CHAPTER III.
_Which on the Whole Is Found Very Consoling_.
THE separation of lovers, even with an immediate prospect of union,involves a sentiment of deep melancholy. The reaction of our solitaryemotions, after a social impulse of such peculiar excitement, very muchdisheartens and depresses us. Mutual passion is complete sympathy. Undersuch an influence there is no feeling so strong, no fancy so delicate,that it is not instantly responded to. Our heart has no secrets, thoughour life may. Under such an influence, each unconsciously labours toenchant the other; each struggles to maintain the reality of that idealwhich has been reached in a moment of happy inspiration. Then is theseason when the voice is ever soft, the eye ever bright, and everymovement of the frame airy and picturesque; each accent is full oftenderness; each glance, of affection; each gesture, of grace. We livein a heaven of our own creation. All happens that can contribute to ourperfect satisfaction, and can ensure our complete self-complacency. Wegive and we receive felicity. We adore and we are adored. Love is theMay-day of the heart.
But a cloud nevertheless will dim the genial lustre of that soft andbrilliant sky when we are alone; when the soft voice no longer sighs,and the bright eye no longer beams, and the form we worship no longermoves before our enraptured vision. Our happiness becomes too much theresult of reflection. Our faith is not less devout, but it is not sofervent. We believe in the miracle, but we no longer witness it.
And as the light was extinguished in the chamber of Henrietta Temple,Ferdinand Armine felt for a moment as if his sun had set for ever. Thereseemed to be now no evidence of her existence. Would tomorrow ever come?And if it came, would the rosy hours indeed bring her in their radiantcar? What if this night she died? He shuddered at this wild imagination.Yet it might be; such dire calamities had been. And now he felt hislife was involved in hers, and that under such circumstances his instantdeath must complete the catastrophe. There was then much at stake. Hadit been yet his glorious privilege that her fair cheek should havefound a pillow on his heart; could he have been permitted to have restedwithout her door but as her guard; even if the same roof at any distancehad screened both their heads; such dark conceptions would not perhapshave risen up to torture him; but as it was, they haunted him like evilspirits as he took his lonely way over the common to gain his new abode.
Ah! the morning came, and such a morn! Bright as his love! Ferdinand hadpassed a dreamy night, and when he woke he could not at first recognisethe locality. It was not Armine. Could it be Ducie? As he stretched hislimbs and rubbed his eyes, he might be excused for a moment fancyingthat all the happiness of yesterday was indeed a vision. He was, intruth, sorely perplexed as he looked around the neat but humble chamber,and caught the first beam of the sun struggling through a casementshadowed by the jessamine. But on his heart there rested a curl of darkand flowing hair, and held together by that very turquoise of which hefancied he had been dreaming. Happy, happy Ferdinand! Why shouldst thouhave cares? And may not the course even of thy true love run smooth?
He recks not of the future. What is the future to one so blessed? Thesun is up, the lark is singing, the sky is bluer than the love-jewelat his heart. She will be here soon. No gloomy images disturb him now.Cheerfulness is the dowry of the dawn.
Will she indeed be here? Will Henrietta Temple indeed come to visit him?Will that consummate being before whom, but a few days back, he stoodentranced; to whose mind the very idea of his existence had not theneven occurred; will she be here anon to visit him? to visit her beloved!What has he done to be so happy? What fairy has touched him and hisdark fortunes with her wand? What talisman does he grasp to call upsuch bright adventures of existence? He does not err. He is an enchantedbeing; a spell indeed pervades his frame; he moves in truth in a worldof marvels and miracles. For what fairy has a wand like love, whattalisman can achieve the deeds of passion?
He quitted the rustic porch, and strolled up the lane that led to Ducie.He started at a sound: it was but the spring of a wandering bird. Thenthe murmur of a distant wheel turned him pale; and he stopped and leanton a neighbouring gate with a panting heart. Was she at hand? There isnot a moment when the heart palpitates with such delicate suspense aswhen a lover awaits his mistress in the spring days of his passion. Manwatching the sun rise from a mountain awaits not an incident to him morebeautiful, more genial, and more impressive. With her presence it wouldseem that both light and heat fall at the same time upon his heart: hisemotions are warm and sunny, that a moment ago seemed dim and frigid; athrilling sense of joy pervades his frame; the air is sweeter, and hisears seem to echo with the music of a thousand birds.
