The medicines ordered by her skilful physician had so salutary an effect, that towards midnight Ellen fell into a quiet sleep, from which every thing favourable might be expected. Lady Juliana was therefore prevailed on to retire to bed, Miss Cecil, Jane, and the housekeeper, sitting up with Lady St. Aubyn, the two latter in the anti-chamber. But Lady Juliana was far from being satisfied, notwithstanding the assurances of St. Aubyn that all was at an end between him and Ross: she knew him too well to believe he would pass over insults so marked; and her watchfulness had convinced her no apology from Ross, in writing or otherwise, had been received. Sir Edward Leicester, too, had called once or twice in the course of the day; and though she had tormented him and her nephew, by resolutely remaining in the room in defiance of the hints St. Aubyn gave of wishing to be alone with his friend, yet she overheard a few words, that more and more convinced her a duel was intended. She left orders, therefore, to be called by day-break; and unable to prevail on St. Aubyn to go to bed, wearied and exhausted by emotions, which, at her time of life, she could ill support, she at length left him to himself.

Determined as he was to meet Ross in the morning, and avoiding reflections, which, though he felt how decisive they were against the practice of duelling, he yet thought came too late. St. Aubyn's frame was shaken by various sensations. Recollection of the past, and terror for the future, hung heavily upon him; yet not for himself he feared: but should any thing amiss happen to him, what would become of Ellen—of Ellen, whom he should leave upon a bed of sickness, which, then he felt convinced, would be to her the bed of death!

"And was it for this," he exclaimed, as he paced his study, "for this I drew her from her native shades, where, happy and contented, but for me she might have blossomed still. Oh! little, my Ellen, hast thou had cause to rejoice in that elevation which doubtless many have envied thee. Too often have I been to thee the mysterious cause of sorrow and anxiety. Perhaps I shall have been also the cause of thine untimely end."

The idea so dreadfully shook him, he dared no longer think, lest it should quite unman him; but determined to look upon her once more, he took the taper, which burnt beside him, and, with light steps, passed to her apartment. In the anti-room he found the housekeeper and Jane both sleeping in their chairs: all was profoundly still, and he began to fear Ellen was left without a wakeful guard; but at the sound of his footsteps, almost noiseless as they were, and the approaching light, for the bed-room door was open for air, Laura Cecil stole to meet him: she motioned to him to be silent, and advancing a few steps into the anti-room, said, in the lowest whisper, "For heaven's sake, Lord St. Aubyn, why this—why are you not retired to rest?"

"Ah, Laura! dear, kind Laura," he exclaimed, grasping her hand, "how could I rest, while that injured, perhaps that murdered angel lies suffering thus, and through my fault, through my accursed, headlong jealousy!"

"Deeply, indeed," said Laura, "do I lament that appearances should have thus misled you, my Lord, and am indeed astonished at it: had you but waited one hour, ere you so harshly condemned, from me you might have learned her perfect innocence: she pressed me to go with her this morning, which my having a bad head-ache prevented: she told me where she was going, shewed me the letter she had received, detailed her kind plans for relieving the poor widow, and mentioned not having explained her intentions to you, lest you should prevent her going; and she wished so much, she said, to see the poor little infant; certainly she did not mention any intention of going to that fatal house where you found her, and which, I am assured, she never thought of till passing the top of the street she recollected the book she so much valued, and which I one day heard her tell Jane to call for; but all this is now unavailing: let me beg you to retire: should the murmur of our voices disturb her, I shall indeed greatly lament it."

"Oh, let me look upon her—once more let me see her! Will she die? Is it possible she may recover?"

"It is very possible, almost certain, from her sleeping so quietly, if you do not disturb her: but think, if she should awake and see you, at this strange hour, with those distracted looks!"

"Yet I must see her now—yes, Laura, I must venture all; for how do I know if I shall ever see her more!"

"For heaven's sake, what do you mean? Surely, surely you do not think of—you are not meditating——"

"No matter what," said he hastily; "I must see her now."

Laura shrunk back astonished and dismayed; but feeling that he would not be contradicted, she again, with light steps, approached the bed; where, in a profound sleep, the effect of opiates, lay Ellen, "fair lily, and whiter than her sheets;" and but that in the stillness of night her quick short breathings were distinctly heard, it could hardly have been known she lived.

Laura then beckoned St. Aubyn to approach, which he did with trembling steps, and shaded by the curtain, gazed wistfully upon her. Overcome by the touching spectacle of youth, beauty, and innocence, in a few hours almost destroyed by his rash jealousy, the tears now ran down his manly cheeks; and hardly could he restrain the groans which heaved his bosom, while Laura's eyes streamed at the affecting sight before her. At that moment Ellen moved a little, and they both retreated, that if she opened her eyes she might not see them; but she still slept; and only murmuring "dear St. Aubyn," and a few inarticulate words, she was again silent.

Again St. Aubyn asked Laura if it were possible she could recover, and she assured him that Ellen already looked better than she had done an hour before; and at last, after he had knelt and imprinted a soft kiss on one of her hands, which lay on the counterpane, and lifted up his heart to heaven, in silent prayer for her recovery, he was prevailed on to quit the room.

