RECORDS THE RAPID DEVELOPMENT OF THE HERO
On the stroke of the hour when Ripton Thompson was accustomed to
consult his good watch for practical purposes, and sniff freedom and
the forthcoming dinner, a burglarious foot entered the clerk's
office where he sat, and a man of a scowling countenance, who looked
a villain, and whom he was afraid he knew, slid a letter into his
hands, nodding that it would be prudent for him to read, and be
silent. Ripton obeyed in alarm. Apparently the contents of the
letter relieved his conscience; for he reached down his hat, and
told Mr. Beazley to inform his father that he had business of
pressing importance in the West, and should meet him at the station.
Mr. Beazley zealously waited upon the paternal Thompson without
delay, and together making their observations from the window, they
beheld a cab of many boxes, into which Ripton darted and was
followed by one in groom's dress. It was Saturday, the day when
Ripton gave up his law-readings, magnanimously to bestow himself
upon his family, and Mr. Thompson liked to have his son's arm as he
walked down to the station; but that third glass of Port which
always stood for his second, and the groom's suggestion of
aristocratic acquaintances, prevented Mr. Thompson from interfering:
so Ripton was permitted to depart.
In the cab Ripton made a study of the letter he held. It had the
preciseness of an imperial mandate.
"DEAR RIPTON,--You are to get lodgings for a lady immediately.
Not a word to a soul. Then come along with Tom.
R. D. F."
"Lodgings for a lady!" Ripton meditated aloud: "What sort of
lodgings? Where am I to get lodgings? Who's the lady?--I say!" he
addressed the mysterious messenger. "So you're Tom Bakewell, are
you, Tom?"
Tom grinned his identity.
"Do you remember the rick, Tom? Ha! ha! We got out of that neatly.
We might all have been transported, though. I could have convicted
you, Tom, safe! It's no use coming across a practised lawyer. Now
tell me." Ripton having nourished his powers, commenced his
examination: "Who's this lady?"
"Better wait till you see Mr. Richard, sir," Tom resumed his scowl
to reply.
"Ah!" Ripton acquiesced. "Is she young, Tom?"
Tom said she was not old.
"Handsome, Tom?"
"Some might think one thing, some another," Tom said.
"And where does she come from now?" asked Ripton with the friendly
cheerfulness of a baffled counsellor.
"Comes from the country, sir."
"A friend of the family, I suppose? a relation?"
Ripton left this insinuating query to be answered by a look. Tom's
face was a dead blank.
"Ah!" Ripton took a breath, and eyed the mask opposite him. "Why,
you're quite a scholar, Tom! Mr. Richard is well? All right at
home?"
"Come to town this mornin' with his uncle," said Tom. "All well,
thank ye, sir."
"Ha!" cried Ripton, more than ever puzzled, "now I see. You all came
to town to-day, and these are your boxes outside. So, so! But Mr.
Richard writes for me to get lodgings for a lady. There must be some
mistake--he wrote in a hurry. He wants lodgings for you all--eh?"
"'M sure I d'n know what he wants," said Tom. "You'd better go by
the letter, sir."
Ripton re-consulted that document. "'Lodgings for a lady, and then
come along with Tom. Not a word to a soul.' I say! that looks
like--but he never cared for _them_. You don't mean to say, Tom,
he's been running away with anybody?"
Tom fell back upon his first reply: "Better wait till ye see Mr.
Richard, sir," and Ripton exclaimed: "Hanged if you ain't the
tightest witness I ever saw! I shouldn't like to have you in a box.
Some of you country fellows beat any number of cockneys. You do!"
Tom received the compliment stubbornly on his guard, and Ripton, as
nothing was to be got out of him, set about considering how to
perform his friend's injunctions; deciding firstly, that a lady
fresh from the country ought to lodge near the parks, in which
direction he told the cabman to drive. Thus, unaware of his high
destiny, Ripton joined the hero, and accepted his character in the
New Comedy.
