第63章

Onemorning，ashewasreturningfromahouseattheWestEndwherehehadboughtsomeclothesfromoneoftheservants，hewasstruckbyasmallcrowdwhichhadgatheredroundaspacethathadbeenrailedoffonthegrassnearoneofthepathsintheGreenPark。

ItwasalovelysoftspringmorningattheendofMarch，andunusuallybalmyforthetimeofyear；evenErnest’smelancholywasrelievedforawhilebythelookofspringthatpervadedearthandsky；butitsoonreturned，andsmilingsadlyhesaidtohimself：

“Itmaybringhopetoothers，butformetherecanbenohopehenceforth。”

Asthesewordswereinhismindhejoinedthesmallcrowdwhoweregatheredroundtherailings，andsawthattheywerelookingatthreesheepwithverysmalllambsonlyadayortwoold，whichhadbeenpennedoffforshelterandprotectionfromtheothersthatrangedthepark。

Theywereverypretty，andLondonerssoseldomgetachanceofseeinglambsthatitwasnowondereveryonestoppedtolookatthem。Ernestobservedthatnooneseemedfonderofthemthanagreatlubberlybutcherboy，wholeanedupagainsttherailingswithatrayofmeatuponhisshoulder。Hewaslookingatthisboyandsmilingatthegrotesquenessofhisadmiration，whenhebecameawarethathewasbeingwatchedintentlybyamanincoachman’slivery，whohadalsostoppedtoadmirethelambs，andwasleaningagainsttheoppositesideoftheenclosure。ErnestknewhiminamomentasJohn，hisfather’soldcoachmanatBattersby，andwentuptohimatonce。

“Why，MasterErnest。”saidhe，withhisstrongnorthernaccent，“I

wasthinkingofyouonlythisverymorning。”andthepairshookhandsheartily。JohnwasinanexcellentplaceattheWestEnd。Hehaddoneverywell，hesaid，eversincehehadleftBattersby，exceptforthefirstyearortwo，andthat，hesaid，withascrewoftheface，hadwellnighbrokehim。

Ernestaskedhowthiswas。

“Why，yousee。”saidJohn，“IwasalwaysmainfondofthatlassEllen，whomyourememberrunningafter，MasterErnest，andgivingyourwatchto。Iexpectyouhaven’tforgottenthatday，haveyou？”

Andherehelaughed。“Idon’tknowasIbethefatherofthechildshecarriedawaywithherfromBattersby，butIveryeasilymayhavebeen。Anyhow，afterIhadleftyourpapa’splaceafewdaysIwrotetoEllentoanaddresswehadagreedupon，andtoldherIwoulddowhatIoughttodo，andsoIdid，forImarriedherwithinamonthafterwards。Why，Lordlovetheman，whateveristhematterwithhim？”——forashehadspokenthelastfewwordsofhisstoryErnesthadturnedwhiteasasheet，andwasleaningagainsttherailings。

“John。”saidmyhero，gaspingforbreath，“areyousureofwhatyousay——areyouquitesureyoureallymarriedher？”

“OfcourseIam。”saidJohn，“ImarriedherbeforetheregistraratLetchburyonthe15thofAugust1851。

“Givemeyourarm。”saidErnest，“andtakemeintoPiccadilly，andputmeintoacab，andcomewithmeatonce，ifyoucansparetime，toMrOverton’sattheTemple。”

IdonotthinkErnesthimselfwasmuchmorepleasedatfindingthathehadneverbeenmarriedthanIwas。Tohim，however，theshockofpleasurewaspositivelynumbinginitsintensity。Ashefelthisburdenremoved，hereeledfortheunaccustomedlightnessofhismovements；hispositionwassoshatteredthathisidentityseemedtohavebeenshatteredalso；hewasasonewakingupfromahorriblenightmaretofindhimselfsafeandsoundinbed，butwhocanhardlyevenyetbel