previous intimacy with his assailant, he addressed him in a most familiar
manner, calling him "poor fellow" and "old Towser," explained to him the
ungentlemanly liberty he was taking with his buckskins, and requested him
to let go his hold, as he had quite enough of that sport. Towser was,
however, not to be talked out of his private notions; he foully suspected
your uncle of being on no good design, and replied to every remonstrance he
made with a growl and a shake, that left no doubt he would resort to more
vigorous measures in case of opposition. Afraid or ashamed to call for
help, Terence was kept in this disagreeable state, nearly frozen to death
with cold and trembling with terror, until the morning was considerably
advanced, when he was discovered by some of the servants, who released him
from the guardianship of his surly captor. Without waiting to account for
the extraordinary circumstances in which he had been found, he bolted into
the house, rushed up to his bed-chamber, and, locking the door, threw
himself into a chair, overwhelmed with shame and vexation.

But poor Terence's troubles were not half over. The beautiful heiress,
after having discharged several volleys of sand and small pebbles against
his window without effect, was returning to her chamber, swelling with
indignation, when she was encountered on the stairs by Tibbins, who, no
doubt prompted by the demon of jealousy, had been watching her movements.
He could not have chosen a more favourable moment to plead his suit; her
mortified vanity, and her anger at what she deemed the culpable
indifference of her lover, made her eager to be revenged on him. It
required, therefore, little persuasion to obtain her consent to elope with
the haberdasher. The key of the stable was in her pocket, and in less than
ten minutes she was sitting beside him in his gig, taking the shortest road
to the priest's.

I cannot attempt to describe the rage that Terence flew into, as soon as he