At eight o’clock, Jane’s father had arrived:
With all his power he zealously contrived,
But fail’d, to be excused from the repast;
And therefore, being prevail’d upon at last,
He dined, for the first time, with his good lord;
Dear Jane assisting him with her kind word.
(’Twas now too late for Toogood to be there,
As habit had compell’d her to repair
Unto her bedroom, for the night’s repose.)
The cloth remov’d, Lord Arnold, quite jocose,
Related one of his adventurous tales,
In which the plunder of some foreign mails
Form’d part the story: Jane felt much amused;
But Hollybrand himself appear’d confused;
As though assured, by its similitude,
His own mishap was really understood:
Then Arnold, in his wonted happy mood,
Perceiving Hollybrand confounded, smil’d,
And said to George: “It is your own dear child
Who sent me tidings of that dread affair;
I’ll lay a wager, George, you’ve taken care,
When going to town upon a market-day,
To guard against a similar affray!”
“Yes, yes,” said George, with smiling countenance,
“You may depend, dear sir, I’ve ever since
Ta’en this precaution—never more to start
To Ruttendell, alone, with horse and cart.”
Then Arnold, after this tale, told in jest,
Touch’d on the subject which his heart lov’d best,—
Of making dearest Jane his loving wife;
“On whom,” he said, “depends my love of life.”