Home Influence: A Tale for Mothers and Daughters

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 – "

"Poor Ellen! she little knows to what her obstinacy is condemning her," rejoined Caroline; "I wish she did and then she might spare herself and mamma, too; though I fear even confession would not help her much now."

Mrs. Hamilton might and did think with them all, but she could not swerve from her duty. She wrote at once to Miss Seldon, not entering into particulars, but merely asking if she would consent to take charge of a relative, whose conduct demanded more rigid watchfulness and care, and an entire cessation of indulgence, than could be the case in the family circle at Oakwood. She and her husband had such perfect confidence in her, she said, that if she could oblige them by undertaking the duty, they knew, without any assurance on her part, that she would discharge it faithfully. The yearly sum they offered was large, because they wished their young relative to have all the comforts and appurtenances of a gentlewoman, and the advantages of the best education, the city near which she resided, could afford. Mrs. Hamilton had no doubt of the affirmative nature of the reply, for Miss Seldon owed the recovery of her fortune and position entirely to the exertions of Mr. Hamilton; and she had told him, once for all, that if she could but serve or oblige him in any way, great or small, it would make her far happier than she had ever been, or was likely to be in her solitary life. The letter written and dispatched, Mrs. Hamilton summoned Ellen once more to her presence.

The scene was again the library, where she had been writing, and the time nearing the short twilight of October. It was three weeks, rather more, since Sir Edward Manly's letter had been received, and Edward was, therefore, almost daily expected. The feelings with which his unhappy sister looked to his return it would be a vain attempt to define. At times the intense longing to see him again, caused a wild, almost sick feeling of pleasure, that she might, perhaps, so soon do so; then came all that had passed, and she pictured his anger, his loathing – true it had been for him, but he had not thought of such a deed. He would, he must hate and spurn her, too; and the idea of meeting him became absolute agony. Then – and she shuddered in dread – would he think that he must acknowledge it was for him she had thus acted? and, if so, had she not betrayed instead of saving him? Incident after incident in their childhood rose before her, to give her hope that he would be silent now as then, and not betray himself; but these contending terrors, united with the constant though silent suffering of her banishment from all she loved, the utter hopelessness as to the end of this trial, had not been without their effect on the outward frame. Ellis did not see it, from so constantly watching her, and from Ellen never refusing to take the exercise she desired her, and not making a single complaint as to the pain it was sometimes to walk, and always to swallow her meals; but as she stood opposite to her aunt, in the full light of the oriel window – her approach had been so noiseless, Mrs. Hamilton, who was bending over some papers, did not see her till she chanced to look up – the attenuation of form and feature was so very visible, that her aunt could not prevent herself from starting painfully, and the words with which she had intended to address her froze on her lips. It was with the utmost difficulty she refrained from folding her to her heart, and trying, by every means affection could devise, to soothe or remove that anguish, whatever its nature, far too deep and constant for one so very young; but how dared she do this, when, by this determined silence, Ellen so defied her authority, and seemed so resolved that neither severity nor kindness, nor her own sufferings should humble her spirit, though they had even affected her frame?

Conquering with a powerful effort the pleadings of affection, Mrs. Hamilton calmly entered on the subject for which she had summoned her, reading to her a greater part of her uncle's letter, hoping that its severity would spare her the pain of any additional remarks. Every word seemed to burn itself on Ellen's brain. What she had hoped she knew not, for she thought she had never hoped at all, but the words, "No cause can be excusing enough to justify the entire setting aside this sentence," seemed by its agony to tell her that the thought had entered her mind, if the real cause were by any chance discovered would she be forgiven, and in time restored to confidence and love? And now it was over, even that hope was gone.

Mrs. Hamilton paused for a reply or an observation, but none came, and she continued, impressively – "I can scarcely hope, Ellen, that as even the idea of sparing your only brother shame and misery, on his return home, expecting nothing but joy, after nearly three years' separation and exposure to danger, has had no effect in softening you, that your uncle's sentence will. Once I should have believed that only the thought of leaving me, and going to the care of a stranger, would have urged you to speak directly. I can believe this no longer; but as I wish you to be with Edward, at least part of his stay with us, I shall postpone your leaving us, one month from to-day. If, indeed, Edward's influence be such that, for his sake, you will make me a full confession and answer clearly and distinctly every question I put to you, your residence with Miss Seldon shall be limited to three, six, ten, or twelve months, according to the nature of the motive of this incomprehensible and, apparently most sinful conduct. If you leave us still obdurate, years will, in all probability, pass before we can feel sufficiently confident in the restored integrity and openness of your character to permit your return to us. The pain you are inflicting upon me it is useless to dwell upon. As the child of my only and most dearly loved sister, I have loved you, hoped for you, with little less intensity of affection than that I have borne toward my own; for I felt that, with the sole exception of your brother, I was the only being you had on earth united to you by ties of blood. How this conduct repays my love and care you must answer to yourself; I can only be sensible of bitter disappointment."

