conciliatory measures of no avail, proved that she had a will as strong
as her father's; she told him to his face that with or without his
sanction she meant to be my Lady Compton. "I will marry him," she
declared with flushed face and panting breast, "even if you make me a
beggar." "And that, madam," the defied and furious father retorted, "I
can promise you I will do; for not a shilling of mine shall Lord
Compton's wife ever have."

For a time the artful Elizabeth feigned submission to Sir John's anger;
and he began to congratulate himself that this trouble at least,
whatever others might follow, was at an end. But how little he knew his
daughter, or her lover, the sequel proved.

One day, a few weeks after Sir John's fierce ultimatum, a young baker,
carrying a large flat-topped basket, called at his house, from which he
soon emerged, touching his cap to the merchant as he passed him in the
garden, and giving him a respectful "good day." "A civil young man," Sir
John said to himself, as he continued his promenade; "his face seems
somehow familiar to me." And well might it be familiar; for the baker
who gave him such a civil greeting was none other than the scapegrace,
Compton; and inside the basket, which he carried so lightly, was the
merchant's only daughter and heiress, whom her lover had taken this
daring and unconventional way of abducting under the very nose of her
parent.

It was not long before Sir John's disillusionment came. His daughter
was nowhere to be seen; and none of his domestics knew of her
whereabouts. Alarm gave place to suspicion, and suspicion to fury
against his child and against the young reprobate who, he felt sure, had
outwitted him. Messengers were despatched in all directions in chase of