Ellis remained in the deepest disturbance at the engagement into which she had entered. O cruel necessity! cruel, imperious necessity! she cried, to what a resource dost thou drive me! How unjust, how improper, how perilous!—Ah! rather let me cast myself upon Lady Aurora—Yet, angel as she is, can Lady Aurora act for herself? And Lord Melbury, guileless, like his nature, as may now be his intentions, what protection can he afford me that calumny may not sully? Alas! how may I attain that self-dependence which alone, at this critical period, suits my forlorn condition?
The horror of a new debt, incurred under circumstances thus delicate, made the idea even of performing at the public benefit, present itself to her in colours less formidable, if such a measure, by restoring to her the patronage of Miss Arbe, would obviate the return of similar evils, while she was thus hanging, in solitary obscurity, upon herself. Vainly she would have turned her thoughts to other plans, and objects yet untried; she had no means to form any independent scheme; no friends to promote her interest; no counsellors to point out any pursuit, or direct any measures.
Her creditors failed not to call upon her early the next morning, guided and accompanied by Mr Giles Arbe; who, bright with smiles and good humour, declared, that he could not refuse himself the pleasure of being a witness to her getting rid of such a bad business, as that of keeping other people’s money, by doing such a good one as that of paying every one his due. ‘You are much obliged to this pretty lady, I can tell you,’ he said, to the creditors, ‘for she pays you with money that is not her own. However, as the person it belongs to is rich, and a friend, I advise you, as you are none of you rich yourselves, and nearly strangers to her, to take it without scruple.’
To this counsel there was not one dissentient voice.
Can the same person, thought Ellis, be so innocent, yet so mischievous? so fraught with solid notions of right, yet so shallow in judgement, and knowledge of the world?
With a trembling hand, and revolting heart, she changed three of the notes, and discharged all the accounts at once; Mr Giles, eagerly and unbidden, having called up Miss Matson to take her share.
Ellis now deliberated, whether she might not free herself from every demand, by paying, also, Miss Bydel; but the reluctance with which she had already broken into the fearful deposit, soon fixed her to seal up the remaining notes entire.
The shock of this transaction, and the earnestness of her desire to replace money which she deemed it unjustifiable to employ, completed the conquest of her repugnance to public exhibition; and she commissioned Mr Giles to acquaint Miss Arbe, that she was ready to obey her commands.
This he undertook with the utmost pleasure; saying, ‘And it’s lucky enough your consenting to sing those songs, because my cousin, not dreaming of any objection on your part, had already authorised Mr Vinstreigle to put your name in his bills.’
‘My name?’ cried Ellis, starting and changing colour: but the next moment adding, ‘No, no! my name will not appear!—Yet should any one who has ever seen me....’
She shuddered; a nervous horrour took possession of her whole frame; but she soon forced herself to revive, and assume new courage, upon hearing Mr Giles, from the landing-place, again call Miss Matson; and bid all her young women, one by one, and the two maid-servants, hurry up stairs directly, with water and burnt feathers.
Ellis made every enquiry in her power, of who was at Brighthelmstone; and begged Mr Giles to procure her a list of the company. When she had read it, she became more tranquil, though not less sad.
Miss Arbe received the concession with infinite satisfaction; and introduced Ellis, as her protegée, to her new favourite; who professed himself charmed, that the presentation of so promising a subject, to the public, should be made at his benefit.
‘And now, Miss Ellis,’ said Miss Arbe, ‘you will very soon have more scholars than you can teach. If once you get a fame and a name, your embarrassments will be at an end; for all enquiries about who people are, and what they are, and those sort of niceties, will be over. We all learn of the celebrated, be they what they will. Nobody asks how they live, and those sort of things. What signifies? as Miss Sycamore says. We don’t visit them, to be sure, if there is any thing awkward about them. But that’s not the least in the way against their making whole oceans of riches.’
This was not a species of reasoning to offer consolation to Ellis; but she suppressed the disdain which it inspired; and dwelt only upon the hoped accomplishment of her views, through the private teaching which it promised.
In five days’ time, the benefit was to take place; and in three, Ellis was summoned to a rehearsal at the rooms.
She was putting on her hat, meaning to be particularly early in her attendance, that she might place herself in some obscure corner, before any company arrived; to avoid the pain of passing by those who knowing, might not notice, or noticing, might but mortify her; when one of the young work-women brought her intelligence, that a gentleman, just arrived in a post chaise, requested admittance.
‘A gentleman?’ she repeated, with anxiety:—‘tell him, if you please, that I am engaged, and can see no company.’
The young woman soon returned.
‘The gentleman says, Ma’am, that he comes upon affairs of great importance, which he can communicate only to yourself.’
