After the scene at the Opera, which effectually destroyed her pleasure there, Lady St. Aubyn felt for some days not at all disposed to enter into the gay parties which were offered for her amusement: a gloom hung over her, and she had a weight on her spirits, which in some degree affected her health. Some one says, "A belief in presentiment is the favourite superstition of feeling minds;" and Ellen was certainly not entirely free from it. Lady Juliana and Miss Cecil perceived the effect without knowing the cause; and supposing it to be merely a temporary indisposition, persuaded her to remain quietly at home for a day or two; but finding the nervous sort of depression under which she laboured was encreased by indulgence, they imagined a moderate share of amusement might remove it; and prevailed on her to take places at Covent-Garden, to see Mrs. Jordan in a favourite comedy.

Laura did not yet shew herself in public; Ellen therefore went to the play with only St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana. They were joined there by two or three gentlemen, and amongst them Sir Edward Leicester, who, between the acts, made so many inquiries for Miss Cecil, and spoke so highly of Lady St. Aubyn's "charming friend," as convinced her he took a deep interest in all that concerned Laura. This gave real pleasure to Ellen, who thought so well of Sir Edward, as to wish he might succeed in rendering the prepossession mutual. They were all extremely well pleased with the play. Who, indeed, that ever saw Mrs. Jordan act was otherwise? And Lady Juliana was rejoiced to see Ellen quite as cheerful as usual. They did not choose to stay the farce, and finding at the end of the play the carriage was in waiting, left the box. Lady Juliana being rather timid, and not very alert in getting into a carriage, St. Aubyn gave her his arm, and requested Sir Edward would take care of Lady St. Aubyn.

As they were crossing the lobby, a gentleman accidentally trod on Ellen's train, and entangled it in his spur, by which she was detained half a minute before it could be disengaged. He begged her pardon, and passed on. St. Aubyn and his aunt not perceiving the circumstance, had advanced some steps before the Countess and Sir Edward. At that moment two or three young men pushed rather rudely by them; and Sir Edward extending his hand, said, "Take care, gentlemen, you incommode the lady."

One of them turned round, and looking in Ellen's face, exclaimed:

"By heaven 'tis she! 'tis Ellen Powis!"

Lady St. Aubyn starting at the name, cast her eyes upon him, and instantly recognized Charles Ross: but before she could speak to him, as she was preparing to do in a friendly manner, he stamped violently, and with a countenance where the utmost rage was expressed, and a dreadful oath, exclaimed:

"Is this the villain that has undone thee?—But where, then, is that accursed Mordaunt? Ah, Ellen! abandoned, miserable girl, art thou, then, so lost already?"

Pale, gasping for breath at this shocking language, Ellen clung more closely to the arm of Sir Edward, and faintly articulated, "For God's sake let me pass!"

"What do you mean, Sir?" said Sir Edward, fiercely: "Are you intoxicated, or mad? How dare you insult this lady!"

"And how dare you, Sir," answered Charles, approaching in a menacing attitude, "after seducing her from her friends, and from those who loved her, to look me in the face?"

"Madman!" replied Sir Edward, pushing him aside with one hand, while with the other he supported the now almost fainting Ellen. "Gentlemen, I request you will secure him till I place this lady in her carriage, and then I am ready to give him any explanation he may wish for."

Some of the gentlemen, who by this time surrounded them, knowing Charles, said to him: "Come away, Ross; you are very wrong: at any rate, this quarrel shall go no farther."

At this moment St. Aubyn, having placed his aunt in the carriage, wondering at Ellen's delay, returned to seek her; and astonished at what he beheld, exclaimed:

"For heaven's sake, what is the matter? My love, what makes you look so pale? Has any one dared to insult you?"

"Oh! you are there, Sir, are you," said Charles: "I know you: I saw you once, and then foretold what has happened: you are the man who must give me satisfaction."

"Pshaw! he is mad, quite mad," cried Sir Edward; "pay no attention to him; he knows not what he talks of."

