The Weird of the Wentworths: A Tale of George IV's Time, Vol. 1

by Johannes Scotus

  CHAPTER X.

  "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more; Men were deceivers ever."--_Much ado about Nothing._

  "From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret, And when they win a smile from me, they think that I forget." _Baillie._

  We must again pick up the dropped thread of our story, and return to thefamily at Seaview, to see what the Ravensworths have been doing all thistime. The sudden departure of the Earl had fallen like a thunderbolt onpoor Ellen and her brother. Whilst they stayed at the Towers they hadbeen to her like a bright ray of sunshine that bursts through the cloudson a stormy day, as evanescent as it was brilliant, it had soondeparted. And now life seemed doubly dark and cheerless when shecontrasted it with those happy days, numbered among the things thatwere. How much had been crowded into that short span,--how muchcompressed into that little month! It had found her a wild enthusiasticdreamer, a conjurer of vain hopes that might never be realized;--it hadleft her able to look back, not on the unreal fictions of a poetic mind,not on the airy castles of imagination, but on truth--substantial, real,earnest! It had found her a captive to love she could not reciprocate;it had left her loving,--fondly, devotedly loving, and she believed asfondly, as devotedly beloved. It had been an era of the utmostimportance,--a month the most pleasurable and the most joyous of heryoung life. She had something, too, on which to rest herlove,--something on which to anchor her affections; how else could sheinterpret the golden circlet with its virgin emeralds that gemmed herfinger, and those oft-read words, "Hope on"? This was a link betweenparted lovers; whilst she owned that ring it seemed as though a bondbound their hearts together; it was a remembrance of bright dayspast,--a pledge of still brighter days to come; and however dull was herpresent life, however uneventful the passing hour, whilst she had thisring she had the "one remembrance fondly kept," and seemed to possess,as it were, a kind of loadstone which, though her guiding star wasunseen, still trembled to the pole of her affections. Johnny's feelingswere, of course, of a very different nature; he only regretted lostpleasures,--his rides, his drives. Another thing was, that while hisgreat friends had been near he had been made much of, much petted; andof course liking the kind of life very well, and feeling it was a highertone of society than he had been accustomed to, he had, naturallyenough, cut all his old acquaintances and playmates; and now that the DeVeres were gone he was left doubly lone, and much in the position of thejackdaw with borrowed plumes, unable to associate with those to whom heaspired, and in ill favour with those whom he cast off in his pride. SoJohnny was thrown much more on his own resources, and, like his sister,his memory of past joys could ill atone for present miseries. It is abad thing to be forced to live on the past. The mind becomesill-directed, and it is a kind of mental backsliding. Careless of thefuture, forgetful of the present grows such a mind: it is like theantiquary groping in the ruins of old, and never allowing his eye torest on the palaces of the modern time. Such was the case with thesetwo. Their father had returned to the dull routine of every-day life;and though he had enjoyed the past, now that it was gone, he was toobusy to give more than a passing thought to it. But Ellen passed thetime in vain attempts to recall and revivify the days gone by; andJohnny, when not actually at his lessons, was wont to let his mind runon the days at the Towers, his drives and his amusements, and this wasinvariably the topic of their conversation when they got together,utterly upsetting all useful employment, and unhinging their minds forlife's real duties. Time fled by on silent wing, and soon three weekshad almost imperceptibly glided away, and yet they had had no sort ofintelligence of their friends, except the bald paragraphs thatoccasionally told their whereabouts, in the papers. One evening,however, the postman brought a letter addressed in the Earl's ownhandwriting to Ellen. For a moment her excitement was so great that shecould hardly break the seal, and thousands of conjectures passed rapidlythrough her mind. She tore it open,--there was no letter from the Earl,but an announcement of the Marquis and Marchioness of Arranmore'smarriage. It was certainly a disappointment, for Ellen had expectedlittle short of a long and loving epistle; but still it proved one grandpoint,--she was not forgotten. In all the bustle of his sister'smarriage, in all the distraction of company, she had dwelt in his mind;he had himself addressed the envelope; certainly he could not have doneso to every one to whom cards were sent. The ring bade her "hopeon,"--she would hope! The next night's mail brought the London paperswith a full and glowing description of the gay ceremony. How eagerlyEllen read every word; how eagerly she pored over the names, ay, andeven the dresses of the guests; how she wished she had been there;another hope whispered perhaps her own wedding would next take place, agayer assemblage would meet together, and she be bride and queen ofall! She smiled at this conceit and read on: what does she read? Mr.Ravensworth was standing near the fire, the only person then in thedrawing-room besides herself; he was also reading, when suddenly he wasalarmed by her loud, harrowing scream, and at the same moment he sawEllen dash the paper on the ground, and rush frantically from the room.All was so sudden, all took place in such a moment, he stood paralyzed.His first thought was that Ellen was ill, and his impulse to follow; hisnext, to see if there was anything in the paper to account for thisstrange conduct. He picked up the paper; the first sentence his eyecaught was quite enough,--enough to explain all. The short but fatalpassage ran as follows:--"We are authorized in stating that the youngEarl of Wentworth will shortly lead Lady Alice Claremont to the hymenealaltar, thus forming a double bond between these noble families. LadyAlice is the youngest sister of the noble Marquis of Arranmore." Hedropped the paper, still undecisive how he should act, when, to hissurprise and astonishment, who should enter the room but Ellen,apparently quite composed, with a smile on her face; but one had only tolook at her wild eye, to see all was not right. Her smile was the bittersmile which sometimes betrays rejected love. So allied are our intensestfeelings of sorrow and pleasure, that tears may course the cheek forvery joy, and smiles light the countenance for very sorrow, blackness,and stagnation of woe.

