“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 I must 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.”