On his road back to Charing-cross, the first object which caught our hero’s eye was the Hampstead coach preparing to set out on its return. The sight brought to his recollection the fair Priscilla Spriggins; and in an instant, with the decision of a Napoleon, he resolved to make a "Bold Stroke for a Wife," and carry her of to Gretna that very night. The scheme was hopeless, you will say: granted; but Dick was formed to vanquish, not be vanquished by, circumstances. "Faint heart never won fair lady," said he; "so here goes;" and in he popped.
It was now about two o'clock, the hour when the fair inhabitants of our cockney Arcadia are in the habit of taking the air on the Heath, some with work-bags, some with the "last new novel," but the majority with "Bentley's Miscellany" in their hands. Dick no sooner reached the donkey-stand, than he seated himself on a bench close by,—where two young ladies were standing, fondly imagining that they beheld Windsor Castle through a spyglass,—and looked anxiously about him, to see if he could detect Miss Spriggins among the peripatetics. But no Priscilla was visible. How, therefore, should he act? "Wait," said common sense; so Dick waited.
Half an hour had elapsed, and he was beginning to get impatient, when suddenly, on casting his eyes towards the lady's house, he saw the door open, and Miss Spriggins herself stepped forth, with a novel in one hand, and a pea-green parasol in the other. Dick watched her motions as a cat watches a mouse: saw her steal away towards a retired quarter of the Heath, and, having made up his mind as to the line of conduct he should pursue, started from his seat and followed quickly in her wake.
On reaching her side, "Miss Spriggins, I presume?" said he with a profound obeisance.
"The same, sir," replied the surprised Priscilla.
"Ah! madam," resumed Dick, bursting at once into a sentimental vein, for he felt that every minute was precious, "happy am I to see that enchanting face once more."
"Excuse me, sir," said Miss Spriggins, affecting to bridle up; "but really I do not comprehend——"
"Comprehend, madam!—and how should you? I scarcely comprehend myself. But how should it be otherwise, when for weeks past I have daily wandered over this romantic heath, hoping, but, alas! in vain, to catch one stray gleam of that sunny beauty which last April—how well I remember the date!—so riveted my fancy as it flashed on me from the front drawing-room of yonder house;" and Dick pointed towards Priscilla's dwelling.
"Really, sir, this language——"
"Is the language of frenzy, maybe; but it is the language also of passion. Ah! madam, if you but knew the flame that that one casual glimpse of your bewitching countenance lit up in my unhappy heart, you would pity what I now feel. Would to God that you were as much a stranger to me as I am to you, for then I should cease to be the wretch I am;" and Dick, having no onion ready, turned away his head, and covered his face with his handkerchief.