It is, nevertheless, true that certain favoured people do have
beneficent omens to prepare them for their parts when the hero is in
full career, so that they really may be nerved to meet him; ay, and
to check him in his course, had they that signal courage. For
instance, Mrs. Elizabeth Berry, a ripe and wholesome landlady of
advertised lodgings, on the borders of Kensington, noted, as she sat
rocking her contemplative person before the parlour fire this very
March afternoon, a supernatural tendency in that fire to burn _all
on one side_: which signifies that a wedding approaches the house.
Why--who shall say? Omens are as impassable as heroes. It may be
because in these affairs the fire is thought to be all on one side.
Enough that the omen exists, and spoke its solemn warning to the
devout woman. Mrs. Berry, in her circle, was known as a certified
lecturer against the snares of matrimony. Still that was no reason
why she should not like a wedding. Expectant, therefore, she watched
the one glowing cheek of Hymen, and with pleasing tremours beheld a
cab of many boxes draw up by her bit of garden, and a gentleman
emerge from it in the act of consulting an advertisement paper. The
gentleman required lodgings for a lady. Lodgings for a lady Mrs.
Berry could produce, and a very roseate smile for a gentleman; so
much so that Ripton forgot to ask about the terms, which made the
landlady in Mrs. Berry leap up to embrace him as the happy man. But
her experienced woman's eye checked her enthusiasm. He had not the
air of a bridegroom: he did not seem to have a weight on his chest,
or an itch to twiddle everything with his fingers. At any rate, he
was not the bridegroom for whom omens fly abroad. Promising to have
all ready for the lady within an hour, Mrs. Berry fortified him with
her card, curtsied him back to his cab, and floated him off on her
smiles.
The remarkable vehicle which had woven this thread of intrigue
through London streets, now proceeded sedately to finish its
operations. Ripton was landed at a hotel in Westminster. Ere he was
half-way up the stairs, a door opened, and his old comrade in
adventure rushed down. Richard allowed up time for salutations.
"Have you done it?" was all he asked. For answer Ripton handed him
Mrs. Berry's card. Richard took it, and left him standing there.
Five minutes elapsed, and then Ripton heard the gracious rustle of
feminine garments above. Richard came a little in advance, leading
and half supporting a figure in a black-silk mantle and small black
straw bonnet; young--that was certain, though she held her veil so
close he could hardly catch the outlines of her face; girlishly
slender, and sweet and simple in appearance. The hush that came with
her, and her soft manner of moving, stirred the silly youth to some
of those ardours that awaken the Knight of Dames in our bosoms. He
felt that he would have given considerable sums for her to lift her
veil. He could see that she was trembling--perhaps weeping. It was
the master of her fate she clung to. They passed him without
speaking. As she went by, her head passively bent, Ripton had a
glimpse of noble tresses and a lovely neck; great golden curls hung
loosely behind, pouring from under her bonnet. She looked a captive
borne to the sacrifice. What Ripton, after a sight of those curls,
would have given for her just to lift her veil an instant and strike
him blind with beauty, was, fortunately for his exchequer, never
demanded of him. And he had absolutely been composing speeches as he
came along in the cab! gallant speeches for the lady, and sly
congratulatory ones for his friend, to be delivered as occasion
should serve, that both might know him a man of the world, and be at
their ease. He forgot the smirking immoralities he had revelled in.
This was clearly serious. Ripton did not require to be told that his
friend was in love, and meant that life and death business called
marriage, parents and guardians consenting or not.
Presently Richard returned to him, and said hurriedly, "I want you
now to go to my uncle at our hotel. Keep him quiet till I come. Say
I had to see you--say anything. I shall be there by the dinner hour.
Rip! I must talk to you alone after dinner."