The rest of the night St. Aubyn spent in settling some papers, and adding a few lines to his will, all of which he locked into a drawer, and sealing up the key, directed it to Lady Juliana.

At day-break his valet, according to order, came to him. To this confidential servant St. Aubyn explained the cause of his going from home so early, and left the pacquet for Lady Juliana in his care, to be delivered to her, should he not return in safety. He then sent to inquire of Jane for her lady, and had the happiness of hearing a favourable account of her. St. Aubyn then set off, attended only by one servant, to the house of Sir Edward Leicester, whose carriage was at the door, and they instantly proceeded to Wimbledon, where, on the spot marked in Charles Ross's letter, they alighted; and telling the coachman to draw off, and wait at a place they pointed out to him, the two friends walked up and down some time, expecting Ross.

In about ten minutes they saw him approaching, but alone: St. Aubyn just touched his hat, and said, "Mr. Ross, where is your friend?"

"My Lord," said Ross, in a firm tone, "I am here, not to fight, not to double the injuries you have already received from me, but to make every concession you can desire. I have brought no friend with me; I trust my honour and my life implicitly in your hands. Are you prepared to hear my explanation?—if not, I am ready to stand your fire."

"I know not, Sir," said St. Aubyn, haughtily, "what has caused this sudden alteration in your sentiments: this meeting was at your own request; and the insults you bestowed on Lady St. Aubyn yesterday make me as desirous of it now as you were when you appointed it."

"Yet, my Lord," said Sir Edward, "hear Mr. Ross: if this affair can be accommodated without bloodshed, I think myself called upon to insist it shall be so."

St. Aubyn bowed with a lofty air to Ross, and said:—

"Well, Sir, your explanation if you please."

Ross now entered into a long detail of the circumstances which had misled him, stated his fears of St. Aubyn under the name of Mordaunt, when he first saw him at Llanwyllan; that no letters from thence had reached him on the station where he had remained for the last half year, till, about a month before his ship had come home, and he had been ordered to London to receive a promotion as unexpected as it was welcome; that he happened to lodge at Mrs. Birtley's, and by chance, finding the volume of Gray Lady St. Aubyn had left there, he recognized the initials "C. F. M. to E. P." in the first page, which the words "Dear Llanwyllan," written in another, confirmed. The answer Mrs. Birtley made to his impatient questions had convinced him who the Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt she spoke of were: this woman had given him also such accounts as led him to believe they were not married, and hence his mad insulting conduct at the theatre had arisen. He next repeated so accurately every word that had passed between him and Ellen, and described their mutual astonishment at meeting so unexpectedly in such a natural manner, that had St. Aubyn doubted before, he could have done so no longer.

"Yet," said Ross, "convinced as I now was how wrong I had been, I could not prevail on myself to apologize to one whom I confess I hated, for he had robbed me of the only woman I ever loved; yet she had never, even in the happy hours of our youth, given me the slightest hope of ever obtaining more than the affection of a sister from her, and even that seemed at times more the effect of habit than choice; for rough and unpolished, my manners repulsed, and choleric and hasty my temper, alarmed the gentle Ellen; yet I still flattered myself, time, and the retired situation in which she lived preventing her extraordinary beauty from being known, might have done much for me; but from the moment Mr. Mordaunt was known to her, I easily perceived that hope was at an end; and now I had only to desire that I might fall by the hand of the man who had raised her to that greatness. I could have done no more than wish for her; I therefore determined to keep my engagement for this morning. But yesterday it came to my knowledge that the promotion intended for me had been granted to the solicitations of Lord St. Aubyn. Struck, ashamed at the base ingratitude of my conduct, I resolved at length to make every explanation, every concession. I have done so, and now, my Lord, it rests with you to accept this apology: if you refuse it, I am ready to stand your fire, for never will I lift my hand in a cause so unjust, and against a man, who, without my knowledge, had so generously befriended me."

"I told you before, Mr. Ross," said St. Aubyn, "that for your excellent father's sake I would overlook that in you which in another man I would instantly have resented. I am not of a vindictive spirit, and the practice of duelling, though I have in some measure been forced to countenance it, is against my principles. You are at liberty, Sir, to retire; I am satisfied."

"I dare not, my Lord," said Ross, "attempt to offer any thanks for the kindness you intended me in my professional career; still less can I consent to profit by it: I have not deserved it at your hands, and declining the promotion offered to me, I shall return to my ship, and leave England as soon as possible, and I hope for ever."

St. Aubyn's generous spirit was moved by this renunciation.

"That promotion, Mr. Ross," he replied, "was sought for you at the request of Lady St. Aubyn, who had not forgotten the friend of her childhood, and in hopes of gratifying your most worthy father, from whom, as well as from your mother and sister, both my wife and myself have experienced much kindness and friendship: I must therefore request you will not renounce it.

"At this moment Lady St. Aubyn is extremely ill, in consequence of the alarming scene to which your mistake and my rashness gave rise: should this illness prove fatal," (and his lips quivered with emotion as he spoke), "never more must you and I meet again! Should she recover, as I hope and trust she will, I am so perfectly satisfied with the explanations I have received, that I shall not be sorry to see your early acquaintance renewed: for the present we part as friends."

