ite to them?'

'She knows of it.'

'She will be coming, then. I dread her coming. I can bear to see no one.
You, dear Glastonbury, you; it is a consolation to see you, because you
have seen,' and here his voice faltered, 'you have seen--her.'

'My Ferdinand, think only of your health; and happiness, believe me,
will yet be yours.'

'If you could only find out where she is,' continued Ferdinand, 'and go
to her. Yes! my dear Glastonbury, good, dear, Glastonbury, go to her,'
he added in an imploring tone; 'she would believe you; everyone believes
you. I cannot go; I am powerless; and if I went, alas! she would not
believe me.'

'It is my wish to do everything you desire,' said Glastonbury, 'I should
be content to be ever labouring for your happiness. But I can do nothing
unless you are calm.'

'I am calm; I will be calm; I will act entirely as you wish; only I
beseech you see her.'

'On that head let us at present say no more,' replied Glastonbury, who
feared that excitement might lead to relapse; yet anxious to soothe
him, he added, 'Trust in my humble services ever, and in the bounty of a
merciful Providence.'

'I have had frightful dreams,' said Ferdinand. 'I thought I was in a
farm-house; everything was so clear, so vivid. Night after night she
seemed to me sitting on this bed. I touched her; her hand was in mine;
it was so burning hot! Once, oh! once, once I thought she had forgiven
me!'

'Hush! hush! hush!'

'No more: we will speak of her no more. When comes my mother?'

'You may see her to-morrow, or the day after.'

'Ah! Glastonbury, she is here.'

'She is.'

'Is she alone?'

'Your father is with her.'

'My mother and my father. It is well.' Then, after a minute's pause, he
added with some earnestness, 'Do not deceive me, Glastonbury; see what
deceit has brought me to. Are you sure that they are quite alone?'

'There are none here but your dearest friends; none whose presence
should give you the slightest care.'

'There is one,' said Ferdinand.

'Dear Ferdinand, let me now leave you, or sit by your side in silence.
To-morrow you will see your mother.'

'To-morrow! Ah! to-morrow. Once to me tomorrow was brighter even than
to-day.' He turned his back and spoke no more. Glastonbury glided out of
the room.

CHAPTER XII.

_Containing the Intimation of a Somewhat Mysterious
Adventure_.

IT WAS absolutely necessary that Lady Armine's interview with her son
be confined mere