It was just about dusk, in the evening, when Bishop, armed with full powers for the capture of the lady's person, proceeded in a hackney-coach to the Myrtle Grove above mentioned, and alighting at a short distance from the house in which he believed the lovers were concealed, he left his coach in waiting, and walked in silence towards the house. Not the slightest sound was heard from within, but he had no sooner lifted the knocker, than the door was opened by a young lady fully equipped for travelling--it was the fair fugitive, Drusilla herself! She was surrounded by trunks and band-boxes, and bundles; and, as it afterwards appeared, she was at that very moment waiting the return of her beloved Horatio, who was gone to call a coach to convey them to some other place of refuge. "Your name, I believe Miss, is _Drusilla_ ----, and you are lately arrived from ---- ?" said Bishop, with his accustomed courtesy. "O dear, no, Sir!" exclaimed the lady. "I am Miss Jenkinsop, the daughter of the mistress of this house." Bishop remarked that he had no doubt she was telling a _fib_, and desired her to introduce him forthwith to her alleged mama. No; she could not do this, as she was just going out; but if he would walk into the parlour, her mama would come to him presently. Bishop was not to be _had_ in this way; and so, taking the young lady by the hand, he led her into the parlour, and, having rang the bell, the mistress of the house shortly appeared, who disclaimed all relationship to the young lady, and declared she knew no more of her than that she was the "strange young lady" who came to her house with a "strange young gentleman" a day or two ago, and hired her apartments for a week. The cruel officer now told Drusilla his business, and she wept--for at least a minute and a half; but she no longer denied that she was the identical Drusilla who ran away from ---- with Horatio; and wiping away her tears, she put her hankerchief in her _reticule_, declared she was glad she was caught, and should be very happy to return to her friends, if she was but "sure the _Lord Chancellor_ would do nothing to her." Bishop told her he had no doubt she would be very kindly received, both by the Lord Chancellor and her father; and offering her his hand, she tripped lightly to the coach he had there in waiting for her. The luggage was then put into the coach, and it was just about to drive off, when another coach drove up, and out jumped Horatio. "Oh! Sir," exclaimed the landlady, who was still standing at the door--"Oh! Sir, they have taken away the lady!" "_Who!_--who has taken her?" demanded the astonished lover. "Why _I_ have," replied Bishop, ordering the coachman to drive on;--crack went the whip, and away went the horses with the coach behind them:-- "But who can paint Horatio as he stood, Speechless and fix'd in all the death of woe!"