The sound of the approaching wheel became more audible; it drew near,nearer; but lost the delicacy that distance lent it. Alas! it did notpropel the car of a fairy, or the chariot of a heroine, but a cart,whose taxed springs bowed beneath the portly form of an honest yeomanwho gave Captain Armine a cheerful good-morrow as he jogged by, andflanked his jolly whip with unmerciful dexterity. The loudness of theunexpected salute, the crack of the echoing thong, shook the fine nervesof a fanciful lover, and Ferdinand looked so confused, that if thehonest yeoman had only stopped to observe him, the passenger might havereally been excused for mistaking him for a poacher, at the least, byhis guilty countenance.
This little worldly interruption broke the wings of Ferdinand's soaringfancy. He fell to earth. Doubt came over him whether Henrietta wouldindeed come. He was disappointed, and so he became distrustful. Hestrolled on, however, in the direction of Ducie, yet slowly, asthere was more than one road, and to miss each other would have beenmortifying.
His quick eye was in every quarter; his watchful ear listened in everydirection: still she was not seen, and not a sound was heard except thehum of day. He became nervous, agitated, and began to conjure up acrowd of unfortunate incidents. Perhaps she was ill; that was verybad. Perhaps her father had suddenly returned. Was that worse? Perhapssomething strange had happened. Perhaps------
Why! why does his face turn so pale, and why is his step so suddenlyarrested? Ah! Ferdinand Armine, is not thy conscience clear? That pangwas sharp. No, no, it is impossible; clearly, absolutely impossible;this is weak indeed. See! he smiles! He smiles at his weakness. Hewaves his arm as if in contempt. He casts away, with defiance, his idleapprehensions. His step is more assured, and the colour returns tohis cheek. And yet her father must return. Was he prepared for thatoccurrence? This was a searching question. It induced a long, darktrain of harassing recollections. He stopped to ponder. In what a webof circumstances was he now involved! Howsoever he might act,self-extrication appeared impossible. Perfect candour to Miss Templemight be the destruction of her love; even modified to her father, wouldcertainly produce his banishment from Ducie. As the betrothed of MissGrandison, Miss Temple would abjure him; as the lover of Miss Temple,under any circumstances, Mr. Temple would reject him. In what lightwould he appear to Henrietta were he to dare to reveal the truth? Wouldshe not look upon him as the unresisting libertine of the hour, engagingin levity her heart as he had already trifled with another's? For thatabsorbing and overwhelming passion, pure, primitive, and profound, towhich she now responded with an enthusiasm as fresh, as ardent, and asimmaculate, she would only recognise the fleeting fancy of a vainand worldly spirit, eager to add another triumph to a long list ofconquests, and proud of another evidence of his irresistible influence.What security was there for her that she too should not in turn beforgotten for another? that another eye should not shine brighter thanhers, and another voice sound to his ear with a sweeter tone?
Oh, no! he dared not disturb and sully the bright flow of his presentexistence; he shrank from the fatal word that would dissolve the spellthat enchanted them, and introduce all the calculating cares of a harshworld into the thoughtless Eden in which they now wandered. And, for herfather, even if the sad engagement with Miss Grandison did not exist,with what front could Ferdinand solicit the hand of his daughter?What prospect could he hold out of worldly prosperity to the anxi
ousconsideration of a parent? Was he himself independent? Was he not worsethan a beggar? Could he refer Mr. Temple to Sir Ratcliffe? Alas! itwould be an insult to both! In the meantime, every hour Mr. Templemight return, or something reach the ear of Henrietta fatal to all hisaspirations. Armine with all its cares, Bath with all its hopes; hismelancholy father, his fond and sanguine mother, the tender-heartedKatherine, the devoted Glastonbury, all rose up before him, and crowdedon his tortured imagination. In the agony of his mind he wished himselfalone in the world: he sighed for some earthquake to swallow up Armineand all its fatal fortunes; and as for those parents, so affectionateand virtuous, and to whom he had hitherto been so dutiful and devoted,he turned from their idea with a sensation of weariness, almost ofdislike.
