Which Is on the Whole Almost as Perplexing as the Preceding One.
WHEN Ferdinand found himself dining in St. James’-square, in the very same room where he had passed so many gay hours during that boyish month of glee which preceded his first joining his regiment, and then looked opposite him and saw Henrietta Temple, it seemed to him that, by some magical process or other, his life was acting over again, and the order of the scenes and characters had, by some strange mismanagement, got confused. Yet he yielded himself up to the excitement which had so unexpectedly influenced him; he was inflamed by a species of wild delight which he could not understand, nor stop to analyse; and when the duchess retired with the young ladies to their secret conclave in the drawing-room, she said, ‘I like Captain Armine very much; he is so full of spirit and imagination. When we met him this morning, do you know, I thought him rather stiff and fine. I regretted the bright boyish flow that I so well recollected, but I see I was mistaken.’
‘Ferdinand is much changed,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘He was once the most brilliant person, I think, that ever lived: almost too brilliant; everybody by him seemed so tame. But since his illness he has quite changed. I have scarcely heard him speak or seen him smile these six months. There is not in the whole world a person so wretchedly altered. He is quite a wreck. I do not know what is the matter with him to-day. He seemed once almost himself.’
‘He indulged his feelings too much, perhaps,’ said Henrietta; ‘he lived, perhaps, too much alone, after so severe an illness.’
‘Oh, no! it is not that,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘it is not exactly that. Poor Ferdinand! he is to be pitied. I fear he will never be happy again.’
‘Miss Grandison should hardly say that,’ said the duchess, ‘if report speaks truly.’
Katherine was about to reply, but checked herself.
Henrietta rose from her seat rather suddenly, and asked Katherine to touch the piano.
The duchess took up the ‘Morning Post.’
‘Poor Ferdinand! he used to sing once so beautifully, too!’ said Katherine to Miss Temple, in a hushed voice. ‘He never sings now.’
‘You must make him,’ said Henrietta.
Miss Grandison shook her head.
‘You have influence with him; you should exert it,’ said Henrietta.
‘I neither have, nor desire to have, influence with him,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘Dearest Miss Temple, the world is in error with respect to myself and my cousin; and yet I ought not to say to you what I have not thought proper to confess even to my aunt.’
Henrietta leant over and kissed her forehead. ‘Say what you like, dearest Miss Grandison; you speak to a friend, who loves you, and will respect your secret.’
The gentlemen at this moment entered the room, and interrupted this interesting conversation.
‘You must not quit the instrument, Miss Grandison,’ said Lord Montfort, seating himself by her side. Ferdinand fell into conversation with the duchess; and Miss Temple was the amiable victim of his Grace’s passion for écarté.
‘Captain Armine is a most agreeable person,’ said Lord Montfort.
Miss Grandison rather stared. ‘We were just speaking of Ferdinand,’ she replied, ‘and I was lamenting his sad change.’
‘Severe illness, illness so severe as his, must for the moment change anyone; we shall soon see him himself again.’
‘Never,’ said Miss Grandison mournfully.
‘You must inspire him,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I perceive you have great influence with him.’
‘I give Lord Montfort credit for much acuter perception than that,’ said Miss Grandison.
Their eyes met: even Lord Montfort’s dark vision shrank before the searching glance of Miss Grandison. It conveyed to him that his purpose was not undiscovered.
‘But you can exert influence, if you please,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘But it may not please me,’ said Miss Grandison.
At this moment Mr. Glastonbury was announced. He had a general invitation, and was frequently in the habit of paying an evening visit when the family were disengaged. When he found Ferdinand, Henrietta, and Katherine, all assembled together, and in so strange a garb, his perplexity was wondrous. The tone of comparative ease, too, with which Miss Temple addressed him, completed his confusion. He began to suspect that some critical explanation had taken place. He looked around for information.
‘We have all been riding,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘So I perceive,’ said Glastonbury.
