“It sounds very nice,” said Ripton, modestly shutting his mouth.

“The Alps!  Italy!  Rome! and then I shall go to the East,” the hero continued.  “She’s ready to go anywhere with me, the dear brave heart!  Oh, the glorious golden East!  I dream of the desert.  I dream I’m chief of an Arab tribe, and we fly all white in the moonlight on our mares, and hurry to the rescue of my darling!  And we push the spears, and we scatter them, and I come to the tent where she crouches, and catch her to my saddle, and away!—­Rip! what a life!”

Ripton strove to imagine he could enjoy it.

“And then we shall come home, and I shall lead Austin’s life, with her to help me.  First be virtuous, Rip! and then serve your country heart and soul.  A wise man told me that.  I think I shall do something.”

Sunshine and cloud, cloud and sunshine, passed over the lover.  Now life was a narrow ring; now the distances extended, were winged, flew illimitably.  An hour ago and food was hateful.  Now he manfully refreshed his nature, and joined in Algernon’s encomiums on Miss Letitia Thompson.

Meantime Beauty slept, watched by the veteran volunteer of the hero’s band.  Lucy awoke from dreams which seemed reality, to the reality which was a dream.  She awoke calling for some friend, “Margaret!” and heard one say, “My name is Bessy Berry, my love! not Margaret.”  Then she asked piteously where she was, and where was Margaret, her dear friend, and Mrs. Berry whispered, “Sure you’ve got a dearer!”

“Ah!” sighed Lucy, sinking on her pillow, overwhelmed by the strangeness of her state.

Mrs. Berry closed the frill of her nightgown and adjusted the bedclothes quietly.

Her name was breathed.

“Yes, my love?” she said.

“Is he here?”

“He’s gone, my dear.”

“Gone?—­Oh, where?” The young girl started up in disorder.

“Gone, to be back, my love!  Ah! that young gentleman!” Mrs. Berry chanted:  “Not a morsel have he eat; not a drop have he drunk!”

“O Mrs. Berry! why did you not make him?” Lucy wept for the famine-struck hero, who was just then feeding mightily.

Mrs. Berry explained that to make one eat who thought the darling of his heart like to die, was a sheer impossibility for the cleverest of women; and on this deep truth Lucy reflected, with her eyes wide at the candle.  She wanted one to pour her feelings out to.  She slid her hand from under the bedclothes, and took Mrs. Berry’s, and kissed it.  The good creature required no further avowal of her secret, but forthwith leaned her consummate bosom to the pillow, and petitioned heaven to bless them both!—­Then the little bride was alarmed, and wondered how Mrs. Berry could have guessed it.

“Why,” said Mrs. Berry, “your love is out of your eyes, and out of everything ye do.”  And the little bride wondered more.  She thought she had been so very cautious not to betray it.  The common woman in them made cheer together after their own April fashion.  Following which Mrs. Berry probed for the sweet particulars of this beautiful love-match; but the little bride’s lips were locked.  She only said her lover was above her in station.