"Emmeline did not say you desired it, or I should have known better than disobey," was her reply, and it was scarcely disrespectful; the tone seemed that of a spirit, crushed and goaded to the utmost, and so utterly unable to contend more, though every nerve was quivering with pain. Mrs. Hamilton felt bitter pain that Ellen at length did indeed shrink from her; that the disregard of her entreaty concerning her brother appeared so to have wounded, that it had shaken the affection which no other suffering had had power to move.
"I do not desire it, Ellen, though I wish it," she replied, mildly; "you are of course at liberty to act as you please, though I should have thought it most natural that, not having been with Edward so long, you should wish to be with him as much as possible now he is at home."
"He will not wish it; he hates me, spurns me, as I knew he would, if he knew my sin! To-day I was to have gone to Seldon Grange; let me go at once! then neither he, nor you, nor any one need be tormented with me any more, and you will all be happy again; let me go, aunt Emmeline; what should I stay for?"
"If you wish it, Ellen, you shall go next week. I did not imagine that under any circumstances, you could have expressed a desire to leave me, or suppose that it would make me particularly happy to send you away."
"Why should it not? you must hate me, too, or—or you would not have refused the only—only favor I asked you before I went," answered poor Ellen, and the voice, which had been unnaturally clear, was choked for the moment with sobs, which she resolutely forced back. Mrs. Hamilton could scarcely bear it; taking her ice-cold hands in both hers, she said, almost tenderly—
"You have reason to condemn me as harsh and cruel Ellen; but time will perhaps explain the motives of my conduct, as I trust and pray it will solve the mystery of yours; you are not well enough to be left long alone, and Ellis is so much engaged to-day that I do wish you to be with me, independent of your brother's society. If you so much prefer remaining here, I will stay with you, though of course, as Edward has been away from us so long, I should wish to be with him also."
It was almost the first time Mrs. Hamilton had ever had recourse in the management of her family to any thing that was not perfectly straightforward; and though her present motives would have hallowed much deeper stratagems, her pure mind shrunk from her own words. She wished Ellen to be constantly in Edward's presence, that he might not be able to evade the impulse of feeling and honor, which the sight of such suffering, she thought, must call forth; she could not bear to enforce this wish as a command, when she had already been, as she felt—if Ellen's silence were indeed self-devotion, not guilt—so cruelly and so unnecessarily severe. Ellen made neither reply nor resistance, but, taking up her work, accompanied her aunt to the usual morning-room, from which many a burst of happy laughter, and joyous tones were echoing. Caroline and Emmeline were so full of enjoyment at Edward's return, had so many things to ask and tell, were so perfectly unsuspicious as to his having any concern with his sister's fault, that if they did once or twice think him less lively and joyous, than when he left home, they attributed it simply, to his not having yet recovered the exhausting voyage and his wounds. Miss Harcourt, just as unsuspicious, secretly accused Ellen as the cause of his occasional abstraction: her conduct was not likely to pass unfelt by one so upright, so honorable, and if he had been harsh with her, as from Ellen's fearfully shrinking manner, and complete silence when they were together, she fancied, she thought it was so deserved, that she had no pity for her whatever.
The day passed briskly and happily enough, in seeming to Mrs. Hamilton and Edward, in reality to all the other members of the party—but one. The great subject of regret was Mr. Howard's absence, he might be back at the rectory that evening, and Emmeline was sure he would come to see Edward directly. As the hours waned, Ellen became sensible of a sharp and most unusual pain darting through her temples, and gradually extending over her forehead and head, till she could scarcely move her eyes. It had come at first so suddenly, and lasting so short a time, that she could scarcely define what it was, or why she should have felt so suddenly sick and faint; but it increased, till there was no difficulty in tracing it, and before prayer-time, had become such fearful agony, that, if she had not been inured to pain of all kinds, and endowed with extraordinary fortitude and control, she must more than once have betrayed it by either giving way to faintness, or screaming aloud. She had overheard Mrs. Hamilton desire Robert to request Mr. Maitland to come to Oakwood as soon as he could, and not hearing the reply that he was not expected home till late at night, expected him every moment, and thought he would give her something to relieve it, without her complaining.
Edward had asked his cousins for some music, and then to please Emmeline, had sketched the order of their engagement with the pirates, and no one noticed her, for Mrs. Hamilton's heart was sinking with disappointed hope, as the hours passed, and there was no sign to prove that her surmise was correct, and if it were, that the truth would be obtained.
The prayer-bell rang, and as they rose, Edward's eyes, for the first time since she had joined them, sought and fixed themselves on his sister's face. The paroxysm of pain had for a few minutes subsided, as it had done alternately with violence all day, but it had left her so ghastly pale, that he started in actual terror. It might have been fancy, but he thought there was the trace of his cowardly blow on her pale forehead, raised, and black, and such a feeling of agony and remorse rushed over him, that it was with difficulty he restrained himself from catching her in his arms, and beseeching her forgiveness before them all; but there was no time then, and they proceeded to the library. Every step Ellen took appeared to bring back that fearful pain, till as she sat down, and then knelt in her place, she was sensible of nothing else.