Part 8

Let us not attempt to describe the parting of Powis and his daughter, which took place an hour after the marriage ceremony was concluded. Mordaunt repeated his assurances of returning, if possible, to Llanwyllan the following summer; then almost by force severing Ellen from her father, he placed her in the chaise, and, following hastily, bowed his farewell. The motion of the carriage, to which she was wholly unused, roused Ellen from the half-fainting into which she had fallen, and the tender soothings of Mordaunt at length revived and composed her. As they passed on, the varied face of the country, the beautiful and extensive scenery through which they journied, awakened all the soft enthusiasm of her youthful mind, which, shaking off the dejection caused by parting from her first connections, roused itself to the perception of the happy prospects the future might present.

"And thou, oh! Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail."

After several days travelling, stopping occasionally to rest, and to view such remarkable objects as they thought worthy of observation, they arrived at the Passage, and, crossing it, soon after entered the city of Bristol. To paint Ellen's surprise at all the wonders of the new world which surrounded her would be impossible; so strange indeed did every thing appear to her, that scarcely the influence which Mordaunt possessed over her mind could prevent her from exclamations of astonishment, which, to those around, would have betrayed the perfect seclusion in which she had hitherto lived. After shewing her all that was worth notice in Bristol and its interesting environs, Mordaunt took his fair bride to Bath, with the elegance of which she was particularly delighted. The streets, the shops, were a constant source of amusement to one so new to every thing; here, however, they remained but three days, during which Mordaunt procured for Ellen such a variety of dresses as appeared to her quite extraordinary; and she began to think her husband was either very rich or very extravagant, though in truth all he purchased would hardly satisfy the "indispensable necessities" of most _young ladies_, of no pretensions really higher than those of Ellen Powis had been; and were far from appearing to Mordaunt more than barely sufficient for her present occasions. An elegant new riding habit and hat were amongst them; and Ellen's delicate figure appeared to such advantage in that dress, that no one could have supposed her so lately removed from so remote a situation: her natural gracefulness prevented her appearing in the slightest degree awkward; and her new dress gave her an air of fashion, with which Mordaunt was delighted.

From Bath they went to London, where Mordaunt engaged very handsome lodgings, though not in the most fashionable part of the town, yet in a handsome street, for a fortnight, where they rested after the fatigues of so long a journey. Mordaunt told his wife he wished not to take her to any of the public amusements till the next spring, when he hoped to revisit London with her, and when some ladies of his acquaintance would be there also, and would accompany her. Ellen, who desired no greater pleasure than his society, was well contented with this arrangement: during their stay in London, therefore, they seldom went out; but Mordaunt trusted her two or three times under the care of the person at whose house they lodged, (who was a very respectable woman) to go to different shops, furnishing her liberally with money, and insisting on her providing a very complete and elegant wardrobe. Several times Ellen wished to check his liberality, assuring him she had already as much of every thing as she wished for; but he replied she was no judge of what she would want when she went into the country, and that she must oblige him by buying every thing in abundance, and of the best and most fashionable materials; nor did he ever go from home without bringing back with him some elegant trinket or set of ornaments for her; so that little as she was a judge of the value of money, she was surprized and somewhat uneasy to see Mordaunt so profuse of his, for in addition to the large expences he would incur in her dress, he had requested Mrs. Birtley (the person at whose house they lodged) to hire a young woman to wait upon his wife; and Ellen really thought her new servant so much more like a lady than till very lately she had thought herself, that she hardly knew how to give her any orders. Mordaunt had also hired a job chariot and horses for the time they staid in town.

Their landlady observing the extreme youth and simplicity of Ellen, contrasted by that air of the world and of fashion so conspicuous in Mordaunt, as well as that though he hardly appeared to endure her being out of his sight, he seldom went abroad with her, and that they seemed to have no friends or connections in London, began to form conjectures not very much to the advantage of her guests; and as she was a woman of good character, though of somewhat a suspicious turn, she was not sorry when they left her apartments.

Mordaunt chose not to take Jane, Ellen's new maid, with them, but left directions for her to travel by the stage to the town which was nearest to his residence in Northamptonshire, where she should be met by a servant, who would conduct her to his house.

For the first day of their journey Mordaunt appeared at times in deep reflection, and as if revolving in his mind a variety of considerations, frequently catching Ellen's hand in his own, he would express the rapture he felt in the certainty of possessing her affection, and that she was securely his; then he would add, "Remember, Ellen, you have promised to take me _for better for worse_: tell me, do you think any change in my situation could impair your love for me?" To these questions she returned such tender and affectionate answers, as seemed for the time to dispel from his mind every uneasy sensation; yet still at intervals his thoughtfulness returned, and began at last to inspire Ellen with a sort of anxiety she could not wholly overcome.

