'The fact is, Miss,' said the landlady, 'that I have heard your real story. Mr. Grundy is not your cousin at all, and your name is Wilkinson, not Donald. Howsomever, as I believe you meant no harm, in this deception, I am willing, at the solicitations of this excellent gentleman, to let you remain in my house, provided you promise not to receive any more visits from that Stuart, who is the greatest villain unhanged; or from Mr. Grundy, who has certainly bad designs on you; though he made proposals of marriage to myself, no longer ago than yesterday.' A tapping at my door prevented me from expressing my total disbelief in her latter assertion. It struck me that should the person prove to be his lordship, I might make her look extremely foolish, by letting her overhear his declarations of attachment to me. 'Conceal yourselves in this closet,' whispered I to my visitors. 'I have particular reasons.' They looked at each other, and hesitated. 'In, in!' said I; 'for I suspect that this visit is from a villain, and I wish you to hear what passes.' Both then went into the closet. I opened the door of my chamber, and, to my great disappointment, the poet appeared at it, with his eyes rolling, and his mouth ajar. 'What is the matter?' asked I. He gaped still wider, but said nothing. 'Ah,' cried I, 'that is an awkward attempt at expressing horror. If you have any hideous news to communicate, why do you not rush into the room, tossing your hands on high, and exclaiming, "Fly, fair lady, all is lost!"' 'Indeed, Miss,' said he, 'I was never in the way of learning good breeding. But don't go to the masquerade, Miss, Oh, don't! My mother overheard old Betterton just now planning with the landlady, to carry you from it by force. But, Miss, I have a fine sword, above stairs, three feet and a half long, and I will rub off the rust, and----' A knock at the street-door interrupted him. I was in a hiding mood. Already the scene promised wonders; and I resolved not to damp its rising spirit; so made the simple Higginson get underneath the sofa. The next moment my door opened, and Vixen, Montmorenci's terrier, came bounding towards me. 'Go, dear Vixen,' cried I, snatching her to my bosom; 'carry back to your master all that nourishes his remembrance. Go, dear Vixen, guard him by night, and accompany him by day, serve him with zeal, and love him with fidelity!' I turned round, and perceived--Montmorenci! The poor timid girl bent her eyes to the ground. 'Yes, dear Vixen,' said he, 'you have now indeed a claim to my regard; and with the fondest gratitude will I cherish you!' He then flew to me, and poured forth, at my feet, the most passionate acknowledgments, and tender protestations. I tried to break from him. 'No, loveliest Cherubina!' said he, detaining me. 'Not thus must we part.'