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Surely the blind restored to sight is more grateful, more joyous, more triumphant, than he who, born in darkness, finds himself overwhelmed and dazzled with the glare of his new gift! Some men are so strangely constituted that they like a woman all the better for "snubbing" them. Not so Tom Ryfe.
But I might have squeezed harder, Mr. Ryfe. You should think o' that!" "You infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed Tom, yet in a tone neither so astonished nor so indignant as his informant expected. "If you had, you'd have been hanged for murder. Well, it's not you I ought to blame. What have you got to say? You can help me I see it in your face. Out with it. You speak to a man as desperate as yourself."
Here the man in spectacles, with considerable presence of mind, threw the whole of his lozenges out of window, under cover of the Times. "You frighten me, sir," said he; "I wouldn't keep such dangerous articles about me on any consideration." The old gentleman executed an elaborate wink, denoting extreme satisfaction, at Tom Ryfe.
It is but a choice of evils. Perhaps you had better be bored than miserable, and, if less exciting, it is surely less painful to stifle listless yawns, than to crush down the cry of a wilful wounded heart. Mr. Ryfe, however, I consider perfectly inexcusable in the course he chose to adopt.
Who knows? Fanaticism has its martyrs, like religion. It is not only the savage heathen who run under Juggernaut every day. Diseased brains, corrupt hearts, and impossible desires go far to constitute aberration of intellect. Unreasoning love, and unlimited liquor, will make a man fool enough for anything. Tom Ryfe listened, well pleased.
Ryfe "very comfortable," to use Bargrave's expression. When he died he left her nothing but the boy Tom, a precocious urchin, inheriting some of his father's sporting propensities, with a certain slang smartness of tone and manner, acquired in those circles where horseflesh is affected as an inducement to speculation. Mrs. Ryfe did not long survive her husband.
The adjuration with which Mr. Ryfe concluded this little ebullition was fortunately drowned to all ears but those for which it was intended by a startling flourish on the cornet-
Ryfe, it was a type or money, which, not having been yet paid for, it could hardly be said to represent. That heart of his gave a bound when he saw it in her hand as she sailed up the broad gravel-walk to let him in.
Stanmore, on which outraged friendship cannot bear to enlarge; for which a man of honour feels bound to offer the only reparation in his power. Must we force you, Mr. Stanmore, into the position we require, by overt measures, as disgraceful to you as they would be unbecoming in my friend?" "Stop a moment, Mr. Ryfe," said Dick. "Do you speak now for yourself or Lord Bearwarden?"
Tom can be safely trusted to take care of Number One." He was wrong, though, on the present occasion. If Mr. Ryfe did indeed know what he was about, there could be no excuse for the enterprise on which he had embarked. He was selfish.
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