h delighted at the idea."

"I don't think that I should play a very noble part in such a scheme as
that. Dearly as I love you, Beatrice, I do not think I could consent to
steal you away in such a pitiful and cowardly manner."

"Pooh! you would have nothing to do with it; it is all my doing, of
course. Hush! is not that somebody coming up the stairs?"

They were silent for half a minute, listening to the sound of advancing
steps upon the wooden staircase.

"It is nothing--only somebody to see the man above me. By Jove, though,
it _is_ for me!" as somebody suddenly stopped outside and knocked at the
door. "Wait one minute, sir! Good heavens, Beatrice, what am I to do with
you?"

Herbert looked frightened out of his life. Beatrice, on the contrary,
could hardly smother her laughter.

"I must hide!" she said, in a choked whisper. "Oh, Herbert, it is like
a scene out of a naughty French play! I shall die of laughter!"

Without a moment's thought, she fled into the inner room, the door of
which stood ajar, and which was none other than Mr. Pryme's bed-chamber!
There was no time to think of any better expedient. Beatrice turned the
key upon herself, and Herbert called out "Come in!" to the intruder.
Neither of them had noticed that Beatrice's little white lace sunshade
lay upon the table with her gloves and veil beside it.

If Mr. Pryme had been alarmed at the bare fact of an unknown and possibly
unimportant visitor, it may be left to the imagination to describe the
state of his feelings when the door, upon being opened, disclosed the
Member for North Meadowshire standing without!

CHAPTER XXIII.

A WHITE SUNSHADE.

For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
An unrelenting foe to love,
And when we meet a mutual heart,
Come in between, and bid us part?

"Well, Mr. Pryme, how d'ye do?" said Mr. Miller, in his rough, hearty
voice, holding out his hand. "I dare say you are surprised to see me
here. I haven't met you since you were staying down with us at Christmas
time. Well, and how goes the world with you, young man?"

Herbert, who at first had thought nothing less than that Mr. Miller had
tracked his daughter to his rooms, and that he was about to have the
righteous wrath of an infuriated and exasperated parent to deal with, by
this time began to perceive that, to whatever extraordinary cause his
visit was owing, Beatrice, at all events, had nothing to do with it. He
recovered himself sufficiently to mu