Elinor returned almost instantly. ‘Hasten, hasten,’ she cried, ‘Ellis! There is no time to be lost. Scene the first is all prepared. Albert Harleigh, at this very moment, is poring over the county map in the hall. Run and tell him that you have something of deep importance to communicate to him to-morrow.’
‘But may he not—if he means to go—desire to hear it immediately?’
Elinor, without answering, forced her away. Harleigh, whose back was to the stair-entrance, seemed intently examining some route. The distress of Ellis was extreme how to call for his notice, and how to execute her commission when it should be obtained. Slowly and unwillingly approaching a little nearer, ‘I am afraid,’ she hesitatingly said, ‘that I must appear extremely importunate, but—’
The astonishment with which he turned round, at the sound of her voice, could only be equalled by the pleasure with which he met her eyes; and only surpassed, by the sudden burst of clashing ideas with which he saw her own instantly drop; while her voice, also, died away; her cheeks became the colour of crimson; and she was evidently and wholly at a loss what to say.
‘Importunate?’ he gently repeated, ‘impossible!’ yet he waited her own explanation.
Her confusion now became deeper; any sort of interrogation would have encouraged and aided her; but his quiet, though attentive forbearance seemed the result of some suspension of opinion. Ashamed and grieved, she involuntarily looked away, as she indistinctly pronounced, ‘I must appear ... very strange ... but I am constrained.... Circumstances of which I am not the mistress, force me to ... desire—to request—that to-morrow morning—or any part of to-morrow ... it might be possible that I could ... or rather that you should be able to ... to hear something that ... that....’
The total silence with which he listened, shewed so palpably his expectation of some competent reason for so singular an address, that her inability to clear herself, and her chagrin in the idea of forfeiting any part of an esteem which had proved so often her protection, grew almost insupportably painful, and she left her phrase unfinished; yet considered her commission to be fulfilled, and was moving away.
‘To-morrow,’ he said, ‘I meant to have accompanied my brother, whose affairs—whatever may be his fate—oblige him to return to town: but if ... if to-morrow—’
He had now, to impede her retreat, stept softly between her and the staircase, and perceived, in her blushes, the force which she had put upon her modesty; and read, in the expression of her glistening eyes, that an innate sense of delicacy was still more wounded, by the demand which she had made, even than her habits of life. With respect, therefore, redoubled, and an interest beyond all calculation increased, he went on; ‘If to-morrow ... or next day—or any part of the week, you have any commands for me, nothing shall hurry me hence till they are obeyed.’
Comforted to find herself treated with unabated consideration, however shocked to have the air of detaining him purposely for her own concerns, she was courtsying her thanks, when she caught a glance of Elinor on the stairs, in whose face, every passion seemed with violence at work.
Ellis changed colour, not knowing how to proceed, or how to stop. The alteration in her countenance made Harleigh look round, and discern Elinor; yet so pre-occupied was his attention, that he was totally unmindful of her situation, and would have addressed her as usual, had she not abruptly re-mounted the stairs.
Harleigh would then have asked some directions, relative to the time and manner of the purposed communication; but Ellis instantly followed Elinor; leaving him in a state of wonder, expectation, yet pleasure indescribable; fully persuaded that she meant to reveal the secret of her name and her history; and forming conjectures that every moment varied, yet every moment grew more interesting, of her motives for such a confidence.
Ellis found Elinor already in her chamber, and, apparently, in the highest, though evidently most factitious spirits: not, however, feigned to deceive Ellis, but falsely and forcibly elated to deceive, or, at least, to animate herself. ‘This is enchanting!’ she cried, ‘this is delectable! this is every thing that I could wish! I shall now know the truth! All the doubts, all the difficulties, that have been crazing me for some time past, will now be solved: I shall discover whether his long patience in waiting my determination, has been for your sake, or for mine. He will not go hence, till he has obeyed your commands!—Is he glad of a pretence to stay on my account? or impelled irresistibly upon yours? I shall now know all, all, all!’
The lengthened stay of Albert being thus, she said, ascertained, she should send Dennis about his business, without the smallest ceremony.
