My mother was waiting for me when I returned; but although she was exceptionally bright and happy, and although there was a tenderly joyous significance in her words and manner towards me, she said nothing of the result of her visit to Jessie. CHAPTER XLIX. UNCLE BRYAN AGAIN. 'Chris,' says my mother to me, on the following day, can you leave off work an hour earlier this evening?' 'Yes, mother,' I replied; 'at six o'clock if you like.' 'Then at six o'clock,' she says gaily, 'I shall take possession of you.' As the hour strikes, she comes to my side, dressed for walking. 'No tea, mother?' I ask. 'We are going out to tea, my dear,' she answers. I keep her waiting but a very few minutes, and presently we are in the streets. I know that something of importance is about to be disclosed to me, and that it will please my mother to be allowed to disclose it in her own way; therefore I hazard no conjectures, and we talk on indifferent subjects. But this does not prevent me from working myself into a state of agitation as to the precise nature of our errand. We take the omnibus to Holborn, and from there we walk towards Bedford-square. My mother leads the way down a clean narrow street, and we pause before a small three-storied house. 'Somebody lives here that we know,' says my mother, as she knocks at the door. 'Can it be Jessie?' I ask of myself, as I glance upwards. There are flowers on the window-sills of the first and third floor; those on the first floor are especially fine, and almost entirely cover the windows. It is on the third floor we stop when we enter the house. 'Remember what you said to me, my dear,' my mother whispers as we enter the room. There is no one to receive us, but my Mother goes into an inner room, and comes out of it presently, and motions me with a tender smile to go in. I enter alone; an old man with white hair is standing by the window, looking towards the door. A grave expression is on his face, which is deeply lined; I recognise uncle Bryan immediately, although he is much changed. I had had in my mind a lingering hope that my mother was taking me to see Jessie; but in the pleasure of seeing uncle Bryan I lose sight for a few moments of my disappointment. 'Uncle,' I say, as I advance towards him with outstretched hand. He meets me half-way, and clasps my hand eagerly in his, and then turns aside with quivering lips, still holding my hand. I know that he has noticed both my pleasure and my disappointment, and I hope it is not the latter that causes him to turn aside.