“And what is to be his punishment?” she asked.

“The scorn which men and women will feel for him; those, at least, whose esteem or scorn are matters of concern to any one.  I know no other punishment.  You would not have Lily’s name brought before a tribunal of law?”

“Certainly not that.”

“And I will not have Bernard calling him out.  Indeed, it would be for nothing; for in these days a man is not expected to fight duels.”

“You cannot think that I would wish that.”

“What punishment is there, then?  I know of none.  There are evils which a man may do, and no one can punish him.  I know of nothing.  I went up to London after him, but he contrived to crawl out of my way.  What can you do to a rat but keep clear of him?”

Mrs Dale had felt in her heart that it would be well if Crosbie could be beaten till all his bones were sore.  I hardly know whether such should have been a woman’s thought, but it was hers.  She had no wish that he should be made to fight a duel.  In that there would have been much that was wicked, and in her estimation nothing that was just.  But she felt that if Bernard would thrash the coward for his cowardice she would love her nephew better than ever she had loved him.  Bernard also had considered it probable that he might be expected to horsewhip the man who had jilted his cousin, and, as regarded the absolute bodily risk, he would not have felt any insuperable objection to undertake the task.  But such a piece of work was disagreeable to him in many ways.  He hated the idea of a row at his club.  He was most desirous that his cousin’s name should not be made public.  He wished to avoid anything that might be impolitic.  A wicked thing had been done, and he was quite ready to hate Crosbie as Crosbie ought to be hated; but as regarded himself, it made him unhappy to think that the world might probably expect him to punish the man who had so lately been his friend.  And then he did not know where to catch him, or how to thrash him when caught.  He was very sorry for his cousin, and felt strongly that Crosbie should not be allowed to escape.  But what was he to do?

“Would she like to go anywhere?” said the squire again, anxious, if he could, to afford solace by some act of generosity.  At this moment he would have settled a hundred a year for life upon his niece if by so doing he could have done her any good.

“She will be better at home,” said Mrs Dale.  “Poor thing.  For a while she will wish to avoid going out.”

“I suppose so;” and then there was a pause.  “I’ll tell you what, Mary; I don’t understand it.  On my honour I don’t understand it.  It is to me as wonderful as though I had caught the man picking my pence out of my pocket.  I don’t think any man in the position of a gentleman would have done such a thing when I was young.  I don’t think any man would have dared to do it.  But now it seems that a man may act in that way and no harm come to him.  He had a friend in London who came to me and talked about it as though it were some ordinary, everyday transaction of life.  Yes; you may come in, Bernard.  The poor child knows it all now.”