“Thanks, generous stranger,” said Eloise, with energy; “indeed I _do_ thank you.” For not yet had acquaintance with the world sufficiently bidden Eloise distrust the motives of its disciples. “I accept your offer, and only hope that my compliance may not induce you to regard me otherwise than I am.” “Never, never can I regard you as other than a suffering angel,” replied the impassioned Mountfort. Eloise blushed at what the energetic force of Mountfort’s manner assured her was not intended as a compliment. “But may I ask my generous benefactor, _how_, _where_, and _when_ am I to be released?” “Leave that to me,” returned Mountfort: “be ready to-morrow night at ten o’clock. A chaise will wait beneath.” Nempere soon entered; their conversation was uninterrupted, and the evening passed away uninteresting and slow. Swiftly fled the intervening hours, and fast advanced the moment when Eloise was about to try, again, the compassion of the world. Night came, and Eloise entered the chaise; Mountfort leaped in after her. For awhile her agitation was excessive. Mountfort at last succeeded in calming her; “Why, my dearest Ma’am’selle,” said he, “why will you thus needlessly agitate yourself? I _swear_ to hold your honour far dearer than my own life; and my companion----” “What companion?” Eloise interrupted him, inquiringly. “Why,” replied he, “a friend of mine, who lives at my cottage; he is an Irishman, and so _very_ moral, and so averse to every species of _gaieté de cœur_, that you need be under no apprehensions. In short, he is a love-sick swain, without ever having found what he calls a _congenial_ female. He wanders about, writes poetry, and, in short, is much _too sentimental_ to occasion you any alarm on that account. And, I assure you,” added he, assuming a more serious tone, “although I may not be quite so far gone in romance, yet I have feelings of honour and humanity which teach me to respect your sorrows as my own.” “Indeed, indeed I believe you, generous stranger; nor do I think that you _could_ have a friend whose principles are dishonourable.” Whilst yet she spoke, the chaise stopped, and Mountfort springing from it, handed Eloise into his habitation. It was neatly fitted up in the English taste. “Fitzeustace,” said Mountfort to his friend, “allow me to introduce you to Madame Eloise de ----” Eloise blushed, as did Fitzeustace. “Come,” said Fitzeustace, to conquer _mauvaise honte_, “supper is ready, and the lady doubtlessly fatigued.”