T WAS about two hours before sunset that Captain Armine summoned up
courage to call at Ducie Bower. He enquired for Mr. Temple, and learned
to his surprise that Mr. Temple had quitted Ducie yesterday morning for
Scotland. 'And Miss Temple?' said Ferdinand. 'Is at home, Sir,' replied
the servant. Ferdinand was ushered into the salon. She was not there.
Our hero was very nervous; he had been bold enough in the course of
his walk from the farmhouse, and indulged in a thousand imaginary
conversations with his mistress; but, now that he was really about to
meet her, all his fire and fancy deserted him. Everything occurred to
him inauspicious to his suit; his own situation, the short time she had
known him, his uncertainty of the state of her affections. How did he
know she was not engaged to another? why should she not be betrothed as
well as himself? This contingency had occurred to him before, and yet
he had driven it from his thoughts. He began to be jealous; he began to
think himself a very great fool; at any rate, he resolved not to expose
himself any further. He was clearly premature; he would call to-morrow
or next day: to speak to her now was certainly impossible.

The door opened; she entered, radiant as the day! What a smile! what
dazzling teeth! what ravishing dimples! her eyes flashed like summer
lightning; she extended to him a hand white and soft as one of those
doves that had played about him in the morning. Surely never was anyone
endued with such an imperial presence. So stately, so majestic, and yet
withal so simply gracious; full of such airy artlessness, at one moment
she seemed an empress, and then only a beautiful child; and the hand and
arm that seemed fashioned to wave a sceptre, in an instant appeared only
fit to fondle a gazelle, or pluck a flower.

'How do you do?' she said; and he really fancied she was going to sing.
He was not yet accustomed to that marvellous voice. It broke upon the
silence, like a silver bell just touched by the summer air. 'It is kind
of you to come and see a lone maiden,' she continued; 'papa has deserted
me, and without any preparation. I cannot endure to be separated
from him, and this is almost the only time that he has refused my
solicitation to accompany him. But he must travel far and quickly. My
uncle has sent for him; he is very unwell, and papa is his trustee.
There is business; I do not know what it is, but I dare say not very
agreeable. By-the-bye, I hope Lady Ar