"You have, indeed," said St. Aubyn, "most happily characterized her; but you cannot think half so highly of her as I have reason to do."

By this time the tea was over; and Ellen, wrapping up her boy, sent him home; but instead of returning with him, she remained at the Parsonage all the evening, delighted herself, and delighting all around her.

"Well," said Mrs. Ross, after her visitors were departed, "well, I never saw any thing in my life so strange! Why, I thought to have seen a fine lady, all dressed in silks and jewels, and looking stiff and formal-like; and I thought to have said, my Lady Countess, and your Ladyship--and behold! here she comes in a plain white gown, but little better than one I scolded her for wearing once--you remember it, Joanna?--And flies to me, kisses me, and calls me dear mamma, as she used to do; and if I had been to have died for it, I could not call her any thing but Ellen, and child, the whole evening almost, except once or twice I recollected myself, and said my Lady, when we were at the window together, and she put her dear arms round my neck, and said dear mamma, I am _your_ Ellen!--and then she is grown such a beauty!--to be sure, she always was as pretty a creature as could be I thought, but now she looks somehow so sensible, and so happy; and then her carriage is so easy, and yet so grand, that if I did not know to the contrary, I should think she was born a great princess.--And then the sweet baby--with his little laughing mouth, and pretty eyes!--And my Lord too, to be so kind--that I once as good as told I wished he would go away from Llanwyllan: and so I did wish it, for could I ever have thought it would come to such honour and happiness for Ellen!"

Ross and Joanna listened with smiles to this long harangue, and though not quite so fluent in their praises, were at least equally charmed and delighted with herself.

St. Aubyn and his Ellen remained thus beloved and happy at Llanwyllan for some time, during which Ellen visited with the utmost kindness every farmhouse of which she had formerly known the inhabitants, and gladdening every poor cottage not only with her smiles, but with more substantial marks of her favour and benevolence.

In the course of the first fortnight Ellen learned that there was a mutual attachment between her friend Joanna and a young clergyman, who did the duty of a parish not more than three miles from those filled by the worthy Ross, and learning from that good man that he had no objection to the match, for that Mr. Griffiths was a man of excellent character, and well suited to Joanna, both in age and temper, and that the only possible objection was the narrowness of his income, and there being no parsonage-house on the living he served, nor any house within many miles where they could reside, she consulted with her Lord, and the next opportunity said to Ross:

"My dear Sir, I have a proposal to make to you. It is the mutual request of my Lord and myself, and you cannot think how much you will oblige us by complying."

"I know not," said Ross, "what I could refuse to either of you."

"My father," said she, "complains much of the loneliness of his winter evenings; yet he does not like to remove from Llanwyllan and come to live near us, as we earnestly wished him to do; but he says our modes of life are so different from those to which he has been accustomed, and the journey appears so alarmingly long to him, who has never been fifty miles from home, that he says he must be contented with the hope of seeing us here sometimes, and end his life where he began it. But ah, my dear Sir, his wishes, as well as our's, are, that you and Mrs. Ross would remove to Llanwyllan Farm, and leave this house for Joanna and your future son-in-law. You are now, we all think, too much advanced in life to serve three churches, as you have done for many years: give up two of them to Mr. Griffiths, with the stipend attached to them: and surely, surely, my dearest Sir, you will not refuse from Ellen, from your little pupil, a trifling token of her love to make your life and dear Mrs. Ross's comfortable, and to enable you to give Joanna to her lover with a sufficiency to make them easy."

She rose, and putting a pocket-book into his hand, said, "Not one word: I will not hear one word. For once, your Ellen will be obstinate, and not listen even to _you_."

She ran out of the room, and seeking Joanna, made her put on her bonnet, and come with her to dine at the Farm, leaving a gay message with Mrs.

Ross, that she should hope to hear a favourable answer to her request the next day.

This hint was sufficient to send the good lady to know of Ross what Lady St. Aubyn meant: she found him overwhelmed with tender grat.i.tude. The pocket-book contained notes to a large amount, with a slip of paper containing these words:

My dear Sir,

I have adapted the enclosed rather to your very limited wishes than to my own sense of what I ought to have done. Pray let this little transaction never be mentioned more, unless any plan more pleasing to you than that I shall propose when I give you this should occur to you. If my request be at all unpleasant to you, pray reject it without hesitation.

