Silent and gloomy was the ride homewards. St. Aubyn, bridling with difficulty the jealous rage which consumed him, sat leaning against one side of the carriage, veiling his eyes with his hand, that they might not for an instant fall on Ellen, who, hardly supporting herself with Jane's help, shed no tears, though grief and vexation heaved her bosom with sighs, which almost burst it; for now her recollection was restored, the dreadful words in which St. Aubyn first addressed her rung in her ears, and swelled her heart with anguish.

At length they reached Cavendish-Square, and were met in the hall by Lady Juliana, whose pride, at first, wounded by Ellen's being from home when she arrived, had, at length, given way to feelings of alarm at her long absence; but when she saw her lifted from the carriage, pale, trembling, and half-dead, terrified and astonished, she vainly demanded an explanation alternately from St. Aubyn and the frightened Jane; her nephew passing her hastily, and in silence, went into his study, and instantly shut and fastened the door. There he meant to consider with himself what part it became him to take, and how to elucidate this extraordinary event.

Ellen, throwing herself into Lady Juliana's arms, exclaimed, "Oh! my dearest madam, let me die at once, for my Lord is angry with me!"

"Die!" cried Lady Juliana, struggling with a thousand terrors; "Nonsense! for what? Do you suppose no man was ever angry with his wife before? You are so unused to it, it seems strange to you, but you may assure yourself few wives would think it so extraordinary."

By this time they had reached Ellen's dressing-room, where, having placed her on a sofa, and given her some restoratives, Lady Juliana said, "But what is all this about—what offence have you committed?"

"Oh! madam, I know not; but it is too true, St. Aubyn has said such words to me, such words as I never thought to hear from him!"

"What is the meaning of all this?" said Lady Juliana, turning to Jane. "Speak, girl, if you have not quite lost your senses, or do not wish that I should lose mine, and tell me where your lady has been, and what has happened."

Jane, now, as well as the confusion she was in would let her, repeated the adventures of the morning to Lady Juliana, the visit to the officer's widow, and the old blind lady; and lastly, why they went to Mrs. Birtley's: "And it was I," she said, "that persuaded her Ladyship to go to that disagreeable Mrs. Birtley's—out of pride, I own it—it was out of pride, that she might see what a grand place I had got, and that my lady was not the sort of person that cross old woman fancied she was; and her Ladyship would not even have alighted or gone into her trumpery parlour, if the horses had not been so frightful, and the coachman said, says he, "my Lady had better alight, for the horses—"

"Grant me patience!" said Lady Juliana: "this girl's tongue is enough to distract me! Well, and when you were in her trumpery parlour, as you call it, what happened then? Was Lord St. Aubyn angry that you went there?"

"Oh! no, my Lady, not for that; but the instant after we went in, and while Mrs. Birtley was chattering about the book, and about her lodger (and to be sure there never was such another chattering woman in the world, and looking at my lady from head to foot, so saucy-like, I was quite in a passion with her), I saw my lady turn pale, and thinking she was going to faint, I made Mrs. Birtley go for some water, for I knew well enough how your Ladyship would scold if my Lady was to be ill, and so I told Mrs. Birtley."

"Will this tale ever have an end?" cried the impatient Lady Juliana.

"Well, my Lady, and so just as Mrs. Birtley was gone for the water, and we were got up to go away, in came a young man: I believe, for my part, he was quite mad, not indeed that I am any particular judge of mad people, for I remember the first day your Ladyship came here I thought—but I believe I had better not tell that;—however, this young man was mad for certain, for the moment he saw my Lady, he ran to her, and seemed as if he was going to catch her in his arms. I screamed, and when her Ladyship said she was terrified, he quite raved, and called her names, and said something about her shame, and her being ruined, and her jewels, last night, and I don't know what."

"And who, for Heaven's sake, was this man?" asked the astonished Lady Juliana.

"Oh, it was Ross! Charles Ross!" sobbed Ellen; "and St. Aubyn came in while he was speaking to me, and said I came there to meet him, to his very lodgings; and then I fainted quite away."

"So, so, so!" repeated Lady Juliana; "a pretty piece of work! I see what this mistake will end in! But stay; surely it is not too late: I will go to St. Aubyn."

"Yes, go to him, Madam, for Heaven's sake go to him, and explain it to him. Assure him I could not have an idea that Charles Ross lodged at Mrs. Birtley's. Oh! how cruel to be obliged to make this explanation: can St. Aubyn really think so ill of me? Yet, surely, surely he will be undeceived—this is only a momentary start of passion!"

