"Just an hour's sleep, or so," the mellifluous woman explained the case to the two anxious gentlemen. "A quiet sleep and a cup of warm tea goes for more than twenty doctors, it do--when there's the flutters," she pursued. "I know it by myself. And a good cry beforehand's better than the best of medicine." She nursed them into a make-believe of eating, and retired to her softer charge and sweeter babe, reflecting, "Lord! Lord! the three of 'em don't make fifty! I'm as old as two and a half of 'em, to say the least." Mrs. Berry used her apron, and by virtue of their tender years took them all three into her heart. Left alone, neither of the young men could swallow a morsel. "Did you see the change come over her?" Richard whispered. Ripton fiercely accused his prodigious stupidity. The lover flung down his knife and fork: "What could I do? If I had said nothing, we should have been suspected. I was obliged to speak. And she hates a lie! See! it has struck her down. God forgive me!" Ripton affected a serene mind: "It was a fright, Richard," he said. "That's what Mrs. Berry means by flutters. Those old women talk in that way. You heard what she said. And these old women know. I'll tell you what it is. It's this, Richard!--it's because you've got a fool for your friend!" "She regrets it," muttered the lover. "Good God! I think she fears me." He dropped his face in his hands. Ripton went to the window, repeating energetically for his comfort: "It's because you've got a fool for your friend!" Sombre grew the street they had last night aroused. The sun was buried alive in cloud. Ripton saw himself no more in the opposite window. He watched the deplorable objects passing on the pavement. His aristocratic visions had gone like his breakfast. Beauty had been struck down by his egregious folly, and there he stood--a wretch! Richard came to him: "Don't mumble on like that, Rip!" he said. "Nobody blames you." "Ah! you're very kind, Richard," interposed the wretch, moved at the face of misery he beheld. "Listen to me, Rip! I shall take her home to-night. Yes! If she's happier away from me!--do you think me a brute, Ripton? Rather than have her shed a tear, I'd!--I'll take her home to-night!" Ripton suggested that it was sudden; adding from his larger experience, people perhaps might talk. The lover could not understand what they should talk about, but he said: "If I give him who came for her yesterday the clue? If no one sees or hears of me, what can they say? O Rip! I'll give her up. I'm wrecked for ever! What of that? Yes--let them take her! The world in arms should never have torn her from me, but when she cries--Yes! all's over. I'll find him at once." He searched in out-of-the-way corners for the hat of resolve. Ripton looked on, wretcheder than ever. The idea struck him:--"Suppose, Richard, she doesn't want to go?"