Again she stopped, evidently expecting a reply, but Ellen still remained silent. The short twilight of autumn had set in so suddenly, that Mrs. Hamilton was not aware her niece's cheek had become still paler, and that her white lips quivered repeatedly, as if she several times tried to speak, but could not. After a silence of some minutes, she said —

"If you are determined not to speak, Ellen, you may retire. I have told you all I wished to say, except that till you leave us though you will still occupy your present rooms, and be still under Ellis's care, you are at liberty to employ yourself, and go about the house and grounds as usual."

Ellen turned to go, still in that unbroken silence; she had reached the low step dividing the upper part from the lower part of the room, and whether she did not see it, or from some other cause, the room suddenly reeled before her, and she fell heavily forward. To spring toward her, raise her tenderly, bear her to the nearest couch, though she so trembled herself at finding Ellen quite insensible, as to render the task unusually difficult, and to ring hastily for Ellis, was the work of a minute, but it was many minutes before their united efforts could bring back consciousness.

"I knew it would break her heart, poor lamb!" was Ellis's exclamation, in a tone of most unusual excitement; "thank God, thank God! Master Edward's coming home, and that she is not to go till he does."

"Have you so much confidence in his influence?" asked her mistress, as, unable to resist the impulse, she bent down and repeatedly kissed the cold brow and cheek, to which she was so earnestly striving to restore warmth, "God in mercy grant you may be right!"

"Right? Dear my lady!" (whenever Ellis was strongly moved, she always so addressed her mistress;) "I would stake your confidence in me, which is all my life's worth, if Master Edward is not at the bottom of it all, and that this poor child is sacrificing herself for some fancied danger to him! I saw enough of that work when they were young children, and I have noticed enough since she has been under my care."

"Edward!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton, so bewildered, as to stop for the moment chafing Ellen's cold hand; "Edward! bearing the high character he does; what can he have to do with it?"

"I don't know, my lady, but I am sure he has. Young men, ay, some of the finest and bravest among us, get into difficulties sometimes, and it don't touch their characters as their officers see them, and Master Edward was always so terrified at the mere thought of my master knowing any of his faults; but – hush! we must not let her know we suspect any thing, poor lamb; it will make her still more miserable. You are better now, dear Miss Ellen, are you not?" she added, soothingly, as Ellen feebly raised her hand to her forehead, and then slowly unclosed her eyes, and beheld her aunt leaning over her, with that same expression of anxious affection, which her illness had so often caused in her childhood. Sense, or rather memory, had not quite returned, and her first words were, with a faint but happy smile —

"I am better, dear aunt, much better; I dare say I shall soon be well." But it was only a momentary forgetfulness; swift as thought came the whole of what had so lately passed – her uncle's letter, her aunt's words, and murmuring, in a tone how painfully changed! "I forgot – forgive me," she buried her face in the pillow.

"Ellen, my dear Ellen! why will you persist in making yourself and me so miserable, when a few words would make us happier?" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, almost imploringly, as she bent over her.

"Do not urge her now, dear my lady, she is not well enough; give her till Master Edward comes; I am sure she will not resist him," answered Ellis, very respectfully, though meaningly, as her look drew her mistress's attention to the shudder which convulsed Ellen's slight frame, at the mention of her brother.

Pained and bewildered more than ever, Mrs. Hamilton, after waiting till the faintness seemed quite gone, and thinking that if the restraint of her presence were removed, Ellen might be relieved by tears, left her, desiring Ellis to let her know in a short time how she was. The moment the door closed, Ellen threw her arms round Ellis's neck, exclaiming passionately —

"Take me away – take me away, dear Ellis; I can not bear this room – it seems all full of misery! and I loved it so once, and I shall love it again, when I am miles and miles away, and can not see it – nor any one belonging to it. Oh, Ellis, Ellis! I knew you were too kind. I was too glad and contented to be with you; it was not punishment enough for my sin – and I must go away – and I shall never, never see my aunt again – I know I shall not. Oh! if I might but die first! but I am too wicked for that; it is only the good that die."

And almost for the first time since her sin had been discovered, she gave way to a long and violent fit of weeping, which, though terrible while it lasted, as the anguish of the young always is, greatly relieved her, and enabled her after that day not to revert in words (the thought never left her till a still more fearful anxiety deadened it) to her uncle's sentence again.

