Part 27 (2/2)

'I have travelled four days, I have not slept a wink, I have tasted no food; but I have drunk, I have drunk well. Here I am, and I have half a mind to set fire to that accursed pile called Armine Castle for my funeral pyre.'

'Ferdinand, you are not well,' said Mr. Glas...o...b..ry, grasping his hand.

'You need rest. You must retire; indeed you must. I must be obeyed. My bed is yours.'

'No! let me go to my own room,' murmured Ferdinand, in a faint voice.

'That room where my mother said the day would come--oh! what did my mother say? Would there were only mother's love, and then I should not be here or thus.'

'I pray you, my child, rest here.'

'No! let us to the Place, for an hour; I shall not sleep more than an hour. I am off again directly the storm is over. If it had not been for this cursed rain I should have caught them. And yet, perhaps, they are in countries where there is no rain. Ah! who would believe what happens in this world? Not I, for one. Now, give me your arm. Good Glas...o...b..ry!

you are always the same. You seem to me the only thing in the world that is unchanged.'

Glas...o...b..ry, with an air of great tenderness and anxiety, led his former pupil down the stairs. The weather was more calm. There were some dark blue rifts in the black sky which revealed a star or two. Ferdinand said nothing in their progress to the Place except once, when he looked up to the sky, and said, as it were to himself, 'She loved the stars.'

Glas...o...b..ry had some difficulty in rousing the man and his wife, who were the inmates of the Place; but it was not very late, and, fortunately, they had not retired for the night. Lights were brought into Lady Armine's drawing-room. Glas...o...b..ry led Ferdinand to a sofa, on which he rather permitted others to place him than seated himself.

He took no notice of anything that was going on, but remained with his eyes open, gazing feebly with a rather vacant air.

Then the good Glas...o...b..ry looked to the arrangement of his sleeping-room, drawing the curtains, seeing that the bed was well aired and warmed, and himself adding blocks to the wood fire which soon kindled. Nor did he forget to prepare, with the aid of the good woman, some hot potion that might soothe and comfort his stricken and exhausted charge, who in this moment of distress and desolation had come, as it were, and thrown himself on the bosom of his earliest friend. When all was arranged Glas...o...b..ry descended to Ferdinand, whom he found in exactly the same position as that in which he left him. He offered no resistance to the invitation of Glas...o...b..ry to retire to his chamber.

He neither moved nor spoke, and yet seemed aware of all they were doing.

Glas...o...b..ry and the stout serving-man bore him to his chamber, relieved him from his wet garments, and placed him in his earliest bed. When Glas...o...b..ry bade him good night, Ferdinand faintly pressed his hand, but did not speak; and it was remarkable, that while he pa.s.sively submitted to their undressing him, and seemed incapable of affording them the slightest aid, yet he thrust forth his hand to guard a lock of dark hair that was placed next to his heart.

CHAPTER IX.

_In Which Glas...o...b..ry Finds That a Serene Temper Does Not Always Bring a Serene Life_.

THOSE quiet slumbers, that the regular life and innocent heart of the good Glas...o...b..ry generally ensured, were sadly broken this night, as he lay awake meditating over the distracted fortunes of the of Armine house. They seemed now to be most turbulent and clouded; and that brilliant and happy future, in which of late he had so fondly indulged, offered nothing but gloom and disquietude. Nor was it the menaced disruption of those ties whose consummation was to restore the greatness and splendour of the family, and all the pain and disappointment and mortification and misery that must be its consequence, that alone made him sorrowful. Glas...o...b..ry had a reverence for that pa.s.sion which sheds such a l.u.s.tre over existence, and is the pure and prolific source of much of our better conduct; the time had been when he, too, had loved, and with a religious sanct.i.ty worthy of his character and office; he had been for a long life the silent and hopeless votary of a pa.s.sion almost ideal, yet happy, though 'he never told his love;' and, indeed, although the unconscious mistress of his affections had been long removed from that world where his fidelity was almost her only comfort, that pa.s.sion had not waned, and the feelings that had been inspired by her presence were now cherished by her memory. His tender and romantic nature, which his venerable grey hairs had neither dulled nor hardened, made him deeply sympathise with his unhappy pupil; the radiant image of Henrietta Temple, too, vividly impressed on his memory as it was, rose up before him; he recollected his joy that the chosen partner of his Ferdinand's bosom should be worthy of her destiny; he thought of this fair creature, perchance in solitude and sickness, a prey to the most mortifying and miserable emotions, with all her fine and generous feelings thrown back upon herself; deeming herself deceived, deserted, outraged, where she had looked for nothing but fidelity, and fondness, and support; losing all confidence in the world and the world's ways; but recently so lively with expectation and airy with enjoyment, and now aimless, hopeless, wretched, perhaps broken-hearted. The tears trickled down the pale cheek of Glas...o...b..ry as he revolved in his mind these mournful thoughts; and almost unconsciously he wrung his hands as he felt his utter want of power to remedy these sad and piteous circ.u.mstances. Yet he was not absolutely hopeless. There was ever open to the pious Glas...o...b..ry one perennial source of trust and consolation. This was a fountain that was ever fresh and sweet, and he took refuge from the world's harsh courses and exhausting cares in its salutary flow and its refres.h.i.+ng shade, when, kneeling before his crucifix, he commended the unhappy Ferdinand and his family to the superintending care of a merciful Omnipotence.

The morning brought fresh anxieties. Glas...o...b..ry was at the Place at an early hour, and found Ferdinand in a high state of fever. He had not slept an instant, was very excited, talked of departing immediately, and rambled in his discourse. Glas...o...b..ry blamed himself for having left him a moment, and resolved to do so no more. He endeavoured to soothe him; a.s.sured him that if he would be calm all would yet go well; that they would consult together what was best to be done; and that he would make enquiries after the Temple family. In the meantime he despatched the servant for the most eminent physician of the county; but as hours must necessarily elapse before his arrival, the difficulty of keeping Ferdinand still was very great. Talk he would, and of nothing but Henrietta. It was really agonising to listen to his frantic appeals to Glas...o...b..ry to exert himself to discover her abode; yet Glas...o...b..ry never left his side; and with promises, expressions of confidence, and the sway of an affected calmness, for in truth dear Glas...o...b..ry was scarcely less agitated than his patient, Ferdinand was prevented from rising, and the physician at length arrived.

After examining Ferdinand, with whom he remained a very short s.p.a.ce, this gentleman invited Glas...o...b..ry to descend, and they left the patient in charge of a servant.

'This is a bad case,' said the physician.

'Almighty G.o.d preserve him!' exclaimed the agitated Glas...o...b..ry. 'Tell me the worst!'

'Where are Sir Ratcliffe and Lady Armine?'

'At Bath.'

'They must be sent for instantly.'

'Is there any hope?'

'There is hope; that is all. I shall now bleed him copiously, and then blister; but I can do little. We must trust to nature. I am afraid of the brain. I cannot account for his state by his getting wet or his rapid travelling. Has he anything on his mind?'

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