صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

at five and twenty he shall have a large fortune, is not likely from principle and the love of employment to study very hard. The known expectations, the handsome person, prompt attentions, musical powers, and pleasing manners of Charles Mandeville, soon gave him entrance into some gay and fashionable circles in the metropolis; and at the end of six months after he left the village of R his letters to Ellen were neither so frequent nor so long as they had been, but they contained some tender words, such as "dearest, beloved girl," and so on; and Ellen tried to be satisfied. Nay, she was satisfied; for how was it possible that Charles should have changed so soon, if at all; since her heart was unchanged, though she had had temptations to falsehood thrown in her way.

Sir Henry Claremont, a young Baronet, came to reside on a beautiful estate belonging to a friend of his, who was forced to live abroad on account of his health. This estate joined the Park-gate of Sir George Mortimer. Sir Henry on losing a mother, whom he almost adored, felt himself unable to remain in his own house where every thing reminded him of his loss, he therefore hired the seat in question of its owner. But he declined visiting his neighbours, and had gained the title of the recluse, when he saw Ellen at church soon after she finally left school, and from that moment he was a recluse no longer; for as soon as Sir George found that the young Baronet sought, rather than avoided him, he invited him to his house; and a great deal of visiting intercourse took place, till, on the obvious intimacy and attachment which ensued between Ellen and Charles, Sir Henry gradually ceased his visits, and his love of solitude and home returned. But when Charles went to London, and when, on enquiry, Sir Henry found that no engagement existed between him and his cousin he again became sociable, and at length after "a series of quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm or so vague as to be misunderstood," he ventured to ask leave to address Miss Mortimer. But Ellen was firm in her refusal of his addresses; and Sir George could not help saying,

"Well, Ellen, I only hope that Charles may prove himself worthy of the sacrifice you are making for his sake." "Sacrifice, my dear uncle !"-"Yes; for is not Sir Henry Claremont every thing a father would desire in a husband for his daughter, or his daughter for herself? Is he not handsome, young, good, pious, studious. Before his rich neighbours knew him did not his poor ones bless him, Ellen ?"— "Oh yes, he is very good, and charming I dare say, and if I did not love Charles, I-but I do love Charles, so I cannot have Sir Henry."

Sir George shook his head, sighed, and told Sir Henry he had nothing at present to hope. Sir Henry sighed also, but he contrived to remember the "at present" qualified the refusal from the lips of Sir George, and he resolved to hope on; in the mean while Ellen could not express a wish which was not immediately fulfilled: presents so delicately offered that they could not be refused, and attentions so well timed that they could not be dispensed with, proved the continuation of his love; a love which, though silent in words, spoke in every glance of his intelligent eye, and seemed resolved to burn unchanged even in the midst of despair. There were times when Ellen herself thought it was a pity she could not reward such love as that of Sir Henry; but this was only when she had for a few days vainly expected a letter from Charles. If the expected letter, when it came, contained its usual quantity of tender epithets, and one regret at being separated from her, then she forgot Sir Henry's incessant assiduity; she heard with calm approbation only of his benevolent exertions, and had no wish so near her heart as to see Charles again; no regret but that she did not receive the long-promised invitation to London from her mother's old friend, Mrs. Ainslie. At length this precious invitation arrived, and Ellen was requested to set off immediately, as at the end of the month her friend would be obliged to travel to the North. It was the suddenness of the summons which tempted Ellen to surprize Charles, as she hoped, agreeably; and Sir George, who suspected that Charles's attach

ment had not resisted the destroying power of absence as well as her's had done, was willing that he should be taken by surprize, as he thought that, if Ellen could see her favourite's heart off its guard, she might find out that he had ceased to love her, and might thence derive power to conquer her own attachment.

