letter in
return, enclosing a cheque on her bankers, amply providing to keep the
heroic engine in motion at a moderate pace. Tom went back, and Raynham
and Lobourne slept and dreamed not of the morrow. The System, wedded to
Time, slept, and knew not how he had been outraged--anticipated by seven
pregnant seasons. For Time had heard the hero swear to that legalizing
instrument, and had also registered an oath. Ah me! venerable Hebrew
Time! he is unforgiving. Half the confusion and fever of the world comes
of this vendetta he declares against the hapless innocents who have once
done him a wrong. They cannot escape him. They will never outlive it. The
father of jokes, he is himself no joke; which it seems the business of
men to discover.

The days roll round. He is their servant now. Mrs. Berry has a new satin
gown, a beautiful bonnet, a gold brooch, and sweet gloves, presented to
her by the hero, wherein to stand by his bride at the altar to-morrow;
and, instead of being an old wary hen, she is as much a chicken as any of
the party, such has been the magic of these articles. Fathers she sees
accepting the facts produced for them by their children; a world content
to be carved out as it pleases the hero.

At last Time brings the bridal eve, and is blest as a benefactor. The
final arrangements are made; the bridegroom does depart; and Mrs. Berry
lights the little bride to her bed. Lucy stops on the landing where there
is an old clock eccentrically correct that night. 'Tis the palpitating
pause before the gates of her transfiguration. Mrs. Berry sees her put
her rosy finger on the One about to strike, and touch all the hours
successively till she comes to the Twelve that shall sound "Wife" in her
ears on the morrow, moving her lips the while, and looking round archly
solemn when she has done; and that sight so catches at Mrs. Berry's heart
that, not guessing Time to be the poor child's enemy, she endangers her
candle by folding Lucy warmly in her arms, whimpering; "Bless you for a
darling! you innocent lamb! You shall be happy! You shall!"

Old Time gazes grimly ahead.

CHAPTER XXIX

Although it blew hard when Caesar crossed the Rubicon, the passage of
that river is commonly calm; calm as Acheron. So long as he gets his
fare, the ferryman does not need to be told whom he carries: he pulls
with a will, and heroes may be over in half-an-hour. Only when they stand
on the opposite bank, do they see what a leap they ha