For several days Edward remained at home, anxiously awaiting every news
which arrived; expecting every time that the capture of the king would
be announced, and, with great joy, finding that hitherto all efforts
had been unsuccessful. But there was a question which now arose in
Edward's mind, and which was the cause of deep reflection. Since the
proposal of sending his sisters away had been started, he felt the
great inconvenience of his still representing himself to the intendant
as the grandson of Armitage. His sisters, if sent to the ladies at
Portlake, must be sent without the knowledge of the intendant; and if
so, the discovery of their absence would soon take place, as Patience
Heatherstone would be constantly going over to the cottage; and he now
asked himself the question, whether, after all the kindness and
confidence which the intendant had shown him, he was right in any
longer concealing from him his birth and parentage. He felt that he was
doing the intendant an injustice, in not showing to him that confidence
which ho deserved.
That he was justified in so doing at first, he felt; but since the
joining the king's army, and the events which had followed, he
considered that he was treating the intendant ill, and he now resolved
to take the first opportunity of making the confession. But to do it
formally, and without some opportunity which might offer, he felt
awkward. At last he thought that he would at once make the confession
to Patience, under the promise of secrecy. That he might do at once;
and, after he had done so, the intendant could not tax him with want of
confidence altogether. He had now analyzed his feelings toward
Patience; and he felt how dear she had become to him. During the time
he was with the army, she had seldom been out of his thoughts; and
although he was often in the society of well bred women, he saw not one
that, in his opinion, could compare with Patience Heatherstone; but
still, what chance had he of supporting a wife? at present, at the age
of nineteen, it was preposterous. Thoughts like these ran in his mind,
chasing each other, and followed by others as vague and unsatisfactory;
and, in the end, Edward came to the conclusion, that he was without a
penny, and that being known as the heir of Beverley would be to his
disadvantage; that he was in love with Patience Heatherstone, and had
no chance at present of obtaining her; and that he done well up to the
present time in concealing who he was from the intendant, who could
safely attest that he knew not that he was protecting the son of so
noted a Cavalier; and that he would confess to Patience who he was, and
give as a reason for not telling her father, that he did not wish to
commit him by letting him know who it was that was under his
protection. How far the reader may be satisfied with the arguments
which Edward was satisfied with, we can not pretend to say; but Edward
was young, and hardly knew how to extricate himself from the cloak
which necessity had first compelled him to put on. Edward was already
satisfied that he was not quite looked upon with indifference by
Patience Heatherstone; and he was not yet certain whether it was not a
grateful feeling that she had toward him more than any other; that she
believed him to be beneath her in birth, he felt convinced, and
therefore she could have no idea that he was Edward Beverley. It was
not till several days after he had made up his mind that he had an
opportunity of being with her alone, as Clara Ratcliffe was their
constant companion. However, one evening Clara went out, and staid out
so long, carelessly wrapped up, that she caught cold; and the following
evening she remained at home, leaving Edward and Patience to take their
usual walk unaccompanied by her. They had walked for some minutes in
silence, when Patience observed,
"You are very grave, Edward, and have been very grave ever since your
return; have you any thing to vex you beyond the failure of the
attempt."
"Yes, I have, Patience. I have much on my conscience, and do not know
how to act. I want an adviser and a friend, and know not where to find
one."
"Surely, Edward, my father is your sincere friend, and not a bad
adviser."
"I grant it; but the question is between your father and me, and I can
not advise with him for that reason."
"Then advise with me, Edward, if it is not a secret of such moment that
it is not to be trusted to a woman; at all events it will be the advice
of a sincere friend; you will give me credit for that."
"Yes, and for much more; for I think I shall have good advice, and will
therefore accept your offer. I feel, Patience, that although I was
justified, on my first acquaintance with your father, in not making
known to him a secret of some importance, yet now that he has put such
implicit confidence, in me, I am doing him and myself an injustice in
not making the communication--that is, as far as confidence in him is
concerned. I consider that he has a right to know all, and yet I feel
that it would be prudent on my part that he should not know all, as the
knowledge might implicate him with those with whom he is at present
allied. A secret sometimes is dangerous; and if your father could not
say that on his honor he knew not of the secret, it might harm him if
the secret became afterward known. Do you understand me?"
