Our doubts were now at an end.  It appeared to me one of the vilest instances of unprovoked ingratitude I had ever met with.  As we set ruminating upon schemes of vengeance, Mr. Burchell himself entered and sat down.

“Do you know this, sir—­this pocket-book?” said I.

“Yes, sir,” returned he, with a face of impenetrable assurance.

“And do you know this letter?”

“Yes; it was I that wrote that letter.”

“And how could you so basely presume to write this letter?”

“And how came you,” replied he, with looks of unparalleled effrontery, “so basely to presume to open this letter?”

I could scarcely govern my passion.  “Ungrateful wretch!” I cried.  “Begone, and no longer pollute my dwelling with thy baseness!”

So saying, I threw him his pocket-book, which he took up with a smile, and left us astonished at the serenity of his assurance.

III.—­The Elopement

The visits of Mr. Thornhill now became more frequent and longer; but all the schemes of Olivia and her mother to bring him to a declaration came to nothing.  And although Olivia considered his fine sentiments as instances of the most exalted passion, it seemed to me plain that they had more of love than matrimony in them.

One evening as I sat by the fireside, thanking Heaven for tranquillity, health, and competence, and thinking myself happier than the greatest monarch upon earth, I noticed that Olivia was absent.

“Where is my darling Olivia?” I asked.  Just as I spoke, my boy Dick came running in.

“Oh, papa, papa, she is gone from us; she is gone from us for ever!”

“Gone, child?”

“Yes; she is gone off with two gentlemen in a postchaise, and one of them kissed her.  And she cried very much, but he persuaded her, and she went into the chaise.”

“Now, then,” cried I, “may Heaven’s everlasting fury light upon him and his!  Thus to rob me of my child!  Bring me my pistols; I’ll pursue the traitor.  Old as I am, he shall find I can sting him yet—­the perfidious villain!”

My poor wife caught me in her arms.

“Indeed, sir,” said my son Moses, “your rage is too violent.”

“I did not curse him, child, did I?”

“Indeed, sir, you did.”

“Then may Heaven forgive me and him.  But it is not—­it is not a small distress that can wring tears from these old eyes.  My child—­to undo my darling!  May confusion seize—­Heaven forgive me!  What am I about to say?  Had she but died!  My son, bring hither my Bible and my staff.  I will pursue her; and though I cannot save her from shame, I may prevent the continuance of her iniquity.”

My suspicions fell entirely upon our young landlord, whose character for such intrigues was but too well known.  I therefore directed my steps towards Thornhill Castle.  He soon appeared, with the most open, familiar air, and seemed perfectly amazed at my daughter’s elopement, protesting upon his honour that he was quite a stranger to it.  A man, however, averred that my daughter and Mr. Burchell had been seen driving very fast towards the Wells, about thirty miles distant.