Then bowing, he took Sir Edward's arm, and hastened to his carriage, leaving Ross overwhelmed with shame and remorse for the treatment he had given to a man so generous.

On reaching Cavendish Square he found Lady Juliana in the utmost alarm; for missing him when she arose, and hearing at how early an hour he had left the house, she had immediately suspected his errand abroad: she had sent to Sir Edward Leicester's, and learned from the servants that their master and Lord St. Aubyn had gone out together. Still more and more alarmed, Lady Juliana paced from room to room in dreadful agitation, not knowing whither to send or what to do. Soon after eight o'clock, Laura sent a note by Jane to Lady Juliana, saying Lady St. Aubyn was awake, that the delirium had totally subsided, but had left her so extremely weak and low she could hardly speak to be heard, but was anxious to see her and Lord St. Aubyn, whose affectionate inquiries she had heard of with much delight, and was prepared to see him with composure, and without recurring to the past. To trust herself near Ellen, agitated as she was, Lady Juliana knew was impossible; she therefore ordered Jane to say, that having sat up almost the whole night, neither the Earl nor herself was up, but in an hour or two they would be with her; then assuring the girl that the unfortunate misunderstanding of the day before was perfectly explained, she charged her not to drop a hint of it amongst the servants, which Jane readily promised, and faithfully performed.

Soon after this, Doctor B. called, and to him Lady Juliana communicated her fears on St. Aubyn's account: he entreated she would not go near the Countess till her spirits were quieter, and by no means to let any ill tidings reach her, should such arrive: then visiting the sick room, he rejoiced to find his young and lovely patient out of danger, though extremely weak. The excellence of her constitution, assisted by his skill, had triumphed over the disease, and if no new alarm occurred, he doubted not her perfect recovery: leaving strict and repeated orders that no one should be admitted at all likely to hurry her spirits, he left her, and as he passed down the staircase, was rejoiced to see St. Aubyn enter safe and well. The Earl hastened to him with the most eager inquiries for his patient, and listened to his favourable accounts with thankful joy.

"As to Lady Juliana, my good Lord," said the physician, "she is scarcely in her senses; you have frightened her almost to death: come, let me have the pleasure of leading you to her, and telling her at the same time how much better our fair patient is, after which I would advise you both to take some repose, for your countenance tells me you have not had much rest last night, and I promise you, you must not go to Lady St. Aubyn with those pale and haggard looks."

The joy of Lady Juliana at seeing St. Aubyn return safe and unhurt was extreme, and was still increased when he owned to her candidly where he had been, and the satisfactory explanation he had received from Ross, which so completely put an end to this untoward affair for ever.

In the afternoon, St. Aubyn, promising to be as composed as possible, was permitted to see Ellen for a few minutes. Both forbore to speak of what had passed, for both felt they could not endure to recur to it; but the warmth and unaffected tenderness of his manner assured her that all suspicion had been effaced from his mind; while the affectionate softness of her's proved to St. Aubyn that his unkindness was forgiven.

In a very few days Ellen was pronounced convalescent, though her remaining weakness, and Lady Juliana's precautions, confined her to her dressing-room: there, by slow degrees, she learned from her affectionate Laura all the circumstances which had led to Charles Ross's mistake, and that of St. Aubyn, nor could she help acknowledging that appearances had been in both instances against her: relieved however by having all her anxieties removed, and by a full though affecting explanation with St. Aubyn, who gave her the tenderest assurances that every jealous disposition was for ever removed from his mind, she now rapidly recovered: but as the weather was now becoming very warm, and she had had no great reason to delight in London, she earnestly requested to be allowed to return to Castle St. Aubyn; and the advice of her medical attendants coinciding with her wishes, the request was easily granted.

Before she left London, however, she, with her Lord, paid another visit to the officer's widow and her interesting family, and so arranged for them as to ensure them a neat residence a little way out of town, and the certain means of comfortable subsistence for the present; for it was her intention, with St. Aubyn's permission, to form a school, and other useful institutions, in the neighbourhood of the Castle, in which she hoped to render the widow a service, as well as gratify herself, by placing her at the head of the village seminary. She also visited Mr. Dorrington again, and spent a delightful hour amongst his treasures; then leaving her P. P. C. for Lady Meredith, and some other slight acquaintances, she joyfully left London on her way to Northamptonshire, accompanied by the Earl (more tenderly attached than ever), Lady Juliana, and Miss Cecil, Sir Edward Leicester promising to pay them a visit very soon.

Delighted indeed was Ellen once more to breathe the pure air of the country; and as they passed the little inn where they had stopped on their former journey from town, and caught a distant glimpse of the farm-house where he had told her his real name and rank, she tenderly pressed St. Aubyn's hand, and with a soft tear on her cheek, reminded him of the circumstance.

"Ah, my Ellen," he said, "much have we both suffered since that interesting moment, but never more, through fault of mine, shall you shed another tear, save such as now glitter in your eyes—tears of tenderness and affection.

"