her clasped hands, glowing cheeks,
and throbbing bosom, bespeaking an indignant agitation, which would not
be controlled. Ross, gently reseating her, said, "Ellen, I wrong not
you; I wrong not him, so much as to imagine such a possibility; but
there are men, who, though they lead not so decidedly to guilt, yet lead
as certainly to misery acute as aught but guilt can make it: and that
only for the gratification of a mean and sordid vanity, inconceivable by
such as have not witnessed its effects. I had once a sister, Ellen, fair
almost as yourself, as gentle, and as virtuous; possessed of a
sensibility that was at once her grace and her misfortune. In early
life, it fortuned that she met with one of those practised deceivers,
who united talents the most superior to manners the most enchanting. By
a long series of quiet and silent attentions, by studying her tastes,
devoting his time to her, he, without ever addressing to her a word of
love, led her, and all who knew her, to believe he was her lover, and
would be her husband. At last she was told that such was his usual
practice, when he met with any woman who was superior to those around
her; but she felt indignant at the accusation, and would not believe it
till that belief was forced upon her, by seeing him going over the same
ground with another. 'She pined in thought;' and a hectic complaint, to
which she was subject, gained fast upon her. A mutual friend came to an
explanation with him, while the mean wretch declared he had never made
any profession to her, and never even thought of marrying her; but that
the world would talk, and he wondered she did not despise it, as he did.
A few months terminated the existence of the injured creature. Sweet
Emily! thy gentle spirit fled to those regions where no deceit could
further betray thee. The wretch at last met his fate in a duel with the
brother of one whom he had sought to mislead, as he had done the
unfortunate Emily." Ross's voice here failed, and both were silent.
"Assure yourself, Ellen," at length resumed Ross, "I was not blind to
your talents, and your love of knowledge; and many have been my
struggles against the strong inclination I felt to become your
instructor. My own children had not, I easily saw, such minds as yours,
and I longed to cultivate your vigorous understanding. I resisted,
though the temptation was aided by the wish I felt to secure to myself a
future companion and assistant in the studies I best loved. Why, Ellen,
did I resist? What was the powerful motive which prevented my yielding
to such united inducements? It was a wish to secure your welfare and
your happiness, which I thought would be most certainly effected by
limiting your acquirements to something like an equality with those
amongst whom you seemed fated to live. I may have erred in judgment; and
since the bent of your inclination so determinately points towards the
acquisition of knowledge, I am willing to suppose that I have done so. I
will then, Ellen, be your tutor: we will, with Mrs. Ross's assistance,
so arrange your hours, that your new employments shall not interfere
with your domestic duties; and let me hope, my dear, that the same
strength of mind, which so eagerly leads you to literary pursuits, will
be manifested in conquering any sentiment too tender for your peace,
which may have been excited by one, who, I fear, has merely had in view
his own gratification. Should I wrong him--should he hereafter prove
that he feels a sincere affection for you, and seeks your happiness,
great will be my joy: no selfish or personal consideration shall
influence my wishes on this subject. I had hoped that Charles might have
been happy with the object of his first affections; but that I see is
not _at present_ likely: fear, therefore, no persecution on that
subject, either from me, or his mother and sister."
Ross was silent; and Ellen, who had hitherto remained so from the
mingled feelings of pride, regret, and tenderness, which swelled her
heart, now fearing to seem sullen, faintly articulated, "You are very
good and kind: I will be all I can--all, if possible, you wish me to
be."
Ross, seeing the variety of emotions she had that day undergone had
quite exhausted her, advised her to retire to bed, saying she had better
sleep there, and in the morning they would talk a little further on her
future plans. Ellen, however unwillingly, how much soever her rebellious
heart longed to return home, in the hope of seeing Mordaunt if but for a
minute, yet felt that Ross had acted so kindly and so wisely, that his
reasoning was so founded on truth, that she determined "in all her best
to obey him." She retired therefore to the chamber she and Joanna had so
often occupied, when no care disturbed their repose, when "sleep sat
upon her eyes, peace in her breast." But ah! how changed! Exhausted,
wan, and spiritless; her eyes heavy with weeping; her heart agitated
with a thousand contending reflections, Ellen long vainly sought repose.
Joanna was unusually kind and affectionate--she said little; and all she
said was tender and endearing. Ellen felt truly grateful for this
goodness, and found her love for her early friend revive, now the
roughness which abated it was once more laid aside. At length,
thoroughly wearied with the occurrences of the day, "tired Nature's kind
restorer--balmy sleep," came to her aid, "and steeped her senses in
forgetfulness."