Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli

  CHAPTER XVII.

  _In Which Ferdinand Has a Very Stormy Interview with His Father_.

  IF WE pause now to take a calm and comprehensive review of the state andprospects of the three families, in whose feelings and fortunes we haveattempted to interest the reader, it must be confessed that, howeverbrilliant and satisfactory they might appear on the surface, theelements of discord, gloom, and unhappiness might be more profoundlydiscovered, and might even be held as rapidly stirring into movement.Miss Temple was the affianced bride of Lord Montfort, but her heart wasCaptain Armine's: Captain Armine, in the estimation of his parents, wasthe pledged husband of Miss Grandison, while he and his cousin had, infact, dissolved their engagement. Mr. Temple more than suspected hisdaughter's partiality for Ferdinand. Sir Ratcliffe, very much surprisedat seeing so little of his son, and resolved that the marriage shouldbe no further delayed, was about to precipitate confessions, of whichhe did not dream, and which were to shipwreck all the hopes of his life.The Count Mirabel and Miss Grandison were both engaged in an activeconspiracy. Lord Montfort alone was calm, and if he had a purpose toconceal, inscrutable. All things, however, foreboded a crisis.

  Sir Ratcliffe, astonished at the marked manner in which his son absentedhimself from Brook-street, resolved upon bringing him to an explanation.At first he thought there might be some lovers' quarrel; but thedemeanour of Katherine, and the easy tone in which she ever spoke ofher cousin, soon disabused him of this fond hope. He consulted his wife.Now, to tell the truth, Lady Armine, who was a shrewd woman, was notwithout her doubts and perplexities, but she would not confess them toher husband. Many circumstances had been observed by her which filledher with disquietude, but she had staked all her hopes upon this cast,and she was of a sanguine temper. She was leading an agreeable life.Katherine appeared daily more attached to her, and Lady Armine wasquite of opinion that it is always very injudicious to interfere. Sheendeavoured to persuade Sir Ratcliffe that everything was quite right,and she assured him that the season would terminate, as all seasonsought to terminate, by the marriage.

  And perhaps Sir Ratcliffe would have followed her example, only it sohappened that as he was returning home one morning, he met his son inGrosvenor-square.

  'Why, Ferdinand, we never see you now,' said Sir Ratcliffe.

  'Oh! you are all so gay,' said Ferdinand. 'How is my mother?'

  'She is very well. Katherine and herself have gone to see the balloon,with Lord Montfort and Count Mirabel. Come in,' said Sir Ratcliffe, forhe was now almost at his door.

  The father and son entered. Sir Ratcliffe walked into a little libraryon the ground floor, which was his morning room.

  'We dine at home to-day, Ferdinand,' said Sir Ratcliffe. 'Perhaps youwill come.'

  'Thank you, sir, I am engaged.'

  'It seems to me you are always engaged. For a person who does not likegaiety, it is very odd.'

  'Heigho!' said Ferdinand. 'How do you like your new horse, sir?'

  'Ferdinand, I wish to speak a word to you,' said Sir Ratcliffe. 'I donot like ever to interfere unnecessarily with your conduct; but theanxiety of a parent will, I think, excuse the question I am about toask. When do you propose being married?'

  'Oh, I do not know exactly.'

  'Your grandfather has been dead now, you know, much more than a year.I cannot help thinking your conduct singular. There is nothing wrongbetween you and Katherine, is there?'

  'Wrong, sir?'

  'Yes, wrong? I mean, is there any misunderstanding? Have youquarrelled?'

  'No, sir, we have not quarrelled; we perfectly understand each other.'

  'I am glad to hear it, for I must say I think your conduct is veryunlike that of a lover. All I can say is, I did not win your mother'sheart by such proceedings.'

  'Katherine has made no complaint of me, sir?'

  'Certainly not, and that surprises me still more.'

  Ferdinand seemed plunged in thought. The silence lasted someminutes. Sir Ratcliffe took up the newspaper; his son leant over themantel-piece, and gazed upon the empty fire-place. At length he turnedround and said, 'Father, I can bear this no longer; the engagementbetween Katherine and myself is dissolved.'

  page2-118.jpg]

  'Good God! when, and why?' exclaimed Sir Ratcliffe, the newspaperfalling from his hand.

  'Long since, sir; ever since I loved another woman, and she knew it.'

  'Ferdinand! Ferdinand!' exclaimed the unhappy father; but he was sooverpowered that he could not give utterance to his thoughts. He threwhimself in a chair, and wrung his hands. Ferdinand stood still andsilent, like a statue of Destiny, gloomy and inflexible.