The parting hour with her relations was, on Ellen's side, one of tears quickly succeeded by smiles when she found herself really seated in the mail, and really on her journey to London; that journey, at the end of which she was to see, though not alas! immediately, the face which haunted her dreams, and gave interest to her waking hours; and to hear that voice whose parting accents still rung mournfully and melodiously in her ears. To Ellen the novelty of the present scene, and the expectation of the future, gave a feeling of intoxication which made her almost troublesomely loquacious to her companion, Mr. Betson, for she could only converse concerning London, and ask incessant questions relative to the place of her destination. As they passed Sir Henry Claremont's Parkgate, Ellen saw him leaning on it as if watching to catch a last look of her. She eagerly returned his bow of adieu, and kissed her hand kindly to him, but was soon again engrossed in questioning her companion. As it grew dark, Mr. Betson's answers were shorter and shorter; and, when night came on, his replies dwindled down to a plain "Yes," and "No." At last Ellen with dismay saw him, after a hearty yawn, put on his night-cap, and settle himself down in the corner. "Dear me, Sir!" she exclaimed, "to be sure you are not going to sleep?" "Why not, Miss Mortimer; I'am not a young man, and I really advise you to sleep yourself, for you will want all your spirits for the journey, and for London when you get there." Ellen was disappointed, but she saw that sleep was so much dearer to Mr. Betson as a companion than she was, that she submitted in silence to the preference; or rather she talked, as talk she must, to her aunt's maid now, for the time being her own, and in projecting altera

tions which she was to execute in her old things, or in thinking over what new things she was to purchase, she beguiled part of the long night, which still separated her from London and her love, but at dawn she had talked herself into weariness, and sleep was not far behind. When she awoke, the approach to London, through Piccadilly, was in sight, and Ellen was in an ecstacy of admiration! Oh, the incessant questions with which she now assailed Mr. Betson. But the question nearest her heart was, " Pray, Sir, where is Albany? Because this is Piccadilly, you say, and Albany, I know, is near it." But Mr. Betson had never heard of Albany, which Charles mentioned as a most fashionable residence, ergo, Mr. Betson was a vulgar man, and knew nothing of ton and life.

Ellen now began to regret that she had not written to request Charles to meet her, or rather to let him know she was to be seen at seven o'clock in the morning at the Golden Cross, Charing Cross. No doubt he would have been there, and then she should have seen him so much sooner. This consideration had led her into a deep reverie, when the mail turned into the Inn-yard at one of the entrances, and she found Mr. Ainslie's carriage waiting for her.

It is easy to imagine that Ellen's ideas of London were considerably lowered as she turned her back on the West-end of the Town; and after going down the comparatively gloomy Strand, in which the current of human life had not yet began its course, saw the carriage turn into the spacious but dark area of Serjeant's Inn; and Charles lived in Albany,and that was near Piccadilly! But the warm affectionate greeting of her mother's friends, the cheerful fire, the refreshing breakfast, and the evidences of kind hearts, of taste and of opulence, which surrounded her, suspended for a while even the remembrance of Charles and regret that he was so far off; and Ellen was so cheered, so alive, that she could not be prevailed upon by her kind hostess to go to bed for a few hours. "Oh, no-it is impossible! I should not sleep if I did ;" then

blushing deeply, she said, that she must write a note. "You will find whatever you want for that purpose in your own chamber." "No-not unless you go with me thither," she replied, blushing still more," for I want you to write what I shall dictate." Mrs. Ainslie accordingly accompanied Ellen to her room, and there she learnt what she wished her to write, as follows: "If Mr. Mandeville will take the trouble to call at Mr. Ainslie's, No., Serjeant's Inn, some time to-day, he will learn some intelligence respecting his Cousin Ellen Mortimer."

"But why," said Mrs. Ainslie, "not tell him at once that you are here." The treasured fancy of her heart, however, was indulged, and Mrs. Ainslie did as she desired her, then sent her own servant to Albany with the note.

Mrs. Ainslie, in consequence of having been told in confidence by Sir George that he suspected Charles's heart of having played truant to Ellen, allowed the expression "sometime to-day" to remain, and did not insist on chang, ing it for a particular hour, as she thought that Charles coming early or late, according to the suggestions of his own heart, would prove the state of that heart beyond a doubt to her eyes, though not, perhaps, to Ellen's; therefore with some anxious expectation, though not equal to that of her young guest, Mrs. Ainslie awaited the arrival of Charles. But hour succeeded to hour, and yet he did not come ;while Ellen's cheek was now pale, now flushed, as disappointment or hope preponderated; yet it was in reality all disappointment, for if he had been interested in hearing aught concerning her he would have come directly. "Surely," said Ellen at last, no longer able to conceal her vexation. "Surely Charles is not in town?" "You shall question my servant yourself," said Mrs. Ainslie, and she rung for him, though she already knew what he would reply, which was, that he saw Mr. Mandeville's servant, who told him he would give the note into his master's hand immediately. Yet it was three o'clock, and he was not

at Serjeant's Inn. "Well," said Mrs. Ainslie, “I conclude, Ellen, you will not stay at home any longer in hopes of this truant's arrival. My carriage is coming round, and I must take you to see something, as you are neither tired nor sleepy." No,-Ellen was neither, but she was something much worse-she was sick at heart. The bright prospect that love and hope had pic tured was blighted, and she wished already, earnestly wished, that she had never come to London. But the next moment she excused Charles's delay thus:-" He could not suppose he was to see me, and perhaps he thought it a hoax. Yes yes I dare say he believed it a take-in. Oh! why was I so foolish as not to write to him myself. I am sure he would have come then."

