“Now, here is a reasonable man! When he thought me praising his love with great fervour, he was so jealous as to feel like running me through the heart; and now that he finds me very moderate in my admiration of his idol, he is angry enough to sweep my head off at a blow,” said Lauderdale, laughing. “Good night!” said Sutherland, to cover his confusion. “Stay, I can’t let you go so; your lady-love is _really_ lovely enough to turn all the heads and break all the hearts that approach her. But she has not disturbed the healthful action of mine—will that content you?” “Yes, because I know it is true—especially the first part of it. Good night.” “Good night.” And the friends separated. “And is this _all_ you have to say in support of your project, Mark?” “Not all, my dear mother.” The lady applied her handkerchief to her eyes quietly, almost stealthily; her face was pale and sorrowful; she seemed to restrain herself steadily, as though she thought the betrayal of strong emotion unbecoming to a woman of her age and station. Her son had just revealed to her his purpose of emancipating all the negroes upon his plantation and sending them to Liberia, with his reasons for so doing. The scene took place very early in the morning after his arrival. It was in her dressing-room. Before any of their guests had arisen, they were up, and she had called him, as he passed her door. They sat now at the open window that looked out upon the beautiful valley of the Pearl, with its groves and fields and streams all fresh and resplendent in the light of the newly-risen sun. The mother sighed deeply as she withdrew her glance from the gladdening scene, and fixed it upon the face of her son. “And so, Mark, this is the cause of your ill and anxious looks?” “Yes, mother; I will not deny to you that it has cost me a very severe struggle; and perhaps you see some of its effects.” “Yes, _some_ of them, Mark—alas! not _all_,” said the lady, in a low, faint voice. If a little while before she had restrained unmeet energy of expression in the strong emotion she had felt, now all power as well as all will seemed to forsake her. She sat silent, with her hands folded and her eyes fixed upon them. Mr. Sutherland watched her anxiously. “My dear madam, I have pained you.” “I am a widow, Mark, and have no child but you”— “_Mother_”—— “It is a sorrowful time for the mother, Mark, when the boy she has nursed and brought up to man’s estate turns upon her in her weakness, arrayed in all the strength and power of manhood.” “My dearest _mother_”—— “Your father, Mark, never caused me a tear or a sigh in his life.” “God bless his memory for that.” “He trusted so in your affection for me, Mark—_and so did I_—that he left me totally dependent upon you”—— “My dearest mother, your comfort and convenience shall be my first object in life. Not even India, my loved India, shall cause me to forget all I owe to you.”