CHAPTER X.
_The Advantage of Being a Favourite Grandson_.
THE exhausted Ferdinand found consolation in sleep. When he woke thedawn was just breaking. He dressed and went forth to look, for thelast time, on his hereditary woods. The air was cold, but the sky wasperfectly clear, and the beams of the rising sun soon spread over theblue heaven. How fresh, and glad, and sparkling was the surroundingscene! With what enjoyment did he inhale the soft and renovating breeze!The dew quivered on the grass, and the carol of the wakening birds,roused from their slumbers by the spreading warmth, resounded from thegroves. From the green knoll on which he stood he beheld the clusteringvillage of Armine, a little agricultural settlement formed of thepeasants alone who lived on the estate. The smoke began to rise in bluecurls from the cottage chimneys, and the church clock struck the hour offive. It seemed to Ferdinand that those labourers were far happier thanhe, since the setting sun would find them still at Armine: happy, happyArmine!
The sound of carriage wheels roused him from his reverie. The fatalmoment had arrived. He hastened to the gate according to his promise,to bid farewell to Glastonbury. The good old man was up. He pressed hispupil to his bosom, and blessed him with a choking voice.
'Dearest and kindest friend!' murmured Ferdinand. Glastonbury placedround his neck a small golden crucifix that had belonged to LadyBarbara. 'Wear it next your heart, my child,' said he; 'it will remindyou of your God, and of us all.' Ferdinand quitted the tower with athousand blessings.
When he came in sight of the Place he saw his father standing by thecarriage, which was already packed. Ferdinand ran into the house to getthe card which had been left on the hall table for him by his mother.He ran over the list with the old and faithful domestic, and shook handswith him. Nothing now remained. All was ready. His father was seated.Ferdinand stood a moment in thought. 'Let me run up to my mother, sir?''You had better not, my child,' replied Sir Ratcliffe, 'she does notexpect you. Come, come along.' So he slowly seated himself, with hiseyes fixed on the window of his mother's chamber; and as the carriagedrove off the window opened, and a hand waved a white handkerchief. Hesaw no more; but as he saw it he clenched his hand in agony.
How different was this journey to London from his last! He scarcelyspoke a word. Nothing interested him but his own feelings. The guard andthe coachman, and the bustle of the inn, and the passing spectacles ofthe road, appeared a collection of impertinences. All of a sudden itseemed that his boyish feelings had deserted him. He was glad when theyarrived in London, and glad that they were to stay in it only a singleday. Sir Ratcliffe and his son called upon the Duke; but, as they hadanticipated, the family had quitted town. Our travellers put up atHatchett's, and the following night started for Exeter in the Devonportmail. Ferdinand arrived at the western metropolis having interchangedwith his father scarcely a hundred sentences. At Exeter, after anight of most welcome rest, they took a post-chaise and proceeded by across-road to Grandison.
When Lord Grandison, who as yet was perfectly unacquainted with therevolutions in the Armine family, had clearly comprehended that hisgrandson had obtained a commission without either troubling him for hisinterest, or putting him in the disagreeable predicament of refusinghis money, there were no bounds to the extravagant testimonials of hisaffection, both towards his son-in-law and his grandson. He seemed quiteproud of such relations; he patted Sir Ratcliffe on his back, asked athousand questions about his darling Constance, and hugged and slobberedover Ferdinand as if he were a child of five years old. He informedall his guests daily (and the house was full) that Lady Armine was hisfavourite daughter, and Sir Ratcliffe his favourite son-in-law, andFerdinand especially his favourite grandchild. He insisted upon SirRatcliffe always sitting at the head of his table, and always placedFerdinand on his own right hand. He asked his butler aloud at dinner whyhe had not given a particular kind of Burgundy, because Sir RatcliffeArmine was here.
