Henrietta Temple Part 18

'He is to get in,' said Henrietta with a smile, and drive her to their cottage. Have I not managed well to come alone? We shall have such a charming drive to-day.'

'You are so beautiful!' murmured Ferdinand.

'I am content if you but think so. You did not hear me approach? What were you doing? Plunged in meditation? Now tell me truly, were you thinking of her?'

'Indeed, I have no other thought. Oh, my Henrietta! you are so beautiful to-day. I cannot talk of anything but your beauty.'

'And how did you sleep? Are you comfortable? I have brought you some flowers to make your room look pretty.'

They soon reached the farm-house. The good-wife seemed a little surprised when she observed her guest driving Miss Temple, but far more pleased. Henrietta ran into the house to see the children, spoke some kind words to the little maiden, and asked if their guest had breakfasted. Then, turning to Ferdinand, she said, 'Have you forgotten that you are to give me a breakfast? It shall be in the porch. Is it not sweet and pretty? See, here are your flowers, and I have brought you some fruit.'

The breakfast was arranged. 'But you do not play your part, sweet Henrietta,' he said; 'I cannot breakfast alone.'

She affected to share his repast, that he might partake of it; but, in truth, she only busied herself in arranging the flowers. Yet she conducted herself with so much dexterity, that Ferdinand had an opportunity of gratifying his appet.i.te, without being placed in a position, awkward at all times, insufferable for a lover, that of eating in the presence of others who do not join you in the occupation.

'Now,' she suddenly said, sitting by his side, and placing a rose in his dress, 'I have a little plan today, which I think will be quite delightful. You shall drive me to Armine.'

Ferdinand started. He thought of Glas...o...b..ry.

His miserable situation recurred to him. This was the bitter drop in the cup; yes! in the very plenitude of his rare felicity he expressed a pang. His confusion was not un.o.bserved by Miss Temple; for she was very quick in her perception; but she could not comprehend it. It did not rest on her mind, particularly when Ferdinand a.s.sented to her proposition, but added, 'I forgot that Armine is more interesting to you than to me. All my a.s.sociations with Armine are painful. Ducie is my delight.'

'Ah! my romance is at Armine; yours at Ducie. What we live among, we do not always value. And yet I love my home,' she added, in a somewhat subdued, even serious tone; 'all my a.s.sociations with Ducie are sweet and pleasant. Will they always be so?'

She hit upon a key to which the pa.s.sing thoughts of Ferdinand too completely responded, but he restrained the mood of his mind. As she grew grave, he affected cheerfulness. 'My Henrietta must always be happy,' he said, 'at least, if her Ferdinand's love can make her so.'

She did not reply, but she pressed his hand. Then, after a moment's silence, she said, 'My Ferdinand must not be low-spirited about dear Armine. I have confidence in our destiny; I see a happy, a very happy future.'

Who could resist so fair a prophet? Not the sanguine mind of the enamoured Ferdinand Armine. He drank inspiration from her smiles, and dwelt with delight on the tender accents of her animating sympathy.

'I never shall be low-spirited with you,' he replied; 'you are my good genius. O Henrietta! what heaven it is to be together!'

'I bless you for these words. We will not go to Armine to-day. Let us walk. And to speak the truth, for I am not ashamed of saying anything to you, it would be hardly discreet, perhaps, to be driving about the country in this guise. And yet,' she added, after a moment's hesitation, 'what care I for what people say? O Ferdinand! I think only of you!'

That was a delicious ramble which these young and enamoured creatures took that sunny morn! The air was sweet, the earth was beautiful, and yet they were insensible to everything but their mutual love.

Inexhaustible is the converse of fond hearts! A simple story, too, and yet there are so many ways of telling it!

'How strange that we should have ever met!' said Henrietta Temple.

'Indeed, I think it most natural,' said Ferdinand; 'I will believe it the fulfilment of a happy destiny. For all that I have sighed for now I meet, and more, much more than my imagination could ever hope for.'

