He was greeted on his return by his servant, full of the the visit of the morning.  With an irresistible curiosity, Herbert had made him describe every incident that had occurred, and repeat a hundred times every word that the visitors had uttered.  He listened with some consolation, however mournful, to his wife’s praises of the unknown stranger’s life; he gazed with witching interest upon the autograph of his daughter on the wall of his library.  He had not confessed to his mistress the relation which the two strangers bore to him; yet he was influenced in concealing the real circumstances, only by an indefinite sentiment, that made him reluctant to acknowledge to her ties so pure.  The feelings of the parent overpowered the principles of the philosopher.  This lady indeed, although at the moment she had indulged in so violent an ebullition of temper, possessed little influence over the mind of her companion.  Herbert, however fond of solitude, required in his restricted world the graceful results of feminine superintendence.  Time had stilled his passions, and cooled the fervour of his soul.  The age of his illusions had long passed.  This was a connection that had commenced in no extravagant or romantic mood, and perhaps for that reason had endured.  He had become acquainted with her on his first unknown arrival in Italy, from America, now nearly two years back.  It had been maintained on his side by a temper naturally sweet, and which, exhausted by years of violent emotion, now required only repose; seeking, in a female friend, a form that should not outrage an eye ever musing on the beautiful, and a disposition that should contribute to his comfort, and never ruffle his feelings.  Separated from his wife by her own act, whatever might have been its impulse, and for so long an interval, it was a connection which the world in general might have looked upon with charity, which in her calmer hours one would imagine even Lady Annabel might have glanced over without much bitterness.  Certainly it was one which, under all the circumstances of the case, could scarcely be esteemed by her as an outrage or an insult; but even Herbert felt, with all his philosophy and proud freedom from prejudice, that the rencounter of the morning was one which no woman could at the moment tolerate, few eventually excuse, and which of all incidents was that which would most tend to confirm his wife in her stoical obduracy.  Of his offences towards her, whatever were their number or their quality, this surely was the least, and yet its results upon his life and fortunes would in all probability only be equalled by the mysterious cause of their original separation.  But how much more bitter than that original separation was their present parting!  Mortifying and annoying as had been the original occurrence, it was one that many causes and considerations combined to enable Herbert to support.  He was then in the very prime of youth, inexperienced, sanguine, restless, and adventurous, with the whole