Crocker in his despair looked about everywhere for assistance. It might be that Æolus would be softer-hearted than Clara Demijohn. He wrote to Lord Persiflage, giving him a very full account of the affair. The papers, he said, had in fact been actually torn by accident. He was afraid of "the Duca," or he would have applied to him. "The Duca," no doubt had been his most intimate friend,—so he still declared,—but in such an emergency he did not know how to address "the Duca." But he bethought himself of Lord Hampstead, of that hunting acquaintance, with whom his intercourse had been so pleasant and so genial, and he made a journey down Hendon. Lord Hampstead at this time was living there all alone. Marion Fay had been taken back to Pegwell Bay, and her lover was at the old house holding intercourse almost with no one. His heart just now was very heavy with him. He had begun to believe that Marion would in truth never become his wife. He had begun to think that she would really die, and that he would never have had the sad satisfaction of calling her his own. All lightness and brightness had gone from him, all the joy which he used to take in argument, all the eagerness of his character,—unless the hungry craving of unsatisfied love could still be called an eagerness.
He was in this condition when Crocker was brought out to him in the garden where he was walking. "Mr. Crocker," he said, standing still in the pathway and looking into the man's face.
"Yes, my lord; it's me. I am Crocker. You remember me, my lord, down in Cumberland?"
"I remember you,—at Castle Hautboy."
"And out hunting, my lord,—when we had that pleasant ride home from Airey Force."
"What can I do for you now?"
"I always do think, my lord, that there is nothing like sport to cement affection. I don't know how you feel about it, my lord."
"If there is anything to be said—perhaps you will say it."
"And there's another bond, my lord. We have both been looking for the partners of our joys in Paradise Row."
"If you have anything to say, say it."