Lady Juliana shook her head, for she knew St. Aubyn's temper; and how hardly he would endure to hear even her on such a subject; yet, if he would but condescend to hear what the servants, who attended the Countess in this unfortunate excursion, what this Mrs. Birtley would say, their stories would doubtless confirm that of Ellen; for of the truth of that story Lady Juliana had not the smallest doubt; but she knew how St. Aubyn's pride would revolt, and his delicacy be hurt, by the necessity of interrogating such people on the conduct of his wife.

She felt herself indeed angry with Ellen for the childish impatience which had taken her out in the morning, after the fright of the night before had rendered repose so desirable, and for going to Mrs. Birtley's at all; but she could easily forgive a folly apparently of so little importance, since it was quite impossible for Ellen to have foreseen the chain of circumstances which followed, and involved her in so much distress.

How St. Aubyn happened to go to the same place, no one could guess; it appeared, indeed, extremely unlikely that he should have done so; but, as singular coincidences no less singular do sometimes occur, though their rarity makes us call them improbable, unless they arise within our own immediate knowledge.

The real truth was this: St. Aubyn, recollecting that Charles Ross had said the night before, "the woman where you lodged found you out," had determined to ascertain, from this woman herself, what she had told Ross, and how she had dared to speak of him and Ellen in such terms; and to explain who her Mr. and Mrs. Mordaunt really were, that no farther slander, even in Mrs. Birtley's narrow circle, might attach to the purity of Lady St. Aubyn's character, had walked thither from Sir Edward Leicester's, with whom he had sat some time, arranging the particulars of their intended meeting with Charles Ross the next morning; there, to his utter astonishment, he found Lady St. Aubyn's carriage in waiting; and inquiring of the servants where she was, was answered, in that house, meaning Mrs. Birtley's.

"And Miss Cecil?"

"No, my Lord; Miss Cecil did not come out with my Lady, only Mrs. Jane."

St. Aubyn recollected Ellen's apparent agitation in the morning; the letter he had found her reading, and which she so hastily concealed; her having said Laura would go with her; yet she had come with only her maid, a young ignorant girl, come to the very house where he believed Ross was residing; that Ross, of whom, though almost unknown to himself, some secret jealousy had always lurked in his heart.

All these circumstances rose at once to his memory; and, without waiting to knock or ring, the door standing open, he rushed hastily into the parlour, where the first object that struck his sight was his wife, his beloved, his adored Ellen, while her hand was held by the man on earth he most detested, the man who but the night before had insulted her and outraged him! What could he think? Was it wonderful that the fury which swelled his heart broke into words of reproach and anger? Was it not rather wonderful he could so far command himself, so far reflect, as to return with her apparently calm, and that he did not at once cast from him a woman who must have appeared so ungrateful and insincere?

Lady Juliana having with the aid of Miss Cecil and Jane put Ellen to bed, would have retired to seek her nephew, leaving Laura shocked, astonished, and grieved, remaining with her friend; but seeing the flush of fever on her cheek, and an unusual brilliancy in her eyes, they sent without delay to the family physician, who, after asking a few questions, and learning the Countess had been alarmed, and was then under the influence of terror for her lord, who, Laura whispered to him, they feared was meditating a duel with a gentleman who had insulted Lady St. Aubyn, the doctor shook his head, and said if her mind were not quieted immediately, he would not be answerable for the consequences: she had, he said, every symptom of an alarming fever, and that if she were not soothed, and kept quiet, the worst event might be expected both to herself and the unborn babe.

Alarmed beyond measure, Lady Juliana now ran to seek St. Aubyn. With some difficulty she prevailed on him to grant her admittance, and with still greater, to hear what she had to say. She repeated the whole story Jane had told her: he shook his head, was silent, but not convinced. She saw his incredulity, and with some hesitation proposed to interrogate the men servants who went out with their lady as to the real cause of her alighting at Mrs. Birtley's. He started indignantly from the idea; but Lady Juliana assuring him she could ask in such a way as should give them no suspicion why they were questioned, he at last consented, and ringing the bell, she ordered the coachman to be sent to her.

"John," said she, "your lady has been frightened at something or other this morning during her absence from home. Were the horses restive?"

"No, my Lady: the horses went as quiet as lambs to —— Street, where we stopped while my Lady went into a house, I believe to see a poor family, as her Ladyship does sometimes; and then we went to the poor old blind lady's, that Mrs. Jane says her Lady maintains; and after that we went to another house, where my Lady said she would not alight, and told Mrs. Jane to make haste and get the book, for she would not stop an instant; but I was afraid to turn the carriage with her Ladyship in it, the street being very narrow just there, and a dray standing at the house opposite, for fear the horses should prance a little, which my Lady is always afraid of; and so I begged her just to alight a minute while I turned, which she seemed not to like to do, but the old lady of the house coming out and persuading her, she said she would get out for a minute, and the people staring at her as she stood on the pavement, she went into the house, and I believe something or somebody frightened her, for as I drew up to the door, which was not directly, for the horses were a little unruly, I saw a young man go into the parlour where my Lady was waiting, and a minute after, I heard Mrs. Jane scream; and I was going in, and so was James, but just as I was getting off my box, and Richard was standing at the head of the horses, my Lord came up, and afterwards I found my Lady had fainted away."

