Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

  CHAPTER XI.

  _A Morning Walk_.

  IT WAS solitude that brought despair to Ferdinand Armine. The moment hewas alone his real situation thrust itself upon him; the moment hehad quitted the presence of Henrietta Temple he was as a man under theinfluence of music when the orchestra suddenly stops. The source of allhis inspiration failed him; this last night at Ducie was dreadful. Sleepwas out of the question; he did not affect even the mimicry of retiring,but paced up and down his room the whole night, or flung himself, whenexhausted, upon a restless sofa. Occasionally he varied these monotonousoccupations, by pressing his lips to the drawings which bore hername; then relapsing into a profound reverie, he sought some solace inrecalling the scenes of the morning, all her movements, every wordshe had uttered, every look which had illumined his soul. In vain heendeavoured to find consolation in the fond belief that he was notaltogether without interest in her eyes. Even the conviction that hispassion was returned, in the situation in which he was plunged, would,however flattering, be rather a source of fresh anxiety and perplexity.He took a volume from the single shelf of books that was slung againstthe wall; it was a volume of Corinne. The fervid eloquence of thepoetess sublimated his passion; and without disturbing the tone ofhis excited mind, relieved in some degree its tension, by busying hisimagination with other, though similar emotions. As he read, his mindbecame more calm and his feelings deeper, and by the time his lamp grewghastly in the purple light of morning that now entered his chamber, hissoul seemed so stilled that he closed the volume, and, though sleep wasimpossible, he remained nevertheless calm and absorbed.

  When the first sounds assured him that some were stirring in the house,he quitted his room, and after some difficulty found a maid-servant, bywhose aid he succeeded in getting into the garden. He took his way tothe common where he had observed the preceding day, a fine sheet ofwater. The sun had not risen more than an hour; it was a fresh and ruddymorn. The cottagers were just abroad. The air of the plain invigoratedhim, and the singing of the birds, and all those rural sounds that risewith the husbandman, brought to his mind a wonderful degree of freshnessand serenity. Occasionally he heard the gun of an early sportsman, tohim at all times an animating sound; but when he had plunged into thewater, and found himself struggling with that inspiring element, allsorrow seemed to leave him. His heated brow became cool and clear, hisaching limbs vigorous and elastic, his jaded soul full of hope and joy.He lingered in the liquid and vivifying world, playing with the stream,for he was an expert and practised swimmer; and often, after nights ofsouthern dissipation, had recurred to this natural bath for health andrenovation.

  The sun had now risen far above the horizon; the village clock had longstruck seven; Ferdinand was three miles from Ducie Bower. It was timeto return, yet he loitered on his way, the air was so sweet andfresh, the scene so pretty, and his mind, in comparison with his recentfeelings, so calm, and even happy. Just as he emerged from the woods,and entered the grounds of Ducie, he met Miss Temple. She stared, andshe had cause. Ferdinand indeed presented rather an unusual figure; hishead uncovered, his hair matted, and his countenance glowing with hisexercise, but his figure clothed with the identical evening dress inwhich he had bid her a tender good night.

  'Captain Armine!' exclaimed Miss Temple, 'you are an early riser, Isee.'

  Ferdinand looked a little confused. 'The truth is,' he replied, 'I havenot risen at all. I could not sleep; why, I know not: the evening, Isuppose, was too happy for so commonplace a termination; so I escapedfrom my room as soon as I could do so without disturbing your household;and I have been bathing, which refreshes me always more than slumber.'

  'Well, I could not resign my sleep, were it only for the sake of mydreams.'

  'Pleasant I trust they were. "Rosy dreams and slumbers light" are forladies as fair as you.'

  'I am grateful that I always fulfil the poet's wish; and what is more, Iwake only to gather roses: see here!'

  She extended to him a flower.

  'I deserve it,' said Ferdinand, 'for I have not neglected your firstgift;' and he offered her the rose she had given him the first day ofhis visit. ''Tis shrivelled,' he added, 'but still very sweet, at leastto me.'

  'It is mine now,' said Henrietta Temple.

  'Ah! you will throw it away.'

  'Do you think me, then, so insensible?'

  'It cannot be to you what it is to me,' replied Ferdinand.

  'It is a memorial,' said Miss Temple.

  'Of what, and of whom?' enquired Ferdinand.

  'Of friendship and a friend.'

  ''Tis something to be Miss Temple's friend.'

  'I am glad you think so. I believe I am very vain, but certainly I liketo be-----liked.'

  'Then you can always gain your wish without an effort.'

  'Now I think we are very good friends,' said Miss Temple, 'consideringwe have known each other so short a time. But then papa likes you somuch.'

  'I am honoured as well as gratified by the kindly dispositions of soagreeable a person as Mr. Temple. I can assure his daughter that thefeeling is mutual. Your father's opinion influences you?'

  'In everything. He has been so kind a father, that it would be worsethan ingratitude to be less than devoted to him.'

  'Mr. Temple is a very enviable person.'

  'But Captain Armine knows the delight of a parent who loves him. I lovemy father as you love your mother.'

  'I have, however, lived to feel that no person's opinion could influenceme in everything; I have lived to find that even filial love, and Godknows mine was powerful enough, is, after all, but a pallid moonlightbeam, compared with------'

  'See! my father kisses his hand to us from the window. Let us run andmeet him.'