After a long ramble among heath and rock, and over moss and moor, they began to fear the probability of being benighted among those desolate wilds, when fortunately they found that their track crossed one of the principal roads, which they followed for a short time, and entered a small town, where they stopped for the night at an inn. They were shown upstairs into an apartment separated from another only by a movable partition, which allowed the two rooms to be occasionally laid into one. They were just sitting down to dinner when they heard the voices of some newly-arrived company in the adjoining apartment, and distinguished the tones of a female voice indicative of alarm and anxiety, and the masculine accents of one who seemed to be alternately comforting the afflicted fair one, and swearing at the obsequious waiter, with reiterated orders, as it appeared, for another chaise immediately. Mr. Fax was not long in divining that the new-comers were two runaway lovers in momentary apprehension of being overtaken; and this conjecture was confirmed, when, after a furious rattle of wheels in the yard, the door of the next apartment was burst open, and a violent scream from the lady was followed by a gruff shout of—‘So ho, miss, here you are. Gretna, eh? Your journey’s marred for this time; and if you get off again, say you have my consent—that’s all.’ Low soft tones of supplication ensued, but in undistinguishable words, and continued to be repeated in the intervals of the following harangue: ‘Love indeed! don’t tell me. Aren’t you my daughter? Answer me that. And haven’t I a right over you till you are twenty-one? You may marry then; but not a rap of the ready: my money’s my own all my life. Haven’t I chosen you a proper husband—a nice rich young fellow not above forty-five?—Sixty, you minx! no such thing. Rolling in riches: member for Threevotes: two places, three pensions, and a sinecure: famous borough interest to make all your children generals and archbishops. And here a miserable vagabond with only five hundred a year in landed property.—Pish! love indeed!—own age—congenial minds—pshaw! all a farce. Money—money—money—that’s the matter: money is the first thing—money is the second thing—money is the third thing—money is the only thing—money is everything and all things.’—‘Vagabond, sir,’ said a third voice: ‘I am a gentleman, and have money sufficient to maintain your daughter in comfort.’—‘Comfort!’ said the gruff voice again; ‘comfort with five hundred a year, ha! ha! ha! eh, Sir Bonus?’—‘Hooh! hooh! hooh! very droll indeed,’ said a fourth voice, in a sound that seemed a mixture of a cough and a laugh.—‘Very well, sir,’ said the third voice; ‘I shall not part with my treasure quietly, I assure you.’—‘Rebellion! flat rebellion against parental authority,’ exclaimed the second. ‘But I’m too much for you, youngster. Where are all my varlets and rascals?’