“What a thundering ass I was to try it on at West Lynne!” was the enraged comment of the sufferer.
Miss Carlyle laid her hand upon the shrinking arm of her pale companion.
“You see him—my brother Archibald?”
“I see him,” faltered Lady Isabel.
“And you see him, that pitiful outcast, who is too contemptible to live? Look at the two, and contrast them. Look well.”
“Yes!” was the gaping answer.
“The woman who called him, that noble man, husband, quitted him for the other! Did she come to repentance, think you?”
You may wonder that the submerged gentleman should be walking through the streets, on his way to his quarters, the Raven Inn—for he had been ejected from the Buck’s Head—but he could not help himself. As he was dripping and swearing on the brink of the pond, wondering how he should get to the Raven, an empty fly drove past, and Mr. Drake immediately stopped it; but when the driver saw that he was expected to convey not only a passenger, but a tolerable quantity of water as well, and that the passenger, moreover, was Sir Francis Levison, he refused the job. His fly was fresh lined with red velvet, and he “weren’t a going to have it spoilt,” he called out, as he whipped his horse and drove away, leaving the three in wrathful despair. Sir Francis wanted another conveyance procured; his friends urged that if he waited for that he might catch his death, and that the shortest way would be to hasten to the inn on foot. He objected. But his jaws were chattering, his limbs were quaking, so they seized him between them, and made off, but never bargained for the meeting of Mr. Carlyle and his party. Francis Levison would have stopped in the pond, of his own accord, head downward, rather than face them.
Miss Carlyle went that day to dine at East Lynne, walking back with Mrs. Carlyle, Madame Vine and Lucy. Lord Vane found them out, and returned at the same time; of course East Lynne was the headquarters of himself and his father. He was in the seventh heaven, and had been ever since the encounter with the yellows.
“You’d have gone into laughing convulsions, Lucy had you seen the drowned cur. I’d give all my tin for six months to come to have a photograph of him as he looked then!”