y of the boy Thompson. Still it looked a
detestable conspiracy, and the altered manner of his son impressed him
strangely. He was not the boy of yesterday. To Sir Austin it seemed as if
a gulf had suddenly opened between them. The boy had embarked, and was on
the waters of life in his own vessel. It was as vain to call him back as
to attempt to erase what Time has written with the Judgment Blood! This
child, for whom he had prayed nightly in such a fervour and humbleness to
God, the dangers were about him, the temptations thick on him, and the
devil on board piloting. If a day had done so much, what would years do?
Were prayers and all the watchfulness he had expended of no avail?

A sensation of infinite melancholy overcame the poor gentleman--a thought
that he was fighting with a fate in this beloved boy.

He was half disposed to arrest the two conspirators on the spot, and make
them confess, and absolve themselves; but it seemed to him better to keep
an unseen eye over his son: Sir Austin's old system prevailed.

Adrian characterized this system well, in saying that Sir Austin wished
to be Providence to his son.

If immeasurable love were perfect wisdom, one human being might almost
impersonate Providence to another. Alas! love, divine as it is, can do no
more than lighten the house it inhabits--must take its shape, sometimes
intensify its narrowness--can spiritualize, but not expel, the old
lifelong lodgers above-stairs and below.

Sir Austin decided to continue quiescent.

The valley still lay black beneath the large autumnal stars, and the
exclamations of the boys were becoming fevered and impatient. By-and-by
one insisted that he had seen a twinkle. The direction he gave was out of
their anticipations. Again the twinkle was announced. Both boys started
to their feet. It was a twinkle in the right direction now.

"He's done it!" cried Richard, in great heat. "Now you may say old
Blaize'll soon be old Blazes, Rip. I hope he's asleep."

"I'm sure he's snoring!--Look there! He's alight fast enough. He's dry.
He'll burn.--I say," Ripton re-assumed the serious intonation, "do you
think they'll ever suspect us?"

"What if they do? We must brunt it."

"Of course we will. But, I say! I wish you hadn't given them the scent,
though. I like to look innocent. I can't when I know people suspect me.
Lord! look there! Isn't it just beginning to flare up!"

The farmer's grounds were indeed gradually standing out in som