ne to our
gallery?'

'She died very young,' remarked Glastonbury.

'But my Henrietta Armine should not die young,' said Ferdinand. 'She
should live, breathe, smile: she------'

Glastonbury looked very confused.

So strange is love, that this kind of veiled allusion to his secret
passion relieved and gratified the overcharged bosom of Ferdinand. He
pursued the subject with enjoyment. Anybody but Glastonbury might have
thought that he had lost his senses, he laughed so loud, and talked
so fast about a subject which seemed almost nonsensical; but the good
Glastonbury ascribed these ebullitions to the wanton spirit of youth,
and smiled out of sympathy, though he knew not why, except that his
pupil appeared happy.

At length they quitted the gallery; Glastonbury resumed his labours in
the hall, where he was copying an escutcheon; and after hovering a short
time restlessly around his tutor, now escaping into the garden that he
might muse over Henrietta Temple undisturbed, and now returning for
a few minutes to his companion, lest the good Glastonbury should feel
mortified by his neglect, Ferdinand broke away altogether and wandered
far into the pleasaunce.

He came to the green and shady spot where he had first beheld her.
There rose the cedar spreading its dark form in solitary grandeur, and
holding, as it were, its state among its subject woods. It was the same
scene, almost the same hour: but where was she? He waited for her form
to rise, and yet it came not. He shouted Henrietta Temple, yet no fair
vision blessed his expectant sight. Was it all a dream? Had he been but
lying beneath these branches in a rapturous trance, and had he only
woke to the shivering dulness of reality? What evidence was there of the
existence of such a being as Henrietta Temple? If such a being did not
exist, of what value was life? After a glimpse of Paradise, could he
breathe again in this tame and frigid world? Where was Ducie? Where
were its immortal bowers, those roses of supernatural fragrance, and the
celestial melody of its halls? That garden, wherein he wandered and hung
upon her accents; that wood, among whose shadowy boughs she glided like
an antelope, that pensive twilight, on which he had gazed with such
subdued emotion; that moonlight walk, when her voice floated, like
Ariel's, in the purple sky: were these all phantoms? Could it be that
this morn, this very morn, he had beheld Henrietta Temple, had conversed
with her alone,