Читать книгу Mystery & Confidence - Elizabeth Sibthorpe Pinchard - Страница 7

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When he speaks,

The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,

And the mute wonder lurketh in mens' ears,

To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences!

Henry V.

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.