"I can not say that I exactly do; you have a secret that you wish to
make known to my father, and you think the knowledge of it may harm
him. I can not imagine what kind of secret that may be."
"Well, I can give you a case in point. Suppose now that I knew that
King Charles was hidden in your stable-loft: such might be the case,
and your father be ignorant of it, and his assertion of his ignorance
would be believed; but if I were to tell your father that the king was
there, and it was afterward discovered, do you not see that, by
confiding such a secret to him, I should do harm, and perhaps bring him
into trouble?"
"I perceive now, Edward; do you mean to say that you know where the
king is concealed? for, if you do, I must beg of you not let my father
know any thing about it. As you say, it would put him in a difficult
position, and must eventually harm him much. There is a great
difference between wishing well to a cause and supporting it in person.
My father wishes the king well, I believe, but, at the same time, he
will not take an active part, as you have already seen; at the same
time, I am convinced that he would never betray the king if he knew
where he was. I say, therefore, if that is your secret, keep it from
him, for his sake and for mine, Edward, if you regard me."
"You know not how much I regard you, Patience. I saw many highborn
women when I was away, but none could I see equal to Patience
Heatherstone, in my opinion; and Patience was ever in my thoughts
during my long absence."
"I thank you for your kind feelings toward me," replied Patience; "but,
Master Armitage, we were talking about your secret."
"Master Armitage!" rejoined Edward; "how well you know how to remind
me, by that expression, of my obscure birth and parentage, whenever I
am apt to forget the distance which I ought to observe!"
"You are wrong!" replied Patience; "but you flattered me so grossly,
that I called you Master Armitage to show that I disliked flattery,
that was all. I dislike flattery from those who are above me in rank,
as well as those who are below me; and I should have done the same to
any other person, whatever his condition might be. But forget what I
said, I did not mean to vex you, only to punish you for thinking me so
silly as to believe such nonsense."
"Your humility may construe that into flattery which was said by me in
perfect sincerity and truth-that I can not help," replied Edward. "I
might have added much more, and yet have been sincere; if you had not
reminded me of my not being of gentle birth, I might have had the
presumption to have told you much more; but I have been rebuked."
Edward finished speaking, and Patience made no reply; they walked on
for several moments without exchanging another syllable. At last
Patience said,
"I will not say who is wrong, Edward; but this I do know, that the one
who first offers the olive branch after a misunderstanding, can not but
be right. I offer it now, and ask you whether we are to quarrel about
one little word. Let me ask you, and give me a candid answer: Have I
ever been so base as to treat as an inferior one to whom I have been so
much obliged?"
"It is I who am in fault, Patience," replied Edward. "I have been
dreaming for a long while, pleased with my dreams, and forgetting that
they were dreams, and not likely to be realized. I must now speak
plainly. I love you, Patience; love you so much, that to part from you
would be misery-to know that my love was rejected, as bitter as death.
That is the truth, and I can conceal it no longer. Now I admit you have
a right to be angry."
"I see no cause for anger, Edward," replied Patience. "I have not
thought of you but as a friend and benefactor; it would have been wrong
to have done otherwise. I am but a young person, and must be guided by
my father. I would not offend him by disobedience. I thank you for your
good opinion of me, and yet I wish you had not said what you have."
"Am I to understand from your reply, that, if your father raised no
objection, my lowly birth would be none in your opinion?"
"Your birth has never come into my head, except when reminded of it by
yourself."
"Then, Patience, let me return for the present to what I had to confide
to you. I was--"
"Here comes my father, Edward," said Patience. "Surely I have done
wrong, for I feel afraid to meet him."
Mr. Heatherstone now joined them, and said to Edward--
"I have been looking for you: I have news from London which has
rejoiced me much. I have at last obtained what I have some time been
trying for; and, indeed, I may say, that your prudence and boldness in
returning home as a trooper, added to your conduct in the forest, has
greatly advanced, and ultimately obtained for me, my suit. There was
some suspense before that, but your conduct has removed it; and now we
shall have plenty to do."
They walked to the house, and the intendant, as soon as he had gained
his own room, said to Edward--
"There is a grant to me of a property which I have long solicited for
my services--read it."
Edward took up the letter in which the Parliament informed Mr.
