He rushed to the tower,
to tell the news to Glastonbury. His tutor ascribed his agitation to the
shock, and attempted to console him. In communicating the intelligence,
he was obliged to finish the letter; it expressed a hope that, if their
visit were postponed for more than a day or two, Katherine's dearest
Ferdinand would return to Bath.

Ferdinand wandered forth into the park to enjoy his freedom. A burden
had suddenly fallen from his frame; a cloud that had haunted his vision
had vanished. To-day, that was so accursed, was to be marked now in his
calendar with red chalk. Even Armine pleased him; its sky was brighter,
its woods more vast and green. They had not arrived; they would not
arrive to-morrow, that was certain; the third day, too, was a day of
hope. Why! three days, three whole days of unexpected, unhoped-for
freedom, it was eternity! What might not happen in three days! For three
days he might fairly remain in expectation of fresh letters. It could
not be anticipated, it was not even desired, that he should instantly
repair to them. Come, he would forget this curse, he would be happy. The
past, the future, should be nothing; he would revel in the auspicious
present.

Thus communing with himself, he sauntered along, musing over Henrietta
Temple, and building bright castles in the air. A man engaged with his
ideas is insensible of fatigue. Ferdinand found himself at the Park
gate that led to Ducie; intending only a slight stroll, he had already
rambled half way to his beloved. It was a delicious afternoon: the heat
of the sun had long abated; the air was sweet and just beginning to
stir; not a sound was heard, except the last blow of the woodman's
axe, or the occasional note of some joyous bird waking from its siesta.
Ferdinand passed the gate; he entered the winding road, the road that
Henrietta Temple had so admired; a beautiful green lane with banks
of flowers and hedges of tall trees. He strolled along, our happy
Ferdinand, indefinite of purpose, almost insensible whether he were
advancing or returning home. He plucked the wild flowers, and pressed
them to his lips, because she had admired them; rested on a bank,
lounged on a gate, cut a stick from the hedge, traced Henrietta Temple
in the road, and then turned the words into Henrietta Armine, and
so--and so--and so, he, at length, stared at finding himself on Ducie
Common.

Beautiful common! how he loved it! How familiar every tree and rustic
roof h