What she undertook, she performed. Early in the evening she again visited Ellis, exultingly to make known to her, that Dennis was finally dismissed. She had assigned no reason, she said, for her long procrastination, reserving that for his betters, alias Albert; but she had been so positive and clear in announcing her decision, and assuring him that it proceeded from a most sincere and unalterable dislike, both to his person and mind, that he had shewn spirit enough to be almost respectable, having immediately ordered his horse, taken his leave of Aunt Maple, and set off upon his journey. Albert, meanwhile, had said, that he had business to transact at Brighthelmstone, which might detain him some days; and had accepted an invitation to sleep at Lewes, during that period, from poor Aunt Maple; whose provocation and surprise at all that had passed were delightful.
‘To-morrow morning, therefore,’ she continued, ‘will decide my fate. What, hitherto, Albert has thought of me, he is probably as ignorant as I am myself; for while he has considered me as the property of my brother, his pride is so scrupulous, and his scruples are so squeamish, that he would deem it a crime of the first magnitude, to whisper, even in his own ear, How should I like her for myself? He is suspicious of some sophistry in whatever is not established by antiquated rules; and, with all his wisdom, and all his superiority, he is constantly anxious not to offend that conceited old prejudice, that thinks it taking a liberty with human nature, to suppose that any man can be so indecent as to grow up wiser, and more knowing, than his grandpapa was before him.
‘Trifling, however, apart, all my real alarm is to fathom what his feelings are for you! Are they but of compassion, playing upon a disengaged mind? If nothing further, the awakening a more potent sentiment will plant them in their proper line of subordination. This is what remains to be tried. He has not made you any declaration; he is free, therefore, from any entanglement: his brother is discharged, and for ever out of the question; he knows me, therefore, also, to be liberated from all engagement. When I said that you had given me life, I did not mean, that merely to hear that nothing had yet passed, was enough to secure my happiness:—Ah no!—but simply that it inspired me with a hope that gives me courage to resolve upon seeking certitude. And now, hear me!
‘The second act of the comedy, tragedy, or farce, of my existence, is to be represented to-morrow. The first scene will be a conference between Ellis and Albert, in which Ellis will relate the history of Elinor.’
Suddenly, then, looking at her, with an air the most authoritative, ‘Ellis!’ she added, ‘there is one article to which you must answer this moment! Would you, should the choice be in your power, sacrifice Lord Melbury to Harleigh? No hesitation!’
‘Miss Joddrel,’ answered Ellis, solemnly, ‘I have neither the hope, nor the fear, that belongs to what might be called sacrifice relative to either of them: I earnestly desire to preserve the esteem of Mr Harleigh; and the urbanity—I can call it by no other name—of Lord Melbury; but I am as free from the thought as from the presumption, of expecting, or coveting, to engage any personal, or particular regard, from either.’
Elinor, appeased, said, ‘You are such a compound of mystery, that one extraordinary thing is not more difficult to credit in you, than another. My design, as you will find, in making you speak instead of myself, is a stroke of Machievalian policy; for it will finish both suspences at once; since if, when you talk to him of me, he thinks only of my agent, how will he refrain, in answering your embassy, to betray himself? If, on the contrary, when he finds his scruples removed about his brother, he should feel his heart penetrated by the cause of that brother’s dismission—Ah Ellis!—But let us not anticipate act the third. The second alone can decide, whether it will conclude the piece with an epithalamium—or a requiem!’
She then disappeared.
Ellis saw her no more till the next morning, when, entering the chamber, breathless with haste and agitation, ‘The moment,’ she cried, ‘is come! I have sent out Aunt Maple, and Selina, upon visits for the whole morning; and I have called Harleigh into my dressing-room. There, wondering, he waits; I shall introduce you, and wait, in my turn, till, in ten minutes’ time, you follow, to give me the argument of the third and last act of my drama.’
Ellis, alarmed at what might be the result, would again have supplicated to be excused; but Elinor, proudly saying, ‘Fear no consequences for me! Those who know truly how to love, know how to die, as well as how to live!’ forcibly dragged her down to the dressing-room; through which she instantly passed herself, with undisguised trepidation, to her inner apartment.
The astonishment of Harleigh was inexpressible; and Ellis, who had received no positive directions, felt wholly at a loss what she was to relate, how far she ought to go, and what she ought to require. Hastily, therefore, and affrighted at her task, she tapped at the bedroom door, and begged a moment’s audience. Elinor opened it, in the greatest consternation. ‘What!’ cried she, taking her to the window, ‘is all over, without a word uttered?’
