rchins.

One subject was at Richard's heart, about which he was reserved in the
midst of his riot. Too proud to inquire how his father had taken his
absence, he burned to hear whether he was in disgrace. He led to it
repeatedly, and it was constantly evaded by Algernon and Adrian. At last,
when the boy declared a desire to wish his father good-night, Adrian had
to tell him that he was to go straight to bed from the supper-table.
Young Richard's face fell at that, and his gaiety forsook him. He marched
to his room without another word.

Adrian gave Sir Austin an able version of his son's behaviour and
adventures; dwelling upon this sudden taciturnity when he heard of his
father's resolution not to see him. The wise youth saw that his chief was
mollified behind his moveless mask, and went to bed, and Horace, leaving
Sir Austin in his study. Long hours the baronet sat alone. The house had
not its usual influx of Feverels that day. Austin Wentworth was staying
at Poer Hall, and had only come over for an hour. At midnight the house
breathed sleep. Sir Austin put on his cloak and cap, and took the lamp to
make his rounds. He apprehended nothing special, but with a mind never at
rest he constituted himself the sentinel of Raynham. He passed the
chamber where the Great-Aunt Grantley lay, who was to swell Richard's
fortune, and so perform her chief business on earth. By her door he
murmured, "Good creature! you sleep with a sense of duty done," and paced
on, reflecting, "She has not made money a demon of discord," and blessed
her. He had his thoughts at Hippias's somnolent door, and to them the
world might have subscribed.

A monomaniac at large, watching over sane people in slumber! thinks
Adrian Harley, as he hears Sir Austin's footfall, and truly that was a
strange object to see.--Where is the fortress that has not one weak gate?
where the man who is sound at each particular angle? Ay, meditates the
recumbent cynic, more or less mad is not every mother's son? Favourable
circumstances--good air, good company, two or three good rules rigidly
adhered to--keep the world out of Bedlam. But, let the world fly into a
passion, and is not Bedlam the safest abode for it?

Sir Austin ascended the stairs, and bent his steps leisurely toward the
chamber where his son was lying in the left wing of the Abbey. At the end
of the gallery which led to it he discovered a dim light. Doubting it an
illusion, Sir Austin accelerated his pace. Thi