'Darbois,' said the old nobleman, 'have not I told you that Closde Vougeot is always to be kept for Sir Ratcliffe Armine? It is hisfavourite wine. Clos de Vougeot directly to Sir Ratcliffe Armine. I donot think, my dear madam [turning to a fair neighbour], that I haveyet had the pleasure of introducing you to my son-in-law, my favouriteson-in-law, Sir Ratcliffe Armine. He married my daughter Constance, myfavourite daughter, Constance. Only here for a few days, a very, veryfew days indeed. Quite a flying visit. I wish I could see the wholefamily oftener and longer. Passing through to Falmouth with his son,this young gentleman on my right, my grandson, my favourite grandson,Ferdinand. Just got his commission. Ordered for Malta immediately. He isin the Fusileers, the Royal Fusileers. Very difficult, my dear madam, inthese days to obtain a commission, especially a commission in the RoyalFusileers. Very great interest required, very great interest, indeed.But the Armines are a most ancient family, very highly connected, veryhighly connected; and, between you and me, the Duke of-----would doanything for them.
Come, come, Captain Armine, take a glass of wine with your oldgrandfather.'
'How attached the old gentleman appears to be to his grandson!'whispered the lady to her neighbour.
'Delightful! yes!' was the reply, 'I believe he is the favouritegrandson.'
In short, the old gentleman at last got so excited by the universaladmiration lavished on his favourite grandson, that he finally insistedon seeing the young hero in his regimentals; and when Ferdinand took hisleave, after a great many whimpering blessings, his domestic feelingswere worked up to such a pitch of enthusiasm, that he absolutelypresented his grandson with a hundred-pound note.
'Thank you, my dear grandpapa,' said the astonished Ferdinand, whoreally did not expect more than fifty, perhaps even a moiety of thatmore moderate sum; 'thank you, my dear grandpapa; I am very much obligedto you, indeed.'
'I wish I could do more for you; I do, indeed,' said Lord Grandison;'but nobody ever thinks of paying his rent now. You are my grandson, myfavourite grandson, my dear favourite daughter's only child. And you arean officer in his Majesty's service, an officer in the Royal Fusiliers,only think of that! It is the most unexpected thing that ever happenedto me. To see you so well and so unexpectedly provided for, my dearchild, has taken a very great load off my mind; it has indeed. Youhave no idea of a parent's anxiety in these matters, especially of agrandfather. You will some day, I warrant you,' continued the noblegrandfather, with an expression between a giggle and a leer; 'but donot be wild, my dear Ferdinand, do not be too wild at least. Young bloodmust have its way; but be cautious; now, do; be cautious, my dear child.Do not get into any scrapes; at least, do not get into any seriousscrapes; and whatever happens to you,' and here his lordship assumedeven a solemn tone, 'remember you have friends; remember, my dearboy, you have a grandfather, and that you, my dear Ferdinand, are hisfavourite grandson.'
This passing visit to Grandison rather rallied the spirits of ourtravellers. When they arrived at Falmouth, they found, however, that thepacket, which waited for government despatches, was not yet to sail. SirRatcliffe scarcely knew whether he ought to grieve or to rejoice at thereprieve; but he determined to be gay. So Ferdinand and himself passedtheir mornings in visiting the mines, Pendennis Castle, and the otherlions of the neighbourhood; and returned in the evening to theircheerful hotel, with good appetites for their agreeable banquet, themutton of Dartmoor and the cream of Devon.
At length, however, the hour of separation approached; a messageawaited them at the inn, on their return from one of their rambles, thatFerdinand must be on board at an early hour on the morrow. That eveningthe conversation between Sir Ratcliffe and his son was of a gravernature than they usually indulged in. He spoke to him in confidenceof his affairs. Dark hints, indeed, had before reached Ferdinand; nor,although his parents had ever spared his feelings, could his intelligentmind have altogether refrained from guessing much that had neverbeen formally communicated. Yet the truth was worse even than he hadanticipated. Ferdinand, however, was young and sanguine. He encouragedhis father with his hopes, and sup
ported him by his sympathy. Heexpressed to Sir Ratcliffe his confidence that the generosity of hisgrandfather would prevent him at present from becoming a burden tohis own parent, and he inwardly resolved that no possible circumstanceshould ever induce him to abuse the benevolence of Sir Ratcliffe.
The moment of separation arrived. Sir Ratcliffe pressed to his bosom hisonly, his loving, and his beloved child. He poured over Ferdinand thedeepest, the most fervid blessing that a father ever granted to a son.But, with all this pious consolation, it was a moment of agony.
BOOK II.