No; Ellis answered; she merely wished for more precise commands what she should say.
‘Say?’ cried Elinor, reviving, ‘say that I adore him! That since the instant I have seen him, I have detested his brother; that he alone has given me any idea of what is perfection in human nature! And that, if the whole world were annihilated, and he remained ... I should think my existence divine!’
She then pushed her back, prohibiting any reply.
Harleigh, to whom all was incomprehensible, but whose expectations every moment grew higher, of the explanation he so much desired, perceiving the embarrassment of Ellis, gently advanced, and said, ‘Shall I be guilty of indiscretion, if I seize this hurried, yet perhaps only moment, to express my impatience for a communication of which I have thought, almost exclusively, from the moment I have had it in view? Must it be deferred? or—’
‘No; it admits of no delay. I have much to say—and I am allowed but ten minutes—’
‘You have much to say?’ cried he, delighted; ‘ten minutes to-day may be followed by twenty, thirty, as many as you please, to-morrow,—and after to-morrow,—and whenever you command.’
‘You are very good, Sir, but my commission admits as little of extension as of procrastination. It must be as brief as it will be abrupt.’
‘Your commission?’ he repeated, in a tone of disappointment.
‘Yes; I am charged by ... by ... by a lady whom I need not name—to say that ... that your brother—’
She stopt, ashamed to proceed.
‘I can have no doubt,’ said he, gravely, ‘that Miss Joddrel is concerned, for the length of time she has wasted in trifling with his feelings; but this is all the apology her conduct requires: the breach of the engagement, when once she was convinced, that her attachment was insufficient to make the union as desirable to herself as to him, was certainly rather a kindness than an injury.’
‘Yes,—but, her motives—her reasons—’
‘I conceive them all! she wanted courage to be sooner decided; she apprehended reproach—and she gathered force to make her change of sentiments known, only when, otherwise, she must have concealed it for ever.—Pardon this presumptuous anticipation!’ added he, smiling; ‘but when you talk to me of only ten minutes, how can I suffer them to be consumed in a commission?’
He spoke in a low tone, yet, Ellis, excessively alarmed, pointed expressively to the chamber-door. In a tone, then, still softer, he continued: ‘I have been anxious to speak to you of Lord Melbury, and to say something of the indignation with which I heard, from him, of the atrocious behaviour of Ireton. Nothing less than the respect I feel for you, could have deterred me from shewing him the resentment I feel for myself. I should not, however, have been your only champion; Lord Melbury was equally incensed; but we both acknowledged that our interests and our feelings ought to be secondary to yours, and by yours to be regulated. The matter, therefore, is at an end. Ireton is convinced that he has done you wrong; and, as he never meant to be your enemy, and has no study but his own amusement, we must pity his want of taste, and hope that the disgrace necessarily hanging upon detected false assertion, may be a lesson not lost upon him. Yet he deserves one far more severe. He is a pitiful egotist, who seeks nothing but his own diversion; indifferent whose peace, comfort, or reputation pays its purchase.’
‘I am infinitely obliged,’ said Ellis, ‘that you will suffer the whole to drop; but I must not do the same by my commission!—You must let me, now, enter more particularly upon my charge, and tell you—’
‘Forgive, forgive me!’ cried he, eagerly: ‘I comprehend all that Miss Joddrel can have to say. But my impatience is irrepressible upon a far different subject; one that awakens the most lively interest, that occupies my thoughts, that nearly monopolizes my memory; and that exhausts—yet never wearies my conjectures.—That letter you were so good as to mention to me?—and the plan you may at length decide to pursue?—permit me to hope, that the communication you intend me, has some reference to those points?’
‘I should be truly glad of your counsel, Sir, in my helpless situation: but I am not at this moment at liberty to speak for myself;—Miss Joddrel—’
Her embarrassment now announced something extraordinary; but it was avowedly not personal; and Harleigh eagerly besought her to be expeditious.
‘You must make me so, then,’ cried she, ‘by divining what I have to reveal!’
‘Does Miss Joddrel relent?—Will she give me leave to summon my brother back?’
‘Oh no! no! no!—far otherwise. Your brother has been indifferent to her ... ever since she has known him as such!’
