Mystery and Confidence.

Vol. 1.

by Elizabeth Pinchard.

CHAP. I.

Due westward, fronting to the green, A rural portico was seen, Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine The ivy and Idean vine; The clematis, the favor'd flow'r, Which boasts the name of virgin's bow'r.

LADY OF THE LAKE.

At the foot of one of the most romantic mountains in North Wales, about a mile from the coast of Carnarvonshire, stands the little village of Llanwyllan: there, amongst trees which seemed coeval with the dwelling, was a very large farm-house, the residence of Farmer Powis. Its high chimneys, and neatly white-washed walls, rendered it a pleasing object to those who travelled on the high-road, about a mile off, which led to the next market-town, if high-road that might be called which merely served to facilitate the journies of the neighbouring farmers' wives to market and back again, or those of the curate, who served the churches in the immediate vicinity. The hand of native taste had removed a few branches from the immense trees which shaded this rural dwelling, and by that means afforded to the inhabitants a view of the road, the spire of the village church, and two or three natural rills of water, which, falling from the adjacent hills, increased the beauty of the scene. At this dwelling a traveller arrived on the evening of a day which had been intensely hot, in the summer of 18--: the dust which covered his shoes, and almost concealed the colour of his coat, declared him a pedestrian; probably, therefore, of inferior rank; yet, under the shade which fatigue had thrown over his features, might be discerned a fine and interesting countenance; and when at the door of the farm-house, where Powis sat inhaling the mixed fumes of his evening pipe, and the fragrance of a fine honeysuckle which entwined around the porch, he inquired the nearest way to----, the tones of his voice, and the fineness of his accent, would, to a practised ear, have proclaimed a man who had mixed with the higher orders of society: to Powis, however, they conveyed no idea but that the traveller was weary and spoke with civility; and either would have demanded from him civility, nay, kindness in return: he rose therefore from his seat, and pushing aside his little table, made room for the stranger, and requested him to be seated. The stranger thankfully complied, and taking off his hat, wiped the dust from his face, and shewed a fine forehead and eyes, whose brilliant rays seemed more obscured by sorrow than by time, though he appeared to be about five-and-thirty. While the farmer went into the house to order some refreshment for his weary guest, the stranger turned his eyes, and saw with surprise that every thing about him bore the marks of taste; of taste not indeed highly refined, but simple, natural, and delicate: every tree round the spot on which he sat was intertwined with woodbines, clematis, and the wild hop; and the long shoots of all were carried from tree to tree, forming festoons of exquisite grace and beauty. At the foot of each tree a s.p.a.ce had been cleared and filled with fragrant plants, whose culture requires little trouble.

Mignionette, roses, pinks, and carnations, perfumed the air, while the too powerful seringa was only suffered to rise at a considerable distance, whence its odour came occasionally wafted by the evening breeze, and (if the expression may be allowed) harmonized well with the softer scents in the immediate vicinity of the dwelling. A variety of birds in the adjacent orchard and fields yet poured their mingled songs, which, as the sun declined gradually, sunk into a softer strain, and soon all was hushed into repose. In the meantime the table was spread with a neat cloth, cold meat, brown bread, some fresh-gathered fruit, cream, ale, and home-made wine; each excellent in its kind.

The farmer had not asked his guest to "_take some refreshment_," the phrase being probably unknown to him, but with genuine hospitality, seeing he was fatigued, concluded it would be acceptable, and pressed him to partake of what was set before them; then calling to the servant girl, who had spread the table, he said something to her in Welsh, which she answered in the same language. "That is unlucky," said Powis: "my daughter, Sir, is absent just now; she is gone to the curate's, the only house in the neighbourhood she likes to visit at; indeed, she has reason to like it, for Mrs. Ross has taught Ellen to sew and to read, and be a tolerable housewife, ever since my poor wife died, which happened when Ellen was a little child; and she looks upon Mrs. Ross as her mother, and Joanna Ross, who is nearly her own age, as her sister: they are good companions for each other, and good girls both, I a.s.sure you: however, we will not wait, for perhaps Ellen may not be at home this half hour or more." "I fear," said the stranger, "I have induced you to hasten your meal, and perhaps----" "Not at all, not at all," interrupted Powis.

