The Children of the New Forest

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER XXV.

  For several days Edward remained at home, anxiously awaiting every newswhich arrived; expecting every time that the capture of the king wouldbe announced, and, with great joy, finding that hitherto all effortshad been unsuccessful. But there was a question which now arose inEdward's mind, and which was the cause of deep reflection. Since theproposal of sending his sisters away had been started, he felt thegreat inconvenience of his still representing himself to the intendantas the grandson of Armitage. His sisters, if sent to the ladies atPortlake, must be sent without the knowledge of the intendant; and ifso, the discovery of their absence would soon take place, as PatienceHeatherstone would be constantly going over to the cottage; and he nowasked himself the question, whether, after all the kindness andconfidence which the intendant had shown him, he was right in anylonger concealing from him his birth and parentage. He felt that he wasdoing the intendant an injustice, in not showing to him that confidencewhich ho deserved.

  That he was justified in so doing at first, he felt; but since thejoining the king's army, and the events which had followed, heconsidered that he was treating the intendant ill, and he now resolvedto take the first opportunity of making the confession. But to do itformally, and without some opportunity which might offer, he feltawkward. At last he thought that he would at once make the confessionto 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 ofconfidence altogether. He had now analyzed his feelings towardPatience; and he felt how dear she had become to him. During the timehe was with the army, she had seldom been out of his thoughts; andalthough he was often in the society of well bred women, he saw not onethat, in his opinion, could compare with Patience Heatherstone; butstill, what chance had he of supporting a wife? at present, at the ageof 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 apenny, and that being known as the heir of Beverley would be to hisdisadvantage; that he was in love with Patience Heatherstone, and hadno chance at present of obtaining her; and that he done well up to thepresent time in concealing who he was from the intendant, who couldsafely attest that he knew not that he was protecting the son of sonoted a Cavalier; and that he would confess to Patience who he was, andgive as a reason for not telling her father, that he did not wish tocommit him by letting him know who it was that was under hisprotection. How far the reader may be satisfied with the argumentswhich Edward was satisfied with, we can not pretend to say; but Edwardwas young, and hardly knew how to extricate himself from the cloakwhich necessity had first compelled him to put on. Edward was alreadysatisfied that he was not quite looked upon with indifference byPatience Heatherstone; and he was not yet certain whether it was not agrateful feeling that she had toward him more than any other; that shebelieved him to be beneath her in birth, he felt convinced, andtherefore she could have no idea that he was Edward Beverley. It wasnot till several days after he had made up his mind that he had anopportunity of being with her alone, as Clara Ratcliffe was theirconstant companion. However, one evening Clara went out, and staid outso long, carelessly wrapped up, that she caught cold; and the followingevening she remained at home, leaving Edward and Patience to take theirusual walk unaccompanied by her. They had walked for some minutes insilence, when Patience observed,

  "You are very grave, Edward, and have been very grave ever since yourreturn; have you any thing to vex you beyond the failure of theattempt."

  "Yes, I have, Patience. I have much on my conscience, and do not knowhow to act. I want an adviser and a friend, and know not where to findone."

  "Surely, Edward, my father is your sincere friend, and not a badadviser."

  "I grant it; but the question is between your father and me, and I cannot advise with him for that reason."

  "Then advise with me, Edward, if it is not a secret of such moment thatit is not to be trusted to a woman; at all events it will be the adviceof a sincere friend; you will give me credit for that."

  "Yes, and for much more; for I think I shall have good advice, and willtherefore accept your offer. I feel, Patience, that although I wasjustified, on my first acquaintance with your father, in not makingknown to him a secret of some importance, yet now that he has put suchimplicit confidence, in me, I am doing him and myself an injustice innot making the communication--that is, as far as confidence in him isconcerned. I consider that he has a right to know all, and yet I feelthat it would be prudent on my part that he should not know all, as theknowledge might implicate him with those with whom he is at presentallied. A secret sometimes is dangerous; and if your father could notsay that on his honor he knew not of the secret, it might harm him ifthe secret became afterward known. Do you understand me?"

