That night I watched outside the house of the Wests', and made false the words I had spoken to Jessie but a short time since, when I asked her if she thought I would play the spy upon her. I was careful that she should not see me, for, if she did, I felt that I should never have been forgiven. If I proved my words false, Jessie proved hers true. Mr. Glover was at the Wests', and walked home with her. I waited until she was in the house, and then I followed Mr. Glover at a distance. I had no distinct intention in my mind; I simply felt that I _must_ follow him; he seemed to draw me after him. I have no doubt that, if a clear meaning could have been evolved from my whirling thoughts, and had been shown to me, I should have been shocked at it. He walked for a couple of miles, and then hailed a cab; after that I wandered about miserably, without thinking where I was walking, without thinking of the time. It was only when I found myself on a bridge six miles from Paradise-row, and heard the hour strike, that I awoke to consciousness as it were and walked slowly home. The faithful mother was sitting up for me. 'My darling child,' she said, with a sob of grief at the misery she saw in my face, 'where have you been? What has kept you out so late?' I put her from me in silence, and went into my room, and locked the door. As I did so, I thought I heard the door of my mother's bedroom above open and close. But I dismissed the fancy, and went to bed with a heavy heart. CHAPTER XXXIV. TURK WEST'S APPEARANCE AT THE WEST-END THEATRE, AND ITS RESULTS. Early in the morning I watched for an opportunity to endeavour to make peace with Jessie. My mother had been in great anxiety about me during the night, and had come down to my bedroom three or four times, whispering my name at the door; but I pretended to be asleep, and as the door was locked, she could not enter the room. I passed a sleepless night, and tossed about in bed, longing for daylight. When it came, I rose and commenced to work, and even in the midst of my great unhappiness I found comfort in it, for I loved it. At seven o'clock I heard my mother calling to me, and I opened my door. 'At work so soon, my dear!' she said, in a tone of exquisite tenderness. I answered that I had a great deal of work in hand, and that it would not do for me to be idle. She sat by my side, and was saying meekly that her boy must not work too hard, but must take proper rest, when she broke down. Looking at her, I saw an expression of such yearning devotion in her pale face, such sweet and wistful love, that, softened for a moment, I laid my head on her shoulder, and sobbed quietly. Her tears flowed with mine. 'Ill could help you, dear child!' she murmured. You cannot--you cannot,' I murmured in reply. Mother, Jessie must not go out this morning without my seeing her. I _must_ speak to her alone.'