its tension, by busying his
imagination with other, though similar emotions. As he read, his mind
became more calm and his feelings deeper, and by the time his lamp grew
ghastly in the purple light of morning that now entered his chamber, his
soul seemed so stilled that he closed the volume, and, though sleep was
impossible, he remained nevertheless calm and absorbed.

When the first sounds assured him that some were stirring in the house,
he quitted his room, and after some difficulty found a maid-servant, by
whose aid he succeeded in getting into the garden. He took his way to
the common where he had observed the preceding day, a fine sheet of
water. The sun had not risen more than an hour; it was a fresh and ruddy
morn. The cottagers were just abroad. The air of the plain invigorated
him, and the singing of the birds, and all those rural sounds that rise
with the husbandman, brought to his mind a wonderful degree of freshness
and serenity. Occasionally he heard the gun of an early sportsman, to
him at all times an animating sound; but when he had plunged into the
water, and found himself struggling with that inspiring element, all
sorrow seemed to leave him. His heated brow became cool and clear, his
aching limbs vigorous and elastic, his jaded soul full of hope and joy.
He lingered in the liquid and vivifying world, playing with the stream,
for he was an expert and practised swimmer; and often, after nights of
southern dissipation, had recurred to this natural bath for health and
renovation.

The sun had now risen far above the horizon; the village clock had long
struck seven; Ferdinand was three miles from Ducie Bower. It was time
to return, yet he loitered on his way, the air was so sweet and
fresh, the scene so pretty, and his mind, in comparison with his recent
feelings, so calm, and even happy. Just as he emerged from the woods,
and entered the grounds of Ducie, he met Miss Temple. She stared, and
she had cause. Ferdinand indeed presented rather an unusual figure; his
head uncovered, his hair matted, and his countenance glowing with his
exercise, but his figure clothed with the identical evening dress in
which he had bid her a tender good night.

'Captain Armine!' exclaimed Miss Temple, 'you are an early riser, I
see.'

Ferdinand looked a little confused. 'The truth is,' he replied, 'I have
not risen at all. I could not sleep; why, I know not: the evening, I
suppose, was too happy for so commonplace a termi