One thing Ellis reported to her regarding Ellen, which certainly seemed like a consciousness of the wrong she had done Robert, and a wish to atone for it. She begged Ellis so earnestly that she might see him, if it were only for five minutes, that she could not resist her; and when he came, she implored him so touchingly, so pleadingly to forgive her long silence himself, and entreat his mother to do so too; assuring him, that it was the hope of being able to restore the notes to him, without revealing her identity, which had caused the silence, that it was scarcely possible to listen to her unmoved. It was no false humility, but the deepest, most unfeigned contrition for having been the cause of injury.
Ten days after Ellen's imprisonment, the letter arrived from Sir Edward Manly, which Mrs. Hamilton had alluded to as necessary to be received, before she could write to her nephew, and the news it brought, though somewhat alloyed, would at another time have been received with the greatest delight. Edward was returning. In three weeks, or a month at the utmost, after the receipt of his commander's letter, he might be with them all; invalided home for a three or four months' leave. There had been another, and rather severe engagement, in which young Fortescue had still more distinguished himself; but from his headlong courage had been severely, but not at all seriously, hurt. Sir Edward intended sending the pirate frigate which they had taken to England, as she was a tight-built, well looking craft enough, he wrote, if manned with honorable men instead of desperate villians; and had nominated Harding and Fortescue to accompany the second lieutenant, as her officers.
The name of Harding produced no disagreeable reminiscences in Mrs. Hamilton's mind. It had been so very long since Edward had even mentioned him, that she had almost forgotten his early fancy for him. Her only thought now was thankfulness that her gallant nephew had been preserved, and that he was coming home. It could scarcely be pleasure she felt, though all the young party did, for there was such an excitement in Edward's courage, and in his having been in two desperate engagements, and seen so much, that, with the buoyancy happily natural to well-disposed youth, they could only think and talk of his return, forgetting the alloy that must cloud it. Percy and Herbert hoped he would arrive within the three weeks, as then they should be with him at least a week or ten days. If delayed, he would very provokingly just arrive as they would be returning to college.
After much painful deliberation, Mrs. Hamilton determined on making Herbert her messenger with these unexpected tidings to Ellen; hoping more than she expressed that his gentle eloquence in bringing before her the misery to which she must condemn her brother if she would persist in this silence, and so compel an appeal to him, would have some effect; especially as she charged him to impress upon her that even now confession should bring pardon, and concealment of all from Edward. Herbert gladly undertook the mission, and so feelingly, so earnestly discharged it, that poor Ellen felt more heart-broken than she had done yet, and almost incapable of retaining her firmness. But she did; for danger to Edward seemed more imminent now that he was coming home, to the very vicinity of his dreaded uncle, than when he was at a distance. She could only feel thankful—if concealment were indeed so absolutely necessary as he had declared it to be—that Mr. Hamilton was still from home, and might continue to be so during Edward's visit. It was difficult to repress the sickening shudder, when Herbert chanced to mention that Harding was her brother's companion in his voyage home, and difficult, not to express more disappointment than the occasion warranted, that Edward had not answered her last letter. He must have received it, Herbert said, for Sir Edward acknowledged his father's in which hers to Edward had been inclosed. He left her after a very long interview, deeply grieved at the failure of all his persuasions, all his remonstrances, but compelled, he could not satisfactorily explain why, either to himself or to his family, to pity far more than to blame. Percy declared, as did Caroline and Miss Harcourt, that it must be only his own too kind and gentle disposition, which never could blame anybody or any thing. Mrs. Hamilton was bitterly disappointed; Mr. Howard insisted that such obduracy demanded nothing but the sternest treatment, and he only wished Mr. Hamilton's letter could arrive at once. He saw Ellen again himself twice in the five weeks, which elapsed between the discovery of her sin and the arrival of Mr. Hamilton's answer; but if kindness had so failed, it was comparatively easy to resist his well-intentioned, but in this case utterly mistaken sternness. He was in general so kind even in his judgments, that Mrs. Hamilton thought he must have some reason to believe Ellen so thoroughly hardened, and from his report of her was enabled to impart her husband's sentence with more firmness, than had she listened to her own kind, still loving heart.
It was as she and Mr. Howard had both expected. Ellen was no longer to remain at Oakwood, but to be placed under the care of a maiden lady, living in Yorkshire, a relation of Mr. Hamilton, and one who had occasionally visited Oakwood, and was, therefore, well known to Mrs. Hamilton, and to Ellis too, and regarded with such dislike by the latter, as to make her actually venture to entreat her mistress not to send Miss Ellen to her; she was sure it would break her heart. Now Miss Seldon was one of the worthiest women that ever breathed—honest, straightforward, truth-speaking literally to a fault, but as hard as she was true. Whether she ever had any feelings or not, Mrs. Hamilton, with all her penetration, never could discover; but the good she did was immense in practical benevolence, though the quick sympathy, the kindly word, the indulgent thought, seemed utterly unknown. She had no pity for faults or failings, always declaring forbearance and love were all folly; "if a branch were in the slightest degree decayed, cut it off; if the blight extend to the root, destroy it," she was fond of saying. As for youthful follies or errors, she had no patience with them, for never having been, or rather felt young herself, she could not understand the age in others. Ellis had not discrimination enough to discern the good which lay under this very disagreeable exterior; Mrs. Hamilton had; and suffering as she knew a residence with her must be to Ellen, if indeed she were really the character she had seemed in childhood—though the last few months had so contradicted it—she felt her husband had decided wisely, spite of the misery which still even the very thought of sending her orphan niece so completely from her, was to herself. Mr. Hamilton's letter read harshly, but his wife knew his high, almost stern principles; he had not seen Ellen's evident anguish; he could only judge from the relation which had been sent him, and all which that told was indeed against her. Of course he said, if she had confessed, and her confession in any degree, pleaded for her, his wife would use her own judgment as to the period of her banishment; but he could not imagine any cause for her conduct sufficiently excusing, as to demand the avoidance of his sentence altogether.
Miss Seldon's last visit to Oakwood was sufficiently well remembered by the young Hamiltons (though, it was before their cousins had arrived from India), for them all—even Percy and Caroline, the most indignant against Ellen—to think of their father's sentence with the deepest regret, and with almost dread for its effect on Ellen.
"If she did but know her, she must speak," was Emmeline's exclamation. "I did not feel quite sure that I was my own happy self, all the time she was with us."
"The atmosphere was frozen twenty degrees below zero in all the rooms she frequented, though it was otherwise a hot summer," rejoined Percy; "and in Yorkshire—"
"Pray do not joke, dear Percy; I can not bear to think of Ellen going away from us at all, much less to such a guardian, though I know she is very good," answered Herbert.
"Now, my good fellow, do not attempt to say a word for Nancy Seldon; she was the only person in the world I ever heard you acknowledge you disliked; so what must she be? Worthy! no doubt, or my father would not have trusted Ellen to her, but for any thing else—"