“I will not deny my own flesh and blood,” said Richard.

“Then I will deny mine, and you may go rot with them!”

“I will work for them and myself,” said Richard.

Sir Wilton glared at him. Richard made a stride to the table. The baronet caught up the cheque. Richard darted forward to seize it. Was his truth to his friends to be the death of them? He would have the money! The baronet had told him to take it!

What might have followed I dare not think. Richard angrily approached his father. Happily he remembered that he had not given him back the former cheque, and Barset was quite within reach of his grandfather’s pony. He turned and made for the door. Sir Wilton read his thought.

“Give me that cheque!” he cried, hobbling to the bell.

Richard darted out. The man, far off down the hallway, came to answer the bell. He hastened to meet him.

“Jacob,” said Richard, hoping to delay him, “sir Wilton rang for you. Just run down to the gate, and give the woman there a message.”

He hurried to the door, and the man, doubting nothing, followed him outside.

“Tell her,” said Richard as they went, “if she should see Mr. Wingfold pass, to ask him to call at old Armour’s smithy. She does not seem to remember me! Good day! I’m in a hurry!”

He leaped into the pony cart.

“Barset!” he cried to his grandfather, and the same moment they were off at full speed, for Simon saw that something was up.

“Let’s see what this blessed pony can do! Every instant is precious!”

Never asking the cause of his haste, old Simon did his best, and never had the pony gone with a better will. He seemed to know speed was needed.

No hoofs came clamping on the road behind them. They reached the town in safety, and Richard cashed his cheque—all the more easily that Simon, a well-known man in Barset, was seen waiting for him outside. The eager, anxious look on Richard’s face, and the way he clutched at the notes, might otherwise have waked suspicion. As it was, he only aroused curiosity.

The man whom Richard had decoyed appeared at length, some time later, before his master, whose repeated ringing had brought the butler first. When sir Wilton, after much swearing on his, and bewilderment on the servant’s part, made out the trick played on him, his wrath began to evaporate in amusement. He had been outwitted and outmanoeuvred—by his own son! Even in the face of such an early outbreak of hostilities, he could not help being proud of him. He burst into a half-cynical laugh, and dismissed the man to hopeless speculation on the meaning of the affair.

Simon would have Richard send the banknotes by the mail and stay with him a week or two. But Richard insisted on taking them himself—no other way seemed safe. And he could not possibly rest until he had seen his mother and told her all. He said nothing to his grandfather of his recognition by sir Wilton and what followed. He was afraid he might take the thing in his own hands and go to sir Wilton himself.