feeling, that after so long
an absence, he had not treated Glastonbury with the kindness and
consideration he merited. While he was torturing his invention for an
excuse for his conduct he observed his old tutor in the distance; and
riding up and dismounting, he joined that faithful friend. Whether it
be that love and falsehood are, under any circumstances, inseparable,
Ferdinand Armine, whose frankness was proverbial, found himself involved
in a long and confused narrative of a visit to a friend, whom he had
unexpectedly met, whom he had known abroad, and to whom he was under
the greatest obligations. He even affected to regret this temporary
estrangement from Armine after so long a separation, and to rejoice at
his escape. No names were mentioned, and the unsuspicious Glastonbury,
delighted again to be his companion, inconvenienced him with no
cross-examination. But this was only the commencement of the system of
degrading deception which awaited him.

Willingly would Ferdinand have devoted all his time and feelings to his
companion; but in vain he struggled with the absorbing passion of his
soul. He dwelt in silence upon the memory of the last three days, the
most eventful period of his existence. He was moody and absent, silent
when he should have spoken, wandering when he should have listened,
hazarding random observations instead of conversing, or breaking into
hurried and inappropriate comments; so that to any worldly critic of his
conduct he would have appeared at the same time both dull and excited.
At length he made a desperate effort to accompany Glastonbury to the
picture gallery and listen to his plans. The scene indeed was not
ungrateful to him, for it was associated with the existence and the
conversation of the lady of his heart: he stood entranced before the
picture of the Turkish page, and lamented to Glastonbury a thousand
times that there was no portrait of Henrietta Armine.

'I would sooner have a portrait of Henrietta Armine than the whole
gallery together,' said Ferdinand.

Glastonbury stared.

'I wonder if there ever will be a portrait of Henrietta Armine. Come
now, my dear Glastonbury,' he continued, with an air of remarkable
excitement, 'let us have a wager upon it. What are the odds? Will there
ever be a portrait of Henrietta Armine? I am quite fantastic to-day.
You are smiling at me. Now do you know, if I had a wish certain to be
gratified, it should be to add a portrait of Henrietta Armi