‘And as we were too late for dinner, took refuge here,’ continued his lordship.
‘I observe it,’ said Glastonbury.
‘Miss Grandison is an admirable musician, sir.’
‘She is an admirable lady in every respect,’ said Glastonbury.
‘Perhaps you will join her in some canzonette; I am so stupid as not to be able to sing. I wish I could induce Captain Armine.’
‘He has left off singing,’ said Glastonbury, mournfully. ‘But Miss Temple?’ added Glastonbury, bowing to that lady.
‘Miss Temple has left off singing, too,’ said Lord Montfort, quietly.
‘Come, Mr. Glastonbury,’ said the duchess, ‘time was when you and I have sung together. Let us try to shame these young folks.’ So saying, her Grace seated herself at the piano, and the gratified Glastonbury summoned all his energies to accompany her.
Lord Montfort seated himself by Ferdinand. ‘You have been severely ill, I am sorry to hear.’
‘Yes; I have been rather shaken.’
‘This spring will bring you round.’
‘So everyone tells me. I cannot say I feel its beneficial influence.’
‘You should,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘At our age we ought to rally quickly.’
‘Yes! Time is the great physician. I cannot say I have much more faith in him than in the spring.’
‘Well, then, there is Hope; what think you of that?’
‘I have no great faith,’ said Ferdinand, affecting to smile.
‘Believe, then, in optimism,’ said Henrietta Temple, without taking her eyes off the cards. ‘Whatever is, is best.’
‘That is not my creed, Miss Temple,’ said Ferdinand, and he rose and was about to retire.
‘Must you go? Let us all do something to-morrow!’ said Lord Montfort, interchanging a glance with Henrietta. ‘The British Museum; Miss Grandison wishes to go to the British Museum. Pray come with us.’
‘You are very good, but------’
‘Well! I will write you a little note in the morning and tell you our plans,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘I hope you will not desert us.’
Ferdinand bowed and retired: he avoided catching the eye of Henrietta.
The carriages of Miss Temple and Miss Grandison were soon announced, and, fatigued with their riding-dresses, these ladies did not long remain.
‘To-day has been a day of trial,’ said Henrietta, as she was about to bid Lord Montfort farewell. ‘What do you think of affairs? I saw you speaking to Katherine. What do you think?’
‘I think Ferdinand Armine is a formidable rival. Do you know, I am rather jealous?’
‘Digby! can you be ungenerous?’
‘My sweet Henrietta, pardon my levity. I spoke in the merest playfulness. Nay,’ he continued, for she seemed really hurt, ‘say good night very sweetly.’
‘Is there any hope?’ said Henrietta.
‘All’s well that ends well,’ said Lord Montfort, smiling; ‘God bless you.’
Glastonbury was about to retire, when Lord Montfort returned and asked him to come up to his lordship’s own apartments, as he wished to show him a curious antique carving.
‘You seemed rather surprised at the guests you found here to-night,’ said Lord Montfort when they were alone.
Glastonbury looked a little confused. ‘It was certainly a curious meeting, all things considered,’ continued Lord Montfort: ‘Henrietta has never concealed anything of the past from me, but I have always wished to spare her details. I told her this morning I should speak to you upon the subject, and that is the reason why I have asked you here.’
‘It is a painful history,’ said Glastonbury.
‘As painful to me as anyone,’ said his lordship; ‘nevertheless, it must be told. When did you first meet Miss Temple?’
‘I shall never forget it,’ said Glastonbury, sighing and moving very uneasily in his chair. ‘I took her for Miss Grandison.’ And Glastonbury now entered into a complete history of everything that had occurred.
‘It is a strange, a wonderful story,’ said Lord Montfort, ‘and you communicated everything to Miss Grandison?’
‘Everything but the name of her rival. To that she would not listen. It was not just, she said, to one so unfortunate and so unhappy.’
‘She seems an admirable person, that Miss Grandison,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘She is indeed as near an angel as anything earthly can be,’ said Glastonbury.
