; and rest
assured that it is your own fault if you do not fling the good Montfort
in a very fine ditch.'

CHAPTER XVI.

_In Which Mr. Temple Surprises His Daughter Weeping_.

THE Count Mirabel proceeded with his projects with all the ardour,
address, and audacity of one habituated to success. By some means or
other he contrived to see Miss Temple almost daily. He paid assiduous
court to the duchess, on whom he had made a favourable impression from
the first; in St. James'-square he met Mr. Temple, who was partial to
the society of a distinguished foreigner. He was delighted with Count
Mirabel. As for Miss Grandison, the Count absolutely made her his
confidante, though he concealed this bold step from Ferdinand. He
established his intimacy in the three families, and even mystified Sir
Ratcliffe and Lady Armine so completely that they imagined he must be
some acquaintance that Ferdinand had made abroad; and they received him
accordingly as one of their son's oldest and most cherished friends.
But the most amusing circumstance of all was that the Count, who even in
business never lost sight of what might divert or interest him, became
great friends with Mr. Glastonbury. Count Mirabel comprehended and
appreciated that good man's character.

All Count Mirabel's efforts were directed to restore the influence of
Ferdinand Armine over Henrietta Temple; and with this view he omitted no
opportunity of impressing the idea of his absent friend on that lady's
susceptible brain. His virtues, his talents, his accomplishments, his
sacrifices; but, above all, his mysterious sufferings, and the fatal end
which the Count was convinced awaited him, were placed before her in
a light so vivid that they engrossed her thought and imagination. She
could not resist the fascination of talking about Ferdinand Armine to
Count Mirabel. He was the constant subject of their discourse. All her
feelings now clustered round his image. She had quite abandoned her old
plan of marrying him to his cousin. That was desperate. Did she regret
it? She scarcely dared urge to herself this secret question; and yet it
seemed that her heart, too, would break were Ferdinand another's. But,
then, what was to become of him? Was he to be left desolate? Was he
indeed to die? And Digby, the amiable, generous Digby; ah! why did she
ever meet him? Unfortunate, unhappy woman! And yet she was resolved to
be firm; she could not falter; she would be the victim of