Part 5

"No, indeed," replied Lady Meredith, laughing, "that question may be easily settled: we were all unanimously agreed, I assure you, my Lord."

Edmund, not exactly liking the turn of her countenance, was going to reply with some warmth, and probably might, with that chivalric gallantry which marked his character, have openly avowed, what he undoubtedly thought, that Ellen was the first and most admirable of women, if she had not stopt him by saying--

"Oh, pray Lord De Montfort, let Lady Meredith enjoy the diversion she is seeking: she has been in a teasing humour the whole evening."

"Pray, Lady Meredith," said Lady Juliana, with a grave air, "let us have no more of this rattle: Lady St. Aubyn is not fashionable enough to wish to be the _favourite_ of any man but her husband."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" cried Lady Meredith, "do not let us make a serious business of it. Be assured, my dear Lady St. Aubyn, I had no intention of getting you a grave lecture: though really," she added, in a low tone, "I was quite in hopes you were going to be a little like other people, and not be kept in awe any longer by that starched specimen of old maidenism. You cannot think, my dear, how much a little flirting would improve your beauty: then it gives an air of ease and fashion, which, _entre nous_, is the only thing you want to make you quite enchanting."

Ellen only smiled at this rattle, but with an air so little encouraging, she soon put an end to it; yet, to one less fixed in principle, Lady Meredith would have been a dangerous companion; and certain it is, more women are ruined by listening to precepts of this nature, half in earnest, half in jest, accompanied by a sort of _persiflage_ which few can withstand, than even by the wiles of men: against these a woman of virtue is on her guard; but she listens without fear to a female older than herself, and whom she thinks better versed in the ways of the world, till insensibly she adopts the same sentiments, and acquires that hateful worldly tone which affects to laugh at every thing serious and praiseworthy.

Ellen, however, was not so easily misled: her natural penetration detected the fallacy; and all the shafts of Lady Meredith's ridicule fell, by her, unheeded.

On the way home, Lady Juliana inveighed bitterly against the flirting manners and ill-judged raillery of Lady Meredith, who, she said, instead of improving as she grew older, was every year worse and worse, and was enough to spoil the conduct of a whole nation of women.

"Pray, my dear," said she, "don't you be led by her nonsense: I hope she will not persuade you to follow her example. Indeed, nephew, I wondered at you for placing that odd, wild-looking young De Montfort next my niece: he does not please me at all."

In short, the old lady was so thoroughly out of humour, that they were very glad to set her down at her own house.

Two or three days after this, Lord de Montfort took leave of the St. Aubyns, before he left London, on his way with a party of young men to see Oxford and Cambridge, and afterwards to go to the Lakes, not meaning to be again in London till September. He carried with him the most exalted opinion of Lady St. Aubyn, but he thought of her rather as an angel than a woman, and was devoted to her with a purity of attachment inconceivable by the worldly-minded.

CHAP. VI.

She sees once more those lovely plains expand, Where the first flow'ret lured her infant hand. No where she thinks the sun so mildly gleams, As on the banks where first she drank its beams: So green no other mead, so smiles no other land! Thou little spot, where first I suck'd the light, Thou witness of my earliest smile and tear-- Loved haunt!

SOTHEBY'S OBERON.

Nothing more of any moment occurred during the stay of Lord and Lady St. Aubyn in London, for De Montfort's departure, and the perfect attachment which subsisted between the noble pair, silenced those tongues, and stopped those remarks, which Edmund's too obvious admiration had prepared to annoy Lady St. Aubyn.

They left London early in April, and spent the month of May at St. Aubyn's, being old-fashioned and _tasteless_ enough not to find any pleasure in broiling through the hot months in the metropolis, and leaving the

"Opening lawns, deep glooms, and airy summits,"

of their own domain untenanted in the most attractive season of the year.

