come from the
heart.'

CHAPTER IX.

_The Last Day and the Last Night_.

IN THE meantime, the approaching I departure of Ferdinand was the great
topic of interest at Armine, It was settled that his father should
accompany him to Falmouth, where he was to embark; and that they should
pay a visit on their way to his grandfather, whose seat was situate in
the west of England. This separation, now so near at hand, occasioned
Lady Armine the deepest affliction; but she struggled to suppress her
emotion. Yet often, while apparently busied with the common occupations
of the day, the tears trickled down her cheek; and often she rose from
her restless seat, while surrounded by those she loved, to seek the
solitude of her chamber and indulge her overwhelming sorrow. Nor was
Ferdinand less sensible of the bitterness of this separation. With all
the excitement of his new prospects, and the feeling of approaching
adventure and fancied independence, so flattering to inexperienced
youth, he could not forget that his had been a very happy home. Nearly
seventeen years of an innocent existence had passed, undisturbed by
a single bad passion, and unsullied by a single action that he could
regret. The river of his life had glided along, reflecting only a
cloudless sky. But if he had been dutiful and happy, if at this moment
of severe examination his conscience were serene, he could not but feel
how much this enviable state of mind was to be attributed to those
who had, as it were, imbued his life with love; whose never-varying
affection had developed all the kindly feelings of his nature, had
anticipated all his wants, and listened to all his wishes; had assisted
him in difficulty and guided him in doubt; had invited confidence by
kindness, and deserved it by sympathy; had robbed instruction of all its
labour, and discipline of all its harshness.

It was the last day; on the morrow he was to quit Armine. He strolled
about among the mouldering chambers of the castle, and a host of
thoughts and passions, like clouds in a stormy sky, coursed over his
hitherto serene and light-hearted breast. In this first great struggle
of his soul some symptoms of his latent nature developed themselves,
and, amid the rifts of the mental tempest, occasionally he caught some
glimpses of self-knowledge. Nature, that had endowed him with a fiery
imagination and a reckless courage, had tempered those dangerous, and,
hitherto, those undeveloped and