‘The God of all goodness have mercy on this distracted house!’ exclaimed Glastonbury, as he piously lifted his hands to heaven.
‘You went to Bath to communicate this great change to your father,’ he continued. ‘Why did you not? Painful as the explanation must be to Miss Grandison, the injustice of your conduct towards her is aggravated by delay.’
‘There were reasons,’ said Ferdinand, ‘reasons which I never intended anyone to know; but now I have no secrets. Dear Glastonbury, even amid all this overwhelming misery, my cheek burns when I confess to you that I have, and have had for years, private cares of my own of no slight nature.’
‘Debts?’ enquired Glastonbury.
‘Debts,’ replied Ferdinand, ‘and considerable ones.’
‘Poor child!’ exclaimed Glastonbury. ‘And this drove you to the marriage?’
‘To that every worldly consideration impelled me: my heart was free then; in fact, I did not know I had a heart; and I thought the marriage would make all happy. But now, so far as I am myself concerned, oh! I would sooner be the commonest peasant in this county, with Henrietta Temple for the partner of my life, than live at Armine with all the splendour of my ancestors.’
‘Honour be to them; they were great men,’ exclaimed Glastonbury.
‘I am their victim,’ replied Ferdinand. ‘I owe my ancestors nothing, nay, worse than nothing; I owe them———’
‘Hush! hush!’ said Glastonbury. ‘If only for my sake, Ferdinand, be silent.’