Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

  CHAPTER II.

  _A Day of Love_.

  MEANWHILE the beautiful Henrietta sat in her bower, her music neglected,her drawing thrown aside. Even her birds were forgotten, and her flowersuntended. A soft tumult filled her frame: now rapt in reverie, sheleaned her head upon her fair hand in charmed abstraction; now risingfrom her restless seat, she paced the chamber, and thought of his quickcoming. What was this mighty revolution that a few short days, a fewbrief hours had occasioned? How mysterious, yet how irresistible, howoverwhelming! Her father was absent, that father on whose fond idea shehad alone lived; from whom the slightest separation had once beenpain; and now that father claims not even her thoughts. Another, and astranger's, image is throned in her soul. She who had moved in the worldso variously, who had received so much homage and been accustomed fromher childhood to all that is considered accomplished and fascinating inman, and had passed through the ordeal with a calm clear spirit; behold,she is no longer the mistress of her thoughts or feelings; she hadfallen before a glance, and yielded in an instant to a burning word!

  But could she blame herself? Did she repent the rapid and ravishingpast? Did regret mingle with her wonder? Was there a pang of remorse,however slight, blending its sharp tooth with all her bliss? No! Herlove was perfect, and her joy was full. She offered her vows to thatHeaven that had accorded her happiness so supreme; she felt onlyunworthy of a destiny so complete. She marvelled, in the meekness andpurity of her spirit, why one so gifted had been reserved for her,and what he could recognise in her imperfect and inferior qualities todevote to them the fondness of his rare existence.

  Ferdinand Armine! Did there indeed ever breathe, had the wit of poetever yet devised, a being so choice? So young, so beautiful, so livelyand accomplished, so deeply and variously interesting! Was that sweetvoice, indeed, only to sound in her enchanted ear, that graceful formto move only for the pleasure of her watchful eye? That quick and airyfancy but to create for her delight, and that soft, gentle heart to ownno solicitude but for her will and infinite gratification? And could itbe possible that he loved her, that she was indeed his pledged bride,that the accents of his adoration still echoed in her ear, and his fondembrace still clung to her mute and trembling lips! Would he always loveher? Would he always be so fond? Would he be as faithful as he was nowdevoted? Ah! she would not lose him. That heart should never escape her.Her life should be one long vigilant device to enchain his being.

  What was she five days past? Is it possible that she lived before shemet him? Of what did she think, what do? Could there be pursuits withoutthis companion, plans or feelings without this sweet friend? Lifemust have been a blank, vapid and dull and weary. She could not recallherself before that morning ride to Armine. How rolled away the day!How heavy must have been the hours! All that had been uttered before shelistened to Ferdinand seemed without point; all that was done before helingered at her side, aimless and without an object.

  O Love! in vain they moralise; in vain they teach us thou art adelusion; in vain they dissect thine inspiring sentiment, and wouldmortify us into misery by its degrading analysis. The sage may announcethat gratified vanity is thine aim and end; but the lover glances withcontempt at his cold-blooded philosophy. Nature assures him thou art abeautiful and sublime emotion; and, he answers, canst thou deprive thesun of its heat because its ray may be decomposed; or does the diamondblaze with less splendour because thou canst analyse its effulgence?

  A gentle rustling sounded at the window: Henrietta looked up, but thesight deserted her fading vision, as Ferdinand seized with softness hersofter hand, and pressed it to his lips.

  A moment since, and she had longed for his presence as the infant forits mother; a moment since, and she had murmured that so much of themorn had passed without his society; a moment since, and it had seemedthat no time could exhaust the expression of her feelings. How she hadsighed for his coming! How she had hoped that this day she might conveyto him what last night she had so weakly, so imperfectly attempted!And now she sat trembling and silent, with downcast eyes and changingcountenance!

  'My Henrietta!' exclaimed Ferdinand, 'my beautiful Henrietta, it seemedwe never should meet again, and yet I rose almost with the sun.'

  'My Ferdinand,' replied Miss Temple, scarcely daring to meet his glance,'I cannot speak; I am so happy that I cannot speak.'

  'Ah! tell me, have you thought of me? Did you observe I stole yourhandkerchief last night? See! here it is; when I slept, I kissed it andwore it next my heart.'

  'Ah! give it me,' she faintly murmured, extending her hand; and then sheadded, in a firmer and livelier tone, 'and did you really wear it nearyour heart!'

  'Near thine; for thine it is, love! Sweet, you look so beautiful to-day!It seems to me you never yet looked half so fair. Those eyes are sobrilliant, so very blue, so like the violet! There is nothing like youreyes!'

  'Except your own.'

  'You have taken away your hand. Give me back my hand, my Henrietta. Iwill not quit it. The whole day it shall be clasped in mine. Ah! what ahand! so soft, so very soft! There is nothing like your hand.'

