Before I had time to speak, she rose once more; and now her face was
bathed in blushes, her eyes swam with rising tears, and her lips trembled
with emotion as she spoke.

"Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, what will you--what can you think of this? If you
but knew--;" and here she faltered and again grew pale, while I with
difficulty rising from the sofa, took her hand, and led her to the chair
beside it.

"And may I not know?" said I; "may I not know, my dear"--I am not sure
I did not say dearest--"Miss Bingham, when, perhaps, the knowledge might
make me the happiest of mortals?"

This was a pretty plunge as a sequel to my late resolutions. She hid her
face between her hands, and sobbed for some seconds.

"At least," said I, "as that letter was destined for me but a few moments
since, I trust that you will let me hear its contents."

"Oh no--not now--not now," said she entreatingly; and, rising at the same
time, she turned to leave the room. I still held her hand, and pressed
it within mine. I thought she returned the pressure. I leaned forward
to catch her eye, when the door was opened hastily, and a most
extraordinary figure presented itself.

It was a short, fat man, with a pair of enormous moustaches, of a fiery
red; huge bushy whiskers of the same colour; a blue frock covered with
braiding, and decorated with several crosses and ribbons; tight
pantaloons and Hessian boots, with long brass spurs. He held a large