She thought she had now said enough; but Harleigh, whose faculties were otherwise engaged, waited for further explanation.
‘Can you not,’ said Ellis, ‘or will you not, divine the reason of the change?’
‘I have certainly,’ he answered, ‘long observed a growing insensibility; but still—’
‘And have you never,’ said Ellis, deeply blushing, ‘seen, also,—its reverse?’
This question, and yet more the manner in which it was made, was too intelligible to admit of any doubt. Harleigh, however, was far from elated as the truth opened in his view: he looked grave and disturbed, and remained for some minutes profoundly silent. Ellis, already ashamed of the indelicacy of her office, could not press for any reply.
‘I am hurt,’ he at length said, ‘beyond all measure, by what you intimate; but since Miss Joddrel has addressed you thus openly, there can be no impropriety in my claiming leave, also, to speak to you confidentially.’
‘Whatever you wish me to say to her, Sir,—’
‘And much that I do not wish you to say to her,’ cried he, half smiling, ‘I hope you will hear yourself! and that then, you will have the goodness, according to what you know of her intentions and desire, to palliate what you may deem necessary to repeat.’
‘Ah, poor Miss Joddrel!’ said Ellis, in a melancholy tone, ‘and is this the success of my embassy?’
‘Did you, then, wish—’ Harleigh began, with a quickness of which he instantly felt the impropriety, and changed his phrase into, ‘Did you then, suspect any other?’
‘I was truly sorry to be entrusted with the commission.’
‘I easily conceive, that it is not such a one as you would have given! but there is a dangerous singularity in the character of Miss Joddrel, that makes her prone to devote herself to whatever is new, wild, or uncommon. Even now, perhaps, she conceives that she is the champion of her sex, in shewing it the road,—a dangerous road!—to a new walk in life. Yet,—these eccentricities set apart,—how rare are her qualities! how powerful is her mind! how sportive her fancy! and how noble is her superiority to every species of art or artifice!’
‘Yet, with all this,’ said Ellis, looking at him expressively, ‘with all this....’ she knew not how to proceed; but he saw her meaning. ‘With all this,’ he said, ‘you are surprised, perhaps, that I should look for other qualities, other virtues in her whom I should aspire to make the companion of my life? I beseech you, however, to believe, that neither insolence nor ingratitude makes me insensible to her worth; but, though it often meets my admiration, sometimes my esteem, and always my good will and regard, it is not of a texture to create that sympathy without which even friendship is cold. I have, indeed ... till now....’
He paused.
‘Poor, poor, Miss Joddrel!’ exclaimed Ellis, ‘If you could but have heard,—or if I knew but how to repeat, even the millionenth part of what she thinks of you!—of the respect with which she is ready to yield to your opinions; of the enthusiasm with which she honours your character; of the devotion with which she nearly worships you—’
She stopt short, ashamed; and as fearful that she had been now too urgent, as before that she had been too cold.
Harleigh heard her with considerable emotion. ‘I hope,’ he said, ‘your feelings, like those of most minds gifted with strong sensibility, have taken the pencil, in this portrait, from your cooler judgment? I should be grieved, indeed, to suppose—but what can a man suppose, what say, upon a subject so delicate that may not appear offensive? Suffer me, therefore, to drop it; and have the goodness to let that same sensibility operate in terminating, in such a manner as may be least shocking to her, all view, and all thought, that I ever could, or ever can, entertain the most distant project of supplanting my brother.’
‘Will you not, at least, speak to her yourself?’
‘I had far rather speak to you!—Yet certainly yes, if she desire it.’
‘Give me leave, then, to say,’ cried Ellis, moving towards the bedroom door, ‘that you request an audience.’
‘By no means! I merely do not object to it. You may easily conceive what pain I shall be spared, if it may be evaded. All I request, is a few moments with you! Hastily, therefore, let me ask, is your plan decided?’
‘To the best of my power,—of my ideas, rather,—yes. But, indeed, I must not thus abandon my charge!’
‘And will you not let me enquire what it is?’
‘There is one thing, only, in which I have any hope that my exertions may turn to account; I wish to offer myself as a governess to some young lady, or ladies.’
