"But there where I have garnered up my heart,
Where cither I must live, or bear no life,
The fountain from which my current runs
Or else dries up--To be discarded thence!"
"I know his eye doth homage other where,
Or else what lets it but he would he here?
...........................
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away and weeping die."
SHAKESPEARE.
The knock at the door, which had put an abrupt end to the long
and painful conversation between Henry and myself, was soon
followed up by a message from Mr. Middleton to say he was
waiting for me at the door to take our afternoon drive. I
kissed Alice hastily, rejoicing that the room was dark, and
hurried down stairs. I found my uncle evidently much put out.
Whether he immediately saw in my face traces of emotion which
displeased him, or whether he had heard before something which
had annoyed and irritated him, I could not at first discover;
but I felt sure that he was working himself up to a scene,
which, to say the truth, is a difficult business to a man of a
naturally calm and even temper. We drove however for some time
in silence, which was only broken by two or three attempts on
my part to enter into conversation, he answered each of my
remarks by a short yes or no; and as we turned back towards
London, after having driven on for some time along the
Paddington road, he suddenly said, "I really cannot understand
how a girl, brought up as you have been, can conduct herself
in the way you do. I am sorry to say so, Ellen; but you really
are a thorough coquette--a regular actress."
"How so? What do you mean?" I stammered out. "What have I
done?"
"I was not aware till to-day," he rejoined, "that you had
refused Edward. It is strange enough that you should not have
mentioned this circumstance, if not to me, at least to Mrs.
Middleton, who, certainly, deserved your confidence; but I
suppose you felt ashamed, and so you ought to be; for, after
all the encouragement you gave Edward, after speaking,
looking, and acting as you did during the month that he spent
at Elmsley, none but a heartless flirt could have refused
him." Weakened and agitated by the scenes I had gone through
during the last twenty-four hours, I burst into tears at this
harsh reproof. Mr. Middleton hated seeing a woman cry, and
still more making her cry; but as he had made up his mind to
treat me with great severity, my tears, by annoying him
excessively, only added to his anger.
"I must also tell you, Ellen," he continued, "that I am
shocked and disgusted at the manner in which you allow Henry
Lovell to dance with you, and talk to you wherever you meet
him. You sanction in this way his neglect of his wife; and,
considering all the circumstances of the case, your conduct,
in that respect, is unjustifiable. Pray, may I ask if he was
at home during the four hours you have just passed in his
house?" I coloured violently, and muttered that he was, but
added, "Did not my aunt tell you that Alice had sent for me?"
"She told me," replied Mr. Middleton, "that _Henry_ had
requested one of you to go to her. She ought to have gone
herself; but, considering how little in general you seek Mrs.
Lovell's society, and that for days together you do not go
near her, I should have thought that a shorter visit might
have sufficed. But be that as it may, I positively declare to
you, that unless there is an immediate change in your whole
manner and way of going on, I shall forbid Henry my house, and
lay my strictest orders upon you not to go to his. This may
painfully enlighten Mrs. Lovell," he continued, "but it will
be better for her to be thus enlightened, than for a coquette
like you to be allowed to rob her of the affection of her
husband."
"This is unjust, this is cruel," I exclaimed; "Alice herself
is not more pure than I am from an indelicate thought, or an
evil design. You wrong me; I do not deserve such language; and
even from you I will not endure it. Forgive me, dearest uncle,
forgive me; but indeed you do me a grievous injustice." I
seized his hand and pressed it to my lips.
"Why did you refuse Edward?" asked my uncle, in a softened
tone.
"Because I do not wish to marry; because I am certain that I
could not make him happy."
"All humbug and nonsense," interrupted Mr. Middleton, angrily;
"I only hope that he will soon make up his mind to give up all
thoughts of you, and to marry..."
"Who?" I inquired, with breathless anxiety.
"A girl," answered my uncle, "who has good sense and good
feeling sufficient to appreciate him as he deserves to be
appreciated." As he said these words Mr. Middleton drew from
his pocket a newspaper, and began reading it in that
pertinacious manner which puts a full stop to any further
conversation.
