Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
you are most calculated to afford one.’
‘What you say has long pressed itself upon us,’ said Captain Armine.
‘Then, again,’ resumed Lord Montfort, ‘the feelings and even interests
of your friends are to be considered. Poor Glastonbury! I love that old
man myself. The fall of Armine might break his heart; he would not like
to leave his tower. You see, I know your place.’
‘Poor Glastonbury!’ said Ferdinand.
‘But above all,’ continued Lord Montfort, ‘the happiness, nay, the very
health and life of your parents, from whom all is now concealed, would
perhaps be the last and costliest sacrifices of your rashness.’
Ferdinand threw himself on the sofa and covered his face.
‘Yet all this misery, all these misfortunes, may be avoided, and you
yourself become a calm and happy man, by--for I wish not to understate
your view of the subject, Armine--putting yourself under a pecuniary
obligation to me. A circumstance to be avoided in the common course of
life, no doubt; but is it better to owe me a favour and save your family
estate, preserve your position, maintain your friend, and prevent the
misery, and probable death, of your parents, or be able to pass me in
the street, in haughty silence if you please, with the consciousness
that the luxury of your pride has been satisfied at the cost of every
circumstance which makes existence desirable?’
‘You put the case strongly,’ said Ferdinand; ‘but no reasoning can ever
persuade me that I am justified in borrowing 3,000L., which I can never
repay.’
‘Accept it, then.’
‘’Tis the same thing,’ said Ferdinand.
‘I think not,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘but why do you say never?’
‘Because it is utterly impossible that I ever can.’
‘How do you know you may not marry a woman of large fortune?’ said Lord
Montfort. ‘Now you seem to me exactly the sort of man who would marry an
heiress.’
‘You are thinking of my cousin,’ said Ferdinand. ‘I thought that you
had discovered, or that you might have learnt, that there was no real
intention of our union.’
‘No, I was not thinking of your cousin,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘though,
to tell you the truth, I was once in hopes that you would marry her.
However, that I well know is entirely out of the question, for I believe
Miss Grandison will marry someone else.’
‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Ferdinand, a little agitated. ‘Well! may she be
happy! I love Kate from the bottom of my heart. But who is the fortunate
fellow?’
‘’Tis a lady’s secret,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘But let us return to our
argument. To be brief: either, my dear Armine, you must be convinced by
my reasoning, or I must remain here a prisoner like yourself; for, to
tell you the truth, there is a fair lady before whom I cannot present
myself except in your company.’
Ferdinand changed countenance. There wanted but this to confirm
his resolution, which had scarcely wavered. To owe his release to
Henrietta’s influence with Lord Montfort was too degrading.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘you have touched upon a string that I had hoped
might have been spared me. This conversation must, indeed, cease. My
mouth is sealed from giving you the reasons, which nevertheless render
it imperative on me to decline your generous offer.’
‘Well, then,’ said Lord Montfort, ‘I must see if another can be more
successful,’ and he held forth a note to the astounded Ferdinand, in
Henrietta’s writing. It dropped from Ferdinand’s hand as he took it.
Lord Montfort picked it up, gave it him again, and walked to the other
end of the room. It was with extreme difficulty that Ferdinand prevailed
on himself to break the seal. The note was short; the hand that traced
the letters must have trembled. Thus it ran:--
‘Dearest Ferdinand,--Do everything that Digby wishes. He is our best
friend. Digby is going to marry Katherine; are you happy? Henrietta.’
Lord Montfort looked round; Ferdinand Armine was lying senseless on the
sofa.
Our friend was not of a swooning mood, but we think the circumstances
may excuse the weakness.
As for Lord Montfort, he rang the bell for the little waiter, who, the
moment he saw what had occurred, hurried away and rushed up stairs again
with cold water, a bottle of brandy, and a blazing sheet of brown paper,
which he declared was an infallible specific. By some means or other
Ferdinand was in time recovered, and the little waiter was fairly
expelled.
‘My dear friend,’ said Ferdinand, in a faint voice; ‘I am the happiest
man that ever lived; I hope you will be, I am sure you will be;
Katherine is an angel. But I cannot speak. It is so strange.’
‘My dear fellow, you really must take a glass of brandy,’ said Lord
Montfort. ‘It is strange, certainly. But we are all happy.’
‘I hardly know where I am,’ said Ferdinand, after a few minutes. ‘Am I
really alive?’
‘Let us think how we are to get out of this place. I suppose they will
take my cheque. If not, I must be off.’
‘Oh, do not go,’ said Ferdinand. ‘If you go I shall not believe it is
true. My dear Montfort, is it really true?’
‘You see, my dear Armine,’ said Lord Montfort, smiling, ‘it was fated
that I should marry a lady you rejected. And to tell you the truth, the
reason why I did not get to you yesterday, as I ought to have done, was
an unexpected conversation I had with Miss Grandison. I really think
this arrest was a most fortunate incident. It brought affairs to a
crisis. We should have gone on playing at cross purposes for ever.’
Here the little waiter entered again with a note and a packet.
‘The same messenger brought them?’ asked Ferdinand.
‘No, sir; the Count’s servant brought the note, and waits for an answer;
the packet came by another person.’
Ferdinand opened the note and read as follows:--
‘Berkeley-square, half-past 7, morning.
‘Mon Ami,--Best joke in the world! I broke Crocky’s bank three times.
