The Children of the New Forest, Frederick Marryat [best non fiction books of all time .TXT] 📗

Clara Ratcliffe was their constant companion. However, one evening Clara went out, and staid out so long, carelessly wrapped up, that she caught cold; and the following evening she remained at home, leaving Edward and Patience to take their usual walk unaccompanied by her. They had walked for some minutes in silence, when Patience observed,

“You are very grave, Edward, and have been very grave ever since your return; have you any thing to vex you beyond the failure of the attempt.”

“Yes, I have, Patience. I have much on my conscience, and do not know how to act. I want an adviser and a friend, and know not where to find one.”

“Surely, Edward, my father is your sincere friend, and not a bad adviser.”

“I grant it; but the question is between your father and me, and I can not advise with him for that reason.”

“Then advise with me, Edward, if it is not a secret of such moment that it is not to be trusted to a woman; at all events it will be the advice of a sincere friend; you will give me credit for that.”

“Yes, and for much more; for I think I shall have good advice, and will therefore accept your offer. I feel, Patience, that although I was justified, on my first acquaintance with your father, in not making known to him a secret of some importance, yet now that he has put such implicit confidence, in me, I am doing him and myself an injustice in not making the communication—that is, as far as confidence in him is concerned. I consider that he has a right to know all, and yet I feel that it would be prudent on my part that he should not know all, as the knowledge might implicate him with those with whom he is at present allied. A secret sometimes is dangerous; and if your father could not say that on his honor he knew not of the secret, it might harm him if the secret became afterward known. Do you understand me?”

“I can not say that I exactly do; you have a secret that you wish to make known to my father, and you think the knowledge of it may harm him. I can not imagine what kind of secret that may be.”

“Well, I can give you a case in point. Suppose now that I knew that King Charles was hidden in your stable-loft: such might be the case, and your father be ignorant of it, and his assertion of his ignorance would be believed; but if I were to tell your father that the king was there, and it was afterward discovered, do you not see that, by confiding such a secret to him, I should do harm, and perhaps bring him into trouble?”

“I perceive now, Edward; do you mean to say that you know where the king is concealed? for, if you do, I must beg of you not let my father know any thing about it. As you say, it would put him in a difficult position, and must eventually harm him much. There is a great difference between wishing well to a cause and supporting it in person. My father wishes the king well, I believe, but, at the same time, he will not take an active part, as you have already seen; at the same time, I am convinced that he would never betray the king if he knew where he was. I say, therefore, if that is your secret, keep it from him, for his sake and for mine, Edward, if you regard me.”

“You know not how much I regard you, Patience. I saw many highborn women when I was away, but none could I see equal to Patience Heatherstone, in my opinion; and Patience was ever in my thoughts during my long absence.”

“I thank you for your kind feelings toward me,” replied Patience; “but, Master Armitage, we were talking about your secret.”

“Master Armitage!” rejoined Edward; “how well you know how to remind me, by that expression, of my obscure birth and parentage, whenever I am apt to forget the distance which I ought to observe!”

“You are wrong!” replied Patience; “but you flattered me so grossly, that I called you Master Armitage to show that I disliked flattery, that was all. I dislike flattery from those who are above me in rank, as well as those who are below me; and I should have done the same to any other person, whatever his condition might be. But forget what I said, I did not mean to vex you, only to punish you for thinking me so silly as to believe such nonsense.”

“Your humility may construe that into flattery which was said by me in perfect sincerity and truth-that I can not help,” replied Edward. “I might have added much more, and yet have been sincere; if you had not reminded me of my not being of gentle birth, I might have had the presumption to have told you much more; but I have been rebuked.”

Edward finished speaking, and Patience made no reply; they walked on for several moments without exchanging another syllable. At last Patience said,

“I will not say who is wrong, Edward; but this I do know, that the one who first offers the olive branch after a misunderstanding, can not but be right. I offer it now, and ask you whether we are to quarrel about one little word. Let me ask you, and give me a candid answer: Have I ever been so base as to treat as an inferior one to whom I have been so much obliged?”

“It is I who am in fault, Patience,” replied Edward. “I have been dreaming for a long while, pleased with my dreams, and forgetting that they were dreams, and not likely to be realized. I must now speak plainly. I love you, Patience; love you so much, that to part from you would be misery-to know that my love was rejected, as bitter as death. That is the truth, and I can conceal it no longer. Now I admit you have a right to be angry.”

