ear to see a fine spirit broken,' continued Miss Grandison.
'There was Ferdinand. Oh! if you had but known my cousin before he was
unhappy. Oh! that was a spirit! He was the most brilliant being that
ever lived. And then I was with him during all his illness. It was
so terrible. I almost wish we could have loved each other. It is very
strange, he must have been ill at Armine, at the very time Henrietta
was ill in Italy. And I was with him in England, while you were solacing
her. And now we are all friends. There seems a sort of strange destiny
in our lots, does there not?'

'A happy lot that can in any way be connected with Miss Grandison,' said
Lord Montfort.

At this moment her Grace and Henrietta entered; the carriage was ready;
and in a few minutes they were driving to Whitehall Stairs, where a
beautiful boat awaited them.

In the mean time, Ferdinand Armine was revolving the strange occurrences
of yesterday. Altogether it was an exciting and satisfactory day. In
the first place, he had extricated himself from his most pressing
difficulties; in the next, he had been greatly amused; and thirdly, he
had made a very interesting acquaintance, for such he esteemed Count
Mirabel. Just at the moment when, lounging over a very late breakfast,
he was thinking of Bond Sharpe and his great career, and then turning
in his mind whether it were possible to follow the gay counsels of his
friends of yesterday, and never plague himself about a woman again, the
Count Mirabel was announced.

_Mon cher_ Armine,' said the Count, 'you see I kept my promise, and
would find you at home.'

The Count stood before him, the best-dressed man in London, fresh and
gay as a bird, with not a care on his sparkling visage, and his eye
bright with _bonhomie_. And yet Count Mirabel had been the very last
to desert the recent mysteries of Mr. Bond Sharpe; and, as usual, the
dappled light of dawn had guided him to his luxurious bed, that bed
which always afforded him serene slumbers, whatever might be the
adventures of the day, or the result of the night's campaign. How the
Count Mirabel did laugh at those poor devils who wake only to moralise
over their own folly with broken spirits and aching heads! Care he knew
nothing about; Time he defied; indisposition he could not comprehend. He
had never been ill in his life, even for five minutes.

Ferdinand was really very glad to see him; there was something in
Count Mirabel's very presence which put ev