This was the prelude to a confession of error, which in part relieved the mind of Matilda: but she was still uneasy—she felt as if Charles would be her apologist with his family, for an error they were likely to blame in her; but the ardour of his manner made her feel much concerned for him—he was dear to her—she felt for him a sister’s affection, but felt that she could never be more to him than she was then. Anxious and restless, she earnestly desired to see Ellen, whose gentleness and dispassionate good sense would soothe the fretfulness and allay the uneasiness she felt; yet she could not bring herself to call on the family—she had not the courage to meet Mr. and Mrs. Harewood, nor the calmness with which she desired to see the brothers. While she was debating what course to pursue, to her infinite relief she heard that Ellen had just called with her father, and that both of them were in the library. Before she had time to welcome them, Ellen, running up stairs, hurried with her into the dressing-room, and closed the door with an air of secrecy which showed her expectation of giving or receiving intelligence of importance, and there was in her countenance an expression which combined both joy and sorrow, and was really indefinable.
Full of her own cares, and anxious to conceal the most interesting part of them, Matilda for some time remained silent, nor did Ellen find the courage requisite for her own communication; so that this much desired visit promised little eventual satisfaction. To account for the situation of Ellen, it is necessary to trace the events of the morning in her father’s house.
When the family were assembled to breakfast, the conversation naturally turned upon the ball of the evening before; and Ellen, with friendly zeal, sought to exculpate her friend Matilda from the errors which Mr. Belmont seemed to think her guilty of, in exhibiting herself in a dance, by no means decorous, with a young man of Sir Theodore’s description.—“I do not say,” added he, “that it was a positively wrong thing, nor do I much wonder at it; for a fine young woman, and an heiress, may be led a great way, by the flatterers and sycophants who surround her; but I must own I expected better things from the chosen friend of Ellen Harewood, from a girl educated by a pious and sensible mother, and one said to possess a sound understanding.”
Edmund was silent, but his varying complexion bespoke the strong interest he felt in the subject; Charles, on the contrary, warmly entered into it, declaring that a few words which passed between Matilda and him clearly proved that she had been misled by her party; that her sense of propriety was as strong as ever; and, in short, that she was a dear, amiable, good girl, whom he would defend as long as he lived.
The warmth of Charles’s assertion called a smile from every one. During the time he spoke, his father had been called out; the servant now entered, desiring his presence also; and it appeared that their early visitant was a man of great importance, and the cause of his calling at this time, by awakening curiosity, suspended conversation. In a few minutes he departed, and Mr. Harewood returned to the breakfast-room, saying as he entered—“I am going to announce a piece of excellent news, although it is accompanied by a loss we must submit to; our dear Charles is appointed to be secretary to the embassy to ——, now preparing to embark.”
Mrs. Harewood burst into tears; but as soon as she could speak, she expressed her joy, while Ellen, in a broken voice, exclaimed—“Oh, what will Matilda say, poor girl?”
Edmund rushed out of the room, as if to seek his brother, but Mr. Belmont well knew it was to conceal his emotion; no other person seemed to notice Ellen’s unfortunate ejaculation, and when the door was closed, Mr. Belmont congratulated the parents upon a circumstance so honourable and desirable to their younger son; and as they well knew the sincerity of his character, and the affection he felt for Charles, they freely confided to him their feelings at the event; while Ellen innocently declared that she was very glad he happened to be with them at the time, as he would be a substitute for dear Charles.
“Ah!” said Mr. Belmont, “if you, Ellen, could persuade your parents, and, what is in this case of more importance, your own heart, to consider me not only now, but ever, a member of your family, I should be happy indeed.”
Ellen, rather surprised at this speech than its import, for she had long half hoped, half feared, to think on this interesting but awful subject, turned to her mother, and hid her blushing cheek upon her shoulder, while the parents exchanged looks of satisfaction with each other, and esteem towards the speaker.
“Mine, Ellen,” continued Mr. Belmont, “is neither a sudden nor violent passion; I approach you by no flattery—I dazzle you by no exhibition; but as I trust both my fortune and character will bear the scrutiny of your friends, your only task, my sweet girl, is to examine your own heart, and inquire there how far I am agreeable to your wishes. I have been a silent admirer of your virtues, and I can be a patient attendant for your decision.”