“Ellen is up stairs in the drawing-room,” said Lady Glanville. “I will go and prepare her to receive you—if you have her consent, you have mine.”
“Will you suffer me, then,” said I, “to forestal you? Forgive my impatience, and let me see her before you do.”
Lady Glanville was a woman of the good old school, and stood somewhat upon forms and ceremonies. I did not, therefore, await the answer, which I foresaw might not be favourable to my success, but with my customary assurance, left the room, and hastened up stairs. I entered the drawing-room, and shut the door. Ellen was at the far end; and as I entered with a light step, she did not perceive me till I was close by.
She started when she saw me; and her cheek, before very pale, deepened into crimson. “Good Heavens! is it you,” she said, falteringly “I—I thought—but—but—excuse me for an instant, I will call my mother.”
“Stay for one instant, I beseech you—it is from your mother that I come—she has referred me to you.” And with a trembling and hurried voice, for all my usual boldness forsook me, I poured forth, in rapid and burning words, the history of my secret and hoarded love—its doubts, fears, and hopes.
Ellen sunk back on her chair, overpowered and silent by her feelings, and the vehemence of my own. I knelt, and took her hand; I covered it with my kisses—it was not withdrawn from them. I raised my eyes, and beheld in her’s all that my heart had hoped, but did not dare to pourtray.
“You—you,” said she—when at last she found words—“I imagined that you only thought of ambition and the world—I could not have dreamt of this.” She ceased, blushing and embarrassed.
“It is true,” said I, “that you had a right to think so, for, till this moment, I have never opened to you even a glimpse of my veiled heart, and its secret and wild desires; but, do you think that my love was the less a treasure, because it was hidden? or the less deep, because it was cherished at the bottom of my soul? No—no; believe me that love was not to be mingled with the ordinary objects of life—it was too pure to be profaned by the levities and follies which are all of my nature that I have permitted myself to develope to the world. Do not imagine, that, because I have seemed an idler with the idle—selfish with the interested—and cold, and vain, and frivolous, with those to whom such qualities were both a passport and a virtue; do not imagine that I have concealed within me nothing more worthy of you and of myself; my very love for you shews, that I am wiser and better than I have seemed. Speak to me, Ellen—may I call you by that name—one word—one syllable! speak to me, and tell me that you have read my heart, and that you will not reject it!”
There came no answer from those dear lips; but their soft and tender smile told me that I might hope. That hour I still recall and bless! that hour was the happiest of my life.