xperienced, I cannot but hold it, even with all its sweet
reflections, as little better than a dull delusion.'

While Ferdinand was thus moralising at the casement, Glastonbury
appeared beneath; and his appearance dissipated this gathering gloom.
'Let us breakfast together,' proposed Ferdinand. 'I have breakfasted
these two hours,' replied the hermit of the gate. 'I hope that on the
first night of your return to Armine you have proved auspicious dreams.'

'My bed and I are old companions,' said Ferdinand, 'and we agreed
very well. I tell you what, my dear Glastonbury, we will have a stroll
together this morning and talk over our plans of last night. Go into
the library and look over my sketch-books: you will find them on my
pistol-case, and I will be with you anon.'

In due time the friends commenced their ramble. Ferdinand soon became
excited by Glastonbury's various suggestions for the completion of
the castle; and as for the old man himself, between his architectural
creation and the restoration of the family to which he had been so long
devoted, he was in a rapture of enthusiasm, which afforded an amusing
contrast to his usual meek and subdued demeanour.

'Your grandfather was a great man,' said Glastonbury, who in old days
seldom ventured to mention the name of the famous Sir Ferdinand: 'there
is no doubt he was a very great man. He had great ideas. How he would
glory in our present prospects! 'Tis strange what a strong confidence I
have ever had in the destiny of your house. I felt sure that Providence
would not desert us. There is no doubt we must have a portcullis.'

'Decidedly, a portcullis,' said Ferdinand; 'you shall make all the
drawings yourself, my dear Glastonbury, and supervise everything. We
will not have a single anachronism. It shall be perfect.'

'Perfect,' echoed Glastonbury; 'really perfect. It shall be a perfect
Gothic castle. I have such treasures for the work. All the labours of
my life have tended to this object. I have all the emblazonings of your
house since the Conquest. There shall be three hundred shields in the
hall. I will paint them myself. Oh! there is no place in the world like
Armine!'

'Nothing,' said Ferdinand; 'I have seen a great deal, but after all
there is nothing like Armine.'

'Had we been born to this splendour,' said Glastonbury, 'we should have
thought little of it. We have been mildly and wisely chastened. I cannot
sufficiently admire the wisdom of Providence, whi