Rumour for the nonce had a stronger spice of truth than usual.  Poor little Clare lay ill, and the calamity that had befallen Farmer Blaize, as regards his rick, was not much exaggerated.  Sir Austin caused an account of it be given him at breakfast, and appeared so scrupulously anxious to hear the exact extent of injury sustained by the farmer that heavy Benson went down to inspect the scene.  Mr. Benson returned, and, acting under Adrian’s malicious advice, framed a formal report of the catastrophe, in which the farmer’s breeches figured, and certain cooling applications to a part of the farmer’s person.  Sir Austin perused it without a smile.  He took occasion to have it read out before the two boys, who listened very demurely, as to ordinary newspaper incident; only when the report particularized the garments damaged, and the unwonted distressing position Farmer Blaize was reduced to in his bed, indecorous fit of sneezing laid hold of Master Ripton Thompson, and Richard bit his lip and burst into loud laughter, Ripton joining him, lost to consequences.

“I trust you feel for this poor man,” said Sir Austin to his son, somewhat sternly.  He saw no sign of feeling.

It was a difficult task for Sir Austin to keep his old countenance toward the hope of Raynham, knowing him the accomplice-incendiary, and believing the deed to have been unprovoked and wanton.  But he must do so, he knew, to let the boy have a fair trial against himself.  Be it said, moreover, that the baronet’s possession of his son’s secret flattered him.  It allowed him to act, and in a measure to feel, like Providence; enabled him to observe and provide for the movements of creatures in the dark.  He therefore treated the boy as he commonly did, and Richard saw no change in his father to make him think he was suspected.

The youngster’s game was not so easy against Adrian.  Adrian did not shoot or fish.  Voluntarily he did nothing to work off the destructive nervous fluid, or whatever it may be, which is in man’s nature; so that two culprit boys once in his power were not likely to taste the gentle hand of mercy; and Richard and Ripton paid for many a trout and partridge spared.  At every minute of the day Ripton was thrown into sweats of suspicion that discovery was imminent, by some stray remark or message from Adrian.  He was as a fish with the hook in his gills, mysteriously caught without having nibbled; and dive into what depths he would he was sensible of a summoning force that compelled him perpetually towards the gasping surface, which he seemed inevitably approaching when the dinner-bell sounded.  There the talk was all of Farmer Blaize.  If it dropped, Adrian revived it, and his caressing way with Ripton was just such as a keen sportsman feels toward the creature that had owned his skill, and is making its appearance for the world to acknowledge the same.  Sir Austin saw the manoeuvres, and admired Adrian’s shrewdness.  But he had