'Only think of that morning drive,' resumed Henrietta, 'such a little time ago, and yet it seems an age! Let us believe in destiny, dear Ferdinand, or you must think of me, I fear, that which I would not wish.'

'My own Henrietta, I can think of you only as the n.o.blest and the sweetest of beings. My love is ever equalled by my grat.i.tude!'

'My Ferdinand, I had read of such feelings, but did not believe in them.

I did not believe, at least, that they were reserved for me. And yet I have met many persons, and seen something more, much more than falls to the lot of women of my age. Believe me, indeed, my eye has. .h.i.therto been undazzled, and my heart untouched.' He pressed her hand.

'And then,' she resumed, 'in a moment; but it seemed not like common life. That beautiful wilderness, that ruinous castle! As I gazed around, I felt not as is my custom. I felt as if some fate were impending, as if my life and lot were bound up, as it were, with that strange and silent scene. And then he came forward, and I beheld him, so unlike all other men, so beautiful, so pensive! O Ferdinand! pardon me for loving you!'

and she gently turned her head, and hid her face on his breast.

'Darling Henrietta,' lowly breathed the enraptured lover, 'best, and sweetest, and loveliest of women, your Ferdinand, at that moment, was not less moved than you were. Speechless and pale I had watched my Henrietta, and I felt that I beheld the being to whom I must dedicate my existence.'

'I shall never forget the moment when I stood before the portrait of Sir Ferdinand. Do you know my heart was prophetic; I wanted not that confirmation of a strange conjecture. I felt that you must be an Armine.

I had heard so much of your grandfather, so much of your family. I loved them for their glory, and for their lordly sorrows.'

'Ah! my Henrietta, 'tis that alone which galls me. It is bitter to introduce my bride to our house of cares.'

'You shall never think it so,' she replied with animation. 'I will prove a true Armine. Happier in the honour of that name, than in the most rich possessions! You do not know me yet. Your wife shall not disgrace you or your lineage. I have a spirit worthy of you, Ferdinand; at least, I dare to hope so. I can break, but I will not bend. We will wrestle together with all our cares; and my Ferdinand, animated by his Henrietta, shall restore the house.'

'Alas! my n.o.ble-minded girl, I fear a severe trial awaits us. I can offer you only love.'

'Is there anything else in this world?'

'But, to bear you from a roof of luxury, where you have been cherished from your cradle, with all that ministers to the delicate delights of woman, to--oh! my Henrietta, you know not the disheartening and depressing burthen of domestic cares.' His voice faltered as he recalled his melancholy father; and the disappointment, perhaps the destruction, that his pa.s.sion was preparing for his roof.

'There shall be no cares; I will endure everything; I will animate all.

I have energy; indeed I have, my Ferdinand. I have, young as I may be, I have often inspirited, often urged on my father. Sometimes, he says, that had it not been for me, he would not have been what he is. He is my father, the best and kindest parent that ever loved his child; yet, what are fathers to you, my Ferdinand? and, if I could a.s.sist him, what may I not do for-----'

'Alas! my Henrietta, we have no theatre for action. You forget our creed.'

'It was the great Sir Ferdinand's. He made a theatre.'

'My Henrietta is ambitious,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

'Dearest, I would be content, nay! that is a weak phrase, I would, if the choice were in my power now to select a life most grateful to my views and feelings, choose some delightful solitude, even as Armine, and pa.s.s existence with no other aim but to delight you. But we were speaking of other circ.u.mstances. Such happiness, it is said, is not for us. And I wished to show you that I have a spirit that can struggle with adversity, and a soul prescient of overwhelming it.'

'You have a spirit I reverence, and a soul I wors.h.i.+p, nor is there a happier being in the world this moment than Ferdinand Armine. With such a woman as you every fate must be a triumph. You have touched upon a chord of my heart that has sounded before, though in solitude. It was but the wind that played on it before; but now that tone rings with a purpose. This is glorious sympathy. Let us leave Armine to its fate.

