'I think I can throw some light upon it,' said Lord Montfort. 'Katherine was mysteriously engaged with Glas...o...b..ry yesterday morning. They were out together, and I know they went to her lawyer's. There is no doubt it is Katherine. I think, under the circ.u.mstances of the case, we need have no delicacy in availing ourselves of this fortunate remittance. It will at least save us time,' said Lord Montfort, ringing the bell. 'Send your master here directly,' he continued to the waiter.

The sheriff's officer appeared; the debt, the fees, all were paid, and the discharge duly taken. Ferdinand in the meantime went up stairs to lock up his dressing-case; the little waiter rushed after him to pack his portmanteau. Ferdinand did not forget his zealous friend, who whispered hope when all was black. The little waiter chuckled as he put his ten guineas in his pocket. 'You see, sir,' he said, 'I was quite right. Knowed your friends would stump down. Fancy a n.o.b like you being sent to quod! Fiddlededee! You see, sir, you weren't used to it.'

And so Ferdinand Armine bid adieu to the spunging-house, where, in the course of less than eight-and-forty hours, he had known alike despair and rapture. Lord Montfort drove along with a gaiety unusual to him.

'Now, my dear Armine,' he said, 'I am not a jot the less in love with Henrietta than before. I love her as you love Katherine. What folly to marry a woman who was in love with another person! I should have made her miserable, when the great object of all my conduct was to make her happy. Now Katherine really loves me as much as Henrietta loves you. I have had this plan in my head for a long time. I calculated finely; I was convinced it was the only way to make us all happy. And now we shall all be related; we shall be constantly together; and we will be brother friends.'

'Ah! my dear Montfort,' said Ferdinand, 'what will Mr. Temple say?'

'Leave him to me,' said Lord Montfort.

'I tremble,' said Ferdinand, 'if it were possible to antic.i.p.ate difficulties to-day.'

'I shall go to him at once,' said Lord Montfort; 'I am not fond of suspense myself, and now it is of no use. All will be right.'

'I trust only to you,' said Ferdinand; 'for I am as proud as Temple. He dislikes me, and he is too rich for me to bow down to him.'

'I take it upon myself,' said Lord Montfort. 'Mr. Temple is a calm, sensible man. You will laugh at me, but the truth is, with him it must be a matter of calculation: on the one hand, his daughter's happiness, a union with a family second to none in blood, alliances, and territorial position, and only wanting his wealth to revive all its splendour; on the other, his daughter broken-hearted, and a duke for his son-in-law.

Mr. Temple is too sensible a man to hesitate, particularly when I remove the greatest difficulty he must experience. Where shall I out you down?

Berkeley-Square?'

CHAPTER XXII.

_Ferdinand Meditates over His Good Fortune_.

IN MOMENTS of deep feeling, alike sudden bursts of prosperity as in darker hours, man must be alone. It requires some self-communion to prepare ourselves for good fortune, as well as to encounter difficulty, and danger, and disgrace. This violent and triumphant revolution in his prospects and his fortunes was hardly yet completely comprehended by our friend, Ferdinand Armine; and when he had left a note for the generous Mirabel, whose slumbers he would not disturb at this early hour, even with good news, he strolled along up Charles-street, and to the Park, in one of those wild and joyous reveries in which we brood over coming bliss, and create a thousand glorious consequences.

It was one of those soft summer mornings which are so delightful in a great city. The sky was clear, the air was bland, the water sparkled in the sun, and the trees seemed doubly green and fresh to one who so recently had gazed only on iron bars. Ferdinand felt his freedom as well as his happiness. He seated himself on a bench and thought of Henrietta Temple! he took out her note, and read it over and over again. It was indeed her handwriting! Restless with impending joy, he sauntered to the bridge, and leant over the bal.u.s.trade, gazing on the waters in charmed and charming vacancy. How many incidents, how many characters, how many feelings flitted over his memory! Of what sweet and bitter experience did he not chew the cud! Four-and-twenty hours ago, and he deemed himself the most miserable and forlorn of human beings, and now all the blessings of the world seemed showered at his feet! A beautiful bride awaited him, whom he had loved with intense pa.s.sion, and who he had thought but an hour ago was another's. A n.o.ble fortune, which would permit him to redeem his inheritance, and rank him among the richest commoners of the realm, was to be controlled by one a few hours back a prisoner for desperate debts. The most gifted individuals in the land emulated each other in proving which entertained for him the most sincere affection. What man in the world had friends like Ferdinand Armine? Ferdinand Armine, who, two days back, deemed himself alone in the world! The unswerving devotion of Glas...o...b..ry, the delicate affection of his sweet cousin, all the magnanimity of the high-souled Mont-fort, and the generosity of the accomplished Mirabel, pa.s.sed before him, and wonderfully affected him. He could not flatter himself that he indeed merited such singular blessings; and yet with all his faults, which with him were but the consequences of his fiery youth, Ferdinand had been faithful, to Henrietta. His constancy to her was now rewarded.

As for his friends, the future must prove his grat.i.tude to them.'

Ferdinand Armine had great tenderness of disposition, and somewhat of a meditative mind; schooled by adversity, there was little doubt that his coming career would justify his favourable destiny.

It was barely a year since he had returned from Malta, but what an eventful twelvemonth! Everything that had occurred previously seemed of another life; all his experience was concentrated in that wonderful drama that had commenced at Bath, the last scene of which was now approaching; the characters, his parents, Glas...o...b..ry, Katherine, Henrietta, Lord Montfort, Count Mirabel, himself, and Mr. Temple!

