“Richard,” he began, and paused.  For the first time in my life I saw him irresolute.  He looked appealingly at the rector, who rose.  Mr. Allen was a man of good height and broad shoulders, with piercing black eyes, reminding one more of the smallsword than aught else I can think of.  And he spoke solemnly, in a deep voice, as though from the pulpit.

“I fear it is my duty, Richard, to say what Mr. Carvel cannot.  It grieves me to tell you, sir, that young as you are you have been guilty of treason against the King, and of grave offence against his Lordship’s government.  I cannot mitigate my words, sir.  By your rashness, Richard, and I pray it is such, you have brought grief to your grandfather in his age, and ridicule and reproach upon a family whose loyalty has hitherto been unstained.”

I scarce waited for him to finish.  His pompous words stung me like the lash of a whip, and I gave no heed to his cloth as I answered: 

“If I have grieved my grandfather, sir, I am heartily sorry, and will answer to him for what I have done.  And I would have you know, Mr. Allen, that I am as able as any to care for the Carvel honour.”

I spoke with a vehemence, for the thought carried me beyond myself, that this upstart parson his Lordship had but a year since sent among us should question our family reputation.

“Remember that Mr. Allen is of the Church, Richard,” said my grandfather, severely.

“I fear he has little respect for Church or State, sir,” Grafton put in.  “You are now reaping the fruits of your indulgence.”

I turned to my grandfather.

“You are my protector, sir,” I cried.  “And if it please you to tell me what I now stand accused of, I submit most dutifully to your chastisement.”

“Very fair words, indeed, nephew Richard,” said my uncle, “and I draw from them that you have yet to hear of your beating an honest schoolmaster without other provocation than that he was a loyal servant to the King, and wantonly injuring the children of his school.”  He drew from his pocket a copy of that Gazette Mr. Carvel held in his hand, and added ironically:  “Here, then, are news which will doubtless surprise you, sir.  And knowing you for a peaceful lad, never having entertained such heresies as those with which it pleases Mr. Green to credit you, I dare swear he has drawn on his imagination.”

I took the paper in amaze, not knowing why my grandfather, who had ever been so jealous of others taking me to task, should permit the rector and my uncle to chide me in his presence.  The account was in the main true enough, and made sad sport of Mr. Fairbrother.

“Have I not been caned for this, sir?” said I to my grandfather.

These words seemed to touch Mr. Carvel, and I saw a tear glisten in his eye as he answered: 

“You have, Richard, and stoutly.  But your uncle and Mr. Allen seem to think that your offence warrants more than a caning, and to deem that you have been actuated by bad principles rather than by boyish spirits.”  He paused to steady his voice, and I realized then for the first time how sacred he held allegiance to the King.  “Tell me, my lad,” said he, “tell me, as you love God and the truth, whether they are right.”