Yes, it was true; partly true, he said. He was not always so steady as he ought to be. Some of his acquaintances, young men studying law like himself, or medicine, or what not, were rather wild, and he had been the same. Drink?--well, yes; at times they did take more than might be quite needful. But they were not given to gambling: that was false. "Francis," she said, her heart beating wildly with its pain, "the worst of all is the drink. If once you suffer yourself to acquire a love for it, you may never leave it off. It is so insidious----" "But I don't love it, mother; I don't care for it--and I am sure you must know that I would tell you nothing but truth now," he interrupted. "I have only done as the others do. I'll leave it off." "Will you promise me that?" "Yes, I will. I do promise it." She carried his hand to her lips and kissed it. Francis had always kept his promises. "It is so difficult for young fellows without a home to keep straight in London," he acknowledged. "There's no good influence over us; there's no pleasant family circle where we can spend our evenings: and we go out, and get drawn into this and that. It all comes of thoughtlessness, mother." "You have promised me, Francis." "Oh yes. And I will perform." "How long will it be before you are called to the Bar?" she asked, after a pause. "Two years." "So much as that?" "I think so. How the wind howls!" Mrs. Radcliffe sighed; Francis's future seemed not to be very clear. Unless he could get on pretty quickly, and make a living for himself-- "When I am gone, Francis," she said aloud, interrupting her own thoughts, "this will not be any home for you." "It has not been one for me for some years now, mother." "But if you do not get into work soon, and your own funds come to an end, you will have no home but this to turn to." "If I attempted to turn to it, Stephen would soon make it too hot for me, I expect." "That might not be all; not the worst," she quickly answered, dropping her voice to a tone of fear, and glancing around as one in a fever. Francis looked round too. He supposed she was seeking something. "It is always scaring me, Francis," she whispered. "There are times when I fancy I am going to see it enacted before my eyes. It puts me into a state of nervous dread not to be described." "See what enacted?" he asked. "I was sitting here about ten days ago, Francis, thinking of you, thinking of the future, when all at once a most startling prevision--yes, I call it so--a prevision came upon me of some dreadful ill in store for you; ill wrought by Stephen. I--I am not sure but it was--that--that he took your life," she added, scarcely above her breath, and in tones that made Francis shiver. "Why, what do you mean, mother?"