because he knew, as some do when passion is lord, that his intelligence juggled with him; though none the less keenly did he feel his wrongs and suspicions.  His Golden Bride was waning fast.  But when Hippias ejaculated to cheer him:  “We shall soon be there!” the spell broke.  Richard stopped the cab, saying he wanted to speak to Tom, and would ride with him the rest of the journey.  He knew well enough which line of railway his Lucy must come by.  He had studied every town and station on the line.  Before his uncle could express more than a mute remonstrance, he jumped out and hailed Tom Bakewell, who came behind with the boxes and baggage in a companion cab, his head a yard beyond the window to make sure of his ark of safety, the vehicle preceding.

“What an extraordinary, impetuous boy it is,” said Hippias.  “We’re in the very street!”

Within a minute the stalwart Berry, despatched by the baronet to arrange everything for their comfort, had opened the door, and made his bow.

“Mr. Richard, sir?—­evaporated?” was Berry’s modulated inquiry.

“Behind—­among the boxes, fool!” Hippias growled, as he received Berry’s muscular assistance to alight.  “Lunch ready—­eh!”

“Luncheon was ordered precise at two o’clock, sir—­been in attendance one quarter of an hour.  Heah!” Berry sang out to the second cab, which, with its pyramid of luggage, remained stationary some thirty paces distant.  At his voice the majestic pile deliberately turned its back on them, and went off in a contrary direction.

CHAPTER XXVI

On the stroke of the hour when Ripton Thompson was accustomed to consult his gold watch for practical purposes, and sniff freedom and the forthcoming dinner, a burglarious foot entered the clerk’s office where he sat, and a man of a scowling countenance, who looked a villain, and whom he was afraid he knew, slid a letter into his hands, nodding that it would be prudent for him to read, and be silent.  Ripton obeyed in alarm.  Apparently the contents of the letter relieved his conscience; for he reached down his hat, and told Mr. Beazley to inform his father that he had business of pressing importance in the West, and should meet him at the station.  Mr. Beazley zealously waited upon the paternal Thompson without delay, and together making their observations from the window, they beheld a cab of many boxes, into which Ripton darted and was followed by one in groom’s dress.  It was Saturday, the day when Ripton gave up his law-readings, magnanimously to bestow himself upon his family, and Mr. Thompson liked to have his son’s arm as he walked down to the station; but that third glass of Port which always stood for his second, and the groom’s suggestion of aristocratic acquaintances, prevented Mr. Thompson from interfering:  so Ripton was permitted to depart.

In the cab Ripton made a study of the letter he held.  It had the preciseness of an imperial mandate.