The Mothers Recompense, Volume II. | Page 2

her now only unmarried
daughter, Lady Lucy, had accepted Mrs Hamilton's pressing invitation
to Oakwood, relaxed in her manner towards her; and Sir George
Wilmot, also a resident guest, declared that if Edward were not proud
of his sister on his return, he would do all in his power to hinder his
promotion.
Mr. Hamilton and his family had employed the greater part of a very
beautiful August in conducting their guests to all the most picturesque
and favourite spots in the vicinity of Oakwood. About a week after the
circumstance we have narrated, St. Eval and Lady Gertrude joined
them in the morning of a proposed excursion, which included the whole
party, with the exception of Mrs. Hamilton and Ellen. The Earl and his
sister had been instantly enlisted as a most agreeable reinforcement; nor
was the young Earl very sorry for an excuse to spend a whole day in
enjoying the beauties of Nature _tête-à-tête_ with his betrothed, who,
since the candid explanation of her agitation on first hearing of Annie's
elopement, for which her knowledge of Lord Alphingham's former
marriage had well accounted, had become if possible dearer than ever;
and this excursion was indeed one of perfect enjoyment to both.
Ellen, for some unaccountable reason, which her young friends could
neither penetrate nor conceive, refused to accompany them, declaring
that most important business kept her at home.
"Edward will not come to-day, so do not expect him," had been
Emmeline's parting words.
The ruralizing party were to dine amid the ruins of Berry Pomeroy, and
were not expected home till dusk, to a substantial tea.
It might have been seven in the evening that Ellen quietly entered the
library, where her aunt was engaged in writing, and stood by her side in
silence, as if fearful of interrupting by addressing her.
"Wait a few minutes, my love, and I shall be ready to attend to you, if

you require my assistance in the arrangement of your work," Mrs.
Hamilton said, alluding to the parcel of baby-linen she perceived in her
niece's hand. Ellen smiled and obeyed. In a few minutes Mrs. Hamilton
laid aside her writing, and looked up, as if expecting her niece would
speak.
"Well, Ellen, what grand difficulty can you not overcome?"
"None, my dear aunt. My task is done; I only want your approval,"
replied Ellen.
"Done!" repeated her aunt, in an accent of astonishment. "My dear
Ellen, it is impossible; I only gave it you a week ago. You must have
worked all night to finish it"
"Indeed I have not," replied Ellen, quickly yet earnestly.
"Then I certainly must examine every little article," said Mrs. Hamilton,
laughing, "or I shall decidedly fancy this extreme rapidity cannot have
been productive of neatness, which last I rather prefer to the first."
Ellen submitted her work to her scrutiny, without reply, and remained
kneeling on a stool at her aunt's feet, without any apprehension as to the
sentence that would be pronounced.
"Really, Ellen, I shall incline to Emmeline's opinion, and believe some
magic is at work within you," was Mrs. Hamilton's observation, as she
folded up the tiny suit with very evident marks of satisfaction. "How
you have acquired the power of working thus neatly and rapidly, when
I have scarcely ever seen a needle in your hand, I cannot comprehend. I
will appoint you my sempstress-general, in addition to bestowing my
really sincere thanks for the assistance you have afforded me."
Ellen pressed her aunt's hand to her lips in silence, for an emotion Mrs.
Hamilton beheld, but could not understand, choked her voice.
"What is the matter, love? has anything occurred to annoy you to-day?
You look paler and more sad than usual; tell me what it is."

"Do you remember what--what chanced--have you forgotten the event
that took place this very day, this very hour, in this very room, three
years ago?" demanded Ellen, almost inaudibly, and her cheek blanched
to the colour of her robe as she spoke.
"Why recall the painful past at such a moment, my sweet girl? has it
not been redeemed by three years of undeviating rectitude and virtue? I
had hoped the recollection had ere this long ceased to disturb you,"
replied Mrs. Hamilton, with much feeling, as she pressed her lips to her
niece's brow.
"It never can, it never will, unless--unless--" Strong and almost fearful
emotion prevented all she had wished to say, and throwing into Mrs.
Hamilton's lap a small calf-skin pocket-book, she flung her arms round
her neck, and burying her face in her bosom, murmured, in a voice
choked with sobs, "The amount of all I took is there--all--all. Oh, take it,
and let me thus feel it as a debt which I have paid."
"Ellen, my own Ellen, be