“I will not,” said Mr. Benson.

“You think, perhaps, that I shall feel it acutely.  You are mistaken.  He is no longer as my son to me.  I have always resolved to disown any child of mine who was guilty of sin.  I disown Richard.  He is as a stranger to me.  I shall feel no more at his exposure—­his punishment——­” He could not go on for his voice was choking.  “Of course, you understand that I must feel shame at our connection; it is that that is troubling me; that is but consistent with a man who has always prided himself on the integrity of his name; but as for that boy, who has been brought up all his life as I have brought up my children, it must be some innate wickedness!  Sir, I can cut him off, though he has been as my right hand—­beloved.  Let me be no hindrance to the course of justice, I beg.  He has forged your name—­he has defrauded you of money—­of your all, I think you said.”

“Some one has forged my name.  I am not convinced that it was your son.  Until I know all the circumstances, I decline to prosecute.”

“What circumstances?” asked Mr. Bradshaw, in an authoritative manner, which would have shown irritation but for his self-command.

“The force of the temptation—­the previous habits of the person——­”

“Of Richard.  He is the person,” Mr. Bradshaw put in.

Mr. Benson went on, without taking any notice.  “I should think it right to prosecute, if I found out that this offence against me was only one of a series committed, with premeditation, against society.  I should then feel, as a protector of others more helpless than myself——­”

“It was your all,” said Mr. Bradshaw.

“It was all my money; it was not my all,” replied Mr. Benson; and then he went on as if the interruption had never been—­“Against an habitual offender.  I shall not prosecute Richard.  Not because he is your son—­do not imagine that!  I should decline taking such a step against any young man without first ascertaining the particulars about him, which I know already about Richard, and which determine me against doing what would blast his character for life—­would destroy every good quality he has.”

“What good quality remains to him?” asked Mr. Bradshaw.  “He has deceived me—­he has offended God.”

“Have we not all offended Him?” Mr. Benson said in a low tone.

“Not consciously.  I never do wrong consciously.  But Richard—­Richard.”  The remembrance of the undeceiving letters—­the forgery—­filled up his heart so completely that he could not speak for a minute or two.  Yet when he saw Mr. Benson on the point of saying something, he broke in—­

“It is no use talking, sir.  You and I cannot agree on these subjects.  Once more, I desire you to prosecute that boy, who is no longer a child of mine.”

“Mr. Bradshaw, I shall not prosecute him.  I have said it once for all.  To-morrow you will be glad that I do not listen to you.  I should only do harm by saying more at present.”