Bassett picked up the articles and brought them in, and told Jessie to light the fire and make him a cup of coffee.
He replaced all the plate, except the articles left in Reginald's pocket.
Then he went upstairs, and told his wife that burglars had broken into the house, but had taken nothing; she was to give herself no anxiety. He told her no more than this, for his dark and cruel nature had already conceived an idea he did not care to communicate to her, on account of the strong opposition he foresaw from so good a Christian: besides, of late, since her daughter came home to back her, she had spoken her mind more than once.
He kept them then in the dark, and went downstairs again to his coffee.
He sat and sipped it, and, with it, his coming vengeance.
All the defeats and mortifications he had endured from Huntercombe returned to his mind; and now, with one masterstroke he would balance them all.
Yet he felt a little compunction.
Active hostilities had ceased for many years.
Lady Bassett, at all events, had held out the hand to his wife. The blow he meditated was very cruel: would not his wife and daughter say it was barbarous? Would not his own heart, the heart of a father, reproach him afterward?
These misgivings, that would have restrained a less obstinate man, irritated Richard Bassett: he went into a rage, and said aloud, “I must do it: I will do it, come what may.”