CHAPTER I.

_Partly Retrospective, yet Very Necessary to be Perused_.

EARLY five years had elapsed between the event which formed the subject

of our last chapter and the recall to England of the regiment in which

Captain Armine now commanded a company. This period of time had passed

away not unfruitful of events in the experience of that family, in

whose fate and feelings I have attempted to interest the reader. In this

interval Ferdinand Armine had paid one short visit to his native land;

a visit which had certainly been accelerated, if not absolutely

occasioned, by the untimely death of his cousin Augustus, the

presumptive heir of Grandison. This unforeseen event produced a great

revolution in the prospects of the family of Armine; for although the

title and an entailed estate devolved to a distant branch, the absolute

property of the old lord was of great amount; and, as he had no male

heir now living, conjectures as to its probable disposition were

now rife among all those who could possibly become interested in it.

Whatever arrangement the old lord might decide upon, it seemed nearly

certain that the Armine family must be greatly benefited. Some persons

even went so far as to express their conviction that everything would be

left to Mr. Armine, who everybody now discovered to have always been a

particular favourite with his grandfather. At all events, Sir Ratcliffe,

who ever maintained upon the subject a becoming silence, thought it

as well that his son should remind his grandfather personally of his

existence; and it was at his father’s suggestion that Ferdinand had

obtained a short leave of absence, at the first opportunity, to pay a

hurried visit to Grandison and his grandfather.

The old lord yielded him a reception which might have flattered the

most daring hopes. He embraced Ferdinand, and pressed him to his heart a

thousand times; he gave him his blessing in the most formal manner every

morning and evening; and assured everybody that he now was not only his

favourite but his only grandson. He did not even hesitate to affect a

growing dislike for his own seat, because it was not in his power to

leave it to Ferdinand; and he endeavoured to console that fortunate

youth for his indispensable deprivation by mysterious intimations that

he would, perhaps, find quite enough to do with his money in completing

Armine Castle, and maintaining its becoming splendour. The sanguine

Ferdinand returned to Malta with the conviction that he was his

grandfather’s heir; and even Sir Ratcliffe was almost disposed to

believe that his son’s expectations were not without some show of

probability, when he found that Lord Grandison had absolutely furnished

him with the funds for the purchase of his company.

Ferdinand was fond of his profession. He had entered it under favourable

circumstances. He had joined a crack regiment in a crack garrison. Malta

is certainly a delightful station. Its city, Valetta, equals in its

noble architecture, if it even do not excel, any capital in Europe;

and although it must be confessed that the surrounding region is little

better than a rock, the vicinity, nevertheless, of Barbary, of Italy,

and of Sicily, presents exhaustless resources to the lovers of the

highest order of natural beauty. If that fair Valetta, with its streets

of palaces, its picturesque forts and magnificent church, only crowned

some green and azure island of the Ionian Sea, Corfu for instance, I

really think that the ideal of landscape would be realised.

To Ferdinand, who was inexperienced in the world, the dissipation

of Malta, too, was delightful. It must be confessed that, under all

circumstances, the first burst of emancipation from domestic routine

hath in it something fascinating. However you may be indulged at home,

it is impossible to break the chain of childish associations; it is

impossible to escape from the feeling of dependence and the habit of

submission. Charming hour when you first order your own servants, and

ride your own horses, instead of your father’s! It is delightful even

to kick about your own furniture; and there is something manly and

magnanimous in paying our own taxes. Young, lively, kind, accomplished,

good-looking, and well-bred, Ferdinand Armine had in him all the

elements of popularity; and the novelty of popularity quite intoxicated

a youth who had passed his life in a rural seclusion, where he had been

appreciated, but not huzzaed. Ferdinand was not only popular, but proud

of being popular. He was popular with the Governor, he was popular with

his Colonel, he was popular with his mess, he was popular throughout the

garrison. Never was a person so popular as Ferdinand Armine. He was the

best rider among them, and the deadliest shot; and he soon became an

oracle at the billiard-table, and a hero in the racquet-court. His

refined education, however, fortunately preserved him from the fate

of many other lively youths: he did not degenerate into a mere hero of

sports and brawls, the genius of male revels, the arbiter of roistering

suppers, and the Comus of a club. His boyish feelings had their play; he

soon exuded the wanton heat of which a public school would have served

as a safety-valve. He returned to his books, his music, and his pencil.

