So wishing his last good night with a charged heart and faltering tongue, Ferdinand Armine took up his candle and retired to his chamber. He could not refrain from exercising an unusual scrutiny when he had entered the room. He held up the light to the old accustomed walls, and threw a parting glance of affection at the curtains. There was the glass vase which his mother had never omitted each day to fill with fresh flowers, and the counterpane that was her own handiwork. He kissed it; and, flinging off his clothes, was glad when he was surrounded with darkness and buried in his bed.
There was a gentle tap at his door. He started.
Are you in bed, my Ferdinand? inquired his mothers voice.
Ere he could reply he heard the door open, and observed a tall white figure approaching him.
Lady Armine, without speaking, knelt down by his bedside and took him in her arms. She buried her face in his breast. He felt her tears upon his heart. He could not move; he could not speak. At length he sobbed aloud.
May our Father that is in heaven bless you, my darling child; may He guard over you; may He preserve you! Very weak was her still, solemn voice. I would have spared you this, my darling. For you, not for myself, have I controlled my feelings. But I knew not the strength of a mothers love. Alas! what mother has a child like thee? O! Ferdinand, my first, my only-born: child of love and joy and happiness, that never cost me a thought of sorrow; so kind, so gentle, and so dutiful! must we, oh! must we indeed part?
It is too cruel, continued Lady Armine, kissing with a thousand kisses her weeping child. What have I done to deserve such misery as this? Ferdinand, beloved Ferdinand, I shall die.
I will not go, mother, I will not go, wildly exclaimed the boy, disengaging himself from her embrace and starting up in his bed. Mother, I cannot go. No, no, it never can be good to leave a home like this.
Hush! hush! my darling. What words are these? How unkind, how wicked it is of me to say all this! Would that I had not come! I only meant to listen at your door a minute, and hear you move, perhaps to hear you speak, and like a fool,how naughty of me! never, never shall I forgive myself-like a miserable fool I entered.
My own, own mother, what shall I say? what shall I do? I love you, mother, with all my heart and soul and spirits strength: I love you, mother. There is no mother loved as you are loved!
Tis that that makes me mad. I know it. Oh! why are you not like other children, Ferdinand? When your uncle left us, my father said, Good-bye, and shook his hand; and hehe scarcely kissed us, he was so glad to leave his home; but you-tomorrow; no, not to-morrow. Can it be to-morrow?
Mother, let me get up and call my father, and tell him I will not go.
Good God! what words are these? Not go! Tis all your hope to go; all ours, dear child. What would your father say were he to hear me speak thus? Oh! that I had not entered! What a fool I am!
Dearest, dearest mother, believe me we shall soon meet.
Shall we soon meet? God! how joyous will be the day.
And II will write to you by every ship.
Oh! never fail, Ferdinand, never fail.
And send you a gazelle, and you shall call it by my name, dear mother.
Darling child!
You know I have often stayed a month at grand-papas, and once six weeks. Why! eight times six weeks, and I shall be home again.
Home! home again! eight times six weeks; a year, nearly a year! It seems eternity. Winter, and spring, and summer, and winter again, all to pass away. And for seventeen years he has scarcely been out of my sight. Oh! my idol, my beloved, my darling Ferdinand, I cannot believe it; I cannot believe that we are to part.
Mother, dearest mother, think of my father; think how much his hopes are placed on me; think, dearest mother, how much I have to do. All now depends on me, you know. I must restore our house.
O! Ferdinand, I dare not express the thoughts that rise upon me; yet I would say that, had I but my child, I could live in peace; how, or where, I care not.
Dearest mother, you unman me.
It is very wicked. I am a fool. I never, no! never shall pardon myself for this night, Ferdinand.
Sweet mother, I beseech you calm yourself. Believe me we shall indeed meet very soon, and somehow or other a little bird whispers to me we shall yet be very happy.
But will you be the same Ferdinand to me as before? Ay! There it is, my child. You will be a man when you come back, and be ashamed to love your mother. Promise me now, said Lady Armine, with extraordinary energy, promise me, Ferdinand, you will always love me. Do not let them make you ashamed of loving me. They will joke, and jest, and ridicule all home affections. You are very young, sweet love, very, very young, and very inexperienced and susceptible. Do not let them spoil your frank and beautiful nature. Do not let them lead you astray. Remember Armine, dear, dear Armine, and those who live there. Trust me, oh! yes, indeed believe me, darling, you will never find friends in this world like those you leave at Armine.
I know it, exclaimed Ferdinand, with streaming eyes; God be my witness how deeply I feel that truth. If I forget thee and them, dear mother, may God indeed forget me.
My Ferdinand, said Lady Armine, in a calm tone, I am better now. I hardly am sorry that I did come now. It will be a consolation to me in your absence to remember all you have said. Good night, my beloved child; my darling child, good night. I shall not come down to-morrow, dear. We will not meet again; I will say good-bye to you from the window. Be happy, my dear Ferdinand, and as you say indeed, we shall soon meet again. Eight-and-forty weeks! Why what are eight-and-forty weeks? It is not quite a year. Courage, my sweet boy! let us keep up each others spirits. Who knows what may yet come from this your first venture into the world? I am full of hope. I trust you will find all that you want. I packed up everything myself. Whenever you want anything write to your mother. Mind, you have eight packages; I have written them down on a card and placed it on the hall table. And take the greatest care of old Sir Ferdinands sword. I am very superstitious about that sword, and while you have it I am sure you will succeed. I have ever thought that had he taken it with him to France all would have gone right with him. God bless, God Almighty bless you, child. Be of good heart. I will write you everything that takes place, and, as you say, we shall soon meet. Indeed, after to-night, she added in a more mournful tone, we have naught else to think of but of meeting. I fear it is very late. Your father will be surprised at my absence. She rose from his bed and walked up and down the room several times in silence; then again approaching him, she folded him in her arms and quitted the chamber without again speaking.
CHAPTER X
The Advantage of Being a Favourite Grandson.
THE exhausted Ferdinand found consolation in sleep. When he woke the dawn was just breaking. He dressed and went forth to look, for the last time, on his hereditary woods. The air was cold, but the sky was perfectly clear, and the beams of the rising sun soon spread over the blue heaven. How fresh, and glad, and sparkling was the surrounding scene! With what enjoyment did he inhale the soft and renovating breeze! The dew quivered on the grass, and the carol of the wakening birds, roused from their slumbers by the spreading warmth, resounded from the groves. From the green knoll on which he stood he beheld the clustering village of Armine, a little agricultural settlement formed of the peasants alone who lived on the estate. The smoke began to rise in blue curls from the cottage chimneys, and the church clock struck the hour of five. It seemed to Ferdinand that those labourers were far happier than he, since the setting sun would find them still at Armine: happy, happy Armine!