"La, Sir!" cried the maid, with a coquettish little titter; but she ran away to get what was wanted, as if she were really afraid of the consequences of Ned Hayward's appetite, and as soon as she was gone, he said, "I have got news for you, Beauchamp; but I will wait till the room is clear before I give it. I have been up and out, over the hills and faraway this morning; so I have well earned my breakfast." "Indeed!" exclaimed his companion with a look of surprise, "really you are an active general, but you should have given your fellow-soldiers information of your movements, and we might have combined operations." "There was no time to be lost," answered Hayward. But at that moment the maid returned with the cold fowl; the ham was still in the rear, and it was not till breakfast was half over that the young officer could tell his tale. When he had got as far with it as the first explanations of Mr. Gimlet, Beauchamp exclaimed eagerly, "And what did it turn out to be?" "Nothing after all but a love affair," answered Ned. "Now, my dear Beauchamp, I have as much compassion for all lovers as an old match-making dowager, and therefore I think it will be better to let this matter drop quietly." "Oh, certainly," answered his new friend, "I am quite as tender-hearted in such matters as yourself; but are you quite sure of the fact? for this seems to me to have been a very odd way of making love." "It was so assuredly," replied Hayward, "but nevertheless the tale is true. The fact is the young lady is an heiress, the mother strict--most likely the latter looks for some high match for her daughter, and will not hear of the youth's addresses. He falls into despair, and with a Roman courage resolves to carry off a bride. Unfortunately for his purpose, we come up, and the rape of the Sabines is prevented; but 'pon my honour, I admire the fellow for his spirit. There is something chivalrous, nay more, feudal about it. He must fancy himself some old baron who had a right prescriptive to run away with every man's daughter that suited him; and, on my life, my dear Beauchamp, I can go on no further in attempting to punish him for a deed whose hot and proof spirit shames this milk-and-water age. Oh, the times of carrying off heiresses, of robbing in cocked hats, and full-bottomed wigs, of pinking one's adversary under the fifth rib in Leicester Fields, with gentlemen in high shoes and gold lace for seconds, and chairmen for spectators, when will they come again? Gone, gone for ever, my dear Beauchamp, into the same box as our grandmother's brocade-gown, and with them the last spark of the spirit of chivalry has expired."