CHAPTER XIII.
_In Which the Family Perplexities Rather Increase than Diminish_.
IF EVER there were a man who deserved a serene and happy life it wasAdrian Glastonbury. He had pursued a long career without injuring oroffending a human being; his character and conduct were alike spotless;he was void of guile; he had never told a falsehood, never beenentangled in the slightest deceit; he was easy in his circumstances;he had no relations to prey upon his purse or his feelings; and, thoughalone in the world, was blessed with such a sweet and benignant temper,gifted with so many resources, and adorned with so many accomplishments,that he appeared to be always employed, amused, and contented. And yet,by a strange contrariety of events, it appeared that this excellentperson was now placed in a situation which is generally the consequenceof impetuous passions not very scrupulous in obtaining their ends. Thatbreast, which heretofore would have shrunk from being analysed onlyfrom the refined modesty of its nature, had now become the depository ofterrible secrets: the day could scarcely pass over without findinghim in a position which rendered equivocation on his part almosta necessity, while all the anxieties inseparable from pecuniaryembarrassments were forced upon his attention, and his feelings wereracked from sympathy with individuals who were bound to him by no othertie, but to whose welfare he felt himself engaged to sacrifice all hispursuits, and devote all his time and labour. And yet he did not murmur,although he had scarcely hope to animate him. In whatever light heviewed coming events, they appeared ominous only of evil. All thathe aimed at now was to soothe and support, and it was his unshakenconfidence in Providence that alone forbade him to despair.
When he repaired to the Place in the morning he found everything inconfusion. Miss Grandison was very unwell; and Lady Armine, frightenedby the recent danger from which they had escaped, very alarmed. Shecould no longer conceal from Ferdinand that his Katherine was here, andperhaps Lady Armine was somewhat surprised at the calmness with whichher son received the intelligence. But Miss Grandison was not only veryunwell but very obstinate. She would not leave her room, but insistedthat no medical advice should be called in. Lady Armine protested,supplicated, adjured; Miss Grandison appealed to Mr. Glastonbury; andGlastonbury, who was somewhat of a physician, was called in, and wasobliged to assure Lady Armine that Miss Grandison was only sufferingfrom a cold and only required repose. A warm friendship subsistedbetween Lady Armine and her niece. She had always been Katherine'sfavourite aunt, and during the past year there had been urgent reasonswhy Lady Armine should have cherished this predisposition in her favour.Lady Armine was a fascinating person, and all her powers had beenemployed to obtain an influence over the heiress. They had been quitesuccessful. Miss Grandi-son looked forward almost with as much pleasureto being Lady Armine's daughter as her son's bride. The intendedmother-in-law was in turn as warmhearted as her niece was engaging; andeventually Lady Armine loved Katherine for herself alone.
In a few days, however, Miss Grandison announced that she was quiterecovered, and Lady Armine again devoted her unbroken attention to herson, who was now about to rise for the first time from his bed. Butalthough Miss Grandison was no longer an invalid, it is quite certainthat if the attention of the other members of the family had not been soentirely engrossed, a very great change in her behaviour could not haveescaped their notice. Her flowers and drawings seemed to have lost theirrelish; her gaiety to have deserted her. She passed a great portionof the morning in her room; and although it was announced to her thatFerdinand was aware of her being an inmate of the Place, and that in aday or two they might meet, she scarcely evinced, at this prospect ofresuming his society, so much gratification as might have been expected;and though she daily took care that his chamber should still be providedwith flowers, it might have been remarked that the note she had been soanxious to send him was never written. But how much, under the commonestcourse of circumstances, happens in all domestic circles that is neverobserved or never remarked till the observation is too late!
At length the day arrived when Lady Armine invited her niece to visither son. Miss Grandison expressed her readiness to accompany her aunt,but took an opportunity of requesting Glastonbury to join them; and allthree proceeded to the chamber of the invalid.