The next day Mordaunt proposed resting a few hours at a pleasant village, which he told her was only about twenty miles from his own house, but that he thought it would be more agreeable to her not to arrive at home till towards the evening: to this she readily consented; it was indeed very agreeable to her, but had it been less so, she knew no will but his.

After breakfast, the landlady of the inn where they had taken that meal, coming in, Mordaunt asked her how far it was from thence to St. Aubyn Castle; she answered about nineteen miles: after asking her some more questions respecting the length of the stages, &c. he inquired if she knew Lord St. Aubyn; she replied she had seen his Lordship once before he went abroad, but she heard he was now soon expected home again; a gentleman who stopped at her house not many days before, told her his Lordship was lately returned from Spain, and was coming very shortly to the Castle. On being asked if she knew who that gentleman was, she said it was the Reverend Doctor Montague, his Lordship's domestic Chaplain. Mordaunt then asked her if Lord St. Aubyn was much liked in his neighbourhood, and she gave him a very high character for his charity to the poor, and kindness to his servants and dependants.

Ellen here whispered to her husband that she would inquire what sort of a character _one Mr. Mordaunt_, his Lordship's steward, bore. Mordaunt laughed, and said she was very malicious, and only hoped to hear some evil of him. She then repeated her question, looking playfully at him, to which the landlady replied, that she did not know Mr. Mordaunt except by name, but she heard he was a very worthy old gentleman. The idea of Mordaunt's being called an _old gentleman_ diverted Ellen so much, that she burst into a laugh she could not repress, in which Mordaunt joined so heartily, as half offended the good woman, who, supposing she had committed some blunder, left the room immediately.

"Come, my dear Ellen," said Mordaunt, when he had composed his features, "let us take a walk through this pleasant village: it is long since you enjoyed the pure air of the country." "Indeed, my dear _old gentleman_," Ellen gaily replied, "I shall be very glad to find myself once more at liberty to walk a little, for I began to feel tired of the restraint of a carriage, which, when we left Llanwyllan, I thought so delightful, I could never be weary of it."

CHAP. XI.

You see me, Lord Bassanio, where I stand, Such as I am; though for myself alone I would not be ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better, yet for you I would be trebled twenty times myself, A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times More rich---- ----but the full sum of me Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractised; Happy in this, she is not yet so old But she may learn; and happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she can learn; Happiest of all, is that her gentle spirit Commits herself to your's to be directed.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.

After strolling through some very pleasant fields, they came to a sequestered spot, where tall trees shaded a little murmuring rivulet, near whose banks a very neat farm-house attracted their attention.

"Ah, this reminds me of dear Llanwyllan!" said Ellen: "how much I should like to sit down here awhile!" "That," answered Mordaunt, "may be easily effected." He then went to the door, where he met a nice looking elderly woman, the farmer's wife, and saying he was thirsty, asked her to spare him a draught of milk or whey, with which she very civilly complied, and requested them to walk in. Ellen, delighted with the sight of the farm-yard and smell of the dairy, readily consented, and at Mordaunt's desire, the good woman said she would give them some cream, bread, &c. With great civility therefore, she shewed them into a neat parlour, and having placed before them brown bread, cream, and some bunches of well-ripened grapes, left them to themselves.

Ellen said:--"Now, my dear Mordaunt, I really feel as if I were at home again, and can _do the honours_ (as you term it) of this little table very tolerably; but if, as I suspect, you are much visited by high people near you, will you not often have to blush for your awkward little rustic?" "If I had feared that," answered Mordaunt, "I would not have ventured it; but, as I have often told you, the natural propriety of your manner will very well supply the place of artificial graces; and as to the mere forms of society, they are so easily acquired, you will speedily attain them: but tell me, Ellen, after the cursory view you have had of something more refined, could you now be contented to sit down here for the rest of your life?" "With you," replied the tender Ellen, "I could be not only contented but happy any where yet I own _you_ seem to me formed for something so superior, that I should forever regret your being confined to a sphere so limited."

Mordaunt, delighted with the sweetness of her words and manners, scarcely knew how to express how greatly he was pleased with all she said. After a few minutes he opened the little casement, for the day was mild and clear, more like spring than the beginning of November; and gathering some late blossoms of a white jassamine, which grew round it, and in that sheltered spot, so soft had been the season, still retained their beauty: he twisted them with some very small vine leaves across her brow, amongst her fine hair, in a very particular style, and making her look in the little glass which hung in the room where they sat, he said:--

"There, Ellen, _that_ is very like a countess's coronet; the jasmine may pass for pearls, and the little branch of the vine for strawberry leaves: how should you like one in pearls or diamonds? I think it becomes you inimitably well." "This simple wreath may," she said, smiling as she surveyed herself; "but I believe that this little rustic person would not assort very well with the splendid ornament you describe." He smiled, and said--"Do not take it off, but sit down, and I will tell you a story." "A story!--delightful! I hope it is entertaining." "Very, and perfectly true. _Once upon a time_: do you like that beginning?" "Not much; it is too childish: try again." "Well then, once in the days of King Arthur----" "Oh! do not go quite so far back--your story will last all day." "What! a Welsh girl and not like to hear a tale of King Arthur. Oh! most degenerate damsel." Ellen still laughing, said--"Come, dear Mordaunt, make haste, I long to hear this interesting story."

