"Hush! That's Hurst to a certainty!"
"Queen of my soul, whose starlike eyes
Are all the light I seek"—
(Here came an audible stumble, as if our friend were beginning his way down again involuntarily by half-a-dozen steps at a time.) "Hallo! Leicester! just lend us a candle, will you? The lamp is gone out, and it's as dark as pitch; I've dropped my hat."
"Open the door, somebody," said Horace; and Hurst was admitted He looked rather confused at first, certainly; for the sudden transition from outer darkness into a small room lighted by a dozen wax-candles made him blink, and our first greeting consisting of "ha-ha's" in different keys, was perhaps somewhat embarrassing; but he recovered himself in a second.
"Well," said he, "how are you all? glad you got home safe, Hawthorne; hope I didn't keep you waiting, Miller; you got the start of me, all of you, coming home; but really I spent an uncommon jolly evening."
"Glad to hear it," said Leicester, with a wink to us.
"Yes;—'pon my life; I don't know when I ever spent so pleasant a one;" and, with a sort of chuckle to himself, Hurst filled a glass of punch.
"What did you think of Richard the Third?" said I.
"Oh! hang the play! there might have been six Richards in the field for all I can say: I was better engaged."
"Ay," said Fane, "I rather fancy you were."