“You talk as if Time belonged to you, Adrian.  We have but a few hours left us.  Work first, and joke afterwards.  The boy’s fate is being decided now.”

“So is everybody’s, my dear Austin!” yawned the epicurean.

“Yes, but this boy is at present under our guardianship—­under yours especially.”

“Not yet! not yet!” Adrian interjected languidly.  “No getting into scrapes when I have him.  The leash, young hound! the collar, young colt!  I’m perfectly irresponsible at present.”

“You may have something different to deal with when you are responsible, if you think that.”

“I take my young prince as I find him, coz:  a Julian, or a Caracalla:  a Constantine, or a Nero.  Then, if he will play the fiddle to a conflagration, he shall play it well:  if he must be a disputatious apostate, at any rate he shall understand logic and men, and have the habit of saying his prayers.”

“Then you leave me to act alone?” said Austin, rising.

“Without a single curb!” Adrian gesticulated an acquiesced withdrawal.  “I’m sure you would not, still more certain you cannot, do harm.  And be mindful of my prophetic words:  Whatever’s done, old Blaize will have to be bought off.  There’s the affair settled at once.  I suppose I must go to the chief to-night and settle it myself.  We can’t see this poor devil condemned, though it’s nonsense to talk of a boy being the prime instigator.”

Austin cast an eye at the complacent languor of the wise youth, his cousin, and the little that he knew of his fellows told him he might talk forever here, and not be comprehended.  The wise youth’s two ears were stuffed with his own wisdom.  One evil only Adrian dreaded, it was clear—­the action of the law.

As he was moving away, Adrian called out to him, “Stop, Austin!  There! don’t be anxious!  You invariably take the glum side.  I’ve done something.  Never mind what.  If you go down to Belthorpe, be civil, but not obsequious.  You remember the tactics of Scipio Africanus against the Punic elephants?  Well, don’t say a word—­in thine ear, coz:  I’ve turned Master Blaize’s elephants.  If they charge, ’twill bye a feint, and back to the destruction of his serried ranks!  You understand.  Not?  Well, ’tis as well.  Only, let none say that I sleep.  If I must see him to-night, I go down knowing he has not got us in his power.”  The wise youth yawned, and stretched out a hand for any book that might be within his reach.  Austin left him to look about the grounds for Richard.

CHAPTER VII

A little laurel-shaded temple of white marble looked out on the river from a knoll bordering the Raynham beechwoods, and was dubbed by Adrian Daphne’s Bower.  To this spot Richard had retired, and there Austin found him with his head buried in his hands, a picture of desperation, whose last shift has been defeated.  He allowed Austin to greet him and sit by him without lifting his head.  Perhaps his eyes were not presentable.