Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
the time without the slightest difficulty, as he was still able to raise
any money that he required.
On arriving at Falmouth, Ferdinand learnt that his father and mother
were at Bath, on a visit to his maiden aunt, Miss Grandison, with whom
his cousin now resided. As the regiment was quartered at Exeter, he was
enabled in a very few days to obtain leave of absence and join them. In
the first rapture of meeting all disappointment was forgotten, and in
the course of a day or two, when this sentiment had somewhat subsided,
Ferdinand perceived that the shock which his parents must have
necessarily experienced was already considerably softened by
the prospect in which they secretly indulged, and which various
circumstances combined in inducing them to believe was by no means a
visionary one.
His cousin Katherine was about his own age; mild, elegant, and pretty.
Being fair, she looked extremely well in her deep mourning. She was
not remarkable for the liveliness of her mind, yet not devoid of
observation, although easily influenced by those whom she loved, and
with whom she lived. Her maiden aunt evidently exercised a powerful
control over her conduct and opinions; and Lady Armine was a favourite
sister of this maiden aunt. Without, therefore, apparently directing
her will, there was no lack of effort from this quarter to predispose
Katherine in favour of her cousin. She heard so much of her cousin
Ferdinand, of his beauty, and his goodness, and his accomplishments,
that she had looked forward to his arrival with feelings of no ordinary
interest. And, indeed, if the opinions and sentiments of those with
whom she lived could influence, there was no need of any artifice to
predispose her in favour of her cousin. Sir Ratcliffe and Lady Armine
were wrapped up in their son. They seemed scarcely to have another idea,
feeling, or thought in the world, but his existence and his felicity;
and although their good sense had ever preserved them from the silly
habit of uttering his panegyric in his presence, they amply compensated
for this painful restraint when he was away. Then he was ever,
the handsomest, the cleverest, the most accomplished, and the most
kind-hearted and virtuous of his sex. Fortunate the parents blessed with
such a son! thrice fortunate the wife blessed with such a husband!
It was therefore with no ordinary emotion that Katherine Grandison heard
that this perfect cousin Ferdinand had at length arrived. She had seen
little of him even in his boyish days, and even then he was rather a
hero in their Lilliputian circle.
Ferdinand Armine was always looked up to at Grandison, and always spoken
of by her grandfather as a very fine fellow indeed; a wonderfully
fine fellow, his favourite grandson, Ferdinand Armine: and now he had
arrived. His knock was heard at the door, his step was on the stairs,
the door opened, and certainly his first appearance did not disappoint
his cousin Kate. So handsome, so easy, so gentle, and so cordial; they
were all the best friends in a moment. Then he embraced his father with
such fervour, and kissed his mother with such fondness: it was evident
that he had an excellent heart. His arrival indeed, was a revolution.
Their mourning days seemed at once to disappear; and although they of
course entered society very little, and never frequented any public
amusement, it seemed to Katherine that all of a sudden she lived in a
round of delightful gaiety. Ferdinand was so amusing and so
accomplished! He sang with her, he played with her; he was always
projecting long summer rides and long summer walks. Then his
conversation was so different from everything to which she had ever
listened. He had seen so many things and so many persons; everything
that was strange, and everybody that was famous. His opinions were so
original, his illustrations so apt and lively, his anecdotes so
inexhaustible and sparkling! Poor inexperienced, innocent Katherine! Her
cousin in four-and-twenty hours found it quite impossible to fall in
love with her; and so he determined to make her fall in love with him.
He quite succeeded. She adored him. She did not believe that there was
anyone in the world so handsome, so good, and so clever. No one, indeed,
who knew Ferdinand Armine could deny that he was a rare being; but, had
there been any acute and unprejudiced observers who had known him in his
younger and happier hours, they would perhaps have remarked some
difference in his character and conduct, and not a favourable one. He
was indeed more brilliant, but not quite so interesting as in old days;
far more dazzling, but not quite so apt to charm. No one could deny his
lively talents and his perfect breeding, but there was a restlessness
about him, an excited and exaggerated style, which might have made some
suspect that his demeanour was an effort, and that under a superficial
glitter, by which so many are deceived, there was no little deficiency
of the genuine and sincere. Katherine Grandison, however, was not one of
those profound observers. She was easily captivated. Ferdinand, who
really did not feel sufficient emotion to venture upon a scene, made his
proposals to her when they were riding in a green lane: the sun just
setting, and the evening star glittering through a vista. The lady
blushed, and wept, and sobbed, and hid her fair and streaming face; but
the result was as satisfactory as our hero could desire. The young
equestrians kept their friends in the crescent at least two hours for
dinner, and then had no appetite for the repast when they had arrived.
Nevertheless the maiden aunt, although a very particular personage, made
this day no complaint, and was evidently far from being dissatisfied
with anybody or anything. As for Ferdinand, he called for a tumbler of
champagne, and secretly drank his own health, as the luckiest fellow of
his acquaintance, with a pretty, amiable, and high-bred wife, with all
his debts paid, and the house of Armine restored.
