nd offering much variety of appearance. Sometimes it was studded
with ancient timber, single trees of extraordinary growth, and rich
clumps that seemed coeval with the foundation of the family. Tracts of
wild champaign succeeded these, covered with gorse and fern. Then came
stately avenues of sycamore or Spanish chestnut, fragments of stately
woods, that in old days doubtless reached the vicinity of the mansion
house; and these were in turn succeeded by modern coverts.

At length our party reached the gate whence Ferdinand had calculated
that they should quit the park. He would willingly have accompanied
them. He bade them farewell with regret, which was softened by the hope
expressed by all of a speedy meeting.

'I wish, Captain Armine,' said Miss Temple, 'we had your turf to canter
home upon.'

'By-the-bye, Captain Armine,' said Mr. Temple, 'ceremony should scarcely
subsist between country neighbours, and certainly we have given you no
cause to complain of our reserve. As you are alone at Armine, perhaps
you would come over and dine with us to-morrow. If you can manage to
come early, we will see whether we may not contrive to kill a bird
together; and pray remember we can give you a bed, which I think, all
things considered, it would be but wise to accept.'

'I accept everything,' said Ferdinand, smiling; 'all your offers. Good
morning, my dearest sir; good morning, Miss Temple.'

'Miss Temple, indeed!' exclaimed Ferdinand, when he had watched them
out of sight. 'Exquisite, enchanting, adored being! Without thee what is
existence? How dull, how blank does everything even now seem! It is as
if the sun had just set! Oh! that form! that radiant countenance! that
musical and thrilling voice! Those tones still vibrate on my ear, or I
should deem it all a vision! Will to-morrow ever come? Oh! that I
could express to you my love, my overwhelming, my absorbing, my burning
passion! Beautiful Henrietta! Thou hast a name, methinks, I ever loved.
Where am I? what do I say? what wild, what maddening words are these? Am
I not Ferdinand Armine, the betrothed, the victim? Even now, methinks, I
hear the chariot-wheels of my bride. God! if she be there; if she indeed
be at Armine on my return: I'll not see her; I'll not speak to them;
I'll fly. I'll cast to the winds all ties and duties; I will not be
dragged to the altar, a miserable sacrifice, to redeem, by my forfeited
felicity, the worldly fortunes of my race. O Armine, Armine!