From St. Aubyn's Castle, the long talked of journey into Wales was to commence. Ellen longed once more to revisit the haunts of her infancy, and to see her father and her early friends; and St. Aubyn willingly consented to gratify her.

The child was to travel with them, attended by the faithful Bayfield and his nurses: they waited till the end of May, knowing that the bad roads of North Wales would be hardly passable at an earlier period.

They went from St. Aubyn's to Shrewsbury, and from thence to Carnarvon, stopping on the way, as in their former journey, to see all that was worthy of observation; and as this route was entirely different from that they had before taken, many new objects presented themselves to their notice. Amongst other picturesque scenes, they passed the woody banks of the Dee, whence they obtained a striking view of the beautiful and romantic town of Llangollen, with its church, and elegant bridge, embosomed in trees.

At Llangollen they rested, and though it has in itself nothing particularly interesting, yet its environs afford much sublime and pleasing scenery: amongst these the Vale of Crucis is one of the most lovely secluded situations that fancy can portray; it is adorned by the fine remains of Valle Crucis Abbey, and its back-ground, formed by a lofty mountain, on whose summit stands the venerable ruin of Castle Dinas Bran.

After seeing all that was deserving observation in this charming spot, they proceeded through a fine romantic country to Carnarvon, and from thence to Llanwyllan.

The latter part of the roads were intolerably bad, and the English servants, who had never seen any thing like them, were in momentary expectation of having their necks broken; indeed, Lord Mordaunt's nurses walked several miles, fearing lest the baby should be injured; and in truth, even Ellen, though fearless for herself, felt a little uneasy for the infant.

All these perils and dangers, however, at length happily past, and Ellen's heart beat with ecstacy when she saw the white chimnies of Llanwyllan Farm peeping above the ancient oaks around it. The carriages stopt before the house, and in an instant Ellen was folded in the arms of her father: her fair face pressed tenderly to the rough cheek of the good old man, while the mingled drops of filial love and parental affection fell in showers from their eyes: repeatedly Powis clasped his lovely daughter to his heart, and felt enraptured, that though "so great a lady, his dear Ellen had not forgotten him:" at length he was at leisure to see and speak to his noble son-in-law, and the awkward air of respect he endeavoured to assume was soon changed to one of more cordial affection by the kind greeting Lord St. Aubyn gave him. In the meantime Ellen stept into the hall where the nurses and servants were waiting, and taking the infant from Mrs. Bayfield, returned with him into the parlour, and with delighted looks, placed him in her father's arms.

Oh, moment of exquisite bliss! moment which might have repaid the sorrows of many years! Can there be in this world an instant of such pure delight as the daughter feels when she places her first-born on the bosom of a venerable parent.

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek It would not stain an angel's cheek; 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head.

SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE.

Mrs. Ross's domestic talents had been exerted to the utmost to prepare Llanwyllan Farm in the best possible manner for its noble guests: she did not indeed quite understand all the various arrangements which are absolutely necessary for the tolerable comfort of such a family; but with the assistance of Dame Grey, who picqued herself on remembering how things used to be when she lived at 'Squire Davis's, and the ready aid of the active Joanna, every thing was far beyond Ellen's expectations; and as she encouraged no fine lady-like airs in her nursery attendants, nor even in her own woman, none of those vexatious murmurs disturbed her which servants often have the happy art of contriving where no real cause for complaint exists; and certainly the furniture for the nursery was not quite so rich as Lady Juliana had chosen for that at the Castle: the nurses found that the young Lord slept quite as well, and his cheeks bloomed quite as freshly beneath the clean white cotton hangings of this little couch as under the quilted satin cradle at St. Aubyn's.

The whole party was speedily arranged, for there was plenty of room and abundance of provisions.

The Earl and Countess had brought no more servants than were absolutely necessary; and Bayfield, highly as she was respected by her noble employers, was not above directing the management of their table, or any other domestic office which could make her useful, and though Powis, at first, thinking her a much greater lady than he had been accustomed to associate with, was very much disposed to treat her as his equal; she soon convinced him by her respectful conduct towards her lady's father that she considered herself as greatly his inferior.