The white curtain of the room was drawn; but though the light wassoftened, the apartment was by no means obscure. Ferdinand was sittingin an easy-chair, supported by pillows. A black handkerchief was justtwined round his forehead, for his head had been shaved, except a fewcurls on the side and front, which looked stark and lustreless. He wasso thin and pale, and his eyes and cheeks were so wan and hollow, thatit was scarcely credible that in so short a space of time a man couldhave become such a wreck. When he saw Katherine he involuntarily droppedhis eyes, but extended his hand to her with some effort of earnestness.She was almost as pale as he, but she took his hand. It was so light andcold, it felt so much like death, that the tears stole down her cheek.
'You hardly know me, Katherine,' said Ferdinand, feebly. 'This is goodof you to visit a sick man.'
Miss Grandison could not reply, and Lady Armine made an observation tobreak the awkward pause.
'And how do you like Armine?' said Ferdinand. 'I wish I could be yourguide. But Glastonbury is so kind!'
A hundred times Miss Grandison tried to reply, to speak, to make thecommonest observation, but it was in vain. She grew paler every moment;her lips moved, but they sent forth no sound.
'Kate is not well,' said Lady Armine. 'She has been very unwell. Thisvisit,' she added in a whisper to Ferdinand, 'is a little too much forher.'
Ferdinand sighed.
'Mother,' he at length said, 'you must ask Katherine to come and sithere with you; if indeed she will not feel the imprisonment.'
Miss Grandison turned in her chair, and hid her face with herhandkerchief.
'My sweet child,' said Lady Armine, rising and kissing her, 'this is toomuch for you. You really must restrain yourself. Ferdinand will soon behimself again; he will indeed.'
Miss Grandison sobbed aloud. Glastonbury was much distressed, butFerdinand avoided catching his eye; and yet, at last, Ferdinand saidwith an effort, and in a very kind voice, 'Dear Kate, come and sit byme.'
Miss Grandison went into hysterics; Ferdinand sprang from his chair andseized her hand; Lady Armine tried to restrain her son; Glastonbury heldthe agitated Katherine.
'For God's sake, Ferdinand, be calm,' exclaimed Lady Armine. 'This ismost unfortunate. Dear, dear Katherine, but she has such a heart! Allthe women have in our family, and none of the men, 'tis so odd. Mr.Glastonbury, water if you please, that glass of water; sal volatile;where is the sal volatile? My own, own Katherine, pray, pray restrainyourself! Ferdinand is here; remember, Ferdinand is here, and he willsoon be well; soon quite well. Believe me, he is already quite anotherthing. There, drink that, darling, drink that. You are better now?'
'I am so foolish,' said Miss Grandison, in a mournful voice. 'I nevercan pardon myself for this. Let me go.'
Glastonbury bore her out of the room; Lady Armine turned to her son.He was lying back in his chair, his hands covering his eyes. The motherstole gently to him, and wiped tenderly his brow, on which hung thelight drops of perspiration, occasioned by his recent exertion.
'We have done too much, my own dear Ferdinand. Yet who could haveexpected that dear girl would have been so affected? Glastonbury wasindeed right in preventing you so long from meeting. And yet it is ablessing to see that she has so fond a heart. You are fortunate, myFerdinand: you will indeed be happy with her.'
Ferdinand groaned.
'I shall never be happy,' he murmured.
'Never happy, my Ferdinand! Oh! you must not be so low-spirited. Thinkhow much better you are; think, my Ferdinand, what a change there is forthe better. You will soon be well, dearest, and then, my love, you knowyou cannot help being happy.'
'Mother,' said Ferdinand, 'you are deceived; you are all deceived:I--I------'
'No! Ferdinand, indeed we are n
ot. I am confident, and I praise God forit, that you are getting better every day. But you have done too much,that is the truth. I will leave you now, love, and send the nurse, formy presence excites you. Try to sleep, love.' And Lady Armine rang thebell, and quitted the room.