He sat down on the trunk of a tree and buried his face in his hands.His reverie had lasted some time, when a gentle sound disturbed him.He looked up; it was Henrietta. She had driven over the common in herpony-chair and unattended. She was but a few steps from him; and as helooked up, he caught her fond smile. He sprang from his seat; he was ather side in an instant; his heart beat so tumultuously that he couldnot speak; all dark thoughts were forgotten; he seized with a tremblingtouch her extended hand, and gazed upon her with a glance of ecstasy.For, indeed, she looked so beautiful that it seemed to him he had neverbefore done justice to her surpassing loveliness. There was a bloomupon her cheek, as upon some choice and delicate fruit; her violet eyessparkled like gems; while the dimples played and quivered on her cheeks,as you may sometimes watch the sunbeam on the pure surface of fairwater. Her countenance, indeed, was wreathed with smiles. She seemed thehappiest thing on earth; the very personification of a poetic spring;lively, and fresh, and innocent; sparkling, and sweet, and soft. When hebeheld her, Ferdinand was reminded of some gay bird, or airy antelope;she looked so bright and joyous!
'He is to get in,' said Henrietta with a smile, and drive her to theircottage. Have I not managed well to come alone? We shall have such acharming drive to-day.'
'You are so beautiful!' murmured Ferdinand.
'I am content if you but think so. You did not hear me approach? Whatwere you doing? Plunged in meditation? Now tell me truly, were youthinking of her?'
'Indeed, I have no other thought. Oh, my Henrietta! you are so beautifulto-day. I cannot talk of anything but your beauty.'
'And how did you sleep? Are you comfortable? I have brought you someflowers to make your room look pretty.'
They soon reached the farm-house. The good-wife seemed a littlesurprised when she observed her guest driving Miss Temple, but far morepleased. Henrietta ran into the house to see the children, spokesome kind words to the little maiden, and asked if their guest hadbreakfasted. Then, turning to Ferdinand, she said, 'Have you forgottenthat you are to give me a breakfast? It shall be in the porch. Is itnot sweet and pretty? See, here are your flowers, and I have brought yousome fruit.'
The breakfast was arranged. 'But you do not play your part, sweetHenrietta,' he said; 'I cannot breakfast alone.'
She affected to share his repast, that he might partake of it; but,in truth, she only busied herself in arranging the flowers. Yetshe conducted herself with so much dexterity, that Ferdinand had anopportunity of gratifying his appetite, without being placed in aposition, awkward at all times, insufferable for a lover, that of eatingin the presence of others who do not join you in the occupation.
'Now,' she suddenly said, sitting by his side, and placing a rose inhis dress, 'I have a little plan today, which I think will be quitedelightful. You shall drive me to Armine.'
Ferdinand started. He thought of Glastonbury.
His miserable situation recurred to him. This was the bitter drop inthe cup; yes! in the very plenitude of his rare felicity he expressed apang. His confusion was not unobserved by Miss Temple; for she was veryquick in her perception; but she could not comprehend it. It didnot rest on her mind, particularly when Ferdinand assented to herproposition, but added, 'I forgot that Armine is more interesting toyou than to me. All my associations with Armine are painful. Ducie is mydelight.'
'Ah! my romance is at Armine; yours at Ducie. What we live among, wedo not always value. And yet I love my home,' she added, in a somewhatsubdued, even serious tone; 'all my associations with Ducie are sweetand pleasant. Will they always be so?'
She hit upon a key to which the passing thoughts of Ferdinand toocompletely responded, but he restrained the mood of his mind. As shegrew grave, he affected cheerfulness. 'My Henrietta must always behappy,' he said, 'at least, if her Ferdinand's love can make her so.'
She did not reply, but she pressed his hand. Then, after a moment'ssilence, she said, 'My Ferdinand must not be low-spirited about dearArmine. I have confidence in our destiny; I see a happy, a very happyfuture.'
Who could resist so fair a prophet? Not the sanguine mind of theenamoured Ferdinand Armine. He drank inspiration from her smiles, anddwelt with delight on the tender accents of her animating sympathy.'I never shall be low-spirited with you,' he replied; 'you are my goodgenius. O Henrietta! what heaven it is to be together!'
'I bless you for these words. We will not go to Armine to-day. Let uswalk. And to speak the truth, for I am not ashamed of saying anythingto you, it would be hardly discreet, perhaps, to be driving about thecountry in this guise. And yet,' she added, after a moment's hesitation,'what care I for what people say? O Ferdinand! I think only of you!'
That was a delicious ramble which these young and enamoured creaturestook that sunny morn! The air was sweet, the earth was beautiful,and yet they were insensible to everything but their mutual love.Inexhaustible is the converse of fond hearts! A simple story, too, andyet there are so many ways of telling it!
