d of Bryce; for he felt that the long-dreaded crisis in his life
was close upon him. "You're coming on to Raveloe, aren't you?"

"Well, no, not now," said Bryce. "I _was_ coming round there, for I
had to go to Flitton, and I thought I might as well take you in my way,
and just let you know all I knew myself about the horse. I suppose
Master Dunsey didn't like to show himself till the ill news had blown
over a bit. He's perhaps gone to pay a visit at the Three Crowns, by
Whitbridge--I know he's fond of the house."

"Perhaps he is," said Godfrey, rather absently. Then rousing himself,
he said, with an effort at carelessness, "We shall hear of him soon
enough, I'll be bound."

"Well, here's my turning," said Bryce, not surprised to perceive that
Godfrey was rather "down"; "so I'll bid you good-day, and wish I may
bring you better news another time."

Godfrey rode along slowly, representing to himself the scene of
confession to his father from which he felt that there was now no
longer any escape. The revelation about the money must be made the
very next morning; and if he withheld the rest, Dunstan would be sure
to come back shortly, and, finding that he must bear the brunt of his
father's anger, would tell the whole story out of spite, even though he
had nothing to gain by it. There was one step, perhaps, by which he
might still win Dunstan's silence and put off the evil day: he might
tell his father that he had himself spent the money paid to him by
Fowler; and as he had never been guilty of such an offence before, the
affair would blow over after a little storming. But Godfrey could not
bend himself to this. He felt that in letting Dunstan have the money,
he had already been guilty of a breach of trust hardly less culpable
than that of spending the money directly for his own behoof; and yet
there was a distinction between the two acts which made him feel that
the one was so much more blackening than the other as to be intolerable
to him.

"I don't pretend to be a good fellow," he said to himself; "but I'm not
a scoundrel--at least, I'll stop short somewhere. I'll bear the
consequences of what I _have_ done sooner than make believe I've done
what I never would have done. I'd never have spent the money for my
own pleasure--I was tortured into it."

Through the remainder of this day Godfrey, with only occasional
fluctuations, kept his will bent in the direction of a complete avowal
to his father, and he with