“Then what am I to do?” the ill-used woman groaned.  “What shall I tell my husband when he come back to me, and see I’ve got a new ring waitin’ for him?  Won’t that be a welcome?”

Quoth Lucy:  “How can he know it is not the same; in a plain gold ring?”

“You never see so keen a eyed man in joolry as my Berry!” returned his solitary spouse.  “Not know, my dear?  Why, any one would know that’ve got eyes in his head.  There’s as much difference in wedding-rings as there’s in wedding people!  Now, do pray be reasonable, my own sweet!”

“Pray, do not ask me,” pleads Lucy.

“Pray, do think better of it,” urges Berry.

“Pray, pray, Mrs. Berry!” pleads Lucy.

“—­And not leave your old Berry all forlorn just when you’re so happy!”

“Indeed I would not, you dear, kind old creature!” Lucy faltered.

Mrs. Berry thought she had her.

“Just when you’re going to be the happiest wife on earth—­all you want yours!” she pursued the tender strain.  “A handsome young gentleman!  Love and Fortune smilin’ on ye!”—­

Lucy rose up.

“Mrs. Berry,” she said, “I think we must not lose time in getting ready, or he will be impatient.”

Poor Berry surveyed her in abject wonder from the edge of her chair.  Dignity and resolve were in the ductile form she had hitherto folded under her wing.  In an hour the heroine had risen to the measure of the hero.  Without being exactly aware what creature she was dealing with, Berry acknowledged to herself it was not one of the common run, and sighed, and submitted.

“It’s like a divorce, that it is!” she sobbed.

After putting the corners of her apron to her eyes, Berry bustled humbly about the packing.  Then Lucy, whose heart was full to her, came and kissed her, and Berry bumped down and regularly cried.  This over, she had recourse to fatalism.

“I suppose it was to be, my dear!  It’s my punishment for meddlin’ wi’ such matters.  No, I’m not sorry.  Bless ye both.  Who’d ’a thought you was so wilful?—­you that any one might have taken for one of the silly-softs!  You’re a pair, my dear! indeed you are!  You was made to meet!  But we mustn’t show him we’ve been crying.—­Men don’t like it when they’re happy.  Let’s wash our faces and try to bear our lot.”

So saying the black-satin bunch careened to a renewed deluge.  She deserved some sympathy, for if it is sad to be married in another person’s ring, how much sadder to have one’s own old accustomed lawful ring violently torn off one’s finger and eternally severed from one!  But where you have heroes and heroines, these terrible complications ensue.

They had now both fought their battle of the ring, and with equal honour and success.

In the chamber of banquet Richard was giving Ripton his last directions.  Though it was a private wedding, Mrs. Berry had prepared a sumptuous breakfast.  Chickens offered their breasts:  pies hinted savoury secrets:  things mystic, in a mash, with Gallic appellatives, jellies, creams, fruits, strewed the table:  as a tower in the midst, the cake colossal:  the priestly vesture of its nuptial white relieved by hymeneal splendours.