Of course; I told you so. I win 15,000L. Directly I am awake I will send
you the three thousand, and I will lend you the rest till your marriage.
It will not be very long. I write this before I go to bed, that you may
have it early. Adieu, _cher ami_.
‘_Votre affectionné_,
‘De Mirabel.
‘My arrest was certainly the luckiest incident in the world,’ said
Ferdinand, handing the note to Lord Montfort. ‘Mirabel dined here
yesterday, and went and played on purpose to save me. I treated it as
a joke. But what is this?’ Ferdinand opened the packet. The handwriting
was unknown to him. Ten bank notes of 300L. each fell to the ground.
‘Do I live in fairyland?’ he exclaimed. ‘Now who can this be? It cannot
be you; it cannot be Mirabel. It is wondrous strange.’
‘I think I can throw some light upon it,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘Katherine
was mysteriously engaged with Glastonbury yesterday morning. They were
out together, and I know they went to her lawyer’s. There is no doubt it
is Katherine. I think, under the circumstances of the case, we need have
no delicacy in availing ourselves of this fortunate remittance. It will
at least save us time,’ said Lord Montfort, ringing the bell. ‘Send your
master here directly,’ he continued to the waiter.
The sheriff’s officer appeared; the debt, the fees, all were paid, and
the discharge duly taken. Ferdinand in the meantime went up stairs to
lock up his dressing-case; the little waiter rushed after him to pack
his portmanteau. Ferdinand did not forget his zealous friend, who
whispered hope when all was black. The little waiter chuckled as he put
his ten guineas in his pocket. ‘You see, sir,’ he said, ‘I was quite
right. Knowed your friends would stump down. Fancy a nob like you being
sent to quod! Fiddlededee! You see, sir, you weren’t used to it.’
And so Ferdinand Armine bid adieu to the spunging-house, where, in the
course of less than eight-and-forty hours, he had known alike despair
and rapture. Lord Montfort drove along with a gaiety unusual to him.
‘Now, my dear Armine,’ he said, ‘I am not a jot the less in love with
Henrietta than before. I love her as you love Katherine. What folly to
marry a woman who was in love with another person! I should have made
her miserable, when the great object of all my conduct was to make her
happy. Now Katherine really loves me as much as Henrietta loves you. I
have had this plan in my head for a long time. I calculated finely; I
was convinced it was the only way to make us all happy. And now we shall
all be related; we shall be constantly together; and we will be brother
friends.’
‘Ah! my dear Montfort,’ said Ferdinand, ‘what will Mr. Temple say?’
‘Leave him to me,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘I tremble,’ said Ferdinand, ‘if it were possible to anticipate
difficulties to-day.’
‘I shall go to him at once,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘I am not fond of
suspense myself, and now it is of no use. All will be right.’
‘I trust only to you,’ said Ferdinand; ‘for I am as proud as Temple. He
dislikes me, and he is too rich for me to bow down to him.’
‘I take it upon myself,’ said Lord Montfort. ‘Mr. Temple is a calm,
sensible man. You will laugh at me, but the truth is, with him it must
be a matter of calculation: on the one hand, his daughter’s happiness, a
union with a family second to none in blood, alliances, and territorial
position, and only wanting his wealth to revive all its splendour; on
the other, his daughter broken-hearted, and a duke for his son-in-law.
Mr. Temple is too sensible a man to hesitate, particularly when I remove
the greatest difficulty he must experience. Where shall I out you down?
Berkeley-Square?’
CHAPTER XXII.
_Ferdinand Meditates over His Good Fortune_.
IN MOMENTS of deep feeling, alike sudden bursts of prosperity as in
darker hours, man must be alone. It requires some self-communion to
prepare ourselves for good fortune, as well as to encounter difficulty,
and danger, and disgrace. This violent and triumphant revolution in his
prospects and his fortunes was hardly yet completely comprehended by our
friend, Ferdinand Armine; and when he had left a note for the generous
Mirabel, whose slumbers he would not disturb at this early hour, even
with good news, he strolled along up Charles-street, and to the Park,
in one of those wild and joyous reveries in which we brood over coming
bliss, and create a thousand glorious consequences.
It was one of those soft summer mornings which are so delightful in a
great city. The sky was clear, the air was bland, the water sparkled
in the sun, and the trees seemed doubly green and fresh to one who so
recently had gazed only on iron bars. Ferdinand felt his freedom as well
as his happiness. He seated himself on a bench and thought of Henrietta
Temple! he took out her note, and read it over and over again. It was
indeed her handwriting! Restless with impending joy, he sauntered to the
bridge, and leant over the balustrade, gazing on the waters in charmed
and charming vacancy. How many incidents, how many characters, how many
feelings flitted over his memory! Of what sweet and bitter experience
did he not chew the cud! Four-and-twenty hours ago, and he deemed
himself the most miserable and forlorn of human beings, and now all the
blessings of the world seemed showered at his feet! A beautiful bride
awaited him, whom he had loved with intense passion, and who he had
thought but an hour ago was another’s. A noble fortune, which would
permit him to redeem his inheritance, and rank him among the richest
commoners of the realm, was to be controlled by one a few hours back a
prisoner for desperate debts. The most gifted individuals in the land
emulated each other in proving which entertained for him the most
sincere affection. What man in the world had friends like Ferdinand
Armine? Ferdinand Armine, who, two days back, deemed himself alone
in the world! The unswerving devotion of Glastonbury, the delicate