age. Have I not managed well to come alone? We shall have such a
charming drive to-day.'

'You are so beautiful!' murmured Ferdinand.

'I am content if you but think so. You did not hear me approach? What
were you doing? Plunged in meditation? Now tell me truly, were you
thinking of her?'

'Indeed, I have no other thought. Oh, my Henrietta! you are so beautiful
to-day. I cannot talk of anything but your beauty.'

'And how did you sleep? Are you comfortable? I have brought you some
flowers to make your room look pretty.'

They soon reached the farm-house. The good-wife seemed a little
surprised when she observed her guest driving Miss Temple, but far more
pleased. Henrietta ran into the house to see the children, spoke
some kind words to the little maiden, and asked if their guest had
breakfasted. Then, turning to Ferdinand, she said, 'Have you forgotten
that you are to give me a breakfast? It shall be in the porch. Is it
not sweet and pretty? See, here are your flowers, and I have brought you
some fruit.'

The breakfast was arranged. 'But you do not play your part, sweet
Henrietta,' he said; 'I cannot breakfast alone.'

She affected to share his repast, that he might partake of it; but,
in truth, she only busied herself in arranging the flowers. Yet
she conducted herself with so much dexterity, that Ferdinand had an
opportunity of gratifying his appetite, without being placed in a
position, awkward at all times, insufferable for a lover, that of eating
in the presence of others who do not join you in the occupation.

'Now,' she suddenly said, sitting by his side, and placing a rose in
his dress, 'I have a little plan today, which I think will be quite
delightful. You shall drive me to Armine.'

Ferdinand started. He thought of Glastonbury.

His miserable situation recurred to him. This was the bitter drop in
the cup; yes! in the very plenitude of his rare felicity he expressed a
pang. His confusion was not unobserved by Miss Temple; for she was very
quick in her perception; but she could not comprehend it. It did
not rest on her mind, particularly when Ferdinand assented to her
proposition, but added, 'I forgot that Armine is more interesting to
you than to me. All my associations with Armine are painful. Ducie is my
delight.'

'Ah! my romance is at Armine; yours at Ducie. What we live among, we
do not always value. And yet I love my home,' she added, in a somewhat
subdued, even serious tone; 'all my assoc