  'Yours is as soft, dear Ferdinand.'

  'O Henrietta! I do love you so! I wish that I could tell you how I loveyou! As I rode home last night it seemed that I had not conveyed to youa tithe, nay, a thousandth part of what I feel.'

  'You cannot love me, Ferdinand, more than I love you.'

  'Say so again! Tell me very often, tell me a thousand times, how muchyou love me. Unless you tell me a thousand times, Henrietta, I never canbelieve that I am so blessed.'

  They went forth into the garden. Nature, with the splendid sky and thesweet breeze, seemed to smile upon their passion. Henrietta plucked themost beautiful flowers and placed them in his breast.

  'Do you remember the rose at Armine?' said Ferdinand, with a fond smile.

  'Ah! who would have believed that it would have led to this?' saidHenrietta, with downcast eyes.

  'I am not more in love now than I was then,' said Ferdinand.

  'I dare not speak of my feelings,' said Miss Temple. 'Is it possiblethat it can be but five days back since we first met! It seems anotherera.'

  'I have no recollection of anything that occurred before I sawyou beneath the cedar,' replied Ferdinand: 'that is the date of myexistence. I saw you, and I loved. My love was at once complete; I haveno confidence in any other; I have no confidence in the love that isthe creature of observation, and reflection, and comparison, andcalculation. Love, in my opinion, should spring from innate sympathy; itshould be superior to all situations, all ties, all circumstances.'

  'Such, then, we must believe is ours,' replied Henrietta, in a somewhatgrave and musing tone: 'I would willingly embrace your creed. I know notwhy I should be ashamed of my feelings. They are natural, and they arepure. And yet I tremble. But so long as you do not think lightly of me,Ferdinand, for whom should I care?'

  'My Henrietta! my angel! my adored and beautiful! I worship you, Ireverence you. Ah! my Henrietta, if you only knew how I dote upon you,you would not speak thus. Come, let us ramble in our woods.'

  So saying, he withdrew her from the more public situation in which theywere then placed, and entered, by a winding walk, those beautiful bowersthat had given so fair and fitting a name to Ducie. Ah! that was aramble of rich delight, as, winding his arm round her light waist, hepoured into her palpitating ear all the eloquence of his passion. Eachhour that they had known each other was analysed, and the feelingsof each moment were compared. What sweet and thrilling confessions!Eventually it was settled, to the complete satisfaction of both,that both had fallen in love at the same time, and that they had beenmutually and unceasingly thinking of each other from the first instantof their meeting.

  The conversation of lovers is inexhaustible. Hour glided away afterhour, as Ferdinand alternately expressed his passion and detailed thehistory of his past life. For the curiosity of woman, lively at alltimes, is never so keen, so exacting, and so interested, as in heranxiety to beco
me acquainted with the previous career of her lover. Sheis jealous of all that he has done before she knew him; of every personto whom he has spoken. She will be assured a thousand times that henever loved before, yet she credits the first affirmation. She enviesthe mother who knew him as a child, even the nurse who may have rockedhis cradle. She insists upon a minute and finished portraiture of hischaracter and life.

  Why did he not give it? More than once it was upon his lips to revealall; more than once he was about to pour forth all his sorrows, all theentanglements of his painful situation; more than once he was aboutto make the full and mortifying confession, that, though his heart washers, there existed another, who even at that moment might claim thehand that Henrietta clasped with so much tenderness. But he checkedhimself. He would not break the charm that surrounded him; he would notdisturb the clear and brilliant stream in which his life was at thismoment flowing; he had not courage to change by a worldly word the sceneof celestial enchantment in which he now moved and breathed. Let usadd, in some degree for his justification, that he was not altogetherunmindful of the feelings of Miss Grandison. Sufficient misery remained,at all events, for her, without adding the misery of making herrival cognizant of her mortification. The deed must be done, and donepromptly; but, at least, there should be no unnecessary witnesses to itsharrowing achievement.

  So he looked upon the radiant brow of his Henrietta, wreathed withsmiles of innocent triumph, sparkling with unalloyed felicity, andbeaming with unbroken devotion. Should the shade of a dark passion fora moment cloud that heaven, so bright and so serene? Should even amomentary pang of jealousy or distrust pain that pure and unsulliedbreast? In the midst of contending emotions, he pressed her to his heartwith renewed energy, and, bending down his head, imprinted an embraceupon her blushing forehead.

  They seated themselves on a bank, which, it would seem, Nature hadcreated for the convenience of lovers. The softest moss, and thebrightest flowers decked its elastic and fragrant side. A spreadingbeech tree shaded their heads from the sun, which now was on thedecline; and occasionally its wide branches rustled with the soft breezethat passed over them in renovating and gentle gusts. The woods widenedbefore them, and at the termination of a well-contrived avenue, theycaught the roofs of the village and the tall grey tower of Ducie Church.They had wandered for hours without weariness, yet the repose wasgrateful, while they listened to the birds, and plucked wildflowers.

