Richard was dumb. Altogether to surrender his rope and file was a fearful
sacrifice, after all the time, trepidation, and study he had spent on
those two saving instruments. If he avowed Tom's manly behaviour, Richard
Feverel was in a totally new position. Whereas, by keeping Tom a coward,
Richard Feverel was the injured one, and to seem injured is always a
luxury; sometimes a necessity, whether among boys or men.

In Austin the Magian conflict would not have lasted long. He had but a
blind notion of the fierceness with which it raged in young Richard.
Happily for the boy, Austin was not a preacher. A single instance, a cant
phrase, a fatherly manner, might have wrecked him, by arousing ancient or
latent opposition. The born preacher we feel instinctively to be our foe.
He may do some good to the wretches that have been struck down and lie
gasping on the battlefield: he rouses antagonism in the strong. Richard's
nature, left to itself, wanted little more than an indication of the
proper track, and when he said, "Tell me what I can do, Austin?" he had
fought the best half of the battle. His voice was subdued. Austin put his
hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You must go down to Farmer Blaize."

"Well!" said Richard, sullenly divining the deed of penance.

"You'll know what to say to him when you're there."

The boy bit his lip and frowned. "Ask a favour of that big brute, Austin?
I can't!"

"Just tell him the whole case, and that you don't intend to stand by and
let the poor fellow suffer without a friend to help him out of his
scrape."

"But, Austin," the boy pleaded, "I shall have to ask him to help off Tom
Bakewell! How can I ask him, when I hate him?"

Austin bade him go, and think nothing of the consequences till he got
there.

Richard groaned in soul.

"You've no pride, Austin."

"Perhaps not."

"You don't know what it is to ask a favour of a brute you hate."

Richard stuck to that view of the case, and stuck to it the faster the
more imperatively the urgency of a movement dawned upon him.

"Why," continued the boy, "I shall hardly be able to keep my fists off
him!"

"Surely you've punished him enough, boy?" said Austin.

"He struck me!" Richard's lip quivered. "He dared not come at me with his
hands. He struck me with a whip. He'll be telling everybody that he
horsewhipped me, and that I went down and begged his pardon. Begged his
pardon! A Feverel beg his pardon! Oh, if I had my will!"

"The ma