_Containing a Very Important Communication_.
BETWEEN the unexpected meeting with Captain Armine in the morning and
the evening assembly at Bellair House, a communication had been made by
Miss Temple to Lord Montfort, which ought not to be quite unnoticed.
She had returned home with his mother and himself, and her silence and
depression had not escaped him. Soon after their arrival they were left
alone, and then Henrietta said, ‘Digby, I wish to speak to you!’
‘My own!’ said Lord Montfort, as he seated himself by her on the sofa,
and took her hand.
Miss Temple was calm; but he would have been a light observer who had
not detected her suppressed agitation.
‘Dearest Digby,’ she continued, ‘you are so generous and so kind, that
I ought to feel no reluctance in speaking to you upon this subject; and
yet it pains me very much.’ She hesitated.
‘I can only express my sympathy with any sorrow of yours, Henrietta,’
said Lord Montfort. ‘Speak to me as you always do, with that frankness
which so much delights me.’
‘Let your thoughts recur to the most painful incident of my life, then,’
said Henrietta.
‘If you require it,’ said Lord Montfort, in a serious tone.
‘It is not my fault, dearest Digby, that a single circumstance connected
with that unhappy event should be unknown to you. I wished originally
that you should know all. I have a thousand times since regretted
that your consideration for my feelings should ever have occasioned an
imperfect confidence between us; and something has occurred to-day which
makes me lament it bitterly.’
‘No, no, dearest Henrietta; you feel too keenly,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Indeed, Digby, it is so,’ said Henrietta very mournfully.
‘Speak, then, dearest Henrietta.’
‘It is necessary that you should know the name of that person who once
exercised an influence over my feelings, which I never affected to
disguise to you.’
‘Is it indeed necessary?’ enquired Lord Montfort.
‘It is for my happiness,’ replied Henrietta.
‘Then, indeed, I am anxious to learn it.’
‘He is in this country,’ said Henrietta, ‘he is in this town; he may be
in the same room with you to-morrow; he has been in the same room with
me even this day.’
‘Indeed!’ said Lord Montfort.
‘He bears a name not unknown to you,’ said Henrietta, ‘a name, too, that
I must teach myself to mention, and yet------’
Lord Montfort rose and took a pencil and a sheet of paper from the
table, ‘Write it,’ he said in a kind tone.
Henrietta took the pencil, and wrote,
‘Armine.’
‘The son of Sir Ratcliffe?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘The same,’ replied Henrietta.
‘You heard then of him last night?’ enquired her companion.
‘Even so; of that, too, I was about to speak.’
‘I am aware of the connection of Mr. Glastonbury with the Armine
family,’ said Lord Montfort, quietly.
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There was a dead pause. At length Lord Montfort said, ‘Is there anything
you wish me to do?’
‘Much,’ said Henrietta. ‘Dearest Digby,’ she continued, after a moment’s
hesitation, ‘do not misinterpret me; my heart, if such a heart be worth
possessing, is yours. I can never forget who solaced me in my misery; I
can never forget all your delicate tenderness, Digby. Would that I
could make a return to you more worthy of all your goodness; but if the
grateful devotion of my life can repay you, you shall be satisfied.’
He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘It is of you, and of your
happiness that I can alone think,’ he murmured.
‘Now let me tell you all,’ said Henrietta, with desperate firmness. ‘I
have done this person great injustice.’
‘Hah!’ said Lord Montfort.
‘It cuts me to the heart,’ said Henrietta.
‘You have then misconceived his conduct?’ enquired Lord Montfort.
‘Utterly.’
‘It is indeed a terrible situation for you,’ said Lord Montfort; ‘for
all of us,’ he added, in a lower tone.
‘No, Digby; not for all of us; not even for myself; for if you are happy
I will be. But for him, yes! I will not conceal it from you, I feel for
him.’
‘Your destiny is in your own hands, Henrietta.’
‘No, no, Digby; do not say so,’ exclaimed Miss Temple, very earnestly;
‘do not speak in that tone of sacrifice. There is no need of sacrifice;
there shall be none. I will not, I do not falter. Be you firm. Do not
desert me in this moment of trial. It is for support I speak; it is for
consolation. We are bound together by ties the purest, the holiest. Who
shall sever them? No! Digby, we will be happy; but I am interested in
the destiny of this unhappy person. You, you can assist me in rendering
it more serene; in making him, perhaps, not less happy than ourselves.’
‘I would spare no labour,’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Oh, that you would not!’ exclaimed Miss Temple. ‘You are so good,
so noble! You would sympathise even with him. What other man in your
situation would?’
‘What can be done?’
‘Listen: he was engaged to his cousin even on that fatal day when we
first met; a lady with every charm and advantage that one would think
could make a man happy; young, noble, and beautiful; of a most amiable
and generous disposition, as her subsequent conduct has proved; and of
great wealth.’
‘Miss Grandison?’ said Lord Montfort.
‘Yes: his parents looked forward to their union with delight, not
altogether unmixed with anxiety.
The Armines, with all their princely possessions, are greatly
embarrassed from the conduct of the last head of their house. Ferdinand
himself has, I grieve to say, inherited too much of his grandfather’s
imprudent spirit; his affairs, I fear, are terribly involved. When I
knew him, papa was, as you are aware, a poor man. This marriage would
have cured all; my Digby, I wish it to take place.’
‘How can we effect it?’ asked Lord Montfort.
‘Become his friend, dear Digby. I always think you can do anything. Yes!
my only trust is in you. Oh! my Digby, make us all happy.’
Lord Montfort rose and walked up and down the room, apparently in
profound meditation. At length he said, ‘Rest assured, Henrietta, that
to secure your happiness nothing shall ever be wanting on my part. I
will see Mr. Glastonbury on this subject. At present, dearest, let us
think of lighter things.’