Henrietta Temple: A Love Story
thoroughly enjoyed life than Ferdinand Armine.
In the meantime, while he thought only of amusement, Mr. Glastonbury was
not inattentive to his more important interests; for the truth is that
this excellent man had introduced him to the family only with the hope
of interesting the feelings of the Duke in his behalf. His Grace was
a man of a generous disposition. He sympathised with the recital of
Glastonbury as he detailed to him the unfortunate situation of this
youth, sprung from so illustrious a lineage, and yet cut off by a
combination of unhappy circumstances from almost all those natural
sources whence he might have expected support and countenance. And when
Glastonbury, seeing that the Duke’s heart was moved, added that all he
required for him, Ferdinand, was a commission in the army, for which his
parents were prepared to advance the money, his Grace instantly declared
that he would exert all his influence to obtain their purpose.
Mr. Glastonbury was, therefore, more gratified than surprised when,
a few days after the conversation which we have mentioned, his noble
friend informed him, with a smile, that he believed all might be
arranged, provided his young charge could make it convenient to quit
England at once. A vacancy had unexpectedly occurred in a regiment just
ordered to Malta, and an ensigncy had been promised to Ferdinand Armine.
Mr. Glastonbury gratefully closed with the offer. He sacrificed a fourth
part of his moderate independence in the purchase of the commission and
the outfit of his young friend, and had the supreme satisfaction, ere
the third week of their visit was completed, of forwarding a Gazette to
Armine, containing the appointment of Ferdinand Armine as Ensign in the
Royal Fusiliers.
CHAPTER VIII.
_A Visit to Glastonbury’s Chamber_.
IT WAS arranged that Ferdinand should join his regiment by the next
Mediterranean packet, which was not to quit Falmouth for a fortnight.
Glastonbury and himself, therefore, lost no time in bidding adieu to
their kind friends in London, and hastening to Armine. They arrived the
day after the Gazette. They found Sir Ratcliffe waiting for them at
the town, and the fond smile and cordial embrace with which he greeted
Glastonbury more than repaid that good man for all his exertions. There
was, notwithstanding, a perceptible degree of constraint both on the
part of the baronet and his former tutor. It was evident that Sir
Ratcliffe had something on his mind of which he wished to disburden
himself; and it was equally apparent that Glastonbury was unwilling to
afford him an opportunity. Under these rather awkward circumstances, it
was perhaps fortunate that Ferdinand talked without ceasing, giving his
father an account of all he had seen, done, and heard, and of all the
friends he had made, from the good Duke of-----to that capital fellow,
the guard of the coach.
They were at the park gates: Lady Armine was there to meet them. The
carriage stopped; Ferdinand jumped out and embraced his mother.
She kissed him, and ran forward and extended both her hands to Mr.
Glastonbury. ‘Deeds, not words, must show our feelings,’ she said, and
the tears glittered in her beautiful eyes; Glastonbury, with a blush,
pressed her hand to his lips. After dinner, during which Ferdinand
recounted all his adventures, Lady Armine invited him, when she rose,
to walk with her in the garden. It was then, with an air of considerable
confusion, clearing his throat, and filling his glass at the same time,
that Sir Ratcliffe said to his remaining guest,
‘My dear Glastonbury, you cannot suppose that I believe that the days
of magic have returned. This commission, both Constance and myself
feel, that is, we are certain, that you are at the bottom of it all. The
commission is purchased. I could not expect the Duke, deeply as I feel
his generous kindness, to purchase a commission for my son: I could
not permit it. No! Glastonbury,’ and here Sir Ratcliffe became more
animated, ‘_you_ could not permit it, my honour is safe in your hands?’
Sir Ratcliffe paused for a reply.
‘On that score my conscience is clear,’ replied Glastonbury.
‘It is, then,--it must be then as I suspect,’ rejoined Sir Ratcliffe. ‘I
am your debtor for this great service.’
‘It is easy to count your obligations to me,’ said Glastonbury, ‘but
mine to you and yours are incalculable.’
‘My dear Glastonbury,’ said Sir Ratcliffe, pushing his glass away as he
rose from his seat and walked up and down the room, ‘I may be proud,
but I have no pride for you, I owe you too much; indeed, my dear friend,
there is nothing that I would not accept from you, were it in your power
to grant what you would desire. It is not pride, my dear Glastonbury;
do not mistake me; it is not pride that prompts this explanation;
but--but--had I your command of language I would explain myself more
readily; but the truth is, I--I--I cannot permit that you should suffer
for us, Glastonbury, I cannot indeed.’
Mr. Glastonbury looked at Sir Ratcliffe steadily; then rising from his
seat he took the baronet’s arm, and without saying a word walked slowly
towards the gates of the castle where he lodged, and which we have
before described. When he had reached the steps of the tower he withdrew
his arm, and saying, ‘Let me be pioneer,’ invited Sir Ratcliffe to
follow him. They accordingly entered his chamber.
It was a small room lined with shelves of books, except in one spot,
where was suspended a portrait of Lady Barbara, which she had bequeathed
him in her will. The floor was covered with so many boxes and cases
that it was not very easy to steer a course when you had entered.
Glastonbury, however, beckoned to his companion to seat himself in one
of his two chairs, while he unlocked a small cabinet, from a drawer of
which he brought forth a paper.