I have a sword, and it shall go hard if I do not carve out a destiny worthy even of Henrietta Temple.'

CHAPTER IV.

_Henrietta Visits Armine, Which Leads to a Rather Perplexing Encounter_.

THE communion of this day, of the spirit of which the conversation just noticed may convey an intimation, produced an inspiriting effect on the mind of Ferdinand. Love is inspiration; it encourages to great deeds, and develops the creative faculty of our nature. Few great men have flourished who, were they candid, would not acknowledge the vast advantages they have experienced in the earlier years of their career from the spirit and sympathy of woman. It is woman whose prescient admiration strings the lyre of the desponding poet whose genius is afterwards to be recognised by his race, and which often embalms the memory of the gentle mistress whose kindness solaced him in less glorious hours. How many an official portfolio would never have been carried, had it not been for her sanguine spirit and a.s.siduous love! How many a depressed and despairing advocate has clutched the Great Seal, and taken his precedence before princes, borne onward by the breeze of her inspiring hope, and illumined by the suns.h.i.+ne of her prophetic smile! A female friend, amiable, clever, and devoted, is a possession more valuable than parks and palaces; and, without such a muse, few men can succeed in life, none be content.

The plans and aspirations of Henrietta had relieved Ferdinand from a depressing burthen. Inspired by her creative sympathy, a new scene opened to him, adorned by a magnificent perspective. His sanguine imagination sought refuge in a triumphant future. That love for which he had hitherto schooled his mind to sacrifice every worldly advantage appeared suddenly to be transformed into the very source of earthly success. Henrietta Temple was to be the fountain, not only of his bliss, but of his prosperity. In the revel of his audacious fancy he seemed, as it were, by a beautiful retribution, to be already rewarded for having devoted, with such unhesitating readiness, his heart upon the altar of disinterested affection. Lying on his cottage-couch, he indulged in dazzling visions; he wandered in strange lands with his beautiful companion, and offered at her feet the quick rewards of his unparalleled achievements.

Recurring to his immediate situation, he resolved to lose no time in bringing his affairs to a crisis. He was even working himself up to his instant departure, solaced by the certainty of his immediate return, when the arrival of his servant announced to him that Glas...o...b..ry had quitted Armine on one of those antiquarian rambles to which he was accustomed. Gratified that it was now in his power to comply with the wish of Henrietta to visit his home, and perhaps, in truth, not very much mortified that so reasonable an excuse had arisen for the postponement of his intended departure, Ferdinand instantly rose, and as speedily as possible took his way to Ducie.

He found Henrietta in the garden. He had arrived, perhaps, earlier than he was expected; yet what joy to see him! And when he himself proposed an excursion to Armine, her grateful smile melted his very heart.

Indeed, Ferdinand this morning was so gay and light-hearted, that his excessive merriment might almost have been as suspicious as his pa.s.sing gloom the previous day. Not less tender and fond than before, his sportive fancy indulged in infinite expressions of playful humour and delicate pranks of love. When he first recognised her gathering a nosegay, too, for him, himself un.o.bserved, he stole behind her on tiptoe, and suddenly clasping her delicate waist, and raising her gently in the air, 'Well, lady-bird,' he exclaimed, 'I, too, will pluck a flower!'

Ah! when she turned round her beautiful face, full of charming confusion, and uttered a faint cry of fond astonishment, as she caught his bright glance, what happiness was Ferdinand Armine's, as he felt this enchanting creature was his, and pressed to his bosom her n.o.ble and throbbing form!

'Perhaps this time next year, we may be travelling on mules,' said Ferdinand, as he flourished his whip, and the little pony trotted along.

Henrietta smiled. 'And then,' continued he, 'we shall remember our pony-chair that we turn up our noses at now. Donna Henrietta, jogged to death over dull vegas, and picking her way across rocky sierras, will be a very different person from Miss Temple, of Ducie Bower. I hope you will not be very irritable, my child; and pray vent your spleen upon your muleteer, and not upon your husband.'