"Ellen can eat her fruit and milk at any time, or perhaps will partake of our good parson's supper; never mind her." "You are indeed very kind; but I fear it grows late. How far have I to walk to the little inn where you said I might procure a bed?" "About half a mile: but the moon is rising, and one of my boys shall shew you the way: you may be sure of a bed; they have two to spare; both clean and decent, though plain and homely; and we have few travellers in these parts."

Some more conversation pa.s.sed, and then, the stranger having eaten as much as he liked, and withstood an earnest solicitation to eat a great deal more, rose to depart. The boy was called, and the charge given to him in Welsh to recommend the stranger to the best attentions of neighbour Jones, at the sign of the Prince of Wales; being explained to the traveller in English, he took his leave.

In the course of the conversation which pa.s.sed between them, the stranger told Powis that he was travelling merely for amus.e.m.e.nt, and preferred walking to any other mode of conveyance, as affording him better opportunities of exploring the romantic scenery with which Wales abounds; but this the farmer imagined was the language of a man, who, although he was poor, did not wish to be thought so. He said he was so much pleased with what he had seen of the country round Llanwyllan, that it was his intention to remain there a few days, if he found tolerable accommodations at the inn; and Powis gave him a pressing invitation to rest whenever he pleased at his house, and to partake of his dinner or supper; for in that retired spot, where fraud and deceit were almost unknown, suspicion was equally a stranger, nor arose to check that frank hospitality man should naturally afford to man. The stranger said he had left his portmanteau at Carnarvon, and should send a man to fetch it the next day, if he determined on remaining at the village. Powis mentioned several points of view which he said were thought fine, though he professed not to understand the business much.

As the stranger, with his little Welsh guide, pa.s.sed through the trees which grew round the house, just where the shadow was deepest, he discerned the flutter of the white or light-coloured garments of two girls, and heard youthful voices in chat, and laughing; yet not rudely or with vulgarity, but with native gaiety and mirth of heart. He could just distinguish that one of the females was taller than the other, and heard a soft harmonious voice articulate in good English, and with very little of the Welsh accent: "Good night, dear Joanna; come to-morrow, and stay with me all day: good night; love to Charles." The other replied at a few paces distant: "Ah, poor Charles! how vexed he will be that he staid so late; well, good night, Ellen."

"These, I suppose," thought the stranger, "are Powis's daughter and her friend Joanna Ross. I am glad I missed them. I hate country-girls.

Charles I imagine is the lover of one. Happy creatures who can yet fancy felicity in love, and dream I know not what of constancy and bliss!--Falsehood, jealousy, revenge!--dreadful, dreadful words! to them are unknown: but what have I to do with thoughts like these? Why, even in the stillness of this calm retreat, do such shocking images haunt my mind?" He hurried on as if fatigue had no longer power over him, insomuch that his young guide could hardly keep up with him, till he reached the village inn, where, as Powis had said, a cleanly though homely bed was soon prepared for him.

CHAP. II.

Her form was fresher than the morning rose, When the dew wets its leaves, unstain'd and pure As is the lily, or the mountain snow.

The modest virtues mingled in her eyes.

THOMSON.

In the evening of the next day, having in the course of it received his portmanteau from Carnarvon, our traveller, whose name he gave his landlord to understand was Mordaunt, began slowly to ascend a romantic mountain, stopping at intervals to admire the beauty of the surrounding prospect, and occasionally selecting from the mountain plants such specimens as he had not met with before; for our traveller was an excellent botanist, had a slight knowledge of mineralogy, and a genuine taste for the charms of nature. In what farther sciences he was instructed, and how he came by information so much above his present sphere, we shall learn as we proceed.