CHAPTER III.
_Which Ferdinand Returns to Armine_.
IT WAS settled that a year must elapse from the death of Lord Grandison
before the young couple could be united: a reprieve which did not
occasion Ferdinand acute grief. In the meantime the Grandisons were
to pass at least the autumn at Armine, and thither the united families
proposed soon to direct their progress. Ferdinand, who had been nearly
two months at Bath, and was a little wearied of courtship, contrived to
quit that city before his friends, on the plea of visiting London, to
arrange about selling his commission; for it was agreed that he should
quit the army.
On his arrival in London, having spoken to his agent, and finding town
quite empty, he set off immediately for Armine, in order that he might
have the pleasure of being there a few days without the society of his
intended; celebrate the impending first of September; and, especially,
embrace his dear Glastonbury. For it must not be supposed that Ferdinand
had forgotten for a moment this invaluable friend; on the contrary, he
had written to him several times since his arrival: always assuring him
that nothing but important business could prevent him from instantly
paying him his respects.
It was with feelings of no common emotion, even of agitation, that
Ferdinand beheld the woods of his ancient home rise in the distance, and
soon the towers and turrets of Armine Castle. Those venerable bowers,
that proud and lordly house, were not then to pass away from their old
and famous line? He had redeemed the heritage of his great ancestry; he
looked with unmingled complacency on the magnificent landscape, once
to him a source of as much anxiety as affection. What a change in
the destiny of the Armines! Their glory restored; his own devoted and
domestic hearth, once the prey of so much care and gloom, crowned with
ease and happiness and joy; on all sides a career of splendour and
felicity. And _he_ had done all this! What a prophet was his mother!
She had ever indulged the fond conviction that her beloved, son would
be their restorer. How wise and pious was the undeviating confidence of
kind old Glastonbury in their fate! With what pure, what heart-felt
delight, would that faithful friend listen to his extraordinary
communication!
His carriage dashed through the park gates as if the driver were
sensible of his master’s pride and exultation. Glastonbury was ready to
welcome him, standing in the flower-garden, which he had made so rich
and beautiful, and which had been the charm and consolation of many of
their humbler hours.
‘My dear, dear father!’ exclaimed Ferdinand, embracing him, for thus he
ever styled his old tutor.
But Glastonbury could not speak; the tears quivered in his eyes and
trickled down his faded cheek. Ferdinand led him into the house.
‘How well you look, dear father!’ continued Ferdinand; ‘you really look
younger and heartier than ever. You received all my letters, I am sure;
and yours, how kind of you to remember and to write to me! I never
forgot you, my dear, dear friend. I never could forget you. Do you know
I am the happiest fellow in the world? I have the greatest news in the
world to tell my Glastonbury--and we owe everything to you, everything.
What would Sir Ratcliffe have been without you? what should I have been?
Fancy the best news you can, dear friend, and it is not so good as I
have got to tell. You will rejoice, you will be delighted! We shall
furnish a castle! by Jove we shall furnish a castle! We shall indeed,
and you shall build it! No more gloom; no more care. The Armines shall
hold their heads up again, by Jove they shall! Dearest of men, I dare
say you think me mad. I am mad with joy. How that Virginian creeper has
grown! I have brought you so many plants, my father! a complete Sicilian
Hortus Siccus. Ah, John, good John, how is your wife? Take care of my
pistol-case. Ask Louis; he knows all about everything. Well, dear
Glastonbury, and how have you been? How is the old tower? How are the
old books, and the old staff, and the old arms, and the old everything?
Dear, dear Glastonbury!’
While the carriage was unpacking, and the dinner-table prepared, the
friends walked in the garden, and from thence strolled towards the
tower, where they remained some time pacing up and down the beechen
avenue. It was evident, on their return, that Ferdinand had communicated
his great intelligence. The countenance of Glastonbury was radiant with
delight.
Indeed, although he had dined, he accepted with readiness Ferdinand’s
invitation to repeat the ceremony; nay, he quaffed more than one glass
of wine; and, I believe, even drank the health of every member of
the united families of Armine and Grandison. It was late before the
companions parted, and retired for the night; and I think, before
they bade each other good night, they must have talked over every
circumstance that had occurred in their experience since the birth of
Ferdinand.
CHAPTER IV.
_In Which Some Light Is Thrown on the Title of This Work_.
HOW delicious after a long absence to wake on a sunny morning and find
ourselves at home! Ferdinand could scarcely credit that he was really
again at Armine. He started up in his bed, and rubbed his eyes and
stared at the unaccustomed, yet familiar sights, and for a moment Malta
and the Royal Fusiliers, Bath and his betrothed, were all a dream; and
then he remembered the visit of his dear mother to this very room on the
eve of his first departure. He had returned; in safety had he returned,
and in happiness, to accomplish all her hopes and to reward her for all
her solicitude. Never felt anyone more content than Ferdinand Armine,
more content and more grateful.
He rose and opened the casement; a rich and exhilarating perfume filled