"What the deuce is this seditious gathering?" exclaimed Lieutenant Blewforth to little Peter Wingfield as they swung round the corner and plunged into the voluble assemblage. Suddenly there was a noise of a window being thrown up, and a stillness fell upon the dingy throng as they beheld the debonair countenance of our hero. "Speak up, Charles," bellowed the Lieutenant, "I support your candidature. D---- e," he muttered to Wingfield, "d----e, if I knew Charles was a Parliament man." "L-listen," said Mr. Wingfield, standing on tip-toe and craning his little neck to hear Charles' views on the political situation. "Gentlemen," Mr. Lovely began, with a hand gracefully buried in the opening of his embroidered waistcoat, "Gentlemen, I am sensibly flattered by this deputation." A simultaneous grunt acclaimed this remark. "I say, I am sensibly flattered. It is always a pleasure to--to----" "Charles'll never be elected, if he talks to 'em so slow," commented Mr. Blewforth with a shake of his burly head. "I say, I am sensibly flattered." "That's all very fine, Mr. Lovely, but what about my bill?" shouted Mr. Filigree who being better able to stand a loss was bolder than his companions. "Ay--yes--to be sure, your money," Charles started off again. "Well, gentlemen, I say, gentlemen, money is a very wonderful thing. It is the panacea or cure of all earthly ills, like sleep in the play it knits up the ravelled sleeve of care. Money! to be sure!" "He's trying to make 'em swallow the new taxes," said Blewforth sagely. At that moment somebody twitched Mr. Lovely's coat from behind, and he retired from the open window; the angry snuff-coloured crowd looked at each other, conferred for a moment, then pattered quickly back by the way they had come. From the tangle of their murmured confabulations, two ominous words floated back to the Lieutenant and little Peter Wingfield--'Sheriff's Officers!' It was Clare's announcement of the arrival of Betty in the best parlour of the _Blue Boar_ that had distracted Charles' attention from his creditors. He found her trembling from head to foot and playing with the buttons of her scarlet cloak. "My young mistress, your honour, my pretty lamb has gone." "Miss Courteen?" "Little Miss Phyllida." "With Vernon." "No, wi' Amor." "How long ago?" "Nigh three hours or more. The Bow and the Widow have galloped after 'em, but what I do say is, 'tis no work to set an old couple to catch a young couple: oh! your honour, if ever in this sweet Springtime you loved my dear one, will 'ee follow her now and bring her back to me?" The news of Phyllida's elopement so crudely announced staggered him, notwithstanding his anticipation of such an event. Hitherto his love for the maid had been a pleasant fancy, an impulse to day-dreams but nothing more material.