anary's cage,' said Henrietta Temple, rising and
putting an end to the conversation.

CHAPTER VII.

_In Which Captain Armine Indulges in a Reverie_.

THE squire's carriage was announced, and then came his lady's shawl. How
happy was Ferdinand when he recollected that he was to remain at Ducie.
Remain at Ducie!

Remain under the same roof as Henrietta Temple. What bliss! what
ravishing bliss! All his life, and his had not been a monotonous one; it
seemed that all his life could not afford a situation so adventurous and
so sweet as this. Now they have gone. The squire and his lady, and the
worthy rector who recollected Armine so well; they have all departed,
all the adieus are uttered; after this little and unavoidable bustle,
silence reigns in the salon of Ducie. Ferdinand walked to the window.
The moon was up; the air was sweet and hushed; the landscape clear,
though soft. Oh! what would he not have given to have strolled in that
garden with Henrietta Temple, to have poured forth his whole soul to
her, to have told her how wondrous fair she was, how wildly bewitching,
and how he loved her, how he sighed to bind his fate with hers, and live
for ever in the brilliant atmosphere of her grace and beauty.

'Good night, Captain Armine,' said Henrietta Temple.

He turned hastily round, he blushed, he grew pale. There she stood, in
one hand a light, the other extended to her father's guest. He pressed
her hand, he sighed, he looked confused; then suddenly letting go her
hand, he walked quickly towards the door of the salon, which he opened
that she might retire.

'The happiest day of my life has ended,' he muttered.

'You are so easily content then, that I think you must always be happy.'

'I fear I am not so easily content as you imagine.'

She has gone. Hours, many and long hours, must elapse before he sees her
again, before he again listens to that music, watches that airy grace,
and meets the bright flashing of that fascinating eye. What misery was
there in this idea? How little had he seemed hitherto to prize the joy
of being her companion. He cursed the hours which had been wasted away
from her in the morning's sport; he blamed himself that he had not even
sooner quitted the dining-room, or that he had left the salon for a
moment, to commune with his own thoughts in the garden. With difficulty
he restrained himself from reopening the door, to listen for the distant
sound of her footsteps, or catch,