The by-standers began to be of the same opinion; and, indeed, his rageful countenance, and the violence of his gesticulations, with the apparent inconsistency of his words, rendered the idea extremely probable; they therefore forcibly held him, and said: "Pass on, gentlemen, and take care of the lady: we will prevent him from following you;" while Ross's friends, supposing either that the wine they knew he had drank had affected him, or that some sudden frenzy had seized him, were amongst the foremost to secure him, especially as a gentleman who now came up said the gentleman and lady were the Earl and Countess of St. Aubyn: but Charles was too outrageous to hear that or any thing else, and called after them aloud, stamping with fury, and swearing terribly:

"Mean, detestable cowards, come back. I am not mad. Give up that wretched girl: let me take her to her father—to mine, who loved her. Mordaunt, vile, hateful Mordaunt! to you I call—Come back, I say!"

St. Aubyn turned, and but that Ellen hung half-fainting on him, he would have obeyed the summons; for he knew that name was addressed to him, and easily guessed who the supposed madman was, and how the mistake which caused his insults might have arisen; but Sir Edward said, "You shall not go back, St. Aubyn, he is mad; or if not, it belongs to me to chastise him."

"Is it not Charles Ross?" said St. Aubyn to Ellen.

"Yes," she faintly replied; "but do not go back; he is certainly out of his senses."

By this time they had reached the carriage, and putting her into it, he shut the door; and saying, "Wait a moment, be not alarmed, I must speak to him," he ran back again, Sir Edward following.

Ross having, as soon as they were out of sight, disengaged himself from the by-standers, was hastening with frantic violence to overtake them: when he saw the two gentlemen, he advanced and said:

"You have thought proper, then, to come back; but what have you done with that unfortunate girl?"

"For the sake of your father, Mr. Ross," said St. Aubyn, "for now I know you, I will be patient and tell you."

"What can you tell me more than I already know?" cried Ross, interrupting him with angry vehemence. "Can you deny that you have seduced her whom I loved better than my own soul? Did you not bring her with you to London? I know it all, Sir: the woman where you lodged found you out. She saw how you had deceived my gentle, innocent Ellen."

"What words are these!" exclaimed St. Aubyn, haughtily. "Whence arises so vile an error?"

"Villain!" exclaimed Charles, with wild impetuosity, "deny not your crimes, but give me the satisfaction of a gentleman."

"You do not act like one," said St. Aubyn: "but here is my card; I am always to be found, and will give you whatever satisfaction you may require."

He threw a card with his address to Charles, who hastily gave St. Aubyn one of his.

"It shall not be," said Sir Edward. "I was the first insulted: this affair is mine."

"Settle it as you please," said Charles: "come one or both, I am ready."

"Very well," said St. Aubyn; "to-morrow we shall be at your service. Come, Sir Edward; Ellen will be terrified to death." They hastened on; and Ross rudely pushing aside those around him, left the theatre.

St. Aubyn and Sir Edward now went as quickly as possible, where they found the Countess, half-fainting, in the arms of Lady Juliana.

"For God's sake," said the latter, as they opened the door, "what is the matter? What have you been doing? Could you find no time or place to quarrel in but in the presence of this poor girl?"

"For heaven's sake, Madam," said St. Aubyn, after having ordered the servants to drive on, "do not talk in that manner. Am I so regardless of this dear creature's comfort, or so prone to quarrel, that I should seek it at such a time as this?"

He then made Ellen lean on him, and soothed her with the most affectionate and tender expressions.

"Oh," said she, reviving; "is he gone? Dear St. Aubyn, tell me, are you safe, has he hurt you?"

"No—no, my love; be composed, all is over; he is gone away satisfied."

"Satisfied!" replied she; "what could he mean? Do you think he is mad, or is it the effect of wine, or some mistake?"

"I know not," said St. Aubyn, hastily; "but be at rest—he is gone—we shall hear no more of him."

"Oh, are you sure—are you quite sure? Dear Lady Juliana, tell me: may I depend upon it? You said something about a duel."

"I talked like a fool, then, if I did," replied Lady Juliana; "but I do not remember any thing of it."

"A duel—ridiculous!" said St. Aubyn, pretending to laugh. "I assure you, Ellen, all is over; pray be composed; there is nothing to fear."

Lady Juliana knew better, but terrified for Ellen, she affected to believe what St. Aubyn said, and between them, they contrived completely to deceive the Countess, who, ignorant of the usages of the world, and not knowing all that had passed, was easily misled. She composed her mind, therefore, in the hope that all was well, though she still trembled, and was so much fluttered, that Lady Juliana, after going home with her, waited till she had seen her in bed; and desiring she might be kept perfectly quiet, she returned to the drawing-room, and endeavoured to learn from St. Aubyn and Leicester what had happened, and what was likely to be the result: but she vainly chid or interrogated either: both persisted in the story that Ross had apologized, and all was over.

