h privateer; and Mary,
instead of 10,000L. had only 5,000L., making a difference of no less
than 350L. per annum betwixt her and Miss Crutty.

I had just joined my regiment (the famous North Bungay Fencibles,
Colonel Craw commanding) when this news reached me; and you may fancy
how a young man, in an expensive regiment and mess, having uniforms and
what not to pay for, and a figure to cut in the world, felt at hearing
such news! "My dearest Robert," wrote Miss Waters, "will deplore my
dear brother's loss: but not, I am sure, the money which that kind and
generous soul had promised me. I have still five thousand pounds, and
with this and your own little fortune (I had 1,000L. in the Five per
Cents!) we shall be as happy and contented as possible."

Happy and contented indeed! Didn't I know how my father got on with his
300L. a year, and how it was all he could do out of it to add a hundred
a year to my narrow income, and live himself! My mind was made up. I
instantly mounted the coach and flew to our village,--to Mr. Crutty's,
of course. It was next door to Doctor Bates's; but I had no business
THERE.

I found Magdalen in the garden. "Heavens, Mr. Stubbs!" said she, as
in my new uniform I appeared before her, "I really did never--such
a handsome officer--expect to see you." And she made as if she would
blush, and began to tremble violently. I led her to a garden-seat. I
seized her hand--it was not withdrawn. I pressed it;--I thought the
pressure was returned. I flung myself on my knees, and then I poured
into her ear a little speech which I had made on the top of the coach.
"Divine Miss Crutty," said I; "idol of my soul! It was but to catch one
glimpse of you that I passed through this garden. I never intended to
breathe the secret passion" (oh, no; of course not) "which was wearing
my life away. You know my unfortunate pre-engagement--it is broken,
and FOR EVER! I am free;--free, but to be your slave,--your humblest,
fondest, truest slave!" And so on. . . . .

"Oh, Mr. Stubbs," said she, as I imprinted a kiss upon her cheek, "I
can't refuse you; but I fear you are a sad naughty man. . . . ."

Absorbed in the delicious reverie which was caused by the dear
creature's confusion, we were both silent for a while, and should have
remained so for hours perhaps, so lost were we in happiness, had I not
been suddenly roused by a voice exclaiming from behind us--

"DON'T CRY, MARY! HE IS A SWINDLING, SNEAKING SCOUNDREL, AND