Heatherstone that his application to the property of Arnwood had been
acceded to, and signed by the commissioners; and that he might take
immediate possession. Edward turned pale as he laid the document down
on the table.
"We will ride to-morrow, Edward, and look it over. I intend to rebuild
the house."
Edward made no reply.
"Are you not well?" said the intendant, with surprise.
"Yes, sir," replied Edward, "I am well, I believe; but I confess to you
that I am disappointed. I did not think that you would have accepted a
property from such a source, and so unjustly sequestrated."
"I am sorry, Edward," replied the intendant, "that I should have fallen
in your good opinion; but allow me to observe that you are so far right
that I never would have accepted a property to which there were living
claimants; but this is a different case. For instance, the Ratcliffe
property belongs to little Clara, and is sequestrated. Do you think I
would accept it? Never! But here is property without an heir; the whole
family perished in the flames of Arnwood! There is no living claimant!
It must be given to somebody, or remain with the government. This
property, therefore, and this property only, out of all sequestrated, I
selected, as I felt that, in obtaining it, I did harm to no one. I have
been offered others, but have refused them. I would accept of this, and
this only; and that is the reason why my applications have hitherto
been attended with no success. I trust you believe me, Edward, in what
I assert?"
"First answer me one question, Mr. Heatherstone. Suppose it were proved
that the whole of the family did not, as it is supposed, perish at the
conflagration of Arnwood? Suppose a rightful heir to it should at any
time appear, would you then resign the property to him?"
"As I hope for Heaven, Edward, I would!" replied the intendant,
solemnly raising his eyes upward as he spoke. "I then should think that
I had been an instrument to keep the property out of other hands less
scrupulous, and should surrender it as a trust which had been confided
to me for the time only."
"With such feelings, Mr. Heatherstone, I can now congratulate you upon
your having obtained possession of the property," replied Edward.
"And yet I do not deserve so much credit, as there is little chance of
my sincerity being put to the test, Edward. There is no doubt that the
family all perished; and Arnwood will become the dower of Patience
Heatherstone."
Edward's heart beat quick. A moment's thought told him his situation.
He had been prevented, by the interruption of Mr. Heatherstone, from
making his confession to Patience; and now he could not make it to any
body without a rupture with the intendant, or a compromise, by asking
what he so earnestly desired--the hand of Patience. Mr. Heatherstone
observing to Edward that he did not look well, said supper was ready,
and that they had better go into the next room. Edward mechanically
followed. At supper he was tormented by the incessant inquiries of
Clara, as to what was the matter with him. He did not venture to look
at Patience, and made a hasty retreat to bed, complaining, as he might
well do, of a severe headache.
Edward threw himself on his bed, but to sleep was impossible. He
thought of the events of the day over and over again. Had he any reason
to believe that Patience returned his affection? No; her reply was too
calm, too composed to make him suppose that; and now that she would be
an heiress, there would be no want of pretenders to her hand; and he
would lose her and his property at the same time. It was true that the
intendant had declared that he would renounce the property if the true
heir appeared, but that was easy to say upon the conviction that no
heir would appear; and even if he did renounce it, the Parliament would
receive it again rather than it should fall into the hands of a
Beverley. "Oh that I had never left the cottage!" thought Edward. "I
might then, at least, have become resigned and contented with my lot.
Now I am miserable, and, whichever way I turn, I see no prospect of
being otherwise. One thing only I can decide upon, which is, that I
will not remain any longer than I can help under this roof. I will go
over and consult with Humphrey; and if I can only place my sisters as I
want, Humphrey and I will seek our fortunes."
Edward rose at daylight, and, dressing himself, went down and saddled
his horse. Desiring Sampson to tell the intendant that he had gone over
to the cottage and would return by the evening, he rode across the
forest, and arrived just as they were sitting down to breakfast. His
attempts to be cheerful before his sisters did not succeed, and they
were all grieved to see him look so pale and haggard. As soon as
breakfast was over, Edward made a sign, and he and Humphrey went out.
"What is the matter, my dear brother?" said Humphrey.
"I will tell you all. Listen to me," replied Edward, who then gave him
the detail of all that had passed from the time he had walked out with
Patience Heatherstone till he went to bed. "Now, Humphrey, you know
all; and what shall I do? remain there I can not!"
