_The Famous Lord Bohun_
He has gone; Mr. Ferrers has departed. What an event! What a marvellous
event! A revolution has occurred in the life of Henrietta Ponsonby: she
was no longer her own mistress; she was no longer her father’s child.
She belonged to another; and that other a stranger, an unknown, and
departed being! How strange! And yet how sweet! This beautiful young
lady passed her days in pondering over her singular position. In vain
she attempted to struggle with her destiny. In vain she depicted
to herself the error, perhaps the madness, of her conduct. She was
fascinated. She could not reason; she could not communicate to her
father all that had happened. A thousand times her lips moved to reveal
her secret; a thousand times an irresistible power restrained them. She
remained silent, moody, and restless: she plucked flowers, and threw
them to the wind: she gazed upon the sea, and watched the birds in
abstraction wilder than their wing: and yet she would not doubt her
betrothed. That voice so sweet and solemn, and so sincere, still
lingered in her ear: the gaze of that pure and lofty brow was engraven
on her memory: never could she forget those delicate adieus!
This change in his daughter was not unmarked by the Consul, who, after
some reflection, could not hesitate in considering it as the result of
the departure of Mr. Ferrers. The thought made him mournful. It pained
his noble nature, that the guest whom he so respected might have trifled
with the affections of the child whom he so loved. He spoke to the
maiden; but the maiden said she was happy. And, indeed, her conduct
gave evidence of restlessness rather than misery; for her heart seemed
sometimes exuberantly gay; often did she smile, and ever did she sing.
The Consul was conscious there was a mystery he could not fathom. It is
bitter for a father at all times to feel that his child is unhappy; but
doubly bitter is the pang when he feels that the cause is secret.
Three months, three heavy months passed away, and the cloud still rested
on this once happy home. Suddenly Lord Bohun arrived, the much talked-of
Lord Bohun, in his more talked-of yacht. The bustle which the arrival of
this celebrated personage occasioned in the consular establishment was
a diversion from the reserve, or the gloom, which had so long prevailed
there. Lord Bohun was a young, agreeable, and somewhat affected
individual. He had a German chasseur and a Greek page. He was very
luxurious, and rather troublesome; but infinitely amusing, both to the
Consul and his daughter. He dined with them every day, and recounted
his extraordinary adventures with considerable self-complacency. In the
course of the week he scampered over every part of the island; and gave
a magnificent entertainment on board the _Kraken_, to the bishop and the
principal islanders, in honour of the Consul’s daughter. Indeed it was
soon very evident that his lordship entertained feelings of no ordinary
admiration for his hostess. He paid her on all occasions the most marked
attention; and the Consul, who did not for a moment believe that these
attentions indicated other than the transient feelings that became a
lord, and so adventurous a lord, began to fear that his inexperienced
Henrietta might again become the victim of the fugitive admiration of a
traveller.
One evening at the casino, his lordship noticed a drawing of his own
yacht, and started. The Consul explained to him, that the drawing had
been copied by his daughter from a sketch by an English traveller, who
preceded him. His name was inquired, and given.
‘Ferrers!’ exclaimed his lordship. ‘What, has Ferrers been here?’
‘You know Mr. Ferrers, then?’ inquired Henrietta, with suppressed
agitation.
‘Oh yes, I know Ferrers.’
‘A most agreeable and gentleman-like man,’ said the Consul, anxious, he
knew not why, that the conversation would cease.
‘Oh yes, Ferrers is a very agreeable man. He piques himself on being
agreeable,--Mr. Ferrers.’
‘From what I have observed of Mr. Ferrers,’ said Henrietta, in a firm,
and rather decided tone, ‘I should not have given him credit for any
sentiment approaching to _conceit_.’
‘He is fortunate in having such a defender,’ said his lordship, bowing
gallantly.
‘Our friends are scarcely worth possessing,’ said Miss Ponsonby, ‘unless
they defend us when absent. But I am not aware that Mr. Ferrers needs
any defence.’
His lordship turned on his heel, and hummed an opera air.
‘Mr. Ferrers paid us a long visit,’ said the Consul, who was now
desirous that the conversation should proceed.
‘He had evidently a great inducement,’ said Lord Bohun. ‘I wonder he
ever departed.’
‘He is a great favourite in this house,’ said Miss Ponsonby.
‘I perceive it,’ said Lord Bohun.
‘What Ferrers is he?’ inquired the Consul.
‘Oh, he has gentle blood in his veins,’ said Lord Bohun. ‘I never heard
his breeding impeached.’
‘And I should think, nothing else,’ said Miss Ponsonby.
‘Oh, I never heard anything particular against Ferrers,’ said his
lordship; ‘except that he was a _roué_, and a little mad. That is all.’
‘Enough, I should think,’ said Major Ponsonby, with a clouded brow.
‘What a _roué_ may be, I can scarcely be supposed to judge,’ said
Henrietta. ‘If, however, it be a man remarkable for the delicacy of his
thoughts and conduct, Mr. Ferrers has certainly some claim to the title.
As for his madness, he was our constant companion for nearly three
months: if he be mad, it must be a very _little_ indeed.’
‘He was a great favourite of Henrietta,’ said her father, with a forced
smile.
‘Fortunate man!’ said the lord. ‘Fortunate Ferrers!’
Lord Bohun stepped into the garden with the Consul: Miss Ponsonby was
left alone. Firm as had been her previous demeanour, now, that she
was alone, her agitated countenance denoted the tumult of her mind. A
_roué!_ Could it be so! Could it be possible! Was she, while she had
pledged the freshness of her virgin mind to this unknown man, was she,
after all, only a fresh sacrifice to his insatiable vanity! Ferrers a
_roué!_ That lofty-minded man, who spoke so eloquently and so wisely,
was he a _roué,_ an eccentric _roué_; one whose unprincipled conduct
could only be excused at the expense of the soundness of his intellect?
She could not credit it; she would not credit it: and yet his conduct
had been so strange, so mysterious, so unnecessarily mysterious: and
then she recollected his last dark-muttered words: ‘_You may hear of me,
and not to my advantage._’ Oh, what a prophecy! And _from_ him she had
never heard. He had, at least, kept this sad promise. Very sorrowful was
the Consul’s daughter. And then she bethought herself of his pledge,
and his honour that had been _never sullied_. She buried her face in her
hands,--she conjured up to her recollection all that had happened since
his arrival, perhaps his fatal arrival, in their island; all he had said
and done, and seemed to think. She would not doubt him. It was madness
for a moment to doubt him. No desolation seemed so complete, no misery
so full of anguish, as such suspicion: she could not doubt him; all her
happiness was hope. A gentle touch roused her. It was her gazelle; the
gazelle that he had so loved. She caressed it, she caressed it for his
sake: she arose and joined her father and Lord Bohun in the garden, if
not light-hearted, at least serene.