  'Ah! I remember,' said Ferdinand, 'that it was not far from here, whileslumbering indeed in the porch of my pretty farm-house, that the fairyof the spot dropped on my breast these beautiful flowers that I nowwear. Did you not observe them, my sweet Henrietta? Do you know thatI am rather mortified, that they have not made you at least a littlejealous?'

  'I am not jealous of fairies, dear Ferdinand.'

  'And yet I half believe that you are a fairy, my Henrietta.'

  'A very substantial one, I fear, my Ferdinand. Is this a compliment tomy form?'

  'Well, then, a sylvan nymph, much more, I assure you, to my fancy;perhaps the rosy Dryad of this fair tree; rambling in woods, andbounding over commons, scattering beautiful flowers, and dreams asbright.'

  'And were your dreams bright yesterday morning?'

  'I dreamed of you.'

  'And when you awoke?'

  'I hastened to the source of my inspiration.'

  'And if you had not dreamt of me?'

  'I should have come to have enquired the reason why.'

  Miss Temple looked upon the ground; a blended expression of mirth andsentiment played over her features, and then looking up with a smilecontending with her tearful eye, she hid her face in his breast andmurmured, 'I watched him sleeping. Did he indeed dream of me?'

  'Darling of my existence!' exclaimed the enraptured Ferdinand,'exquisite, enchanting being! Why am I so happy? What have I doneto deserve bliss so ineffable? But tell me, beauty, tell me how youcontrived to appear and vanish without witnesses? For my enquirieswere severe, and these good people must have been less artless than Iimagined to have withstood them successfully.'

  'I came,' said Miss Temple, 'to pay them a visit, with me not uncommon.When I entered the porch I beheld my Ferdinand asleep. I looked uponhim for a moment, but I was frightened and stole away unperceived. But Ileft the flowers, more fortunate than your Henrietta.'

  'Sweet love!'

  'Never did I return home,' continued Miss Temple, 'more sad and moredispirited. A thousand times I wished that I was a flower, that I mightbe gathered and worn upon your heart. You smile, my Ferdinand. Indeed Ifeel I am very foolish, yet I know not why, I am now neither ashamed norafraid to tell you anything. I was so miserable when I arrived home, myFerdinand, that I went to my room and wept. And he then came! Oh! whatheaven was mine! I wiped the tears from my face and came down to seehim. He looked so beautiful and happy!'

  'And you, sweet child, oh! who could have believed, at that moment, thata tear had escaped from those bright eyes!'

  'Love makes us hypocrites, I fear, my Ferdinand; for, a moment before,I was so wearied that I was lying on my sofa quite wretched. And then,when I saw him, I pretended that I had not been out, and was justthinking of a stroll. Oh, my Ferdinand! will you pardon me?'

  'It seems to me that I never loved you until this moment. Is it possiblethat human beings ever loved each other as we do?'

  Now came the hour of twilight. While in this fond strain the loversinterchanged their hearts, the sun had sunk, the birds grown silent, andthe star of evening twinkled over the tower of Ducie. The bat and thebeetle warned them to return. They rose reluctantly and retraced theirsteps to Ducie, with hearts softer even than the melting hour.

  'Must we then part?' exclaimed Ferdinand. 'Oh! must we part! How canI exist even an instant without your presence, without at least theconsciousness of existing under the same roof? Oh! would I were one ofyour serving-men, to listen to your footstep, to obey your bell, andever and anon to catch your voice! Oh! now I wish indeed Mr. Temple werehere, and then I might be your guest.'

  'My father!' exclaimed Miss Temple, in a somewhat serious tone. 'I oughtto have written to him to-day! Oh! talk not of my father, speak only ofyourself.'

  They stood in silence as they were about to emerge upon the lawn, andthen Miss Temple said, 'Dear Ferdinand, you must go; indeed you must.Press me not to enter. If you love me, now let us part. I shall retireimmediately, that the morning may sooner come. God bless you, myFerdinand. May He guard over you, and keep you for ever and ever. Youweep! Indeed you must not; you so distress me. Ferdinand, be good, bekind; for my sake do not this. I love you; what can I do more? The timewill come we will not part, but now we must. Good night, my Ferdinand.Nay, if you will, these lips indeed are yours. Promise me you willnot remain here. Well then, when the light is out in my chamber, leaveDucie. Promise me this, and early tomorrow, earlier than you think, Iwill pay a visit to your cottage. Now be good, and to-morrow we willbreakfast together. There now!' she added in a gay tone, 'you seewoman's wit has the advantage.' And so without another word she ranaway.