Rather better satisfied, though not fully convinced, Lady Juliana soon after left them, determined however to keep a little watch upon the actions of her nephew, with whose temper she was too well acquainted to suppose such a business would be passed over without farther notice.

St. Aubyn gave Ellen such assurances that nothing more would arise from this affair, that, tired out with the agitation she had undergone, she soon fell into a profound sleep, and awakened in the morning perfectly refreshed and composed. At St. Aubyn's request, however, she remained later than usual in bed. Laura Cecil sat by her side, and gave her her breakfast, after which she appeared so entirely well, that no objection was made to her rising.

In the meantime St. Aubyn had received, at his breakfast-table, the following note:—

To this St. Aubyn returned the following answer:—

After dispatching this laconic reply, the Earl went to Ellen's dressing-room. Laura had just left her; Jane only was with her: at the moment he entered, Ellen was reading a note, which, when she saw him, she hastily folded together, and put within the bosom of her morning dress: she seemed a little agitated, and the tears stood in her eyes, but hastening to meet him, she said:—

"My dear St. Aubyn, they told me you were gone out."

"No, my love," said St. Aubyn, a little surprized at the hasty manner in which she spoke; "but I am going out soon."

"Shall you take the barouche or the chariot?"

"Neither; I shall walk to Sir Edward Leicester's: but why; are you going out?"

"Yes—by and bye; I think a little air will do me good."

"Had you not better keep quiet? You know my aunt particularly requested you would do so; she will be here soon: do not go till you have seen her, nor then unless she advises it."

"But I assure you, my Lord, I am perfectly well, and I am sure a little air will be of service."

"Well, do as you please," said St. Aubyn, a little surprized at her adhering so determinately to her idea of going out; for, in general, half a word from him guided her; "but you will not go alone?"

"Oh—no, Laura will go with me."

"Very well, my love; don't fatigue yourself. Where are you going?"

"I don't know exactly: I want to do some shopping."

St. Aubyn then wished her good-morning, and repeating his request that she would take care of herself, left her.

The real fact was this—Jane, who was Ellen's almoner, and brought to her knowledge many cases of distress, of which she would otherwise have been ignorant, had the night before, while her lady was at the play, received a petition from an officer's widow, who stated herself to be living in a small lodging in —— Street; that she had several children, of whom the youngest was an infant not a month old, born under circumstances of the most acute distress, a few months after its father had fallen in the field of battle; the eldest, a girl of sixteen, in a deep decline: these circumstances, she said, prevented her from waiting herself on Lady St. Aubyn, of whose goodness she had heard much from an old blind lady, her neighbour, whom, in fact, Ellen had supported for some time past, and whom she had visited two or three times with Jane only.

Ellen, warm-hearted and benevolent, was extremely anxious to see this unfortunate family: Jane had given her the letter just before St. Aubyn came into her room, and fearing if she declared her purpose he would oppose it, lest her health should be injured by the emotion she must necessarily feel from the sight of this unhappy mother and her children, she concealed the letter, and did not exactly tell him why she wished so much to go out, though aware that she must appear unusually pertinacious; but she had set her heart with all the fervor of youth on her object: above all, she desired to see the poor little infant, for Ellen, always fond of children, had, since she knew herself likely to become a mother, felt a peculiar interest in young children, and ardently wished to see and provide for one who had so many claims to the compassion of a tender heart; and having really some purchases to make, she gave without consideration that as her only motive for going out. Never before had she departed for an instant from the singular sincerity of her character, and the perfect confidence which she reposed in her husband; dearly did she soon repent of having done so now.

On asking Laura to go with her, she unexpectedly declined it, having a bad head-ache, and tried to persuade Ellen not to go herself, but to send Jane, and go some other time: but Ellen was so unusually fixed on her point, and her imagination was so impressed with the idea of the poor little infant, that, for a wonder, she was not to be prevailed on; and fearing, lest Lady Juliana should come and prevent her, she ordered the carriage directly, and set out.

She drove first to —— Street, where she found the distrest family in all the poverty and affliction which had been described to her—the unfortunate mother, still weak, and scarcely able to support herself, obliged to act as nurse, not only to the infant, but to her eldest daughter, who, pale and languishing, seemed ready every moment to breathe her last, while two or three other children were playing in the room, distracting by their unconscious noise the poor invalids.