Mrs. Hamilton sat for a very long time alone after she had left Ellen. Ellis's words returned to her again and again so pertinaciously, that she could not break from them. Edward! the cause of it all – could it be possible? – could it be, that he had plunged himself into difficulties, and afraid to appeal to his uncle or her, had so worked on Ellen as not only to make her send relief, but actually so to keep his secret, as to endure every thing rather than betray it? Circumstance after circumstance, thought after thought, so congregated upon her, so seemed to burst into being, and flash light one from the other, that her mind ached beneath their pressure. Ellen's unhappiness the day his last letter had been received, her sudden illness – had it taken place before or after Robert had lost the money? She could not satisfy herself, for her husband's sudden summons to Feroe, hasty preparations, and departure, had rendered all the month confused and unsatisfactory in its recollections. So intense was the relief of the idea, that Mrs. Hamilton feared to encourage it, lest it should prove a mere fancy, and urge softer feelings toward her niece than ought to be. Even the supposition made her heart yearn toward her with such a feeling of love, almost of veneration, for the determined self-devotion, so essentially woman's characteristic, that she resolutely checked its ascendency. All her previous fancies, that Ellen was no ordinary child, that early suffering and neglect had, while they produced some childish faults, matured and deepened the capabilities of endurance and control, from the consciousness (or rather existence, for it was not the consciousness to the child herself) of strong feeling, returned to her, as if determined to confirm Ellis's supposition. The disappearance of her allowance; her assertion, that she was seeking Mrs. Langford's cottage, by that shorter but forbidden path, to try and get her to dispose of her trinkets, when the wind blew the notes to her hand – all now seemed connected one with the other, and confirmed. She could well understand, how in a moment of almost madness they might have been used without thought, and the after-effect upon so delicate a mind and conscience. Then, in contradiction to all this (a mere hypothesis raised on nothing firmer than Ellis's supposition), came the constantly favorable accounts of Edward; his captain's pride and confidence in him; the seeming impossibility that he could get into such difficulties, and what were they? The name of Harding rushed on her mind, she knew not why or how – but it made her tremble, by its probable explanation of the whole. A coarse or even less refined mind, would have either appealed at once to Ellen, as to the truth of this suspicion, or thought herself justified in looking over all Edward's letters to his sister, as thus to discover the truth; but in Mrs. Hamilton's pure mind the idea never even entered, though all her niece's papers and letters were in her actual possession. She could only feel to her heart's core with Ellis, "Thank God, Master Edward's coming home!" and pray earnestly that he might be with them, as they hoped and anticipated, in a few, a very few days.

CHAPTER VII.

THE LIGHT GLIMMERS

The earnest wishes and prayers of Mrs. Hamilton and her faithful Ellis were disappointed. The latter part of the month of September had been exceedingly stormy, and though there was a lull from about the 3d to the 9th of October, the equinoctial gales then set in with the utmost fury; continuing day after day, night after night, till the ear seemed almost to tire of the sound, and the mind, anxious for friends at sea, despair of their cessation. During the few calm days, the young party at Oakwood had scarcely been absent from the windows, or from that part of the park leading to the Plymouth road, above an hour at a time. Percy and Herbert rode over to Plymouth, but were told the frigate could not be in for a full week. The late storms must have detained her, though she was a fast-sailing craft. It was a great disappointment to them, for on the 10th of October college term began, and they were compelled to return to Oxford. The cause of their mother's intense desire for Edward's return, indeed, they did not know; but they were most impatient to see him, and they hoped, they did not exactly know what, with regard to his influence with Ellen. However, the day of their departure came, and still he had not arrived, and the storms had recommenced. Percy had gone to say good-by to Ellis, with whom Ellen chanced at that moment to be. Full of spirits and jokes, he determinately looked away from his cousin, took both Ellis's hands, and shook them with his usual heartiness.

"Good-by, dear Ellis. I wonder if I shall ever feel myself a man when talking to you. How many tricks I have played you in this room, and you were always so good-natured, even when one of my seat-crackers set your best gown on fire, and quite spoiled it; do you remember it? I do think you were nearly angry then, and quite enough to make you; and papa made me save up my money to buy you a new dress. I did not play such a practical joke in a hurry again."

Ellis laughed and perfectly remembered it, and with another hearty good-by he turned away.

"You have forgotten your cousin, Mr. Percy," she said, disregarding Ellen's imploring look.

"When she remembers her duty to my mother, I will remember that she is my cousin," was his hasty answer, and he hurried from the room as Herbert entered. His good-by to Ellis was quite as warm as Percy's, and then turning to Ellen, he put his arm round her, kissed her cheek, and said, with impressive earnestness —

"God bless you, dear Ellen! I hope you will be happier when we meet again, and that it will not be so long before we do, as we fancy now;" and, affected almost to tears at the grateful, humble look she raised to his, he left her.

Overcome as much by the harshness of the generous, warm-hearted Percy, whom she so dearly loved, as by the gentle kindness of Herbert, Ellen remained for several minutes with her arms on the table, her face hid upon them. She thought she was quite alone, for Ellis had gone about some of her business, when she was startled by Percy's voice.

