If you did not write this name, I know who did. Once more I ask you--does no glimmering recollection of--having needed money, we'll say--I never wanted you to refuse my subscription to the chapel, God knows!--of having sold these accursed shares?--Oh! I see by your face you did not write it;you need not to speak to me--I know." He sank down into a chair near him. His whole figure drooped. In a moment he was up, and standing straight as an arrow, confronting Mr. Benson, who could find n6 clue to this stern man's agitation. "You say you did not write these words?" pointing to the signature, with an untrembling finger. "I believe you; Richard Bradshaw did write them." "My dear sir--my dear old friend!" exclaimed Mr. Benson, "you are rushing to a conclusion for which, I am convinced, there is no foundation; there is no reason to suppose that because----" "There is reason, sir. Do not distress yourself--I am perfectly calm."His stony eyes and immovable face did indeed look rigid. "What we have now to do is to punish the offence. I have not one standard for myself and those I love--(and, Mr. Benson, I did love him)--and another for the rest of the world. If a stranger had forged my name, I should have known it was my duty to prosecute him. You must prosecute Richard." "I will not," said Mr. Benson. "You think, perhaps, that I shall feel it acutely. You are mistaken. He is no longer as my son to me. I have always resolved to disown any child of mine who was guilty of sin. I disown Richard. He is as a stranger to me. I shall feel no more at his exposure--his punishment----" He could not go on for his voice was choking. "Of course, you understand that Imust feel shame at our connection; it is that that is troubling me; that is but consistent with a man who has always prided himself on the integrity of his name; but as for that boy, who has been brought up all his life as I have brought up my children, it must be some innate wickedness! Sir, I can cut him off, though he has been as my right hand--beloved. Let me be no hindrance to the course of justice, I beg. He has forged your name--he has defrauded you of money--of your all, I think you said." "Some one has forged my name. I am not convinced that it was your son.
Until I know all the circumstances, I decline to prosecute." "What circumstances?" asked Mr. Bradshaw, in an authoritative manner, which would have shown irritation but for his self-command. "The force of the temptation--the previous habits of the person----" "Of Richard. He is the person," Mr. Bradshaw put in. Mr. Benson went on, without taking any notice. "I should think it right to prosecute, if I found out that this offence against me was only one of a series committed, with premeditation, against society. I should then feel, as a protector of others more helpless than myself----" "It was your all," said Mr. Bradshaw. "It was all my money; it was not my all," replied Mr. Benson; and then he went on as if the interruption had never been--"Against an habitual offender. I shall not prosecute Richard. Not because he is your son--do not imagine that! I should decline taking such a step against any young man without first ascertaining the particulars about him, which I know already about Richard, and which determine me against doing what would blast his character for life--would destroy every good quality he has." "What good quality remains to him?" asked Mr. Bradshaw. "He has deceived me--he has offended God." "Have we not all offended Him?" Mr. Benson said in a low tone. "Not consciously. I never do wrong consciously. But Richard--Richard."The remembrance of the undeceiving letters--the forgery--filled up his heart so completely that he could not speak for a minute or two. Yet when he saw Mr. Benson on the point of saying something, he broke in-- "It is no use talking, sir. You and I cannot agree on these subjects. Once more, I desire you to prosecute that boy, who is no longer a child of mine." "Mr. Bradshaw, I shall not prosecute him. I have said it once for all.
To-morrow you will be glad that I do not listen to you. I should only do harm by saying more at present." There is always something aggravating in being told, that the mood in which we are now viewing things strongly will not be our mood at some other time.
It implies that our present feelings are blinding us, and that some more clear-sighted spectator is able to distinguish our future better than we do ourselves. The most shallow person dislikes to be told that any one can gauge his depth. Mr. Bradshaw was not soothed by this last remark of Mr. Benson's. He stooped down to take up his hat and be gone. Mr. Benson saw his dizzy way of groping, and gave him what he sought for; but he received no word of thanks. Mr. Bradshaw went silently towards the door, but, just as he got there, he turned round, and said-- "If there were more people like me, and fewer like you, there would be less evil in the world, sir. It's your sentimentalists that nurse up sin." Although Mr. Benson had been very calm during this interview, he had been much shocked by what had been let out respecting Richard's forgery; not by the fact itself so much as by what it was a sign of. Still, he had known the young man from childhood, and had seen, and often regretted, that his want of moral courage had rendered him peculiarly liable to all the bad effects arising from his father's severe and arbitrary mode of treatment.
Dick would never have had "pluck" enough to be a hardened villain, under any circumstances: but, unless some good influence some strength, was brought to bear upon him, he might easily sink into the sneaking scoundrel. Mr.
Benson determined to go to Mr. Farquhar's the first thing in the morning, and consult him as a calm, clear-headed family friend--partner in the business, as well as son- and brother-in-law to the people concerned.