The next moment the door opened, and Mrs Mallison entered the room. From an upper room she had heard the sounds of arrival, and for the moment the mother in her forgot everything but the fact that her child had returned. She held out her arms, and smiled with twitching lips, and Mary ran to her, and clung round her neck, with arms which seemed as if they would never let go. It was not the thought of her father that prompted that close embrace, it was the remembrance of a year of days spent in establishments, a year of aimless hours, a year of living among strangers, who cared nothing, noticed nothing! neither praised nor blamed. She had tasted liberty, and liberty had been sweet, but there was a great loneliness in her heart, and the clasp of mother arms were as balm to a wound. "Mother, Mother!" gasped Mary sobbing. "Mary, Mary!" quavered Mrs Mallison in reply, then at last they drew apart, regarding each other, with half-shy scrutiny. Mrs Mallison had rushed into the orthodox fitments with a haste which seemed to Teresa positively indecent, but it obviously soothed the widow to don her new cap, and stitch muslin cuffs and collar on a black silk dress. The result, taken in conjunction with a natural paleness of complexion, was undoubtedly softening, and made a further appeal to Mary's heart. "You look pale, Mother. You are not ill? Oh, don't be ill! We can't spare you too!" "No, no, my dear. I am quite well. It was a great shock... but there was no nursing. It would have been worse if he'd been ill long. Sit down, my dear... You must have some milk... He came down to breakfast quite himself, but depressed. He had been depressed--" She saw Mary wince, and hurried into explanations.--"About business... Not you, my dear! He had got over that. So interested in your letters... Poor Papa! investments had been bad, and he was led into speculation. I never suspected.--He never confided in me. He knew that I should object. Papa could be very self-willed. It's the way with these mild characters; all of a sudden they get the bit in their teeth, and there's no stopping them." She saw Mary wince again, and gave a peal to the bell. "You must have some milk! Or tea? Shall I hurry up tea? Tea, please, Mason, and don't toast the muffin until you've brought in the tray. It was cold yesterday.--I was telling you, Mary, that he had had bad news... opened a letter after breakfast and there it was.--He read it through, and called out to me: `Margaret! Margaret!'..." The large, complacent face shivered suddenly into tears. "It was years--years-- since he had called me that!" Mary took out her handkerchief, and wiped her own eyes. She was sorry for her mother, but the habit of thinking first of herself had grown too strong to be overcome. "Did he--did he speak of me?"