This internal colloquy served to tranquillize her mind so completely that she ventured at length to repeat it audibly to Mrs. Ainslie, but that lady coldly replied, “this is a fresh argument, Ellen, for you to consent to go out, and I hope you will no longer refuse." However, she did refuse; it was far more delightful to her to stay within expecting, and looking for Charles Mandeville, even though he did not come, than to see all the wonders of London. Mrs. Ainslie, however, took her accustomed drive in the park, with a feeling of kind vexation at her fond obstinacy, painfully subdued by pity for the apparent strength of an attachment, which was probably ill-requited. But she would not have left her had she not wished to ascertain the truth of what she suspected; namely, that Charles Mandeville, feeling no particular eagerness or anxiety to know the intelligence concerning Ellen, had gone to Bond-street and St. James's-street, or to some of his other daily haunts, and was probably, as usual, finishing his morning in the drive; and there Mrs. Ainslie saw him. For a moment she resolved to send her servant to say a lady wished to speak to him, then introduce herself, tell him who she was, and invite him to dinner; but she thought it was more for Ellen's good to let events take the direction which Ellen had given them by her

note, and she left the park almost as soon as her end in going was answered, and returned home without speaking to Mandeville.

"Well," said Ellen, mournfully, as soon as she saw her, "he has not been here yet!" "No, certainly not, for I met him several times in the Park on horseback." "Then you have seen him; and if I had gone with you I should have seen him too," said Ellen, the long imprisoned tears trickling down her face, "but, Oh! how unkind it is in him not to call; but surely, surely, you told him." "I only knew him personally, my dear girl, and he does not know me when he sees me; nor could I be sure that you would not be displeased with me for depriving you of your chance for surprizing him agreeably."

Spite of herself, Mrs. Ainslie's voice drawled almost sarcastically when she uttered "agreeably," and Ellen, bursting again into tears, hurried to her own apartment.

I will not attempt to describe the misery which Ellen's confiding, fond, and inexperienced heart underwent when she reached it, but I fear many of my readers, young and old, can imagine what it was from their own painful experience.

Whether Mrs. Ainslie's heart was experienced in the same way, I know not, but certain it is, that she allowed Ellen to indulge her feelings till the indulgence was probably become burthensome, before she knocked at her door. Oh! how tenacious, how clinging, even to a hair for life, is hope, in a young, impassioned heart! Ellen thought that, perhaps, Charles Mandeville was now really come, and she eagerly opened the door to receive the welcome tidings. "Alas! No he is not come," said Mrs. Ainslie, answering the asking eye. Ellen blushed, and turned away with her handkerchief to her face.

"Come, come, my dear child! this must not be," said her kind hostess; I want my Ellen Mortimer's daughter to be seen to advantage; and spite of what poets and novellists say, swelled eye-lids and a red nose, however they may prove sensibility, are no improvers of beauty, and I expect some smart young men to dinner."

[ocr errors]

Ellen did not reply; she recollected but that for her own obstinacy Charles might have been one of the smart young men. However, she felt ashamed of seeming to feel so much for one who appeared by his present conduct to feel so little for her, that she dried up her tears, washed her eyes with rose-water, called herself an idiot, conversed with Mrs. Ainslie on indifferent subjects, dressed herself as becomingly as she could, for perhaps Charles might call in the evening, and went down to dinner looking very pretty, and, to those who had not seen her before, unaffectedly animated, but Mrs. Ainslie saw that her spirits were forced; she also observed, with considerable pain, that every knock at the door made her start and change colour, and that she took little interest in aught that was going forward. Poor thing! thought she as she looked on her sweet and modest loveliness, and is thy fair morn so soon overcast? Is a blight to come so soon over thy beauties? Not if I can teach her to distinguish the false from the true. However, he might think the note a hoax.