Ah! that was a name that a little disturbed him; and yet he felt confidence now in Mirabel's prescience; he could not but believe that with time even Mr. Temple might be reconciled! It was at this moment that the sound of military music fell upon his ear; it recalled old days; parades and guards at Malta; times when he did not know Henrietta Temple; times when, as it seemed to him now, he had never paused to think or moralise. That was a mad life. What a Neapolitan ball was his career then! It was indeed dancing on a volcano. And now all had ended so happily! Oh! could it indeed be true? Was it not all a dream of his own creation, while his eye had been fixed in abstraction on that bright and flowing river? But then there was Henrietta's letter. He might be enchanted, but that was the talisman.

In the present unsettled, though hopeful state of affairs, Ferdinand would not go home. He was resolved to avoid any explanations until he heard from Lord Montfort. He shrank from seeing Glas...o...b..ry or his cousin. As for Henrietta, it seemed to him that he never could have heart to meet her again, unless they were alone. Count Mirabel was the only person to whom he could abandon his soul, and Count Mirabel was still in his first sleep.

So Ferdinand entered Kensington Gardens, and walked in those rich glades and stately avenues. It seems to the writer of this history that the inhabitants of London are scarcely sufficiently sensible of the beauty of its environs. On every side the most charming retreats open to them, nor is there a metropolis in the world surrounded by so many rural villages, picturesque parks, and elegant casinos. With the exception of Constantinople, there is no city in the world that can for a moment enter into compet.i.tion with it. For himself, though in his time something of a rambler, he is not ashamed in this respect to confess to a legitimate c.o.c.kney taste; and for his part he does not know where life can flow on more pleasantly than in sight of Kensington Gardens, viewing the silver Thames winding by the bowers of Rosebank, or inhaling from its terraces the refined air of graceful Richmond.

In exactly ten minutes it is in the power of every man to free himself from all the tumult of the world; the pangs of love, the throbs of ambition, the wear and tear of play, the recriminating boudoir, the conspiring club, the rattling h.e.l.l; and find himself in a sublime sylvan solitude superior to the cedars of Lebanon, and inferior only in extent to the chestnut forests of Anatolia. Kensington Gardens is almost the only place that has realised his idea of the forests of Spenser and Ariosto. What a pity, that instead of a princess in distress we meet only a nurserymaid! But here is the fitting and convenient locality to brood over our thoughts; to project the great and to achieve the happy. It is here that we should get our speeches by heart, invent our impromptus; muse over the caprices of our mistresses, destroy a cabinet, and save a nation.

About the time that Ferdinand directed his steps from these green retreats towards Berkeley-Square, a servant summoned Miss Temple to her father.

'Is papa alone?' enquired Miss Temple.

'Only my lord with him,' was the reply.

'Is Lord Montfort here!' said Miss Temple, a little surprised.

'My lord has been with master these three hours,' said the servant.

CHAPTER XXIII.

_Ferdinand Receives the Most Interesting Invitation to Dinner Ever Offered to Him_.

IS NOT it wonderful?' said Ferdinand, when he had finished his history to Count Mirabel.

'Not the least,' said the Count, 'I never knew anything less surprising.

'Tis exactly what I said, 'tis the most natural termination in the world.'

'Ah, my dear Mirabel, you are a prophet! What a lucky fellow I am to have such a friend as you!'

'To be sure you are. Take some more coffee. What are you going to do with yourself?'

'I do not know what to do with myself. I really do not like to go anywhere until I have heard from Montfort. I think I shall go to my hotel' 'I will drive you. It is now three o'clock.' But just at this moment, Mr. Bevil called on the Count, and another hour disappeared.

When they were fairly in the cabriolet, there were so many places to call at, and so many persons to see, that it was nearly six o'clock when they reached the hotel. Ferdinand ran up stairs to see if there were any letter from Lord Montfort. He found his lordship's card, and also Mr.

Temple's; they had called about half an hour ago; there was also a note.

These were its contents:--

'Grosvenor-square, Thursday.

'My Dear Captain Armine,

'I have prepared myself with this note, as I fear I shall hardly be so fortunate as to find you at home. It is only very recently that I have learnt from Henrietta that you were in London, and I much regret to hear that you have been so great an invalid. It is so long since we met that I hope you will dine with us to-day; and indeed I am so anxious to see you, that I trust, if you have unfortunately made any other engagement, you may yet contrive to gratify my request. It is merely a family party; you will only meet our friends from St. James'-square, and your own circle in Brook-street. I have asked no one else, save old Lady Bellair, and your friend Count Mirabel; and Henrietta is so anxious to secure his presence, that I shall be greatly obliged by your exerting your influence to induce him to accompany you, as I fear there is little hope of finding him free.

'Henrietta joins with me in kindest regards; and I beg you to believe me,

'My dear Captain Armine,

'Most cordially yours,

'Pelham Temple.'

'Well, what is the matter?' said the Count, when Ferdinand returned to the cabriolet, with the note in his hand, and looking very agitated.

'The strangest note!' said Ferdinand.

'Give it me,' said the Count. 'Do you call that strange? Tis the most regular epistle I ever read; I expected it. 'Tis an excellent fellow, that Mr. Temple; I will certainly dine with him, and send an excuse to that old Castlefyshe. A family party, all right; and he asks me, that is proper. I should not wonder if it ended by my being your trustee, or your executor, or your first child's G.o.dfather. Ah, that good Temple is a sensible man. I told you I would settle this business for you.

You should hear me talk to that good Temple. I open his mind. A family party; it will be amusing! I would not miss it for a thousand pounds.

Besides, I must go to take care of you, for you will be committing all sorts of _betises_. I will give you one turn in the park. Jump in, _mon enfant_. Good Armine, excellent fellow, jump in! You see, I was right; I am always right. But I will confess to you a secret: I never was so right as I have been in the present case. 'Tis the best business that ever was!'