He placed himself at her side, and with some agitation, said:--

"Ellen, the time is come to clear up some of the mysterious words you have heard me utter at Llanwyllan: what will you say to me when I tell you--yet be not alarmed--when I tell you that, though my _name_ is really _Mordaunt_, yet I have _deceived_ you--for that is not my _only_ designation: do not look so surprised and bewildered, my love; I am not _inferior_ to the man you suppose me: he is indeed my relation, being the natural son of my father's brother: he is many years older than I am. Tell me, Ellen, are you afraid to hear the rest?" "No," she replied firmly, though with marks of the most impatient curiosity in her countenance. "I am so convinced of your integrity, that be who or what you will, I am happy in being your wife, and ready to share your station, be it ever so lowly." "Enchanting creature!" he exclaimed, and clasped her to his bosom: "know then, that were the coronet which binds your brow of the most costly materials instead of a simple flower, it is your's by right, for I am the Earl, and you are the Countess of St. Aubyn."

A moment Ellen struggled with the overwhelming surprize: then said: "How could you condescend to one so much beneath you?" "Beneath me!" he replied--"oh, in every thing but the mere accident of birth how greatly my superior! But the surprize, my gentle love, has made you a little pale; recover yourself, and let me see you again gay and playful as when you supposed yourself only Mrs. Mordaunt." He fixed his penetrating eyes upon her: even in that tender moment he sought to discover if any undue pride or vanity elated her; but there was no trace of any such ignoble passion: surprized, astonished as she was, and feeling some diminution of the ease and equality with which she had but lately learned to regard him, Ellen more than half regretted to find him so greatly her superior, and to see herself raised so very much beyond the station her humility led her to believe the only one she could fill with propriety; yet she must have been more or less than woman, had she not felt charmed with the disinterested love St. Aubyn had evinced in making her his wife.

Having a little recovered the emotion this interesting discovery had caused in both, Ellen entreated him, whom yet she hardly knew how to name, to explain the reason of his having appeared at Llanwyllan in a character so inferior to his own; which he did in these words:

"I cannot, my love, nor would I wish at present to tell you all my story, though some day you shall know every circumstance of my life: may they come to your knowledge without lessening your felicity!" He sighed, and thus continued:--"Some domestic misfortunes induced me, at different times, to make several excursions under the name I bore when first I met you, which is, indeed, that of my family: since my last return from the Continent, about six months ago, I did not let my friends or servants know I was come to England, but set out to travel through Wales, sometimes by one mode of conveyance, sometimes another, and not unfrequently as a mere pedestrian. I was always a good walker, and had been accustomed to pass whole days on foot amongst the mountains of Spain; frequently, therefore, I preferred walking, as giving me better opportunities of exploring the most romantic scenes. In one of these excursions I found myself at Llanwyllan; there I merely intended to stay a day or two, till accident, and your father's hospitality, introduced you to my knowledge--need I relate to you the progress of that passion which soon took possession of my heart, and left me powerless to quit you. A very few days determined me, if your affections were disengaged, to do all in my power to secure your love; yet I delayed the declaration of my own, in hopes of bringing some untoward circumstances to a favourable conclusion; but when I found our good friend Ross began to be alarmed for you, and fancied I saw in my Ellen's sweet face that she was not happy, I thought it necessary to come to some decision, and to Ross I fully explained my _whole_ situation: he was so perfectly convinced of my honour and integrity, that he consented to give his lovely pupil to me, even under all the unpleasant circumstances which at present embarrass and torment me; and even though we both doubted whether a marriage contracted by me under the name of Mordaunt only would be completely binding: to obviate this objection, I bound myself to him, not only to make upon you such settlements as my large income rendered proper, and my heart prompted, but to remarry you as soon as I could do so without absolute impropriety; and that I will do if I live before I sleep again; though I believe the precautions we took render it unnecessary, for after you left the vestry, the day we were married, Ross and myself, as perhaps you observed, returned, and in his presence I added the title of Earl of St. Aubyn to the names of Constantine Frederick Mordaunt, which, I have no doubt, would substantiate our marriage in any court in England: to avoid, however, all possible doubt, now or in future, on this important point, I have at this instant a special licence in my possession, and this evening, at Castle St. Aubyn, Montague shall read the marriage service to us again.--Are you satisfied with this arrangement, my love?"

"I am so ignorant in every thing, that I can only rely on you; which I do implicitly, and with full confidence."

Ellen then asked St. Aubyn if Doctor Montague knew who he was in reality recommending to her father, or whether he supposed it to be indeed Mr. Mordaunt? Lord St. Aubyn laughed at this question, and said Montague would have had reason to be surprized at hearing Mordaunt was going to be married, as he was a very stiff old Bachelor of at least sixty; but the fact was, he had written himself to Montague from Llanwyllan, informing him who the person really was respecting whom Powis's inquiries would be made, and desiring him to give such a character of _that person_ as he thought was deserved, only not to betray his real title, as he was anxious to avoid the _eclat_ such a discovery would produce, if made while they remained at Llanwyllan.

After a little more conversation on this interesting subject, St. Aubyn and his Ellen took leave of their hospitable entertainer, after remunerating her in the most liberal way for the trouble they had given her; and as by the time they reached the village the day was far advanced, they ordered a chaise directly, and proceeded to the end of the next stage, where they dined, and where St. Aubyn told Ellen his own carriage was to meet them, and convey them to the Castle, where his household were instructed to expect their lady.

Before they had quite dined, an elegant new travelling carriage and four, with coronets on the pannels, and out-riders in rich liveries, drove to the door, and the host, who had no idea of the rank of his guests, from their arriving in a hack carriage, unattended, was in the act of denying to the servants that Lord and Lady St. Aubyn were there, when the Earl, throwing up the sash, told the men to move about, but not put up the horses, as he should go in half an hour. While he was speaking, the stage-coach from London stopt at the door, and Ellen's maid stepping out, inquired whether any servant from one Mr. Mordaunt's, in that neighbourhood, was waiting for her. St. Aubyn, calling to one of his men, desired him to send that young woman to Lady St. Aubyn. The man obeyed, and told the astonished Jane she must go and speak to his lady. "What for, pray?" answered Jane, pertly. "Indeed I shall do no such thing; I am going on directly, and don't want such fellows as you to be joking with me." "Jane!" said Ellen, approaching the window, anxious to put a stop to a dialogue she feared might disclose more than she wished the servants should know. "Oh, dear Ma'am, are you there!" answered Jane. "Oh! I am so glad; I will come to you, Ma'am, directly." One of the men, wishing for an opportunity of seeing his new lady, said, "Come, young woman, I will shew you the way to her Ladyship."

The poor girl was so much confused, by these different directions, that fortunately she had no power to refuse, or indeed to speak at all, but followed the servant into the room, where St. Aubyn and Ellen were sitting. "There," said the footman, in a low voice, and giving her a little push: "go in, child--that is my lady." "Grant me patience," said Jane, turning sharply to him: "why I tell you that is _my_ mistress. I suppose you want to persuade me I don't know my own----." "Softly, Jane," said St. Aubyn: "there, go in, and speak to your lady, and you, Thomas, may go; we shall soon be ready to start."

He left Jane with her lady, not wishing to be present at the explanation. Ellen explained to the astonished girl, that she had, for particular reasons, concealed her title while in London, and did not wish her to say to the other servants that she had ever known her under any other name. Jane very willingly promised obedience, and was not a little elated to find herself own woman to Lady St. Aubyn, instead of waiting-maid to plain Mrs. Mordaunt. Indeed, Mrs. Birtley had had some scruples about suffering her to follow the mysterious couple at all, and charged her, if she did not find all right, to leave her place, and return to London immediately, all which her unguarded hints betrayed to Ellen, who felt a little confused at hearing her situation had been so misconstrued. "And there, Ma'am--beg pardon--my lady--there your Ladyship;" (for Jane was willing to make amends for her former ignorance, by using Ellen's title as often as possible)--"there your Ladyship left a book at Mrs. Birtley's--I forget the name of it; some poetry book it was, and in it was written, in one place, 'C. F. M. to Ellen P.' and I was to have brought it with me, but Mrs. Birtley was not at home when I came away, so I could not have it, and it was a great pity, for it is very handsome, in a fine binding, and with beautiful pictures: one of them was a man jumping off a rock, like into the sea, and with a sort of a clergyman's gown on, and with a musical instrument in his hand, something like a guitar, but not quite." "I know the book you mean," said Ellen; "it was Gray's Poems. I am sorry I left it behind." "Yes, Ma'am--my lady I mean, that was the very book; but I dare say your Ladyship can have it by sending to Mrs. Birtley; and in one part, my lady, there was a print of a church-yard, and over the print was put, 'Dear Landwilliam,' or some such name." "Yes, Jane, yes; that's the book--that will do: now give me my hat, and step down and inquire if Lord St. Aubyn is waiting for me."