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One evening at the casino, his lordship noticed a drawing of his own yacht, and started. The Consul explained to him, that the drawing had been copied by his daughter from a sketch by an English traveller, who preceded him. His name was inquired, and given.

‘Ferrers!’ exclaimed his lordship. ‘What, has Ferrers been here?’

‘You know Mr. Ferrers, then?’ inquired Henrietta, with suppressed agitation.

‘Oh yes, I know Ferrers.’

‘A most agreeable and gentleman-like man,’ said the Consul, anxious, he knew not why, that the conversation would cease.

‘Oh yes, Ferrers is a very agreeable man. He piques himself on being agreeable,–Mr. Ferrers.’

‘From what I have observed of Mr. Ferrers,’ said Henrietta, in a firm, and rather decided tone, ‘I should not have given him credit for any sentiment approaching to conceit.’

‘He is fortunate in having such a defender,’ said his lordship, bowing gallantly.

‘Our friends are scarcely worth possessing,’ said Miss Ponsonby, ‘unless they defend us when absent. But I am not aware that Mr. Ferrers needs any defence.’

His lordship turned on his heel, and hummed an opera air.

‘Mr. Ferrers paid us a long visit,’ said the Consul, who was now desirous that the conversation should proceed.

‘He had evidently a great inducement,’ said Lord Bohun. ‘I wonder he ever departed.’

‘He is a great favourite in this house,’ said Miss Ponsonby.

‘I perceive it,’ said Lord Bohun.

‘What Ferrers is he?’ inquired the Consul.

‘Oh, he has gentle blood in his veins,’ said Lord Bohun. ‘I never heard his breeding impeached.’

‘And I should think, nothing else,’ said Miss Ponsonby.

‘Oh, I never heard anything particular against Ferrers,’ said his lordship; ‘except that he was a roue, and a little mad. That is all.’

‘Enough, I should think,’ said Major Ponsonby, with a clouded brow.

‘What a roue may be, I can scarcely be supposed to judge,’ said Henrietta. ‘If, however, it be a man remarkable for the delicacy of his thoughts and conduct, Mr. Ferrers has certainly some claim to the title. As for his madness, he was our constant companion for nearly three months: if he be mad, it must be a very little indeed.’

‘He was a great favourite of Henrietta,’ said her father, with a forced smile.

‘Fortunate man!’ said the lord. ‘Fortunate Ferrers!’

Lord Bohun stepped into the garden with the Consul: Miss Ponsonby was left alone. Firm as had been her previous demeanour, now, that she was alone, her agitated countenance denoted the tumult of her mind. A roue! Could it be so! Could it be possible! Was she, while she had pledged the freshness of her virgin mind to this unknown man, was she, after all, only a fresh sacrifice to his insatiable vanity! Ferrers a roue! That lofty-minded man, who spoke so eloquently and so wisely, was he a roue, an eccentric roue; one whose unprincipled conduct could only be excused at the expense of the soundness of his intellect? She could not credit it; she would not credit it: and yet his conduct had been so strange, so mysterious, so unnecessarily mysterious: and then she recollected his last dark-muttered words: ‘ You may hear of me, and not to my advantage.‘ Oh, what a prophecy! And from him she had never heard. He had, at least, kept this sad promise. Very sorrowful was the Consul’s daughter. And then she bethought herself of his pledge, and his honour that had been never sullied. She buried her face in her hands,–she conjured up to her recollection all that had happened since his arrival, perhaps his fatal arrival, in their island; all he had said and done, and seemed to think. She would not doubt him. It was madness for a moment to doubt him. No desolation seemed so complete, no misery so full of anguish, as such suspicion: she could not doubt him; all her happiness was hope. A gentle touch roused her. It was her gazelle; the gazelle that he had so loved. She caressed it, she caressed it for his sake: she arose and joined her father and Lord Bohun in the garden, if not light-hearted, at least serene.