CHAPTER IV.

“Est-il point vray, ou si je l’ay songé, Qu’il m’est besoin m’éloigner ou distraire De votre amour, et en prendre congé? Las! je le veux, et ne le puis faire— Que dis-je, veux! Non, c’est tout le contraire, Faire le puis, et ne le puis vouloir.”

Attributed to FRANÇOIS I.

The next day accordingly at an early hour, Warenne sought the residence of Lord Framlingham in Charles Street, when, on his knocking at the door, the servant who opened it presented him with a note from Henry, stating, that in the course of the preceding night an express had reached them from Epworth Castle, the seat of Mrs. Honoria Epworth, who was Adelaide’s godmother, desiring them to set off immediately if they wished to find her alive, and that his sister and himself were in the act of commencing their journey at the moment at which he wrote.

Poor Warenne, who had hoped to ascertain his future destiny before he again quitted Charles Street, was sadly disappointed at this intelligence. The evil, however, was without remedy, and he was obliged to retrace his steps towards home, there to await the hour of their return in all the misery of suspense. During this period he received the following letter from Frank:—

“MY DEAR BROTHER,

“Who do you think has just called upon me? Henry Marston. I never was so surprised in my life. He tells me that he came the night before last to Epworth Castle with his sister, to attend the death-bed of poor old Mrs. Honoria Epworth. She died a very few hours after their arrival, and has left every thing she possessed to Miss Marston. Henry says his sister will not have less than ten thousand a year, besides the old castle, which is beautiful;—did you see it when you were here?—it is not more than two miles from this town. What a charming godmother! I wish nevertheless that she had given Henry a slice of her property, for though he will eventually be Lord Framlingham, and rich, yet he would do great credit to a few thousands a year in the interim. He and his sister remain at the castle till after the funeral, when they return to London. When are we to see you again? Stuart rides in often from Oldham, and gives a good report of the two troops he has there, and I can do the same of the officers and men at Calbury. I command the four troops you left under my orders with a species of sedate authority deserving, though I say it, of much admiration. I have only one little _équippée_ to tell of, which is that I have fallen desperately in love, and that my love is returned; do not be frightened, Gerald, _l’objêt_ is a blind Irish-woman, who sells cakes and bulls-eyes on the sort of boulevard there is to this town. She is my delight, but our loves are too long, so God bless you!

“Oh! I have forgotten the most important portion of my letter, which is, that I am making great preparations for the coming hunting season. I have sold Croppie, and bought two clippers, and I want you to let me be doing something in your stable. I should positively be a happier man if I might rescue your two old horses’ tails from their degraded state of switch, and square them a little. Once more, God bless you.

“Your affectionate brother,

F. W.”

Warenne at first read over this letter from his brother with pleasure, and natural delight at the increased prosperity of his friends, but a second perusal of it filled him with anxiety and doubt. Was there not now an insuperable barrier raised against his pretensions to Adelaide? If indeed he had made known his passion, it were not impossible that a woman with her nobleness of spirit might only regard the addition to her fortune as a means of increasing their mutual happiness. But could he with honour ask her hand for the first time under these changed circumstances? Must he not appear to her, and to the world, a contemptible fortune hunter, who could live in her society for weeks, and find her only worthy of attention when she became an heiress?

“O, Frank!” cried he aloud, as he paced his room despondingly, “your gay letter is a bitter one to me. I must learn to tread in the dust the bright visions fancy had formed; to crush my aspiring hopes, and with blighted prospects, and a broken heart, to banish myself from that sweet presence in which I would fain have passed my days—but better that, than dishonour. There is no spot as yet on my name, and I will not now sully it. Yes, the die is cast, I will rejoin my regiment.”

Though Warenne thus briefly settled the part which it became him to act in this emergency, it cost him many an hour of bitter anguish before he could carry his resolution into effect. He had never really loved before, and he now loved with his whole soul; it seemed to him as if his love was an essential portion of his existence, and that to tear it from his breast was almost to destroy within him the principle of vitality. He wrote however to Frank, to say that he should join him in a few days; went to the Horse Guards to inquire if they projected any alteration in the quarters of his regiment (for Calbury was not a town in which troops were usually stationed), or had any orders for him with respect to their particular employment; and called on Lord Framlingham to inform him of his determination.

The old Lord received him with much civility, but, as it appeared to Warenne, with less than his usual cordiality. There was also a degree of earnestness in the manner in which he encouraged him to quit town immediately, and assured him that government had received accounts of a very unpleasant spirit pervading the neighbourhood of Calbury.