Ripton feebly attempted to reply that he was due at home. He was
very curious to hear the plot of the New Comedy; and besides, there
was Richard's face questioning him sternly and confidently for signs
of unhesitating obedience. He finished his grimaces by asking the
name and direction of the hotel. Richard pressed his hand. It is
much to obtain even that recognition of our devotion from the hero.
Tom Bakewell also received his priming, and, to judge by his
chuckles and grins, rather appeared to enjoy the work cut out for
him. In a few minutes they had driven to their separate
destinations; Ripton was left to the unusual exercise of his fancy.
Such is the nature of youth and its thirst for romance, that only to
act as a subordinate is pleasant. When one unfurls the standard of
defiance to parents and guardians, he may be sure of raising a
lawless troop of adolescent ruffians, born rebels, to any amount.
The beardless crew know that they have not a chance of pay; but what
of that when the rosy prospect of thwarting their elders is in view?
Though it is to see another eat the Forbidden Fruit, they will run
all his risks with him. Gaily Ripton took rank as lieutenant in the
enterprise, and the moment his heart had sworn the oaths, he was
rewarded by an exquisite sense of the charms of existence. London
streets wore a sly laugh to him. He walked with a dandified heel.
The generous youth ogled aristocratic carriages, and glanced
intimately at the ladies, overflowingly happy. The crossing-sweepers
blessed him. He hummed lively tunes, he turned over old jokes in his
mouth unctuously, he hugged himself, he had a mind to dance down
Piccadilly, and all because a friend of his was running away with a
pretty girl, and he was in the secret.
It was only when he stood on the door-step of Richard's hotel, that
his jocund mood was a little dashed by remembering that he had then
to commence the duties of his office, and must fabricate a plausible
story to account for what he knew nothing about--a part that the
greatest of sages would find it difficult to perform. The young,
however, whom sages well may envy, seldom fail in lifting their
inventive faculties to the level of their spirits, and two minutes
of Hippias's angry complaints against the friend he serenely
inquired for, gave Ripton his cue.
"We're in the very street--within a stone's-throw of the house, and
he jumps like a harlequin out of my cab into another; he must be
mad--that boy's got madness in him!--and carries off all the
boxes--my dinner-pills, too! and keeps away the whole of the day,
though he promised to go to the doctor, and had a dozen engagements
with me," said Hippias, venting an enraged snarl to sum up his
grievances.
Ripton at once told him that the doctor was not at home.
"Why, you don't mean to say he's been to the doctor?" Hippias cried
out.
"He has called on him twice, sir," said Ripton, expressively. "On
leaving me he was going a third time. I shouldn't wonder that's what
detains him--he's so determined."
By fine degrees Ripton ventured to grow circumstantial, saying that
Richard's case was urgent and required immediate medical advice; and
that both he and his father were of opinion Richard should not lose
an hour in obtaining it.
"He's alarmed about himself," said Ripton, and tapped his chest.
Hippias protested he had never heard a word from his nephew of any
physical affliction.
"He was afraid of making you anxious, I think, sir."
Algernon Feverel and Richard came in while he was hammering at the
alphabet to recollect the first letter of the doctor's name. They
had met in the hall below, and were laughing heartily as they
entered the room. Ripton jumped up to get the initiative.
"Have you seen the doctor?" he asked, significantly plucking at
Richard's fingers.
Richard was all abroad at the question.
Algernon clapped him on the back. "What the deuce do you want with
doctor, boy?"
The solid thump awakened him to see matters as they were. "Oh, ay!
the doctor!" he said, smiling frankly at his lieutenant. "Why, he
tells me he'd back me to do Milo's trick in a week from the present
day.--Uncle," he came forward to Hippias, "I hope you'll excuse me
for running off as I did. I was in a hurry. I left something at the
railway. This stupid Rip thinks I went to the doctor about myself.
The fact was, I wanted to fetch the doctor to see you here--so that
you might have no trouble, you know. You can't bear the sight of his
instruments and skeletons--I've heard you say so. You said it set
all your marrow in revolt--'fried your marrow,' I think were the
words, and made you see twenty thousand different ways of sliding
down to the chambers of the Grim King. Don't you remember?"
