en of
Ferrers in a very different tone; but she felt confidence in the unusual
seriousness of his last communication; and with satisfaction contrasted
it with the heedlessness, or the levity, of his former intimations.
Here, too, was the page of Ferrers, at her side--the beautiful and
bright-eyed Spiridion. How strange it was! how very strange! Her simple
life had suddenly become like some shifting fairy-tale; but love,
indeed, is a fairy, and full of marvels and magic--it changes all
things; and the quietest domestic hearth, when shadowed by its wing,
becomes as rife with wonders and adventure as if it were the passionate
theatre of some old romance. Yes! the bright-eyed Greek page of her
mysterious and absent lover was at her side-but then he spoke only
Greek. In vain she tried to make him comprehend how much she desired to
have tidings of his master. The graceful mute could only indulge in airy
pantomime, point to the skies and ocean, or press his hand to his heart
in token of fidelity. Henrietta amused herself in teaching Spiridion
Italian, and repaid herself for all her trouble in occasionally
obtaining some slight information of her friend. In time she learned
that Ferrers was in Italy, and had seen Lord Bohun before the departure
of that nobleman. In answer to her anxious and often-repeated inquiries
whether he would soon return, Spiridion was constant to his consoling
affirmative. Never was such a sedulous mistress of languages as
Henrietta Ponsonby. She learned, also, that an Albanian scarf, which
the page wore round his waist, had been given him by his master when
Spiridion quitted him; and Henrietta instantly obtained the scarf for a
Barbary shawl of uncommon splendour.

Now, it happened one afternoon towards sunset, as the Greek page,
rambling, as was his custom, over the neighbouring heights, beheld below
the spreading fort, the neighbouring straits, and the distant sea, that
a vessel appeared in sight, and soon entered the harbour. It was an
English vessel--it was the yacht of Lord Bohun. The page started and
watched the vessel with a fixed and earnest gaze; soon he observed
the British Consul in his boat row to the side of the vessel, and also
immediately return. At that moment the yacht hoisted a signal--upon
a white ground a crimson heart--whereupon Spiridion, drawing from his
breast a letter, kissed it twice, and bounded away.

He bounded away towards the city, and scarcely slackened his pace
until h