Mordaunt had wandered more than an hour, when he reached some slight remains of an ancient castle: it was a complete ruin, affording no shelter, and scarcely a resting-place; however, on a large stone, which had fallen from one of the crumbling pillars, he sat down and enjoyed the beauty of the extensive prospect before him, and to which no descriptive powers short of Mrs. Radcliffe's could do justice: here he remained, catching, at intervals, a distant sail; for the sea, not far off, formed one magnificent feature in the view; till the shades of evening appeared to close upon him somewhat suddenly: surprised at the gloom, he turned round, and observed that the top of the mountain behind him was covered with heavy clouds, which soon becoming thicker, fell around him in large drops of rain, mingled with low muttering thunder, and distant gleams of lightning: the sea a.s.sumed a more terrific appearance, and the lashing of the waves against the sh.o.r.e was more distinctly heard: every thing, in short, seemed to foretell a tremendous storm.

The gloomy woods Start at the flash, and from their deep recess, Wide flaming out their trembling inmates shake!

Amid Carnarvon's mountains rages loud The repercussive roar; with mighty crush, Into the flashing deep from the rude rocks Of Penmanmawr heap'd hideous to the sky, Tumble the smitten cliffs; and Snowden's peak, Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load.

THOMSON.

Yet Mordaunt, unappall'd, was rather pleased to have an opportunity of observing the effects of a thunder-storm in a region so elevated; but in a moment, a vivid flash of lightning, followed instantly by a tremendous burst of thunder, was succeeded by a piercing scream; and two girls, descending the mountain, ran by him with the utmost swiftness. The rain, which now fell in torrents, had already wetted their slight garments, and as the descent was now become extremely slippery, one of them had nearly fallen to the ground, at the instant she had pa.s.sed him. Humanity prompted Mordaunt to follow, entreat them not to be alarmed, and to allow him to a.s.sist them: his appearance, so totally unexpected (for the shadow of the ruin under which he stood, and the deep gloom of the atmosphere, had prevented their seeing him), seemed to startle them almost as much as the storm, which one of the half-breathless girls said had surprized them still higher on the mountain than he had been. The thunder, however, now became more distant; and a light breeze, springing up from the land, carried the clouds towards the sea: still, however, the descent continued dangerous, from being so slippery; and Mordaunt solicited the young women to accept of his aid. He readily conjectured them to be Joanna Ross and Ellen Powis; and the moment the soft voice of the latter fell upon his ear, he recognized the speaker he had heard the night before saying, "Good night, dear Joanna." Her voice, indeed, was so singularly sweet, that once heard it could never be forgotten; and Mordaunt, turning as she spoke, beheld a face and figure, which, once seen, must equally be for ever remembered--

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A nymph, a Naad, or a Grace, Of finer form or lovelier face.

What though the sun, with ardent frown, Had slightly ting'd her cheek with brown; What though no rule of courtly grace To measur'd mood had train'd her pace.

A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flow'r dash'd the dew: E'en the slight hare-bell rais'd its head Elastic from her airy tread.

What though upon her speech there hung Some accents of the mountain tongue; Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The list'ner held his breath to hear.

SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE

Terror had, indeed, robbed her charming countenance of some of its graces; but a bright blush, springing to her cheeks as she caught the traveller's glance, restored its native l.u.s.tre. Oh! such a face!--so fair--so bright--so spotless!--eyes so full of soul!--a smile of such inimitable beauty! Every feature expressing a native delicacy of sentiment, unsoiled by the world, unruffled by pa.s.sion, yet giving a.s.surance that its possessor owned a heart of such fine frame as seldom can be met with, either in court or cottage. And when with sweet confidence, which, intending no harm, feared none, she accepted Mordaunt's offered arm, he felt a degree of pleasure to which he had long been a stranger: he scarcely noticed that Joanna had taken the other arm: yet Joanna was not a plain girl; but who could look at her when Ellen was present? As they descended the mountain, the storm having by this time blown over, the girls laughed at their vain terrors, and made light of those which Mordaunt expressed, lest their wet clothes should give them cold, saying, they were so accustomed to take exercise in all weathers, they were not likely to be injured by a sudden shower: "Though I must acknowledge," said Joanna, with a smile, "we do not much like thunder-storms." Every thing that either said was expressed in the plural; and "_We_" was always the term, whichever spoke. Mordaunt admired the good sense and propriety with which each seemed endowed; but in Ellen he distinguished an elegance of expression, a superiority of mind, which, in so young a girl, and one who could have had so few opportunities of improvement, completely surprised him. This lovely creature seemed yet hardly seventeen; and when he talked to her on various subjects, he found, that although Mr. Ross's library had furnished her with the works of Addison, Pope, and a few more of our best English authors, yet her acquisitions had not gone beyond a tincture of English literature, in a general way; that she was tolerably well instructed in English History, knew scarcely any thing of Geography, and could neither play on any instrument nor draw; so that she certainly was much inferior to the heroines of some modern novels, who learn all these things by intuition: her voice, however, in singing, was as harmonious as in speaking, and she could sing many of the simple Welsh airs with natural taste, and in a very pleasing manner. Mordaunt escorted the girls to Llanwyllan Farm, where he was immediately recognized by Powis, who, hearing from his daughter the attention he had shewn to her and Joanna, was cordial in his acknowledgments, and insisted on the traveller partaking their supper. Mordaunt could not refuse; and it was accordingly spread, not as usual in the porch, the late storm having left a dampness in the air, but in a large hall, the farm-house having formerly been a capital mansion.

