e. Even her birds were forgotten, and her flowers
untended. A soft tumult filled her frame: now rapt in reverie, she
leaned her head upon her fair hand in charmed abstraction; now rising
from her restless seat, she paced the chamber, and thought of his quick
coming. What was this mighty revolution that a few short days, a few
brief hours had occasioned? How mysterious, yet how irresistible, how
overwhelming! Her father was absent, that father on whose fond idea she
had alone lived; from whom the slightest separation had once been
pain; and now that father claims not even her thoughts. Another, and a
stranger's, image is throned in her soul. She who had moved in the world
so variously, who had received so much homage and been accustomed from
her childhood to all that is considered accomplished and fascinating in
man, and had passed through the ordeal with a calm clear spirit; behold,
she is no longer the mistress of her thoughts or feelings; she had
fallen before a glance, and yielded in an instant to a burning word!

But could she blame herself? Did she repent the rapid and ravishing
past? Did regret mingle with her wonder? Was there a pang of remorse,
however slight, blending its sharp tooth with all her bliss? No! Her
love was perfect, and her joy was full. She offered her vows to that
Heaven that had accorded her happiness so supreme; she felt only
unworthy of a destiny so complete. She marvelled, in the meekness and
purity of her spirit, why one so gifted had been reserved for her,
and what he could recognise in her imperfect and inferior qualities to
devote to them the fondness of his rare existence.

Ferdinand Armine! Did there indeed ever breathe, had the wit of poet
ever yet devised, a being so choice? So young, so beautiful, so lively
and accomplished, so deeply and variously interesting! Was that sweet
voice, indeed, only to sound in her enchanted ear, that graceful form
to move only for the pleasure of her watchful eye? That quick and airy
fancy but to create for her delight, and that soft, gentle heart to own
no solicitude but for her will and infinite gratification? And could it
be possible that he loved her, that she was indeed his pledged bride,
that the accents of his adoration still echoed in her ear, and his fond
embrace still clung to her mute and trembling lips! Would he always love
her? Would he always be so fond? Would he be as faithful as he was now
devoted? Ah! she would not lose him. That heart