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Updated: June 2, 2025
Master Ripton intoned this abrupt interrogation verb seriously. "I don't think about it," said Richard, all his faculties bent on signs from Lobourne. "Well, but," Ripton persisted, "suppose we are found out?" "If we are, I must pay for it." Sir Austin breathed the better for this reply. He was beginning to gather a clue to the dialogue.
It was a hard sight for this man who loved his son so deeply. The youth lay in his strange bed, straight and motionless, with fever on his cheeks, and altered eyes. Old Dr. Clifford of Lobourne was the medical attendant, who, with head-shaking, and gathering of lips, and reminiscences of ancient arguments, guaranteed to do all that leech could do in the matter.
And all the time the star of these festivities was receding further and further, and eclipsing himself with his reluctant serf Ripton, who kept asking what they were to do and where they were going, and how late it was in the day, and suggesting that the lads of Lobourne would be calling out for them, and Sir Austin requiring their presence, without getting any attention paid to his misery or remonstrances.
He was certainly the first to give the clue at Belthorpe on the night of the conflagration, and he may, therefore, have seen poor Tom retreating stealthily from the scene, as he averred he did. Lobourne had its say on the subject.
Raynham was out of sight. They were a long way down the valley, miles from Lobourne, in a country of sour pools, yellow brooks, rank pasturage, desolate heath.
Over Lobourne and the valley lay black night and innumerable stars. "How jolly I feel!" exclaimed Ripton, inspired by claret; and then, after a luxurious pause "I think that fellow has pocketed his guinea, and cut his lucky." Richard allowed a long minute to pass, during which the baronet waited anxiously for his voice, hardly recognizing it when he heard its altered tones.
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