I would have given a great deal to have asked him if he had
alluded to any particular person, or whether he was speaking
in general; but I had not courage either to interrupt him or
to begin upon the subject again. During the first part of our
drive I had made a great many reflections and resolutions;
amongst others, I had come to the determination that I would
give up steadfastly and for ever, all thoughts of Edward as a
husband, and content myself with the measure of kindness and
regard, which, in spite of what had occurred between us he had
not withdrawn from me. I hoped that this decision,
consistently acted up to, would satisfy Henry, and induce him
to treat me with consideration and respect. I had even formed
a plan of prevailing on Mr. and Mrs. Middleton to leave London
almost immediately; and in the idea of devoting myself to
them, and to a life of domestic duties and charitable
exertions, away from the two persons who, on different grounds
and in different ways, I feared most in the world, a prospect,
of tranquillity at least, offered itself to my mind. But
unfortunately for me Mr. Middleton's last remark threw me into
a state of agitation, which overturned in one instant all
these visions of peace and self-denial. I could have made up
my mind to give up Edward, but when it occurred to me that, at
that very moment, he had, perhaps, given me up, and was on the
point of attaching himself to another, the jealous pang that
shot across my heart, proved to me that I would endure any
suffering rather than passively resign my claim on his
affections. This new anxiety superseded, for the time, all my
other griefs and vexations, and the instant I got home I went
to Mrs. Middleton's room, and tried to find out from her (what
I had not ventured to ask my uncle) whether there was any
particular person whom he wished Edward to marry. She assured
me that she had not heard of anybody being in question for
him; but added, that as Mr. Middleton was very anxious that he
should marry, and as, to their great surprise and regret, they
had heard that morning, that I had refused him, and so put an
end to what she knew had been a favourite scheme of my
uncle's, it was not improbable he might have formed some other
project; and then, in a manner as kind as Mr. Middleton's had
been harsh, she blamed and wondered over my apparent
inconsistency and caprice. She did not, however, allude to
Henry, or repulse my lame attempts at self-defence, with
anything but a deep sigh and a melancholy shake of the head.
There was to be a ball the next night at a Mrs. Miltown's, a
sister-in-law of Mrs. Brandon, And among my good resolutions
bad been that of excusing myself, on some pretext or other,
from going to it, for I did not know how to comply with Mr.
Middleton's orders with respect to Henry, without irritating
the latter in a way which I dreaded to encounter. What made me
most uneasy was, that quite contrary to his usual habits, my
uncle had announced his intention of going with us to this
ball, and I could not help thinking that it was for the
express purpose of watching me, and under his severe and
observant eye, it would be next to impossible to convey to
Henry the explanation which would account for my change of
manner to him; but now that my whole soul was bent on finding
out who the person was to whom my uncle hoped that Edward
would devote himself, every other consideration gave way
before that overwhelming interest. I could not have imagined
beforehand to what a degree it would have harassed me. I felt
as if the time that was to intervene between that evening and
the next would be interminable; the images of Henry, of Alice,
of Mrs. Tracy, faded away before the phantom which my
imagination had conjured up, and it was with feverish
impatience that I awaited the approach of that hour which I
thought would confirm or dispel my fears. It came at last, as
all hours do, whether they have been longed for with all the
intensity of ardent expectation, or dreaded with all the
anguish of terrified apprehension.
When I came down to the drawing-room, dressed for the ball,
Mrs. Middleton exclaimed, "You look unlike yourself to-night,
Ellen I Have you done your hair differently from usual? No"
(she continued, as she passed her hand gently over my
forehead)--"no, it is not that; I can't make it out: that
darling face of yours changes often enough from sunshine to
clouds, and from clouds to sunshine; but I never saw it look
just like to-night."
I kissed her fondly, but said with some impatience, "Let us
go--we are very late."
We went accordingly, and my uncle with us. When we entered the
room, it was crowded to suffocation, and we made our way with
difficulty to some seats, near which Mrs. Miltown and Mrs.
Brandon were. Henry was talking to the latter when we came up
to them; he gave me his chair, and ensconced himself in a
corner behind us. I felt that Mr. Middleton's eye was upon me,
and I entered into conversation in the most eager manner with
Mrs. Brandon, in order to avoid speaking to him. He bore it
for a little while; but soon touching my arm gently, he said
in a low voice, "Come and dance; I want to speak to you."
I answered in the same tone, "No, I can't--don't ask me."
"Very well; you will explain this to me later," he rejoined,
in a manner in which my penetration or my fancy detected
something dictatorial, which annoyed and provoked me. Wherever
I stood, whenever I danced, to whoever I talked during the
next two hours, I felt conscious that his piercing eyes were
fixed upon me with a scrutinizing expression which I could
hardly bear. Added to this, I saw that Mr. Middleton, who knew
nobody, and spoke to nobody, was concentrating all his powers
of observation upon us both, and was watching him as
pertinaciously as he watched me. At last, unable to endure
this any longer, and grievously disappointed that Edward had
not appeared, I asked Mrs. Middleton to go. She consented to
do so, and we walked together into the tea-room on our way
out. Henry followed us, and while his sister was speaking to
some one else, he whispered to me in the bitterest tone
imaginable, "Pray is this dead cut the result of our
yesterday's conversation?"
