“And what is all of it come to at last?—­He paid well, did he not, to teach you to know the world, nephew! hadst thou been born a fool, or a raw greenhead, or a doating greyhead—­“—­“What then, Sir Jacob?”—­“Why then thou wouldst have done just as thou hast done!”—­“Come, come, Sir Jacob, you know not my inducement.  You know not what an angel I have in person and mind.  Your eyes shall by and bye be blest with the sight of her:  your ears with hearing her speak:  and then you’ll call all you have said, profanation.”—­“What is it I hear?  You talk in the language of romance; and from the housekeeper to the head of the house, you’re all stark staring mad.  Nephew, I wish, for thy own credit, thou wert—­But what signifies wishing?—­I hope you’ll not bring your syren into my company.”

“Yes, I will, Sir, because I love to give you pleasure.  And say not a word more, for your own sake, till you see her.  You’ll have the less to unsay, Sir Jacob, and the less to repent of.”

“I’m in an enchanted castle, that’s certain.  What a plague has this little witch done to you all?  And how did she bring it about?”

The ladies and Lord Davers laughed, it seems; and Mr. B. begging him to sit down, and answer him some family questions, he said, (for it seems he is very captious at times), “What, am I to be laughed at!—­Lord Davers, I hope you’re not bewitched, too, are you?”—­“Indeed, Sir Jacob, I am.  My sister B. is my doating-piece.”

“Whew!” whistled he, with a wild stare:  “and how is it with you, youngster?”—­“With me, Sir Jacob?” said Mr. H., “I’d give all I’m worth in the world, and ever shall be worth, for such another wife.”  He ran to the window, and throwing up the sash looking into the court-yard, said, “Hollo—­So-ho!  Groom—­Jack—­Jonas—­Get me my horse!—­I’ll keep no such company!—­I’ll be gone!  Why, Jonas!” calling again.

“You’re not in earnest, Sir Jacob,” said Mr. B.

“I am!—­I’ll away to the village this night!  Why you’re all upon the high game!  I’ll—­But who comes here?”—­For just then, the chariot brought me into the court-yard—­“Who’s this? who is she?”—­“One of my daughters,” started up the countess; “my youngest daughter Jenny!—­She’s the pride of my family, Sir Jacob!”—­“I was running; for I thought it was the grand enchantress.”  Out steps Lady Davers to me; “Dear Pamela,” said she, “humour all that’s said to you.  Here’s Sir Jacob come.  You’re the Countess of C.’s youngest daughter Jenny—­That’s your cue.”—­“Ah? but, Madam,” said I, “Lady Jenny is not married,” looking (before I thought) on a circumstance that I think too much of sometimes, though I carry it off as well as I can.  She laughed at my exception:  “Come, Lady Jenny,” said she, (for I just entered the great door), “I hope you’ve had a fine airing.”—­“A very pretty one, Madam,” said I, as I entered the parlour.  “This is a pleasant country, Lady Davers.” ("Wink when I’m wrong,” whispered I), “Where’s Mrs. B.?” Then, as seeing a strange gentleman, I started half back, into a more reserved air; and made him a low curt’sy.  Sir Jacob looked as if he did not know what to think of it, now at me, now at Mr. B. who put him quite out of doubt, by taking my hand:  “Well, Lady Jenny, did you meet my fugitive in your tour?”