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 Torn 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.