CHAPTER III.

_In Which Glastonbury Meets the Very Last Person in the

World He Expected, and the Strange Consequences_.

WHEN Glastonbury arrived at the mansion of the good old duchess, he

found nobody in the drawing-room but a young man of distinguished

appearance, whose person was unknown to him, but who nevertheless

greeted him with remarkable cordiality. The good Glastonbury returned,

with some confusion, his warm salutation.

‘It is many years since we last met, Mr. Glastonbury,’ said the young

man. ‘I am not surprised you have forgotten me. I am Digby; perhaps you

recollect me?’

‘My dear child! My dear lord! You have indeed changed! You are a man,

and I am a very old one.’ ‘Nay! my dear sir, I observe little change.

Believe me, I have often recalled your image in my long absence, and I

find now that my memory has not deceived me.’

Glastonbury and his companion fell into some conversation about the

latter’s travels, and residence at Rome, in the midst of which their

hostess entered.

‘I have asked you, my dear sir, to meet our family circle,’ said her

Grace, ‘for I do not think I can well ask you to meet any who love you

better. It is long since you have seen Digby.’

‘Mr. Glastonbury did not recognise me, grandmamma,’ said Lord Montfort.

‘These sweet children have all grown out of your sight, Mr.

Glastonbury,’ said the duchess; ‘but they are very good. And as for

Digby, I really think he comes to see his poor grandmother every day.’

The duke and duchess, and two young daughters, were now announced.

‘I was so sorry that I was not at home when you called, Glastonbury,’

said his Grace; ‘but I thought I should soon hear of you at

grandmamma’s.’

‘And, dear Mr. Glastonbury, why did you not come up and see me?’ said

the younger duchess.

‘And, dear Mr. Glastonbury, do you remember me?’ said one beautiful

daughter.

‘And me, Mr. Glastonbury, me? I am Isabella.’

Blushing, smiling, bowing, constrained from the novelty of his

situation, and yet every now and then quite at ease when his ear

recalled a familiar voice, dear Mr. Glastonbury was gratified and happy.

The duke took him aside, and they were soon engaged in conversation.

‘How is Henrietta to-day, Digby?’ enquired Isabella.

‘I left her an hour ago; we have been riding, and expected to meet you

all. She will be here immediately.’

There was a knock, and soon the drawing-room door opened, and Miss

Temple was announced.

‘I must make papa’s apologies,’ said Henrietta, advancing and embracing

the old duchess. ‘I hope he may get here in the evening: but he bade

me remind your Grace that your kind invitation was only provisionally

accepted.’

‘He is quite right,’ said the old lady; ‘and indeed I hardly expected

him, for he told me there was a public dinner which he was obliged

to attend. I am sure that our dinner is a very private one indeed,’

continued the old lady with a smile. ‘It is really a family party,

though there is one member of the family here whom you do not know, my

dear Miss Temple, and whom, I am sure, you will love as much as all of

us do. Digby, where is------’

At this moment dinner was announced. Lord Montfort offered his arm to

Henrietta. ‘There, lead the way,’ said the old lady; ‘the girls must

beau themselves, for I have no young men to-day for them. I suppose man

and wife must be parted, so I must take my son’s arm; Mr. Glastonbury,

you will hand down the duchess.’ But before Glastonbury’s name was

mentioned Henrietta was half-way down stairs.

The duke and his son presided at the dinner. Henrietta sat on one side

of Lord Montfort, his mother on the other. Glastonbury sat on the right

hand of the duke, and opposite their hostess; the two young ladies

in the middle. All the guests had been seated without Glastonbury and

Henrietta recognising each other; and, as he sat on the same side of

the table as Miss Temple, it was not until Lord Montfort asked Mr.

Glastonbury to take wine with him, that Henrietta heard a name that

might well indeed turn her pale.

Glastonbury! It never entered into her head at the moment that it was

the Mr. Glastonbury whom she had known. Glastonbury! what a name! What

dreadful associations did it not induce! She looked forward, she caught

the well-remembered visage; she sunk back in her chair. But Henrietta

Temple had a strong mind; this was surely an occasion to prove it. Mr.

Glastonbury’s attention was not attracted to her: he knew, indeed, that

there was a lady at the table, called Henrietta, but he was engrossed

with his neighbours, and his eye never caught the daughter of Mr.

Temple. It was not until the ladies rose to retire that Mr. Glastonbury

beheld that form which he had not forgotten, and looked upon a lady

whose name was associated in his memory with the most disastrous and

mournful moments of his life. Miss Temple followed the duchess out of

the room, and Glastonbury, perplexed and agitated, resumed his seat.

But Henrietta was the prey of emotions far more acute and distracting.

It seemed to her that she had really been unacquainted with the state

of her heart until this sudden apparition of Glastonbury. How his image

recalled the past! She had schooled herself to consider it all a dream;

now it lived before her. Here was one of the principal performers in

that fatal tragedy of Armine. Glastonbury in the house, under the same

roof as she? Where was Ferdinand? There was one at hand who could tell

her. Was he married? She had enjoyed no opportunity of ascertaining it

since her return: she had not dared to ask. Of course he was married;

but was he happy? And Glastonbury, who, if he did not know all, knew

so much. How strange it must be to Glastonbury to meet her! Dear

Glastonbury! She had not forgotten the days when she so fondly listened

to Ferdinand’s charming narratives of all his amiable and simple life!

