It will hardly be believed that after all this thunder and lightning not a drop of rain fell; but such is the fact.  Elfonzo and his gang stood up and black-guarded Mr. Valeer with vigor all night, getting their outlay back with interest; then in the early morning the army and its general retired from the field, leaving the victory with their solitary adversary and his crowbar.  This is the first time this has happened in romantic literature.  The invention is original.  Everything in this book is original; there is nothing hackneyed about it anywhere.  Always, in other romances, when you find the author leading up to a climax, you know what is going to happen.  But in this book it is different; the thing which seems inevitable and unavoidable never happens; it is circumvented by the art of the author every time.

Another elopement was attempted.  It failed.

We have now arrived at the end.  But it is not exciting.  McClintock thinks it is; but it isn’t.  One day Elfonzo sent Ambulinia another note—­a note proposing elopement No. 16.  This time the plan is admirable; admirable, sagacious, ingenious, imaginative, deep —­oh, everything, and perfectly easy.  One wonders why it was never thought of before.  This is the scheme.  Ambulinia is to leave the breakfast-table, ostensibly to “attend to the placing of those flowers, which should have been done a week ago”—­artificial ones, of course; the others wouldn’t keep so long—­and then, instead of fixing the flowers, she is to walk out to the grove, and go off with Elfonzo.  The invention of this plan overstrained the author that is plain, for he straightway shows failing powers.  The details of the plan are not many or elaborate.  The author shall state them himself —­this good soul, whose intentions are always better than his English: 

“You walk carelessly toward the academy grove, where you will find me with a lightning steed, elegantly equipped to bear you off where we shall be joined in wedlock with the first connubial rights.”

Last scene of all, which the author, now much enfeebled, tries to smarten up and make acceptable to his spectacular heart by introducing some new properties—­silver bow, golden harp, olive branch—­things that can all come good in an elopement, no doubt, yet are not to be compared to an umbrella for real handiness and reliability in an excursion of that kind.

And away she ran to the sacred grove, surrounded with glittering pearls, that indicated her coming.  Elfonzo hails her with his silver bow and his golden harp.  They meet—­Ambulinia’s countenance brightens —­Elfonzo leads up the winged steed.  “Mount,” said he, “ye true-hearted, ye fearless soul—­the day is ours.”  She sprang upon the back of the young thunderbolt, a brilliant star sparkles upon her head, with one hand she grasps the reins, and with the other she holds an olive branch.  “Lend thy aid, ye strong winds,” they exclaimed, “ye moon, ye sun, and all ye fair host of heaven, witness the enemy conquered.”  “Hold,” said Elfonzo, “thy dashing steed.”  “Ride on,” said Ambulinia, “the voice of thunder is behind us.”  And onward they went, with such rapidity that they very soon arrived at Rural Retreat, where they dismounted, and were united with all the solemnities that usually attended such divine operations.