At length, for in this remote village letters were not speedily exchanged, the answer from Doctor Montague arrived: it contained the following lines.

Sir,

I receive Mr. Mordaunt's reference to me as a favour, and hasten to reply to your's of the 5th inst. by saying that I have had the happiness of knowing that gentleman from his youth, and am entirely convinced of his being a man of the most perfectly honourable and excellent character. As you have been obliging enough to account for this application, I can only add that your daughter will in my opinion have reason to esteem herself the most fortunate of women in becoming his wife. Mr. Mordaunt's fortune is sufficiently ample to enable him to live with perfect ease and comfort.

I am, Sir,
With great respect,
Your's, obediently,
George Montague.

St. Aubyn Castle,
Sep. 18th, 18—.

Nothing could be more satisfactory than this honourable testimony to the good qualities of Mr. Mordaunt; and Powis began to feel half ashamed of having doubted for an instant the honour of a man so highly estimated: he hastened with the letter in his hand to Ellen, who, with Joanna for her inmate, was now at home, and exclaiming, "There, child, read that," gave her the letter: the emotions of his affectionate heart, bursting out from time to time while she was reading it, in words pronounced at intervals, and with some difficulty, such as, "Well!—so I must lose her—the pride of my life! but she will be happy I hope, dear soul! This seems to be a man of some consequence: why, she will be quite a lady; not above her old friends, though, I hope, Joanna!"

When Ellen had finished the letter, she rose, and throwing herself into her father's arms, wept with mingled emotions of sorrow and gladness; for sincerely as she rejoiced in such a character of her beloved Mordaunt, she greatly regretted the certainty that if she married him, she must immediately leave her father. Powis's heart was melted by the same consideration, and the tears running down his rough face fell on Ellen's bosom: at last she articulated, "Oh, my dear father, I cannot leave you!" Powis, half sobbing half smiling, said, "Why indeed, my child, I know not how to bear the thoughts of parting from you, but if not now, I must some time or other; and I will not prepare a pain for my death-bed so terrible as that would be which should tell me I had preferred my own selfish happiness to thine." At this tender, this affecting thought, the tears of Ellen redoubled, and Joanna's accompanied them. Just then Mordaunt, who had seen the boy who brought letters to Llanwyllan, pass towards the farm, came in impatient to know if Montague's answer had arrived: he was surprized and almost alarmed at the scene before him. Powis lifted up his head, and rubbing his eyes, said, "I am ashamed of myself to be such a child!—here, Mr. Mordaunt, is your friend's letter, and here, if you will accept of her, is your wife." He disengaged himself from Ellen's clasping arms, and gently placed her in those which Mordaunt eagerly extended to receive her.

All was now soon settled; for Powis, though an unlearned was not an unwise man; and seeing the necessity of Mordaunt's return to his own abode before the season changed, he would not suffer any selfish considerations of his own comfort to divide the lovers during a dreary winter, which would now quickly overtake them. He left every thing respecting money matters to Mr. Ross. Mordaunt gave that gentleman a bond, expressed in such terms as fully convinced him Ellen's pecuniary concerns would be amply considered; and generously refused to accept of any money with his bride, gaily telling Powis, that now he was robbed of his daughter, he hoped he would look out for a wife himself, and retain Ellen's intended portion to encrease his future means of ease and comfort; or, that if he really did not know what to do with the money, he should give it to Joanna when she married. "Well," said Powis, "you are either very rich or very proud, Mr. Mordaunt." "I shall be both when Ellen is my wife," answered Mordaunt.

Mordaunt requested that Ellen would furnish herself with no more cloaths on the occasion than were absolutely necessary, till they should reach Bristol: "Where," he said, "I hope, my dear girl, to find some fashionable mantua-maker, who will at least give you a more modern wardrobe than you could meet with here." "You are determined, I see," said Ellen, "that I shall be obliged to no one but yourself." "For Heaven's sake, Ellen!" replied Mordaunt, hastily, "do not talk of such a paltry concern as a few cloaths, as an obligation: how shall I ever repay those I owe to your confidence and kindness?"

