less to attempt it. And, what is very
remarkable, Bella knew it. 'There, Percy,' said she, 'your indiscretion
is cleared away, and now upon my word I don't know which flatters me
most, you or the glass.'

'Why, I haven't tried yet,' replied Roseton.

'That's only because you know you can't,' said she;' neither can this
poor little mirror. But to think what Mundus said yesterday!'

'What did he say?'

'He said--he said--he saw a pretty apple-girl in Wall Street, and I
presume the wretch paid her some compliment or other while he was buying
her apples, for he appeared very much pleased after he came home, and he
hasn't bestowed a compliment on me since the month after we were
married. Ah, fated word! Ah, Percy, Percy!--on that ill-omened day, what
caused you to linger? We _might_ even then have retraced our steps, and
been--happy.'

'I was waiting--at the dock--for the news--of the Heenan prize-fight,
Bella,' gasped Roseton, turning away to conceal his emotion, and to
assuage the tears that fell from his manly eyes. It is a mournful sight,
a strong man, in the morning of life, weeping; but Roseton's agony might
well excuse it. 'I know it was unpardonable, but my card of invitation
had been tampered with, the date altered; and, Bella--my Bella--we were
the victims of a base deception!'

'Oh, yes, my Percy,' faintly cried Bella, letting the book fall to the
ground in her confusion; 'traitorous wiles, indeed, encompassed us, and
the arts of a Mundus were too subtle for my girlish brain. I sometimes
fear that my poor frame will sink under the agonies I endure.'

Roseton raised the volume from the floor. 'I am told,' said he, 'that
this is a very ingenious work, and that no gentleman's library is
complete without it; but I never read. My days, my nights, are filled,
Bella, with thoughts of you. Yes,' continued he, seating himself upon
the sofa by her side, and passing his arm about her throbbing waist,
'yes, you are my muse--my only volume. You are the inspiration of the
poetical trifles that I send to the weekly newspapers, and which I may
say, without vanity, are considered equal to Mrs. Sigourney's. Without
you, life were indeed a dreary void; and without you, I should be
dreadfully bored of a morning.'

'Ah, Percy,' murmured the fair listener, 'so could I hear you talk
forever.'

'Bella,' whispered Roseton, in her fairy ear, 'could you prepare your
mind to entertain the idea of flight with me?'

'To Staten Isl