'How strange that we should have ever met!' said Henrietta Temple.
'Indeed, I think it most natural,' said Ferdinand; 'I will believe itthe fulfilment of a happy destiny. For all that I have sighed for now Imeet, and more, much more than my imagination could ever hope for.'
'Only think of that morning drive,' resumed Henrietta, 'such a littletime ago, and yet it seems an age! Let us believe in destiny, dearFerdinand, or you must think of me, I fear, that which I would notwish.'
'My own Henrietta, I can think of you only as the noblest and thesweetest of beings. My love is ever equalled by my gratitude!'
'My Ferdinand, I had read of such feelings, but did not believe in them.I did not believe, at least, that they were reserved for me. And yet Ihave met many persons, and seen something more, much more than falls tothe lot of women of my age. Believe me, indeed, my eye has hitherto beenundazzled, and my heart untouched.' He pressed her hand.
'And then,' she resumed, 'in a moment; but it seemed not like commonlife. That beautiful wilderness, that ruinous castle! As I gazed around,I felt not as is my custom. I felt as if some fate were impending, as ifmy life and lot were bound up, as it were, with that strange and silentscene. And then he came forward, and I beheld him, so unlike all othermen, so beautiful, so pensive! O Ferdinand! pardon me for loving you!'and she gently turned her head, and hid her face on his breast.
'Darling Henrietta,' lowly breathed the enraptured lover, 'best, andsweetest, and loveliest of women, your Ferdinand, at that moment, wasnot less moved than you were. Speechless and pale I had watched myHenrietta, and I felt that I beheld the being to whom I must dedicate myexistence.'
'I shall never forget the moment when I stood before the portrait ofSir Ferdinand. Do you know my heart was prophetic; I wanted not thatconfirmation of a strange conjecture. I felt that you must be an Armine.I had heard so much of your grandfather, so much of your family. I lovedthem for their glory, and for their lordly sorrows.'
'Ah! my Henrietta, 'tis that alone which galls me. It is bitter tointroduce my bride to our house of cares.'
'You shall never think it so,' she replied with animation. 'I willprove a true Armine. Happier in the honour of that name, than in themost rich possessions! You do not know me yet. Your wife shall notdisgrace you or your lineag
e. I have a spirit worthy of you, Ferdinand;at least, I dare to hope so. I can break, but I will not bend. We willwrestle together with all our cares; and my Ferdinand, animated by hisHenrietta, shall restore the house.'
'Alas! my noble-minded girl, I fear a severe trial awaits us. I canoffer you only love.'
'Is there anything else in this world?'
'But, to bear you from a roof of luxury, where you have been cherishedfrom your cradle, with all that ministers to the delicate delightsof woman, to--oh! my Henrietta, you know not the disheartening anddepressing burthen of domestic cares.' His voice faltered as he recalledhis melancholy father; and the disappointment, perhaps the destruction,that his passion was preparing for his roof.
'There shall be no cares; I will endure everything; I will animate all.I have energy; indeed I have, my Ferdinand. I have, young as I may be,I have often inspirited, often urged on my father. Sometimes, he says,that had it not been for me, he would not have been what he is. He is myfather, the best and kindest parent that ever loved his child; yet, whatare fathers to you, my Ferdinand? and, if I could assist him, what may Inot do for-----'
'Alas! my Henrietta, we have no theatre for action. You forget ourcreed.'
'It was the great Sir Ferdinand's. He made a theatre.'
'My Henrietta is ambitious,' said Ferdinand, smiling.
'Dearest, I would be content, nay! that is a weak phrase, I would, ifthe choice were in my power now to select a life most grateful to myviews and feelings, choose some delightful solitude, even as Armine,and pass existence with no other aim but to delight you. But we werespeaking of other circumstances. Such happiness, it is said, is not forus. And I wished to show you that I have a spirit that can struggle withadversity, and a soul prescient of overwhelming it.'
'You have a spirit I reverence, and a soul I worship, nor is there ahappier being in the world this moment than Ferdinand Armine. With sucha woman as you every fate must be a triumph. You have touched upon achord of my heart that has sounded before, though in solitude. It wasbut the wind that played on it before; but now that tone rings with apurpose. This is glorious sympathy. Let us leave Armine to its fate.I have a sword, and it shall go hard if I do not carve out a destinyworthy even of Henrietta Temple.'