As soon as Ellen had looked round the house, and seen the arrangements for her child's accommodation settled, she began to be anxious to see her good friends the Rosses; and finding from her father they talked of not coming till the next day, she begged him to give her his arm, and she would walk to the Parsonage: all fatigue, she said, had vanished from the moment she found herself beneath her father's roof.

"Come, my dear father," said she, "let us all go: the baby shall come too: the dear good people will be delighted to see us; they will give us some tea, and we can return here to eat our fruit supper: you know we never used to eat anything else at night, and I hope the cream is as good as it used to be when I managed the dairy."

Powis looked with delight on the sweet unaffected creature, who was, as he expressed himself afterwards to Mrs. Ross, "Not a bit set up by her high fortune, but just as she used to be when only Ellen Powis."

The infant now "awaking from his rosy nap," and arrayed with the nicest care, his lovely face shaded by a rich lace border to his cap, and his fine cambric robe cut to shew his fair bosom and dimpled arms, with his beautiful mother in a plain white gown and straw hat, attended by St. Aubyn and Powis, set out for the Parsonage.

On the way, Ellen spoke with the sweetest condescension to all she met, and many of the villagers who knew she was arrived contrived to throw themselves in her way.

Mrs. Howel, who used to do her many little services at the market-town, happened now to cross her path, and profoundly courtesying, would have passed on, but Ellen, saying--"Excuse me a moment, my dear St. Aubyn," turned and ran after her.

"How do you do, Mrs. Howel?" said she, holding out her hand, which the good woman hardly ventured to touch, again courtesying.

Ellen made kind inquiries for all her family by name; and seeing her old neighbour's eyes involuntarily wandering towards the child, as if she anxiously wished, but was ashamed to ask a nearer view of him, she beckoned the nurse to bring him towards her, and said:--

"Do look at my little boy, Mrs. Howel: is he not a fine fellow?"

"Ah, Madam," said the good woman, "he is the loveliest babe I ever saw, except your Ladyship, at the same age.--God bless him, and God bless you, Madam; for you deserve every kind of happiness."

"Thank you, thank you, my good neighbour. Come to the Farm and see us when it is convenient: at present, my Lord is waiting for me, so good-bye." And she lightly ran on, leaving the farmer's wife charmed and delighted by her sweetness and kind attention.

They soon reached the Parsonage, and were received with unaffected joy.

Great indeed, at first, was the bustle of poor Mrs. Ross, who, not hoping for such an honour, was not drest, nor her parlour, though always neat, in that high state of preparation it would have been had she expected them; but she was soon convinced that the string of apologies she meditated were totally unnecessary, by finding the warm-hearted Ellen first in her own arms, and leaving them to fly to those of Joanna, and then with sweet filial reverence bending to the kind parental embrace of the venerable Ross. St. Aubyn and the good Powis, in the meantime, stood gazing on her with rapturous emotion, and both thinking there never was so enchanting a creature. The babe was admired, caressed, and finally pronounced a prodigy of beauty and early apprehension, and his sweet good-humoured smiles were uninterrupted even by one frown, though handed from one to the other with raptures which would have made an infant of a less amiable disposition cross and fretful.

"Well, my excellent friend," said St. Aubyn, aside to Ross, "you see once more your lovely pupil, from whom you parted with so much regret, not, I hope, injured either in person or mind by her intercourse with the great world. Oh, my good Sir, how infinitely am I indebted to you for implanting principles in her youthful bosom which have stood the test of many trying scenes. You and I must have a great deal of conversation, and I know you will be charmed to hear how admirably she conducts herself on all occasions."

