Nothing could equal the awkwardness of Mordaunt's situation: he felt himself an intruder, yet could not tear himself away. Ross, his wife, and Joanna, had indeed all spoken to him with civility; but there was something in their manner which fully convinced him he was no welcome guest; and though Ellen looked somewhat pale, yet he saw in her no sign of such a state of health as should make her residence with Mrs. Ross necessary. Relieved by this conviction (for he had really been alarmed for her), he yet felt mortified in perceiving that she was kept there on purpose to avoid his visits. At length, a little recovering himself, he relinquished her hand, and said, "Pray let me be no interruption: I am going instantly: I merely called to inquire how Miss Powis was this evening, and am happy to find her not so ill as I feared." He now bowed, and was retiring, when Ross, ashamed of appearing so inhospitable, pressed him to sit down with them; and Joanna (pitying Ellen's confusion, who was quite distressed at her father's apparent surprize at the coolness—to him unaccountable—of Mordaunt's reception), said with great good-nature, "Here's a chair, Mr. Mordaunt; and as you never eat any thing but fruit at night, see what fine peaches and grapes we have."
Mordaunt, charmed by the kind invitation, and by seeing the chair mentioned was placed between herself and Ellen, could not resist the temptation: he sat down, and vainly endeavoured to behave as he used to do: but there was a visible restraint over the whole party, except Powis; and though Ross attempted several times to keep up something like conversation, it soon languished, and every one seemed weary and uneasy—the mind of each was pre-occupied; and what either said, appeared to be far from the thing they were thinking of. Once or twice Mordaunt spoke in a low voice to Ellen; but she, awed by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Ross, answered only in the briefest way possible, and rarely lifted her eyes from the table. He asked her at last if she should be at home to-morrow. She replied in the negative. "Nor the next day?" "I believe not." "Good God! and how long is this to last?" "I do not know: Mrs. Ross thinks I shall be better here for awhile." "And do you never walk?" "Yes: we walked this evening with Mr. Ross."
Mordaunt saw that every thing possible was done to prevent their meeting, and that he must come to some decision speedily. Of Ellen's love, he could no longer doubt: his own for her he had for some time felt to be that overwhelming sentiment, which must finally conquer all opposing circumstances; but there were such in his fate as ought (at least he thought so) to have prevented him from linking hers with it; yet he had insensibly been so led on, he saw there was no retreating, and determined shortly to come to an explanation with Ross and her father, though much he wished a further time had been allowed. These reflexions, which in spite of himself and the habit of self-command he had so hardly acquired, sank him into silence; and at length, Powis, tired of the gloom and heaviness which seemed hung over the whole party, so different from what their little suppers used to be, told them he thought they were all very stupid, and he would go home and go to bed. Then shaking Ross by the hand, he went round the table to Ellen, kissed her, and wished her good night, telling her to get quite well as fast as possible, for he wanted her at home. Mordaunt bade them good night at the same time, and went away with Powis.
CHAP. VIII.
"Are then the sons of interest only wise?
Can pomp alone essential good impart?
Mistaken world; ah! why thus vainly prize
Those gifts which but contract the human heart?
"Why only folly that fond passion call,
Which Heaven itself implanted in the mind;
Links each to each, and, harmonizing all,
Swells the rapt heart with sympathy refin'd."
The reflections of a long and sleepless night determined Mordaunt on the line of conduct he ought to pursue; and as soon as he thought the early breakfast at the Parsonage would be ended, he walked thither, and asking for Mr. Ross, was shewn into the little study, which that good man called exclusively his own. Yet here, in the very last place where he would have expected to find her, to his utter astonishment he saw Ellen. Ellen alone—seated at a table covered with books, from one of which she appeared learning something, or rather to have been so employed, for at the moment he entered her thoughts had wandered; and she was sitting, one fair hand holding the open book, the other covering her eyes. Supposing the person who entered to be Mr. Ross, who had that day commenced the office of her tutor, she looked up; but seeing Mordaunt, the book fell from her hand, and she vainly endeavoured to rise from her seat—a ceremony not yet exploded by the unfashionable inhabitants of Llanwyllan. Mordaunt sprang eagerly forward, exclaiming, "Here Ellen! Good Heavens! could I have hoped to see you here! At last then we meet again, without the irksome restraint of surrounding witnesses, of almost hostile eyes! Fear not, dearest, for ever dearest Ellen." Seeing she looked half alarmed at his unusual warmth, for in general his manner towards her was, though tender, composed,—"fear not: never may word nor look of mine give you reasonable cause of alarm or vexation. Worlds would I give for one hour's uninterrupted conversation with you—but now another moment may prevent my saying more. Tell me then, sweetest girl, may I, will you permit me to apply to Mr. Ross for his interest with you, and with your father, till I can hope that my assiduities, if not my merit, may have excited in you a tenderer sentiment than mere esteem?"
Bewildered—perplexed—hardly knowing or understanding what she heard, or believing that Mordaunt could be in earnest in what she could not but suppose a declaration of his love, Ellen gasped, trembled, and half fainted in his supporting arms.