“I see no cause for anger, Edward,” replied Patience. “I have not thought of you but as a friend and benefactor; it would have been wrong to have done otherwise. I am but a young person, and must be guided by my father. I would not offend him by disobedience. I thank you for your good opinion of me, and yet I wish you had not said what you have.”

“Am I to understand from your reply, that, if your father raised no objection, my lowly birth would be none in your opinion?”

“Your birth has never come into my head, except when reminded of it by yourself.”

“Then, Patience, let me return for the present to what I had to confide to you. I was—”

“Here comes my father, Edward,” said Patience. “Surely I have done wrong, for I feel afraid to meet him.”

Mr. Heatherstone now joined them, and said to Edward—

“I have been looking for you: I have news from London which has rejoiced me much. I have at last obtained what I have some time been trying for; and, indeed, I may say, that your prudence and boldness in returning home as a trooper, added to your conduct in the forest, has greatly advanced, and ultimately obtained for me, my suit. There was some suspense before that, but your conduct has removed it; and now we shall have plenty to do.”

They walked to the house, and the intendant, as soon as he had gained his own room, said to Edward—

“There is a grant to me of a property which I have long solicited for my services—read it.”

Edward took up the letter in which the Parliament informed Mr. Heatherstone that his application to the property of Arnwood had been acceded to, and signed by the commissioners; and that he might take immediate possession. Edward turned pale as he laid the document down on the table.

“We will ride tomorrow, Edward, and look it over. I intend to rebuild the house.”

Edward made no reply.

“Are you not well?” said the intendant, with surprise.

“Yes, sir,” replied Edward, “I am well, I believe; but I confess to you that I am disappointed. I did not think that you would have accepted a property from such a source, and so unjustly sequestrated.”

“I am sorry, Edward,” replied the intendant, “that I should have fallen in your good opinion; but allow me to observe that you are so far right that I never would have accepted a property to which there were living claimants; but this is a different case. For instance, the Ratcliffe property belongs to little Clara, and is sequestrated. Do you think I would accept it? Never! But here is property without an heir; the whole family perished in the flames of Arnwood! There is no living claimant! It must be given to somebody, or remain with the government. This property, therefore, and this property only, out of all sequestrated, I selected, as I felt that, in obtaining it, I did harm to no one. I have been offered others, but have refused them. I would accept of this, and this only; and that is the reason why my applications have hitherto been attended with no success. I trust you believe me, Edward, in what I assert?”

“First answer me one question, Mr. Heatherstone. Suppose it were proved that the whole of the family did not, as it is supposed, perish at the conflagration of Arnwood? Suppose a rightful heir to it should at any time appear, would you then resign the property to him?”

“As I hope for Heaven, Edward, I would!” replied the intendant, solemnly raising his eyes upward as he spoke. “I then should think that I had been an instrument to keep the property out of other hands less scrupulous, and should surrender it as a trust which had been confided to me for the time only.”

“With such feelings, Mr. Heatherstone, I can now congratulate you upon your having obtained possession of the property,” replied Edward.

“And yet I do not deserve so much credit, as there is little chance of my sincerity being put to the test, Edward. There is no doubt that the family all perished; and Arnwood will become the dower of Patience Heatherstone.”

Edward’s heart beat quick. A moment’s thought told him his situation. He had been prevented, by the interruption of Mr. Heatherstone, from making his confession to Patience; and now he could not make it to any body without a rupture with the intendant, or a compromise, by asking what he so earnestly desired—the hand of Patience. Mr. Heatherstone observing to Edward that he did not look well, said supper was ready, and that they had better go into the next room. Edward mechanically followed. At supper he was tormented by the incessant inquiries of Clara, as to what was the matter with him. He did not venture to look at Patience, and made a hasty retreat to bed, complaining, as he might well do, of a severe headache.

Edward threw himself on his bed, but to sleep was impossible. He thought of the events of the day over and over again. Had he any reason to believe that Patience returned his affection? No; her reply was too calm, too composed to make him suppose that; and now that she would be an heiress, there would be no want of pretenders to her hand; and he would lose her and his property at the same time. It was true that the intendant had declared that he would renounce the property if the true heir appeared, but that was easy to say upon the conviction that no heir would appear; and even if