“Here’s a fellow will certainly fly the moment you let him go,” said my father.
And away I flew, with such swiftness, that at the foot of the stairs I almost fell over Jacob. He, not knowing any thing of what had happened this morning, full of the events of the preceding night, and expecting to find me the same, began to say something about a ring which he held in his hand.
“That’s all settled—all over—let me pass, good Jacob.”
Still he endeavoured to stop me. I was not pleased with this interruption. But there was something so beseeching and so kind in Jacob’s manner that I could not help attending to him. Had the poor fellow known the cause of my impatience, he would not certainly have detained me. He begged me, with some hesitation, to accept of a ring, which Mr. Manessa his partner and he took the liberty of offering me as a token of their gratitude. It was not of any great value, but it was finished by an artist who was supposed to be one of the best in the world.
“Willingly, Jacob,” said I; “and it comes at the happiest moment—if you will allow me to present it, to offer it to a lady, who—”
“Who will, I hope,” said my father, appearing at the top of the stairs, “soon be his bride.”
“His bride!”
Jacob saw Mr. Montenero’s face behind me, and clasping his, hands, “The very thing I wished!” cried he, opening the house-door.
“Follow us, Jacob,” I heard Mr. Montenero say, as we stepped into the carriage; “follow us to the house of joy, you who never deserted the house of mourning.”
The ring, the history of it, and the offering it to Berenice, prepared my way in the happiest manner, and prevented the danger, which Mr. Montenero feared, of my own or my father’s precipitation. We told her in general the circumstances that had happened, but spared her the detail.