How happy your conde&longs;cen&longs;ion makes me, &longs;aid
Cogdie, as he &longs;eated him&longs;elf by Meli&longs;&longs;a—but I &longs;hall
not be entirely devoid of fear till I can call you mine:
and as the Par&longs;on is not in the way, &longs;uppo&longs;e, my
dear girl, you &longs;ign this paper, to certify that you
came with me voluntarily, in ca&longs;e I &longs;hould be called
to an account for running away with an Heire&longs;s.

May I not read the paper, &longs;aid Meli&longs;&longs;a.

It is of no great con&longs;equence, my love, whether
you &longs;ign it or not, only in &longs;uch ca&longs;es there are sometimes
difficulties en&longs;ue after the ceremony is over.
I may be tried and ca&longs;t.

Give me the paper, I will &longs;ign it.

I trembled with anxiety.—She had taken up the
pen to &longs;ign the conveyance of her whole fortune into
his hands.

I will &longs;ee him—exclaimed a voice, not the gentlest
in the world—I have a warrant to apprehend
him.

Cogdie turned pale as a&longs;hes.—The pen dropped
from Meli&longs;&longs;a's hand.—

An officer of ju&longs;tice entered.

Mr. Cogdie, &longs;aid he, you mu&longs;t go with me.
I arre&longs;t you for a fraud committed five years ago.

And who has employod you? who forged this tale
to injure me in the opinion of this lady?

I had taken off my ring, and &longs;tepping forward at
that moment, cried, 'tis I, you villain. Is it not
enough that you have ruined an innocent girl who
was under my protection; left her and her helple&longs;s
infant to &longs;hame and want, and by ba&longs;e and

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fraudulent methods taken from me near a thou&longs;and pounds,
but you mu&longs;t add to the catalogue of your crimes the
ruin of this amiable lady, and break the heart of her
worthy father.

Meli&longs;&longs;a &longs;hrieked, and fainted; I caught her as
&longs;he fell, and bore her in my arms to another apartment.—
Cogdie departed with the officers of justice,
muttering cur&longs;es as he went.

O! where am I, cried Meli&longs;&longs;a, as &longs;he opened her
eyes, and where is my dear father? Safe, I hope, replied
I; and when you choo&longs;e, I will order a chai&longs;e
and we will return to him.

When you plea&longs;e, Sir; but I fear he will never
&longs;ee me, never forgive me; I dare not go to him.

I will make your peace with him, &longs;aid I.—Melissa
bur&longs;t into tears, and was &longs;ilent.

We cannot depart without &longs;ome refre&longs;hment,
thought I; &longs;o going into the kitchen to order something,
I met Mrs. Tiffany on the &longs;tairs. Woman,
&longs;aid I, what wages does your lady owe you?

Six months, Sir; but I hope my lady will not
part with me in this &longs;trange place?

You had no bu&longs;ine&longs;s to advi&longs;e her to come to this
&longs;trange place—there is your money, and three guineas
to pay your expences to town, your lady never
de&longs;ires to &longs;ee you again.—Now by the a&longs;toni&longs;hment
of her countenance, and a &longs;ort of leer that &longs;he gave
as &longs;he tripped down &longs;tairs, I gue&longs;&longs;ed I had paid her
more than was her due.