Having passed nearly two hours in the wild reverie which suggested schemes so menacing in their nature to his own and his parents’ happiness, Charles Hatfield retired to rest;—and in his dreams he beheld a variety of scenes and images, incongruously grouped and confusedly jumbled together,—the voluptuous form of Perdita stretched in a witching undress on the sofa, and extending her arms to welcome him to her embraces,—the Marshal Prince of Montoni, seated on horseback, surrounded by a brilliant staff,—thousands and thousands of persons gathered together to witness the passing of a gay cavalcade, of which he fancied himself to be the leader as well as the hero of the occasion,—and then his father and mother kneeling and weeping at his feet, and proffering some prayer to which he refused to accede. Then he thought that he was roving in a delicious garden, where the singing of birds, the hues of the flowers, and the fragrance of aromatic shrubs made every thing delightful to the senses, and where Perdita was his companion. She appeared to be clad in the loose and scanty drapery which heathen goddesses are represented to wear,—fastened by a clasp on the left shoulder, flowing so as to leave the right bosom entirely bare, and confined by a zone to the waist. Airily, airily they tripped along together, until they beheld a temple standing at a distance: then Perdita suddenly assumed the majesty of a queen—and conducting her lover to a shrine within the temple, made him kneel down while she crowned him with a wreath of flowers, while unseen minstrels poured forth a strain of delicious music.
Under the influence of this last dream he awoke;—and the image of Perdita still remained uppermost in his mind.
Then as he performed the functions of the toilette, he reconsidered all the arguments and plans—repeated to himself all the sophistical reasoning—into which he had fallen before he retired to rest;—and, hardening his heart in respect to his parents,—yes, and hardening it, too, with regard to Lady Frances Ellingham,—he resolved to sacrifice all and every thing to the two idols of his soul—ambition and Perdita!
In this frame of mind he descended to the breakfast-parlour, where the Earl and Countess of Ellingham, Lady Frances, Mr. Hatfield, and Lady Georgiana were already assembled. Charles assumed as gay an appearance as possible: for he was resolved to mask his knowledge of all the family secrets as well as his sinister designs, until he should have consulted with Perdita. But in spite of himself, there was a certain constraint and embarrassment in his manner when he spoke to Lady Frances; and this artless, beautiful young creature surveyed him with astonishment and grief.
The fact was that the heart of Charles Hatfield smote him for the vile and perfidious part he had enacted towards his cousin; and he scarcely dared to look her in the face.
Her parents and his own, as well as she herself, noticed the peculiarity of his demeanour in this respect; and Lady Georgiana was so affected by his apparent coolness towards the Earl’s daughter that it was with difficulty she could restrain herself from questioning him then and there on the subject. A hasty whisper, however, from her husband sealed her tongue and gave her the assurance that he would soon ascertain the cause of their son’s altered behaviour towards the young lady who was already looked upon as his future wife.
Accordingly, when the morning repast was concluded, Mr. Hatfield beckoned his son to follow him to the library; and now Charles was struck with a sudden fear—conscience exciting the apprehension that his schemings were discovered and seen through by an outraged, indignant father.
On entering the library, Mr. Hatfield motioned him to take a seat near him: then, fixing his eyes upon the young man’s countenance, he said, “Charles, has any misunderstanding occurred between Lady Frances and yourself?”
“No—not that I am aware of,” returned Charles, considerably relieved by the question that indicated the nature of the colloquy which it opened. “Wherefore should you entertain such an idea?”
“Because your manner towards Lady Frances at the breakfast-table was cool, constrained, and embarrassed,” said Mr. Hatfield. “She herself noticed the circumstance; and I observed that Lord and Lady Ellingham were pained by it likewise. As for your mother, Charles—she was deeply grieved; and I was both hurt and annoyed.”