ion of my equivocal
position. Yet, whatever I may be, I offer my existence, and all its
accidents, good or bad, in homage to your heart. May I indulge the
delicious hope that, if not now accepted, they are at least considered
with kindliness and without suspicion?'

'Oh, yes! without _suspicion_,' murmured Miss Ponsonby--'without
suspicion. Nothing, nothing in the world shall ever make me believe that
you are not so good as you are------gifted.'

'Darling Henrietta!' exclaimed Mr. Ferrers, in a voice of melting
tenderness; and he pressed her to his heart, and sealed his love upon
her lips. 'This, this is confidence; this, this is the woman's love I
long have sighed for. Doubt me not, dearest; never doubt me! Say you are
mine; once more pledge yourself to me. I leave our isle this night. Nay,
start not, sweet one. 'Tis for our happiness; this night. I shall return
to claim my bride. Now, listen, darling! our engagement, our sweet and
solemn engagement, is secret. You will never hear from me until we meet
again; you may hear _of_ me and not to my advantage. What matter? You
love me; you cannot doubt me. I leave with you my honour: an honour
_never sullied_. Mind that. Oh no, you cannot doubt me!'

'I am yours: I care not what they say: if there be no faith and truth in
you, I will despair of them for ever.'

'Beautiful being! you make me mad with joy. Has fate reserved for me,
indeed, this treasure? Am I at length loved, and loved only for myself!'

CHAPTER VI.

_The Famous Lord Bohun_

He has gone; Mr. Ferrers has departed. What an event! What a marvellous
event! A revolution has occurred in the life of Henrietta Ponsonby: she
was no longer her own mistress; she was no longer her father's child.
She belonged to another; and that other a stranger, an unknown, and
departed being! How strange! And yet how sweet! This beautiful young
lady passed her days in pondering over her singular position. In vain
she attempted to struggle with her destiny. In vain she depicted
to herself the error, perhaps the madness, of her conduct. She was
fascinated. She could not reason; she could not communicate to her
father all that had happened. A thousand times her lips moved to reveal
her secret; a thousand times an irresistible power restrained them. She
remained silent, moody, and restless: she plucked flowers, and threw
them to the wind: she gazed upon the sea, and watched the birds in
abstraction wilder than their wing