The daughters of parchment rallied him concerning Miss Clare Forey.  His hourly letters to Raynham, and silence as to everything and everybody there, his nervousness, and unwonted propensity to sudden inflammation of the cheeks, were set down for sure signs of the passion.  Miss Letitia Thompson, the pretty and least parchmenty one, destined by her Papa for the heir of Raynham, and perfectly aware of her brilliant future, up to which she had, since Ripton’s departure, dressed and grimaced, and studied cadences (the latter with such success, though not yet fifteen, that she languished to her maid, and melted the small factotum footman)—­ Miss Letty, whose insatiable thirst for intimations about the young heir Ripton could not satisfy, tormented him daily in revenge, and once, quite unconsciously, gave the lad a fearful turn; for after dinner, when Mr. Thompson read the paper by the fire, preparatory to sleeping at his accustomed post, and Mama Thompson and her submissive female brood sat tasking the swift intricacies of the needle, and emulating them with the tongue, Miss Letty stole behind Ripton’s chair, and introduced between him and his book the Latin initial letter, large and illuminated, of the theme she supposed to be absorbing him, as it did herself.  The unexpected vision of this accusing Captain of the Alphabet, this resplendent and haunting A. fronting him bodily, threw Ripton straight back in his chair, while Guilt, with her ancient indecision what colours to assume on detection, flew from red to white, from white to red, across his fallen chaps.  Letty laughed triumphantly.  Amor, the word she had in mind, certainly has a connection with Arson.

But the delivery of a letter into Master Ripton’s hands, furnished her with other and likelier appearances to study.  For scarce had Ripton plunged his head into the missive than he gave way to violent transports, such as the healthy-minded little damsel, for all her languishing cadences, deemed she really could express were a downright declaration to be made to her.  The boy did not stop at table.  Quickly recollecting the presence of his family, he rushed to his own room.  And now the girl’s ingenuity was taxed to gain possession of that letter.  She succeeded, of course, she being a huntress with few scruples and the game unguarded.  With the eyes of amazement she read this foreign matter: 

“Dear Ripton,—­If Tom had been committed I would have shot old Blaize.  Do you know my father was behind us that night when Clare saw the ghost and heard all we said before the fire burst out.  It is no use trying to conceal anything from him.  Well as you are in an awful state I will tell you all about it.  After you left Ripton I had a conversation with Austin and he persuaded me to go down to old Blaize and ask him to help off Tom.  I went for I would have done anything for Tom after what he said to Austin and I defied the old churl to do his worst.  Then he said if my