--He did not stand many seconds, however, but ran after the coach like a greyhound, jumped up behind it, and peeping in at the window called mournfully upon Drusilla. "Drusilla, my angel! where are you going?" His angel sat snugly in the corner of the carriage, and made no reply; but Bishop, looking out at the opposite window, said, "Come, come, young chap, don't be rude; or I shall be under the necessity of taking _you_ somewhere--get down from the coach instantly, or I'll take you into custody." Horatio took the hint and jumped down; but, like a true knight, he continued to follow, even on foot, panting and puffing, till the coach stopped in Bow-street; and then his _Drusilla_ having been deposited in a place of safety, without seeing him--for he could not, with all his fervour, keep up with the coach--he attempted a parley with Bishop, about _his share of the luggage_, which had been carried off with the lady. Bishop told him if he would call at the Public Office in Bow-street next morning, he should have "what _belonged_ to him;" and with this promise he departed apparently pretty comfortable. Bishop is a shrewd sort of a subject--his object, in getting Horatio to call at the office, was to give the Chancery Solicitors an opportunity of serving him with a copy of the injunction; and he completely succeeded, for Horatio was punctual in calling for "his share of the _luggage_." He was shown into a private room; where, neither the copy of the injunction nor "his share of the luggage" being ready, he amused himself with a volume of "Coke upon Lyttleton"--instead of pacing the room with his arms folded across his breast to keep his heart down. Indeed it was very evident that he considered himself pretty comfortable under the circumstances. By-the-bye, notwithstanding the desperate adventure he had undertaken, he seemed of a very cool, phlegmatic temperament; and how Drusilla could have fallen so deeply in love with him we cannot imagine; for, though he was nearly six feet high, and had a pleasing obliquity of vision, his nose was embossed with very angry-looking pustules, and his person was spare and uncouth.--But--_de gustibus non est disputandum_. A length, after he had pored over "Coke upon Lyttleton," and "the Statutes at Large," for about an hour and a half, the Chancery Solicitor arrived and served him with a copy of the injunction; and, had it been a tavern bill of fare, he could not have taken it more comfortably. He opened it; turned it about in different directions; looked at it both on the outside and the inside, played leisurely with the red tape that bound it, and then--thrust it into his coat pocket.