but kissing goes by favor. She marries him next week, I hear. Is
there any thing of interest at Bodmin?"

"Nothing of interest to _me_, at all events. Smoothbore and Balais get
all there is between them, confound them! I say, just pass that claret."

Not another word about Richard. The judge himself had forgotten him
except as a case in his notes. The jury forgot him in a week. A murder
of a shipwrecked sailor happened soon afterward on that coast, and
became the talk of the country-side in his place. The world went on its
way, and never missed him; the rank closed up where he had used to
march, and left no gap.

Richard Yorke was out of the world.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IN COUPLES.

What tender-nurtured boy, newly-arrived at school--that Paradise when
looked back upon from afar, that _Inferno_ of the present--has not
awakened from sweet dreams of home with a heavy heart? Who has not
pictured to himself the weary months that must elapse before he once
more regains his freedom and his friends? The burden (one may say) is
light, but then the back is also weak that bears it. It is a genuine
woe. Something of this, but tenfold in intensity of wretchedness, did
Richard feel when he awoke for the first time a convicted felon. He had
dreamed that Carew was dead, and left him heir of Crompton; his mother
and he were there, and Harry as his wife. The splendor of the house, the
beauty of the grand domain about it, were as vividly presented to him as
when he saw them with his eyes; and they were all his own. The hope of
his youth, the desire of his manhood, were gratified to the uttermost;
yet through all ran an undercurrent which mirrored a portion of the
present reality. In the marshy pond where he had fought the Squire by
moonlight lay two bodies; it was shallow, as it really had been, and he
could see their faces as he peered into the water: they were those of
Coe and Trevethick. He kept them there, and would not have the pond
dragged; but would go thither and gloat upon them for half a summer's
day. The mansion was full of gay folks--his old town companions invited
to visit him, and behold his greatness (as he had often imagined they
should be): Tub Ryll was _his_ jester now, and Parson Whymper his
"chaplain." They were all playing pool as usual, and he was just about
to make an easy hazard, when somebody jogged his elbow. It was the
warder of the jail.

"Come, come--this won't do," said he, gruffly. "You must jum