CHAPTER II.
_Which, Supposing the Reader Is Interested in the Correspondence, Pursues It_.
DEAREST! A thousand, thousand thanks, a thousand, thousand blessings,for your letter from Armine, dear, dear Armine, where some day we shallbe so happy! It was such a darling letter, so long, so kind, and so_clear_. How could you for a moment fancy that your Henrietta would notbe able to decipher that dear, dear handwriting! Always cross, dearest:your handwriting is so beautiful that I never shall find the slightestdifficulty in making it out, if your letters were crossed a thousandtimes. Besides, to tell the truth, I should rather like to experiencea little difficulty in reading your letters, for I read them so often,over and over again, till I get them by heart, and it is such a delightevery now and then to find out some new expression that escaped me inthe first fever of perusal; and then it is sure to be some darling word,fonder than all the rest!
Oh! my Ferdinand, how shall I express to you my love? It seems to menow that I never loved you until this separation, that I have never beenhalf grateful enough to you for all your goodness. It makes me weep toremember all the soft things you have said, all the kind things you havedone for me, and to think that I have not conveyed to you at the timea tithe of my sense of all your gentle kindness. You are so gentle,Ferdinand! I think that is the greatest charm of your character. Mygentle, gentle love! so unlike all other persons that I have met with!Your voice is so sweet, your manner so tender, I am sure you have thekindest heart that ever existed: and then it is a daring spirit, too,and that I love!
Be of good cheer, my Ferdinand, all will go well. I am full of hope,and would be of joy, if you were here, and yet I am joyful, too, when Ithink of all your love. I can sit for hours and recall the past, it isso sweet. When I received your dear letter from Armine yesterday, andknew indeed that you had gone, I went and walked in our woods, and satdown on the very bank we loved so, and read your letter over and overagain; and then I thought of all you had said. It is so strange; I thinkI could repeat every word you have uttered since we first knew eachother. The morning that began so miserably wore away before I dreamed itcould be noon.
Papa arrived about an hour before dinner. So kind and good! And whyshould he not be? I was ashamed of myself afterwards for seemingsurprised that he was the same as ever. He asked me if your family hadreturned to Armine. I said that you had expected them daily. Then heasked me if I had seen you. I said very often, but that you had nowgone to Bath, as their return had been prevented by the illness of arelative. Did I right in this? I looked as unconcerned as I could whenI spoke of you, but my heart throbbed, oh! how it throbbed! I hope,however, I did not change colour; I think not; for I had schooled myselffor this conversation. I knew it must ensue. Believe me, Ferdinand, papareally likes you, and is prepared to love you. He spoke of you in atone of genuine kindness. I gave him your message about the shooting atArmine; that you regretted his unexpected departure had prevented youfrom speaking before, but that it was at his entire command, only that,after Ducie, all you could hope was, that the extent of the land mightmake up for the thinness of the game. He was greatly pleased. Adieu! Allgood angels guard over you. I will write every day to the post-office,Bath. Think of me very much. Your own faithful
Henrietta.
Letter II.
_Henrietta to Ferdinand_.
O Ferdinand, what heaven it is to think of you, and to read yourletters! This morning brought me two; the one from London, and the fewlines you wrote me as the mail stopped on the road. Do you know, youwill think me very ungrateful, but those dear few lines, I believe Imust confess, I prefer them even to your beautiful long letter. It wasso kind, so tender, so sweetly considerate, so like my Ferdinand, tosnatch the few minutes that should have been given to rest and food towrite to his Henrietta. I love you for it a thousand times more thanever! I hope you are really well: I hope you tell me truth. This is agreat fatigue, even for you. It is worse than our mules that we oncetalked of. Does he recollect? Oh! what joyous spirits my Ferdinand wasin that happy day! I love him when he laughs, and yet I think he won myheart with those pensive eyes of his!
Papa is most kind, and suspects nothing. Yesterday I mentioned youfirst. I took up your guitar, and said to whom it belonged. I thought itmore natural not to be silent about you. Besides, dearest, papa reallylikes you, and I am sure will love you very much when he knows all,and it is such a pleasure to me to hear you praised and spoken of withkindness by those I love. I have, of course, little to say about myself.I visit my birds, tend my flowers, and pay particular attention to allthose I remember that you admired or touched. Sometimes I whisper tothem, and tell them that you will soon return, for, indeed, they seemto miss you, and to droop their heads like their poor mistress. Oh! myFerdinand, shall we ever again meet? Shall I, indeed, ever again listento that sweet voice, and will it tell me again that it loves me with thevery selfsame accents that ring even now in my fascinated ear?