  "I can not say that I exactly do; you have a secret that you wish tomake known to my father, and you think the knowledge of it may harmhim. 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 thatKing Charles was hidden in your stable-loft: such might be the case,and your father be ignorant of it, and his assertion of his ignorancewould be believed; but if I were to tell your father that the king wasthere, and it was afterward discovered, do you not see that, byconfiding such a secret to him, I should do harm, and perhaps bring himinto trouble?"

  "I perceive now, Edward; do you mean to say that you know where theking is concealed? for, if you do, I must beg of you not let my fatherknow any thing about it. As you say, it would put him in a difficultposition, and must eventually harm him much. There is a greatdifference between wishing well to a cause and supporting it in person.My father wishes the king well, I believe, but, at the same time, hewill not take an active part, as you have already seen; at the sametime, I am convinced that he would never betray the king if he knewwhere he was. I say, therefore, if that is your secret, keep it fromhim, for his sake and for mine, Edward, if you regard me."

  "You know not how much I regard you, Patience. I saw many highbornwomen when I was away, but none could I see equal to PatienceHeatherstone, in my opinion; and Patience was ever in my thoughtsduring 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 remindme, by that expression, of my obscure birth and parentage, whenever Iam 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 toany other person, whatever his condition might be. But forget what Isaid, I did not mean to vex you, only to punish you for thinking me sosilly as to believe such nonsense."

  "Your humility may construe that into flattery which was said by me inperfect sincerity and truth-that I can not help," replied Edward. "Imight have added much more, and yet have been sincere; if you had notreminded me of my not being of gentle birth, I might have had thepresumption to have told you much more; but I have been rebuked."

  Edward finished speaking, and Patience made no reply; they walked onfor several moments without exchanging another syllable. At lastPatience said,

  "I will not say who is wrong, Edward; but this I do know, that the onewho first offers the olive branch after a misunderstanding, can not butbe right. I offer it now, and ask you whether we are to quarrel aboutone little word. Let me ask you, and give me a candid answer: Have Iever been so base as to treat as an inferior one to whom I have been somuch obliged?"

  "It is I who am in fault, Patience," replied Edward. "I have beendreaming for a long while, pleased with my dreams, and forgetting thatthey were dreams, and not likely to be realized. I must now speakplainly. I love you, Patien
ce; love you so much, that to part from youwould 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 havea right to be angry."

  "I see no cause for anger, Edward," replied Patience. "I have notthought of you but as a friend and benefactor; it would have been wrongto have done otherwise. I am but a young person, and must be guided bymy father. I would not offend him by disobedience. I thank you for yourgood 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 noobjection, my lowly birth would be none in your opinion?"

  "Your birth has never come into my head, except when reminded of it byyourself."

  "Then, Patience, let me return for the present to what I had to confideto you. I was--"

  "Here comes my father, Edward," said Patience. "Surely I have donewrong, 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 hasrejoiced me much. I have at last obtained what I have some time beentrying for; and, indeed, I may say, that your prudence and boldness inreturning home as a trooper, added to your conduct in the forest, hasgreatly advanced, and ultimately obtained for me, my suit. There wassome suspense before that, but your conduct has removed it; and now weshall have plenty to do."

  They walked to the house, and the intendant, as soon as he had gainedhis own room, said to Edward--

  "There is a grant to me of a property which I have long solicited formy services--read it."

  Edward took up the letter in which the Parliament informed Mr.Heatherstone that his application to the property of Arnwood had beenacceded to, and signed by the commissioners; and that he might takeimmediate possession. Edward turned pale as he laid the document downon the table.

  "We will ride to-morrow, Edward, and look it over. I intend to rebuildthe 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 youthat I am disappointed. I did not think that you would have accepted aproperty from such a source, and so unjustly sequestrated."

  "I am sorry, Edward," replied the intendant, "that I should have fallenin your good opinion; but allow me to observe that you are so far rightthat I never would have accepted a property to which there were livingclaimants; but this is a different case. For instance, the Ratcliffeproperty belongs to little Clara, and is sequestrated. Do you think Iwould accept it? Never! But here is property without an heir; the wholefamily perished in the flames of Arnwood! There is no living claimant!It must be given to somebody, or remain with the government. Thisproperty, therefore, and this property only, out of all sequestrated, Iselected, as I felt that, in obtaining it, I did harm to no one. I havebeen offered others, but have refused them. I would accept of this, andthis only; and that is the reason why my applications have hithertobeen attended with no success. I trust you believe me, Edward, in whatI assert?"

