r-in-law to the people concerned.

CHAPTER XXXI

An Accident to the Dover Coach

While Mr Benson lay awake for fear of oversleeping himself, and so
being late at Mr Farquhar's (it was somewhere about six o'clock--dark
as an October morning is at that time), Sally came to his door and
knocked. She was always an early riser; and if she had not been gone
to bed long before Mr Bradshaw's visit last night, Mr Benson might
safely have trusted to her calling him.

"Here's a woman down below as must see you directly. She'll be
upstairs after me if you're not down quick."

"Is it any one from Clarke's?"

"No, no! not it, master," said she, through the keyhole; "I reckon
it's Mrs Bradshaw, for all she's muffled up."

He needed no other word. When he went down, Mrs Bradshaw sat in
his easy-chair, swaying her body to and fro, and crying without
restraint. Mr Benson came up to her, before she was aware that he was
there.

"Oh! sir," said she, getting up and taking hold of both his
hands, "you won't be so cruel, will you? I have got some money
somewhere--some money my father settled on me, sir; I don't know how
much, but I think it's more than two thousand pounds, and you shall
have it all. If I can't give it you now, I'll make a will, sir. Only
be merciful to poor Dick--don't go and prosecute him, sir."

"My dear Mrs Bradshaw, don't agitate yourself in this way. I never
meant to prosecute him."

"But Mr Bradshaw says that you must."

"I shall not, indeed. I have told Mr Bradshaw so."

"Has he been here? Oh! is not he cruel? I don't care. I've been a
good wife till now. I know I have. I have done all he bid me, ever
since we were married. But now I will speak my mind, and say to
everybody how cruel he is--how hard to his own flesh and blood! If he
puts poor Dick in prison, I will go too. If I'm to choose between my
husband and my son, I choose my son; for he will have no friends,
unless I am with him."

"Mr Bradshaw will think better of it. You will see that, when his
first anger and disappointment are over, he will not be hard or
cruel."

"You don't know Mr Bradshaw," said she, mournfully, "if you think
he'll change. I might beg and beg--I have done many a time, when we
had little children, and I wanted to save them a whipping--but no
begging ever did any good. At last I left it off. He'll not change."

"Perhaps not for human entreaty. Mrs Bradshaw, is there nothing more
powerful?"

The tone of his voi