perhaps, along some corridor, the
fading echo of her voice. But Ferdinand was not alone; Mr. Temple still
remained. That gentleman raised his face from the newspaper as Captain
Armine advanced to him; and, after some observations about the day's
sport, and a hope that he would repeat his trial of the manor to-morrow,
proposed their retirement. Ferdinand of course assented, and in a moment
he was ascending with his host the noble and Italian staircase: and he
then was ushered from the vestibule into his room.

His previous visit to the chamber had been so hurried, that he had
only made a general observation on its appearance. Little inclined to
slumber, he now examined it more critically. In a recess was a French
bed of simple furniture. On the walls, which were covered with a rustic
paper, were suspended several drawings, representing views in the
Saxon Switzerland. They were so bold and spirited that they arrested
attention; but the quick eye of Ferdinand instantly detected the
initials of the artist in the corner. They were letters that made his
heart tremble, as he gazed with admiring fondness on her performances.
Before a sofa, covered with a chintz of a corresponding pattern with
the paper of the walls, was placed a small French table, on which
were writing materials; and his toilet-table and his mantelpiece were
profusely ornamented with rare flowers; on all sides were symptoms of
female taste and feminine consideration.

Ferdinand carefully withdrew from his coat the flower that Henrietta had
given him in the morning, and which he had worn the whole day. He kissed
it, he kissed it more than once; he pressed its somewhat faded form to
his lips with cautious delicacy; then tending it with the utmost care,
he placed it in a vase of water, which holding in his hand, he threw
himself into an easy chair, with his eyes fixed on the gift he most
valued in the world.

An hour passed, and Ferdinand Armine remained fixed in the same
position. But no one who beheld that beautiful and pensive countenance,
and the dreamy softness of that large grey eye, could for a moment
conceive that his thoughts were less sweet than the object on which they
appeared to gaze. No distant recollections disturbed him now, no memory
of the past, no fear of the future. The delicious present monopolised
his existence. The ties of duty, the claims of domestic affection, the
worldly considerations that by a cruel dispensation had seemed, as it
we