of his being as good as his word, that he would have been compelled to adhere to it by the very consequence affixed to it.  Mr. Farquhar had hard work, as it was, in passing rapidly enough between the two places—­attending to his business at Eccleston; and deciding, comforting, and earnestly talking, in Richard’s sick-room.  During an absence of his, it was necessary to apply to one of the partners on some matter of importance; and accordingly, to Jemima’s secret joy, Mr. Watson came up and asked if her father was well enough to see him on business?  Jemima carried in this inquiry literally; and the hesitating answer which her father gave was in the affirmative.  It was not long before she saw him leave the house, accompanied by the faithful old clerk; and when he met her at dinner he made no allusion to his morning visitor, or to his subsequent going out.  But from that time forwards he went regularly to the office.  He received all the information about Dick’s accident, and his progress towards recovery, in perfect silence, and in as indifferent a manner as he could assume; but yet he lingered about the family sitting-room every morning until the post had come in which brought all letters from the south.

When Mr. Farquhar at last returned to bring the news of Dick’s perfect convalescence, he resolved to tell Mr. Bradshaw all that he had done and arranged for his son’s future career; but, as Mr. Farquhar told Mr. Benson afterwards, he could not really say if Mr. Bradshaw had attended to one word that he said.

“Rely upon it,” said Mr. Benson, “he has not only attended to it, but treasured up every expression you have used.”

“Well, I tried to get some opinion, or sign of emotion, out of him.  I had not much hope of the latter, I must own; but I thought he would have said whether I had done wisely or not in procuring that Glasgow situation for Dick—­that he would, perhaps, have been indignant at my ousting him from the partnership so entirely on my own responsibility.”

“How did Richard take it?”

“Oh, nothing could exceed his penitence.  If one had never heard of the proverb, ’When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be,’ I should have had greater faith in him; or if he had had more strength of character to begin with, or more reality and less outward appearance of good principle instilled into him.  However, this Glasgow situation is the very thing; clear, defined duties, no great trust reposed in him, a kind and watchful head, and introductions to a better class of associates than I fancy he has ever been thrown amongst before.  For, you know, Mr. Bradshaw dreaded all intimacies for his son, and wanted him to eschew all society beyond his own family—­would never allow him to ask a friend home.  Really, when I think of the unnatural life Mr. Bradshaw expected him to lead, I get into charity with him, and have hopes.  By the way, have you ever succeeded in persuading his mother to send Leonard to school?  He may run the same risk from isolation as Dick:  not be able to choose his companions wisely when he grows up, but be too much overcome by the excitement of society to be very discreet as to who are his associates.  Have you spoken to her about my plan?”