Part 26 (1/2)

'Long ere this I had supposed we should have claimed your sanction. He left me only to speak to his father.'

'This may be the idle tattle of women?'

'No, no,' said Henrietta, in a voice of deep melancholy; 'my fears had foreseen this dark reality. This week has been a week of terror to me; and yet I hoped, and hoped, and hoped. Oh! what a fool have I been.'

'I know this person was your constant companion in my absence; that you have corresponded with him. Has he written very recently?'

'Within two days.'

'And his letters?'

'Have been of late most vague. Oh! my father, indeed, indeed I have not conducted myself so ill as you perhaps imagine. I shrunk from this secret engagement; I opposed by every argument in my power, this clandestine correspondence; but it was only for a week, a single week; and reasons, plausible and specious reasons, were plentiful. Alas! alas!

all is explained now. All that was strange, mysterious, perplexed in his views and conduct, and which, when it crossed my mind, I dismissed with contempt,--all is now too clear.'

'Henrietta, he is unworthy of you.'

'Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ dear father. An hour ago I loved him. Spare him, if you only wish to spare me.'

'Cling to my heart, my child. A father's love has comfort. Is it not so?'

'I feel it is; I feel calmer since you came and we have spoken. I never can be happy again; my spirit is quite broken. And yet, I feel I have a heart now, which I thought I had not before you came. Dear, dear father,' she said, rising and putting her arms round Mr. Temple's neck and leaning on his bosom, and speaking in a sweet yet very mournful voice, 'henceforth your happiness shall be mine. I will not disgrace you; you shall not see me grieve; I will atone, I will endeavour to atone, for my great sins, for sins they were towards you.'

'My child, the time will come when we shall remember this bitterness only as a lesson. But I know the human heart too well to endeavour to stem your sorrow now; I only came to soothe it. My blessing is upon you, my child. Let us talk no more. Henrietta, I will send your maid to you.

Try to sleep; try to compose yourself.'

'These people--to-morrow--what shall I do?'

'Leave all to me. Keep your chamber until they have gone. You need appear no more.'

'Oh! that no human being might again see me!'

'Hus.h.!.+ that is not a wise wish. Be calm; we shall yet be happy.

To-morrow we will talk; and so good night, my child; good night, my own Henrietta.'

Mr. Temple left the room. He bade the maid go to her mistress, in as calm a tone as if indeed her complaint had been only a headache; and then he entered his own apartment. Over the mantel-piece was a portrait of his daughter, gay and smiling as the spring; the room was adorned with her drawings. He drew the chair near the fire, and gazed for some time abstracted upon the flame, and then hid his weeping countenance in his hands. He sobbed convulsively.

CHAPTER VIII.

_In Which Glas...o...b..ry Is Very Much Astonished_.

IT WAS a gusty autumnal night; Glas...o...b..ry sat alone in his tower; every now and then the wind, amid a chorus of groaning branches and hissing rain, dashed against his window; then its power seemed gradually lulled, and perfect stillness succeeded, until a low moan was heard again in the distance, which gradually swelled into storm. The countenance of the good old man was not so serene as usual. Occasionally his thoughts seemed to wander from the folio opened before him, and he fell into fits of reverie which impressed upon his visage an expression rather of anxiety than study.

The old man looked up to the portrait of the unhappy Lady Armine, and heaved a deep sigh. Were his thoughts of her or of her child? He closed his book, he replaced it upon its shelf, and, taking from a cabinet an ancient crucifix of carved ivory, he bent down before the image of his Redeemer.

Even while he was buried in his devotions, praying perchance for the soul of that sinning yet sainted lady whose memory was never absent from his thoughts, or the prosperity of that family to whom he had dedicated his faithful life, the noise of ascending footsteps was heard in the sudden stillness, and immediately a loud knocking at the door of his outer chamber.

Surprised at this unaccustomed interruption, Glas...o...b..ry rose, and enquired the object of his yet unseen visitor; but, on hearing a well-known voice, the door was instantly unbarred, and Ferdinand Armine, pale as a ghost and deluged to the skin, appeared before him.