Warenne could not help perceiving that his absence was desired. In truth, Lord Framlingham, immediately upon Adelaide’s increase of fortune, had begun to renew the views of aggrandisement which he had reluctantly laid aside; and, conceiving that Warenne might very possibly prove an impediment to the success of his schemes, he sincerely wished him out of the way. It was not, perhaps, strictly consonant with the gratitude he professed towards Warenne for his kindness to Henry to repel attentions which he had hitherto tacitly encouraged; but, in his anxiety to accomplish his purposes with respect to Adelaide, he did not much regard her lover’s feelings, and certainly assumed not a delicacy which he did not possess.

Warenne was intensely hurt by Lord Framlingham’s manner. Was he already deemed an intruder? It was indeed time for him to depart; he would only see Adelaide once again, and bid her farewell for ever.

The travellers returned; and Henry, having heard from his father of Warenne’s determination to rejoin the regiment, proceeded immediately to his lodgings to propose their quitting London together, his own leave of absence being on the point of expiring.

After their first greetings were over, and Henry had had time for closer observation, he was much struck with an appearance of ill-health, and with a degree of severity of manner in Warenne; he loved him, however, too sincerely, and respected him too highly, to venture a remark on the change that had occurred. He at once entered upon the object of his visit, and soon concluded an arrangement for their travelling together to Calbury; then, thinking it probable Warenne in his present state of mind would rather be alone, he begged him to call in Charles Street the following morning, to see him and Adelaide, who was not, he said, so afflicted by the loss of her godmother, with whom she had never lived, as to shut the door upon old friends; and with an affectionate pressure of the hand wished him good-b’ye.

Warenne shook the offered hand, accepted the invitation, stood for a moment after his departure with a bewildered air, then hurried forth to occupy his attention with professional avocations,—for he durst not give way to the feelings that invitation had awakened, or to reflect in solitude on the impending wretchedness of the morrow.

The morrow came, and about the hour Henry had mentioned as that at which his sister would probably receive him Warenne found himself in Charles Street. Henry was alone in the drawing-room when he entered; but in a few minutes Adelaide joined them. She had scarcely recovered from the anxiety occasioned by the melancholy scenes she had so lately witnessed, and was pale and languid, but the snowy whiteness of her brow accorded well with the serious expression of her countenance, and poor Warenne thought he had never seen her look so lovely. She received him kindly; for, satisfied that he loved her, she saw no reason for controlling the natural impulse of her heart; and for some little time the whole party conversed on the events which had taken place without hesitation, if not with cheerfulness. After a while, Henry, who shrewdly suspected the state of his sister’s and of his friend’s affections, found some excuse for quitting the room, and requesting Warenne to await his return left him with Adelaide. The conversation flagged—presently ceased altogether—Warenne, firm to his purpose (but, much as that purpose had already cost him, knowing not until this instant the utter misery he was about to entail upon himself) could not bring himself to speak. Adelaide’s spirits had not regained their usually cheerful flow, and their depression was increased by his manifest uneasiness. The awkwardness of their situation each moment became greater; at length Warenne, making an effort, in a hurried manner uttered some common-place remark on an indifferent subject. Adelaide gave the necessary assent, and again there was silence. He made a second and a third attempt, but with no better success. He now grew confused, and spoke at random upon every topic which presented itself to his over-excited mind, until Adelaide, who could not but recollect the very different manner in which their last interview had concluded, knew not what to think. As she looked, however, on his flushed cheek and unsteady eye that would not meet her’s, a suspicion of the truth flashed across her mind. Could it be that he had formed so unworthy an opinion of her as to conceive that her affections could be influenced by her accession of fortune?—a moment’s reflection assured her that his generous nature would spurn the thought; yet how, since she knew not that her father had almost turned him from his door, was she to interpret his behaviour? She was hurt, and angry with him, and even, as by degrees she obtained a clearer insight into his feelings, could not altogether divest herself of indignation, though she pitied his sufferings. He might, she thought, if he really loved her, sacrifice for her sake his fantastic notions of honour—for so they then seemed to her,—and let her decide for herself whether or not she thought his hand worth acceptance. She became colder and more formal, until at length Warenne, unable to endure any longer her altered looks and his own excessive wretchedness, hastily left the room in the full conviction that he had injured himself in her esteem, and caused her to think ill of him by the very course which, at the price of his own happiness, he had deemed it his duty to pursue.

A few days afterwards, Henry and Warenne quitted London for Calbury.