do not wish Lucy to remain in expectation longer, or I should have
explained myself to you thoroughly, and I think--or at least hope--you
would have justified me. I had cause to believe that you had not only
violated my confidence, but grossly deceived me. It was not so, I now
know. I was mistaken. Much of our misunderstanding has resulted from
that mistake. But you were married--a boy: you knew nothing of the
world, little of yourself. To save you in after-life--for there is
a period when mature men and women who have married young are more
impelled to temptation than in youth,--though not so exposed to it,--to
save you, I say, I decreed that you should experience self-denial and
learn something of your fellows of both sexes, before settling into a
state that must have been otherwise precarious, however excellent the
woman who is your mate. My System with you would have been otherwise
imperfect, and you would have felt the effects of it. It is over now.
You are a man. The dangers to which your nature was open are, I trust,
at an end. I wish you to be happy, and I give you both my blessing, and
pray God to conduct and strengthen you both."

Sir Austin's mind was unconscious of not having spoken devoutly. True
or not, his words were idle to his son: his talk of dangers over, and
happiness, mockery.

Richard coldly took his father's extended hand.

"We will go to her," said the baronet. "I will leave you at her door."

Not moving: looking fixedly at his father with a hard face on which the
colour rushed, Richard said: "A husband who has been unfaithful to his
wife may go to her there, sir?"

It was horrible, it was cruel: Richard knew that. He wanted no advice on
such a matter, having fully resolved what to do. Yesterday he would have
listened to his father, and blamed himself alone, and done what was to
be done humbly before God and her: now in the recklessness of his misery
he had as little pity for any other soul as for his own. Sir Austin's
brows were deep drawn down.

"What did you say, Richard?"

Clearly his intelligence had taken it, but this--the worst he could
hear--this that he had dreaded once and doubted, and smoothed over, and
cast aside--could it be?

Richard said: "I told you all but the very words when we last parted.
What else do you think would have kept me from her?"

Angered at his callous aspect, his father cried: "What brings you to her
now?"

"That will be between us two," was the reply