"How is Alice to-night?" I asked with a trembling voice; for
Mr. Middleton at that moment had joined us again and was
standing by my side.
"Much better, thank you, and very anxious to see you to-morrow
morning," he said in a pointed manner.
"That will be impossible," observed Mr. Middleton, coldly;
"for we have promised to go to-morrow to Mrs. Moore's, at
Hampstead, and we shall remain there two or three days."
A sudden cloud passed over Henry's countenance; but he said,
in a manner which was meant to be careless, "I wish you joy,
Ellen, of leaving London in this hot weather. The country will
be delightful. I suppose it was at your desire that this
arrangement was made?"
"No," I answered; "it was an agreeable surprise to me. I was
not aware till to-day that my uncle knew Mrs. Moore so well,
nor that she had a villa at Hampstead, nor that I was likely
to see Rosa again so soon; and delighted I shall be to see her
again."
"Oh, she is charming," answered Henry, in the same indifferent
manner; "I always told you so. I wonder if you will have
anything of a party. You will meet Edward there, I suppose; I
saw him for a moment this morning, and he said he was going to
the play with the Moores to-night."
He turned away, and whispered something to Mrs. Middleton
which made her smile and answer, "It would do very well."
If there is in the varied range of human feelings one of pain,
which in its mere _sensation_ resembles joy, it is that of
pouncing, if one may say so, on something tangible when the
mind has been racked by a vague jealousy. It is like the
relief which we feel when, after anger and indignation have
been for some time smouldering in our breasts, at length they
burst all barriers and find vent in words. At once I
remembered that Rosa was, as Henry had said, charming--that
she had a good fortune--that she was the most likely person in
the world for Edward to admire, and for my uncle to approve
of; and that very evening he was with her, with them all; he
had preferred their society to ours; it was _sure_--it was
hopeless--it was _too late_. Too late! that cry of bitter
regret, or of agonized despair, whether it comes from the lips
of those who lose all that makes to them life worth having, or
from those from whose trembling grasp that same mysterious
thing called life is escaping. It was too late to
struggle--too soon to submit. Oh, that I had run all
hazards--accepted all chances--braved all dangers but the one
of losing him! If I had ever told him of my love--if I had
revealed to him the depths of passionate affection which those
only feel who love in spite of all that should make them tremble
and despair! If I had done this but once, he might have forsaken
me, scorned me, abandoned me, but he never would have forgotten
me. Other eyes would have seemed to him without light--other
smiles without brightness; in their tame affection, in their
common-place regard, he would have missed what my proud heart
and my eager spirit yielded him; all its prostrate
enthusiasm--its impassioned humility--its boundless devotion;
abject as a slave's, exalted as a guardian angel's.
"How do you do, dearest Ellen? how glad I am to see you again!
Will you let me introduce mama to you?"
The violent start that I gave as Rosa stood before me and
addressed me in this manner, made her laugh, and the silvery
tone of that little gay laugh grated upon my ear.
"Why, I have frightened you as much as the invisible men of
Brandon frightened me!" she exclaimed. "What fun that was,
Ellen! I am afraid we shall have no adventures at Hampstead,
but I'm so glad you are coming there to-morrow."
As Henry approached us she turned to him.
"How are you, Mr. Lovell? It is ages since we have seen you."
"You come so late," said Henry; "was the play so charming that
you could not tear yourself away?"
"Oh, we should have been here long ago if your friend Mr.
Middleton had allowed it; but when papa and mama, with their
undramatic, unexcitable spirits, were preparing to go, he
interfered so successfully that we carried our point, heard
the very last words, saw the curtain drop--"
"And enjoyed it all very much?"
"Oh thoroughly--entirely! We cried at the tragedy and laughed
at the farce, till I have no strength left for the dull bit of
real life that's going on in the next room."
"Come, Ellen, the carriage stops the way," cried Mr.
Middleton; and in a moment we were down the stairs and in the
carriage. My aunt's first words as we drove home were, "How
uncommonly pretty Rosa Moore is! There is something very
attractive about her."
"Very," I answered; and there was something in the manner in
which I pronounced this single word that made her try to get a
glimpse of my face as we went by the next lamp-post. I threw
my head back impatiently into the corner, and exclaimed,
"Really, one does get tired to death with this going out night
after night."
"Then I suppose you like the idea of our visit to Hampstead?"
"Oh, particularly! Who shall we meet, do you think?"
"Nobody but Edward, and one or two other men, Mrs. Moore told
me to-night."
The carriage stopped and I went to bed, but not to sleep; not
at least till I had tossed about for some hours, with a
feverish pulse and a perturbed spirit.