  'Speak again,' at length said Sir Ratcliffe. 'Let me hear you speakagain. I cannot believe what I have heard. Is it indeed true that yourengagement with your cousin has been long terminated?'

  Ferdinand nodded assent.

  'Your poor mother!' exclaimed Sir Ratcliffe. 'This will kill her.' Herose from his seat, and walked up and down the room in great agitation.

  'I knew all was not right,' he muttered to himself. 'She will sink underit; we must all sink under it. Madman! you know not what you have done!'

  'It is in vain to regret, sir; my sufferings have been greater thanyours.'

  'She will pardon you, my boy,' said Sir Ratcliffe, in a quicker andkinder tone. 'You have lived to repent your impetuous folly; Katherineis kind and generous; she loves us all; she must love you; she willpardon you. Yes! entreat her to forget it; your mother, your mother hasgreat influence with her; she will exercise it, she will interfere; youare very young, all will yet be well.'

  'It is as impossible for me to marry Katherine Grandison, as for youyourself to do it, sir,' said Ferdinand, in a tone of calmness.

  'You are not married to another?'

  'In faith; I am bound by a tie which I can never break.'

  'And who is this person?'

  'She must be nameless, for many reasons.'

  'Ferdinand,' said Sir Ratcliffe, 'you know not what you are doing.My life, your mother's, the existence of our family, hang upon yourconduct. Yet, yet there is time to prevent this desolation. I amcontrolling my emotions; I wish you to save us, you, all! Throw yourselfat your cousin's feet. She is soft-hearted; she may yet be yours!'

  'Dear father, it cannot be.'

  'Then-then, welcome ruin!' exclaimed Sir Ratcliffe, in a hoarse voice.'And,' he continued, pausing between every word, from the difficultyof utterance, 'if the conviction that you have destroyed all our hopes,rewarded us for all our affection, our long devotion, by blasting everyfond idea that has ever illumined our sad lives, that I and Constance,poor fools, have clung and clung to; if this conviction can console you,sir, enjoy it-----

  'Ferdinand! my son, my child, that I never have spoken an unkind wordto, that never gave me cause to blame or check him, your mother will behome soon, your poor, poor mother. Do not let me welcome her with allthis misery. Tell me it is not true; recall what you have said; let usforget these harsh words; reconcile yourself to your cousin; let us behappy.'

  'Father, if my heart's blood could secure your happiness, my life wereready; but this I cannot do.'

  'Do you know what is at stake? Everything. All, all, all! We can seeArmine no more; our home is gone. Your mother and myself must be exiles.Oh! you have not thought of this: say you have not thought of this.'

  Ferdinand hid his face; his father, emboldened, urged the fond plea.'You will save us, Ferdinand, you will be our preserver? It is allforgotten, is it not? It is a lovers' quarrel, after all?'

  'Father, why should I trifle with your feelings? why should I feign whatcan never be? This sharp interview, so long postponed, ought not now tobe adjourned. Indulge no hopes, for there are none.'

  'Then by every sacred power I revoke every blessing that since yourbirth I have poured upon your head. I recall the prayers that everynight I have invoked upon your being. Great God! I cancel them. You havebetrayed your cousin; you have deserted your mother and myself; you ha
vefirst sullied the honour of our house, and now you have destroyed it.Why were you born? What have we done that your mother's womb shouldproduce such a curse? Sins of my father, they are visited upon me! AndGlastonbury, what will Glastonbury say? Glastonbury, who sacrificed hisfortune for you.'

  'Mr. Glastonbury knows all, sir, and has always been my confidant.'

  'Is he a traitor? For when a son deserts me, I know not whom to trust.'

  'He has no thoughts but for our welfare, sir. He will convince you, sir,I cannot marry my cousin.'

  'Boy, boy! you know not what you say. Not marry your cousin! Then let usdie. It were better for us all to die.'

  'My father! Be calm, I beseech you; you have spoken harsh words; Ihave not deserted you or my mother; I never will. If I have wronged mycousin, I have severely suffered, and she has most freely forgiven me.She is my dear friend. As for our house: tell me, would you have thathouse preserved at the cost of my happiness? You are not the father Isupposed, if such indeed be your wish.'

  'Happiness! Fortune, family, beauty, youth, a sweet and charming spirit,if these will not secure a man's happiness, I know not what might. Andthese I wished you to possess.'

  'Sir, it is in vain for us to converse upon this subject. SeeGlastonbury, if you will. He can at least assure you that neither myfeelings are light nor my conduct hasty. I will leave you now.'

  Ferdinand quitted the room; Sir Ratcliffe did not notice his departure,although he was not unaware of it. He heaved a deep sigh, and wasapparently plunged in profound thought.