"I don't know exactly: I want to do some shopping."
St. Aubyn then wished her good-morning, and repeating his request that she would take care of herself, left her.
The real fact was this—Jane, who was Ellen's almoner, and brought to her knowledge many cases of distress, of which she would otherwise have been ignorant, had the night before, while her lady was at the play, received a petition from an officer's widow, who stated herself to be living in a small lodging in —— Street; that she had several children, of whom the youngest was an infant not a month old, born under circumstances of the most acute distress, a few months after its father had fallen in the field of battle; the eldest, a girl of sixteen, in a deep decline: these circumstances, she said, prevented her from waiting herself on Lady St. Aubyn, of whose goodness she had heard much from an old blind lady, her neighbour, whom, in fact, Ellen had supported for some time past, and whom she had visited two or three times with Jane only.
Ellen, warm-hearted and benevolent, was extremely anxious to see this unfortunate family: Jane had given her the letter just before St. Aubyn came into her room, and fearing if she declared her purpose he would oppose it, lest her health should be injured by the emotion she must necessarily feel from the sight of this unhappy mother and her children, she concealed the letter, and did not exactly tell him why she wished so much to go out, though aware that she must appear unusually pertinacious; but she had set her heart with all the fervor of youth on her object: above all, she desired to see the poor little infant, for Ellen, always fond of children, had, since she knew herself likely to become a mother, felt a peculiar interest in young children, and ardently wished to see and provide for one who had so many claims to the compassion of a tender heart; and having really some purchases to make, she gave without consideration that as her only motive for going out. Never before had she departed for an instant from the singular sincerity of her character, and the perfect confidence which she reposed in her husband; dearly did she soon repent of having done so now.
On asking Laura to go with her, she unexpectedly declined it, having a bad head-ache, and tried to persuade Ellen not to go herself, but to send Jane, and go some other time: but Ellen was so unusually fixed on her point, and her imagination was so impressed with the idea of the poor little infant, that, for a wonder, she was not to be prevailed on; and fearing, lest Lady Juliana should come and prevent her, she ordered the carriage directly, and set out.
She drove first to —— Street, where she found the distrest family in all the poverty and affliction which had been described to her—the unfortunate mother, still weak, and scarcely able to support herself, obliged to act as nurse, not only to the infant, but to her eldest daughter, who, pale and languishing, seemed ready every moment to breathe her last, while two or three other children were playing in the room, distracting by their unconscious noise the poor invalids.
The tender and compassionate Ellen felt her heart opprest at this melancholy sight, and hastened as much as possible to relieve it: she held herself the baby in her arms, while she sent Jane to seek a nurse for the poor girl, and to the woman of the house where they lodged, to whom she spoke herself; and requested she would take charge of the other children, till the mother was more able to do so. She gave the widow an ample supply of money to procure every thing necessary for her herself and family, and after promising to send a physician to attend the poor girl, and kissing the baby, she departed, followed by thanks and blessings, "not loud but deep," and went to see the poor old blind lady, who, always delighted to hear her sweet voice and kind expressions, detained her as long as she could.
Returning home, rejoicing in the good she had done, feeling herself animated by the purest pleasure, and quite well in health, Ellen suddenly recollected that she was close by the street where Mrs. Birtley lived, with whom she had lodged the first time she was in London; and she thought she would just stop at the door, and ask for the book she had left there, for which Jane had, as she said, always forgotten to call: it was that very volume of Gray which Mordaunt had given her, and as his first gift she was really anxious to recover it. Meaning merely to stop at the door, and send Jane in for it, she pulled the check, and ordered the coachman to drive down that street, and stop at No. 6, and told Jane for what purpose she was going.
"Oh, my Lady," said the talkative girl, "I shall be rejoiced that Mrs. Birtley should see you in all your grandeur: she will be surprized after all she had the impertinence to say."
"Indeed," said Ellen, "I never thought of that: she will wonder to see me under such a different appearance, and perhaps say something in the hearing of the servants. I will not go."