The next morning ushered in one of those broiling days which
destroy all one's energies, and take away all wish for motion
and exertion. The shutters of the drawing-room were partly
closed to exclude the rays of the sun; the smell of the
flowers in the _jardiniere_ was almost oppressive, and the
very cries in the street seemed uttered languidly, and without
their usual shrill spirit. After breakfast I sat down at my
drawing-table, and tried to finish a sketch of the inside of
Westminster Abbey, which I had begun the day before. As I was
preparing my colours and arranging my brushes, the door opened
and Henry walked in. "Your sister is in her room," I
immediately said; "I will tell her that you are here;" and I
got up for the purpose.
"Really, Ellen," he said, "I suppose you are not going to
behave to me now as you did last night. I protest to you that
I cannot and will not bear it. I am come for the express
purpose of seeking an explanation."
"Then go to Mr. Middleton, and ask him to give it you. After
undergoing all that I suffered yesterday at your house; after
leaving it with a throbbing head and an aching heart, I had to
go through a scene with my uncle, in which my feelings were
wounded to the quick and my pride cruelly humbled. What is all
this to lead to, Henry? What do you expect? What do you
require? I am accused of thoughts, of designs, of conduct,
which are as foreign to my mind as they are abhorrent to my
feelings; but if this is nothing to you--if you care neither
for what I may suffer, or for what others may think of me, let
me tell you that if at this moment Mr. Middleton knew that you
were here--if last night he had seen me speak to you, or dance
with you as usual, an order would be given at the door never
to let you in again."
"He would not dare to insult me in such a manner," exclaimed
Henry with violence; "my sister would never endure it."
"He _would_ do it," I repeated earnestly; "he is stern and
uncompromising to a degree which, till latterly, I did not
know myself; and if now--"
"He has hated and persecuted me from a boy; he is the original
cause of all I suffer; he will drive me to some desperate act
of guilt or folly before he has done; but, by God, if I am not
revenged--"
"Hush, hush; you don't know what you are saying or doing," I
cried, as he walked about the room in the most vehement
agitation. "Be calm, I implore you. We are going out of town
now for a few days; soon after that, we return to Elmsley. We
shall be separated for a long while, Henry. Why will you not
strive to conquer this unhappy, this fatal fancy? That I
should be forced to speak of it--to acknowledge its
existence--is dreadful enough; but do give me hopes, dear
Henry, that you will try to overcome it; that you will
endeavour to make Alice happy, and to find happiness yourself
in your home, that when we all meet again, we may be happy
together, and the miseries and agitations of this last
terrible year may seem to us as a dream."
He did not answer, but I fancied he was touched by this
appeal, and I went on: "I owe you much gratitude; I feel it, I
acknowledge it. Perhaps I was hard and ungracious yesterday,
when I ought to have been softened by your kindness; but how
can I feel towards you what I wish to feel, while you speak
and act in a way which you know you would despise me yourself
if I did not resent?"
He interrupted me by abruptly inquiring if we were indeed
going to Elmsley soon.
"Almost immediately, my uncle said this morning."
"For how long?"
"An indefinite time."
He knit his brows, and said, after a pause,--
"There is truth in what you said just now. We ought all to
live happily together, and I have not taken the right means of
promoting that end. I have been foolish, mad; I now see the
consequences of it all. Ellen, speak to me often as you did
just now; it soothes, it calms me. I see things in a different
way from what I did a moment ago. O, dearest, best beloved!
say to me sometimes, dear Henry, as you said it just now, and
I will try to be to you, and for you, all that you can wish
and desire. Open your heart to me without reserve, Ellen; if
new difficulties present themselves to you, perhaps I may be
able to serve you in cases where it might seem hopeless to
apply to me--where you might suspect me of not even wishing to
be of use to you. I cannot explain myself now, for you had
better go and call my sister. After what you said had passed
between you and Mr. Middleton yesterday, I feel that we must
not remain here alone together. You see," he said, with a
melancholy smile, "how reasonable I am grown. Go, dearest
Ellen, but remember what I have said to you. For your sake I
would make sacrifices, even," he added, in a low and tremulous
voice--"even if your happiness required it, the greatest of
all. Good-bye, dearest Ellen--God bless you!"
I left the room; and, was it strange that after this
conversation, I left town for Hampstead, carrying away with me
a better opinion of Henry than I had ever had before? Was it
strange, too, that a vague hope arose in my heart, from the
few words he had said, that my fate, with regard to Edward;
might not be hopelessly sealed, if at least the hateful vision
of his dawning attachment to Rosa Moore did not realise
itself? Whether it was strange or not, the fact was so; and,
in such a state of mind, at about four o'clock, I drove out of
London, and in a short time arrived at the gates of Mrs.
Moore's villa.