“Where does she live?” “At Farnham, in this county, sir.” “Here in England! Why, that is only twenty-five or thirty miles from here!” exclaimed Earle, in surprise. “Yes, sir; and if I had made a good haul here, I was going down to see her, and settle something handsome on her,” he frankly confessed, but his face flushed, nevertheless, at the acknowledgment. “Wouldn’t you like to see her now?” asked Earle. “That I would, sir; and I suppose the poor old lady has been worrying and wondering what’s happened to me, that I did not send my usual letter and money.” “Did you send her money regularly?” Earle began to think there was a little green spot in the man’s heart after all, and there might be some hope of reclaiming him even yet. “Once in three months—sometimes more, sometimes less, as my luck was, but always _something_ as often as that, though it’s six months now since she’s heard a word from me, poor old lady,” he said, with a sigh. “Why did you not tell me of this before? Your mother should not be allowed to want,” Earle said, feeling a deep interest in the lonely mother. “What right had I to burden you with my cares? You’ve had more than enough of me as it is,” Tom replied, flushing more deeply than he had yet done. It was evident that he felt his obligation to Earle was no light one. Earle did not reply, and at that moment the door opened, and a man entered bearing a large tray, covered with a tempting array of viands that would have done the heart of an epicure good. “You must be hungry, Tom, after this long walk, so while you are eating I will go away, as I have some letters to write,” Earle said, rising. Tom looked up at him with a troubled air, opened his lips as if to speak, shut them again resolutely, and then finally said, in a half-reckless, half-humble way: “You can take my softness for what it’s worth, sir; I couldn’t help it; but—I’d have been broken on the wheel before I’d have said as much to any one else. Tom Drake’s known nothing but hard knocks for the last twenty years, until a bullet laid him here.” Earle went out of the room with a very grave face. “If I was only sure,” he murmured, with a deep-drawn sigh, as he passed into the library and shut the door. CHAPTER XLIII TRUE NOBILITY At the end of two hours Earle went back to his charge, with a letter in his hand. Tom had been much refreshed by his nice dinner, and had been asleep for an hour. But he now lay with a troubled, anxious expression on his face, which Earle could not fail to notice, even though his lips relaxed into a faint smile of welcome at his entrance. He went up to the couch where he was reclining, and said, as he handed him the letter: