“Do so, Spoonbill, do so: I do not approve of being interrupted on a Sunday; it is a bad example to the people in the country: it does not so much signify in London.”
It was fortunate, or, more properly speaking unfortunate, for the young lord that the Earl his father was very easy to be imposed upon; and perhaps the more so from the very high opinion which he entertained of his own wisdom and sagacity. But such was his confidence in the good conduct and good disposition of his son, that he would not easily have been brought to give credence to any story of a disgraceful nature told against him. The young man took advantage of this, and so he always passed for a very prudent and steady person: and it was not unfrequent that the Earl himself would commend the steadiness and sobriety of his son, and propose him as an example to those who were companions of his irregularities.
After the conversation above recorded, the young lord made the best of his way through the park towards that gate which led into the village; carefully at the same time observing that his victim did not escape him and return by another path to the castle.
He met her not in the park; and when he arrived at the gate he was at a loss which way to turn. It would have been a miserable exposure of his conduct had the stranger found her way back to the castle and obtained an interview with the Earl. Still worse in the mind of Lord Spoonbill would it have been that the Countess should become acquainted with that part of his character and conduct which might be communicated to her by the mysterious stranger; for, with all his irregularity of demeanour, and amidst conduct which manifested a most serious want of good feeling and good principle, he felt a regard for his mother, and an anxiety for her comfort and composure of mind: he disguised himself to his father from fear, and to his mother from love.
Agitated by distracting thoughts, he stood at the park gate, gazing alternately in different directions; and by the intensity of his feelings was at last rivetted in an almost unconscious state of mind to the spot on which he was standing. Suddenly his pulse beat quicker, and his heart seemed to swell within him, when at a little distance he saw the dreaded one approaching him. Had he seen her anywhere else his first impulse would have been to avoid her; but here his truest and best policy was to submit to an interview, however painful. Shall he meet her with kindness?—shall he meet her with reproaches?—shall he meet her with coldness? These were enquiries rapidly passing through his mind as she drew nearer and nearer. It was difficult for him to decide between cruelty and hypocrisy: but the last was most natural to him, so far as custom is a second nature.
The afflicted one moved slowly with her eyes fixed on the ground, and she saw not her enemy till so near to him, that on lifting up her face and recognizing his well-known features, the sudden shock produced a slight hysteric shriek.
Lord Spoonbill was not so lost to all feeling of humanity as to be insensible to the anguish of mind which she now suffered, who had once regarded him as a friend, and had loved him, “not wisely, but too well.” He held out his hand to her with an unpremeditated look of kindness and affection; and which, being unpremeditated, bore the aspect of sincerity. The stranger at first hesitated, and seemed not disposed to accept the offered hand; but she looked up in his face, and the blood mounted to her cheeks and the tears stood in her eyes, and she gave him her hand, and covered her face and wept bitterly.
There are moments in which shameless profligates look foolish and feel that they are contemptible. This was such a moment to Lord Spoonbill. He was moved, and he was mortified that he was moved; and there was a general feeling of confusion and perplexity in his mind. What could he say? or how could he act? He began to stammer out something like gentleness, and something like reproof. But she who stood before him was as an accusing spirit, to whom apology was mockery, and repentance too late. At length, when the first emotion began to abate, he said:
“Ellen, what brings you here? Surely this is not a proper day for a visit like this. What could induce you too to endeavour to see the Earl? If you once mention the affair to him you are irretrievably ruined; I can do nothing for you.”
A reproachful look, a deep sigh, and the withdrawing her hand from his, were the only answer which the above speech received. She attempted to speak, but words were wanting; and after a little more appearance of confusion on the part of his lordship, he seemed for the first time to notice her mourning dress, and with real tenderness of manner asked her what peculiar loss or misfortune had brought her to Smatterton. Assuming then a steadiness of tone and greater composure of manner, she at last spoke out: