em open to
those that watch him, yet in fact view nothing but their own inward
fancies.

Oh! that night at Ducie, through whose long hours Ferdinand Armine, in a
tumult of enraptured passion, wandered in its lawns and groves, feeding
on the image of its enchanting mistress, watching the solitary light in
her chamber that was to him as the pharos to a mariner in a tumultuous
voyage! The morning, the grey cold morning, came at last; he had
outwatched the stars, and listened to the matins of the waking birds. It
was no longer possible to remain in the gardens unobserved; he regained
the common.

What should he do! whither should he wend his course? To Armine? Oh!
not to Armine; never could he return to Armine without the heart of
Henrietta Temple. Yes! on that great venture he had now resolved; on
that mighty hazard all should now be staked. Reckless of consequences,
one vast object now alone sustained him. Existence without her was
impossible! Ay! a day, a day, a single, a solitary day, should not
elapse without his breathing to her his passion, and seeking his fate
from her dark eyes.

He strolled along to the extremity of the common. It was a great table
land, from whose boundary you look down on small rich valleys; and into
one of these, winding his way through fields and pastures, of which
the fertile soil was testified by their vigorous hedgerows, he now
descended. A long, low farmhouse, with gable ends and ample porch,
an antique building that in old days might have been some manorial
residence, attracted his attention. Its picturesque form, its angles and
twisted chimneys, its porch covered with jessamine and eglantine, its
verdant homestead, and its orchard rich with ruddy fruit, its vast barns
and long lines of ample stacks, produced altogether a rural picture
complete and cheerful. Near it a stream, which Ferdinand followed, and
which, after a devious and rapid course, emptied itself into a deep
and capacious pool, touched by the early sunbeam, and grateful to the
swimmer's eye. Here Ferdinand made his natural toilet; and afterwards
slowly returning to the farm-house, sought an agreeable refuge from the
sun in its fragrant porch.

The farmer's wife, accompanied by a pretty daughter with downcast eyes,
came forth and invited him to enter. While he courteously refused her
offer, he sought her hospitality. The good wife brought a table and
placed it in the porch, and covered it with a napkin purer than snow.