‘I beseech you,’ cried he, with sudden fervour, ‘to confide to me the nature of your situation! I know well I have no claim; I seem to have even no pretext for such a request; yet there are sometimes circumstances that not only excuse, but imperiously demand extraordinary measures: perhaps mine, at this moment, are of that sort! perhaps I am at a loss what step to take, till I know to whom I address myself!’
‘O Sir!’ cried Ellis, holding up her hands in act of supplication, ‘you will be heard!’
Harleigh, conscious that he had been off all guard, silenced himself immediately, and walked hastily to the window.
Ellis knew not whether to retire, at once, to her own room; or to venture into that of Elinor; or to require any further answer. This last, however, Harleigh seemed in no state to give: he leant his forehead upon his hand, and remained wrapt in thought.
Ellis, struck by a manner which shewed that he felt, and apparently, repented the possible meaning that his last words might convey, was now as much ashamed for herself as for Elinor; and not wishing to meet his eyes, glided softly back to her chamber.
Here, whatever might be the fulness of her mind, she was not allowed an instant for reflection: Elinor followed her immediately.
She shut the door, and walked closely up to her. Elinor feared to behold her; yet saw, by a glance, that her eyes were sparkling, and that her face was dressed in smiles. ‘This is a glorious day for me!’ she cried; ”tis the pride of my life to have brought such a one into the history of my existence!’
Ellis officiously got her a chair; arranged the fire; examined if the windows were well closed; and sought any occupation, to postpone the moment of speaking to, or looking at her.
She was not offended; she did not appear to be hurried; she seemed enchanted with her own ideas; yet she had a strangeness in her manner that Ellis thought extremely alarming.
‘Well,’ she cried, when she had taken her seat, and saw that Ellis could find no further pretext for employing herself in the little apartment; ‘what garb do you bring me? How am I to be arrayed?’
Ellis begged to know what she meant.
‘Is it a wedding-garment?’ replied she, gaily; ‘or ...’ abruptly changing her tone into a deep hoarse whisper, ‘a shroud?’
Ellis, shuddering, durst not answer. Elinor, catching her hand said, ‘Don’t be frightened! I am at this moment equal to whatever may be my destiny: I am at a point of elevation, that makes my fate nearly indifferent to me. Speak, therefore! but only to the fact. I have neither time nor humour for narratory delays. I tried to hear you; but you both talked so whisperingly, that I could not make out a sentence.’
‘Indeed, Miss Joddrel,’ said Ellis, trembling violently, ‘Mr Harleigh’s regard—his affection—’
‘Not a word of that trite class!’ cried Elinor, with sudden severity, ‘if you would not again work all my passions into inflammation involve me no more in doubt! Fear nothing else. I am no where else vulnerable. Set aside, then, all childish calculations, of giving me an inch or two more, or an inch or two less of pain,—and be brief and true!’
Ellis could not utter a word: every phrase she could suggest seemed to teem with danger; yet she felt that her silence could not but indicate the truth which it sought to hide; she hung her head, and sighed in disturbed perplexity. Elinor looked at her for some time with an examining eye, and then, hastily rising, emphatically exclaimed, ‘You are mute?—I see, then, my doom! And I shall meet it with glory!’
Smiles triumphant, but wild, now played about her face. ‘Ellis,’ she cried, ‘go to your work, or whatever you were about, and take no manner of heed of me. I have something of importance to arrange, and can brook no interruption.’
Ellis acquiesced, returning to the employment of her needle, for which Mrs Fenn took especial care that she should never lack materials.
Elinor spoke to her no more; but her ruminations, though undisturbed by her companion, were by no means quiet, or silent. She paced hastily up and down the room; sat, in turn, upon a chair, a window seat, and the bed; talked to herself, sometimes with a vehemence that made several detached words, though no sentences, intelligible; sometimes in softer accents, and with eyes and gestures of exultation; and, frequently, she went into a corner by the side of the window, where she looked, in secret, at something in a shagreen case that she held in her hand, and had brought out of her chamber; and to which she occasionally addressed herself, with a fervency that shook her whole frame, and with expressions which, though broken, and half pronounced, denoted that she considered it as something sacred.
At length, with an air of transport, she exclaimed, ‘Yes! that will produce the best effect! what an idiot have I been to hesitate!’ then, turning with quickness to Ellis: ‘Ellis,’ she cried, ‘I have withheld from any questions relative to yourself, because I abominate all subterfuge; but you will not suppose I am contented with my ignorance? You will not imagine it a matter of indifference to me, to know how I have failed?’