O Ferdinand! this love is a fever, a fever of health. I cannot sleep; Ican scarcely countenance my father at his meals. I am wild and restless;but I am happy, happy in the consciousness of your fond devotion.To-morrow I purpose visiting our farm-house. I think papa will shootto-morrow. My heart will throb, I fancy, when I see our porch. God blessmy own love; the idol of his fond and happy
Henrietta.
Letter III.
_Henrietta to Ferdinand_.
Dearest! No letter since the few lines on the road, but I suppose it wasimpossible. To-morrow will bring me one, I suppose, from Bath. I knownot why I tremble when I write that word. All is well here, papa mostkind, the same as ever. He went a little on your land to-day, a verylittle, but it pleased me. He has killed an Armine hare! Oh! what amorning have I spent; so happy, so sorrowful, so full of tears andsmiles! I hardly know whether I laughed or wept most. That dear,dear farm-house! And then they all talked of you. How they do love myFerdinand! But so must everyone. The poor woman has lost her heart toyou, I suspect, and I am half inclined to be a little jealous. She didso praise you! So kind, so gentle, giving such little trouble, and, as Ifear, so much too generous! Exactly like my Ferdinand; but, really, thiswas unnecessary. Pardon me, love, but I am learning prudence.
Do you know, I went into your room? I contrived to ascend alone; thegood woman followed me, but I was there alone a moment, and, and, and,what do you think I did? I pressed my lips to your pillow. I could nothelp it; when I thought that his dear head had rested there so often andso lately, I could not refrain from pressing my lips to that favouredresting-place, and I am afraid I shed a tear besides.
When mine own love receives this he will be at Bath. How I pray thatyou may find all your family well and happy! I hope they will love me. Ialready love them, and dear, dear Armine. I shall never have courage togo there again until your return. It is night, and I am writing thisin my own room. Perhaps the hour may have its influence, but I feeldepressed. Oh, that I were at your side! This house is so desolatewithout you. Everything reminds me of the past. My Ferdinand, how canI express to you what I feel--the affection, the love, the rapture,the passionate joy, with which your image inspires me? I will not bemiserable, I will be grateful to Heaven that I am loved by one so rareand gifted. Your portrait is before me; I call it yours; it is so like!'Tis a great consolation. My heart is with you. Think of me as I thinkof you. Awake or asleep my thoughts are alike yours, and now I am goingto pray for you. Thine own
Henrietta.
*****
Letter IX.
My best beloved! The week is long past, but you say nothing ofreturning. Oh! my Ferdinand, your Henrietta is not happy. I read yourdear letters over and over again. They ought to make me happy. I feelin the consciousness of your affection that I ought to be the happiestperson in the world, and yet, I know not why, I am very depressed. Yousay that all is going well; but why do you not enter into detail? Thereare difficulties; I am prepared for them. Believe me, my Ferdinand, thatyour Henrietta can endure as well as enjoy. Your fath
er, he frowns uponour affection? Tell me, tell me all, only do not leave me in suspense.I am entitled to your confidence, Ferdinand. It makes me hate myselfto think that I do not share your cares as well as your delights. I amjealous of your sorrows, Ferdinand, if I may not share them.
Do not let your brow be clouded when you read this. I could kill myselfif I thought I could increase your difficulties. I love you; Godknows how I love you. I will be patient; and yet, my Ferdinand, I feelwretched when I think that all is concealed from papa, and my lips aresealed until you give me permission to open them.
Pray write to me, and tell me really how affairs are. Be not afraid totell your Henrietta everything. There is no misery so long as we love;so long as your heart is mine, there is nothing which I cannot face,nothing which, I am persuaded, we cannot overcome. God bless you,Ferdinand. Words cannot express my love. Henrietta.
Letter X.
Mine own! I wrote to you yesterday a letter of complaints. I am sosorry, for your dear letter has come to-day, and it is so kind, so fond,so affectionate, that it makes me miserable that I should occasion youeven a shade of annoyance. Dearest, how I long to prove my love! Thereis nothing that I would not do, nothing that I would not endure, toconvince you of my devotion! I will do all that you wish. I will becalm, I will be patient, I will try to be content. You say that you aresure all will go right; but you tell me nothing. What said your dearfather? your mother? Be not afraid to speak.
You bid me tell you all that I am doing. Oh! my Ferdinand, life is ablank without you. I have seen no one, I have spoken to no one, savepapa. He is very kind, and yet somehow or other I dread to be with him.This house seems so desolate, so very desolate. It seems a desertedplace since your departure, a spot that some good genius has quitted,and all the glory has gone. I never care for my birds or flowers now.They have lost their music and their sweetness. And the woods, I cannotwalk in them, and the garden reminds me only of the happy past. Ihave never been to the farm-house again. I could not go now, dearestFerdinand; it would only make me weep. I think only of the morning, forit brings me your letters. I feed upon them, I live upon them. Theyare my only joy and solace, and yet------ but no complaints to-day, nocomplaints, dearest Ferdinand; let me only express my devoted love. Oh!that my weak pen could express a tithe of my fond devotion. Ferdinand,I love you with all my heart, and all my soul, and all my spirit'sstrength. I have no thought but for you, I exist only on your idea.Write, write; tell me that you love me, tell me that you are unchanged.It is so long since I heard that voice, so long since I beheld thatfond, soft eye! Pity me, my Ferdinand. This is captivity. A thousand,thousand loves. Your devoted
Henrietta.
