Though Mordaunt could not intrude upon a party from which he had been by Joanna almost expressly interdicted, he yet, in returning from his ramble the next evening, contrived to pass the Parsonage, and to catch a glimpse of Ellen and Joanna walking in the garden with a young man. He bowed to them, and saw that their companion, whom he naturally concluded was Charles, took some hasty steps from the path he was walking in, to catch a nearer view of him; and Mordaunt fancied, from the earnestness of his gestures, and something of impatience in his air, when he rejoined his sister and her friend, that he spoke of him, and with displeasure: perhaps he was jealous of his attentions towards Ellen.—"Well, be it so," said Mordaunt; "I shall soon discover if he has any influence over her mind; and if I perceive that she wishes my absence, I will immediately quit Llanwyllan. Not for worlds would I make that lovely creature unhappy; far otherwise. If there be any engagement between her and this fortunate Charles, I will do all I can to promote his interest: but if, on the other hand, I find her to-morrow only lamenting him as a friend, I will yet linger here awhile, and forget, if possible, in this sweet retirement, and her enchanting society, all the past! Oh that I could as easily forget all the future threatens! Happy, most happy, could I here remain for ever! That, alas! cannot, must not be! Edmund, cruel, vindictive Edmund!—Ah! those dark eyes pursue me every where: in the gloom of night they are before me, demanding vengeance—vengeance for her blood! speaking volumes of hatred—of revenge! What a fate is mine! Soon, too soon, we must meet again!" Thus murmured Mordaunt, in one of those soliloquies to which he had accustomed himself; and his pace, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, betrayed the agitation of his mind. At length he came within sight of Llanwyllan Farm; and leaning on the little green gate which led to the house, the mixed odours of those sweet plants, which he now knew were Ellen's care, struck upon his senses: her lovely image rose renewed to his imagination, and the distant water-fall and rising moon seemed combined with that enchanting scent to lull his anguish to repose. Whilst he yet lingered, he saw through the trees Ellen, Joanna, and Charles, approaching; and Mordaunt hastily retired, with sensations not very unlike indignation and envy.
CHAP. III.
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