Hippias emphatically did not remember, and he did not believe the
story. Irritation at the mad ravishment of his pill-box rendered him
incredulous. As he had no means of confuting his nephew, all he
could do safely to express his disbelief in him, was to utter
petulant remarks on his powerlessness to appear at the dinner-table
that day: upon which--Berry just then trumpeting dinner--Algernon
seized one arm of the Dyspepsy, and Richard another, and the
laughing couple bore him into the room where dinner was laid, Ripton
sniggering in the rear, the really happy man of the party.
They had fun at the dinner-table. Richard would have it; and his
gaiety, his by-play, his princely superiority to truth and heroic
promise of over-riding all our laws, his handsome face, the lord and
possessor of beauty that he looked, as it were a star shining on his
forehead, gained the old complete mastery over Ripton, who had been,
mentally at least, half patronizing him till then, because he knew
more of London and life, and was aware that his friend now depended
upon him almost entirely.
After a second circle of the claret, the hero caught his
lieutenant's eye across the table, and said:
"We must go out and talk over that law-business, Rip, before you go.
Do you think the old lady has any chance?"
"Not a bit!" said Ripton, authoritatively.
"But it's worth fighting--eh, Rip?"
"Oh, certainly!" was Ripton's mature opinion.
Richard observed that Ripton's father seemed doubtful. Ripton cited
his father's habitual caution. Richard made a playful remark on the
necessity of sometimes acting in opposition to fathers. Ripton
agreed to it--in certain cases.
"Yes, yes! in certain cases," said Richard.
"Pretty legal morality, gentlemen!" Algernon interjected; Hippias
adding: "And lay, too!"
The pair of uncles listened further to the fictitious dialogue, well
kept up on both sides, and in the end desired a statement of the old
lady's garrulous case; Hippias offering to decide what her chances
were in law, and Algernon to give a common-sense judgment.
"Rip will tell you," said Richard, deferentially signalling the
lawyer. "I've a bad hand at these matters. Tell them how it stands,
Rip."
Ripton disguised his excessive uneasiness under endeavours to right
his position on his chair, and, inwardly praying speed to the claret
jug to come and strengthen his wits, began with a careless aspect:
"Oh, nothing! She--very curious old character! She--a--wears a wig.
She--a--very curious old character indeed! She--a--quite the old
style. There's no doing anything with her!" and Ripton took a long
breath to relieve himself after his elaborate fiction.
"So it appears," Hippias commented, and Algernon asked: "Well? and
about her wig? Somebody stole it?" while Richard, whose features
were grim with suppressed laughter, bade the narrator continue.
Ripton lunged for the claret jug. He had got an old lady like an
oppressive bundle on his brain, and he was as helpless as she was.
In the pangs of ineffectual authorship his ideas shot at her wig,
and then at her one characteristic of extreme obstinacy, and tore
back again at her wig, but she would not be animated. The obstinate
old thing would remain a bundle. Law studies seemed light in
comparison with this tremendous task of changing an old lady from a
doll to a human creature. He flung off some claret, perspired
freely, and, with a mental tribute to the cleverness of those author
fellows, recommenced: "Oh, nothing! She--Richard knows her better
than I do--an old lady--somewhere down in Suffolk. I think we had
better advise her not to proceed. The expenses of litigation are
enormous! She--I think we had better advise her to stop short, and
not make any scandal."
"And not make any scandal!" Algernon took him up. "Come, come!
there's something more than a wig, then?"
Ripton was commanded to proceed, whether she did or no. The luckless
fictionist looked straight at his pitiless leader, and blurted out
dubiously, "She--there's a daughter."