  "First answer me one question, Mr. Heatherstone. Suppose it were provedthat the whole of the family did not, as it is supposed, perish at theconflagration of Arnwood? Suppose a rightful heir to it should at anytime 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 thatI had been an instrument to keep the property out of other hands lessscrupulous, and should surrender it as a trust which had been confidedto me for the time only."

  "With such feelings, Mr. Heatherstone, I can now congratulate you uponyour having obtained possession of the property," replied Edward.

  "And yet I do not deserve so much credit, as there is little chance ofmy sincerity being put to the test, Edward. There is no doubt that thefamily all perished; and Arnwood will become the dower of PatienceHeatherstone."

  Edward's heart beat quick. A moment's thought told him his situation.He had been prevented, by the interruption of Mr. Heatherstone, frommaking his confession to Patience; and now he could not make it to anybody without a rupture with the intendant, or a compromise, by askingwhat he so earnestly desired--the hand of Patience. Mr. Heatherstoneobserving to Edward that he did not look well, said supper was ready,and that they had better go into the next room. Edward mechanicallyfollowed. At supper he was tormented by the incessant inquiries ofClara, as to what was the matter with him. He did not venture to lookat Patience, and made a hasty retreat to bed, complaining, as he mightwell do, of a severe headache.

  Edward threw himself on his bed, but to sleep was impossible. Hethought of the events of the day over and over again. Had he any reasonto believe that Patience returned his affection? No; her reply was toocalm, too composed to make him suppose that; and now that she would bean heiress, there would be no want of pretenders to her hand; and hewould lose her and his property at the same time. It was true that theintendant had declared that he would renounce the property if the trueheir appeared, but that was easy to say upon the conviction that noheir would appear; and even if he did renounce it, the Parliament wouldreceive it again rather than it should fall into the hands of aBeverley. "Oh that I had never left the cottage!" thought Edward. "Imight then, at least, have become resigned and contented with my lot.Now I am miserable, and, whichever way I turn, I see no prospect ofbeing otherwise. One thing only I can decide upon, which is, that Iwill not remain any longer than I can help under this roof. I will goover and consult with Humphrey; and if I can only place my sisters as Iwant, Humphrey and I will seek our fortunes."

  Edward rose at daylight, and, dressing himself, went down and saddledhis horse. Desiring Sampson to tell the intendant that he had gone overto the cottage and would return by the evening, he rode across theforest, and arrived just as they were sitting down to breakfast. Hisattempts to be cheerful before his sisters did not succeed, and theywere all grieved to see him look so pale and haggard. As soon asbreakfast 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 himthe detail of all that had passed from the time he had walked out withPatience Heatherstone till he went to bed. "Now, Humphrey, you knowall; and what shall I do? remain there I can not!"

  "If Patience Heatherstone had professed regard for you," repliedHumphrey, "the affair had been simple enough. Her father could have noobjections to the match; and he would at the same time have acquittedhis conscience as to the retaining of the property: but you say sheshowed 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, Ican not deceive myself. She feels a deep debt of gratitude for theservice I rendered her; and that prevented her from being more harsh inher reply than what she was."

  "But if she knew that you were Edward Beverley, do you not think itwould make a difference in her?"

  "And if it did, it would be too humiliating to think that I was onlymarried for my rank and station."

  "But, considering you of mean birth, may she not have checked thosefeelings which she considered under the circumstances improper toindulge?"

  "Where there is such a sense of propriety there can be littleaffection."

  "I know nothing about these things, Edward," replied Humphrey; "but Ihave been told that a woman's heart is not easily read; or if I havenot 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 ourestablishment altogether. If the answer is favorable from the MissesConynghame my sisters shall go to them; but that we had agreed uponalready. Then for myself--I intend to go abroad, resume my name, andobtain employme
nt in some foreign service. I will trust to the king forassisting me to that."

  "That is the worst part of it, Edward; but if your peace of minddepends upon it, I will not oppose it."

  "You, Humphrey, may come with me and share my fortunes, or do what youthink more preferable."

