He advanced, and took from Laura a glass of wine she offered to him; he bowed to Ellen, and lifted the glass to his lips, but instantly exclaimed, while his whole person shook with agitation:
"I cannot drink it! In this house! Oh, God!"
He let fall the glass, and covering his face with his hands, rushed out of the room.
O'Brien instantly followed him, while the little party which remained sat in silent dismay and astonishment. Yet St. Aubyn's emotion partook more of vexation than surprize: he paced the room with hasty strides for a few minutes, and then approaching Ellen, said, clasping her hand in his, which trembled with agitation—"This scene has been too much for you, my love: could I have imagined De Montfort's demeanor would have been so wild, I would not have brought him hither; yet let us make allowances for him—he doated on his sister." St. Aubyn's voice seemed elevated with deep contending passions: for a moment he paused, then added, "You had better go to your rest, my love, and you, Laura: I do not suppose this young man will return to-night."
He rung, and inquired of the servant in waiting where the two gentlemen then were. "They have been in the study, my Lord," said the man; "but are now gone to their chambers, which Mrs. Bayfield sent to say were ready for them."
The ladies rose to retire, just as Mr. O'Brien returned: he brought apologies from his pupil to Lady St. Aubyn, saying that Lord de Montfort regretted extremely his distress should have shewed itself so visibly, and doubtless alarmed her. "Forgive him, Madam," said O'Brien: "this is the first time he has been in this house, or even in England, since the death of Lady St. Aubyn: and recollections of the sister he lost so young, the sister he adored, have been too much for him."
"Surely," said Laura, "he must have been uncommonly attached to her, since six years have not effaced her from his memory." She sighed—the tear stood in her eye; for she thought—"It is scarcely as many months since I lost the sweetest sister in the world, yet she is comparatively forgotten."
"He cherishes every recollection of her," said O'Brien, "with officious care: he constantly wears her portrait next his heart. Before we left Spain, he insisted on visiting her grave, and was so deeply affected, I feared for his reason. To you, my Lord St. Aubyn, I ought to apologize for details which I see distress you, but I thought it was necessary to account for my pupil's strange deportment."
St. Aubyn bowed; but traces of vexation were legible in his expressive face. Mr. Mordaunt made some inquiries after the present state of Lord de Montfort, to which Mr. O'Brien replied he had left him in bed, and tolerably composed; that he had consented to breakfast with the family the next morning, when he hoped personally to apologize to the Countess for the alarm he had given her.
The ladles now retired, and each went to her respective apartment. Lady St. Aubyn passed through her own room into that where the infant lay: both the child and his nurse slept quietly. She knelt a moment by the bed-side, and offered a fervent prayer to heaven for the health and happiness of her infant, and for its father, who seemed menaced by some mysterious disturbance. The contrast presented by the soft sleep, the placid innocence of the baby's face, to the scene of anxiety and confusion she had left, deeply affected her. Tears stole down her cheeks, and wetted the little hands she held pressed to her lips. At length, rousing herself, she returned to her bed-chamber, where Jane waited to undress her: "Make haste, Jane," she said, "I am weary." Jane obeyed in silence; for her Lady's pensive looks had power to quiet even her loquacious propensities.