own Ferdinand, oh! why did we ever part?
Why was I so unjust, so wicked? And he was true! I cannot survive his
disgrace and misery. I wish to die!'

'There shall be no disgrace, no misery,' said Lord Montfort, 'only for
God's sake, be calm. There is a chattering woman in the next room. Hush!
hush! I tell you I will do everything.'

'You cannot; you must not; you ought not! Kind, generous Digby! Pardon
what I have said; forget it; but indeed I am so wretched, I can bear
this life no longer.'

'But you shall not be wretched, Henrietta; you shall be happy; everybody
shall be happy. I am Armine's friend, I am indeed. I will prove it. On
my honour, I will prove that I am his best friend.'

'You must not. You are the last person, you are indeed. He is so proud!
Anything from us will be death to him. Yes! I know him, he will die
sooner than be under an obligation to either of us.'

'You shall place him under still greater obligations than this,' said
Lord Montfort. 'Yes! Henrietta, if he has been true to you, you shall
not be false to him.'

'Digby, Digby, speak not such strange words. I am myself again. I left
you that I might be alone. Best and most generous of men, I have never
deceived you; pardon the emotions that even you were not to witness.'

'Take my arm, dearest, let us walk into the garden. I wish to speak
to you. Do not tremble. I have nothing to say that is not for your
happiness; at all times, and under all circumstances, the great object
of my thoughts.'

He raised Miss Temple gently from the sofa, and they walked away far
from the observation of Lady Bellair, or the auricular powers, though
they were not inconsiderable, of her lively guest.

CHAPTER XX.

_In Which Ferdinand Receives More than One Visit, and Finds
That Adversity Has Not Quite Deprived Him of His Friends_.

IN THE mean time morning broke upon the unfortunate Ferdinand. He
had forgotten his cares in sleep, and, when he woke, it was with some
difficulty that he recalled the unlucky incident of yesterday, and
could satisfy himself that he was indeed a prisoner. But the bars of his
bedroom window left him not very long in pleasing doubt.

His friend, the little waiter, soon made his appearance. 'Slept pretty
well, sir? Same breakfast as yesterday, sir? Tongue and ham, sir?
Perhaps you would like a kidney instead of a devil? It will be a
change.'

'I have no appetite.'

'It will come, sir. You an't used to it. Nothin