Joanna and Ellen, having hastily changed their wet garments, soon joined them; and this little party sat down to supper pleased with each other, and without any of that cold formality which strangers so generally feel; confiding hospitality on the one hand, and something, at least, very like good breeding, on the other, rendering them all easy and pleasant to themselves, and to each other.

During this little repast, though no ill-timed curiosity demanded the explanation, Mordaunt thought proper to mention his name, and, in some degree, declare his situation in life. He had, he said, been educated with the Earl of St. Aubyn, who was his distant relation, and had a few years before appointed him his steward for his estate in Northamptonshire, where he had a comfortable house, not far from St.

Aubyn Castle, the n.o.ble residence of the Earl himself, who had been for sometime on the Continent; that he himself, having met with some domestic vexations, which had injured his health, the Earl had permitted him to appoint a deputy, and travel into Wales, as he had done the summer before into the Highlands of Scotland; of which he gave a most animated description. His patron, he added, had also a fine estate on the borders of Westmoreland, with a very n.o.ble old seat called the Abbey, which, though extremely ancient, still retained its former magnificence. Mordaunt's manners were so pleasing, his voice so impressive, and his countenance so fine, that the little party who were his auditors hung upon his words with almost breathless admiration.--The moments flew, and they were surprised when the hall clock struck eleven, an hour unheard of among the sober inhabitants of Llanwyllan. "G.o.d bless me," said Powis, "why it's eleven o'clock: I have not been up so late these ten years!" "Dear father!" said Ellen, with a reproving accent, as she glanced at Mordaunt, who hastily rose from his chair. "Excuse my rudeness, Sir," said Powis; "I did not mean to turn you out uncivilly, but fear neighbour Jones may be gone to bed." Mordaunt smiled, and said he ought to apologize for keeping them up. Then extending his hand, he shook the farmer's rough one with great kindness, and said, "If I should not see you again----" "Not see us again!" interrupted Powis: "why to be sure you are not going away! Lord bless me--why, I thought you would stay a day or two at least; for my share, if you don't, I wish you had never come at all; for I never saw a man in all my days I liked so well." "Upon my word, Sir," said Joanna, "you have not yet seen half the beauties of Llanwyllan; has he, Ellen?" "No, indeed," replied Ellen. "I a.s.sure you, Mr. Mordaunt, there are many charms--" "I know it, I feel it!" interrupted Mordaunt: "there is every charm which the most beautiful nature, the kindest hospitality, can bestow! But to stay at the village without visiting the Farm of Llanwyllan would be impossible, and, stranger as I am, would it not be intruding?" "Not at all," said Powis; "we should rejoice to keep you amongst us; the girls will shew you the fine views, as they call them, and I shall be proud to see you at my table, if it be not too plain for you, at all times." "You are too good! but, will Miss Ross, will Miss Powis, accept their share of the agreement? Are there no more agreeable engagements, no more amiable friends to claim their attention?" He took a hand of each, but fixed his penetrating eyes on Ellen: she blushed, but the lightest emotion made Ellen blush, so that though Mordaunt had "_Charles_" in his head when he spoke, he could judge nothing by her blushing; and her eyes met his with a look of confiding sweetness, which seemed to speak a heart unconscious of any secret sentiment. Joanna answered, "If we were to tell you, Mr.

