Mystery & Confidence. Elizabeth Sibthorpe Pinchard

      CHAP. VII.

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      Grief was heavy at her heart,

       And tears began to flow!

       Soft as the dew from heaven descends,

       His gentle accents fell.

      Goldsmith's Hermit.

      In the morning Mrs. Ross and Joanna left Mr. Ross and Ellen together for a few minutes: he drew his chair close to hers, and said, "Do not think, Ellen, I wish to tease or distress you; but tell me, will it not be better that you remain our guest for the present? You cannot, when left alone at Llanwyllan, refuse to admit Mr. Mordaunt without a particularity which it is on all accounts better to avoid: but here, even if he comes, you may see him with propriety; and when he finds no opportunity of entertaining you alone, he will probably cease to visit us, and perhaps leave Llanwyllan altogether." His mild expressive eyes glanced over Ellen's countenance: he saw her shrink and tremble at the painful idea he had excited; and while her every feature expressed the most exquisite anguish, the good man gently sighed, and removing his eyes from her face, endeavoured to conceal his knowledge of her distress. As he seemed to wait her answer, Ellen made a strong effort, and said, "The plan you propose, Sir, is undoubtedly the best: if you will be troubled with me, I will remain as long as you please." This matter settled, Ross undertook to reconcile Powis to spare Ellen for a short time; and reading her apprehensions in her countenance, said softly, "Fear not: I will give him sufficient reasons, without exciting his displeasure, or even his suspicion of our real motive." Ross accordingly went to the Farm, and meeting with Powis in one of the fields near the house, he told him that Ellen was not quite well, though better than she had been the night before, and therefore his wife wished to detain her a few days at the Parsonage to remove her cold, and would herself visit the Farm for an hour or two, to settle the concerns of the dairy, poultry-yard, &c. &c. and that they should be very glad to see him in the evening, or at any of their meals, when he could make it convenient. These little arrangements between the two families had till very lately been so frequent, that Powis felt not the least surprize, though he owned he was sorry Ellen had not come home the night before, as Mr. Mordaunt had seemed rather hurt about it; "And he has been so very civil and kind, you know, neighbour Ross, that one would not wish to affront him." So perfectly unsuspicious was this good man, that not a thought crossed his mind of the possible intention of Mordaunt's visits; and secure in Ellen's fancied affection for Charles Ross, he never dreamt of her thinking of any other man. Ross silently acquiesced in what he said, and then went into the house to deliver some directions to the servant, and which, he said, Mrs. Ross should go herself in the course of the day to see executed. In the common sitting-room Ross found the maps and books at which Mordaunt and Ellen had been looking the preceding day (his wife had told him the circumstances of her visit): he was rather surprized at the neatness and even elegance of their binding, though merely what might be called school-books in geography and grammar, and found that the maps were excellent and expensive. On the window lay a beautifully bound volume or two of Shakespeare, Thomson's Seasons, marked and underlined at the description of Lavinia, Cowper's Poems, and two or three others; in all of which was written, "Ellen Powis, the gift of her friend Constantine." And in two or three were short passages in Italian and French, written in a small hand with a pencil, expressive of admiration and regard, and evidently applied to Ellen. From one of them dropt the following

      STANZAS TO THE MOON.

      Oh, thou bright moon! whose beams, however fair,

       So lately my sad eyes unheeding saw;

       Whose soothing light from its unceasing care,

       My heavy soul so vainly strove to draw;

       I bid thee witness now, that pale despair,

       Her comfortless dominion o'er my mind,

       Reluctant yields, and hope begins to share,

       The empire of my soul, with visions kind!

      With soften'd feelings on thy beams I gaze,

       And their mild influence stealing on my heart,

       Enchanting visions in my bosom raise,

       Sweet friendship comes her blessings to impart:

       In Ellen's form she comes! Oh, fairest form!

       Oh, sweetest voice, that from the grief-worn soul

       E'er stole its cares, e'er bade the beating storm

       Of sorrow cease, and could each woe controul!

      Several erasures and interlineations proved this to be an original, and probably an unfinished performance.

      Ross saw in all this new reason to be alarmed: he no longer wondered at the progress this insinuating man had made in the affections of Ellen, and most earnestly did he wish that Mordaunt had never seen her, or had selected her for his wife. Yet even in that case there was something to consider: they knew nothing of Mordaunt but what he had told them. There was certainly something equivocal in the total retirement of such a man from the world: he might have been driven from it rather by his vices than by his misfortunes: yet there was in the appearance and manners of Mordaunt, an uprightness, a loftiness of carriage, that looked not like that of a man debased and bowed down by guilt. While Ross thus meditated, Mordaunt suddenly came in—his eyes sparkling, and his cheeks glowing: for hearing some one moving in the parlour, and having seen Powis in the fields at a distance, he concluded it could be no one but Ellen: his impatient step, extended hand, and pleased countenance, at once explained to Ross what his expectation had been. On seeing him, Mordaunt half started back, exclaiming, "I thought——" Then recovering himself, he again advanced, and offering his hand to Mr. Ross, said with much cordiality, "My dear Sir, I am glad to see you: it is sometime since we met." There was a charm in the voice and manner of Mordaunt that few could withstand, however unkindly disposed towards him. Ross, who had from the first felt pleased with him, although he now on Ellen's account was angry, yet could not prevail on himself to appear displeased; yet there was a coolness in his expression that was visible enough to so acute an observer as Mordaunt. Whatever was his motive, however, he chose not to notice it, but continued to speak with frankness and vivacity, inquiring for Mrs. Ross and Joanna. At last, glancing his eyes round the room, he said, "Are you alone this morning, my good Sir? Miss Powis, I learnt, slept at your house last night: I hope she is not ill?" Through all the assumed composure of his look, and affected indifference of his tone, Ross plainly saw that Mordaunt made this inquiry with real anxiety; but of the true motive of that anxiety he was extremely doubtful. He replied somewhat coldly, "Ellen is certainly not quite well, and Mrs. Ross thinks her safest under her own care at present." This speech, which might to a guilty conscience have conveyed "more than met the ear," seemed to be literally interpreted by Mordaunt; and thrown off his guard, he evinced great agitation, while he exclaimed, "Safest! Good God! You do not surely apprehend any