‘Then it is still a secret to the parents?’
‘Thus she would have it,’ said Glastonbury. ‘She clings to them, who love her indeed as a daughter; and she shrank from the desolation that was preparing for them.’
‘Poor girl!’ said Lord Montfort, ‘and poor Armine! By heavens, I pity him from the bottom of my heart.’
‘If you had seen him as I have,’ said Glastonbury, ‘wilder than the wildest Bedlamite! It was an awful sight.’
‘Ah! the heart, the heart,’ said Lord Montfort: ‘it is a delicate organ, Mr. Glastonbury. And think you his father and mother suspect nothing?’
‘I know not what they think,’ said Glastonbury, ‘but they must soon know all.’ And he seemed to shudder at the thought.
‘Why must they?’ asked Lord Montfort.
Glastonbury stared.
‘Is there no hope of softening and subduing all their sorrows?’ said Lord Montfort; ‘cannot we again bring together these young and parted spirits?’
‘It is my only hope,’ said Glastonbury, ‘and yet I sometimes deem it a forlorn one.’
‘It is the sole desire of Henrietta,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘cannot you assist us? Will you enter into this conspiracy of affection with us?’
‘I want no spur to such a righteous work,’ said Glastonbury, ‘but I cannot conceal from myself the extreme difficulty. Ferdinand is the most impetuous of human beings. His passions are a whirlwind; his volition more violent than becomes a suffering mortal.’
‘You think, then, there is no difficulty but with him?’
‘I know not what to say,’ said Glastonbury; ‘calm as appears the temperament of Miss Grandison, she has heroic qualities. Oh! what have I not seen that admirable young lady endure! Alas! my Digby, my dear lord, few passages of this terrible story are engraven on my memory more deeply than the day when I revealed to her the fatal secret. Yet, and chiefly for her sake, it was my duty.’
‘It was at Armine?’
‘At Armine. I seized an opportunity when we were alone together, and without fear of being disturbed. We had gone to view an old abbey in the neighbourhood. We were seated among its ruins, when I took her hand and endeavoured to prepare her for the fatal intelligence, “All is not right with Ferdinand,” she immediately said; “there is some mystery. I have long suspected it.” She listened to my recital, softened as much as I could for her sake, in silence. Yet her paleness I never can forget. She looked like a saint in a niche. When I had finished, she whispered me to leave her for some short time, and I walked away, out of sight indeed, but so near that she might easily summon me. I stood alone until it was twilight, in a state of mournful suspense that I recall even now with anguish. At last I heard my name sounded, in a low yet distinct voice, and I looked round and she was there. She had been weeping. I took her hand and pressed it, and led her to the carriage. When I approached our unhappy home, she begged me to make her excuses to the family, and for two or three days we saw her no more. At length she sent for me, and told me she had been revolving all these sad circumstances in her mind, and she felt for others more even than for herself; that she forgave Ferdinand, and pitied him, and would act towards him as a sister; that her heart was distracted with the thoughts of the unhappy young lady, whose name she would never know, but that if by her assistance I could effect their union, means should not be wanting, though their source must be concealed; that for the sake of her aunt, to whom she is indeed passionately attached, she would keep the secret, until it could no longer be maintained; and that in the meantime it was to be hoped that health might be restored to her cousin, and Providence in some way interfere in favour of this unhappy family.’
‘Angelic creature!’ said Lord Montfort. ‘So young, too; I think so beautiful. Good God! with such a heart what could Armine desire?’
‘Alas!’ said Glastonbury, and he shook his head. ‘You know not the love of Ferdinand Armine for Henrietta Temple. It is a wild and fearful thing; it passeth human comprehension.’
Lord Montfort leant back in his chair, and covered his face with his hands. After some minutes he looked up, and said in his usual placid tone, and with an’ unruffled brow, ‘Will you take anything before you go, Mr. Glastonbury?’