Few were the preparations requisite for the marriage of Mordaunt and Ellen. He with some difficulty procured a chaise from Carnarvon on the morning of their marriage, for the roads between that place and Llanwyllan were in some parts almost impassable for a carriage, and had not the autumn been uncommonly fine and dry, would have been entirely so. On the third of October, at a very early hour, the little party met at Powis's house, and from thence proceeded to the village church, where, from her father's hand, Mordaunt received his lovely bride. Mr. Ross performed the ceremony, and at the end of it added an extempore and most eloquent prayer for the happiness of friends so dear to him, with a fervency of devotion that drew tears into every eye. When all the party had quitted the vestry, after having registered the marriage of Constantine Frederick Mordaunt and Ellen Powis, Ross and Mordaunt stepped back an instant, as if something had been forgotten: as they returned, Ellen heard Ross say, "I rely implicitly upon it, and let me beg it may be done as soon as possible." "Depend upon my sacred honour," answered Mordaunt, impressively: "or, if you wish it, on my most solemn oath." "It needs not that," said Ross; "I am satisfied." "Then so am I," thought Ellen, "for strange as such frequent mysteries appear, Ross, I am sure, would never partake of one, which was not perfectly innocent."

Let us not attempt to describe the parting of Powis and his daughter, which took place an hour after the marriage ceremony was concluded. Mordaunt repeated his assurances of returning, if possible, to Llanwyllan the following summer; then almost by force severing Ellen from her father, he placed her in the chaise, and, following hastily, bowed his farewell. The motion of the carriage, to which she was wholly unused, roused Ellen from the half-fainting into which she had fallen, and the tender soothings of Mordaunt at length revived and composed her. As they passed on, the varied face of the country, the beautiful and extensive scenery through which they journied, awakened all the soft enthusiasm of her youthful mind, which, shaking off the dejection caused by parting from her first connections, roused itself to the perception of the happy prospects the future might present.

After several days travelling, stopping occasionally to rest, and to view such remarkable objects as they thought worthy of observation, they arrived at the Passage, and, crossing it, soon after entered the city of Bristol. To paint Ellen's surprise at all the wonders of the new world which surrounded her would be impossible; so strange indeed did every thing appear to her, that scarcely the influence which Mordaunt possessed over her mind could prevent her from exclamations of astonishment, which, to those around, would have betrayed the perfect seclusion in which she had hitherto lived. After shewing her all that was worth notice in Bristol and its interesting environs, Mordaunt took his fair bride to Bath, with the elegance of which she was particularly delighted. The streets, the shops, were a constant source of amusement to one so new to every thing; here, however, they remained but three days, during which Mordaunt procured for Ellen such a variety of dresses as appeared to her quite extraordinary; and she began to think her husband was either very rich or very extravagant, though in truth all he purchased would hardly satisfy the "indispensable necessities" of most young ladies, of no pretensions really higher than those of Ellen Powis had been; and were far from appearing to Mordaunt more than barely sufficient for her present occasions. An elegant new riding habit and hat were amongst them; and Ellen's delicate figure appeared to such advantage in that dress, that no one could have supposed her so lately removed from so remote a situation: her natural gracefulness prevented her appearing in the slightest degree awkward; and her new dress gave her an air of fashion, with which Mordaunt was delighted.

