alone; he was not in a mood to endure her society; but he had
conducted himself to her mildly, though with firmness; he had promised
to follow her, and, in pursuance of his pledge, he rode home alone.

He was greeted on his return by his servant, full of the the visit
of the morning. With an irresistible curiosity, Herbert had made him
describe every incident that had occurred, and repeat a hundred times
every word that the visitors had uttered. He listened with some
consolation, however mournful, to his wife's praises of the unknown
stranger's life; he gazed with witching interest upon the autograph of
his daughter on the wall of his library. He had not confessed to his
mistress the relation which the two strangers bore to him; yet he was
influenced in concealing the real circumstances, only by an indefinite
sentiment, that made him reluctant to acknowledge to her ties so
pure. The feelings of the parent overpowered the principles of the
philosopher. This lady indeed, although at the moment she had indulged
in so violent an ebullition of temper, possessed little influence over
the mind of her companion. Herbert, however fond of solitude,
required in his restricted world the graceful results of feminine
superintendence. Time had stilled his passions, and cooled the fervour
of his soul. The age of his illusions had long passed. This was a
connection that had commenced in no extravagant or romantic mood, and
perhaps for that reason had endured. He had become acquainted with her
on his first unknown arrival in Italy, from America, now nearly two
years back. It had been maintained on his side by a temper naturally
sweet, and which, exhausted by years of violent emotion, now required
only repose; seeking, in a female friend, a form that should not
outrage an eye ever musing on the beautiful, and a disposition that
should contribute to his comfort, and never ruffle his feelings.
Separated from his wife by her own act, whatever might have been its
impulse, and for so long an interval, it was a connection which the
world in general might have looked upon with charity, which in her
calmer hours one would imagine even Lady Annabel might have glanced
over without much bitterness. Certainly it was one which, under all
the circumstances of the case, could scarcely be esteemed by her as an
outrage or an insult; but even Herbert felt, with all his philosophy
and proud freedom from prejudice, that the rencounter of the morning
was on