Your ever obliged

ELLEN ST. AUBYN.

Ross now explained to his wife what had pa.s.sed, and they both agreed no plan could be devised more desirable for all parties; and that it would be both rude and ungrateful to refuse a present, which, however, they sincerely wished had been of less value.

All was soon finally settled to the great joy of Powis, who was delighted with the idea of his friendly inmates. The young lovers also were full of grateful joy, and Ellen relinquished the idea she had at one time entertained of taking Joanna home with her: Ross objected to it, as he did not wish her to be introduced into scenes of life so different from those she had been, or ever would be again accustomed to; and Griffiths did not like the idea of her going to such a distance: nay, Joanna herself, much as she had wished to see St. Aubyn Castle, seemed now very well contented to remain for life in the vale of Llanwyllan.

CHAP. VII.

The sky it seems would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some n.o.ble creatures in her, Dash'd all to pieces. Oh! the cry did knock Against my very heart!--Poor souls, they perish'd!

SHAKESPEARE'S TEMPEST.

St. Aubyn had related to Ross the conclusion of those circ.u.mstances which he had confided to him before his marriage with Ellen, and though that venerable man rejoiced that Edmund's vindictive intentions had been so happily conquered, neither he nor the Earl felt entirely satisfied on the subject.

Lord De Montfort was certainly an excentric character, and it was possible his impetuous feelings might yet take another direction, especially if the bigotted Catholics, by whom he generally was surrounded, should obtain any intimation of those apparent facts which militated so much against the character of St. Aubyn, and which only his own word opposed; and that they might do so, was by no means improbable, when his occasional night-wanderings were remembered, in which, as he had done to Ellen, he might hereafter to some other reveal what would induce them to insist on an explanation.

Ellen, it was true, had so touched him with admiration and tenderness, that he could not resist her influence, but now removed from any chance of seeing her again, there was no saying what new turn his ardent imagination would take.

All these ideas, which St. Aubyn had carefully concealed from his wife, he communicated to his venerable friend, who could not deny their rationality. The wishes of both centered in one point, and that was the discovery of De Sylva; and nothing could be more improbable than that he should now be found after years had elapsed, in which the agents of St.

Aubyn, and of the Marquis of Northington, had sought him in vain, though their search had been extended through every great city in Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and England: it was, in fact, most likely, either that he was dead, or had so completely changed his appearance and name as to be living obscurely, perhaps on one of the very spots where they had vainly endeavoured to find him.

These wishes and reflections they never discussed except when without other witnesses, being mutually unwilling to impart any of their anxieties to Lady St. Aubyn, who, happy in her benevolent plans, in the society of her father and early friends, in the improving beauty and health of her lovely boy, and the undeviating and increasing love of St.

Aubyn, seemed not to have a care remaining.

From Charles Ross, about this time, his father received letters, expressive of the happiness he felt in his present situation, and of grat.i.tude to Lord St. Aubyn, who had procured it for him, adding, he hoped to remain on his present station for some months, as they were constantly taking prizes, and his share already amounting to a considerable sum of money.

The Earl or Countess never mentioned either to his parents or sister his mad mistake respecting them during his stay in London, nor the mischievous consequences of it, unwilling to give them pain by a knowledge of those unpleasant transactions.

The situation of Llanwyllan was not above a mile from the sea-sh.o.r.e, and frequently Ellen and Joanna, attended by the nurses and child, walked thither, Lady St. Aubyn thinking that the fine breeze invigorated and strengthened both herself and little Constantine; nor had the indulgences which her unexpected elevation had procured for her rendered her unequal to a long country ramble, or less pleased to explore the haunts of her infancy. Frequently St. Aubyn and Mr. Griffiths, who was a sensible intelligent young man, with the education and manners of a gentleman, were their escorts: but there was nothing to fear on this unfrequented sh.o.r.e, for though ships often pa.s.sed at a distance, there was not even a fishing town within three miles of their accustomed walk.

