y Henrietta, if
you knew all, you would not say this!'

'My Ferdinand,' she exclaimed, touched by that tender and melancholy
tone, 'why, what is this? you weep! What have I said, what done? Dearest
Ferdinand, do not do this.' And she threw herself on her knees before
him, and looked up into his face with scrutinising affection.

He bent down his head, and pressed his lips to her forehead. 'O
Henrietta!' he exclaimed, 'we have been so happy!'

'And shall be so, my own. Doubt not my word, all will go right. I am
so sorry, I am so miserable, that I made you unhappy to-night. I shall
think of it when you are gone. I shall remember how naughty I was. It
was so wicked, so very, very wicked; and he was so good.'

'Gone! what a dreadful word! And shall we not be together to-morrow,
Henrietta? Oh! what a morrow! Think of me, dearest. Do not let me for a
moment escape from your memory.'

'Tell me exactly your road; let me know exactly where you will be at
every hour; write to me on the road; if it be only a line, only a little
word; only his dear name; only Ferdinand!'

'And how shall I write to you? Shall I direct to you here?'

Henrietta looked perplexed. 'Papa opens the bag every morning, and every
morning you must write, or I shall die. Ferdinand, what is to be done'?'

'I will direct to you at the post-office. You must send for your
letters.'

'I tremble. Believe me, it will be noticed. It will look
so--so--so--clandestine.'

'I will direct them to your maid. She must be our confidante.'

'Ferdinand!'

''Tis only for a week.'

'O Ferdinand! Love teaches us strange things.'

'My darling, believe me, it is wise and well. Think how desolate we
should be without constant correspondence. As for myself, I shall write
to you every hour, and, unless I hear from you as often, I shall believe
only in evil!'

'Let it be as you wish. God knows my heart is pure. I pretend no longer
to regulate my destiny. I am yours, Ferdinand. Be you responsible for
all that affects my honour or my heart.'

'A precious trust, my Henrietta, and dearer to me than all the glory of
my ancestors.'

The clock sounded eleven. Miss Temple rose. 'It is so late, and we
in darkness here! What will they think? Ferdinand, sweetest, rouse
the fire. I ring the bell. Lights will come, and then------' Her voice
faltered.

'And then------' echoed Ferdinand. He took up his guitar, but he could
not command his voice.

''Tis your guitar,' said Henr