"Born with effort!" ejaculated Hippias. "Must give her pause after
that! and I'll take the opportunity to stretch my length on the
sofa. Heigho! that's true what Austin says: 'The general prayer
should be for a full stomach, and the individual for one that works
well; for on that basis only are we a match for temporal matters,
and able to contemplate eternal.' Sententious, but true. I gave him
the idea, though! Take care of your stomachs, boys! and if ever you
hear of a monument proposed to a scientific cook or gastronomic
doctor, send in your subscriptions. Or say to him while he lives, Go
forth, and be a Knight. Ha! They have a good cook at this house. He
suits me better than ours at Raynham. I almost wish I had brought my
manuscript to town, I feel so much better. Aha! I didn't expect to
digest at all without my regular incentive. I think I shall give it
up.--What do you say to the theatre to-night, boys!"
Richard shouted, "Bravo, uncle!"
"Let Mr. Thompson finish first," said Algernon. "I want to hear the
conclusion of the story. The old girl has a wig and a daughter. I'll
swear somebody runs away with one of the two! Fill your glass, Mr.
Thompson, and forward!"
"So somebody does," Ripton received his impetus. "And they're found
in town together," he made a fresh jerk. "She--a--that is, the old
lady--found them in company."
"She finds him with her wig on in company!" said Algernon. "Capital!
Here's matter for the lawyers!"
"And you advise her not to proceed, under such circumstances of
aggravation?" Hippias observed, humorously twinkling with his
stomachic contentment.
"It's the daughter," Ripton sighed, and surrendering to pressure,
hurried on recklessly, "A runaway match--beautiful girl!--the only
son of a baronet--married by special licence. A--the point is," he
now brightened and spoke from his own element, "the point is whether
the marriage can be annulled, as she's of the Catholic persuasion
and he's a Protestant, and they're both married under age. That's
the point."
Having come to the point he breathed extreme relief, and saw things
more distinctly; not a little amazed at his leader's horrified face.
The two elders were making various absurd inquiries, when Richard
sent his chair to the floor, crying, "What a muddle you're in, Rip!
You're mixing half-a-dozen stories together. The old lady I told you
about was old Dame Bakewell, and the dispute was concerning a
neighbour of hers who encroached on her garden, and I said I'd pay
the money to see her righted!"
"Ah," said Ripton, humbly, "I was thinking of the other. Her garden!
Cabbages don't interest me"----
"Here, come along," Richard beckoned to him savagely. "I'll be back
in five minutes, uncle," he nodded coolly to either.
The young men left the room. In the hall-passage they met Berry,
dressed to return to Raynham. Richard dropped a helper to the
intelligence into his hand, and warned him not to gossip much of
London. Berry bowed perfect discreetness.
"What on earth induced you to talk about Protestants and Catholics
marrying, Rip?" said Richard, as soon as they were in the street.
"Why," Ripton answered, "I was so hard pushed for it, 'pon my
honour, I didn't know what to say. I ain't an author, you know; I
can't make a story. I was trying to invent a point, and I couldn't
think of any other, and I thought that was just the point likely to
make a jolly good dispute. Capital dinners they give at those crack
hotels. Why did you throw it all upon me? I didn't begin on the old
lady."
The hero mused, "It's odd! It's impossible you could have known!
I'll tell you why, Rip! I wanted to try you. You fib well at long
range, but you don't do at close quarters and single combat. You're
good behind walls, but not worth a shot in the open. I just see what
you're fit for. You're staunch--that I am certain of. You always
were. Lead the way to one of the parks--down in that direction. You
know?--where she is!"
Ripton led the way. His dinner had prepared this young Englishman
to defy the whole artillery of established morals. With the muffled
roar of London around them, alone in a dark slope of green, the
hero, leaning on his henchman, and speaking in a harsh clear
undertone, delivered his explanations. Doubtless the true heroic
insignia and point of view will be discerned, albeit in common
private's uniform.
"They've been plotting against me for a year, Rip! When you see her,
you'll know what it was to have such a creature taken away from you.
