Volume Two—Chapter Seven.
Mrs Brandon’s Receptions.
Mrs Brandon made no movement as the card was handed to Ella; but a look of firmness seemed imperceptibly to sweep across her pleasant matronly face, and one skilled in physiognomy would have said that she was waiting anxiously to see how the young girl would act, under what threatened to be very trying circumstances. Then, glancing at Ella, she saw her standing, pale as ashes, with the card in her hand.
“Where have you shown the gentleman, Edward?” said Mrs Brandon.
“Breakfast-room, ma’am,” said the hard footman.
“Very good; you need not wait,” said Mrs Brandon; and the next moment they were alone, when, with pleading eyes, Ella held out the card.
“Indeed, indeed, ma’am, I could not help this,” she whispered. “I hoped that my retreat would not have been known.”
“My dear child,” said Mrs Brandon kindly, “I do not blame you;” and she also rose and passed her arm round Ella’s waist. “But you would like to see him?”
“No, no, no!” cried Ella hastily. “I must not—I would rather not—it cannot be! I hoped to have been left here in peace, and free from persecution. I cannot see him; I must never see him again.”
“You wish, then, that Mr Charles Vining should be told that you decline to see him, and you beg he will not call again?” said Mrs Brandon softly, as she drew the fair girl nearer to her.
“I would not willingly hurt him,” said Ella hoarsely; “but I have told you all, and what else can I do? It can never be!”
“My child,” said Mrs Brandon tenderly, “I don’t know how it is, but you seem to have even in this short time made yourself occupy the place of a daughter. You are quite right, and this gay gallant must be checked and kept in his place. We cannot have hawks here to flutter our dovecot. I will go and see him—that is, if it is indeed your honest wish and desire that he should see you no more.”
“Yes, yes, it is indeed!” said Ella, with a sob that tore its way from her breast. “I can never see him more.”
Mrs Brandon made a movement to leave the room, but Ella clung to her.
“Do you repent of what you have said?” Mrs Brandon quietly asked.
“No, no!” said Ella half hysterically: “but—it is very kind of you to see him—but—but you will speak gently to him—you will not be harsh or cruel; for he is good and noble, and true-hearted and manly, and I believe he feels all this deeply.”
Mrs Brandon smiled incredulously, but there was pity in her words as she bent over Ella, and tried to calm her.
“Is it really then like that, my poor, weak, gentle little dove?” she whispered. “Has he then made so firm a footing in this poor soft yielding heart? But you are quite right; you must not see him, and the soreness will soon wear off. You do not know the ways of the world, and of these gay, insidious, smooth-tongued gallants, born with the idea that every pretty face beneath them in station, forsooth, is to minister to their pleasure. I see—I see; and I don’t blame you for believing all he said.”
“But I think you mistake his character,” said Ella pleadingly.
“Perhaps so,” said Mrs Brandon, smiling; “but will you leave your welfare in my hands, Ella?”
It was the first time Mrs Brandon had called her by her Christian name, and the young girl looked up with, a sad sweet smile.
“I am very young, very helpless, and quite alone in the world,” she said softly; “and I have met here with kindness such as I have not before known since they died. I was so happy, so hopeful, so trustful that happier days were coming; and, indeed. I wish to be grateful.”
Mrs Brandon kissed her again, and made a movement once more to leave; but Ella made a clutch at her hand.
“Shall I stay?” said Mrs Brandon softly. “Will you see him yourself?”
Ella was silent for a moment, for there was a great, a wild struggle in her breast; but she conquered, and drawing herself up, she stood, pale and cast-down of eye, with one hand resting on a chair-back.
“Do I understand you, Miss Bedford?” said Mrs Brandon.
“Yes, yes,” said Ella, in a calm sad voice. “I must never see him again.”
Mrs Brandon moved towards the door, and laid her hand upon the lock, making it rattle loudly as she turned to gaze at Ella; but the latter never moved; and as the door closed, Mrs Brandon’s last glance showed her Ella pale and motionless as a statue.
“Now for this lordly gallant!” muttered Mrs Brandon, as she stood for a moment in the gaunt hall; “now for this sportive disturber of young hearts! If I had my will,” she exclaimed, her handsome matronly features flushing up, “I’d have them all banished—I would!”
Then, with a firm step, and her head drawn back, she crossed the hall, threw open the door, and entered the room where Charley Vining was impatiently walking up and down.