He became more quiet, but he was not less liked. If he lost some

companions, he gained many friends; and, on the whole, the most

boisterous wassailers were proud of the accomplishments of their

comrade; and often an invitation to a mess dinner was accompanied by a

hint that Armine dined there, and that there was a chance of hearing him

sing. Ferdinand now became as popular with the Governor’s lady as with

the Governor himself, was idolised by his Colonel’s wife, while not a

party throughout the island was considered perfect without the presence

of Mr. Armine.

Excited by his situation, Ferdinand was soon tempted to incur expenses

which his income did not justify. The facility of credit afforded him

not a moment to pause; everything he wanted was furnished him; and until

the regiment quitted the garrison he was well aware that a settlement

of accounts was never even desired. Amid this imprudence he was firm,

however, in his resolution never to trespass on the resources of his

father. It was with difficulty that he even brought himself to draw for

the allowance which Sir Ratcliffe insisted on making him; and he would

gladly have saved his father from making even this advance, by vague

intimations of the bounty of Lord Grandison, had he not feared this

conduct might have led to suspicious and disagreeable enquiries. It

cannot be denied that his debts occasionally caused him anxiety, but

they were not considerable; he quieted his conscience by the belief

that, if he were pressed, his grandfather could scarcely refuse to

discharge a few hundred pounds for his favourite grandson; and, at all

events, he felt that the ultimate resource of selling his commission

was still reserved for him. If these vague prospects did not drive away

compunction, the qualms of conscience were generally allayed in the

evening assembly, in which his vanity was gratified. At length he paid

his first visit to England. That was a happy meeting. His kind father,

his dear, dear mother, and the faithful Glastonbury, experienced some of

the most transporting moments of their existence, when they beheld,

with admiring gaze, the hero who returned to them. Their eyes were never

satiated with beholding him; they hung upon his accents. Then came the

triumphant visit to Grandison; and then Ferdinand returned to Malta, in

the full conviction that he was the heir to fifteen thousand a year.

Among many other, there is one characteristic of capitals in which

Valetta is not deficient: the facility with which young heirs apparent,

presumptive, or expectant, can obtain any accommodation they desire. The

terms; never mind the terms, who ever thinks of them? As for Ferdinand

Armine, who, as the only son of an old baronet, and the supposed future

inheritor of Armine Park, had always been looked upon by tradesmen with

a gracious eye, he found that his popularity in this respect was not at

all diminished by his visit to England, and its supposed consequences;

slight expressions, uttered on his return in the confidence of

convivial companionship, were repeated, misrepresented, exaggerated, and

circulated in all quarters. We like those whom we love to be fortunate.

Everybody rejoices in the good luck of a popular character; and soon it

was generally understood that Ferdinand Armine had become next in the

entail to thirty thousand a year and a peerage. Moreover, he was not

long to wait for his inheritance. The usurers pricked up their ears, and

such numerous proffers of accommodation and assistance were made to the

fortunate Mr. Armine, that he really found it quite impossible to refuse

them, or to reject the loans that were almost forced on his acceptance.

