one up, poor old gal! Look to her, Tom, and then come to
me in my room."

Tom asked no questions.

Three days would bring the anniversary of Richard's birth, and though
Tom was close, the condition of the mare, and the young gentleman's
strange freak in riding her out all night becoming known, prepared
everybody at Raynham for the usual bad-luck birthday, the prophets
of which were full of sad gratification. Sir Austin had an unpleasant
office to require of his son; no other than that of humbly begging
Benson's pardon, and washing out the undue blood he had spilt in taking
his Pound of Flesh. Heavy Benson was told to anticipate the demand
for pardon, and practised in his mind the most melancholy Christian
deportment he could assume on the occasion. But while his son was in
this state, Sir Austin considered that he would hardly be brought to
see the virtues of the act, and did not make the requisition of him, and
heavy Benson remained drawn up solemnly expectant at doorways, and at
the foot of the staircase, a Saurian Caryatid, wherever he could get a
step in advance of the young man, while Richard heedlessly passed him,
as he passed everybody else, his head bent to the ground, and his legs
bearing him like random instruments of whose service he was unconscious.
It was a shock to Benson's implicit belief in his patron; and he was
not consoled by the philosophic explanation, "That Good in a strong
many-compounded nature is of slower growth than any other mortal thing,
and must not be forced." Damnatory doctrines best pleased Benson. He was
ready to pardon, as a Christian should, but he did want his enemy before
him on his knees. And now, though the Saurian Eye saw more than all the
other eyes in the house, and saw that there was matter in hand between
Tom and his master to breed exceeding discomposure to the System,
Benson, as he had not received his indemnity, and did not wish to
encounter fresh perils for nothing, held his peace.

Sir Austin partly divined what was going on in the breast of his son,
without conceiving the depths of distrust his son cherished or quite
measuring the intensity of the passion that consumed him. He was
very kind and tender with him. Like a cunning physician who has,
nevertheless, overlooked the change in the disease superinduced by one
false dose, he meditated his prescriptions carefully and confidently,
sure that he knew the case, and was a match for it. He decreed that
Richard's erratic