"Don't stand there asking questions," said the impatient Jane: "but fetch some water. Lord, I wish we were at home: if my Lady should be ill, how Lady Juliana will scold, and my Lord."
"Grant me patience," said Mrs. Birtley, as she left the room to fetch some drops and water: "the girl makes me mad with her Lords and Ladies. Poor fool, I suppose they have imposed upon her too finely."
Not one minute had she been gone, when Ellen finding herself better, and not meaning to wait Mrs. Birtley's return, and farther questions, had risen, and by Jane's help almost reached the door to go to the carriage, which through the window she saw drawing up, when that door opened, and Charles Ross entered the room: amazed beyond the power of words to describe, he saw her standing—saw Ellen in his apartment! And forgetting every thing but that he had once dearly loved her, he rushed towards, and would have caught her in his arms, but she evaded his grasp; and catching hold of Jane (who, frightened, gave a sudden scream), said, "He here! Oh, how I am terrified!"
"Terrified, Ellen!" he wildly repeated: "once you were not terrified by my appearance."
"No, Sir," she replied, with as much spirit as she could assume: "for once I should have expected friendship and protection, not insult."
"Ah, wretched girl!" he exclaimed: "once you deserved and wished for my friendship and protection; but now, that fine gaudy carriage, this elegant dress, the jewels, in which I saw you last night, all tell a dreadful tale—all speak of your shame, of your ruin."
"Of my shame! of my ruin! what, oh, what do you mean?"
"Aye, what indeed!" said the enraged Jane: "let my Lady pass, impertinent fellow, and don't stand there talking in that insolent manner. Do, my Lady, let me call the footmen. I wish my Lord was here: he would soon teach you better manners."
"Cease, Jane," said Ellen, shaking like a leaf: "cease this shocking altercation. Of your insulting language, Mr. Ross, I know not the meaning: it is well for you Lord St. Aubyn does not hear you thus address his wife."
"His wife! his wife! Is it possible? Have I wronged both him and you? Stay, Ellen, a moment, for heaven's sake—for St. Aubyn's—for my father's: you know not the mischief one word of explanation may prevent."