While mournfully taking this review of her condition, and seeking, but vainly, to form some plan for its amelioration, she heard the potent voice of the Admiral call out, 'To Powderham Castle,' as a carriage drove from the house; but ere she had time to lament the mortifying errour of her benevolent, though ill judging friend, the approach to the door of some other vehicle, announced a fresh arrival; and, presently, all difficulties were absorbed in immediate terrour, as again she heard that sound, which, of all others, most severely shocked her nerves, the voice of Mrs Howel.
What could cause this abrupt return? Had she received the directions of Lord Denmeath? Was a new persecution arranged? or, – more horrible than all, – had means been devized, for casting again the most wretched of victims into the hands of the most terrific of her foes?
Tremblingly she listened to every noise. A general commotion, with quick pacing feet, spoke the entrance into the house of sundry servants; and, presently, she distinctly heard the apartment of Mrs Howel taken possession of by that lady, and by some person with whom she was discoursing.
All now, for about a quarter of an hour, was still. She was then alarmed by a rustling sound, and a single footstep in the corridor: it approached, stopt, seemed turning back; approached again; and, after a few minutes, she was startled by a tapping at her door.
She shook, she was all dismay and apprehension: she hesitated whether to bolt herself in, or to accord admission; but a second tap bringing to her reflection how short, how futile, how ineffectual would be any resistance, she turned the key, opened her door, and her room was instantly entered.
Often, in the course of her long struggles and difficulties, had Juliet been struck with astonishment; but never had she known surprize that could bear any comparison with that which she experienced at this moment; when, expecting to see Mrs Howel, or Lord Denmeath; when, prepared for reproach, for menace, and for insult; she saw, as fearfully she raised her eyes, instead of all that she dreaded and loathed, all that she thought most sweet, most lovely, most perfect upon earth, in the elegant form, and softly expressive face of Lady Aurora Granville, who, with eyes glistening, and arms opening, gently ejaculated, 'My sister!' and fell, weeping, upon her neck.
Juliet nearly ceased to breathe: wonder, yet incredulity, took possession of her faculties, and she knew not whether it were possible that this could be reality till the big surprize, mingled with the almost too powerful delight of her bosom, found some vent in a violent burst of tears.
Tender embraces, fond and open on the part of Lady Aurora, transported, yet fearful and doubtful, on that of Juliet, kept them for some minutes weeping in each other's arms. 'Can you, then, – ' cried the penetrated Juliet, – 'may I believe in such felicity? – Can you condescend so far as not to disdain, – disclaim, – and turn away from so unhappy a relation? so distressed, – so helpless, – so desolate an object?'
'Oh! hush! hush! hush!' cried Lady Aurora, putting her hand upon the mouth of Juliet; 'you must not break my heart by such an idea, – such a profanation! by making me apprehend that you could ever think me such a monster! Did I wait till I knew your rights to my affection before I loved you? Did I not divine them from the moment I first conversed with you?'
Folding, then, her white arms around Juliet, with redoubled tenderness, 'Oh my sweet Miss Ellis!' she cried. 'Let me call you still a little while by that dear name! I have loved it so fondly that I can hardly love more even to call you my dearest sister! How you have engaged my thoughts; rested upon my imagination; occupied my ideas; been ever uppermost in my memory; and always highest, – Oh! higher than any one in my esteem and admiration! long, long before this loved moment, when Sir Jaspar Herrington's letter makes my enthusiasm but a tender duty!'
'Ah! Lady Aurora!' cried Juliet, 'what sufferings are not repaid by a moment such as this! by a blessing so superlative, as thus to be acknowledged, thus to be received, by the person whose virtues and whose sweetness would have made me delight in her favour, had I never wanted protection! had my lot in life been the most brilliant!'
'Oh hush! sweet sister, hush!' interrupted Lady Aurora, again stopping her mouth; 'what words are these? favour! – Lady Aurora! – Ah! never let me hear them more, if you love me! What have we to do with such phrases? Are we not sisters? Shall I use such to you? Would you love me if I did? Would you not rather chide me?'
Juliet could only shed tears, though tears so delicious, that it was luxury to shed them. Lady Aurora would have kissed them from her cheeks; but her own mingled with them so copiously, that it was not possible; and though the smiles of expressive joy that brightened each countenance, shewed their sensibility to be but fulness of happiness, the meeting, the acknowledgment, with the throbbing recollection of all that was passed, so touched each gentle heart, that they could but weep and embrace, embrace and weep, alternately.
'I have coveted,' at length cried Juliet, 'almost beyond light or life, I have coveted this precious moment! When first I heard you named, – you and Lord Melbury, – on the evening of the play, at Mrs Maple's, Oh! what were my emotions! my satisfaction, my apprehensions, my hopes, and my solicitude! When I saw two beings so sweet, so formed to create esteem and love, so innocent, so unassuming, so attractive, – and whispered to myself, Are these my nearest relations? Is this my sister? Is this my brother? – how did my heart expand with joy and pride! How did I long to cast off all disguise, all reserve, and cry Own me, amiable beings! sweet sister! loved brother! pure, kind, and good! own your unhappy sister! take to your pitying protection the distressed, persecuted, insulated daughter of your father!'
'Ah why,' cried Lady Aurora, 'did you not speak? why not indulge the impulse of nature, and of kindness? Your talents, your acquirements, your manners, won, instantly, all our admiration; enchanted, bewitched us; but how wide were we from thinking, at that first moment, that we had any tie to a mutual regard with the accomplished Miss Ellis! Our first notion of that happiness, though still far from the truth, – was after that cruel scene, which must for ever be blotted from all our memories; – when my poor brother was urged on, – so unhappily! to forget himself. The knowledge of that disgrace, from some listening servants, reached Mrs Howel; she communicated it to my uncle Denmeath: no wonder he was alarmed! Still, however, he told us not the story; though, to stop the progress of what he feared, he acquainted us, that a report had formerly been spread, that we had a distant relation abroad; not, he said, – forgive him, if possible! – not in a right line related, and never, by my father, meant to be any way acknowledged. – Oh how little he knew my father! or, let me say, either of his daughters! – But, having put my brother upon his guard, by suggesting that it was possible that you might be this distant and unhonoured relation. – Ah, my Miss Ellis! if you had seen our indignant looks, when we heard such phrases! – He promised to seek you himself, and to examine into the affair; and exacted, forced from us both a promise, in return, that we would never either meet or write to you, till he had ascertained what was the truth. The unfortunate scene at Mrs Howel's alone made my brother submit; for he feared misconstruction: and his submission of course included mine. Ah! had you spoken at that time! had you revealed – '
'Alas! my distresses were so complicate! What most I wished upon earth, was constantly counteracted by what most I dreaded! I could not make myself known to my friends, – in the soothing supposition that such I should find! – without betraying myself to my enemy; for Lord Denmeath would assuredly have made me over to my persecutor. How, then, in a situation so critical, yet so helpless, could I selfishly involve in my wretchedness, my perplexity and my concealment, the kindest and tenderest of human hearts?'