It was a dark night when Henderson slunk home after his accursed deed; dark and late, yet his mother was waiting up for him and anxiously listening for his return. She heard him turn the latch-key in the door, and went out into the hall to meet him. "You are late, Tom," she said. He started violently when he saw her. "You up!" he said, hoarsely. "Yes, I waited to say good-night. Why, Tom," she added the next minute, lifting her lighted candle higher, "whatever is the matter with your coat? Where did you get that stain?" A shudder ran through his strong stalwart frame as she asked the question, and his guilty eyes fell on the red stain on his coat sleeve. "I stumbled and fell; it is nothing," he said, yet more hoarsely; "good-night, mother," and without another word he turned and hurried up the unlighted staircase, leaving his mother looking after him in absolute astonishment. He always smoked before he went to bed, and usually he drank some whisky, and therefore she could not account for his conduct. She grew anxious about him, and after she had retired to her own bedroom she thought she would go quietly to his room-door and see after him. As she approached it she thought she felt a faint smell of burning. She was afraid to go into his room, for he was spoilt and wayward and did not care to be interfered with, so she knelt quietly down and peered through the key-hole. A strange sight met her startled gaze. Her son was standing by the fireplace, without his shirt on, and he was burning it by degrees in the grate! She saw him cut out one sleeve and then the other and burn them, adding matches to the flaming linen to make it consume more quickly. The coat that he had worn during the evening--a light cloth summer one--was lying on a chair near. Presently he took this up, and shuddered as he did so. Then he cut off the lower part of one sleeve--and consigned this also to the flames. He watched it burn, and then rolled up the coat, and put it into the drawer of his wardrobe and locked the drawer. After this, he put on a dressing-gown and approached the door of the room from which his mother had scarcely time to fly, when he opened it and came out on the landing with a lighted candle in his hand. Mrs. Henderson had hurried unseen into an empty room next door, and she now watched her son descend the staircase, and could see that he was ghastly pale, his whole appearance denoting great agitation. A great terror crept over the poor woman's heart, and a nameless dread took possession of her mind. She dare not follow him, but stood hidden in the shadow, and in a few minutes she heard him returning up the stairs. This time he was carrying a bottle of whisky and a glass, and Mrs. Henderson saw his hands were trembling as he did so.