"If Patience Heatherstone had professed regard for you," replied
Humphrey, "the affair had been simple enough. Her father could have no
objections to the match; and he would at the same time have acquitted
his conscience as to the retaining of the property: but you say she
showed none."
"She told me very calmly that she was sorry that I had said what I did."
"But do women always mean what they say, brother?" said Humphrey.
"She does, at all events," replied Edward; "she is truth itself. No, I
can not deceive myself. She feels a deep debt of gratitude for the
service I rendered her; and that prevented her from being more harsh in
her reply than what she was."
"But if she knew that you were Edward Beverley, do you not think it
would make a difference in her?"
"And if it did, it would be too humiliating to think that I was only
married for my rank and station."
"But, considering you of mean birth, may she not have checked those
feelings which she considered under the circumstances improper to
indulge?"
"Where there is such a sense of propriety there can be little
affection."
"I know nothing about these things, Edward," replied Humphrey; "but I
have been told that a woman's heart is not easily read; or if I have
not been told it, I have read it or dreamed it."
"What do you propose to do?"
"What I fear you will not approve of, Humphrey; it is to break up our
establishment altogether. If the answer is favorable from the Misses
Conynghame my sisters shall go to them; but that we had agreed upon
already. Then for myself--I intend to go abroad, resume my name, and
obtain employment in some foreign service. I will trust to the king for
assisting me to that."
"That is the worst part of it, Edward; but if your peace of mind
depends upon it, I will not oppose it."
"You, Humphrey, may come with me and share my fortunes, or do what you
think more preferable."
"I think then, Edward, that I shall not decide rashly. I must have
remained here with Pablo if my sisters had gone to the Ladies
Conynghame and you had remained with the intendant; I shall, therefore,
till I hear from you, remain where I am, and shall be able to observe
what is going on here, and let you know."
"Be it so," replied Edward; "let me only see my sisters well placed,
and I shall be off the next day. It is misery to remain there now."
After some more conversation, Edward mounted his horse and returned to
the intendant's. He did not arrive till late, for supper was on the
table. The intendant gave him a letter for Mr. Chaloner, which was
inclosed in one from Mr. Langton; and further informed Edward that news
had arrived of the king having made his escape to France.
"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Edward. "With your leave, sir, I will
to-morrow deliver this letter to the party to whom it is addressed, as
I know it to be of consequence."
The intendant having given his consent, Edward retired without having
exchanged a word with Patience or Clara beyond the usual civilities of
the table.
The following morning, Edward, who had not slept an hour during the
night, set off for Clara's cottage, and found Chaloner and Grenville
still in bed. At the sound of his voice the door was opened, and he
gave Chaloner the letter; the latter read it and then handed it to
Edward. The Misses Conynghame were delighted at the idea of receiving
the two daughters of Colonel Beverley, and would treat them as their
own; they requested that they might be sent to London immediately,
where the coach would meet them to convey them down to Lancashire. They
begged to be kindly remembered to Captain Beverley, and to assure him
that his sisters should be well cared for.
"I am much indebted to you, Chaloner," said Edward; "I will send my
brother off with my sisters as soon as possible. You will soon think of
returning to France; and if you will permit me, I will accompany you."
"You, Edward! that will be delightful; but you had no idea of the kind
when last we met. What has induced you to alter your mind?"
"I will tell you by-and-by; I do not think I shall be here again for
some days. I must be a great deal at the cottage when Humphrey is away,
for Pablo will have a great charge upon him--what with the dairy, and
horses, and breed of goats, and other things--more than he can attend
to; but as soon as Humphrey returns, I will come to you and make
preparations for our departure. Till then, farewell, both of you. We
must see to provision you for three weeks or a month, before Humphrey
starts."
Edward bade them a hearty farewell, and then rode to the cottage.
Although Alice and Edith had been somewhat prepared for leaving the
cottage, yet the time was so very uncertain, that the blow fell heavy
upon them. They were to leave their brothers whom they loved so dearly,
to go to strangers; and when they understood that they were to leave in
two days, and that they should not see Edward again, their grief was
very great; but Edward reasoned with Alice and consoled her, although
with Edith it was a more difficult task. She not only lamented her
brothers, but her cow, her pony, and her kids; all the dumb animals
were friends and favorites of Edith; and even the idea of parting with
Pablo, was the cause of a fresh burst of tears. Having made every
arrangement with Humphrey, Edward once more took his leave, promising
to come over and assist Pablo as soon as he could.
