come to visit him?
Will that consummate being before whom, but a few days back, he stood
entranced; to whose mind the very idea of his existence had not then
even occurred; will she be here anon to visit him? to visit her beloved!
What has he done to be so happy? What fairy has touched him and his
dark fortunes with her wand? What talisman does he grasp to call up
such bright adventures of existence? He does not err. He is an enchanted
being; a spell indeed pervades his frame; he moves in truth in a world
of marvels and miracles. For what fairy has a wand like love, what
talisman can achieve the deeds of passion?

He quitted the rustic porch, and strolled up the lane that led to Ducie.
He started at a sound: it was but the spring of a wandering bird. Then
the murmur of a distant wheel turned him pale; and he stopped and leant
on a neighbouring gate with a panting heart. Was she at hand? There is
not a moment when the heart palpitates with such delicate suspense as
when a lover awaits his mistress in the spring days of his passion. Man
watching the sun rise from a mountain awaits not an incident to him more
beautiful, more genial, and more impressive. With her presence it would
seem that both light and heat fall at the same time upon his heart: his
emotions are warm and sunny, that a moment ago seemed dim and frigid; a
thrilling sense of joy pervades his frame; the air is sweeter, and his
ears seem to echo with the music of a thousand birds.

The sound of the approaching wheel became more audible; it drew near,
nearer; but lost the delicacy that distance lent it. Alas! it did not
propel the car of a fairy, or the chariot of a heroine, but a cart,
whose taxed springs bowed beneath the portly form of an honest yeoman
who gave Captain Armine a cheerful good-morrow as he jogged by, and
flanked his jolly whip with unmerciful dexterity. The loudness of the
unexpected salute, the crack of the echoing thong, shook the fine nerves
of a fanciful lover, and Ferdinand looked so confused, that if the
honest yeoman had only stopped to observe him, the passenger might have
really been excused for mistaking him for a poacher, at the least, by
his guilty countenance.

This little worldly interruption broke the wings of Ferdinand's soaring
fancy. He fell to earth. Doubt came over him whether Henrietta would
indeed come. He was disappointed, and so he became distrustful. He
strolled on, however, in the direction of Ducie, yet slowly, as