Ellen Middleton—A Tale

by Georgiana Fullerton

I did not answer immediately, for in truth I could not; and, taking a book, Edward walked away, and sat down by the chimney. Other people came in—I had to dress for dinner, and it was not till late in the evening that, by alluding artfully, though not altogether untruly, to the pain with which I had heard of my aunt's probable departure from England (for it had, indeed, been the original cause of my deep depression), I succeeded in removing the tacit displeasure which had obscured Edward's countenance.

I had rather expected that Henry would call in Brook-street that evening, but he did not.

The next day, while I was dressing, Mrs. Hatton asked to see me. I was anxious to know what construction she had put on the commission I had entrusted to her; and I hardly knew how to treat it myself, for if I allowed her to suppose that there was nothing but a trifle in question, she might, at some future time, allude to it without any scruple.

After she had sat down for a few minutes, and answered my inquiries about her numerous nephews and nieces, to whom she was the most beloved, the most tyrannised over, and the happiest of aunts, she said with a smile, "I hope you got the letter in time, dear Miss Middleton?"

"Quite in time," I answered, colouring in spite of myself.

"I thought you would," she rejoined, "for I had calculated that Tuesday being the 5th of July, there would be plenty of time to write again and get an answer before the 9th, in case the patterns did not suit you. I remember so well, in old times, we used always to have little contrivances about Mrs. Middleton's birth-day."

This was exactly what I had feared. Henry had made up some story connected with his sister's birth-day, to account for our secret correspondence; or else he had taken up this idea from her own suppositions; and now there was no reason why she should not, when the day was past, inquire after the result of what had been settled between us before any one who might happen to be present. I therefore resolved to tell her as much of the truth as I could venture to do; and, taking her hand in mine, I said, "My dear Mrs. Hatton, either Henry, with very good intentions, has deceived you on the subject, or your own suppositions have misled you. The letter which I wrote to him, and the answer which he sent me, related to something of the greatest importance, in which the welfare and the happiness of more than one person are closely involved: both would be endangered if the most absolute secrecy was not observed by you as well as by us, as to this correspondence between Henry and myself. If I felt justified in doing so, I would explain to you—"

"Don't, my dear, don't; I had rather not have it explained; I had rather not hear a secret," cried Mrs. Hatton. "I never liked them; it is much pleasanter not to know things which concern other people; but you may be sure I shall never breathe a syllable to any one about the letters. I only hope, my darling Miss Ellen, that you will always be as happy as you ought to be, so good as you are, and always trying to do good to people, and to be of use. God bless your Sweet face!"

My heart smote me at the praises of this excellent woman; and I answered with a deep sigh, "My fate is a far happier one than I deserve, or ever can deserve, dear Mrs. Hatton; for I am engaged to Edward Middleton, and am to be married to him in a fortnight."

"Well, my dear Miss Ellen, I do wish you joy, with all my heart!" (and what a heart it was; there are not many such.) "How happy you will all be! Of all the husbands you could have had, I would have chosen Mr. Edward Middleton for you—so handsome—so good—so clever as he is! I remember one day, that poor little Julia was still alive, I said to Mrs. Middleton, 'Now, what a nice thing it would be if your little girl was to marry her cousin some day, and those two fine fortunes were to make but one.' 'No, no,' she cried, 'he admires Ellen too much to wait for Julia;' and then she added—'Mrs. Hatton, I am afraid that I love Ellen more than Julia; is it not dreadful?' 'And if you do,' I answered, 'what does it signify? Julia will never be the worse for it; there is enough tenderness in your heart for both of them.' But I am grieving you, dear Miss Ellen, by talking of that poor dear little cousin of yours; but you know, dear, everything is for the best, and the dear child might have lived to be wretched, poor thing! Well, well, I will say nothing more about it; but only that it is very pretty of you, my darling, to have kept all your love and your sorrow for Julia so fresh in your heart, in the midst of your own happiness. No doubt, she is a blessed little angel now; and, perhaps, she can see into your thoughts, and is blessing you even now, for remembering her so kindly, and loving her still so much."