hey had over shot
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.

CHAPTER XXVII

"In all cases where two have joined to commit an offence, punish one of
the two lightly," is the dictum of The Pilgrim's's Scrip.

It is possible for young heads to conceive proper plans of action, and
occasionally, by sheer force of will, to check the wild horses that
are ever fretting to gallop off with them. But when they have given the
reins and the whip to another, what are they to do? They may go down
on their knees, and beg and pray the furious charioteer to stop, or
moderate his pace. Alas! each fresh thing they do redoubles his ardour:
There is a power in their troubled beauty women learn the use of, and
what wonder? They have seen it kindle Ilium to flames so often! But ere
they grow matronly in the