“Nothing at all, sir,” the young man replied, meeting him with the full orbs of his eyes.

The baronet withdrew his hand, and paced the room.

At last it grew impossible for Richard to control his impatience, and he said:  “Do you intend me to stay here, sir?  Am I not to return to Raynham at all to-night?”

His father was again falsely jocular: 

“What? and catch the train after giving it ten minutes’ start?”

“Cassandra will take me,” said the young man earnestly.  “I needn’t ride her hard, sir.  Or perhaps you would lend me your Winkelried?  I should be down with him in little better than three hours.”

“Even then, you know, the park-gates would be locked.”

“Well, I could stable him in the village.  Dowling knows the horse, and would treat him properly.  May I have him, sir?”

The cloud cleared off Richard’s face as he asked.  At least, if he missed his love that night he would be near her, breathing the same air, marking what star was above her bedchamber, hearing the hushed night-talk of the trees about her dwelling:  looking on the distances that were like hope half fulfilled and a bodily presence bright as Hesper, since he knew her.  There were two swallows under the eaves shadowing Lucy’s chamber-windows:  two swallows, mates in one nest, blissful birds, who twittered and cheep-cheeped to the sole-lying beauty in her bed.  Around these birds the lover’s heart revolved, he knew not why.  He associated them with all his close-veiled dreams of happiness.  Seldom a morning passed when he did not watch them leave the nest on their breakfast-flight, busy in the happy stillness of dawn.  It seemed to him now that if he could be at Raynham to see them in to-morrow’s dawn he would be compensated for his incalculable loss of to-night:  he would forgive and love his father, London, the life, the world.  Just to see those purple backs and white breasts flash out into the quiet morning air!  He wanted no more.

The baronet’s trifling had placed this enormous boon within the young man’s visionary grasp.

He still went on trying the boy’s temper.

“You know there would be nobody ready for you at Raynham.  It is unfair to disturb the maids.”

Richard overrode every objection.

“Well, then, my son,” said the baronet, preserving his half-jocular air, “I must tell you that it is my wish to have you in town.”

“Then you have not been ill at all, sir!” cried Richard, as in his despair he seized the whole plot.

“I have been as well as you could have desired me to be,” said his father.

“Why did they lie to me?” the young man wrathfully exclaimed.

“I think, Richard, you can best answer that,” rejoined Sir Austin, kindly severe.

Dread of being signalized as the Foolish Young Fellow prevented Richard from expostulating further.  Sir Austin saw him grinding his passion into powder for future explosion, and thought it best to leave him for awhile.