“No names, if you please, my Lord Hermitage,” replied Armstrong; “I take no by-names but one—that by which everybody knows me. All others I am apt to acknowledge in a way that is pretty generally allowed to be disagreeable. And as to this lady being my sweetheart,” he went on—“perhaps she is, and perhaps not; but whether she be or no, should you entertain any thoughts of running away with her, take my word for it—take the word of ‘Jock o the Syde’—that you’ll run pretty fast, and pretty far, too, if I don’t overtake you.” To this blunt language, the Lord of Hermitage merely replied, evidently desirous of giving the whole matter the turn of a joke, “that he was glad to find the young lady had such a redoubtable guardian.” Having said this, and made his obeisance to Isabella, bowed to her father, and waved his hand slightly and coldly to Armstrong, the Lord of Hermitage rode off towards his own residence, whither we shall take the liberty of accompanying him. On entering the gate of his castle, the Lord of Hermitage was met by a person who seemed to be a retainer—for such his dress bespoke him; but there was a familiarity in his manner, mingled with a sort of careless respect, that at once shewed that his lord and he were upon a much more intimate footing than is usually displayed between master and servant. “Well, my lord,” said this person, as he assisted his master to dismount, “have you seen her?” “I have, Maxwell,” replied the Lord of Hermitage; “and, on my soul, a most lovely creature it is. Strange that I should not have heard of her before. Thou hast an admirable taste, Maxwell,” he went on; “and I owe thee something for this scent, which thou shalt forthwith have. ’Tis a rare prize, Maxwell, I assure thee, and does thy diligence infinite credit.” “I guessed as much,” replied the person addressed, and who was, if such an official can be recognised, the confidential villain of the Lord of Hermitage, in the shape of a domestic servant or personal attendant—“I guessed as much, my lord,” he said, with a fiendish smile; “I felt assured that I had at last caught something worth looking at.” Here the conversation dropped for a time. The Lord of Hermitage being now dismounted from his horse, proceeded into the castle, whither he was followed by Maxwell; when the two, having shut themselves up in a small retired apartment, resumed the discourse which the movement just spoken of had interrupted; and proceeded to discuss the question as to which was the best method of getting Isabella Foster into their power. “Carry her off, to be sure—carry her off bodily,” was the reply of Maxwell to this query—“why should there be any hesitation?” “Why, I don’t know, Maxwell,” replied the Lord of Hermitage, musingly. “It would make a stir in the country, and set the fools a-talking. I’d rather it were quietly done, if at all possible. I have told Foster,” he added, after a pause of some minutes, “that I would pay him a visit one of these days.”