  "I think then, Edward, that I shall not decide rashly. I must haveremained here with Pablo if my sisters had gone to the LadiesConynghame and you had remained with the intendant; I shall, therefore,till I hear from you, remain where I am, and shall be able to observewhat 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 tothe intendant's. He did not arrive till late, for supper was on thetable. The intendant gave him a letter for Mr. Chaloner, which wasinclosed in one from Mr. Langton; and further informed Edward that newshad arrived of the king having made his escape to France.

  "Thank God for that!" exclaimed Edward. "With your leave, sir, I willto-morrow deliver this letter to the party to whom it is addressed, asI know it to be of consequence."

  The intendant having given his consent, Edward retired without havingexchanged a word with Patience or Clara beyond the usual civilities ofthe table.

  The following morning, Edward, who had not slept an hour during thenight, set off for Clara's cottage, and found Chaloner and Grenvillestill in bed. At the sound of his voice the door was opened, and hegave Chaloner the letter; the latter read it and then handed it toEdward. The Misses Conynghame were delighted at the idea of receivingthe two daughters of Colonel Beverley, and would treat them as theirown; they requested that they might be sent to London immediately,where the coach would meet them to convey them down to Lancashire. Theybegged to be kindly remembered to Captain Beverley, and to assure himthat his sisters should be well cared for.

  "I am much indebted to you, Chaloner," said Edward; "I will send mybrother off with my sisters as soon as possible. You will soon think ofreturning 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 kindwhen 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 forsome 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, andhorses, and breed of goats, and other things--more than he can attendto; but as soon as Humphrey returns, I will come to you and makepreparations for our departure. Till then, farewell, both of you. Wemust see to provision you for three weeks or a month, before Humphreystarts."

  Edward bade them a hearty farewell, and then rode to the cottage.

  Although Alice and Edith had been somewhat prepared for leaving thecottage, yet the time was so very uncertain, that the blow fell heavyupon 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 intwo days, and that they should not see Edward again, their grief wasvery great; but Edward reasoned with Alice and consoled her, althoughwith Edith it was a more difficult task. She not only lamented herbrothers, but her cow, her pony, and her kids; all the dumb animalswere friends and favorites of Edith; and even the idea of parting withPablo, was the cause of a fresh burst of tears. Having made everyarrangement with Humphrey, Edward once more took his leave, promisingto come over and assist Pablo as soon as he could.

  The next day Humphrey was busied in his preparations. They supplied theprovisions to Clara's cottage; and when Pablo took them over in thecart, Humphrey rode to Lymington and provided a conveyance to Londonfor the following day. We may as well observe, that they set off at thehour appointed, and arrived safely at London in three days. There, atan address given in a letter, they found the coach waiting; and havinggiven his sisters into the charge of an elderly waiting-woman, who hadcome up in the coach to take charge of them, they quitted him with manytears, and Humphrey hastened back to the New Forest.

  On his return, he found to his surprise that Edward had not called atthe cottage as he had promised; and with a mind foreboding evil, hemounted 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, whoinformed him that Edward had been seized with a violent fever, and wasin a very dangerous state, having been delirious for three or four days.

  Humphrey hastened to dismount, and knocked at the door of the house; itwas opened by Sampson, and Humphrey requested to be shown up to hisbrother's room. He found Edward in the state described by Oswald, andwholly unconscious of his presence; the maid, Phoebe, was by hisbedside.

  "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," exclaimedHumphrey, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "my poor, poor Edward!"

  Edward now began to talk incoherently, and attempted to rise from thebed, but his efforts were unavailing--he was too weak; but he raved ofPatience Heatherstone, and he called himself Edward Beverley more thanonce, and he talked of his father and of Arnwood.

  "If he has raved in this manner," thought Humphrey, "he has not manysecrets left to disclose. I will not leave him, and will keep othersaway if I can."

  Humphrey had been sitting an hour with his brother, when the surgeoncame to see his patient. He felt his pulse, and asked Humphrey if hewas nursing him.

  "I am his brother, sir," replied Humphrey.

  "Then, my good sir, if you perceive any signs of perspiration--and Ithink now that there is a little--keep the clothes on him and let himperspire freely. If so, his life will be saved."

  The surgeon withdrew, saying that he would return again late in theevening.

