Chapter 8 - Page 2

could not but imagine him. A sense of
duty was therefore Ellen's only support in resolving to tread the dark
path that lay before her.

Had there been any person of her own sex in whom Ellen felt confidence,
there is little doubt that she would so far have disobeyed her father's
letter as to communicate its contents, and take counsel as to her
proceedings. But Mrs. Melmoth was the only female--excepting, indeed, the
maid-servant--to whom it was possible to make the communication; and,
though Ellen at first thought of such a step, her timidity, and her
knowledge of the lady's character, did not permit her to venture upon it.
She next reviewed her acquaintances of the other sex; and Dr. Melmoth
first presented himself, as in every respect but one, an unexceptionable
confidant. But the single exception was equivalent to many. The maiden,
with the highest opinion of the doctor's learning and talents, had
sufficient penetration to know, that, in the ways of the world, she was
herself the better skilled of the two. For a moment she thought of Edward
Walcott; but he was light and wild, and, which her delicacy made an
insurmountable objection, there was an untold love between them. Her
thoughts finally centred on Fanshawe. In his judgment, young and
inexperienced though he was, she would have placed a firm trust; and his
zeal, from whatever cause it arose, she could not doubt.

If, in the short time allowed her for reflection, an opportunity had
occurred for consulting him, she would, in all probability, have taken
advantage of it. But the terms on which they had parted the preceding
evening had afforded him no reason to hope for her confidence; and he felt
that there were others who had a better right to it than himself. He did
not, therefore, throw himself in her way; and poor Ellen was consequently
left without an adviser.

The determination that resulted from her own unassisted wisdom has been
seen. When discovered by Dr. Melmoth at Hugh Crombie's inn, she was wholly
prepared for flight, and, but for the intervention of the storm, would,
ere then, have been far away.

The firmness of resolve that had impelled a timid maiden upon such a step
was not likely to be broken by one defeat; and Ellen, accordingly,
confident that the stranger would make a second attempt, determined that
no effort on her part should be wanting to its success. On reaching her
chamber, therefore, instead of retiring to rest (of which, from her
sleepless thoughts of the preceding night, she stood greatly in need), she
sat watching for the abatement of the storm. Her meditations were now
calmer than at any time since her first meeting with the angler. She felt
as if her fate was decided. The stain had fallen upon her reputation: