ook hands
with him. Nothing now remained. All was ready. His father was seated.
Ferdinand stood a moment in thought. 'Let me run up to my mother, sir?'
'You had better not, my child,' replied Sir Ratcliffe, 'she does not
expect you. Come, come along.' So he slowly seated himself, with his
eyes fixed on the window of his mother's chamber; and as the carriage
drove off the window opened, and a hand waved a white handkerchief. He
saw no more; but as he saw it he clenched his hand in agony.

How different was this journey to London from his last! He scarcely
spoke a word. Nothing interested him but his own feelings. The guard and
the coachman, and the bustle of the inn, and the passing spectacles of
the road, appeared a collection of impertinences. All of a sudden it
seemed that his boyish feelings had deserted him. He was glad when they
arrived in London, and glad that they were to stay in it only a single
day. Sir Ratcliffe and his son called upon the Duke; but, as they had
anticipated, the family had quitted town. Our travellers put up at
Hatchett's, and the following night started for Exeter in the Devonport
mail. Ferdinand arrived at the western metropolis having interchanged
with his father scarcely a hundred sentences. At Exeter, after a
night of most welcome rest, they took a post-chaise and proceeded by a
cross-road to Grandison.

When Lord Grandison, who as yet was perfectly unacquainted with the
revolutions in the Armine family, had clearly comprehended that his
grandson had obtained a commission without either troubling him for his
interest, or putting him in the disagreeable predicament of refusing
his money, there were no bounds to the extravagant testimonials of his
affection, both towards his son-in-law and his grandson. He seemed quite
proud of such relations; he patted Sir Ratcliffe on his back, asked a
thousand questions about his darling Constance, and hugged and slobbered
over Ferdinand as if he were a child of five years old. He informed
all his guests daily (and the house was full) that Lady Armine was his
favourite daughter, and Sir Ratcliffe his favourite son-in-law, and
Ferdinand especially his favourite grandchild. He insisted upon Sir
Ratcliffe always sitting at the head of his table, and always placed
Ferdinand on his own right hand. He asked his butler aloud at dinner why
he had not given a particular kind of Burgundy, because Sir Ratcliffe
Armine was here.

'Darbois,' said the old nobleman,