have told him all I have heard and observed about
Richard. He will never be a hero of virtue, for his education has
drained him of all moral courage; but with care, and the absence of
all strong temptation for a time, he will do very well; nothing to
gratify paternal pride, but certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

It was on the Sunday after this that the little circumstance to which
I have alluded took place.

During the afternoon service, Mr Benson became aware that the large
Bradshaw pew was no longer unoccupied. In a dark corner Mr Bradshaw's
white head was to be seen, bowed down low in prayer. When last he had
worshipped there, the hair on that head was iron-grey, and even in
prayer he had stood erect, with an air of conscious righteousness
sufficient for all his wants, and even some to spare with which to
judge others. Now, that white and hoary head was never uplifted;
part of his unobtrusiveness might, it is true, be attributed to the
uncomfortable feeling which was sure to attend any open withdrawal of
the declaration he had once made, never to enter the chapel in which
Mr Benson was minister again; and as such a feeling was natural to
all men, and especially to such a one as Mr Bradshaw, Mr Benson
instinctively respected it, and passed out of the chapel with his
household, without ever directing his regards to the obscure place
where Mr Bradshaw still remained immovable.

From this day Mr Benson felt sure that the old friendly feeling
existed once more between them, although some time might elapse
before any circumstance gave the signal for a renewal of their
intercourse.

CHAPTER XXXIII

A Mother to Be Proud Of

Old people tell of certain years when typhus fever swept over the
country like a pestilence; years that bring back the remembrance of
deep sorrow--refusing to be comforted--to many a household; and which
those whose beloved passed through the fiery time unscathed, shrink
from recalling: for great and tremulous was the anxiety--miserable
the constant watching for evil symptoms; and beyond the threshold
of home a dense cloud of depression hung over society at large.
It seemed as if the alarm was proportionate to the previous
light-heartedness of fancied security--and indeed it was so; for,
since the days of King Belshazzar, the solemn decrees of Doom have
ever seemed most terrible when they awe into silence the merry
revellers of life. So it was this year to which I come in the
progress