Satisfied with this resolution, Edric rose and walked hastily towards his father’s mansion, with all that inward vigour which the consciousness of having made up one’s mind is certain to bestow; and which, perhaps, is one of the most agreeable sensations that can be experienced by the human mind, as that of suspense or indecision is undoubtedly one of the most unpleasant.
Edric found his father and the Duke busily engaged in consulting upon their intended journey, which was an event in both their lives; for as, since the universal adoption of balloons, journeys were performed without either trouble or expense, the rich had lost all inducement to undertake them, and it was rare for a man of rank to quit his family mansion unless he had some post at court.
“I have a palace in London,” said the Duke, “which I hope you will make your home; though it has been so long unused that I doubt whether it will be fit for your reception.”
“Do not distress yourself about making arrangements for my family,” replied Sir Ambrose; “there will be only Edric and myself, and we can make shift with anything.”
“Indeed I shall not consent to any such arrangement,” said Elvira, who now entered the room with Rosabella and Clara Montagu, the orphan niece of the baronet, who had been brought up in his family; “What has Clara done that she is to be excluded from the party?”
“Oh, Clara is too young to think of such things,” returned Sir Ambrose, smiling.
“Not she,” cried the Duke; “I’ll engage for it; are you my pretty rosebud?” continued he, drawing the smiling, blushing girl to his knee. “Shouldn’t you like to go to London, eh?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Clara, with all the eagerness and innocence of fifteen, for that was her age; “very much indeed, if my uncle has no objection.”
“My dear Sir Ambrose,” said Elvira, coaxingly, “do pray indulge us.”
“Well, well, we shall see,” replied the good-humoured baronet, smiling.
“Thank you, thank you, my dear, dear uncle!” cried Clara, flying to him, and almost smothering him with kisses.
“But I have not consented yet, you know.”
“No, but I’m sure you will, you look so good-natured.”
“Go, go, you are a little coaxing puss: but why did you not come home last night, Clara?”
“My nurse was so ill, and it rained so: besides, you know, uncle, you gave me leave to stop, if I liked.”
“Well, well, I believe I did. It was of no great consequence; you are always safe under the care of Mrs. Robson: she is a very respectable woman—I hope she’s better?”
“Oh, she’ll soon be well now. I’m going to tell her of Edmund’s victory; and she said yesterday, if she could but hear that he had conquered, it would cure her, if she were dying.”
“Off with you, then,” said Sir Ambrose, laughing, “you are always on the wing; and harkye, you may tell your nurse also, that you are going to London.”
Clara’s delight and gratitude were unbounded, and she sprang away like a young fawn to tell her nurse the joyful news, while Elvira’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, as she thanked Sir Ambrose warmly for his kindness.
The Duke was also highly gratified. “You must bring Abelard and Davis also,” said he, “for I’m sure you won’t be happy without them.”
Sir Ambrose owned he should not; and the Duke, being like most people who lead dull, monotonous lives, quite delighted with an event that promised a little change, bustled off, followed by his fair companions, fully determined to make the most of it.
Edric’s heart throbbed violently when he found himself alone with his father; the moment was arrived he had been so ardently wishing for, and yet he was silent. He had scarcely had patience to wait the end of his father’s conference with the Duke; and whilst it had lasted, he had been arranging and rearranging a thousand times in his mind, the phrases he meant to make use of; yet now they seemed to have all vanished from his memory, and he stood gazing through the open window, his mind feeling a perfect chaos, and without being able to recollect one single word of what he had determined to say.
After continuing for some time in this state of irresolution, he was suddenly startled by his father’s exclaiming, “Well, Edric, my dear boy, I am very glad I have an opportunity of speaking to you alone, as I have something of importance to communicate.”
The voice of Sir Ambrose sounded harsh and abrupt in the ears of his son, and Edric felt incapable of uttering a single word in reply.
“What is the matter?” cried Sir Ambrose, after a short pause; “surely you are not ill? Edric, my dear boy, do speak; shall I send for Dr. Coleman?”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Edric, faintly; “I am not ill, I assure you.”
“What is the matter, then?” resumed Sir Ambrose, impatiently; “Perhaps, you want some new philosophical instrument, and you don’t like to ask for it, because you know the low state of my finances. But don’t distress yourself on that account, for you are going to marry a rich wife, and then you can
