midst of his riot. Too proud to inquire how his father had taken his
absence, he burned to hear whether he was in disgrace. He led to it
repeatedly, and it was constantly evaded by Algernon and Adrian. At
last, when the boy declared a desire to wish his father good-night,
Adrian had to tell him that he was to go straight to bed from the supper-
table. Young Richard's face fell at that, and his gaiety forsook him.
He marched to his room without another word.

Adrian gave Sir Austin an able version of his son's behaviour and
adventures; dwelling upon this sudden taciturnity when he heard of his
father's resolution not to see him. The wise youth saw that his chief
was mollified behind his moveless mask, and went to bed, and Horace,
leaving Sir Austin in his study. Long hours the baronet sat alone. The
house had not its usual influx of Feverels that day. Austin Wentworth
was staying at Poer Hall, and had only come over for an hour. At
midnight the house breathed sleep. Sir Austin put on his cloak and cap,
and took the lamp to make his rounds. He apprehended nothing special,
but with a mind never at rest he constituted himself the sentinel of
Raynham. He passed the chamber where the Great-Aunt Grantley lay, who
was to swell Richard's fortune, and so perform her chief business on
earth. By her door he murmured, "Good creature! you sleep with a sense
of duty done," and paced on, reflecting, "She has not made money a demon
of discord," and blessed her. He had his thoughts at Hippias's somnolent
door, and to them the world might have subscribed.

A monomaniac at large, watching over sane people in slumber! thinks
Adrian Harley, as he hears Sir Austin's footfall, and truly that was a
strange object to see.--Where is the fortress that has not one weak gate?
where the man who is sound at each particular angle? Ay, meditates the
recumbent cynic, more or less mad is not every mother's son? Favourable