"I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!"
"It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her—"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a Rosolia and an Ellen: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!"
"For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!"
"Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."
"We will talk of that, hereafter: perhaps he will apologize; at any rate, let us go now to Ellen, and try if I can sooth her spirits, and calm her wounded mind."
But Ellen by the time he reached her was in no condition to hear him: delirium had seized her, and the scene at the Opera dwelling on her mind, on which it had made a powerful impression, connected, though wildly, with the late untoward events, she exclaimed just as he entered the room, "Remember, St. Aubyn, remember Arbace—and I too am innocent?" then in low tones she imitated the recitative which had taken such hold on her imagination; and sung in a sweet and plaintive voice "Sono Innocente!" St. Aubyn, combining these words with all the interesting ideas connected with them, with the generous assurances Ellen had so often given him, that no appearances should ever shake her faith in his integrity and honour, assurances which he had so ill repaid, was overwhelmed with grief and remorse: he put aside the curtain, and kneeling by the bed-side, said in the tenderest accents:
"Ellen, my love, my injured Ellen, will you not hear, will you not forgive me?"
"So you are come at last," said she, turning her head quickly towards him: "go to your son, my good friend, and tell him he has cruelly insulted me; that I am St. Aubyn's wife, not the wretch he calls me: why, you know, Mr. Ross, you married us, and my father and Joanna were present: then what does Charles mean by talking of my shame and ruin?"
"Oh, Heavens! she raves," exclaimed St. Aubyn; "my cruelty has destroyed her!"
"Take away the bloody sword," screamed Ellen. "I tell you Arbace did not murder him; no, nor yet St. Aubyn: nothing shall ever make me believe St. Aubyn guilty:—I promised him;—he says he is innocent; enough, my love, enough, Ellen will never doubt you!" and again she breathed in plaintive cadences the pathetic "Sono Innocente."