Letter XI.
Ferdinand, dearest Ferdinand, the post to-day has brought me no letter.I cannot credit my senses. I think the postmaster must have thought memad. No letter! I could not believe his denial. I was annoyed, too,at the expression of his countenance. This mode of correspondence,Ferdinand, I wish not to murmur, but when I consented to thisclandestine method of communication, it was for a few days, a few, fewdays, and then----- But I cannot write. I am quite overwhelmed. Oh! willto-morrow ever come?
Henrietta.
Letter XII.
Dearest Ferdinand, I wish to be calm. Your letter occasions me veryserious uneasiness. I quarrel not with its tone of affection. It isfond, very fond, and there were moments when I could have meltedover such expressions; but, Ferdinand, it is not candid. Why are weseparated? For a purpose. Is that purpose effected? Were I to judge onlyfrom your letters, I should even suppose that you had not spoken to yourfather; but that is, of course, impossible. Your father disapproves ofour union. I feel it; I know it; I was even prepared for it. Come, then,and speak to my father. It is due to me not to leave him any more in thedark; it will be better, believe me, for yourself, that he should shareour confidence. Papa is not a rich man, but he loves his daughter. Letus make him our friend. Ah! why did I ever conceal anything from one sokind and good? In this moment of desolation, I feel, I keenly feel, myfolly, my wickedness. I have no one to speak to, no one to consoleme. This constant struggle to conceal my feelings will kill me. It waspainful when all was joy, but now, O Ferdinand! I can endure this lifeno longer. My brain is weak, my spirit perplexed and broken. I willnot say if you love; but, Ferdinand, if you pity me, write, and writedefinitely, to your unhappy
Henrietta.
*****
Letter XVIII.
You tell me that, in compliance with my wishes, you will writedefinitely. You tell me that circumstances have occurred, since yourarrival at Bath, of a very perplexing and annoying nature, and thatthey retard that settlement with your father that you had projected andpartly arranged; that it is impossible to enter into detail in letters;and assuring me of your love, you add that you have been anxious topreserve me from sharing your anxiety. O Ferdinand! what anxiety can youwithhold like that you have occasioned me? Dearest, dearest Ferdinand,I will, I must still believe that you are faultless; but, believe me, awant of candour in our situation, and, I believe, in every situation, isa want of common sense. Never conceal anything from your Henrietta.
I now take it for granted that your father has forbidden our union;indeed this is the only conclusion that I can draw from your letter.Ferdinand, I can bear this, even this. Sustained by your affection, Iwill trust to time, to events, to the kindness of my friends, and tothat overruling Providence, which will not desert affections so pure asours, to bring about sooner or later some happier result. Confident inyour love, I can live in solitude, and devote myself to your memory,I------
O Ferdinand! kneel to your father, kneel to your kind mother; tell themall, tell them how I love you, how I will love them; tell them yourHenrietta will have no thought but for their happiness; tell them shewill be as dutiful to them as she is devoted to you. Ask not for ourunion, ask them only to permit you to cherish our acquaintance. Let themreturn to Armine; let them cultivate our friendship; let them know papa;let them know me; let them know me as I am, with all my faults, I trustnot worldly, not selfish, not quite insignificant, not quite unpreparedto act the part that awaits a member of their family, either in itssplendour or its proud humility; and, if not worthy of their son (as whocan be?), yet conscious, deeply conscious of the value and blessing ofhis affection, and prepared to prove it by the devotion of my being. Dothis, my Ferdinand, and happiness will yet come.
But, my gentle love, on whatever course you may decide, rememberyour Henrietta. I do not reproach you; never will I reproach you; butremember the situation in which you have placed me. All my happy lifeI have never had a secret from my father; and now I am involved in aprivate engagement and a clandestine correspondence. Be just to him;be just to your Henrietta! Return, I beseech you on my knees; returninstantly to Ducie; reveal everything. He will be kind and gracious; hewill be our best friend; in his hand and bosom we shall find solace andsupport. God bless you, Ferdinand! All will yet go well, mine own, ownlove. I smile amid my tears when I think that we shall so soon meet. Oh!what misery can there be in this world if we may but share it together?
Thy fond, thy faithful, thy devoted
Henrietta.