Part 7

Lady Juliana shook her head, for she knew St. Aubyn's temper; and how hardly he would endure to hear even her on such a subject; yet, if he would but condescend to hear what the servants, who attended the Countess in this unfortunate excursion, what this Mrs. Birtley would say, their stories would doubtless confirm that of Ellen; for of the truth of that story Lady Juliana had not the smallest doubt; but she knew how St. Aubyn's pride would revolt, and his delicacy be hurt, by the necessity of interrogating such people on the conduct of his wife.

She felt herself indeed angry with Ellen for the childish impatience which had taken her out in the morning, after the fright of the night before had rendered repose so desirable, and for going to Mrs. Birtley's at all; but she could easily forgive a folly apparently of so little importance, since it was quite impossible for Ellen to have foreseen the chain of circumstances which followed, and involved her in so much distress.

How St. Aubyn happened to go to the same place, no one could guess; it appeared, indeed, extremely unlikely that he should have done so; but, as singular coincidences no less singular do sometimes occur, though their rarity makes us call them improbable, unless they arise within our own immediate knowledge.

The real truth was this: St. Aubyn, recollecting that Charles Ross had said the night before, "_the woman where you lodged found you out_," had determined to ascertain, from this woman herself, what she had told Ross, and how she had dared to speak of him and Ellen in such terms; and to explain who her Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt really were, that no farther slander, even in Mrs. Birtley's narrow circle, might attach to the purity of Lady St. Aubyn's character, had walked thither from Sir Edward Leicester's, with whom he had sat some time, arranging the particulars of their intended meeting with Charles Ross the next morning; there, to his utter astonishment, he found Lady St. Aubyn's carriage in waiting; and inquiring of the servants where she was, was answered, in that house, meaning Mrs. Birtley's.

"And Miss Cecil?"

"No, my Lord; Miss Cecil did not come out with my Lady, only Mrs. Jane."

St. Aubyn recollected Ellen's apparent agitation in the morning; the letter he had found her reading, and which she so hastily concealed; her having said Laura would go with her; yet she had come with only her maid, a young ignorant girl, come to the very house where he believed Ross was residing; that Ross, of whom, though almost unknown to himself, some secret jealousy had always lurked in his heart.

All these circumstances rose at once to his memory; and, without waiting to knock or ring, the door standing open, he rushed hastily into the parlour, where the first object that struck his sight was his wife, his beloved, his adored Ellen, while her hand was held by the man on earth he most detested, the man who but the night before had insulted her and outraged him! What could he think? Was it wonderful that the fury which swelled his heart broke into words of reproach and anger? Was it not rather wonderful he could so far command himself, so far reflect, as to return with her apparently calm, and that he did not at once cast from him a woman who must have appeared so ungrateful and insincere?

Lady Juliana having with the aid of Miss Cecil and Jane put Ellen to bed, would have retired to seek her nephew, leaving Laura shocked, astonished, and grieved, remaining with her friend; but seeing the flush of fever on her cheek, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes, they sent without delay to the family physician, who, after asking a few questions, and learning the Countess had been alarmed, and was then under the influence of terror for her lord, who, Laura whispered to him, they feared was meditating a duel with a gentleman who had insulted Lady St. Aubyn, the doctor shook his head, and said if her mind were not quieted immediately, he would not be answerable for the consequences: she had, he said, every symptom of an alarming fever, and that if she were not soothed, and kept quiet, the worst event might be expected both to herself and the unborn babe.

Alarmed beyond measure, Lady Juliana now ran to seek St. Aubyn. With some difficulty she prevailed on him to grant her admittance, and with still greater, to hear what she had to say. She repeated the whole story Jane had told her: he shook his head, was silent, but not convinced. She saw his incredulity, and with some hesitation proposed to interrogate the men servants who went out with their lady as to the real cause of her alighting at Mrs. Birtley's. He started indignantly from the idea; but Lady Juliana assuring him she could ask in such a way as should give them no suspicion why they were questioned, he at last consented, and ringing the bell, she ordered the coachman to be sent to her.

"John," said she, "your lady has been frightened at something or other this morning during her absence from home. Were the horses restive?"

