just in not withholding
money from a youth so situated. And here again the world deceived him by
embellishing his conduct. For what is it to be just to whom we love! He
knew it was not magnanimous, but the cry of the world somehow fortified
him in the conceit that in dealing perfect justice to his son he was
doing all that was possible, because so much more than common fathers
would have done. He had shut his heart.

Consequently Richard did not want money. What he wanted more, and did
not get, was a word from his father, and though he said nothing to
sadden his young bride, she felt how much it preyed upon him to be
at variance with the man whom, now that he had offended him and gone
against him, he would have fallen on his knees to; the man who was as no
other man to him. She heard him of nights when she lay by his side, and
the darkness, and the broken mutterings, of those nights clothed the
figure of the strange stern man in her mind. Not that it affected the
appetites of the pretty pair. We must not expect that of Cupid enthroned
and in condition; under the influence of sea-air, too. The files of
egg-cups laugh at such an idea. Still the worm did gnaw them. Judge,
then, of their delight when, on this pleasant morning, as they were
issuing from the garden of their cottage to go down to the sea, they
caught sight of Tom Bakewell rushing up the road with a portmanteau on
his shoulders, and, some distance behind him, discerned Adrian.

"It's all right!" shouted Richard, and ran off to meet him, and never
left his hand till he had hauled him up, firing questions at him all the
way, to where Lucy stood.

"Lucy! this is Adrian, my cousin."--"Isn't he an angel?" his eyes seemed
to add; while Lucy's clearly answered, "That he is!"

The full-bodied angel ceremoniously bowed to her, and acted with
reserved unction the benefactor he saw in their greetings. "I think we
are not strangers," he was good enough to remark, and very quickly let
them know he had not breakfasted; on hearing which they hurried him into
the house, and Lucy put herself in motion to have him served.

"Dear old Rady," said Richard, tugging at his hand again, "how glad I am
you've come! I don't mind telling you we've been horridly wretched."

"Six, seven, eight, nine eggs," was Adrian's comment on a survey of the
breakfast-table.

"Why wouldn't he write? Why didn't he answer one of my letters? But here
you are, so I don't mind now. He wants to see us,