  She sat down on a sofa, but she scarcely knew where she was; she spokenot, sighed not, wept not,--she scarcely seemed to draw her breath. Theeloquence of that silent suffering was awful; the stillness was thestillness of death,--not the death of the mortal frame, but the death,the annihilation of all soft feelings, and all love by one fell swoop.

  Mr. Ravensworth looked at his daughter in silence too; he saw how greather grief was; he saw that she was yet unconscious of all its depth andall her loss; and so at first he spoke not. Five minutes and more ofthis deadly silence lasted, and then the poor girl's father spoke.

  "My poor Ellen! it is a great trial; God give you strength to bear it!"

  For a moment she looked at him wildly; for a dread moment he feared hermind had given way beneath the blow; but, heaven be praised! it had not,and in a voice--how unlike her usual silvery tone! she said, "Yes, papa,I am stunned,--stupefied. My God! is it true,--has he left me? Cruel,cruel man! My heart is full,--it is bursting! Would God that it mightbreak!"

  "My own Ellen, did I not warn you, dearest,--did I not entreat you----"

  "Reason not with despair! No, no, no!--it is vain! He has left me,--leftme cruelly! Oh, it was cruel to raise hopes only to quench them! I amdesolate. It is no dream,--I am broken-hearted! Let me die! What is lifenow to me?--let me die!"

  "Say not so, darling,--time will heal your wound; he was not worthy ofyou, Ellen."

  "Add not to my grief, dearest papa,--if you love me, desist. It isfalse! Eternity can never heal that wound,--but speak not so of him! Hehas left me,--forsaken me,--killed me; but I love him,--I love himstill!"

  "Be calm, my own love. This is only excitement; try and be calm,Ellen,--do, dearest!"

  "I will--I will! See how I bear it! See, I do not weep,--but, oh! myhead,--how it throbs! My eyeballs seem of flame,--they are bursting outof my head! My brain seems on fire! Oh, if I could cry! If I could onlycry! I cannot,-
-I have no tears,--they are dried up!"

  "I will leave you, darling, now; try and weep if you can; think ofsomething to cry on,--try: it will relieve you."

  He left the poor girl alone, for he knew she had spoken the truth,--she_was_ stunned; but when Nature's soft relief came,--when the tearsfell,--the storm would weep itself away: as in nature, so he knew it wasin the natural mind.

  "If you love me, papa, tell this to no one; let me bear my miseryalone," she said, as her father left the room.

  Sorrow had crushed her; her nerves were strung to the utmost stretch;another strain and her mind would have given way! The excitement of thefirst blow sustained her wonderfully; still, her grief was too deep fortears--and, tearless in the midst of her anguish, she was able to gothrough all the duties of the evening, as if nothing unusual hadhappened: the freezing air, the quick-drawn breath, the frequent start,told only how deep was her sorrow.

  She heard her little sister repeat her evening hymn--she saw her laiddown; but she heard as though she heard not, she saw as though she didnot see; and when she left her asleep, how she envied the heart thatcould sleep! She then retired herself to rest--not to sleep, not even tohope for sleep.

  As she bade her father good-night, he pressed her hand, and with tearsin his eyes commended her to God's keeping.

  "God bless you, my afflicted child, and make all work together for yourgood!"

  Ellen's mind whispered "Amen!"

  When she was first alone, all the horror of her condition came back withcrushing, overwhelming agony,--she first began to believe its reality.She threw herself on her couch;--what was it glistened by her?Something fell,--it was her ring. It had fallen off her finger, and nowlay on the carpet. Oh! fatal amulet! prime cause of all this misery!