"No, my Lady: the horses went as quiet as lambs to ---- Street, where we stopped while my Lady went into a house, I believe to see a poor family, as her Ladyship does sometimes; and then we went to the poor old blind lady's, that Mrs. Jane says her Lady maintains; and after that we went to another house, where my Lady said she would not alight, and told Mrs. Jane to make haste and get the book, for she would not stop an instant; but I was afraid to turn the carriage with her Ladyship in it, the street being very narrow just there, and a dray standing at the house opposite, for fear the horses should prance a little, which my Lady is always afraid of; and so I begged her just to alight a minute while I turned, which she seemed not to like to do, but the old lady of the house coming out and persuading her, she said she would get out for a minute, and the people staring at her as she stood on the pavement, she went into the house, and I believe something or somebody frightened her, for as I drew up to the door, which was not directly, for the horses were a little unruly, I saw a young man go into the parlour where my Lady was waiting, and a minute after, I heard Mrs. Jane scream; and I was going in, and so was James, but just as I was getting off my box, and Richard was standing at the head of the horses, my Lord came up, and afterwards I found my Lady had fainted away."

"Then your Lady had only been there a short time?"

"Not above ten minutes I am sure, Madam, and as Mrs. Jane screamed when the gentleman went into the parlour, I think he must have frightened her."

"Very well, John: I was afraid it was the horses, and if so, Lady St. Aubyn should never have gone with them again."

"Oh, no, my Lady, the horses are quiet enough, poor things, only that narrow street made me think my Lady had better alight."

The man then retired, and Lady Juliana said:--"Well, St. Aubyn, are you now satisfied?"

"Not quite; all this might have been contrivance and art."

"How is it possible you can think so! Did you ever see the slightest trace of either in Ellen?"

"Yes, to-day. Why did she tell me Laura was going with her? Why conceal where she was going?"

"Laura lamented just now not having gone out with Ellen, as she requested on account of a bad head-ache: as to Ellen's not telling you where she was going, that arose from a fear lest you should prevent, what, with the natural impatience of youth, she had set her heart upon. But if you still doubt, let us inquire of this woman, this Mrs.----what's her name?--the mistress of the house where you lodged: she can tell what Lady St. Aubyn's errand was there, and why she alighted."

"Good God! Madam," said St. Aubyn, peevishly, "would you have me go about collecting evidences whether I ought to believe my wife blameless, or the most deceitful of women?"

"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which ought to know her best!"

Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have observed, ere she had given to her an affection and confidence so tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he hastily said:--"But the letter! What letter was that I found her reading?"

"What letter?" asked Lady Juliana.

"One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it into the fold of her morning dress."

"And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed, he hastily said:

"I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!"

"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her--"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a _Rosolia_ and an _Ellen_: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"

"For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"

"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."

"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and calm her wounded mind."

But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him: delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace--_and I too am innocent_?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith in _his_ integrity and honour, assurances which he had so ill repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:

"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not forgive me?"

"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's _wife_, not the wretch he calls me: why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my _shame_ and _ruin_?"

"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"

"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did _not_ murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me believe St. Aubyn guilty:--I promised him;--he says he is innocent; enough, my love, enough, Ellen will _never doubt you_!" and again she breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."

"She will die! she will die!" wildly exclaimed St. Aubyn, starting up: "run for more help! fetch all the physicians in London. Oh! have I lived to this!"

"You will kill her indeed," said Laura, "if you are not quiet: leave her to us. Doctor B---- will again be here in a few minutes: he says if she can but be quiet, can but be made to understand, all is well; she will recover; but indeed, my Lord, you must leave her now."

"No, Laura, I will not go; I will sit here without speaking; but should she recover her senses, if only for a minute, it will I know comfort her to see me here."

This Laura could readily believe, and therefore made no further objection; but Doctor B---- arriving soon after, comforted them all with the assurance, that though the Countess's fever at present ran high, he had great hopes that perfect quietude, and the medicines he had ordered, would, in all probability, do much for her, especially, aided as they were by youth and an excellent constitution, and that he saw no immediate danger. He strictly enjoined, however, that her chamber might be kept as still as possible, and that at most only two persons should remain there: he entreated St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana to retire, and having prevailed on them to do so, he told Miss Cecil he wished her to be as much as possible one of Lady St. Aubyn's attendants.