From Bath they went to London, where Mordaunt engaged very handsome lodgings, though not in the most fashionable part of the town, yet in a handsome street, for a fortnight, where they rested after the fatigues of so long a journey. Mordaunt told his wife he wished not to take her to any of the public amusements till the next spring, when he hoped to revisit London with her, and when some ladies of his acquaintance would be there also, and would accompany her. Ellen, who desired no greater pleasure than his society, was well contented with this arrangement: during their stay in London, therefore, they seldom went out; but Mordaunt trusted her two or three times under the care of the person at whose house they lodged, (who was a very respectable woman) to go to different shops, furnishing her liberally with money, and insisting on her providing a very complete and elegant wardrobe. Several times Ellen wished to check his liberality, assuring him she had already as much of every thing as she wished for; but he replied she was no judge of what she would want when she went into the country, and that she must oblige him by buying every thing in abundance, and of the best and most fashionable materials; nor did he ever go from home without bringing back with him some elegant trinket or set of ornaments for her; so that little as she was a judge of the value of money, she was surprized and somewhat uneasy to see Mordaunt so profuse of his, for in addition to the large expences he would incur in her dress, he had requested Mrs. Birtley (the person at whose house they lodged) to hire a young woman to wait upon his wife; and Ellen really thought her new servant so much more like a lady than till very lately she had thought herself, that she hardly knew how to give her any orders. Mordaunt had also hired a job chariot and horses for the time they staid in town.

Their landlady observing the extreme youth and simplicity of Ellen, contrasted by that air of the world and of fashion so conspicuous in Mordaunt, as well as that though he hardly appeared to endure her being out of his sight, he seldom went abroad with her, and that they seemed to have no friends or connections in London, began to form conjectures not very much to the advantage of her guests; and as she was a woman of good character, though of somewhat a suspicious turn, she was not sorry when they left her apartments.

Mordaunt chose not to take Jane, Ellen's new maid, with them, but left directions for her to travel by the stage to the town which was nearest to his residence in Northamptonshire, where she should be met by a servant, who would conduct her to his house.

For the first day of their journey Mordaunt appeared at times in deep reflection, and as if revolving in his mind a variety of considerations, frequently catching Ellen's hand in his own, he would express the rapture he felt in the certainty of possessing her affection, and that she was securely his; then he would add, "Remember, Ellen, you have promised to take me for better for worse: tell me, do you think any change in my situation could impair your love for me?" To these questions she returned such tender and affectionate answers, as seemed for the time to dispel from his mind every uneasy sensation; yet still at intervals his thoughtfulness returned, and began at last to inspire Ellen with a sort of anxiety she could not wholly overcome.

The next day Mordaunt proposed resting a few hours at a pleasant village, which he told her was only about twenty miles from his own house, but that he thought it would be more agreeable to her not to arrive at home till towards the evening: to this she readily consented; it was indeed very agreeable to her, but had it been less so, she knew no will but his.

After breakfast, the landlady of the inn where they had taken that meal, coming in, Mordaunt asked her how far it was from thence to St. Aubyn Castle; she answered about nineteen miles: after asking her some more questions respecting the length of the stages, &c. he inquired if she knew Lord St. Aubyn; she replied she had seen his Lordship once before he went abroad, but she heard he was now soon expected home again; a gentleman who stopped at her house not many days before, told her his Lordship was lately returned from Spain, and was coming very shortly to the Castle. On being asked if she knew who that gentleman was, she said it was the Reverend Doctor Montague, his Lordship's domestic Chaplain. Mordaunt then asked her if Lord St. Aubyn was much liked in his neighbourhood, and she gave him a very high character for his charity to the poor, and kindness to his servants and dependants.

Ellen here whispered to her husband that she would inquire what sort of a character one Mr. Mordaunt, his Lordship's steward, bore. Mordaunt laughed, and said she was very malicious, and only hoped to hear some evil of him. She then repeated her question, looking playfully at him, to which the landlady replied, that she did not know Mr. Mordaunt except by name, but she heard he was a very worthy old gentleman. The idea of Mordaunt's being called an old gentleman diverted Ellen so much, that she burst into a laugh she could not repress, in which Mordaunt joined so heartily, as half offended the good woman, who, supposing she had committed some blunder, left the room immediately.

"Come, my dear Ellen," said Mordaunt, when he had composed his features, "let us take a walk through this pleasant village: it is long since you enjoyed the pure air of the country." "Indeed, my dear old gentleman," Ellen gaily replied, "I shall be very glad to find myself once more at liberty to walk a little, for I began to feel tired of the restraint of a carriage, which, when we left Llanwyllan, I thought so delightful, I could never be weary of it."