John Dallington’s home-going was not much more satisfactory than Dr. Stapleton’s. He entered the door of his house with a sigh. He expected to find the chair in the most comfortable corner of the room occupied by William Hunter, and to see his mother looking anything but happy; and he was agreeably surprised to find Mrs. Hunter alone. She was in an affectionate mood, and took his arm as they went together to the dining-room. “You must need some supper after your drive, for I heard the sound of wheels. Why did you not ride?” “Oh, I knew uncle would give me a lift; and, if not, I should have enjoyed the walk.” “Tom has been in. She is a dear girl, and very fond of you, John.” “Yes; she is most kind and cousinly.” Mrs. Hunter laughed softly. “I feel sure,” she said, significantly, “that there is much more than a cousinly feeling in Tom’s heart for you. But men are proverbially blind, and cannot see what is plainly before them.” “Mother, what a fanciful little woman you are! I believe you will never give up dreaming dreams until you become a really old lady.” “That is no dream, John, but very sober reality. And it is the great hope of my life that you should marry Tom. So it is of hers.” “I never shall, mother; so I trust you will at once disabuse your mind of the thought.” “Do not say so. You could never have a more loving and capable wife than Tom would make. And—John—cannot you see that that would be the way out of all your difficulties?” John’s colour rose. “That is a way I cannot take,” he said. “That will never, never be.” Mrs. Hunter persisted. “It would undo the harm that I have done,” she said, “and make me feel happy and forgiven.” “Mother,” said John—and though he tried to be gentle his voice was stern—“have I reproached you? There is nothing to forgive! I am sure you only did what you felt you were obliged to do, and that you did it for the best. I am young and strong. I shall win back every yard of my father’s estate in a few years, if work and thought can do it. But the trouble and the difficulty are mine, not yours, and they will not hurt me.” “John, why should you keep them when you can blow them away with a word of love to Tom?” “Simply because I cannot speak the word. What do you take me for?” “John—I must say it, even if you are angry with me—it will break my heart if that which I hear is true.” “What have you heard?” “That you are courting Margaret Miller. Who is she that she dare look at you?” Mrs. Hunter laughed unpleasantly. “Why, nobody knows what she is, nor where she came from; she may be the scum of the earth for all——”