‘It is my will,’ said Glastonbury, handing it to Sir Ratcliffe, who laid
it down on the table.
‘Nay, I wish you, my dear friend, to peruse it, for it concerns
yourself.’
‘I would rather learn its contents from yourself, if you positively
desire me,’ replied Sir Ratcliffe.
‘I have left everything to our child,’ said Glastonbury; for thus, when
speaking to the father alone, he would often style the son.
‘May it be long before he enjoys the ‘bequest,’ said Sir Ratcliffe,
brushing away a tear; ‘long, very long.’
‘As the Almighty pleases,’ said Glastonbury, crossing himself. ‘But
living or dead, I look upon all as Ferdinand’s, and hold myself but the
steward of his inheritance, which I will never abuse.’
‘O! Glastonbury, no more of this I pray; you have wasted a precious life
upon our forlorn race. Alas! how often and how keenly do I feel, that
had it not been for the name of Armine your great talents and goodness
might have gained for you an enviable portion of earthly felicity; yes,
Glastonbury, you have sacrificed yourself to us.’
‘Would that I could!’ said the old man, with brightening eyes and an
unaccustomed energy of manner. ‘Would that I could! would that any act
of mine, I care not what, could revive the fortunes of the house of
Armine. Honoured for ever be the name, which with me is associated with
all that is great and glorious in man, and [here his voice faltered, and
he turned away his face] exquisite and enchanting in woman!
‘No, Ratcliffe,’ he resumed, ‘by the memory of one I cannot name, by
that blessed and saintly being from whom you derive your life, you will
not, you cannot deny this last favour I ask, I entreat, I supplicate you
to accord me: me, who have ever eaten of your bread, and whom your roof
hath ever shrouded!’
‘My friend, I cannot speak,’ said Sir Ratcliffe, throwing himself back
in the chair and covering his face with his right hand; ‘I know not what
to say; I know not what to feel.’
Glastonbury advanced, and gently took his other hand. ‘Dear Sir
Ratcliffe,’ he observed, in his usual calm, sweet voice, ‘if I have
erred you will pardon me. I did believe that, after my long and
intimate connection with your house; after having for nearly forty years
sympathised as deeply with all your fortunes as if, indeed, your noble
blood flowed in these old veins; after having been honoured on your
side with a friendship which has been the consolation and charm of my
existence; indeed, too great a blessing; I did believe, more especially
when I reminded myself of the unrestrained manner in which I had availed
myself of the advantages of that friendship, I did believe, actuated by
feelings which perhaps I cannot describe, and thoughts to which I cannot
now give utterance, that I might venture, without offence, upon this
slight service: ay, that the offering might be made in the spirit of
most respectful affection, and not altogether be devoid of favour in
your sight.’
‘Excellent, kind-hearted man!’ said Sir Ratcliffe, pressing the hand of
Glastonbury in his own; ‘I accept your offering in the spirit of perfect
love. Believe me, dearest friend, it was no feeling of false pride that
for a moment influenced me; I only felt-’
‘That in venturing upon this humble service I deprived myself of some
portion of my means of livelihood: you are mistaken. When I cast my lot
at Armine I sank a portion of my capital on my life; so slender are my
wants here, and so little does your dear lady permit me to desire,
that, believe me, I have never yet expended upon myself this apportioned
income; and as for the rest, it is, as you have seen, destined for our
Ferdinand. Yet a little time and Adrian Glastonbury must be gathered to
his fathers. Why, then, deprive him of the greatest gratification of
his remaining years? the consciousness that, to be really serviceable to
those he loves, it is not necessary for him to cease to exist.’
‘May you never repent your devotion to our house!’ said Sir Ratcliffe,
rising from his seat. ‘Time was we could give them who served us
something better than thanks; but, at any rate, these come from the
heart.’
CHAPTER IX.
_The Last Day and the Last Night_.
IN THE meantime, the approaching I departure of Ferdinand was the great
topic of interest at Armine, It was settled that his father should
accompany him to Falmouth, where he was to embark; and that they should
pay a visit on their way to his grandfather, whose seat was situate in
the west of England. This separation, now so near at hand, occasioned
Lady Armine the deepest affliction; but she struggled to suppress her
emotion. Yet often, while apparently busied with the common occupations
of the day, the tears trickled down her cheek; and often she rose from
her restless seat, while surrounded by those she loved, to seek the
solitude of her chamber and indulge her overwhelming sorrow. Nor was
Ferdinand less sensible of the bitterness of this separation. With all
the excitement of his new prospects, and the feeling of approaching
adventure and fancied independence, so flattering to inexperienced
youth, he could not forget that his had been a very happy home. Nearly
seventeen years of an innocent existence had passed, undisturbed by
a single bad passion, and unsullied by a single action that he could
regret. The river of his life had glided along, reflecting only a
cloudless sky. But if he had been dutiful and happy, if at this moment
of severe examination his conscience were serene, he could not but feel
how much this enviable state of mind was to be attributed to those
who had, as it were, imbued his life with love; whose never-varying
affection had developed all the kindly feelings of his nature, had
anticipated all his wants, and listened to all his wishes; had assisted
him in difficulty and guided him in doubt; had invited confidence by
kindness, and deserved it by sympathy; had robbed instruction of all its
labour, and discipline of all its harshness.