Part 56 (1/2)

'It is true; but I romanced at a fine rate for it. It is the only way with women. She thinks we have known each other since the Deluge. Do not betray me. But, my dear fellow, I cannot stop now. Only, mind, all is changed. Instead of being gay, and seeking her society, and amusing her, and thus attempting to regain your influence, as we talked of last night; mind, suicide is the system. To-morrow I will tell you all. She has a firm mind and a high spirit, which she thinks is principle. If we go upon the tack of last night, she will marry Montfort, and fall in love with you afterwards. That will never do. So we must work upon her fears, her generosity, pity, remorse, and so on. Call upon me to-morrow morning, at half-past two; not before, because I have an excellent boy coming to me at one, who is in a sc.r.a.pe. At half-past two, _cher, cher_ Armine, we will talk more. In the meantime, enjoy your flower; and rest a.s.sured that it is your own fault if you do not fling the good Montfort in a very fine ditch.'

CHAPTER XVI.

_In Which Mr. Temple Surprises His Daughter Weeping_.

THE Count Mirabel proceeded with his projects with all the ardour, address, and audacity of one habituated to success. By some means or other he contrived to see Miss Temple almost daily. He paid a.s.siduous court to the d.u.c.h.ess, on whom he had made a favourable impression from the first; in St. James'-square he met Mr. Temple, who was partial to the society of a distinguished foreigner. He was delighted with Count Mirabel. As for Miss Grandison, the Count absolutely made her his confidante, though he concealed this bold step from Ferdinand. He established his intimacy in the three families, and even mystified Sir Ratcliffe and Lady Armine so completely that they imagined he must be some acquaintance that Ferdinand had made abroad; and they received him accordingly as one of their son's oldest and most cherished friends.

But the most amusing circ.u.mstance of all was that the Count, who even in business never lost sight of what might divert or interest him, became great friends with Mr. Glas...o...b..ry. Count Mirabel comprehended and appreciated that good man's character.

All Count Mirabel's efforts were directed to restore the influence of Ferdinand Armine over Henrietta Temple; and with this view he omitted no opportunity of impressing the idea of his absent friend on that lady's susceptible brain. His virtues, his talents, his accomplishments, his sacrifices; but, above all, his mysterious sufferings, and the fatal end which the Count was convinced awaited him, were placed before her in a light so vivid that they engrossed her thought and imagination. She could not resist the fascination of talking about Ferdinand Armine to Count Mirabel. He was the constant subject of their discourse. All her feelings now cl.u.s.tered round his image. She had quite abandoned her old plan of marrying him to his cousin. That was desperate. Did she regret it? She scarcely dared urge to herself this secret question; and yet it seemed that her heart, too, would break were Ferdinand another's. But, then, what was to become of him? Was he to be left desolate? Was he indeed to die? And Digby, the amiable, generous Digby; ah! why did she ever meet him? Unfortunate, unhappy woman! And yet she was resolved to be firm; she could not falter; she would be the victim of her duty even if she died at the altar. Almost she wished that she had ceased to live, and then the recollection of Armine came back to her so vividly! And those long days of pa.s.sionate delight! All his tenderness and all his truth; for he had been true to her, always had he been true to her. She was not the person who ought to complain of his conduct. And yet she was the person who alone punished him. How different was the generous conduct of his cousin! She had pardoned all; she sympathised with him, she sorrowed for him, she tried to soothe him. She laboured to unite him to her rival. What must he think of herself? How hard-hearted, how selfish must the contrast prove her! Could he indeed believe now that she had ever loved him? Oh, no! he must despise her. He must believe that she was sacrificing her heart to the splendour of rank. Oh! could he believe this! Her Ferdinand, her romantic Ferdinand, who had thrown fortune and power to the winds but to gain that very heart! What a return had she made him! And for all his fidelity he was punished; lone, disconsolate, forlorn, overpowered by vulgar cares, heart-broken, meditating even death------. The picture was too terrible, too harrowing. She hid her face in the pillow of the sofa on which she was seated, and wept bitterly.

She felt an arm softly twined round her waist; she looked up; it was her father.

'My child,' he said, 'you are agitated.'

'Yes; yes, I am agitated,' she said, in a low voice.

'You are unwell.'

'Worse than unwell.'

'Tell me what ails you, Henrietta.'

'Grief for which there is no cure.'

'Indeed! I am greatly astonished.'

His daughter only sighed.

'Speak to me, Henrietta. Tell me what has happened.'

'I cannot speak; nothing has happened; I have nothing to say.'

'To see you thus makes me quite unhappy,' said Mr. Temple; 'if only for my sake, let me know the cause of this overwhelming emotion.'

'It is a cause that will not please you. Forget, sir, what you have seen.'

'A father cannot. I entreat you tell me. If you love me, Henrietta, speak.'

'Sir, sir, I was thinking of the past.'

'Is it so bitter?'

'Ah! that I should live!' said Miss Temple.

'Henrietta, my own Henrietta, my child, I beseech you tell me all.

Something has occurred; something must have occurred to revive such strong feelings. Has--has------ I know not what to say, but so much happens that surprises me; I know, I have heard, that you have seen one who once influenced your feelings, that you have been thrown in unexpected contact with him; he has not--he has not dared-----'

'Say nothing harshly of him,' said Miss Temple wildly; 'I will not bear it, even from you.'