manners; but the father had other designs for his heiress than marrying
her to a prodigal young nobleman. "Your blood, my lord, is good," he
once told him; "but money is better."

Lord Westmorland was not, however, the man to be turned aside from the
gilded goal on which he had set his heart. If he could not wed the
heiress with her father's blessing, he would dispense with the
benediction. That he _would_ marry her he was determined; and Anne was
just the girl to assist a bold lover in such an ambition.

One day, so the story is told, Lord Westmorland decided to bring the
matter to a crisis. He had been dining with Mr Child, and, after the
wine had circulated freely, he said, "Now, sir, that we have discussed
business thoroughly, there is another matter on which I should be
grateful for your opinion." "What's that?" enquired the banker, beaming
benevolently on his guest, as a man who has dined well and is at peace
with the world. "Well, sir, suppose you were deeply in love with a girl
who returned your love, and that her father refused his consent. What
would you do?" "What should I do?" laughed the banker, "why, run away
with her, of course, like many a better man has done!"

What more direct encouragement could an ardent lover want? It is
possible that the next morning the banker had completely forgotten the
conversation, and his vinous approval of runaway matches; but, two days
later, he was destined to have a rude awaking. In the middle of the
night he was aroused by the watchman to learn that his front door had
been found open; and a little later the alarming discovery was made that
his daughter had flown. His suspicions fell at once on that "rascally
young lord"; and they were confirmed when he found that the Earl, too,
had disappeared, and that a chaise, with four galloping horses, had been