Oh, thou bright moon! whose beams, however fair,
So lately my sad eyes unheeding saw;
Whose soothing light from its unceasing care,
My heavy soul so vainly strove to draw;
I bid thee witness now, that pale despair,
Her comfortless dominion o'er my mind,
Reluctant yields, and hope begins to share,
The empire of my soul, with visions kind!
With soften'd feelings on thy beams I gaze,
And their mild influence stealing on my heart,
Enchanting visions in my bosom raise,
Sweet friendship comes her blessings to impart:
In Ellen's form she comes! Oh, fairest form!
Oh, sweetest voice, that from the grief-worn soul
E'er stole its cares, e'er bade the beating storm
Of sorrow cease, and could each woe controul!
Several erasures and interlineations proved this to be an original, and
probably an unfinished performance.
Ross saw in all this new reason to be alarmed: he no longer wondered at
the progress this insinuating man had made in the affections of Ellen,
and most earnestly did he wish that Mordaunt had never seen her, or had
selected her for his wife. Yet even in that case there was something to
consider: they knew nothing of Mordaunt but what he had told them. There
was certainly something equivocal in the total retirement of such a man
from the world: he might have been driven from it rather by his vices
than by his misfortunes: yet there was in the appearance and manners of
Mordaunt, an uprightness, a loftiness of carriage, that looked not like
that of a man debased and bowed down by guilt. While Ross thus
meditated, Mordaunt suddenly came in--his eyes sparkling, and his cheeks
glowing: for hearing some one moving in the parlour, and having seen
Powis in the fields at a distance, he concluded it could be no one but
Ellen: his impatient step, extended hand, and pleased countenance, at
once explained to Ross what his expectation had been. On seeing him,
Mordaunt half started back, exclaiming, "I thought----" Then recovering
himself, he again advanced, and offering his hand to Mr. Ross, said with
much cordiality, "My dear Sir, I am glad to see you: it is sometime
since we met." There was a charm in the voice and manner of Mordaunt
that few could withstand, however unkindly disposed towards him. Ross,
who had from the first felt pleased with him, although he now on Ellen's
account was angry, yet could not prevail on himself to appear
displeased; yet there was a coolness in his expression that was visible
enough to so acute an observer as Mordaunt. Whatever was his motive,
however, he chose not to notice it, but continued to speak with
frankness and vivacity, inquiring for Mrs. Ross and Joanna. At last,
glancing his eyes round the room, he said, "Are you alone this morning,
my good Sir? Miss Powis, I learnt, slept at your house last night: I
hope she is not ill?" Through all the assumed composure of his look, and
affected indifference of his tone, Ross plainly saw that Mordaunt made
this inquiry with real anxiety; but of the true motive of that anxiety
he was extremely doubtful. He replied somewhat coldly, "Ellen is
certainly not quite well, and Mrs. Ross thinks her _safest_ under her
own _care at present_." This speech, which might to a guilty conscience
have conveyed "more than met the ear," seemed to be literally
interpreted by Mordaunt; and thrown off his guard, he evinced great
agitation, while he exclaimed, "Safest! Good God! You do not surely
apprehend any danger in her complaints?" "Not exactly that," said Ross
(not displeased at his warmth), "but she has a bad cold; and Mrs. Ross
has a high opinion of her own skill as a nurse: we shall therefore keep
Ellen with us for a few days at least. If she should then not be better,
I shall advise her father to let her change the air."
This suggestion seemed to complete the dismay of Mordaunt: he trembled,
and turned pale. Ross, bowing, wished him "good morning," and walked
away. Mordaunt, after a moment's recollection, followed him hastily, and
as they walked, endeavoured to enter into a more general conversation,
apparently in the hope that he was going home, and that by going with
him, he might see Ellen: but Ross was going to visit a sick parishioner
at some distance. Mordaunt was therefore obliged to take leave of him at
the door of his own lodgings: he ventured to say, as they parted, "I
shall take an early opportunity of inquiring for my friends at the
Parsonage, Mr. Ross." In answer to which Ross bowed, and said, but not
very cordially, he should be glad to see him.