The next day Humphrey was busied in his preparations. They supplied the
provisions to Clara's cottage; and when Pablo took them over in the
cart, Humphrey rode to Lymington and provided a conveyance to London
for the following day. We may as well observe, that they set off at the
hour appointed, and arrived safely at London in three days. There, at
an address given in a letter, they found the coach waiting; and having
given his sisters into the charge of an elderly waiting-woman, who had
come up in the coach to take charge of them, they quitted him with many
tears, and Humphrey hastened back to the New Forest.
On his return, he found to his surprise that Edward had not called at
the cottage as he had promised; and with a mind foreboding evil, he
mounted a horse and set off across the forest to ascertain the cause.
As he was close to the intendant's house he was met by Oswald, who
informed him that Edward had been seized with a violent fever, and was
in a very dangerous state, having been delirious for three or four days.
Humphrey hastened to dismount, and knocked at the door of the house; it
was opened by Sampson, and Humphrey requested to be shown up to his
brother's room. He found Edward in the state described by Oswald, and
wholly unconscious of his presence; the maid, Phoebe, was by his
bedside.
"You may leave," said Humphrey, rather abruptly; "I am his brother."
Phoebe retired, and Humphrey was alone with his brother.
"It was, indeed, an unhappy day when you came to this house," exclaimed
Humphrey, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "my poor, poor Edward!"
Edward now began to talk incoherently, and attempted to rise from the
bed, but his efforts were unavailing--he was too weak; but he raved of
Patience Heatherstone, and he called himself Edward Beverley more than
once, and he talked of his father and of Arnwood.
"If he has raved in this manner," thought Humphrey, "he has not many
secrets left to disclose. I will not leave him, and will keep others
away if I can."
Humphrey had been sitting an hour with his brother, when the surgeon
came to see his patient. He felt his pulse, and asked Humphrey if he
was nursing him.
"I am his brother, sir," replied Humphrey.
"Then, my good sir, if you perceive any signs of perspiration--and I
think now that there is a little--keep the clothes on him and let him
perspire freely. If so, his life will be saved."
The surgeon withdrew, saying that he would return again late in the
evening.
Humphrey remained for another two hours at the bedside, and then
feeling that there was a sign of perspiration, he obeyed the
injunctions of the surgeon, and held on the clothes against all
Edward's endeavors to throw them off. For a short time the perspiration
was profuse, and the restlessness of Edward subsided into a deep
slumber.
"Thank Heaven! there are then hopes."
"Did you say there were hopes?" repeated a voice behind him.
Humphrey turned round and perceived Patience and Clara behind him, who
had come in without his observing it.
"Yes," replied Humphrey, looking reproachfully at Patience, "there are
hopes, by what the surgeon said to me--hopes that he may yet be able to
quit this house which he was so unfortunate as to enter."
This was a harsh and rude speech of Humphrey; but he considered that
Patience Heatherstone had been the cause of his brother's dangerous
state, and that she had not behaved well to him.
Patience made no reply, but falling down on her knees by the bedside,
prayed silently; and Humphrey's heart smote him for what he had said to
her. "She can not be so bad," thought Humphrey, as Patience and Clara
quitted the room without the least noise.
Shortly afterward the intendant came up into the room and offered his
hand to Humphrey, who pretended not to see it, and did not take it.
"He has got Arnwood: that is enough for him," thought Humphrey; "but my
hand in friendship he shall not receive."
The intendant put his hand within the clothes, and feeling the high
perspiration that Edward was in, said--
"I thank thee, O God! for all thy mercies, and that thou hast been
pleased to spare this valuable life. How are your sisters, Master
Humphrey?" said the intendant; "my daughter bade me inquire. I will
send over to them and let them know that your brother is better, if you
do not leave this for the cottage yourself after the surgeon has called
again."
