Again he rose from his seat: for a sudden thought had struck him--accompanied by a severe pang,--a pang that went through his heart like a barbed arrow.
“My mother!--my poor mother!” he murmured to himself: “Oh! what a blow will it be to _her_ if I compel my father--compel her husband--to assert his claims to the Earldom of Ellingham! And yet--was I not for years neglected by her?--did she care for me--did she even have me to dwell with her during my infancy? No--no: I was abandoned to the woman Watts;--and had I become a thief in the streets--a prowling, houseless vagabond--my mother would have been to blame!”
Thus was it that this young man, having imbibed from Perdita the art and facility of sophistical reasoning,--thus was it that he crushed all the naturally generous feelings of his soul, and struggled desperately to subdue the promptings of his really good disposition.
Love and ambition produced these baneful effects!
But his love,--was it a pure and honest love inspired by a virtuous being?--or was it a frenzy engendered and sustained by a depraved and designing woman endowed with the most glorious beauty?
And his ambition,--was it that fine spirit of emulation which warms the generous heart, and prompts the enlightened mind to seek distinction for the sake of being enabled, by means of influence and high position, to benefit the human race?--or was it a selfish craving after rank and power, in order to enjoy the sweets of applause, become the object of servile flattery, and obtain the honour ever shown in this country to sounding titles and a proud aristocracy?
The reader can answer these questions for himself.
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.