Mystery & Confidence. Elizabeth Sibthorpe Pinchard

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,