Ferdinand Armine had passed the Rubicon. He was in debt. If youth but

knew the fatal misery that they are entailing on themselves the moment

they accept a pecuniary credit to which they are not entitled, how they

would start in their career! how pale they would turn! how they would

tremble, and clasp their hands in agony at the precipice on which they

are disporting! Debt is the prolific mother of folly and of crime;

it taints the course of life in all its dreams. Hence so many unhappy

marriages, so many prostituted pens, and venal politicians! It hath a

small beginning, but a giant’s growth and strength. When we make the

monster we make our master, who haunts us at all hours, and shakes his

whip of scorpions for ever in our sight. The slave hath no overseer so

severe. Faustus, when he signed the bond with blood, did not secure a

doom more terrific. But when we are young we must enjoy ourselves. True;

and there are few things more gloomy than the recollection of a youth

that has not been enjoyed. What prosperity of manhood, what splendour

of old age, can compensate for it? Wealth is power; and in youth, of all

seasons of life, we require power, because we can enjoy everything that

we can command. What, then, is to be done? I leave the question to

the schoolmen, because I am convinced that to moralise with the

inexperienced availeth nothing.

The conduct of men depends upon their temperament, not upon a bunch of

musty maxims. No one had been educated with more care than Ferdinand

Armine; in no heart had stricter precepts of moral conduct ever been

instilled. But he was lively and impetuous, with a fiery imagination,

violent passions, and a daring soul. Sanguine he was as the day; he

could not believe in the night of sorrow, and the impenetrable gloom

that attends a career that has failed. The world was all before him; and

he dashed at it like a young charger in his first strife, confident that

he must rush to victory, and never dreaming of death.

Thus would I attempt to account for the extreme imprudence of his

conduct on his return from England. He was confident in his future

fortunes; he was excited by the applause of the men, and the admiration

of the women; he determined to gratify, even to satiety, his restless

vanity; he broke into profuse expenditure; he purchased a yacht; he

engaged a villa; his racing-horses and his servants exceeded all other

establishments, except the Governor’s, in breeding, in splendour, and in

number. Occasionally wearied with the monotony of Malta, he obtained a

short leave of absence, and passed a few weeks at Naples, Palermo, and

Rome, where he glittered in brilliant circles, and whence he returned

laden with choice specimens of art and luxury, and followed by the

report of strange and flattering adventures. Finally, he was the prime

patron of the Maltese opera, and brought over a celebrated Prima Donna

from San Carlo in his own vessel.

In the midst of his career, Ferdinand received intelligence of the death

of Lord Grandison. Fortunately, when he received it he was alone; there

was no one, therefore, to witness his blank dismay when he discovered

that, after all, he was not his grandfather’s heir! After a vast number

of trifling legacies to his daughters, and their husbands, and their

children, and all his favourite friends, Lord Grandison left the whole

of his property to his grand-daughter Katherine, the only remaining

child of his son, who had died early in life, and the sister of the

lately deceased Augustus.

What was to be done now? His mother’s sanguine mind, for Lady Armine

broke to him the fatal intelligence, already seemed to anticipate

the only remedy for this ‘unjust will.’ It was a remedy delicately

intimated, but the intention fell upon a fine and ready ear. Yes! he

must marry; he must marry his cousin; he must marry Katherine Grandison.

Ferdinand looked around him at his magnificent rooms; the damask

hangings of Tunis, the tall mirrors from Marseilles, the inlaid tables,

the marble statues, and the alabaster vases that he had purchased at

Florence and at Rome, and the delicate mats that he had himself imported

from Algiers. He looked around and he shrugged his shoulders: ‘All this

must be paid for,’ thought he; ‘and, alas! how much more!’ And then came

across his mind a recollection of his father and his cares, and innocent

Armine, and dear Glastonbury, and his sacrifice. Ferdinand shook his

head and sighed.

‘How have I repaid them,’ thought he. ‘Thank God, they know nothing.

Thank God, they have only to bear their own disappointments and their

own privations; but it is in vain to moralise. The future, not the

past, must be my motto. To retreat is impossible; I may yet advance and

conquer. Katherine Grandison: only think of my little cousin Kate for

a wife! They say that it is not the easiest task in the world to fan

a lively flame in the bosom of a cousin. The love of cousins is

proverbially not of a very romantic character. ‘Tis well I have not

seen her much in my life, and very little of late. Familiarity breeds

contempt, they say. Will she dare to despise me?’ He glanced at the

mirror. The inspection was not unsatisfactory. Plunged in profound

meditation, he paced the room.