the crisis rapidly advances.

henrietta temple began once more to droop. this change was not unnoticed by her constant companion lord montfort, and yet he never permitted her to be aware of his observation. all that he did was still more to study her amusement; if possible, to be still more considerate and tender. miss grandison, however, was far less delicate; she omitted no opportunity of letting miss temple know that she thought that henrietta was very unwell, and that she was quite convinced henrietta was thinking of ferdinand. nay! she was not satisfied to confine these intimations to miss temple; she impressed her conviction of henrietta’s indisposition on lord montfort, and teased him with asking his opinion of the cause.

‘what do you think is the cause, miss grandison?’ said his lordship, very quietly.

‘perhaps london does not agree with her; but then, when she was ill before she was in the country; and it seems to me to be the same illness. i wonder you do not notice it, lord montfort. a lover to be so insensible, i am surprised!’

‘it is useless to notice that which you cannot remedy.’

‘why do you not call in those who can offer remedies?’ said miss grandison. ‘why not send for sir henry?’

‘i think it best to leave henrietta alone,’ said lord montfort.

‘do you think it is the mind, then?’ said miss grandison.

‘it may be,’ said lord montford.

‘it may be! upon my word, you are very easy.’

‘i am not indifferent, miss grandison. there is nothing that i would not do for henrietta’s welfare.’

‘oh! yes, there is; there is something,’ said miss grandison, rather maliciously.

‘you are really an extraordinary person, miss grandison,’ said lord montfort. ‘what can you mean by so strange an observation?’

‘i have my meaning; but i suppose i may have a mystery as well as anybody else.’

‘a mystery, miss grandison?’

‘yes! a mystery, lord montfort. there is not a single individual in the three families who has not a mystery, except myself; but i have found out something. i feel quite easy now: we are all upon an equality.’

‘you are a strange person.’

‘it may be so; but i am happy, for i have nothing on my mind. now that poor ferdinand has told sir ratcliffe we are not going to marry, i have no part to play. i hate deception; it is almost as bitter as marrying one who is in love with another person.’

‘that must indeed be bitter. and is that the reason that you do not marry your cousin?’ enquired lord montfort.

‘i may be in love with another person, or i may not,’ said miss grandison. ‘but, however that may be, the moment ferdinand very candidly told me he was, we decided not to marry. i think we were wise; do not you. lord montfort?’

‘if you are happy, you were wise,’ said lord montfort.

‘yes, i am pretty happy: as happy as i can well be when all my best friends are miserable.’

‘are they?’

‘i think so: my aunt is in tears; my uncle in despair; ferdinand meditates suicide; henrietta is pining away; and you, who are the philosopher of the society, you look rather grave. i fancy i think we are a most miserable set.’

‘i wish we could be all happy,’ said lord montfort.

‘and so we might, i think,’ said miss grandison; ‘at least, some of us.’

‘make us, then,’ said lord montfort.

‘i cannot make you.’

‘i think you could, miss grandison.’

at this moment henrietta entered, and the conversation assumed a different turn.

‘will you go with us to lady bellair’s, kate?’ said miss temple. ‘the duchess has asked me to call there this morning.’

miss grandison expressed her willingness: the carriage was waiting, and lord montfort offered to attend them. at this moment the servant entered with a note for miss grandison.

‘from glastonbury,’ she said; ‘dear henrietta, he wishes to see me immediately. what can it be? go to lady bellair’s, and call for me on your return. you must, indeed; and then we can all go out together.’

and so it was arranged. miss temple, accompanied by lord montfort, proceeded to bellair house.

‘don’t come near me,’ said the old lady when she saw them; ‘don’t come near me; i am in despair; i do not know what i shall do; i think i shall sell all my china. do you know anybody who wants to buy old china? they shall have it a bargain. but i must have ready money; ready money i must have. do not sit down in that chair; it is only made to look at. oh! if i were rich, like you! i wonder if my china is worth three hundred pounds. i could cry my eyes out, that i could. the wicked men; i should like to tear them to pieces. why is not he in parliament? and then they could not take him up. they never could arrest charles fox. i have known him in as much trouble as anyone. once he sent all his furniture to my house from his lodgings. he lodged in bury-street. i always look at the house when i pass by. don’t fiddle the pens; i hate people who fiddle. where is gregory? where is my bell’ where is the page? naughty boy! why do not you come? there, i do not want anything; i do not know what to do. the wicked men! the greatest favourite i had: he was so charming! charming people are never rich; he always looked melancholy. i think i will send to the rich man i dine with; but i forget his name. why do not you tell me his name?’

‘my dear lady bellair, what is the matter?’

‘don’t ask me; don’t speak to me. i tell you i am in despair. oh! if i were rich, how i would punish those wicked men!’

‘can i do anything?’ said lord montfort.

‘i do not know what you can do. i have got the tic. i always have the tic when my friends are in trouble.’

‘who is in trouble, lady bellair?’

‘my dearest friend; the only friend i care about. how can you be so hard-hearted? i called upon him this morning, and his servant was crying. i must get him a place; he is such a good man, and loves his master. now, do you want a servant? you never want anything. ask everybody you know whether they want a servant, an honest man, who loves his master. there he is crying down stairs, in gregory’s room. poor, good creature! i could cry myself, only it is of no use.’

‘who is his master?’ said lord montfort.

‘nobody you know; yes! you know him very well. it is my dear, dear friend; you know him very well. the bailiffs went to his hotel yesterday, and dragged him out of bed, and took him to prison. oh! i shall go quite distracted. i want to sell my china to pay his debts. where is miss twoshoes?’ continued her ladyship; ‘why don’t you answer? you do everything to plague me.’

‘miss grandison, lady bellair?’

‘to be sure; it is her lover.’

‘captain armine?’

‘have i not been telling you all this time? they have taken him to prison.’

miss temple rose and left the room.

‘poor creature! she is quite shocked. she knows him, too,’ said her ladyship. ‘i am afraid he is quite ruined. there is a knock. i will make a subscription for him. i dare say it is my grandson. he is very rich, and very good-natured.’

‘my dear lady bellair,’ said lord montfort, rising, ‘favour me by not saying a word to anybody at present. i will just go in the next room to henrietta. she is intimate with the family, and much affected. now, my dear lady, i entreat you,’ continued his lordship, ‘do not say a word. captain armine has good friends, but do not speak to strangers. it will do harm; it will indeed.’

‘you are a good creature; you are a good creature. go away.’

‘lady frederick berrington, my lady,’ announced the page.

‘she is very witty, but very poor. it is no use speaking to her. i won’t say a word. go to miss thingabob: go, go.’ and lord montfort escaped into the saloon as lady frederick entered.

henrietta was lying on the sofa, her countenance was hid, she was sobbing convulsively.

‘henrietta,’ said lord montfort, but she did not answer. ‘henrietta, he again said, ‘dear henrietta! i will do whatever you wish.’

‘save him, save him!’ she exclaimed. ‘oh! you cannot save him! and i have brought him to this! ferdinand! dearest ferdinand! oh! i shall die!’

‘for god’s sake, be calm,’ said lord montfort, ‘there is nothing i will not do for you, for him.’

‘ferdinand, ferdinand, my own, 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.