Then in came the young man about whom she was arguing with herself. He could not speak, so great was his agitation, but he went to his mother, and threw his arms about her, clasped her to his heart, and kissed her. For some time he could not say anything, but after a while he conquered his emotion sufficiently to say— “Oh, my mother—my poor mother! Oh, my dear, my ill-used mother!” and then again his emotions got the better of him. “I cannot,” he said, after a pause, with a renewed effort to govern himself, “I cannot say what I shall do now, I cannot even think, but I am sure of one thing, I must remain no longer at the park.” “My boy!” exclaimed Mrs. Saltren. “Fall off yourself into the plate and salt!” “I do not understand,” said he. She left him in his ignorance, she had been thinking of the leeches. “My dear Giles! Whatever you do, don’t breathe a word of this to any one.” “Mother, I will not, you may be sure of that.” “Not to Lord Lamerton above all—not for heaven’s sake.” “Least of all to him.” “I should get into such trouble. Oh, my gracious!” “Mother, dear,” the young fellow clasped her to his heart again—“how inexpressibly precious you are to me now, and how I grieve for you. I can say no more now.” Then he went forth. “Why, bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Saltren. “He never was so affectionate before. Well, as far as human reason goes, it does seem as if all things were being brought to their best for me; for this day has given me my husband’s love and doubled that of my son.” Giles Inglett Saltren walked hastily back to the park. On his way he encountered Samuel Ceely, who put forth his maimed hand, and crooked the remaining fingers in his overcoat, to arrest him, as he went by. “What do you want with me?” asked Jingles impatiently. “I should be so glad if you would put in a word for me,” pleaded the old man. “I am engaged—I cannot wait.” “But,” urged old Ceely, without letting go his hold, “Joan has axed Miss Arminell for a scullery-maid’s place for me. Now I’d rather have to do wi’ the dogs, or I could keep the guns beautifully clean, or even the stables.” “I really cannot attend to this!” said Jingles, impatiently. “I have other matters of more importance now on my mind; besides, my influence is not what—” he spoke bitterly—“what it should be in the great house.” “You might do me a good turn, and speak a word for me.” “The probability of my speaking a good word for you, or any one to Lord Lamerton, or of doing any one a good turn in Orleigh Park, is gone from me for ever,” said Giles. “You must detain me no longer—it is useless. Let me go.” He shook himself free from the clutch of the old man, and walked along the road. After he had gone several paces, perhaps a hundred yards, he turned—moved by what impulse was unknown to him—and looked back. In the road, lit by the moon, stood the cripple, stretching forth his maimed hand after him, with the claw-like fingers. CHAPTER XVIII.