  Ellen's mind, as we have already said, was tinged with romance andsuperstition; in this she was not unlike many of her countrymen. Thisaccident, this falling off of her only remembrance, was too strange acoincidence to escape her. It seemed emblematical of hercondition,--forsaken by him she loved so well, and now forsaken by hisgift. The ring, as it lay there, seemed to say "the last link isbroken!" She picked it up; for one moment she thought the preciousstones clouded in her gaze--this was doubtless fancy; but what was notfancy was this,--the golden hoop was cracked--broken through, and thiswas the cause of its slipping off her finger.

  "My last friend forsakes me!" said the unhappy girl; "I am truly mostmiserable!"

  For a moment, too, the thought entered her mind of burning this relicnow of faithlessness; the words "Hope on" seemed to mock her woe. Thefire was there; what prevented her burning it? what stayed her hand fromcommitting it to the flames?

  "No," she said, "I won't destroy it; broken as it is--fit emblem of myheart--I will keep it. I may live to see him--I may live to show it tohim! he may yet return--may yet live to bind the heart he has broken!Till then I will keep thee, broken as thou art; when my heart isre-united, so shall be thy circlet!"

  With these words she placed the gaud in her bosom, and some good angelwhispered "Hope on!"

  The thought passed away; the bright ray of hope darkened again andagain; she threw herself on her bed and wished for death. We know nothow long she lay there; soon however her fortitude gave way, a tearstarted in her eye, another and another, and then came a long paroxysmof grief,--a torrent of tears, a flood after passion's storm; but therelief came too quickly. It was like the sudden breaking up of ice inthe Northern ocean; like the sudden thaw after a long winter ofsnow,--prognostic only of a worse storm to come. And so it was withEllen; the sudden relief given by tears was too much for her mind. For amoment she felt the load gone,--the next, and all came back, and hermind began to wander. She was at the Towers; by her side stood herlover;--he told his love, and asked her hand, and she accepted him. Andlo! another lady came--another fair creature--and he left her and smiledon his new flame. She tried to speak, to reproach his infidelity; shecould not, she had not the power of utterance; her words were frozen.Then she heard a wild maniacal laugh--she turned, and saw a demon formscoffing at her woe!--and his face, oh, agony! oh, shame!--his face wasL'Estrange's.

  She woke--not from sleep, but from this wild vision bred by a troubledmind. Her head ached as if it would split, an awful load seemed to crushher very brain;--was it in a vice? She had thrown herself on her bed,all dressed as she was: she rose,--how giddy she felt! She hastilydisrobed herself--she could have fallen all the time: why did she not? Astrange power upheld her, and she now sought her couch and tried tothink. Oh, God! was her mind going? She knew something was wrong, buthad forgotten what it was; and now she felt chill, and now burning hot,her pulse throbbed, her heart fluttered: what was the matter?--was sheill, dying? She had asked for death,--was it come? She stretched out herhand to ring the bell--where was it?--ah, here it is!--she rung itviolently, and overpowered by her exertion, sunk back on her pillow.Was it a dream again in which she saw her father stand by her bed?--didshe really feel him take her hand, and feel her fluttering pulse? No,this was no dream; her father had heard that midnight bell, and rushedto her chamber; he had felt her pulse, and was horror-stricken at itsquick and still quickening convulses; still more terrified when he foundhis daughter knew him not. And he himself hurriedly dressed, and,bidding the servant watch while he was absent, ran for the villagedoctor.

  He came as soon as he could,--but not soon enough to please the anxiousfather. He came, and saw in a moment she was in a high brain-fever; thedisease was raging and burning fiercer every moment, and he had to tellthe poor father he could not undertake the case without higher medicalattendance.

  The first doctors in Edinburgh were summoned; and for one-and-twentydays her father never left her bedside. During the first ten daysdelirium had wildly triumphed; and in her fits she would often repeatthe names of "Wentworth," "L'Estrange." Afterwards, though insensibleeven to her father, the fever had become less violent, and the patientseemed daily more exhausted.

  At length the twenty-first day dawned and the critical hourapproached--the crisis came! In one hour it would be known if sherecovered, or sunk beneath it.

  How anxiously her worn father watched! and when at last the feverlessened, the crisis past, and favourable symptoms were observed, andfor the first time the sufferer slept, he fell on his knees at herbedside and thanked heaven for it. Then first too did he consent tocourt sleep himself.

  After a long, death-like sleep, Ellen opened her eyes. She saw herfather, who had also had a nap, by her side, and faintly smiled. He tookher hand in his own and asked her if she knew him, and told her to pressit if she did. She pressed it, faintly indeed, but he felt it. She couldnot speak, so weakened had the fever left her. Oh! had Lord Wentworthseen his Ellen then!--would he have known her? She was the mere shadowof the beautiful girl into whose hand he had pressed the ring; her eyeswere still bright--still unchanged; and her long hair--once had it beendoomed--once had the doctor nigh closed the open forfex on her silkentresses, but her father had stayed the ruthless spoiler.

