Louis said no more, but bowing to his uncle, with his heart full, hurried out of the room. The Marquis looked after him in silence.
Ferdinand had turned his despairing eyes on Alice, and saw her head bent on her bosom, with tears trickling down her cheeks. Those tears acted on his soul like dew on the parched earth, and, unconscious of the intention, he found himself at her side; he had taken her hand, he had murmured some indistinct sounds in her ear; but they suffused her face with blushes, and confused and agitated she withdrew her hand, and glided out of sight to a seat behind the window curtain. Ferdinand followed her with his eyes; but while he exultingly felt that her pure image possessed him wholly, he shrunk from the recollection of how unworthy his transgressions had made him of aspiring to the possession of so spotless a being. Nay, were it possible that penitence could so wash his stains away, as to restore him to the self-respect which is indispensible to the manly character, and above all to the consciousness of him who takes upon himself to be the protector and the happiness of a virtuous woman; was he not aware that even this blessed regeneration could not avail him here? He well knew that his father's bigotry would sooner see him die than allow him to perish, soul and body; which he would suppose must be the consequence, should he permit him to marry a daughter of the church of England. To acknowledge his sentiments for Alice to the Marquis, was only to call down his malediction on their object. And, under these circumstances, to reveal more of them to herself, than his surprised heart had already betrayed, seemed to him a base sacrifice to his own immediate gratification, at the expence of his honour and her future comfort. He was not so illread in female character as to be ignorant that he had made an impression on the heart of this artless child of nature. No one present appeared to suspect what was passing in the bosoms of either. Could he then, knowing that the bar was insuperable between him and her, could he act the double treachery of fastening affections, that must be hopeless, upon him; and make so ungrateful a return to the hospitality of her uncle and her mother, as to devote the youth of their beloved child to tears and disappointment? "No," said he to himself, "I will not load my already burdened soul with the guilt of rendering her unhappy; of having come hither on a demon's errand, to lay waste all that paradise of smiles! I deserve to go hence, as I came, a lonely, unregretted wretch."
While these thoughts were occupying the mind of Ferdinand, the Marquis was explaining to Mr. Athelstone that he must abide by the letter of his sovereign's commands; and not only relinquish the pleasure he had anticipated in visiting Morewick-hall, but take his leave even of the island, the following day. Finding this decision was not to be questioned, Mrs. Coningsby withdrew to give some necessary orders for her guest's early departure; and Alice, taking the opportunity of the opened door, hastily quitted the room. Cornelia having expressed her sincere regret to Ferdinand, that they must lose his father and himself so soon, in a few minutes followed her mother.
The gracious spell of tranquil enjoyment which an hour before had encircled them all, was now broken. Mrs. Coningsby hurried from place to place in hospitable bustle, ordering all kinds of travelling comforts to be put up for the service of their departing friends. The Marquis and the Pastor sat till a late hour, conversing in the library; but the young people continued dispersed, rather as if some cause of discord had fallen amongst them, than an order to separate hearts so well inclined to join. Once Alice had summoned courage to descend to the drawing-room, but on entering, she saw no one there but Ferdinand, who was resting his head upon her harpsichord; and hastily retreating, she did not come down again till summoned to supper.
The ensuing morning's meal was passed, like that of the preceding evening, by the younger part of the group almost in silence. But when breakfast was over Louis drew a letter from his pocket, and presenting it open to Mr. Athelstone, told him he had written that to his father, and he hoped the Marquis would have the goodness to take charge of it to Madrid. Santa Cruz bowed his acquiescence, and the Pastor perused the letter. As he ran his eye over its contents, he could not but admire the generous submission which had with-held the writer from even hinting the wish which so thoroughly possessed him. "You have written like an affectionate son," said the Pastor, as he returned the letter, "but you have not dropped one word of what is so much at your heart. Why do you not ask your father's permission to pay your personal duty to him?"
"And you give me yours, dearest Sir, to express that wish?"
"Certainly; and when the Baron's leisure will allow him to preside over his son's introduction to this perilous world, then, I doubt not, he will grant your petition, and I must resign you."
Louis gladly retired, to add, as a postscript to his letter, what he had found so much difficulty in preventing himself from making its primary subject. The ladies had already withdrawn; and Ferdinand seeing their waiving gowns through the distant shrubbery in the garden, believed that without any breach of his resolution, he might once more cool his feverish pulse with the breeze at their side; and for the last time sooth his disturbed soul by feeling himself near Alice, and listening to her tender accents.
The wish was no sooner formed than he was in their path. Mrs. Coningsby was not there. Cornelia was calmly gathering flowers to replenish her beau-pots, and Alice was walking pensively towards the wicket that opened to the hill. Ferdinand followed her, and with a bound of joy he could not conceal from his better reason, saw her open the little gate and pass through. A few sheep were cropping the grass on the pasture, and her favorite lamb frolicked before her. She did not notice it, but turned to the base of the hill. Ferdinand heard her draw a deep sigh, as she seemed to think herself removed from observation, and, in an agitated voice, she ejaculated his name. He required no more to be at her side,—at her feet. What he said he hardly knew, but he felt all his high resolves vanish, and that words failed under the impetuous declaration of his heart. Surprized at so unthought-of a disclosure; and alarmed at a language and vehemence she had never known before, Alice would have fled; but he detained her with her hands clasped in his: and while he wept upon them in the wild emotions of his soul, her tears flowed also; and he wrought her to confess that she had retired alone, to weep at his departure.
Ferdinand forgot all the wretched past, in the transport of that moment; and amidst the burning blushes of a timidity that trembled at every word she uttered, he drew from the guileless Alice all the secret of her heart. His dominant passion had again seized the rein; and clasping her hands to his breast, he ardently implored her to pledge him her faith before the Supreme of Heaven,—That, however long might be his absence, she would never be persuaded to become the wife of any other man. Then growing in his demands on the tender girl, he conjured her to promise not to continue that "exquisite softness of manner, to Mr. de Montemar, the sight of which had already more than half maddened him."—With a glance, which shone like a shooting star over the dewy night, she gave him the solemn pledge he asked; and she smiled, when she made a promise she deemed so unnecessary. But both engagements were hardly pronounced by her ingenuous lips, before his ungovernable selfishness smote upon the conscience of her lover.