e."

"But I cannot tell him an untruth, mother," returned Amabel, artlessly,
"for I do _not_ hate him."

"Then you love me," cried the young man, falling on his knees, and
pressing her hand to his lips. "Tell me so, and make me the happiest of
men."

But Amabel had now recovered from the confusion into which she had been
thrown, and, alarmed at her own indiscretion, forcibly withdrew her
hand, exclaiming in a cold tone, and with much natural dignity, "Arise,
sir. I will not tolerate these freedoms. My mother is right--you have
some ill design."

"By my soul, no!" cried the gallant, passionately. "I love you, and
would make you mine."

"No doubt," remarked Mrs. Bloundel, contemptuously, "but not by
marriage."

"Yes, by marriage," rejoined the gallant, rising. "If she will consent,
I will wed her forthwith."

Both Amabel and her mother looked surprised at the young man's
declaration, which was uttered with a fervour that seemed to leave no
doubt of its sincerity; but the latter, fearing some artifice, replied,
"If what you say is true, and you really love my daughter as much as you
pretend, this is not the way to win her; for though she can have no
pretension to wed with one of your seeming degree, nor is it for her
happiness that she should, yet, were she sought by the proudest noble in
the land, she shall never, if I can help it, be lightly won. If your
intentions are honourable, you must address yourself, in the first
place, to her father, and if he agrees (which I much doubt) that you
shall become her suitor, I can make no objection. Till this is settled,
I must pray you to desist from further importunity."

"And so must I," added Amabel. "I cannot give you a hope till you have
spoken to my father."

"Be it so," replied the gallant. "I will tarry here till his return."

So saying, he was about to seat himself, but Mrs. Bloundel prevented
him.

"I cannot permit this, sir," she cried. "Your tarrying here may, for
aught I know, bring scandal upon my house;--I am sure it will be
disagreeable to my husband. I am unacquainted with your name and
condition. You may be a man of rank. You may be one of the profligate
and profane crew who haunt the court. You may be the worst of them all,
my Lord Rochester himself. He is about your age, I have heard, and
though a mere boy in years, is a veteran in libertinism. But, whoever
you are, and whatever your rank and station may be, unless your
character will bear the str