_In Which Mr. Glastonbury Informs Captain Armine of His
Meeting with Miss Temple_.
IT WAS still an early hour when Mr. Glastonbury arrived at his hotel. He understood, however, that Captain Armine had already returned and retired. Glastonbury knocked gently at his door, and was invited to enter. The good man was pale and agitated. Ferdinand was already in bed. Glastonbury took a chair, and seated himself by his side.
‘My dear friend, what is the matter?’ said Ferdinand.
‘I have seen her, I have seen her!’ said Glastonbury.
‘Henrietta! seen Henrietta?’ enquired Ferdinand.
Glastonbury nodded assent, but with a most rueful expression of countenance.
‘What has happened? what did she say?’ asked Ferdinand in a quick voice.
‘You are two innocent lambs,’ said Glastonbury, rubbing his hands.
‘Speak, speak, my Glastonbury.’
‘I wish that my death could make you both happy,’ said Glastonbury; ‘but I fear that would do you no good.’
‘Is there any hope?’ said Ferdinand. ‘None!’ said Glastonbury. ‘Prepare yourself, my dear child, for the worst.’
‘Is she married?’ enquired Ferdinand.
‘No; but she is going to be.’
‘I know it,’ said Ferdinand.
Glastonbury stared.
‘You know it? what! to Digby?’
‘Digby, or whatever his name may be; damn him!’
‘Hush! hush!’ said Glastonbury.
‘May all the curses------’
‘God forbid,’ said Glastonbury, interrupting him.
‘Unfeeling, fickle, false, treacherous------’
‘She is an angel,’ said Glastonbury, ‘a very angel. She has fainted, and nearly in my arms.’
‘Fainted! nearly in your arms! Oh, tell me all, tell me all, Glastonbury,’ exclaimed Ferdinand, starting up in his bed with an eager voice and sparkling eyes. ‘Does she love me?’
‘I fear so,’ said Glastonbury. ‘Fear!’
‘Oh, how I pity her poor innocent heart!’ said Glastonbury.
‘When I told her of all your sufferings------’
‘Did you tell her? What then?’
‘And she herself has barely recovered from a long and terrible illness.’
‘My own Henrietta! Now I could die happy,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I thought it would break your heart,’ said Glastonbury.
‘It is the only happy moment I have known for months,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I was so overwhelmed that I lost my presence of mind,’ said Glastonbury. ‘I really never meant to tell you anything. I do not know how I came into your room.’
‘Dear, dear Glastonbury, I am myself again.’
‘Only think!’ said Glastonbury; ‘I never was so unhappy in my life.’
‘I have endured for the last four hours the tortures of the damned,’ said Ferdinand, ‘to think that she was going to be married, to be married to another; that she was happy, proud, prosperous, totally regardless of me, perhaps utterly forgetful of the past; and that I was dying like a dog in this cursed caravanserai! O Glastonbury! nothing that I have ever endured has been equal to the hell of this day. And now you have come and made me comparatively happy. I shall get up directly.’
Glastonbury looked quite astonished; he could not comprehend how his fatal intelligence could have produced effects so directly contrary from those he had anticipated. However, in answer to Ferdinand’s reiterated enquiries, he contrived to give a detailed account of everything that had occurred, and Ferdinand’s running commentary continued to be one of constant self-congratulation.
‘There is, however, one misfortune,’ said Ferdinand, ‘with which you are unacquainted, my dear friend.’
‘Indeed!’ said Glastonbury, ‘I thought I knew enough.’
‘Alas! she has become a great heiress!’
‘Is that it?’ said Glastonbury.
‘There is the blow,’ said Ferdinand. ‘Were it not for that, by the soul of my grandfather, I would tear her from the arms of this stripling.’
‘Stripling!’ said Glastonbury. ‘I never saw a truer nobleman in my life.’
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Ferdinand.
‘Nay, second scarcely to yourself! I could not believe my eyes,’ continued Glastonbury. ‘He was but a child when I saw him last; but so were you, Ferdinand. Believe me, he is no ordinary rival.’
‘Good-looking?’
‘Altogether of a most princely presence. I have rarely met a personage so highly accomplished, or who more quickly impressed you with his moral and intellectual excellence.’
‘And they are positively engaged?’
‘To be married next month,’ replied Glastonbury.
‘O Glastonbury! why do I live?’ exclaimed Ferdinand; ‘why did I recover?’
‘My dear child, but just now you were comparatively happy.’
‘Happy! You cannot mean to insult me. Happy! Oh, is there in this world a thing so deplorable as I am!’
‘I thought I did wrong to say anything,’ said Glastonbury, speaking as it were to himself.
Ferdinand made no observation. He turned himself in his bed, with his face averted from Glastonbury.
‘Good night,’ said Glastonbury, after remaining some time in silence.
‘Good night,’ said Ferdinand, in a faint and mournful tone.