About the middle of July, the weather for three or four days became so excessively hot, as seemed to preclude any exercise, except very late in the evening: this uncommon degree of warmth was followed by a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning; and though the weather cleared a little in the middle of the day, the evening again closed with a renewal of the tempestuous weather, attended by a violent wind.

While the weather had been tolerable, the Rosses had walked to the Farm to spend the remainder of the day, and were there when the tempest began again with added horrors, and indeed not one of the party was totally without alarm, lest the violence of the wind should injure the ancient mansion.

One of the men who had been sent to Carnarvon in the morning on some commission, and whose road lay near the sea, returned about nine o'clock. The thunder and lightning had by that time abated, but the violent wind continued, attended by torrents of rain and excessive darkness. This man said he had seen a large ship near the coast, and evidently in great danger, from the beach on which she was driving being rocky and inaccessible, the tide coming in, and the wind blowing from the sea, which he said was rougher than he had ever seen it, and the ship laboured so much he feared she must be lost.

This account soon travelled from the servants'-hall to the parlour: the cheeks of the females were blanched by terror, and Mrs. Ross, clasping her hands together, exclaimed,

"G.o.d preserve my poor Charles!"

"He is far enough from hence, my dear," said the good Ross, "and in all probability quite out of the way of this tremendous weather."

"Perhaps so," said Mrs. Ross, "but I never hear the wind blow without thinking of him, and a sailor's life is so uncertain, one never knows where they are, or what they are exposed to."

While she spoke, they distinctly heard the sound of a gun fired at sea.

"Hark!" said St. Aubyn, "that is a signal gun! and again!

another!--those are guns of distress: can we do nothing for these poor creatures?"

"Oh! try, pray try," said Ellen: "but without exposing yourselves to danger, it is, I fear, impossible."

"There will be no danger for us in going down to the sh.o.r.e," said St.

Aubyn. "You and I, my young friend," (speaking to Griffiths) "with the men servants, and all the a.s.sistance we can collect in the village, will hasten thither: we can at least light some fires on the beach, or make signals of some kind or other, which may be of service; you, my dear Sir," (speaking to Powis) "and Mr. Ross, will stay and sooth the fears of the ladies."

"Oh, but," said Ellen, "do not expose yourselves too much: the weather is dreadful."

"We will take care of ourselves, my love, depend upon it: there are plenty of box-coats in the hall; we will wrap ourselves up, and if we save one life our trouble will be amply repaid."

"G.o.d bless you for your goodness," said Mrs. Ross, "and prosper your undertaking! Oh! these poor sailors have perhaps mothers and sisters praying for them, as we do for poor Charles." She wept, and Joanna and Ellen could not restrain their tears.

The gentlemen, attended by all St. Aubyn's male servants, and several stout workmen belonging to the Farm, now sallied forth with lanterns, and such torches as could be hastily prepared: their numbers were considerably augmented by many of the villagers, who, independent of the rewards St. Aubyn offered, were prompted by humanity and curiosity to a.s.sist.

They soon reached the sh.o.r.e, on which a high tide was violently beating; and by the flashes of lightning, which, though fainter and less frequent, still at intervals broke the total darkness of the night, they soon discerned a ship of considerable size, now very near the sh.o.r.e; her sails rent in pieces, and scarcely a mast standing, driving towards them, and firing minute guns as signals of distress. They all saw that to prevent her being stranded on that rocky and impracticable coast was totally impossible, and therefore some of the men were dispatched to the village for ropes and other articles which might be used in saving the lives of the crew. In the meantime, those remaining on the sh.o.r.e collected all the rubbish they could find, and lighted two or three large fires, shouting when the wind lulled a little, to encourage the sailors, which a minute after was answered by a shout from the men on board.

In less than an hour after their arrival, the ship was driven on a ledge of rocks, almost at the foot of the cliff on which St. Aubyn and his party stood; and they saw some of the crew crowding into two small boats, and others coming on sh.o.r.e on pieces of timber, or whatever they could find. At intervals they rose or disappeared, as the waves were more or less powerful; but in the end, a considerable number, more dead than alive, were thrown on the land.