, and things of that sort, you know. And so--perhaps
you may have something in your box that will suit me, gloves or
handkerchiefs or shirts or things of that sort."

"Yes, sir, everything, I sell everything," said Mr. Brown, opening his
box. "I beg pardon, Miss Isabel, I have dropped my handkerchief by your
chair; allow me to stoop," and Mr. Brown, stooping under the table,
managed to effect his purpose; unseen by the rest, a note was slipped
into Isabel's hand, and under pretence of stooping too, she managed to
secure the treasure. Love need well be honest if, even when it is most
true, it leads us into so much that is false!

Mr. Brown's box was now unfolded before the eyes of the crafty Mr.
Glumford, who, having selected three pair of gloves, offered the exact
half of the sum demanded.

Mr. Brown lifted up his hands and eyes.

"You see," said the imperturbable Glumford, "that if you let me have
them for that, and they last me well, and don't come unsewn, and stand
cleaning, you'll have my custom in furnishing the house, and rooms,
and--things of that sort."

Struck with the grandeur of this opening, Mr. Brown yielded, and the
gloves were bought.

"The fool!" thought the noble George, laughing in his sleeve, "as if
I should ever furnish the house from his box!" Strange that some men
should be proud of being mean! The moment Isabel escaped to dress for
dinner, she opened her lover's note. It was as follows.--

Be in the room, your retreat, at nine this evening. Let the window be
left unclosed. Precisely at that hour I will be with you. I shall have
everything in readiness for your flight. Be sure, dearest Isabel, that
nothing prevents your meeting me there, even if all your house follow
or attend you. I will bear you from all. Oh, Isabel! in spite of the
mystery and wretchedness of your letter, I feel too happy, too blest at
the thought that our fates will be at length united, and that the union
is at hand. Remember nine. A. M.

Love is a feeling which has so little to do with the world, a passion
so little regulated by the known laws of our more steady and settled
emotions, that the thoughts which it produces are always more or
less connected with exaggeration and romance. To the secret spirit of
enterprise which, however chilled by his pursuits and habits, still
burned within Mordaunt's breast, there was a wild pleasure in the
thought of bearing off his mistress and his bride from t