"As to Lady Juliana," said he, "she is so very anxious and restless; she will only disturb our fair patient: you, my dear Miss Cecil, I perceive have that happy self-possession, joined with gentleness and activity, which alone can make a good nurse; your voice too is particularly calculated to sooth and persuade a sick person:--you may smile, but believe me, few know how many qualifications are requisite to form a good superintendent of a sick bed, and amongst them I have always found a soft but distinct articulation one of the most considerable. Think only how a nervous patient is what is emphatically called _worried_ by a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a tone, or sudden question. I assure you I have often seen weak persons thrown into a fever by these apparently trifling causes; let me, therefore, beg Miss Cecil will take upon herself the task of replying to any questions the Countess may ask, but in as few words as possible: the moment reason returns, sooth her mind by every assurance that the danger she so much feared is over. I shall see Lord St. Aubyn before I quit the house, and place before him the evil to be dreaded, should he pursue this unfortunate business any farther."

CHAP. IX.

Doubt shall for ever quit my strengthen'd heart, And anxious jealousy's corroding smart: Nor other inmate shall inhabit there, But soft belief, young joy, and pleasing care.

PRIOR'S HENRY AND EMMA.

The medicines ordered by her skilful physician had so salutary an effect, that towards midnight Ellen fell into a quiet sleep, from which every thing favourable might be expected. Lady Juliana was therefore prevailed on to retire to bed, Miss Cecil, Jane, and the housekeeper, sitting up with Lady St. Aubyn, the two latter in the anti-chamber. But Lady Juliana was far from being satisfied, notwithstanding the assurances of St. Aubyn that all was at an end between him and Ross: she knew him too well to believe he would pass over insults so marked; and her watchfulness had convinced her no apology from Ross, in writing or otherwise, had been received. Sir Edward Leicester, too, had called once or twice in the course of the day; and though she had tormented him and her nephew, by resolutely remaining in the room in defiance of the hints St. Aubyn gave of wishing to be alone with his friend, yet she overheard a few words, that more and more convinced her a duel was intended. She left orders, therefore, to be called by day-break; and unable to prevail on St. Aubyn to go to bed, wearied and exhausted by emotions, which, at her time of life, she could ill support, she at length left him to himself.

Determined as he was to meet Ross in the morning, and avoiding reflections, which, though he felt how decisive they were against the practice of duelling, he yet thought came too late. St. Aubyn's frame was shaken by various sensations. Recollection of the past, and terror for the future, hung heavily upon him; yet not for himself he feared: but should any thing amiss happen to him, what would become of Ellen--of Ellen, whom he should leave upon a bed of sickness, which, then he felt convinced, would be to her the bed of death!

"And was it for this," he exclaimed, as he paced his study, "for this I drew her from her native shades, where, happy and contented, but for me she might have blossomed still. Oh! little, my Ellen, hast thou had cause to rejoice in that elevation which doubtless many have envied thee. Too often have I been to thee the mysterious cause of sorrow and anxiety. Perhaps I shall have been also the cause of thine untimely end."

The idea so dreadfully shook him, he dared no longer think, lest it should quite unman him; but determined to look upon her once more, he took the taper, which burnt beside him, and, with light steps, passed to her apartment. In the anti-room he found the housekeeper and Jane both sleeping in their chairs: all was profoundly still, and he began to fear Ellen was left without a wakeful guard; but at the sound of his footsteps, almost noiseless as they were, and the approaching light, for the bed-room door was open for air, Laura Cecil stole to meet him: she motioned to him to be silent, and advancing a few steps into the anti-room, said, in the lowest whisper, "For heaven's sake, Lord St. Aubyn, why this--why are you not retired to rest?"

"Ah, Laura! dear, kind Laura," he exclaimed, grasping her hand, "how could I rest, while that injured, perhaps that murdered angel lies suffering thus, and through my fault, through my accursed, headlong jealousy!"

"Deeply, indeed," said Laura, "do I lament that appearances should have thus misled you, my Lord, and am indeed astonished at it: had you but waited one hour, ere you so harshly condemned, from me you might have learned her perfect innocence: she pressed me to go with her this morning, which my having a bad head-ache prevented: she told me where she was going, shewed me the letter she had received, detailed her kind plans for relieving the poor widow, and mentioned not having explained her intentions to you, lest you should prevent her going; and she wished so much, she said, to see the _poor little infant_; certainly she did not mention any intention of going to that fatal house where you found her, and which, I am assured, she never thought of till passing the top of the street she recollected the book she so much valued, and which I one day heard her tell Jane to call for; but all this is now unavailing: let me beg you to retire: should the murmur of our voices disturb her, I shall indeed greatly lament it."

"Oh, let me look upon her--once more let me see her! Will she die? Is it possible she may recover?"

"It is very possible, almost certain, from her sleeping so quietly, if you do not disturb her: but think, if she should awake and see you, at this strange hour, with those distracted looks!"

"Yet I must see her _now_--yes, Laura, I must venture all; for how do I know if I shall ever see her more!"

"For heaven's sake, what do you mean? Surely, surely you do not think of--you are not meditating----"

"No matter what," said he hastily; "I must see her _now_."

Laura shrunk back astonished and dismayed; but feeling that he would not be contradicted, she again, with light steps, approached the bed; where, in a profound sleep, the effect of opiates, lay Ellen, "fair lily, and whiter than her sheets;" and but that in the stillness of night her quick short breathings were distinctly heard, it could hardly have been known she lived.

Laura then beckoned St. Aubyn to approach, which he did with trembling steps, and shaded by the curtain, gazed wistfully upon her. Overcome by the touching spectacle of youth, beauty, and innocence, in a few hours almost destroyed by his rash jealousy, the tears now ran down his manly cheeks; and hardly could he restrain the groans which heaved his bosom, while Laura's eyes streamed at the affecting sight before her. At that moment Ellen moved a little, and they both retreated, that if she opened her eyes she might not see them; but she still slept; and only murmuring "dear St. Aubyn," and a few inarticulate words, she was again silent.

Again St. Aubyn asked Laura if it were possible she could recover, and she assured him that Ellen already looked better than she had done an hour before; and at last, after he had knelt and imprinted a soft kiss on one of her hands, which lay on the counterpane, and lifted up his heart to heaven, in silent prayer for her recovery, he was prevailed on to quit the room.

The rest of the night St. Aubyn spent in settling some papers, and adding a few lines to his will, all of which he locked into a drawer, and sealing up the key, directed it to Lady Juliana.

At day-break his valet, according to order, came to him. To this confidential servant St. Aubyn explained the cause of his going from home so early, and left the pacquet for Lady Juliana in his care, to be delivered to her, should he not return in safety. He then sent to inquire of Jane for her lady, and had the happiness of hearing a favourable account of her. St. Aubyn then set off, attended only by one servant, to the house of Sir Edward Leicester, whose carriage was at the door, and they instantly proceeded to Wimbledon, where, on the spot marked in Charles Ross's letter, they alighted; and telling the coachman to draw off, and wait at a place they pointed out to him, the two friends walked up and down some time, expecting Ross.

In about ten minutes they saw him approaching, but alone: St. Aubyn just touched his hat, and said, "Mr. Ross, where is your friend?"

"My Lord," said Ross, in a firm tone, "I am here, not to fight, not to double the injuries you have already received from me, but to make every concession you can desire. I have brought no friend with me; I trust my honour and my life implicitly in your hands. Are you prepared to hear my explanation?--if not, I am ready to stand your fire."

"I know not, Sir," said St. Aubyn, haughtily, "what has caused this sudden alteration in your sentiments: this meeting was at your own request; and the insults you bestowed on Lady St. Aubyn yesterday make me as desirous of it now as you were when you appointed it."

"Yet, my Lord," said Sir Edward, "hear Mr. Ross: if this affair can be accommodated without bloodshed, I think myself called upon to insist it shall be so."

St. Aubyn bowed with a lofty air to Ross, and said:--

"Well, Sir, your explanation if you please."