Blanche lingered a moment, and then, with a repressed sigh, left the room, and retired to her chamber. She could not understand her brother's strange mood. For him to be troubled and silent was altogether new. And the cause? Why should he conceal it from her, toward whom, till now, he had never withheld any thing that gave him either pleasure or pain? The moment Blanche retired, the whole manner of Henry Armour changed. He arose from the sofa and commenced walking the floor with rapid steps, while the deep lines upon his forehead and his strongly compressed lips showed him to be labouring under some powerful mental excitement. He continued to walk thus hurriedly backward and forward for the space of half an hour; when, as if some long debated point had been at last decided, he grasped the parlour door with a firm hand, threw it open, took from the rack his hat, cloak, and cane, and in a few moments was in the street. The jar of the street door, as it closed, was distinctly heard by Blanche, and this caused the troubled feeling which had oppressed her all the evening, to change into one of anxiety. Where could Henry be going at this late hour? He rarely stayed out beyond ten o'clock; and she had never before known him to leave the house after the usual bedtime of the family. His going out had, of course, something to do with his unhappy mood. What could it mean? She could not suspect him of any wrong. She knew him to be too pure-minded and honourable. But there was mystery connected with his conduct--and this troubled her. She had just laid aside a book, that she had taken up for the purpose of reading a few pages before retiring for the night, and commenced disrobing herself, when the sound of the door closing after her brother startled her, and caused her to pause and think. She could not now retire, for to sleep would be impossible. She, therefore, drew a shawl about her, and again resumed her book, determined to sit up until Henry's return. But little that she read made a very distinct impression on her mind. Her thoughts were with her brother, whom she tenderly loved, and had learned to confide in as one of pure sentiments and firm principles. While Henry Armour still lingered at home in moody indecision of mind, a small party of young men were assembled in an upper room of a celebrated refectory, drinking, smoking, and indulging in conversation, a large portion of which would have shocked a modest ear. They were all members of wealthy and respectable families. Some had passed their majority, and others still lingered between nineteen and twenty-one,--that dangerous age for a young man--especially if he be so unfortunate as to have little to do, and a liberal supply of pocket money. "Confound the fellow! What keeps him so long?" said one of the company, looking at his watch. "It's nearly ten o'clock, and he has not made his appearance." "Whom do you mean? Armour?" asked another.