The tender and compassionate Ellen felt her heart opprest at this melancholy sight, and hastened as much as possible to relieve it: she held herself the baby in her arms, while she sent Jane to seek a nurse for the poor girl, and to the woman of the house where they lodged, to whom she spoke herself; and requested she would take charge of the other children, till the mother was more able to do so. She gave the widow an ample supply of money to procure every thing necessary for her herself and family, and after promising to send a physician to attend the poor girl, and kissing the baby, she departed, followed by thanks and blessings, "not loud but deep," and went to see the poor old blind lady, who, always delighted to hear her sweet voice and kind expressions, detained her as long as she could.

Returning home, rejoicing in the good she had done, feeling herself animated by the purest pleasure, and quite well in health, Ellen suddenly recollected that she was close by the street where Mrs. Birtley lived, with whom she had lodged the first time she was in London; and she thought she would just stop at the door, and ask for the book she had left there, for which Jane had, as she said, always forgotten to call: it was that very volume of Gray which Mordaunt had given her, and as his first gift she was really anxious to recover it. Meaning merely to stop at the door, and send Jane in for it, she pulled the check, and ordered the coachman to drive down that street, and stop at No. 6, and told Jane for what purpose she was going.

"Oh, my Lady," said the talkative girl, "I shall be rejoiced that Mrs. Birtley should see you in all your grandeur: she will be surprized after all she had the impertinence to say."

"Indeed," said Ellen, "I never thought of that: she will wonder to see me under such a different appearance, and perhaps say something in the hearing of the servants. I will not go."

"Oh, my Lady," answered Jane, "she need not know who you are: only ask for the book, and come away directly: she will not know a bit the more what your Ladyship's real name is; and I suppose she is not enough amongst the grand people to know the livery or carriage."

"True," said Ellen: "well, you shall go in and ask for the book, but do not explain any thing to her."

"Oh, no, indeed, my Lady," said Jane; "so far from it, I shall enjoy seeing her puzzle——"

While they spoke, the carriage stopped at the door of Mrs. Birtley. Ellen, who half repented having come, sat back in the carriage, and told Jane to go in and ask for the book, and not to say she was there, for she would not alight: but notwithstanding Ellen's caution, Mrs. Birtley, having been drawn to the window by seeing such an elegant equipage stop at her door, caught a glimpse of her as the footman opened the door of the chariot for Jane to alight, came to the side of the carriage, and with civility asked her if she would not walk in. Ellen, feeling more and more the absurdity of which she had been guilty in coming to the door of a woman who she knew entertained of her a doubtful opinion, and to whom she could not explain herself, coldly declined the offer; but the coachman said he feared the horses would not turn very well, as the street was rather narrow, and that it would be better if her Ladyship pleased to alight for a moment, lest she should be alarmed.

Mrs. Birtley stared at the "Ladyship" as much as she had done at the coronetted carriage and fine horses; for she was not quite so ignorant of grand people, as Jane, in the plenitude of her own newly-acquired knowledge, had supposed her.

Ellen, vexed at her own folly in coming thither, was now obliged to get out of the carriage; and several people passing by, staring first at the carriage, and then at Ellen, she thought it would be better to go for an instant into the house. Mrs. Birtley shewed her into the parlour, and requesting she would be seated, added, "My lodger is gone out, and will not, I suppose, be back till dinner-time: he is generally out all the morning. I believe he knows something of you, Ma'am."

"Of me!" repeated Ellen, surprized.

"Yes, Ma'am: for when he came here about a week ago, he saw, by accident, that book Mrs. Jane has in her hand; and some writing there was in it seemed to put him into a great passion. He made me tell him how I came by the book, and asked me a thousand questions about you: what was the name of the gentleman you came with, if you were young and handsome, and I don't know what; and I believe what I told him put him into a great rage, for he stampt and swore like a madman."

Ellen, vexed and astonished, sorry she had come there, and feeling a certain dread of she hardly knew what stealing over her, now turned extremely pale; and Jane exclaimed, "Oh, my Lady will faint: get some water!"

"Your Lady! Why she is Mrs. Mordaunt, is not she, or calls herself so?" asked Mrs. Birtley with some contempt.

