A calm, clear dawn succeeded the roaring West, and threw its glowing grey image on the waters of the Abbey-lake.  Before sunrise Tom Bakewell was abroad, and met the missing youth, his master, jogging Cassandra leisurely along the Lobourne park-road, a sorry couple to look at.  Cassandra’s flanks were caked with mud, her head drooped:  all that was in her had been taken out by that wild night.  On what heaths and heavy fallows had she not spent her noble strength, recklessly fretting through the darkness!

“Take the mare,” said Richard, dismounting and patting her between the eyes.  “She’s done up, poor old gal!  Look to her, Tom, and then come to me in my room.”

Tom asked no questions.

Three days would bring the anniversary of Richard’s birth, and though Tom was close, the condition of the mare, and the young gentleman’s strange freak in riding her out all night becoming known, prepared everybody at Raynham for the usual bad-luck birthday, the prophets of which were full of sad gratification.  Sir Austin had an unpleasant office to require of his son; no other than that of humbly begging Benson’s pardon, and washing out the undue blood he had spilt in taking his Pound of Flesh.  Heavy Benson was told to anticipate the demand for pardon, and practised in his mind the most melancholy Christian deportment he could assume on the occasion.  But while his son was in this state, Sir Austin considered that he would hardly be brought to see the virtues of the act, and did not make the requisition of him, and heavy Benson remained drawn up solemnly expectant at doorways, and at the foot of the staircase, a Saurian Caryatid, wherever he could get a step in advance of the young man, while Richard heedlessly passed him, as he passed everybody else, his head bent to the ground, and his legs bearing him like random instruments of whose service he was unconscious.  It was a shock to Benson’s implicit belief in his patron; and he was not consoled by the philosophic explanation, “That Good in a strong many-compounded nature is of slower growth than any other mortal thing, and must not be forced.”  Damnatory doctrines best pleased Benson.  He was ready to pardon, as a Christian should, but he did want his enemy before him on his knees.  And now, though the Saurian Eye saw more than all the other eyes in the house, and saw that there was matter in hand between Tom and his master to breed exceeding discomposure to the System, Benson, as he had not received his indemnity, and did not wish to encounter fresh perils for nothing, held his peace.

Sir Austin partly divined what was going on in the breast of his son, without conceiving the depths of distrust his son cherished or quite measuring the intensity of the passion that consumed him.  He was very kind and tender with him.  Like a cunning physician who has, nevertheless, overlooked the change in the disease superinduced by one false dose, he meditated his prescriptions carefully and confidently, sure that he knew the case, and was a match for it.  He decreed that Richard’s erratic behaviour should pass unnoticed.  Two days before the birthday, he asked him whether he would object to having company?  To which Richard said:  “Have whom you will, sir.”  The preparation for festivity commenced accordingly.