  Humphrey remained for another two hours at the bedside, and thenfeeling that there was a sign of perspiration, he obeyed theinjunctions of the surgeon, and held on the clothes against allEdward's endeavors to throw them off. For a short time the perspirationwas profuse, and the restlessness of Edward subsided into a deepslumber.

  "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, whohad come in without his observing it.

  "Yes," replied Humphrey, looking reproachfully at Patience, "there arehopes, by what the surgeon said to me--hopes that he may yet be able toquit this house which he was so unfortunate as to enter."

  This was a harsh and rude speech of Humphrey; but he considered thatPatience Heatherstone had been the cause of his brother's dangerousstate, 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 toher. "She can not be so bad," thought Humphrey, as Patience and Claraquitted the room without the least noise.

  Shortly afterward the intendant came up into the room and offered hishand 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 myhand in friendship he shall not receive."

  The intendant put his hand within the clothes, and feeling the highperspiration that Edward was in, said--

  "I thank thee, O God! for all thy mercies, and that thou hast beenpleased to spare this valuable life. How are your sisters, MasterHumphrey?" said the intendant; "my daughter bade me inquire. I willsend over to them and let them know that your brother is better, if youdo not leave this for the cottage yourself after the surgeon has calledagain."

  "My sisters are no longer at the cottage, Master Heatherstone," repliedHumphrey; "they have gone to some friends who have taken charge ofthem. I saw them safe to London myself, or I should have known of mybrother'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 capacityare they gone?"

  This reply of the intendant's reminded Humphrey that he had somewhatcommitted himself, as, being supposed to be the daughters of aforester, it was not to be thought that they had gone up to beeducated; and he therefore replied--

  "They found it lonely in the forest, Master Heatherstone, and wished tosee London; so we have taken them there, and put them into the care ofthose who have promised that they shall be well placed."

  The intendant appeared to be much disturbed and surprised, but he saidnothing, and soon afterward quitted the room. He almost immediatelyreturned 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 bequite sensible. Having given directions as to the drink of his patient,and some medicine which he was to take, the surgeon then left, statingthat 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 himsome drink, which Edward took greedily; and seeing Humphrey, said--

  "Oh, Humphrey, I had quite forgotten where I was--I'm so sleepy!" andwith 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 youhave remained here all night. I will relieve you now if you will letme. 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, Ithank God, is quite sensible. He will know you when he wakes again, andthen do you send for me."

  Humphrey left the room, and was glad, after a night of closeconfinement in a sick-room, to feel the cool morning air fanning hischeeks. He had not been long out of the house before he perceived Claracoming toward him.

  "How d'ye do, Humphrey?" said Clara; "and how is your brother thismorning?"

  "He is better, Clara, and I hope now out of danger."

  "But, Humphrey," continued Clara, "when we came into the room lastnight, 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 brotherwould be able soon to quit this house which he had been so unfortunateas to enter. Do you recollect?"

  "I may have said so, Clara," replied Humphrey; "it was only speaking mythoughts aloud."

  "But why do you think so, Humphrey? Why has Edward been unfortunate inentering this house? That is what I want to know. Patience cried somuch 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 myreasons; 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 afterthe 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 withoutletting me or Patience know that they were going, so that at least wemight have bid them farewell?"

  "My dear Clara," replied Humphrey--who, feeling no little difficulty inreplying to all these questions, resolved to cut the matter short, byappearing to be angry--"you know that you are the daughter of agentleman, and so is Patience Heatherstone. You are both of gentlebirth, 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 MistressPatience and you to be intimate with such as we are, especially nowthat Mistress Patience is a great heiress; for her father has obtainedthe large property of Arnwood, and it will be hers after his death. Itis not fit that the heiress of Arnwood should mix herself up withforesters' daughters; and as we had friends near Lymington, who offeredto assist us, and take our sisters under their charge, we thought itbetter that they should go; for what would become of them, if anyaccident was to happen to Edward or to me? Now they will be providedfor. After they have been taught, they will make very nice tirewomen tosome lady of quality," added Humphrey, with a sneer. "Don't you thinkthey will, my pretty Clara?"

  Clara burst into tears.

  "You are very unkind, Humphrey," sobbed she. "You had no right to sendaway your sisters. I don't believe you--that's more!" and Clara ranaway into the house.