“No,” Earle interrupted; “but those three years, long and weary as they were, were not ‘lost’ by any means, Tom. They taught me a lesson of patience and trust which, perhaps, I never should have learned in any other way. It was a hard trial—a _bitter_ trial!” Earle exclaimed, with a shudder, as something of the horror came back to him; “but”—in a reverent tone—“I know that nothing which God sends upon us, if it is rightly borne, can end in harm; nothing but our own sins can do that.” “Did you feel that way _then_?” Tom asked, regarding the young marquis with wonder. “Not at first, perhaps, but it came to me after a little; for, Tom, I had a good Christian mother.” “Ay, and so had I,” he replied, with a sigh that ended in what sounded very like a sob. But Tom was not strong, you know, and consequently more easily moved. “She used to teach me that suffering was often blessing in disguise.” “I never heard that doctrine before, sir,” Tom returned, looking down upon his emaciated hands, and thinking of his bandaged limb, which was still very sore. “I suppose you would not think that the wound I gave you, and the terrible sickness which has followed, were blessings, would you, Tom?” Earle asked, with a smile, as he noticed the look and divined his thought. “Hardly that, sir, when my reason tells me how it is all to end; but, sir, I’ll say this much, my own mother couldn’t have been kinder, nor given me better care; and, for the first time in my life, _I’ve learned what it is to trust a man_!” he said, earnestly. “Thank you, Tom,” Earle returned, heartily. “You’ve no cause, sir. I should have killed you that night if I had known you were there and awake, and then the world would have lost a good man and gained another murderer. Perhaps, looking at it in that way, sir, the wound and the sickness were blessings in disguise, as you call them,” he concluded, reflectively, and he shivered slightly as he spoke, as if the thought of crime had acquired a strange horror to him. “We will not talk of this any more now,” Earle said, fearing the excitement would be injurious to him. “I am only too glad that your life was spared and I did not slay you, even in self-defense. I am glad to know also that I have gained your confidence; and I firmly believe that if you should ever be free to go forth into the world again, you would never lift your hand to harm me or mine.” “Thank you, sir; it is kind of you to say that,” was the humble reply. “Now I want you to tell me something about your mother. She must be quite old,” Earle continued, to change the subject. “Sixty last March, sir, and I haven’t seen her for twenty years, though I’ve sent her enough to give her a good living all that time. I used to—to—love my mother,” he concluded, as if rather ashamed to make confession of a sentiment so tender. “Used to, Tom?” “I ain’t fit to own to love for anybody now, sir! and it would break her heart to know what I’ve been up to all these years.”