"My sisters are no longer at the cottage, Master Heatherstone," replied
Humphrey; "they have gone to some friends who have taken charge of
them. I saw them safe to London myself, or I should have known of my
brother's illness and have been here before this."
"You indeed tell me news, Master Humphrey," replied the intendant.
"With whom, may I ask, are your sisters placed, and in what capacity
are they gone?"
This reply of the intendant's reminded Humphrey that he had somewhat
committed himself, as, being supposed to be the daughters of a
forester, it was not to be thought that they had gone up to be
educated; and he therefore replied--
"They found it lonely in the forest, Master Heatherstone, and wished to
see London; so we have taken them there, and put them into the care of
those who have promised that they shall be well placed."
The intendant appeared to be much disturbed and surprised, but he said
nothing, and soon afterward quitted the room. He almost immediately
returned with the surgeon, who, as soon as he felt Edward's pulse,
declared that the crisis was over, and that when he awoke he would be
quite sensible. Having given directions as to the drink of his patient,
and some medicine which he was to take, the surgeon then left, stating
that he should not call until the next evening, unless he was sent for,
as he considered all danger over.
Edward continued in a quiet slumber for the major portion of the night.
It was just break of day when he opened his eyes. Humphrey offered him
some drink, which Edward took greedily; and seeing Humphrey, said--
"Oh, Humphrey, I had quite forgotten where I was--I'm so sleepy!" and
with these words his head fell on the pillow, and he was again asleep.
When it was broad daylight, Oswald came into the room:
"Master Humphrey, they say that all danger is over now, but that you
have remained here all night. I will relieve you now if you will let
me. Go and take a walk in the fresh air--it will revive you."
"I will, Oswald, and many thanks. My brother has woke up once, and, I
thank God, is quite sensible. He will know you when he wakes again, and
then do you send for me."
Humphrey left the room, and was glad, after a night of close
confinement in a sick-room, to feel the cool morning air fanning his
cheeks. He had not been long out of the house before he perceived Clara
coming toward him.
"How d'ye do, Humphrey?" said Clara; "and how is your brother this
morning?"
"He is better, Clara, and I hope now out of danger."
"But, Humphrey," continued Clara, "when we came into the room last
night, what made you say what you did?"
"I do not recollect that I said any thing."
"Yes, you did; you said that there were now hopes that your brother
would be able soon to quit this house which he had been so unfortunate
as to enter. Do you recollect?"
"I may have said so, Clara," replied Humphrey; "it was only speaking my
thoughts aloud."
"But why do you think so, Humphrey? Why has Edward been unfortunate in
entering this house? That is what I want to know. Patience cried so
much after she left the room because you said that. Why did you say so?
You did not think so a short time ago."
"No, my dear Clara, I did not, but I do now, and I can not give you my
reasons; so you must say no more about it."
Clara was silent for a time, and then said--
"Patience tells me that your sisters have gone away from the cottage.
You told her father so."
"It is very true; they have gone."
"But why have they gone? What have they gone for? Who is to look after
the cows, and goats, and poultry? Who is to cook your dinner, Humphrey?
What can you do without them, and why did you send them away without
letting me or Patience know that they were going, so that at least we
might have bid them farewell?"
"My dear Clara," replied Humphrey--who, feeling no little difficulty in
replying to all these questions, resolved to cut the matter short, by
appearing to be angry--"you know that you are the daughter of a
gentleman, and so is Patience Heatherstone. You are both of gentle
birth, but my sisters, you know, are only the daughters of a forester,
and my brother Edward and I are no better. It does not become Mistress
Patience and you to be intimate with such as we are, especially now
that Mistress Patience is a great heiress; for her father has obtained
the large property of Arnwood, and it will be hers after his death. It
is not fit that the heiress of Arnwood should mix herself up with
foresters' daughters; and as we had friends near Lymington, who offered
to assist us, and take our sisters under their charge, we thought it
better that they should go; for what would become of them, if any
accident was to happen to Edward or to me? Now they will be provided
for. After they have been taught, they will make very nice tirewomen to
some lady of quality," added Humphrey, with a sneer. "Don't you think
they will, my pretty Clara?"
Clara burst into tears.
"You are very unkind, Humphrey," sobbed she. "You had no right to send
away your sisters. I don't believe you--that's more!" and Clara ran
away into the house.