"And that sum, joined to what I possess, and to what _I shall have_," added Montague, "will enable us to live in luxury in a foreign land. Oh! how happy shall I be when the time arrives for me to clasp you in my arms--to behold you attired in the garb which suits your sex, and in which I never yet have seen you dressed--and to call you by the sacred and endearing name of WIFE! How beautiful must you appear in those garments which----" "Hush, George--no compliments!" cried the lady, with a smile and a blush. "Wait until you see me dressed as you desire; and, perhaps, then--_then_, you may whisper to me the soft and delicious language of love." The time-piece upon the mantel struck eleven; and Montague rose to depart. It was an awful night. The violence of the wind had increased during the last hour; and the rain poured in torrents against the windows. "George, it is impossible that you can venture out in such weather as this," said the lady, in a frank and ingenuous manner: "one would not allow a dog to pass the door on such a night. Fortunately there is a spare room in my humble abode; and that chamber is at your service." Walter rang the bell, and gave Louisa the necessary instructions. In another half-hour Montague was conducted to the apartment provided for him, and Walter retired to the luxurious and elegant boudoir which we have before described. The satin curtains were drawn over the casement against which the rain beat with increasing fury: a cheerful fire actually roared in the grate; and the thick carpet upon the floor, the inviting lounging-chair close by the hearth, and the downy couch with its snow-white sheets and warm clothing, completed the air of comfort which prevailed in that delicious retreat. The vases of sweet flowers were no longer there, it was true; but a fragrant odour of bergamot and lavender filled the boudoir. Nothing could be more charming than this warm, perfumed, and voluptuous chamber--worthy of the lovely and mysterious being who seemed the presiding divinity of that elysian bower. Walter threw herself into the easy-chair, and dismissed her attendant, saying, "You may retire, Louisa,--I will undress myself without your aid to-night; for as yet I do not feel inclined to sleep. I shall sit here, before this cheerful fire, and indulge in the luxury of hopes and future prospects, ere I retire to rest." Louisa withdrew, and Walter then plunged into a delicious reverie. The approaching emancipation from the thraldom of an assumed sex--her affection for George Montague--and the anticipated possession of an ample fortune to guard against the future, were golden visions not the less dazzling for being waking ones.