“Lord bless me, sir!” falters the trembling servant, “haven’t you heard——”
“Heard what?” says A., turning pale; “what is the matter, fellow? Is the young lady ill?”
“Ill, sir? Lord bless me, sir, she—she’s gone!”
Mr. A. recoiled, and seemed to gasp for breath for a moment. His face, from pale, became suddenly overspread with a deep crimson flush, and the veins on his forehead swelled. At length he burst out in a terrible voice:
“Gone? Where? With whom?”
But at this point the appearance of the master and mistress relieved the wretched footman from his unenviable position. The miserable story was soon told. The young lady to whom Mr. A. had entrusted his heart and honour, to whom he was to have been united the next day, whose wedding gift he even then held in his hand, had eloped the night before in the good old-fashioned manner, and was by this time far beyond the reach of pursuit, could pursuit have availed. The flight had been six hours old before it was discovered by the young lady’s mother.
“But with whom? with whom? Who was the villain who dared to rob me?” cried Mr. A., storming up and down the hall in ungovernable fury. “Who was it, madam, I say? Stop your wretched whimpering and speak!”
“Dear me, Mr. A.,” quavered the poor lady, struggling with her sobs, “can’t you think? Why, it’s that young Mr. C. of yours, of course. Who else could it be?”