She reddened; passion took possession of every feature, and for a moment nearly choaked her voice: she again walked, with rapid motion, about the room, and then ejaculated, ‘Let me be patient! let me not take away all grandeur from my despair, and reduce it to mere common madness!—Let me wait the fated moment, and then—let the truth burst, blaze, and flame, till it devour me!
‘Ellis,’ she presently added, ‘find Harleigh; tell him I wish him a good journey from the summer-house in the garden. Not a soul ever enters it at this time of the year. Bid him go thither directly. I shall soon join him. I will wait in my room till you call me. Be quick!’
Ellis required not to have this order repeated: to place her under the care of Harleigh, and intimate to him the excess of her love, with the apprehensions which she now herself conceived of the dangerous state of her mind, was all that could be wished; and where so essential a service might be rendered, or a mischief be prevented, personal punctilio was out of the question.
He was not in the hall; but, from one of the windows, she perceived him walking near the house. A painful sensation, upon being obliged again, to force herself upon his notice, disturbed, though she would not suffer it to check her. He was speaking with his groom. She stopt at the hall-door, with a view to catch his eye, and succeeded; but he bowed without approaching her, and continued to discourse with his groom.
To seem bent upon pursuing him, when he appeared himself to think that he had gone too far, and even to mean to shun her, dyed her cheeks of the deepest vermilion; though she compelled herself, from a terrour of the danger of delay, to run across the gravel-walk before the house, to address him. He saw her advance, with extreme surprise, but by no means with the same air of pleasure, that he had manifested in the morning. His look was embarrassed, and he seemed unwilling to meet her eyes. Yet he awaited her with a respect that made his groom, unbidden, retire to some distance; though to await her at all, when he might have met her, struck her, even in this hurried and terrified moment, as offering the strongest confirmation which she had yet received, that it was not a man of pleasure or of gallantry, but of feeling and of truth, into whose way she was thus singularly and frequently cast: and the impression which she had made upon his mind, had never, to her hitherto nearly absorbed faculties, appeared to be so serious or so sincere, as now, when he first evidently struggled to disguise a partiality, which he seemed persuaded that he had, now, first betrayed. The sensations which this discovery might produce in herself were unexamined: the misery with which it teemed for Elinor, and a desire to relieve his own delicacy, by appearing unconscious of his secret, predominated: and she assumed sufficient self-command, to deliver the message of Elinor, with a look, and in a voice, that seemed insensible and unobservant of every other subject.
He soon, now, recovered his usual tone, and disengaged manner. ‘She must certainly,’ he said, ‘be obeyed; though I so little expected such a summons, that I was giving directions for my departure.’
‘Ah, no!’ cried Ellis, ‘rather again defer it.’
‘You would have me again defer it?’ he repeated, with a vivacity he tried still more, though vainly, to subdue than to disguise.
The word again did not make the cheeks of Ellis paler; but she answered, with eagerness, ‘Yes, for the same purpose and same person!—I am forced to speak explicitly—and abruptly. Indeed, Sir, you know not, you conceive not, the dreadfully alarming state of her nerves, nor the violence of her attachment.—You could scarcely else—’ she stopt, for he changed colour and looked hurt: she saw he comprehended that she meant to add, you could scarcely else resist her: she finished, therefore, her phrase, by ‘scarcely else plan leaving her, till you saw her more composed, and more reconciled to herself, and to the world.’
‘You may imagine,’ said he, pensively, ‘it is any thing rather than my inclination that carries me hence ... but I greatly fear ’tis the only prudent measure I can pursue.’
‘You can best judge by seeing her,’ said Ellis: ‘her situation is truly deplorable. Her faculties are all disordered; her very intellects, I fear, are shaken; and there is no misfortune, no horrour, which her desperation, if not softened, does not menace.’
Harleigh now seemed awakened to sudden alarm, and deep concern; and Ellis painfully, with encreasing embarrassment, from encreasing consciousness, added, ‘You will do, I am sure, what is possible to snatch her from despair!’ and then returned to the house: satisfied that her meaning was perfectly comprehended, by the excess of consternation into which it obviously cast Harleigh.