stonbury, all the mortifying circumstances of his illustrious race,
rose in painful succession before him. Nor could he forget his own
wretched follies and that fatal visit to Bath, of which the consequences
clanked upon his memory like degrading and disgraceful fetters. The
burden of existence seemed intolerable. That domestic love which had so
solaced his existence, recalled now only the most painful associations.
In the wildness of his thoughts he wished himself alone in the world, to
struggle with his fate and mould his fortunes. He felt himself a slave
and a sacrifice. He cursed Armine, his ancient house, and his broken
fortunes. He felt that death was preferable to life without Henrietta
Temple. But even supposing that he could extricate himself from his
rash engagement; even admitting that all worldly considerations might
be thrown aside, and the pride of his father, and his mother's love, and
Glastonbury's pure hopes, might all be outraged; what chance, what
hope was there of obtaining his great object? What was he, what was he,
Ferdinand Armine, free as the air from the claims of Miss Grandison,
with all sense of duty rooted out of his once sensitive bosom, and
existing only for the gratification of his own wild fancies? A beggar,
worse than a beggar, without a home, without the possibility of a home
to offer the lady of his passion; nay, not even secure that the harsh
process of the law might not instantly claim its victim, and he himself
be hurried from the altar to the gaol!

Moody and melancholy, he repaired to the salon; he beheld Henrietta
Temple, and the cloud left his brow, and lightness came to his heart.
Never had she looked so beautiful, so fresh and bright, so like a fair
flower with the dew upon its leaves. Her voice penetrated his soul; her
sunny smile warmed his breast. Her father greeted him too with kindness,
and inquired after his slumbers, which he assured Mr. Temple had been
satisfactory.

'I find,' continued Mr. Temple, 'that the post has brought me some
business to-day which, I fear, claims the morning to transact; but I
hope you will not forget your promise. The keeper will be ready whenever
you summon him.'

Ferdinand muttered something about trouble and intrusion, and the
expected arrival of his family; but Miss Temple begged him to accept the
offer, and refusal was impossible.

After breakfast Mr. Temple retired to his library, and Ferdinand found
himself alone for the first time w