"I _am_ charmed," said Ross, while an affectionate tear stood in his eye, "charmed with all I see and hear of both: indeed, my Lord, that lovely unaffected creature adorns the rank to which you have raised her: the choice you made reflects as much honour on your penetration as I hope it will ensure happiness to your future life; nor could any young person have better stood the trying test of sudden elevation, of that admiration which doubtless has surrounded her. Now see how sweetly she returns to us without one high air, one look of dissatisfaction at the inferiority of accommodations or manners she must see.

"Polite as all her life in courts had been, Yet good as she the courts had never seen."

"You have, indeed," said St. Aubyn, "most happily characterized her; but you cannot think half so highly of her as I have reason to do."

By this time the tea was over; and Ellen, wrapping up her boy, sent him home; but instead of returning with him, she remained at the Parsonage all the evening, delighted herself, and delighting all around her.

"Well," said Mrs. Ross, after her visitors were departed, "well, I never saw any thing in my life so strange! Why, I thought to have seen a fine lady, all dressed in silks and jewels, and looking stiff and formal-like; and I thought to have said, my Lady Countess, and your Ladyship--and behold! here she comes in a plain white gown, but little better than one I scolded her for wearing once--you remember it, Joanna?--And flies to me, kisses me, and calls me dear mamma, as she used to do; and if I had been to have died for it, I could not call her any thing but Ellen, and child, the whole evening almost, except once or twice I recollected myself, and said my Lady, when we were at the window together, and she put her dear arms round my neck, and said dear mamma, I am _your_ Ellen!--and then she is grown such a beauty!--to be sure, she always was as pretty a creature as could be I thought, but now she looks somehow so sensible, and so happy; and then her carriage is so easy, and yet so grand, that if I did not know to the contrary, I should think she was born a great princess.--And then the sweet baby--with his little laughing mouth, and pretty eyes!--And my Lord too, to be so kind--that I once as good as told I wished he would go away from Llanwyllan: and so I did wish it, for could I ever have thought it would come to such honour and happiness for Ellen!"

Ross and Joanna listened with smiles to this long harangue, and though not quite so fluent in their praises, were at least equally charmed and delighted with herself.

St. Aubyn and his Ellen remained thus beloved and happy at Llanwyllan for some time, during which Ellen visited with the utmost kindness every farmhouse of which she had formerly known the inhabitants, and gladdening every poor cottage not only with her smiles, but with more substantial marks of her favour and benevolence.

In the course of the first fortnight Ellen learned that there was a mutual attachment between her friend Joanna and a young clergyman, who did the duty of a parish not more than three miles from those filled by the worthy Ross, and learning from that good man that he had no objection to the match, for that Mr. Griffiths was a man of excellent character, and well suited to Joanna, both in age and temper, and that the only possible objection was the narrowness of his income, and there being no parsonage-house on the living he served, nor any house within many miles where they could reside, she consulted with her Lord, and the next opportunity said to Ross:

"My dear Sir, I have a proposal to make to you. It is the mutual request of my Lord and myself, and you cannot think how much you will oblige us by complying."

"I know not," said Ross, "what I could refuse to either of you."

"My father," said she, "complains much of the loneliness of his winter evenings; yet he does not like to remove from Llanwyllan and come to live near us, as we earnestly wished him to do; but he says our modes of life are so different from those to which he has been accustomed, and the journey appears so alarmingly long to him, who has never been fifty miles from home, that he says he must be contented with the hope of seeing us here sometimes, and end his life where he began it. But ah, my dear Sir, his wishes, as well as our's, are, that you and Mrs. Ross would remove to Llanwyllan Farm, and leave this house for Joanna and your future son-in-law. You are now, we all think, too much advanced in life to serve three churches, as you have done for many years: give up two of them to Mr. Griffiths, with the stipend attached to them: and surely, surely, my dearest Sir, you will not refuse from Ellen, from your little pupil, a trifling token of her love to make your life and dear Mrs. Ross's comfortable, and to enable you to give Joanna to her lover with a sufficiency to make them easy."

