after all; he must care;
he cannot shake off a child in this way, though he thinks he can; and
that makes me so afraid of telling him of this accident. Will you
come, Mr Benson?"

He needed no other word. He went with her, as she rapidly threaded
her way through the by-streets. When they reached the house, she
went in without knocking, and putting her husband's letter into
Mr Benson's hand, she opened the door of her father's room, and
saying--"Papa, here is Mr Benson," left them alone.

Mr Benson felt nervously incapable of knowing what to do, or to say.
He had surprised Mr Bradshaw sitting idly over the fire--gazing
dreamily into the embers. But he had started up, and drawn his chair
to the table, on seeing his visitor; and, after the first necessary
words of politeness were over, he seemed to expect him to open the
conversation.

"Mrs Farquhar has asked me," said Mr Benson, plunging into the
subject with a trembling heart, "to tell you about a letter she has
received from her husband;" he stopped for an instant, for he felt
that he did not get nearer the real difficulty, and yet could not
tell the best way of approaching it.

"She need not have given you that trouble. I am aware of the reason
of Mr Farquhar's absence. I entirely disapprove of his conduct. He is
regardless of my wishes; and disobedient to the commands which, as my
son-in-law, I thought he would have felt bound to respect. If there
is any more agreeable subject that you can introduce, I shall be glad
to hear you, sir."

"Neither you, nor I, must think of what we like to hear or to say.
You must hear what concerns your son."

"I have disowned the young man who was my son," replied he, coldly.

"The Dover coach has been overturned," said Mr Benson, stimulated
into abruptness by the icy sternness of the father. But, in a flash,
he saw what lay below that terrible assumption of indifference. Mr
Bradshaw glanced up in his face one look of agony--and then went
grey-pale; so livid that Mr Benson got up to ring the bell in
affright, but Mr Bradshaw motioned to him to sit still.

"Oh! I have been too sudden, sir--he is alive, he is alive!" he
exclaimed, as he saw the ashy face working in a vain attempt to
speak; but the poor lips (so wooden, not a minute ago) went working
on and on, as if Mr Benson's words did not sink down into the mind,
or reach the understanding. Mr Benson went hastily for Mrs Farquhar.

"Oh, Jemima!" said he, "I have done it so