CHAPTER X.

_In Which Ferdinand Armine Is Much Concerned_.

THE contingency which Glastonbury feared, surely happened; Miss

Grandison insisted upon immediately rushing to her Ferdinand; and as

the maiden aunt was still an invalid, and was incapable of enduring the

fatigues of a rapid and anxious journey, she was left behind. Within a

few hours of the receipt of Glastonbury’s letter, Sir Ratcliffe and

Lady Armine, and their niece, were on their way. They found letters from

Glastonbury in London, which made them travel to Armine even through the

night.

In spite of all his remedies, the brain fever which the physician

foresaw had occurred; and when his family arrived, the life of Ferdinand

was not only in danger but desperate. It was impossible that even the

parents could see their child, and no one was allowed to enter his

chamber but his nurse, the physician, and occasionally Glastonbury; for

this name, with others less familiar to the household, sounded so often

on the frenzied lips of the sufferer, that it was recommended that

Glastonbury should often be at his bedside. Yet he must leave it, to

receive the wretched Sir Ratcliffe and his wife and their disconsolate

companion. Never was so much unhappiness congregated together under one

roof; and yet, perhaps Glastonbury, though the only one who retained

the least command over himself, was, with his sad secret, the most

woe-begone of the tribe.

As for Lady Armine, she sat without the door of her son’s chamber the

whole day and night, clasping a crucifix in her hands, and absorbed

in silent prayer. Sir Ratcliffe remained below prostrate. The unhappy

Katherine in vain offered the consolation she herself so needed; and

would have wandered about that Armine of which she had heard so much,

and where she was to have been so happy, a forlorn and solitary being,

had it not been for the attentions of the considerate Glastonbury, who

embraced every opportunity of being her companion. His patience, his

heavenly resignation, his pious hope, his vigilant care, his spiritual

consolation, occasionally even the gleams of agreeable converse with

which he attempted to divert her mind, consoled and maintained her. How

often did she look at his benignant countenance, and not wonder that the

Armines were so attached to this engaging and devoted friend?

For three days did the unhappy family expect in terrible anticipation

that each moment would witness the last event in the life of their son.

His distracted voice caught too often the vigilant and agonised ear of

his mother; yet she gave no evidence of the pang, except by clasping her

crucifix with increased energy. She had promised the physician that she

would command herself, that no sound should escape her lips, and she

rigidly fulfilled the contract on which she was permitted to remain.

On the eve of the fourth day Ferdinand, who had never yet closed his

eyes, but who had become during the last twelve hours somewhat more

composed, fell into a slumber. The physician lightly dropped the hand

which he had scarcely ever quitted, and, stealing out of the room,

beckoned, his finger pressed to his lips, to Lady Armine to follow him.

Assured by the symbol that the worst had not yet happened, she followed

the physician to the end of the gallery, and he then told her that

immediate danger was past.

‘And now, my dear madam,’ said the physician to her, ‘you must breathe

some fresh air. Oblige me by descending.’

Lady Armine no longer refused; she repaired with a slow step to Sir

Ratcliffe; she leant upon her husband’s breast as she murmured to him

her hopes. They went forth together. Katherine and Glastonbury were in

the garden. The appearance of Lady Armine gave them hopes. There was a

faint smile on her face which needed not words to explain it. Katherine

sprang forward, and threw her arms round her aunt’s neck.

‘He may be saved! he may be saved,’ whispered the mother; for in this

hushed house of impending death they had lost almost the power as well

as the habit, of speaking in any other tone.

‘He sleeps,’ said the physician; ‘all present danger is past.’

‘It is too great joy,’ murmured Katherine; and Glastonbury advanced and

caught in his arms her insensible form.