that
blow from his son which had plunged him into wretchedness. Richard went
straight to Tom Bakewell, roused the heavy sleeper, and told him to have
his mare saddled and waiting at the park gates East within an hour. Tom's
nearest approach to a hero was to be a faithful slave to his master, and
in doing this he acted to his conception of that high and glorious
character. He got up and heroically dashed his head into cold water. "She
shall be ready, sir," he nodded.

"Tom! if you don't see me back here at Raynham, your money will go on
being paid to you."

"Rather see you than the money, Mr. Richard," said Tom.

"And you will always watch and see no harm comes to her, Tom."

"Mrs. Richard, sir?" Tom stared. "God bless me, Mr. Richard"--

"No questions. You'll do what I say."

"Ay, sir; that I will. Did'n Isle o' Wight."

The very name of the Island shocked Richard's blood; and he had to walk
up and down before he could knock at Lucy's door. That infamous
conspiracy to which he owed his degradation and misery scarce left him
the feelings of a man when he thought of it.

The soft beloved voice responded to his knock. He opened the door, and
stood before her. Lucy was half-way toward him. In the moment that passed
ere she was in his arms, he had time to observe the change in her. He had
left her a girl: he beheld a woman--a blooming woman: for pale at first,
no sooner did she see him than the colour was rich and deep on her face
and neck and bosom half shown through the loose dressing-robe, and the
sense of her exceeding beauty made his heart thump and his eyes swim.

"My darling!" each cried, and they clung together, and her mouth was
fastened on his.

They spoke no more. His soul was drowned in her kiss. Supporting her,
whose strength was gone, he, almost as weak as she, hung over her, and
clasped her closer, closer, till they were as one body, and in the
oblivion her lips put upon him he was free to the bliss of her embrace.
Heaven granted him that. He placed her in a chair and knelt at her feet
with both arms around her. Her bosom heaved; her eyes never quitted him:
their light as the light on a rolling wave. This young creature, commonly
so frank and straightforward, was broken with bashfulness in her
husband's arms--womanly bashfulness on the torrent of womanly love;
tenfold more seductive than the bashfulness of girlhood. Terrible tenfold
the loss of her seemed now, as distantly--far on the horizon of
m