CHAP. IV
For a few moments they were silent; at length Ferdinand explained to her his motives without entering into any strictures on his brother's conduct; and by the arguments he adduced in support of his plan, brought her to be convinced, or at least to appear convinced, that he was perfectly right. He mentioned his intention to take a small cottage for her and his children, at the same time that he told her of the Count's wishes that she would remain at the Castle.—"On this head, my dear Claudina, your inclinations shall decide, for I wish to leave you perfectly contented with your situation in my absence, determine therefore as you feel most inclined."
"I own, then," answered she, 'that I prefer staying here; to remove into a strange house, among strange people, unaccustomed to manage for myself, would be altogether unpleasant. Here, as our good brother solicits our stay, I can at least be as comfortable as it is possible I can be in your absence, and make myself useful enough to do away any sense of obligation."
"As you please, so let it be," returned Ferdinand, rather hurt at her choice, but determined not to control her, "and I hope a few days will finish all our preparations, and give me strength to repair to Vienna." A further conversation took place relative to domestic matters; but he cautiously concealed the two extraordinary occurrences that had befallen him, because he had never yet undeceived her, with respect to the pardon which, she believed, the late Count had accorded to him before his death.
In the course of the evening Ferdinand saw Ernest, and related to him, not only what had past between his brother and himself, but the words which he had a second time heard in his apartment. "It was the same voice that I heard before in the room where my father's body lay. You, Ernest, will believe me, to no one else would I mention the circumstance, for from no one else should I gain credit; but it is wondrous strange!"
"True, Sir," answered the steward; "but nothing is impossible, and now forewarned, you may guard against any evil practices."—"Would to Heaven my wife had otherwise decided," cried Ferdinand.
"Do not be uneasy, Sir," replied Ernest, "whilst I have life and limbs I will be faithful to your family, nothing shall escape my observation." "But if you should be discharged?"
"I have some cause to think that cannot well take place, and should I quit the house, I have an infallible method of knowing what passes here; whilst I live, therefore, you need not fear."
This cheerful assurance calmed the tumult of Ferdinand's mind, and enabled him with alacrity to prepare for his journey. The following day Ernest waited on him by the Count's order with a handsome sum of money for his necessary expenses; the colour mounted to Ferdinand's cheeks, he hesitated, paced about the room, and seemed in violent agitations.—"Pray, dear Sir," cried Ernest, 'take the money, think of it less as your brother's present, than as a small part of your father's property, to which you have unquestionably a right."
"Not so," replied Ferdinand, "I can have no right to what he has bequeathed from me, and to receive pecuniary favours from a man I think capable of duplicity, lowers me in my own esteem."
"Be not so scrupulous, Sir, I beseech you," returned Ernest; 'take it, fortune may enable you to return it, and I'll pledge my life you will not hereafter regret accepting the money, or think much of the obligation as you call it."
"You persuade me," said Ferdinand, "and against my inclinations I comply; (then seeing the largeness of the sum, ) good Heavens! can this man have a bad heart? Is there not munificence in this present? O, Rhodophil, if concurrent circumstances have led me into an error, if I injure you by doubt and suspicion, how severe will be my repentance!"—Ernest was silent, indeed he could not view the necessary arrangement for the departure of a man he loved and revered, without feeling the deepest sorrow; yet he thought the plan he had adopted was most suitable to his birth, his age and situation, and therefore only regretted the necessity for its execution, whilst Ferdinand painfully looking forward to the hour of separation from a wife and children that he doted on, sought, in the bustle of preparation, to blunt the severity of his feelings.
The day of parting at length arrived, and as such scenes can afford no gratification to minds of sensibility, we shall not dwell upon them: Sorrow was reciprocal on all sides, at least to appearance, and we cannot penetrate into the remotest corner of the heart, therefore give those appearances due credit. To follow Ferdinand would be unnecessary, we shall then take this opportunity to look back into the family history of his father, the late Count Renaud.