"My dear," she asked, "can I help you in anything? I am sure there is something wrong." "You are quite right," he answered abruptly. "What is it, Tom? Surely you can trust your mother." "Oh, I can't tell you about it." He said this very impatiently, and Mrs. Henderson looked at him anxiously. "Is it about some woman, Tom?" she said. Tom replied by a sort of a groan. "I wish you would marry, Tom," continued Mrs. Henderson, earnestly. "Many mothers don't wish their sons to marry because they say it takes them away from themselves, but I don't feel this. Your happiness would be mine. Tom, a little bird has whispered to me that you run after a certain very pretty girl; is this true?" "You mean May Churchill?" answered Tom Henderson; "well, I certainly do admire her very much." "And--are you engaged to her?" "No; there are always worries in the way." "Not surely--" "Mother, I may as well tell you that I have made a fool of myself, but I must get out of it." "But Tom--" "There! don't talk of it like a good old woman; I'll get out of it, that I'm determined." Mrs. Henderson did not say anything more. She walked on with her hand through her son's arm, feeling very anxious. Tom Henderson had been a wayward boy, and he was a wayward man, and his mother was conscious perhaps that she had spoilt her only child. She had heard a rumor--got one of those painful hints which friends do not scruple to give--about her son's connection with Elsie Wray of the Wayside Inn. But she had never spoken of it to Tom. She was a delicate-minded woman, and extremely attached to him, and there were subjects on which Mrs. Henderson felt she could not speak to her boy. The mother and son walked home together and then parted, Mrs. Henderson to see after some household arrangements, Tom to retire to his own room to write a letter to Elsie Wray. Let us look over his shoulder as he sat, pen in hand, with his black brows knitted and his handsome face distorted with the angry passions in his heart. He began: "Dear Elsie," and then paused. He did not in truth know what to say. He knew he was acting shamefully, but he told himself it was folly to sacrifice the happiness of his whole life because a foolish girl had loved him too well. Again he began "Dear Elsie," on a fresh note-sheet, and this time continued his letter: