BETWEEN the unexpected meeting with Captain Armine in the morning and the evening assembly at Bellair House, a communication had been made by Miss Temple to Lord Montfort, which ought not to be quite unnoticed. She had returned home with his mother and himself, and her silence and depression had not escaped him. Soon after their arrival they were left alone, and then Henrietta said, ‘Digby, I wish to speak to you!’
‘My own!’ said Lord Montfort, as he seated himself by her on the sofa, and took her hand.
Miss Temple was calm; but he would have been a light observer who had not detected her suppressed agitation.
‘Dearest Digby,’ she continued, ‘you are so generous and so kind, that I ought to feel no reluctance in speaking to you upon this subject; and yet it pains me very much.’ She hesitated.
‘I can only express my sympathy with any sorrow of yours, Henrietta,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘Speak to me as you always do, with that frankness which so much delights me.’
‘Let your thoughts recur to the most painful incident of my life, then,’ said Henrietta.
‘If you require it,’ said Lord Montfort, in a serious tone.
‘It is not my fault, dearest Digby, that a single circumstance connected with that unhappy event should be unknown to you. I wished originally that you should know all. I have a thousand times since regretted that your consideration for my feelings should ever have occasioned an imperfect confidence between us; and something has occurred to-day which makes me lament it bitterly.’
‘No, no, dearest Henrietta; you feel too keenly,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Indeed, Digby, it is so,’ said Henrietta very mournfully.
‘Speak, then, dearest Henrietta.’
‘It is necessary that you should know the name of that person who once exercised an influence over my feelings, which I never affected to disguise to you.’
‘Is it indeed necessary?’ enquired Lord Montfort.
‘It is for my happiness,’ replied Henrietta.
‘Then, indeed, I am anxious to learn it.’
‘He is in this country,’ said Henrietta, ‘he is in this town; he may be in the same room with you to-morrow; he has been in the same room with me even this day.’
‘Indeed!’ said Lord Montfort.
‘He bears a name not unknown to you,’ said Henrietta, ‘a name, too, that I must teach myself to mention, and yet------’
Lord Montfort rose and took a pencil and a sheet of paper from the table, ‘Write it,’ he said in a kind tone.
Henrietta took the pencil, and wrote,
‘Armine.’
‘The son of Sir Ratcliffe?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘The same,’ replied Henrietta.
‘You heard then of him last night?’ enquired her companion.
‘Even so; of that, too, I was about to speak.’
‘I am aware of the connection of Mr. Glastonbury with the Armine family,’ said Lord Montfort, quietly.
There was a dead pause. At length Lord Montfort said, ‘Is there anything you wish me to do?’
‘Much,’ said Henrietta. ‘Dearest Digby,’ she continued, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘do not misinterpret me; my heart, if such a heart be worth possessing, is yours. I can never forget who solaced me in my misery; I can never forget all your delicate tenderness, Digby. Would that I could make a return to you more worthy of all your goodness; but if the grateful devotion of my life can repay you, you shall be satisfied.’
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘It is of you, and of your happiness that I can alone think,’ he murmured.
‘Now let me tell you all,’ said Henrietta, with desperate firmness. ‘I have done this person great injustice.’
‘Hah!’ said Lord Montfort.
‘It cuts me to the heart,’ said Henrietta.
‘You have then misconceived his conduct?’ enquired Lord Montfort.
‘Utterly.’
‘It is indeed a terrible situation for you,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘for all of us,’ he added, in a lower tone.
‘No, Digby; not for all of us; not even for myself; for if you are happy I will be. But for him, yes! I will not conceal it from you, I feel for him.’
‘Your destiny is in your own hands, Henrietta.’
‘No, no, Digby; do not say so,’ exclaimed Miss Temple, very earnestly; ‘do not speak in that tone of sacrifice. There is no need of sacrifice; there shall be none. I will not, I do not falter. Be you firm. Do not desert me in this moment of trial. It is for support I speak; it is for consolation. We are bound together by ties the purest, the holiest. Who shall sever them? No! Digby, we will be happy; but I am interested in the destiny of this unhappy person. You, you can assist me in rendering it more serene; in making him, perhaps, not less happy than ourselves.’
‘I would spare no labour,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Oh, that you would not!’ exclaimed Miss Temple. ‘You are so good, so noble! You would sympathise even with him. What other man in your situation would?’
‘What can be done?’
‘Listen: he was engaged to his cousin even on that fatal day when we first met; a lady with every charm and advantage that one would think could make a man happy; young, noble, and beautiful; of a most amiable and generous disposition, as her subsequent conduct has proved; and of great wealth.’
‘Miss Grandison?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Yes: his parents looked forward to their union with delight, not altogether unmixed with anxiety.
The Armines, with all their princely possessions, are greatly embarrassed from the conduct of the last head of their house. Ferdinand himself has, I grieve to say, inherited too much of his grandfather’s imprudent spirit; his affairs, I fear, are terribly involved. When I knew him, papa was, as you are aware, a poor man. This marriage would have cured all; my Digby, I wish it to take place.’
‘How can we effect it?’ asked Lord Montfort.
‘Become his friend, dear Digby. I always think you can do anything. Yes! my only trust is in you. Oh! my Digby, make us all happy.’
Lord Montfort rose and walked up and down the room, apparently in profound meditation. At length he said, ‘Rest assured, Henrietta, that to secure your happiness nothing shall ever be wanting on my part. I will see Mr. Glastonbury on this subject. At present, dearest, let us think of lighter things.’