She rose, and putting a pocket-book into his hand, said, "Not one word: I will not hear one word. For once, your Ellen will be obstinate, and not listen even to _you_."

She ran out of the room, and seeking Joanna, made her put on her bonnet, and come with her to dine at the Farm, leaving a gay message with Mrs. Ross, that she should hope to hear a favourable answer to her request the next day.

This hint was sufficient to send the good lady to know of Ross what Lady St. Aubyn meant: she found him overwhelmed with tender gratitude. The pocket-book contained notes to a large amount, with a slip of paper containing these words:

My dear Sir,

I have adapted the enclosed rather to your very limited wishes than to my own sense of what I ought to have done. Pray let this little transaction never be mentioned more, unless any plan more pleasing to you than that I shall propose when I give you this should occur to you. If my request be at all unpleasant to you, pray reject it without hesitation.

Your ever obliged

ELLEN ST. AUBYN.

Ross now explained to his wife what had passed, and they both agreed no plan could be devised more desirable for all parties; and that it would be both rude and ungrateful to refuse a present, which, however, they sincerely wished had been of less value.

All was soon finally settled to the great joy of Powis, who was delighted with the idea of his friendly inmates. The young lovers also were full of grateful joy, and Ellen relinquished the idea she had at one time entertained of taking Joanna home with her: Ross objected to it, as he did not wish her to be introduced into scenes of life so different from those she had been, or ever would be again accustomed to; and Griffiths did not like the idea of her going to such a distance: nay, Joanna herself, much as she had wished to see St. Aubyn Castle, seemed now very well contented to remain for life in the vale of Llanwyllan.

CHAP. VII.

The sky it seems would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. Oh! the cry did knock Against my very heart!--Poor souls, they perish'd!

SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST.

St. Aubyn had related to Ross the conclusion of those circumstances which he had confided to him before his marriage with Ellen, and though that venerable man rejoiced that Edmund's vindictive intentions had been so happily conquered, neither he nor the Earl felt entirely satisfied on the subject.

Lord De Montfort was certainly an excentric character, and it was possible his impetuous feelings might yet take another direction, especially if the bigotted Catholics, by whom he generally was surrounded, should obtain any intimation of those apparent facts which militated so much against the character of St. Aubyn, and which only his own word opposed; and that they might do so, was by no means improbable, when his occasional night-wanderings were remembered, in which, as he had done to Ellen, he might hereafter to some other reveal what would induce them to insist on an explanation.

Ellen, it was true, had so touched him with admiration and tenderness, that he could not resist her influence, but now removed from any chance of seeing her again, there was no saying what new turn his ardent imagination would take.

All these ideas, which St. Aubyn had carefully concealed from his wife, he communicated to his venerable friend, who could not deny their rationality. The wishes of both centered in one point, and that was the discovery of De Sylva; and nothing could be more improbable than that he should now be found after years had elapsed, in which the agents of St. Aubyn, and of the Marquis of Northington, had sought him in vain, though their search had been extended through every great city in Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and England: it was, in fact, most likely, either that he was dead, or had so completely changed his appearance and name as to be living obscurely, perhaps on one of the very spots where they had vainly endeavoured to find him.

These wishes and reflections they never discussed except when without other witnesses, being mutually unwilling to impart any of their anxieties to Lady St. Aubyn, who, happy in her benevolent plans, in the society of her father and early friends, in the improving beauty and health of her lovely boy, and the undeviating and increasing love of St. Aubyn, seemed not to have a care remaining.

From Charles Ross, about this time, his father received letters, expressive of the happiness he felt in his present situation, and of gratitude to Lord St. Aubyn, who had procured it for him, adding, he hoped to remain on his present station for some months, as they were constantly taking prizes, and his share already amounting to a considerable sum of money.

The Earl or Countess never mentioned either to his parents or sister his mad mistake respecting them during his stay in London, nor the mischievous consequences of it, unwilling to give them pain by a knowledge of those unpleasant transactions.