Dear, dear Glastonbury, whom she was so to love! And she met him now,

and did not speak to him, or looked upon him as a stranger; and he--he

would, perhaps, look upon her with pity, certainly with pain. O Life!

what a heart-breaking thing is life! And our affections, our sweet and

pure affections, fountains of such joy and solace, that nourish all

things, and make the most barren and rigid soil teem with life and

beauty, oh! why do we disturb the flow of their sweet waters, and

pollute their immaculate and salutary source! Ferdinand, Ferdinand

Armine, why were you false?

The door opened. Mr. Glastonbury entered, followed by the duke and his

son. Henrietta was sitting in an easy chair, one of Lord Montfort’s

sisters, seated on an ottoman at her side, held her hand. Henrietta’s

eye met Glastonbury’s; she bowed to him.

‘How your hand trembles, Henrietta!’ said the young lady.

Glastonbury approached her with a hesitating step. He blushed faintly,

he looked exceedingly perplexed. At length he reached her, and stood

before her, and said nothing.

‘You have forgotten me, Mr. Glastonbury,’ said Henrietta; for it was

absolutely necessary that some one should break the awkward silence, and

she pointed to a chair at her side.

‘That would indeed be impossible,’ said Glastonbury.

‘Oh, you knew Mr. Glastonbury before,’ said the young lady. ‘Grandmamma,

only think, Henrietta knew Mr. Glastonbury before.’

‘We were neighbours in Nottinghamshire,’ said Henrietta, in a quick

tone.

‘Isabella,’ said her sister, who was seated at the piano, ‘the harp

awaits you.’ Isabella rose, Lord Montfort was approaching Henrietta,

when the old duchess called to him.

Henrietta and Glastonbury were alone.

‘This is a strange meeting, Mr. Glastonbury,’ said Henrietta.

What could poor Glastonbury say? Something he murmured, but not very

much to the purpose. ‘Have you been in Nottinghamshire lately?’ said

Henrietta.

‘I left it about ten days back with-----,’ and here Glastonbury stopped,

‘with a friend,’ he concluded.

‘I trust all your friends are well,’ said Henrietta, in a tremulous

voice.

‘No; yes; that is,’ said Glastonbury, ‘something better than they were.’

‘I am sorry that my father is not here,’ said Miss Temple; ‘he has a

lively remembrance of all your kindness.’

‘Kindness, I fear,’ said Glastonbury, in a melancholy tone, ‘that was

most unfortunate.’

‘We do not deem it so, sir,’ was the reply.

‘My dear young lady,’ said Glastonbury, but his voice faltered as he

added, ‘we have had great unhappiness.’

‘I regret it,’ said Henrietta. ‘You had a marriage, I believe, expected

in your family?’

‘It has not occurred,’ said Glastonbury.

‘Indeed!’

‘Alas! madam,’ said her companion, ‘if I might venture indeed to speak

of one whom I will not name, and yet-----’

‘Pray speak, sir,’ said Miss Temple, in a kind, yet hushed voice.

‘The child of our affections, madam, is not what he was. God, in His

infinite mercy, has visited him with great afflictions.’

‘You speak of Captain Armine, sir?’

‘I speak indeed of my broken-hearted Ferdinand; I would I could say

yours. O Miss Temple, he is a wreck.’ ‘Yes! yes!’ said Henrietta in a

low tone.

‘What he has endured,’ continued Glastonbury, ‘passes all description

of mine. His life has indeed been spared, but under circumstances that

almost make me regret he lives.’

‘He has not married!’ muttered Henrietta.

‘He came to Ducie to claim his bride, and she was gone,’ said

Glastonbury; ‘his mind sunk under the terrible bereavement. For weeks

he was a maniac; and, though Providence spared him again to us, and

his mind, thanks to God, is again whole, he is the victim of a

profound melancholy, that seems to defy alike medical skill and worldly

vicissitude.’

‘Digby, Digby!’ exclaimed Isabella, who was at the harp, ‘Henrietta is

fainting.’ Lord Montfort rushed forward just in time to seize her cold

hand.

‘The room is too hot,’ said one sister.

‘The coffee is too strong,’ said the other.

‘Air,’ said the young duchess.

Lord Montfort carried Henrietta into a distant room. There was a balcony

opening into a garden. He seated her on a bench, and never quitted

her side, but contrived to prevent anyone approaching her. The women

clustered together.

‘Sweet creature!’ said the old duchess, ‘she often makes me tremble;

she has but just recovered, Mr. Glastonbury, from a long and terrible

illness.’

‘Indeed!’ said Glastonbury.

‘Poor dear Digby,’ continued her grace, ‘this will quite upset him

again. He was in such spirits about her health the other day.’

‘Lord Montfort?’ enquired Glastonbury.

‘Our Digby. You know that he is to be married to Henrietta next month.’

‘Holy Virgin!’ muttered Glastonbury; and, seizing advantage of the

confusion, he effected his escape.

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