"Then your Lady had only been there a short time?"

"Not above ten minutes I am sure, Madam, and as Mrs. Jane screamed when the gentleman went into the parlour, I think he must have frightened her."

"Very well, John: I was afraid it was the horses, and if so, Lady St. Aubyn should never have gone with them again."

"Oh, no, my Lady, the horses are quiet enough, poor things, only that narrow street made me think my Lady had better alight."

The man then retired, and Lady Juliana said:—"Well, St. Aubyn, are you now satisfied?"

"Not quite; all this might have been contrivance and art."

"How is it possible you can think so! Did you ever see the slightest trace of either in Ellen?"

"Yes, to-day. Why did she tell me Laura was going with her? Why conceal where she was going?"

"Laura lamented just now not having gone out with Ellen, as she requested on account of a bad head-ache: as to Ellen's not telling you where she was going, that arose from a fear lest you should prevent, what, with the natural impatience of youth, she had set her heart upon. But if you still doubt, let us inquire of this woman, this Mrs.——what's her name?—the mistress of the house where you lodged: she can tell what Lady St. Aubyn's errand was there, and why she alighted."

"Good God! Madam," said St. Aubyn, peevishly, "would you have me go about collecting evidences whether I ought to believe my wife blameless, or the most deceitful of women?"

"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which ought to know her best!"

Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have observed, ere she had given to her an affection and confidence so tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he hastily said:—"But the letter! What letter was that I found her reading?"

"What letter?" asked Lady Juliana.

"One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it into the fold of her morning dress."

"And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed, he hastily said:

"I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!"

"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her—"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a Rosolia and an Ellen: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"

"For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"

"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."

"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and calm her wounded mind."

But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him: delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace—and I too am innocent?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith in his integrity and honour, assurances which he had so ill repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:

"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not forgive me?"

"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's wife, not the wretch he calls me: why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my shame and ruin?"

"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"

"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did not murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me believe St. Aubyn guilty:—I promised him;—he says he is innocent; enough, my love, enough, Ellen will never doubt you!" and again she breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."

"She will die! she will die!" wildly exclaimed St. Aubyn, starting up: "run for more help! fetch all the physicians in London. Oh! have I lived to this!"

"You will kill her indeed," said Laura, "if you are not quiet: leave her to us. Doctor B—— will again be here in a few minutes: he says if she can but be quiet, can but be made to understand, all is well; she will recover; but indeed, my Lord, you must leave her now."

"No, Laura, I will not go; I will sit here without speaking; but should she recover her senses, if only for a minute, it will I know comfort her to see me here."

This Laura could readily believe, and therefore made no further objection; but Doctor B—— arriving soon after, comforted them all with the assurance, that though the Countess's fever at present ran high, he had great hopes that perfect quietude, and the medicines he had ordered, would, in all probability, do much for her, especially, aided as they were by youth and an excellent constitution, and that he saw no immediate danger. He strictly enjoined, however, that her chamber might be kept as still as possible, and that at most only two persons should remain there: he entreated St. Aubyn and Lady Juliana to retire, and having prevailed on them to do so, he told Miss Cecil he wished her to be as much as possible one of Lady St. Aubyn's attendants.

"As to Lady Juliana," said he, "she is so very anxious and restless; she will only disturb our fair patient: you, my dear Miss Cecil, I perceive have that happy self-possession, joined with gentleness and activity, which alone can make a good nurse; your voice too is particularly calculated to sooth and persuade a sick person:—you may smile, but believe me, few know how many qualifications are requisite to form a good superintendent of a sick bed, and amongst them I have always found a soft but distinct articulation one of the most considerable. Think only how a nervous patient is what is emphatically called worried by a droning, discontented voice, or alarmed by too loud a tone, or sudden question. I assure you I have often seen weak persons thrown into a fever by these apparently trifling causes; let me, therefore, beg Miss Cecil will take upon herself the task of replying to any questions the Countess may ask, but in as few words as possible: the moment reason returns, sooth her mind by every assurance that the danger she so much feared is over. I shall see Lord St. Aubyn before I quit the house, and place before him the evil to be dreaded, should he pursue this unfortunate business any farther."