"I am a brute, Ellen, nothing less; forgive me, and say good-by. I can't understand it at all, but angry as I am with you, your pale face haunts me like a specter, so we must part friends;" and as she looked hastily up, he kissed her warmly twice, and ran away without another word.

Days passed heavily, the gales seeming to increase in violence, and causing Mrs. Hamilton more terrible anxiety and vague dread than she allowed to be visible. The damage among the shipping was fearful, and the very supposed vicinity of the frigate to the Channel increased the danger. The papers every morning presented long lists of ships wrecked, or fatally dismantled, loss of crews or part of them, mails and cargoes due but missing: and the vivid recollection of the supposed fate of her own brother, the wretchedness of the suspense before the fate of his vessel was ascertained, returned to heighten the fears that would gain ascendency for her nephew, and for the effect of this terrible suspense on Ellen, more especially – if indeed she had endured all these weeks, nay, months, of misery for him.

At first Ellen seemed unconscious that there was any thing remarkable in the delay, the thought of her own departure being uppermost; but when the thought did press upon her, how it came she knew not – that of the given month the weeks were passing, and Edward had not arrived, and that there must be some reason for the long delay – storm, shipwreck, death, all flashed upon her at once, and almost maddened her. The quiet calm of endurance gave way. She could not sleep at night from the tremendous winds; not even when Ellis had a bed put up in her room, and remained with her all night herself; she never complained indeed, but hour after hour she would pace her room and the passage leading to Ellis's, till compelled to cease from exhaustion; she would try steadily to employ herself with some difficult study, and succeed, perhaps, for half an hour, but then remain powerless, or recommence her restless walk. Mrs. Hamilton made several attempts without any apparent interference on her part, to get her to sit occasionally with her and Miss Harcourt, and her cousins, but she seemed to shrink from them all. Emmeline, indeed, when once aware of the terrible trial she was enduring, would sit with her, drawing or working as if nothing had occurred to estrange them, and try to cheer her by talking on many topics of interest. Caroline would speak to her kindly whenever she saw her. Miss Harcourt alone retained her indignation, for no suspicion of the real cause of her silence ever entered her mind.

Poor Ellen felt that she dared not indulge in the comfort this change in her aunt's and cousins' manner produced. She wanted to wean herself quite from them, that the pang of separation might be less severe, but she only seemed to succeed in loving them more. One thought, indeed, at length took such entire possession of her mind, as to deaden every other: – it was the horrible idea that as she had sinned to save Edward, perhaps, from merited disgrace, he would be taken from her; she never breathed it, but it haunted her night and day. Mr. Maitland saw her continually, but he plainly told Mrs. Hamilton, while the cause of anxiety and mental suffering lasted he could do her no good. It was a constant alternation of fearful excitement and complete depression, exhausting the whole system. Repose and kindness – alas! the latter might be given, but the former, in the present position of affairs, how could it be insured?

The month of grace was waning; only two days remained, and Edward had not arrived, and how could Mrs. Hamilton obey her husband – whose every letter reiterated his hope that she had not been prevailed on to alter his sentence, if Ellen still remained silent – and send her niece from her? She came at length to the determination, that if another week passed and still there were no tidings, not to let this fearful self-sacrifice, if it really were such, last any longer, but gently, cautiously, tenderly as she could, prevail on Ellen to confide all to her, and promise, if Edward really had been erring and in difficulties, all should be forgiven for her sake, and even his uncle's anger averted. Once her determination taken, she felt better enabled to endure an anxiety which was injuring her almost as much as Ellen; and she turned to Ellis's room, which she had lately very often frequented, for she scarcely felt comfortable when Ellen was out of her sight, though she had full confidence in Ellis's care.

Ellen was asleep on a sofa, looking so wan, so haggard – so altered from the Ellen of five short months back, that Mrs. Hamilton sat down by her side, pondering whether she was doing right to wait even another week, before she should try to bring relief by avowing her suspicions – but would it bring relief? and, after all, was it for Edward? or, had she been allowing affection and imagination to mislead and soften, when sternness might still be needed?

Ellen woke with a start as from some fearful dream, and gazed at Mrs. Hamilton for a full minute, as if she did not know her.

"My dear Ellen, what is it? You have been sleeping uncomfortably – surely you know me?"

"I thought I was at – at – Seldon Grange – are you sure I am not? Dear aunt Emmeline, do tell me I am at Oakwood, I know I am to go, and very soon; but I am not there now, am I?" and she put one hand to her forehead, and gazed hurriedly and fearfully round her, while, with the other, she held tightly Mrs. Hamilton's dress. There was something alarming both in her look and tone.

"No, love, you are with me still at Oakwood, and you will not go from me till you have been with Edward some little time. You can not think I would send you away now, Ellen?"

The soothing tone, her brother's name, seemed to disperse the cloud, and bursting into tears, she exclaimed —