"Don't stand there asking questions," said the impatient Jane: "but fetch some water. Lord, I wish we were at home: if my Lady should be ill, how Lady Juliana will scold, and my Lord."

"Grant me patience," said Mrs. Birtley, as she left the room to fetch some drops and water: "the girl makes me mad with her Lords and Ladies. Poor fool, I suppose they have imposed upon her too finely."

Not one minute had she been gone, when Ellen finding herself better, and not meaning to wait Mrs. Birtley's return, and farther questions, had risen, and by Jane's help almost reached the door to go to the carriage, which through the window she saw drawing up, when that door opened, and Charles Ross entered the room: amazed beyond the power of words to describe, he saw her standing—saw Ellen in his apartment! And forgetting every thing but that he had once dearly loved her, he rushed towards, and would have caught her in his arms, but she evaded his grasp; and catching hold of Jane (who, frightened, gave a sudden scream), said, "He here! Oh, how I am terrified!"

"Terrified, Ellen!" he wildly repeated: "once you were not terrified by my appearance."

"No, Sir," she replied, with as much spirit as she could assume: "for once I should have expected friendship and protection, not insult."

"Ah, wretched girl!" he exclaimed: "once you deserved and wished for my friendship and protection; but now, that fine gaudy carriage, this elegant dress, the jewels, in which I saw you last night, all tell a dreadful tale—all speak of your shame, of your ruin."

"Of my shame! of my ruin! what, oh, what do you mean?"

"Aye, what indeed!" said the enraged Jane: "let my Lady pass, impertinent fellow, and don't stand there talking in that insolent manner. Do, my Lady, let me call the footmen. I wish my Lord was here: he would soon teach you better manners."

"Cease, Jane," said Ellen, shaking like a leaf: "cease this shocking altercation. Of your insulting language, Mr. Ross, I know not the meaning: it is well for you Lord St. Aubyn does not hear you thus address his wife."

"His wife! his wife! Is it possible? Have I wronged both him and you? Stay, Ellen, a moment, for heaven's sake—for St. Aubyn's—for my father's: you know not the mischief one word of explanation may prevent."

She stopped, she turned: he seized her hands to detain her. Oh, unfortunate Ellen!

At that moment St. Aubyn himself entered the room. He rushed impetuously forward, exclaiming, "Dissembling woman! Was it for this you left your home—to meet this villain—to come to his very lodging in search of him?"

"Oh, no! oh, no!" sobbed Ellen, as she sunk at his feet in a swoon so deep, so death-like, that it seemed as if her life had left her.

"Oh, you have killed my Lady!" cried Jane: "my dear Lady! Oh, my Lord, we came here for a book, and not——"

"Peace, peace!" sternly interrupted St. Aubyn: "I will not hear a word. Is she dead?"

"Oh, Lord, I hope not! How can your Lordship talk so shockingly? Oh, Mrs. Birtley, for God's sake help my Lady—call assistance!"

Between them they raised her: for Charles, confounded, shocked, and half distracted, dared not, and St. Aubyn, gloomy, cold, and stern, would not assist her. At length returning life mantled on her cheek, and her first incoherent words were, "St. Aubyn, dear St. Aubyn, save me!"

St. Aubyn, somewhat calmer, and fearing he might have been too rash, struggled with the jealous pangs which rent his heart, and approaching her, said, "How is it, Ellen—are you better?"

"Yes, better, my love; but sick, oh, sick at heart!"

"Compose yourself; all is well."

A little revived, she looked up, but was too languid to discern the expression of his countenance, which contradicted the kindness of his words; for St. Aubyn felt there was much, very much to be explained, before she could be to him again the Ellen she had been—if, indeed, the perfect confidence he once felt in her could ever be restored; yet fearing quite to destroy her, he constrained himself. Mrs. Birtley, now convinced how unjust had been her suspicions, and Jane, eagerly endeavoured to explain how Lady St. Aubyn came to be there; but motioning with an air of proud dignity to them to be silent, he said, "Enough, I am satisfied!" But his gloomy looks contradicted his words, and turning to Ross, he said, in a low voice, "You and I, Sir, shall meet again." Then, with Jane's assistance, he raised Ellen, and lifting her into the carriage, and putting Jane in, followed himself.

"Home!" fiercely exclaimed St. Aubyn, and home they went; but oh, to a home how different from that of the day before!