John gazed upon the features of the dear girl at his side, and met her eyes as they were raised from her lap to rest upon his face. He rapturously exclaimed: "Dear Eleanor if I could but tell you how dearly I love you I—" But he proceeded no further; a glance from the lustrous orbs of his companion had penetrated his heart, and he was silenced. Was it in fear? No! he had understood the glance, and comprehended its hidden secret. He was silenced, but it was to impress a virgin kiss upon the lips of his fair enslaver; and there for a little let us leave them in the full enjoyment of inamoratos' bliss.
We have said that John interpreted by a look the secret of Eleanor's heart; and let not loves' sceptics think such is only a figure of our imagination. Such glances have been read from the earliest eras of the world, and will continue to be so to the latest. Lovers' eyes are to each other like telegraph-dials, and reflect in their own mysterious characters the messages from the heart as the electric needle indicates the wishes of some unforeseen communicant. Their flashes are instantaneous, and they impress upon the hearts' tablets of their correspondents, with unmistakeable accuracy, the sentiments of the inosculated spirits. Theirs is a language secret and unknown but to the souls communicating, and unmeaning and unnoticeable to mortals, until made neophytes to the creed of Cupid.
John and Eleanor for some time enjoyed uninterruptedly the commune of their plighted hearts, each discovering in the other a reciprocity which heightened the ardour and enhanced the raptures of their own loves. Their tongues were no longer tied. John was all volubility and animation; while the colour that the excitement of her affection called forth irradiated the cheeks of Eleanor, and imparted to her features a loveliness that John gazed upon with ecstacy. Their privacy, however, was at length broken in upon by William, who bounded into their presence in a state of high glee, while he exclaimed:
"I've got some news to astonish you. Our friend Captain Jones has bolted, and has swindled his much-respected father-in-law to the tune of about five hundred pounds."
"Bolted, has he!" exclaimed John; "what is that for?"
"Simply because it has pleased the gentleman on two previous occasions to enter the matrimonial state, and that both better halves, and sundry little pledges, are all living to attest to his identity. One of his former helpmates," continued William, "traced him to his late retreat, and claimed him as her lawful spouse; and he, thinking, I suppose, a dénoûment would be rather unpleasant, has deemed it expedient to abscond."
"And will the poor girl he last married have no redress?" asked Eleanor.
"Very little, I fear," replied John.
"I expect from what I have heard," continued William, "that old Sawyer intends to keep it as dark as possible. From Jones' bigamy the quondam Mrs. Jones becomes again Miss Mary Ann Sawyer, and he purposes looking out for another match for her."
"But she surely," said Eleanor, "would not lend herself to so base a deception and gross impropriety."