It nearly killed me. Never mind what she is. She's the most perfect
and noble creature God ever made! It's not only her beauty--I don't
care so much about that!--but when you've once seen her, she seems
to draw music from all the nerves of your body; but she's such an
angel. I worship her. And her mind's like her face. She's pure gold.
There, you'll see her to-night.
"Well," he pursued, after inflating Ripton with this rapturous
prospect, "they got her away, and I recovered. It was Mister
Adrian's work. What's my father's objection to her? Because of her
birth? She's educated; her manners are beautiful--full of
refinement--quick and soft! Can they show me one of their ladies
like her?--she's the daughter of a naval lieutenant! Because she's a
Catholic? What has religion to do with"--he pronounced "Love!" a
little modestly--as it were a blush in his voice.
"Well, when I recovered I thought I did not care for her. It shows
how we know ourselves! And I cared for nothing. I felt as if I had
no blood. I tried to imitate my dear Austin. I wish to God he were
here. I love Austin. He would understand her. He's coming back this
year, and then--but it'll be too late then.--Well, my father's
always scheming to make me perfect--he has never spoken to me a word
about her, but I can see her in his eyes--he wanted to give me a
change, he said, and asked me to come to town with my uncle Hippy,
and I consented. It was another plot to get me out of the way! As I
live, I had no more idea of meeting her than of flying to heaven!"
He lifted his face. "Look at those old elm branches! How they seem
to mix among the stars!--glittering; fruits of Winter!"
Ripton tipped his comical nose upward, and was in duty bound to say,
Yes! though he observed no connection between them and the
narrative.
"Well," the hero went on, "I came to town. There I heard she was
coming, too--coming home. It must have been fate, Ripton! Heaven
forgive me! I was angry with her, and I thought I should like to see
her once--only once--and reproach her for being false--for she never
wrote to me. And, oh, the dear angel! what she must have
suffered!--I gave my uncle the slip, and got to the railway she was
coming by. There was a fellow going to meet her--a farmer's
son--and, good God! they were going to try and make her marry him! I
remembered it all then. A servant of the farm had told me. That
fellow went to the wrong station, I suppose, for we saw nothing of
him. There she was--not changed a bit!--looking lovelier than ever!
And when she saw me, I knew in a minute that she must love me till
death!--You don't know what it is yet, Rip!--Will you believe
it?--Though I was as sure she loved me and had been true as steel,
as that I shall see her to-night, I spoke bitterly to her. And she
bore it meekly--she looked like a saint. I told her there was but
one hope of life for me--she must prove she was true, and as I give
up all, so must she. I don't know what I said. The thought of losing
her made me mad. She tried to plead with me to wait--it was for my
sake, I know. I pretended, like a miserable hypocrite, that she did
not love me at all. I think I said shameful things. Oh what noble
creatures women are! She hardly had strength to move. I took her to
that place where you found us.--Rip! she went down on her knees to
me. I never dreamed of anything in life so lovely as she looked
then. Her eyes were thrown up, bright with a crowd of tears--her
dark brows bent together, like Pain and Beauty meeting in one; and
her glorious golden hair swept off her shoulders as she hung forward
to my hands.--Could I lose such a prize?--If anything could have
persuaded me, would not that?--I thought of Dante's Madonna--Guido's
Magdalen.--Is there sin in it? I see none! And if there is, it's all
mine! I swear she's spotless of a thought of sin. I see her very
soul! Cease to love her? Who dares ask me? Cease to love her? Why, I
live on her!--To see her little chin straining up from her throat,
as she knelt to me!--there was one curl that fell across her
throat"....
Ripton listened for more. Richard had gone off in a muse at the
picture.
"Well?" said Ripton, "and how about that young farmer fellow?"
The hero's head was again contemplating the starry branches. His
lieutenant's question came to him after an interval.