Ellis begged the young woman to request, that Miss Matson would desire him to leave his name and business in writing.
Miss Matson was gone to Lady Kendover’s, with some new patterns, just arrived from London.
The young woman, however, made the proposition, but without effect: the gentleman was in great haste, and would positively listen to no denial.
Strong and palpable affright, now seized Ellis; am I—Oh heaven!—she murmured to herself, pursued?—and then began, but checked an inquiry, whether there were any private door by which she could escape: yet, pressed by the necessity of appearing at the rehearsal, after painfully struggling for courage, she faintly articulated, ‘Let him come up stairs.’
The young woman descended, and Ellis remained in breathless suspense, till she heard some one tap at her door.
She could not pronounce, Who’s there? but she compelled herself to open it; though without lifting up her eyes, dreading to encounter the object that might meet them, till she was roused by the words, ‘Pardon my intrusion!’ and perceived Harleigh gently entering her apartment.
She started,—but it was not with terrour; she came forward,—but it was not to escape! The colour which had forsaken her cheeks, returned to them with a crimson glow; the fear which had averted her eyes, was changed into an expression of even extatic welcome; and, clasping her hands, with sudden, impulsive, irresistible surprise and joy, she cried, ‘Is it you?—Mr Harleigh! you!’
Surprise now was no longer her own, and her joy was participated in yet more strongly. Harleigh, who, though he had forced his way, was embarrassed and confused, expecting displeasure, and prepared for reproach; who had seen with horrour the dismay of her countenance; and attributed to the effect of his compulsatory entrance the terrified state in which he found her; Harleigh, at sight of this rapid transition from agony to delight; at the flattering ejaculation of ‘Is it you?’ and the sound of his own name, pronounced with an expression of even exquisite satisfaction;—Harleigh in a sudden trance of irrepressible rapture, made a nearly forcible effort to seize her hand, exclaiming, ‘Can you receive me, then, thus sweetly? Can you forgive an intrusion that—’ when Ellis recovering her self-command, drew back, and solemnly said, ‘Mr Harleigh, forbear! or I must quit the room!’
Harleigh reluctantly, yet instantly desisted; but the pleasure of so unhoped a reception still beat at his heart, though it no longer sparkled in her eyes: and though the enchanting animation of her manner, was altered into the most repressing gravity, the blushes which still tingled, still dyed her cheeks, betrayed that all within was not chilled, however all without might seem cold.
Checked, therefore, but not subdued, he warmly solicited a few minutes conversation; but, gaining firmness and force every instant, she told him that she had an appointment which admitted not of procrastination.
‘I know well your appointment,’ cried he, agitated in his turn, ‘too, too well!—’Tis that fatal—or, rather, let me hope, that happy, that seasonable information, which I received last night, in a letter containing a bill of the concert, from Ireton, that has brought me hither;—that impelled me, uncontrollably, to break through your hard injunctions; that pointed out the accumulating dangers to all my views, and told me that every gleam of future expectation—’
Ellis interrupted him at this word: he entreated her pardon, but went on.
‘You cannot be offended at this effort: it is but the courage of despondence, I come to demand a final hearing!’
‘Since you know, Sir,’ cried she, with quickness, ‘my appointment, you must be sensible I am no longer mistress of my time. This is all I can say. I must be gone,—and you will not, I trust,—if I judge you rightly,—you will not compel me to leave you in my apartment.’
‘Yes! you judge me rightly! for the universe I would not cause you just offence! Trust me, then, more generously! be somewhat less suspicious, somewhat more open, and take not this desperate step, without hearkening to its objections, without weighing its consequences!’
She could enter, she said, into no discussion; and prepared to depart.
‘Impossible!’ cried he, with energy; ‘I cannot let you go!—I cannot, without a struggle, resign myself to irremediable despair!’
Ellis, recovered now from the impression caused by his first appearance, with a steady voice, and sedate air, said, ‘This is a language, Sir,—you know it well,—to which I cannot, must not listen. It is as useless, therefore, as it is painful, to renew it. I beseech you to believe in the sincerity of what I have already been obliged to say, and to spare yourself—to spare, shall I add, me?—all further oppressive conflicts.’
A sigh burst from her heart, but she strove to look unmoved.
‘If you are generous enough to share, even in the smallest degree,’ cried he, ‘the pain which you inflict; you will, at least, not refuse me this one satisfaction.... Is it for Elinor ... and for Elinor only ... that you deny me, thus, all confidence?’
‘Oh no, no, no!’ cried she, hastily: ‘if Miss Joddrel were not in existence,—’ she checked herself, and sighed more deeply; but, presently added, ‘Yet, surely, Miss Joddrel were cause sufficient!’
‘You fill me,’ he cried, ‘wi............