At length the long weary day ended, and even before the company departed, Ellen, on pretence of fatigue, obtained leave to retire to bed, where, from the journey of the preceding night, she was able to sleep spite of her sorrows. Welcome, however, was the sight of the next morning, for surely Charles would call that day; and if he did not it would be evident that he thought the note was an imposition, and then she resolved to write to him her

self.

The truth, the mortifying truth was, that Mandeville, though surprized at receiving such a note, resolved to ride to Serjeant's Inn during the course of the day, but in the busy idleness of his London life he utterly forgot to do so, as Ellen no longer reigned the mistress of every thought; and consequently the desire of hearing "intelligence" of her was not, as it once would have been, one of the dearest wishes of his heart. But when he rose the next day, and saw the note lying on his table, he was rather ashamed of his negligence, and resolved to go to Serjeant's Inn as soon as he

returned from breakfasting at the rooms of a fashionable friend of his in Albany, especially as Mr. Ainslie was, he knew, a man high at the bar, and his wife gave good parties for that end of the town. Still it was odd that an anonymous note should come from such a quarter; "intelligence concerning his cousin Ellen Mortimer." What could it be?Surely Ellen was not false! Surely she was not going to be married! The idea was far from being a pleasant one; but he glanced his eye over his really handsome face now embellished by the flush of apprehension, and muttering to himself "no, no, that cannot be;" he thoughtfully descended the stairs, and went to his apartment.

Ellen meanwhile, unlike the Ellen of her uncle's house, took her seat at Mrs. Ainslie's breakfast-table, with a look of anxiety and uncomfortable ness on her usually bright and happy countenance, which gives age even to the countenance of youth; and Mr. Ainslie thought her some years older than she appeared the day before, ere the cloud of disappointed hope had passed over her brow, and the anxieties of love had began to tread on the heel of its enjoyments. Mrs. Ainslie too was hurt and mortified; she had expected to give uninterrupted pleasure to Ellen by the invitation to London, but she found that she had been the means of misery to her. However, if Mandeville had ceased to love, the sooner and the more completely she was convinced of his falsehood the better it would be for her future peace; and the remedy, though very painful, would, she trusted, make the cure complete.

Ellen ate scarcely any thing, but Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie were too delicate to notice her want of appetite as they knew its cause; and when the usual hour of breakfast for fashionable young men was, according to Mrs. Ainslie, passed, she began to recover a degree of hope that Charles would soon appear, and with it some of her vivacity and all her beauty; for the flush of anxious expectation deepened into even feverish brilliancy the colour on her cheek, and gave lustre and added expression to her ever bright and tender blue eye.

The boy has no heart! thought Mr. Ainslie, as he gazed on her, or he would have come post to receive intelligence of a creature like that. Oh, she would be better without him. So thought his amiable wife; and the next thing to be done was to convince Ellen, if possible, of the same obvious truth. But on what was Ellen's love of him founded? If, thought Mrs. Ainslie, her love be not founded on the supposed superior qualities of mind or heart of the man she loves, I believe any woman's love may be conquered, and I trust Ellen is like other women; then, if gratified self-love be the foundation of her attachment, wounded self-love may prove the means of bringing it to the ground again; and I will see what can be done.

This day Ellen was not doomed to expect in vain; but after a tremendous knock from his groom, which made Ellen start from her seat, Mr. Mandeville was announced; he had asked for Mrs. Ainslie, and was instantly admitted to that lady; she had asked Ellen whether she wished to receive Charles alone, but as she replied no, though very faintly, Mrs. Ainslie was glad of the slightest excuse to stay and witness the manner and conduct of Charles on the surprize which awaited him.

When he entered, Ellen stood in the next room by the open folding door, where he could not see her; after the usual salutations, Mandeville said, "I take the liberty of calling on you, Madam, in consequence of receiving this note."-"You did right, Sir, for I wrote it; but the intelligence to which it alludes you must receive from a lady in the next room." He turned, and beheld Ellen pale and agitated; for at sight of her no glow of delight sparkled in his eyes, mantled on his cheek, or gave tenderness to his tone; he blushed, indeed, but it was evidently from embarrassed, not agreeable surprize; and his salutation of "Why Ellen! Is it possible? you here!" was spoken in the same drawling, affected tone with which he had addressed Mrs. Ainslie.

Yes," faltered out the poor girl as she withdrew her hand from his unimpassioned grasp; "yes, I thought would be surprized to see me."

you

« السابقةمتابعة »