by all means, with every body," observed Mrs. Yorke,
coolly, "but do not indulge yourself in revenge. Revenge is like a game
at battle-door, wherein one can never tell who will have the last hit."

"At the same time, it is one of those few luxuries which those who have
least to lose can best afford," said Richard, with the air of a
moralist.

"It is not cheap, however, even to them," returned Mrs. Yorke, still
busy with her antimacassar. "It may cost one one's life, for instance."

"And what then?" inquired Richard, carelessly.

"Nobody knows 'what then,' Dick. Our fanatic yonder had one opinion; our
philosopher there"--she pointed to the skull--"another. Both of them
know by this time, and yet can not tell us. It is the one case where the
experience of others can not benefit ourselves."

This subject had no charms for Richard. When we are what is vulgarly
called "in the sulks," and displeased (if we were to own it) with the
system of universal government in this world, the next seems of but
little importance. There may be a miscarriage of justice (that is, a
thwarting of our particular wishes) even _there_. Perhaps Mrs. Yorke was
aware that her son's clouded face did not portend religious or
metaphysical speculation, for she abruptly changed the subject.

"And what are you going to do, Dick, now that this Crompton plan has
failed?"

He did not answer, but stood with his back to the fire, moodily stroking
his silken mustache.

"Richard"--she rose, and placed her plump white hand upon his
shoulder;--"it is very, very seldom that I ask a favor of you, but I am
about to do so now. Promise me that you will never again undertake for
another what you undertook for this man Chandos."

He laughed, as he had laughed before, in bitter fashion. "Why not? It
was fifty pounds down; and apparently no risk: that is, no risk from the
law, which has omitted to provide for the contingency. Next to being
above the law is surely to be ahead of it. Besides, I am really a public
benefactor. Without my help, the state would already have been deprived
of the services of four young gentlemen, all of excellent families. Of
course, such a calling has its disadvantages. It is very difficult to
obtain clients. The offer of one's valuable assistance is liable to be
declined uncivilly--it requires the talents of a diplomatist to convey
it without offense--still, I possess those talents. Again, undoubtedly
the profession is in itself tempora