Chapter 28

Sir John Rides out of Town

Tom Tantillion had not appeared at the ball, having otherwise
entertained himself for the evening, but at an hour when most
festivities were at an end and people were returning from them, rolling
through the streets in their coaches, the young man was sitting at a
corner table in Cribb's Coffee-House surrounded by glasses and jolly
companions and clouds of tobacco-smoke.

One of these companions had been to the ball and left it early, and had
fallen to talking of great personages he had seen there, and describing
the beauties who had shone the brightest, among them speaking of my
Lady Dunstanwolde and the swoon which had so amazed those who had seen
it.

"I was within ten feet of her," says he, "and watching her as a man
always does when he is near enough. Jack Oxon stood behind her, and was
speaking low over her shoulder, but she seeming to take little note of
him and looking straight before her. And of a sudden she stands
upright, her black eyes wide open as if some sound had startled her,
and the next minute falls like a woman dropping dead, and lies among
her white and silver like one carven out of stone. One who knows her
well--old Sir Chris Crowell--says she hath never fallen in a swoon
before since she was born. Gad! 'twas a strange sight--'twas so
sudden." He had just finished speaking, and was filling his glass
again, when a man strode into the room in such haste that all turned to
glance at him.

He was in riding-dress, and was flushed and excited, and smiling as if
to himself.

"Drawer!" he called, "bring me coffee and brandy, and, damme! be in
haste."

Young Tantillion nudged his nearest companion with his elbow.

"Jack Oxon," he said. "Where rides the fellow at this time of night?"

"Eh, Jack!" he said, aloud, "art on a journey already, after shining at
the Court ball?"

Sir John started, and seeing who spoke, answered with an ugly laugh.

"Ay," said he, "I ride to the country in hot haste. I go to Wickben in
Essex, to bring back a thing I once left there."

"'Twas a queer place to leave valuables," said Tom--"a village of
tumble-down thatched cottages. Was't a love-token or a purse of gold?"

Sir John gave his knee a sudden joyous slap, and laughed aloud.

"'Twas a little thing," he replied, "but 'twill bring back fortune--if
I find it--and help me to pay back old scores, which is a thing I like
better." And his grin was so ugly that Tom and his companions glanced
aside at each other, believing that he was full of liquor already, and
ready to pick a quarrel if they