Then Sir Charles, himself much shaken, took his wife's arm and led her, trembling like an aspen leaf, from the room. Perhaps the prayers of Reginald and the tears of his mother would alone have sufficed to soften Richard Bassett, but the threat of exposure to his wife and daughter did no harm. The three soon came to terms. Reginald to be liberated on condition of going to London by the next train, and never setting his foot in that parish again. His mother to go with him, and see him off to Australia. She solemnly pledged herself not to reveal the boy's real parentage to any other soul in the world. This being settled, Richard Bassett called the constable in, and said the young gentleman had satisfied him that it was a practical joke, though a very dangerous one, and he withdrew the charge of felony. The constable said he must have Sir Charles's authority for that. A message was sent to Sir Charles. He came. The prisoner was released, and Mary Meyrick took his arm sharply, as much as to say, “Out of my hands you go no more.” Before they left the room, Sir Charles, who was now master of himself, said, with deep feeling, “My poor boy, you can never be a stranger to me. The affection of years cannot be untied in a moment. You see now how folly glides into crime, and crime into punishment. Take this to heart, and never again stray from the paths of honor. Lead an honorable life; and, if you do, write to me as if I was still your father.” They retired, but Richard Bassett lingered, and hung his head. Sir Charles wondered what this inveterate foe could have to say now. At last Richard said, half sullenly, yet with a touch of compunction, “Sir Charles, you have been more generous than I was. You have laid me under an obligation.” Sir Charles bowed loftily. “You would double that obligation if you would prevail on Lady Bassett to keep that old folly of mine secret from my wife and daughter. I am truly ashamed of it; and, whatever my faults may have been, they love and respect me.” “Mr. Bassett,” said Sir Charles, “my son Compton must be told that he is my heir; but no details injurious to you shall transpire: you may count on absolute secrecy from Lady Bassett and myself.” “Sir Charles,” said Richard Bassett, faltering for a moment, “I am very much obliged to you, and I begin to be sorry we are enemies. Good-morning.” The agitation and terror of this scene nearly killed Lady Bassett on the spot. She lay all that day in a state of utter prostration. Meantime Sir Charles put this and that together, but said nothing. He spoke cheerfully and philosophically to his wife--said it had been a fearful blow, terrible wrench: but it was all for the best; such a son as that would have broken his heart before long. “Ah, but your wasted affections!” groaned Lady Bassett; and her tears streamed at the thought.