Mordaunt, we had nothing to do but to walk about, you would think we were very idle girls, or said what was not true: we are very busy all the day till five in the evening, when we drink tea either here or at my father's, who will be happy to see you: after that, if it is fine we walk; if not, amuse ourselves within, till ten o'clock, when we go to bed, that we may rise at five the next morning; from five in the evening till ten we shall be glad of your company."

In consequence of this frank statement, and the secret inclination he felt to see more of Llanwyllan, and its art-less inhabitants, Mordaunt determined to pa.s.s a few days there; and the next day, after attending their early tea-table, walked two or three hours with Ellen and Joanna, equally delighted with Powis's kind hospitality, and the unsuspicious confidence of the two innocent girls, who, stranger as he was, saw nothing extraordinary or improper in allowing him a degree of friendly intimacy, which, in a situation of more publicity, he would hardly have attained under some weeks of acquaintance, even with the a.s.sistance of a proper introduction. Still more was he charmed with their affectionate manner towards each other, and the beauty of Ellen, as well as her unaffected simplicity, united with an extraordinary share of good sense and information beyond her apparent opportunities. When they parted in the evening, Joanna said, "To-morrow, you know, Ellen, Charles will pa.s.s at home; and as he goes away entirely the next day, I think we must not make any engagement for to-morrow." "Very true," said Ellen, in a low voice, and a slight shade pa.s.sed over her expressive features; but whether it arose from regret that she must relinquish the society of her new friend, with whose spirited and sensible conversation she appeared much pleased, or from concern for Charles's approaching absence, our traveller had no means of judging. He had discovered, in the course of conversation, that Charles was Joanna's brother, and was now absent for a day or two preparatory to his leaving home for some time, being in the navy: a few more particulars relative to him he felt anxious to ascertain as soon as possible; and he took leave of his new friends, after engaging to spend the next evening but one at Mr. Ross's.

The landlord at the Prince of Wales understood and spoke English; but it was with so much of the Welsh accent, that Mordaunt, with difficulty, comprehended his meaning. The curiosity which he felt, however, to learn more about Charles Ross, induced him, once again, to attempt a conversation with "neighbour Jones," as Powis called him, though, in general, Mordaunt's patience, which was by no means inexhaustible, and an ear refined by living much in his early days with people of fashion and learning, were severely tried by provincial dialects, and he avoided, as much as possible, any conference with those who spoke what he termed a barbarous jargon: for humour of any kind, or odd characters, whether natural or acquired, he had no taste; sentiment, elegance, and refinement of language and manners, were to him indispensable requisites of those be regarded; and above all things he detested that mixture of familiarity and obsequiousness which the landlord of a country inn shews to one, who, though his guest, he fancies his equal; yet there was some paramount feeling in Mordaunt's mind, which forced him to dispense with all these niceties, and seek intelligence even from a man whose language and manner were equally distasteful to him. From Jones, then, he learnt that Charles was the son of Mr. Ross, and that he was a young man of about twenty, rather handsome, a midshipman in the navy, and that he was going to join his ship immediately. Jones allowed that the general opinion was that Ellen Powis was the object of Charles's affections, and that all their friends wished it might be a match, but that Winifred Powis's old servant declared Miss Ellen only regarded him as a brother, and she was sure had no thought of being his wife. Mordaunt recollected the blush, the slight shade of gravity or vexation which had pa.s.sed over Ellen's lovely face; yet these might not be symptoms of more than sisterly affection, and something whispered a wish to Mordaunt that Ellen's love for Charles might be no more.

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 pa.s.s 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 t.i.tle, 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 pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.sical scholar, and well grounded in English literature of a superior cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.sing a store of facts and characteristic anecdotes, which, with a very little a.s.sistance, 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 circ.u.mstance 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.