  "If she is to die, it cannot save her; if she is to live, why rob her ofone tress?"

  Thus was her long fair hair spared. But, oh! to have seen her wanface!--to have seen her wasted white arm!--it would have made afaithless lover start to have beheld the wreck of loveliness his perjuryhad wrought. This was the mere ghost of the beautiful Ellen in herball-dress!

  When the patient became stronger, the first words she whispered to herfather were:--

  "Where is the ring?"

  "It is safe, sweet; I have it."

  "I thank you."

  These words were few, but very significant. The blow that had caused allwas still swelling,--the wound that had unstrung her mind stillunforgotten. Time, the restorer, gave back her beauty; and if her cheekwas paler, her features more fined down, her bloom more shadowy and morefrail--she seemed still lovelier; her beauty seemed to have less ofearth--to be of a higher, more heavenly tint! Time, the restorer, gaveback her health; but Time, restorer though he be, had not given
backher peace of mind; her heart ached yet; the void of lost love was an"aching void" still. But another and greater change had passed overEllen Ravensworth,--her character was softened down, all was nowpersuasion, softness, kindness, gentleness. Gone the haughty usurpationof authority, gone the love of rule and command, gone the pride ofpersonal charms. Her pride had had a rude rebuff; the lesson to belearned was not lost; she had passed through the furnace of sorrow, andhad come out thoroughly refined and purified.

  She was able ere long to come down stairs, and to set again to herduties; and these she now did with an alacrity,--an earnestness she hadnever done them with before. No castle-building now!--her greatestcastle had fallen, and great was the fall of it! and she would not againlay one stone. Of course, by mutual desire and consent, no allusion wasmade to the past,--no lip framed the "once familiar word;" and when herfather saw how diligently she attended to her duties, and the smile thatnow and then came back, bright as if glad to be renewed on a face it hadso long ceased to lighten,--when he saw all this he fancied thebitterness of woe was passed, the first poignancy dulled, and that shewould yet forget. Ah! how little he knew Ellen; she might wish todie--but forget, even wish to forget, she could not. The wound was stillunhealed; every thought tore it open to bleed afresh: she hugged thegrief to her heart; and though it stung her, she pressed it the closer!But there was another change this disappointment and illness hadwrought. Ellen's mother had been a pious mother, and, while she wasspared to Ellen, had piously brought her up. The bread cast on thewaters was found after many days; the good seed, sown by a praying handin early years, was still quick,--still full of vitality. It had beensadly choked by the pomps and pleasures of this life; but fire,--theflames of sorrow,--had consumed the thorns and briers, and now it sprungup! Ellen was more attentive in her devotions; more constant and devoutat church; more frequently was her Bible a companion to her in her hoursof loneliness; and this taught her that it was wrong to brood overaffliction,--wrong to give way to sorrow; the trial had been sent forher good, and it was her duty to bear it, and profit by it. She wouldtry and bear it,--try and carry her heavy cross, without murmuring!Think not from this love had died. Oh, no,--

  "on hallowed ground The idol of man's heart was found."

  Still the idol of her affections was reared in her heart; still sheoffered him silent devotion and secret incense; but it was no longer theall-absorbing passion; chastened down, subdued, brought under--it wasnow a sad necessity, no longer a joyous freewill offering!

  In about a month Ellen was able to take her first walk; she chose theroad along which a few months ago _he_ had driven with her in thesleigh. Then the snow was white--now April's sunshine and showers beganto make everything green and spring-like. Ah! the love born amid thesnows of winter seemed to have flown with them! To her mind that timehad been spring,--now all was winter.

  Though Ellen was thus apparently restored in health, strength, andbeauty, the lingering traces of the illness had not entirely vanished,and her physicians had recommended a tour on the Continent, selectingSwitzerland as the best spot. Her father, too, thought the excitement ofa tour abroad, the new scenes, foreign faces and customs, would do morethan anything else to banish old griefs from her mind, and drown hersorrow; so he decided on following their advice, and began to preparefor their departure. As there were then no steamboats and railroads, Mr.Ravensworth decided on travelling by posting, and procured an excellentcourier through Mr. Lennox. This courier was to meet them in London, andthey determined on travelling thither by the coach that passed theirdoor daily. On May day the London coach stopped before Seaview andpicked up Mr. Ravensworth and his daughter. Ellen had only time to waveher hand to Johnny and Maude, who stood on the steps, before the fourprancing horses dashed off, and whirled her away from her home, andseparated her from her brother and sister for the first time in herlife.