"And must I bear all this!" said Mordaunt, as they parted: "to what have
I reduced myself? Yet this, and more, sweet Ellen, will I bear for thee!
Yet to what purpose? Can I, dare I, link thee to such a fate as mine may
be? Yet can I leave thee, or bear to be so near, and not to see thee? To
be forbidden, at least by looks forbidden to approach thee: to encounter
the angry glances of a narrow-minded woman, and even by her benevolent
husband to be received with coldness almost bordering on contempt? Yes,
Ellen, I will bear it all! Would to heaven they would have left us to
ourselves, till time--till the full conviction of her affection--they
need not have feared." Thus in broken sentences murmured Mordaunt, as he
strode impatiently across his narrow apartment, and determined nothing
should prevent him from seeing Ellen, and ascertaining whether Ross's
fears for her health were not merely a pretence for separating them.
The whole day passed heavily with Ellen, yet Mrs. Ross and Joanna were
unusually kind to her: no hinted doubt, no implied accusation of herself
and Mordaunt met her ear; but her heart was ill at ease, and her forced
employments irksome. She longed to lie in her own quiet parlour, where,
if Mordaunt might not come, at least she might think of him without
restraint. Ross returned to dinner: he took no notice of Ellen's
dejection, nor mentioned having met with Mordaunt; but told her he had
seen her father, who was quite satisfied she should stay with them
awhile, and try to recover her health, and that he thought it probable
they should see him in the evening. As the afternoon was remarkably
clear, and not too warm (for the autumn was by this time far advanced),
he invited the girls to walk with him, instead of resuming their work,
to which Mrs. Ross gave her consent without a murmur, only begging they
would not walk too far, as she thought Ellen not strong enough to bear
much fatigue. To this they agreed, and Ellen found the calm soft air
revive her. Ross led the conversation to the wonders of nature: he
explained in familiar terms the structure of some flowers he gathered,
and made them admire the wisdom of that Being, who had formed those
blossoms so exquisitely fair. Thence he descanted on the nature and
properties of some rare plants, and was on all so eloquent and so
instructive, that Ellen felt her heart expand more lightly, and some
degree of pleasure take possession of her mind. "But ah!" thought she,
"why is not Mordaunt partaker of this sweet conversation? Why are two
men, so well fitted to gratify and delight each other, thus to be
estranged? Surely, Mr. Ross does not properly appreciate either the
qualities of Mordaunt's mind, or the excellence of his heart and
principles. Had he heard from him the sentiments which have charmed
me--did he know the delicacy of his taste, and his abhorrence of every
thing mean and base, he could not suppose him the wretch he last night
described." Yet Ellen was so candid and unprejudiced, she could allow
great reason in many of Ross's suggestions; and her high opinion of his
judgment, and the general liberality with which it was exercised, filled
her heart with uneasy fears.
They had been a few minutes returned to the house, and were just sitting
down to their simple supper, when Powis came in; and hastening to meet
Ellen, whom he had not seen for nearly two days, he tenderly kissed her.
She loved her father most affectionately, and had met him so eagerly,
that she did not for the instant perceive Mordaunt, who had followed him
into the room, and advanced towards her. She was startled; and fearing
what reception her friends would give him, she turned pale, and
trembled, which her father perceiving, said, "Why, Ellen, it is only Mr.
Mordaunt: you are not frightened at him, are you? Why, you have not seen
him these two or three days, he tells me. Come, shake hands with him,
and tell him you are glad to see him." Not for worlds could Ellen have
articulated one word; but Mordaunt, taking advantage of her father's
friendly commands, took the hand she could not--dared not offer; and
pressing it vehemently between his own, said in a low voice, "No, Ellen,
do not _say_ you are _glad_ to see me: the formal coldness of such an
expression from you would be worse to me than that averted look which
leads me to believe, at least to fear, the sight of me is far from
pleasing to you."
A vivid blush spread over her countenance, and she suddenly lifted her
eyes to him with an expression of reproachful yet gentle timid
affection, that at once explained to him all that her heart was filled
with. Joy, delight, and an expression of the most tender love and
admiration, took possession of Mordaunt's fine features: he seemed
transfixed, and stood gazing on her, still holding her hand, as if he
had no longer power over his own actions. "Why, how you stand," said
honest Powis, laughing, "staring at one another as if you had never met
before! Come, neighbour Ross, I am come to eat a bit of your cold meat:
I have been in the fields all the evening, and made but a short dinner,
Ellen not being at home. Come, let us sit down, and begin supper."
Nothing could equal the awkwardness of Mordaunt's situation: he felt
himself an intruder, yet could not tear himself away. Ross, his wife,
and Joanna, had indeed all spoken to him with civility; but there was
something in their manner which fully convinced him he was no welcome
guest; and though Ellen looked somewhat pale, yet he saw in her no sign
of such a state of health as should make her residence with Mrs. Ross
necessary. Relieved by this conviction (for he had really been alarmed
for her), he yet felt mortified in perceiving that she was kept there on
purpose to avoid his visits. At length, a little recovering himself, he
relinquished her hand, and said, "Pray let me be no interruption: I am
going instantly: I merely called to inquire how Miss Powis was this
evening, and am happy to find her not so ill as I feared." He now bowed,
and was retiring, when Ross, ashamed of appearing so inhospitable,
pressed him to sit down with them; and Joanna (pitying Ellen's
confusion, who was quite distressed at her father's apparent surprize at
the coolness--to him unaccountable--of Mordaunt's reception), said with
great good-nature, "Here's a chair, Mr. Mordaunt; and as you never eat
any thing but fruit at night, see what fine peaches and grapes we have."
Mordaunt, charmed by the kind invitation, and by seeing the chair
mentioned was placed between herself and Ellen, could not resist the
temptation: he sat down, and vainly endeavoured to behave as he used to
do: but there was a visible restraint over the whole party, except
Powis; and though Ross attempted several times to keep up something like
conversation, it soon languished, and every one seemed weary and
uneasy--the mind of each was pre-occupied; and what either said,
appeared to be far from the thing they were thinking of. Once or twice
Mordaunt spoke in a low voice to Ellen; but she, awed by the presence of
Mr. and Mrs. Ross, answered only in the briefest way possible, and
rarely lifted her eyes from the table. He asked her at last if she
should be at home to-morrow. She replied in the negative. "Nor the next
day?" "I believe not." "Good God! and how long is this to last?" "I do
not know: Mrs. Ross thinks I shall be better here for awhile." "And do
you never walk?" "Yes: we walked this evening with Mr. Ross."
Mordaunt saw that every thing possible was done to prevent their
meeting, and that he must come to some decision speedily. Of Ellen's
love, he could no longer doubt: his own for her he had for some time
felt to be that overwhelming sentiment, which must finally conquer all
opposing circumstances; but there were such in his fate as ought (at
least he thought so) to have prevented him from linking hers with it;
yet he had insensibly been so led on, he saw there was no retreating,
and determined shortly to come to an explanation with Ross and her
father, though much he wished a further time had been allowed. These
reflexions, which in spite of himself and the habit of self-command he
had so hardly acquired, sank him into silence; and at length, Powis,
tired of the gloom and heaviness which seemed hung over the whole party,
so different from what their little suppers used to be, told them he
thought they were all very stupid, and he would go home and go to bed.
Then shaking Ross by the hand, he went round the table to Ellen, kissed
her, and wished her good night, telling her to get quite well as fast as
possible, for he wanted her at home. Mordaunt bade them good night at
the same time, and went away with Powis.