"Young Tom? Why, it's young Tom Blaize--son of our old enemy, Rip! I
like the old man now. Oh! I saw nothing of the fellow."
"Lord!" cried Ripton, "are we going to get into a mess with Blaizes
again? I don't like that!"
His commander quietly passed his likes or dislikes.
"But when he goes to the train, and finds she's not there?" Ripton
suggested.
"I've provided for that. The fool went to the South-east instead of
the South-west. All warmth, all sweetness, comes with the
South-west!--I've provided for that, friend Rip. My trusty Tom
awaits him there, as if by accident. He tells him he has not seen
her, and advises him to remain in town, and go for her there
to-morrow, and the day following. Tom has money for the work. Young
Tom ought to see London, you know, Rip!--like you. We shall gain
some good clear days. And when old Blaize hears of it--what then? I
have her! she's mine!--Besides, he won't hear for a week. This Tom
beats that Tom in cunning, I'll wager. Ha! ha!" the hero burst out
at a recollection. "What do you think, Rip? My father has some sort
of System with me, it appears, and when I came to town the time
before, he took me to some people--the Grandisons--and what do you
think? one of the daughters is a little girl--a nice little thing
enough--very funny--and he wants me to wait for her! He hasn't said
so, but I know it. I know what he means. Nobody understands him but
me. I know he loves me, and is one of the best of men--but just
consider!--a _little girl_ who just comes up to my elbow. Isn't it
ridiculous? Did you ever hear such nonsense?"
Ripton emphasized his opinion that it certainly was foolish.
"No, no! The die's cast!" said Richard. "They've been plotting for a
year up to this day, and this is what comes of it! If my father
loves me, he will love her. And if he loves me, he'll forgive my
acting against his wishes, and see it was the only thing to be done.
Come! step out! what a time we've been!" and away he went,
compelling Ripton to the sort of strides a drummer-boy has to take
beside a column of grenadiers.
Ripton began to wish himself in love, seeing that it endowed a man
with wind so that he could breathe great sighs, while going at a
tremendous pace, and experience no sensation of fatigue. The hero
was communing with the elements, his familiars, and allowed him to
pant as he pleased. Some keen-eyed Kensington urchins, noticing the
discrepancy between the pedestrian powers of the two, aimed their
wit at Mr. Thompson junior's expense. The pace, and nothing but the
pace, induced Ripton to proclaim that they had gone too far, when
they discovered that they had overshot the mark by half a mile. In
the street over which stood love's star, the hero thundered his
presence at a door, and evoked a flying housemaid, who knew not Mrs.
Berry. The hero attached significance to the fact that his instincts
should have betrayed him, for he could have sworn to that house. The
door being shut he stood in dead silence.
"Haven't you got her card?" Ripton inquired, and heard that it was
in the custody of the cabman. Neither of them could positively bring
to mind the number of the house.
"You ought to have chalked it, like that fellow in the Forty
Thieves," Ripton hazarded a pleasantry which met with no response.
Betrayed by his instincts, the magic slaves of Love! The hero
heavily descended the steps.
Ripton murmured that they were done for. His commander turned on
him, and said: "Take all the houses on the opposite side, one after
another. I'll take these." With a wry face Ripton crossed the road,
altogether subdued by Richard's native superiority to adverse
circumstances.
Then were families aroused. Then did mortals dimly guess that
something portentous was abroad. Then were labourers all day in the
vineyard, harshly wakened from their evening's nap. Hope and Fear
stalked the street, as again and again the loud companion summonses
resounded. Finally Ripton sang out cheerfully. He had Mrs. Berry
before him, profuse of mellow curtsies.
Richard ran to her and caught her hands: "She's well?--upstairs?"
"Oh, quite well! only a trifle tired with her journey, and
fluttering-like," Mrs. Berry replied to Ripton alone. The lover had
flown aloft.
The wise woman sagely ushered Ripton into her own private parlour,
there to wait till he was wanted.