rful story,' said Lord Montfort, 'and you
communicated everything to Miss Grandison?'

'Everything but the name of her rival. To that she would not listen. It
was not just, she said, to one so unfortunate and so unhappy.'

'She seems an admirable person, that Miss Grandison,' said Lord
Montfort.

'She is indeed as near an angel as anything earthly can be,' said
Glastonbury.

'Then it is still a secret to the parents?'

'Thus she would have it,' said Glastonbury. 'She clings to them, who
love her indeed as a daughter; and she shrank from the desolation that
was preparing for them.'

'Poor girl!' said Lord Montfort, 'and poor Armine! By heavens, I pity
him from the bottom of my heart.'

'If you had seen him as I have,' said Glastonbury, 'wilder than the
wildest Bedlamite! It was an awful sight.'

'Ah! the heart, the heart,' said Lord Montfort: 'it is a delicate organ,
Mr. Glastonbury. And think you his father and mother suspect nothing?'

'I know not what they think,' said Glastonbury, 'but they must soon know
all.' And he seemed to shudder at the thought.

'Why must they?' asked Lord Montfort.

Glastonbury stared.

'Is there no hope of softening and subduing all their sorrows?' said
Lord Montfort; 'cannot we again bring together these young and parted
spirits?'

'It is my only hope,' said Glastonbury, 'and yet I sometimes deem it a
forlorn one.'

'It is the sole desire of Henrietta,' said Lord Montfort; 'cannot you
assist us? Will you enter into this conspiracy of affection with us?'

'I want no spur to such a righteous work,' said Glastonbury, 'but I
cannot conceal from myself the extreme difficulty. Ferdinand is the most
impetuous of human beings. His passions are a whirlwind; his volition
more violent than becomes a suffering mortal.'

'You think, then, there is no difficulty but with him?'

'I know not what to say,' said Glastonbury; 'calm as appears the
temperament of Miss Grandison, she has heroic qualities. Oh! what have I
not seen that admirable young lady endure! Alas! my Digby, my dear
lord, few passages of this terrible story are engraven on my memory more
deeply than the day when I revealed to her the fatal secret. Yet, and
chiefly for her sake, it was my duty.'

'It was at Armine?'

'At Armine. I seized an opportunity when we were alone together, and
without fear of being disturbed. We had gone to view an old abbey in the
neighbourhood. We were seated among its ruins, when I took her