Mr. Benton pulled a paper from his pocket,--the last copy of the Weekly Budget,--and by the light of a street lamp read the following extract to his amused auditor. “Miranda was just eighteen. Her form was queenly and majestic. Tall and stately, she moved among her handmaidens with a dignity which revealed her superior rank. Her eyes were dark as night. Her luxuriant tresses,--there, the rest is torn off,” said Mr. Benton, in a tone of vexation. “She is tall, then?” said Paul. “Yes, just like Miranda.” “Then,” said our hero, in some hesitation, “I should think she would not be very well suited to you.” “Why not?” asked Mr. Benton, quickly. “Because,” said Paul, “you're rather short, you know.” “I'm about the medium height,” said Mr. Benton, raising himself upon his toes as he spoke. “Not quite,” said Paul, trying not to laugh. “I'm as tall as Mr. Smith,” resumed Mr. Benton, in a tone which warned Paul that this was a forbidden subject. “But you don't ask me who she is.” “I didn't know as you would be willing to tell.” “I shan't tell any one but you. It's Miss Hawkins,--firm of Hawkins & Brewer. That is, her father belongs to the firm, not she. And Paul,” here he clutched our hero's arm convulsively, “I've made a declaration of my love, and--and----” “Well?” “She has answered my letter.” “Has she?” asked Paul with some curiosity, “What did she say?” “She has written me to be under her window this evening.” “Why under her window? why didn't she write you to call?” “Probably she will, but it's more romantic to say, 'be under my window.'” “Well, perhaps it is; only you know I don't know much about such things.” “Of course not, Paul,” said Mr. Benton; “you're only a boy, you know.” “Are you going to be under her window, Nich,--I mean Mr. Benton?” “Of course. Do you think I would miss the appointment? No earthly power could prevent my doing it.” “Then I had better leave you,” said Paul, making a movement to go. “No, I want you to accompany me as far as the door. I feel--a little agitated. I suppose everybody does when they are in love,” added Mr. Benton, complacently. “Well,” said Paul, “I will see you to the door, but I can't stay, for they will wonder at home what has become of me.” “All right.” “Are we anywhere near the house?” “Yes, it's only in the next street,” said Mr. Benton, “O, Paul, how my heart beats! You can't imagine how I feel!” Mr. Benton gasped for breath, and looked as if he had swallowed a fish bone, which he had some difficulty in getting down. “You'll know how to understand my feelings sometime, Paul,” said Mr. Benton; “when your time comes, I will remember your service of to-night, and I will stand by you.” Paul inwardly hoped that he should never fall in love, if it was likely to affect him in the same way as his companion, but he thought it best not to say so. By this time they had come in sight of a three-story brick house, with Benjamin Hawkins on the door-plate.