CHAPTER VI.
_Containing Another Domestic Scene_.
LADY ARMINE and Glastonbury were both too much interested in the welfareof Sir Ratcliffe not to observe with deep concern that a great, althoughgradual, change had occurred in his character during the last fiveyears. He had become moody and querulous, and occasionally evenirritable. His constitutional melancholy, long diverted by theinfluence of a vigorous youth, the society of a charming woman, andthe interesting feelings of a father, began to reassert its ancient andessential sway, and at times even to deepen into gloom. Sometimes wholedays elapsed without his ever indulging in conversation; his nights,once tranquil, were now remarkable for their restlessness; his wife wasalarmed at the sighs and agitation of his dreams. He abandoned also hisfield sports, and none of those innocent sources of amusement, in whichit was once his boast their retirement was so rich, now interested him.In vain Lady Armine sought his society in her walks, or consulted himabout her flowers. His frigid and monosyllabic replies discouragedall her efforts. No longer did he lean over her easel, or call for arepetition of his favourite song. At times these dark fits passed away,and if not cheerful, he was at least serene. But on the whole he wasan altered man; and his wife could no longer resist the miserableconviction that he was an unhappy one.
She, however, was at least spared the mortification, the bitterest thata wife can experience, of feeling that this change in his conduct wasoccasioned by any indifference towards her; for, averse as Sir Ratcliffewas to converse on a subject so hopeless and ungrateful as the state ofhis fortune, still there were times in which he could not refrain fromcommunicating to the partner of his bosom all the causes of his misery,and these, indeed, too truly had she divined.
'Alas!' she would sometimes say as she tried to compose his restlesspillow; 'what is this pride to which you men sacrifice everything? Forme, who am a woman, love is sufficient. Oh! my Ratcliffe, why do you notfeel like your Constance? What if these estates be sold, still we areArmines! and still our dear Ferdinand is spared to us! Believe me, love,that if deference to your feelings has prompted my silence, I have longfelt that it would be wiser for us at once to meet a necessary evil. ForGod's sake, put an end to the torture of this life, which is destroyingus both. Poverty, absolute poverty, with you and with your love, I canmeet even with cheerfulness; but indeed, my Ratcliffe, I can bear ourpresent life no longer; I shall die if you be unhappy. And oh! dearestRatcliffe, if that were to happen, which sometimes I fear has happened,if you were no longer to love me--'
But here Sir Ratcliffe assured her of the reverse.
'Only think,' she would continue, 'if when we married we had voluntarilydone that which we may now be forced to do, we really should have beenalmost rich people; at least we should have had quite enough to livein ease, and even elegance. And now we owe thousands to that horribleBagster, who I am sure cheated your father out of house and home, and Idare say, after all, wants to buy Armine for himself.'
'He buy Armine! An attorney buy Armine! Never, Constance, never! I willbe buried in its ruins first. There is no sacrifice that I would notsooner make--'
'But, dearest love, suppose we sell it to some one else, and supposeafter paying every thing we have thirty thousand pounds left. How wellwe could live abroad on the interest of thirty thousand pounds?'
'There would not be thirty thousand pounds left now!'
'Well, five-and-twenty, or even twenty. I could manage on twenty. Andthen we could buy a commission for dear Ferdinand.'
'But to leave our child!'
'Could not he go into the Spanish service? Perhaps you could get acommission in the Spanish Guards for nothing. They must remember youthere. And such a name as Armine! I have no doubt that the king would bequite proud to have another Armine in his guard. And then we could liveat Madrid; and that would be so delightful, because you speak Spanishso beautifully, and I could learn it very quickly. I am very quick atlearning languages, I am, indeed.'
'I think you are very quick at everything, dear Constance. I am sure youare really a treasure of a wife; I have cause every hour to bless you;and, if it were not for my own sake, I should say that I wish you hadmade a happier marriage.'
'Oh! do not say that, Ratcliffe; say anything but that, Ratcliffe. Ifyou love me I am the happiest woman that ever lived. Be sure always ofthat.'
'I wonder if they do remember me at Madrid!'
'To be sure they do. How could they forget you; how could they forgetmy Ratcliffe? I daresay you go to this day by the name of the handsomeEnglishman.'
'Pooh! I remember when I left England before, I had no wife then, nochild, but I remembered who I was, and when I thought I was the last ofour race, and that I was in all probability going to spill the littleblood that was spared of us in a foreign soil, oh, Constance, I do notthink I ever could forget the agony of that moment. Had it been forEngland, I would have met my fate without a pang. No! Constance, I am anEnglishman: I am proud of being an Englishman. My fathers helped to makethis country what it is; no one can deny that; and no consideration inthe world shall ever induce me again to quit this island.'
'But suppose we do not quit England. Suppose we buy a small estate andlive at home.'
'A small estate at home! A small, new estate! Bought of a Mr. Hopkins,a great tallow-chandler, or some stock-jobber about to make a new flightfrom a Lodge to a Park. Oh no! that would be too degrading.'
'But suppose we keep one of our own manors?'
'And be reminded every instant of every day of those we have lost; andhear of the wonderful improvements of our successors. I should go mad.'
'But suppose we live in London?'
'Where?'
'I am sure I do not know; but I should think we might get a nice littlehouse somewhere.'
'In a suburb! a fitting lodgment for Lady Armine. No! at any rate wewill have no witnesses to our fall.'
'But could not we try some place near my father's?'
'And be patronised by the great family with whom I had the good fortuneof being connected. No! my dear Constance, I like your father very well,but I could not stand his eleemosynary haunches of venison, and greatbaskets of apples and cream-cheeses sent with the housekeeper's duty.'
'But what shall we do, dear Ratcliffe?'
'My love, there is no resisting fate. We must live or die at Armine,even if we starve.'
'Perhaps something will turn up. I dreamed the other night that dearFerdinand married an heiress. Suppose he should? What do you think?'
'Why, even then, that he would not be as lucky as his father. Goodnight, love!'