"Well, Benson? well?" said the baronet.
The unmoving man replied: "If you please, Sir Austin—Mr. Richard!"
"Well!"
"He's out!"
"Well?"
"With Bakewell!"
"And a carpet-bag!"
The carpet-bag might be supposed to contain that funny thing called a young hero's romance in the making.
Out Richard was, and with a carpet-bag, which Tom Bakewell carried. He was on the road to Bellingham, under heavy rain, hasting like an escaped captive, wild with joy, while Tom shook his skin, and grunted at his discomforts. The mail train was to be caught at Bellingham. He knew where to find her now, through the intervention of Miss Davenport, and thither he was flying, an arrow loosed from the bow: thither, in spite of fathers and friends and plotters, to claim her, and take her, and stand with her against the world.