The passionate tone of voice in which this was uttered sank into whispers of tenderness. Louisa attempted no reply, but all her remaining scruples vanished, and recklessness of consequences came over her: the whole of life seemed comprised in the present moment--the whole world seemed to contain but herself and her lover. A chariot and four was now visible outside a gateway which they were approaching. They glided through the portals, and Louisa suffered Henry to assist her into the carriage. He sprang in after her--the door was closed--"All right," said Henry's man, though begging his pardon it was all very wrong, and off set the horses at their full speed. It was some weeks before Louisa remembered the gifts of fortune she had resigned, or Henry thought with painful misgivings of the meditated abandonment of him and his love, which he had so strongly suspected before he had been driven to take the violent step we have just described. What will Tommy Moor say to this, after having declared that _sweetbriar_ is the safest fence for the "Garden of Beauty;" nay, that there is more security in it than in the guardianship of that unamiable duenna, the "Dragon of Prudery, placed within call." Now, every one knows that the Cheltenham walks are hedged with sweetbriar. Perhaps Louisa Arden, not being a daughter of the Emerald Isle, may account for "that wild sweetbriary fence" which the poet has pronounced their characteristic barrier, not proving effectual in her case. But to return to our ball. "I wonder which room Miss Louisa is in," said Sir James to Lady Arden; "I have been looking in all the rooms for her, and I can't find her." "I hope she is not gone into that foolish lit-up walk," replied her ladyship, looking rather anxiously towards the window. "I am afraid it will give all the young people cold." "I never thought of that," said Sir James, bustling off. "I wonder what is become of Louisa," said Mrs. Dorothea, coming up to Lady Arden. "Sir James," she added, calling after the retreating baronet, "do bring Louisa here; I want another couple for this quadrille in the next room." "Oh, yes, I'll bring her if I can find her," said the little man, "but I don't know where she is." "Where can Louisa be?" said Madeline. "In the ball-room, I suppose," replied Mr. Cameron. "They were in the refreshment-room." "Where can Louisa be?" asked Alfred, who was in the ball-room, "my aunt is looking for her." "In the refreshment-room, I suppose," replied the person questioned. "What can have become of Louisa?" asked Willoughby, looking round the supper-room. "My aunt wants her." "Is she not in the ball-room?" said Geoffery. "No, I have just come from thence." "Nor in the refreshment-room." "I have not looked there," and away went Willoughby. In came poor Sir James, looking very silly. "She is not there," he said, addressing Geoffery. "Who?" "Why, Miss Louisa, she promised to dance the next set with me, and I can't find her any where."