On Joanna's arrival at home, she inquired of her mother the foundation of the strange story she had heard from Mrs. Price; and could hardly help laughing when she learnt on what slight grounds the report had been raised. Mrs. Ross, however, still defended the probability of her own conjectures, and added, that she was, however, quite sure there were a great many books among the parcels, and she supposed she should now have less work done than ever, for that both Joanna and Ellen would never be easy, unless they were walking with Mordaunt, or reading some of the new trumpery he had sent down. "Dear mother," said Joanna, "why should you think so? You know I am not so very fond of reading, though I like it very well in turn, and should still more, if I had not so many other things to do: and as to Ellen, though I believe she has more pleasure in reading than any thing else in the world; yet you know she is so good and gentle, she never refuses to do any thing you wish her to do." "Aye! that has been; but mark my words, Joanna, you will see alterations you do not expect." This was one of those equivocal prophecies by which Mrs. Ross, like the Vicar of Wakefield, endeavoured to impress her family with an opinion of her penetration: she did not succeed so well as Dr. Primrose, for Mr. Ross never paid the smallest attention to them: and Joanna had so rarely seen one of them fulfilled, that she generally thought nothing about them. In the present instance, however, she certainly felt a little uneasy, and began to fear that poor Charles must forego all hopes of Ellen Powis: for Joanna was in her own mind convinced that Mordaunt greatly admired Ellen, and she was sure Ellen thought him a being of a superior order: and Joanna was too innocent and too unsuspicious to imagine, for a moment, that if Mordaunt liked Ellen, he could have any view but marriage. Ellen, on her side, felt more vexation this night than she could well account for: she could hardly doubt the truth of what Mrs. Price asserted to have heard from Mrs. Ross, namely, that Mordaunt was married, and his lady coming to Llanwyllan with him, this she fancied she should be very glad of: but then she was hurt that Mordaunt should have kept this circumstance a profound secret, and never once adverted to it when he talked, as he had done repeatedly during the two last days of his stay at Llanwyllan, of the pleasure he proposed to himself in the society of Mr. Ross, Ellen, and Joanna.
CHAP. V.
And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich.
Hamlet.
Ellen was engaged the next morning with her needle when Mordaunt suddenly entered the room (for the ceremony of announcing visitors was never thought of at Llanwyllan): she rose hastily, as hastily sat down again, turned pale, then red, and in answer to his hasty inquiries, said—"Are you alone, Sir?" "Alone," replied Mordaunt, surprized beyond measure; "yes, certainly: did you expect to see anyone with me?" "Yes—no, that is, I thought we were told that Mrs. Mordaunt, that your wife was to come with you." "My wife!" exclaimed Mordaunt, turning first as red and then as pale as Ellen had done, almost in the words of Othello, and perhaps not perfectly unlike him in feeling; "What wife? I have no wife." "I beg your pardon, indeed," said Ellen, "for giving you such a strange reception, but we were really told that your lady was certainly coming with you." "What could have given rise," said Mordaunt, regaining his composure, "to such a ridiculous tale? And did you, Ellen, could you believe it?" "I own I thought it strange," replied she, "that you had never mentioned it, and I doubted the truth of the story; but Joanna seemed to credit it, and I was told Mrs. Ross had asserted it, but I daresay," added she, smiling, "that it was one of those gossip's tales of which we have so many in this village." Mordaunt said he was wholly unable to account for it, and advancing to the table where she had been sitting, for hitherto they had both continued standing, said—"Shall I disturb you if I sit down by you for half-an-hour?" "Certainly not," said Ellen: "you will allow me to go on with my work." But Ellen's hand did not second her intention, for it shook so much, she was obliged to put down the work, and to say, half laughing, by way of covering her confusion—"I have flurried myself so ridiculously by fancying I was going to see a stranger, that I must rest till my hand is a little more steady." Mordaunt, for the first time, took the trembling hand within his own, and pressing it very gently, said:—"You have not shaken hands with me on my return, Ellen, yet I hoped you would have been glad to see your friend Mordaunt once more: will you allow me the title?" he added, gazing on her intently. Poor Ellen, who had not really any of the usual complimentary phrases, such as "you do me honour, &c." knew neither which way to look nor what to say; and Mordaunt, softly raising her hand to his lips, relinquished it, and pitying her visible confusion, endeavoured to relieve it by saving:—"I think you are a little, a very little paler and thinner than when I left Llanwyllan." "I have been taking a great deal of exercise," said Ellen; "and I think you too, Mr. Mordaunt, are changed: you look pale, and seem fatigued." "Oh yes, Ellen, yes; I have encountered much since we parted—much fatigue both of body and mind. In these sweet shades I hope once more to be at peace: oh, that I might never leave them more, 'the world forgetting, by the world forgot;' that I might, that I could remain here for ever! Would you, Ellen, would you endeavour to sooth my cares, and to restore my peace of mind?" He again seized her hand, and wildly grasping, pressed it to his throbbing forehead. Ellen looked at him with eyes of apprehension; his energy, his apparent agitation alarmed her: he saw the surprize he had excited, and dropping her hand, said:—"Forgive me, I am not myself to-day; but I must indeed be lost before I can for a moment forget the perfect respect I owe you." His countenance became at once more composed, and after a moment's pause, he said smiling:—"And how is the poor straw hat which I spoilt the night before I went away?" "Indeed you did not spoil it," said Ellen, laughing; "it would not easily be injured." "Oh, certainly, it was completely spoilt, and as I was the author of the mischief, though you would not give me any commission for Bristol or Bath, I could not resist the desire I felt to replace the loss which I know you cannot do here, and I have accordingly chosen one for you, which, though extremely simple, will, I am sure, be particularly becoming: I have also added one for Joanna, not exactly like your's in shape, because it would be ridiculous; I mean it would not be becoming to her style of face." "You are too good: I am sorry you should have had so much trouble." "Oh, the trouble certainly of doing any thing for you and your friend must be insupportable; terrible as it was, however, if you will do me the favour of wearing this simple bonnet I shall think it overpaid: there is also a little parcel for Mrs. Ross: and some books for our good friend Mr. Ross: nor have I forgotten my first and truly valued friend your father: his little remembrance I shall take the liberty of sending here; but shall I order the box with the other things to Mr. Ross's or here?" "Mrs. Ross and Joanna are going to pass this afternoon with me," said Ellen; "if you will therefore persist in taking so much trouble, we will examine our presents, which are, I dare say, very elegant." "I thank you a thousand times for not reproving my presumption in fancying I could chuse a hat for you. I will send the box presently, and when the contents have been looked at, may I join your little party and walk with you?" "Certainly; we shall be glad of your company." Mordaunt soon after went away, though Powis, who came in, and seemed heartily glad to see him, pressed him to partake their homely fare at dinner, but promising to come again in the afternoon, Mordaunt declined staying then. Powis was haunted by no fears on his daughter's account: his open hospitable temper made him always ready to receive the stranger,