Without waiting longer than to give Nelly a kiss he was off, and the street door closed upon him. Then began an attack of questions which puzzled my ingenuity to parry. There was something remarkably strange in the event, and their curiosity was strongly excited. There was not much time to lose, and the questions were working me towards the subject. At last Nelly said, “Cannot you guess, John, at all, who this stranger is, or what he wants with Andrew.” And then I said, “I did not mean to tell you, or to awaken sad memories, especially to-night, but I think the stranger will be able to tell him something of the fate of father!” I had said enough and seen enough to know that I might safely carry out my plan. Affected as my mother was by the news, she was perfectly calm. She did not weep, or dream of fainting, or going into hysterics, but a holy joy lighted up her face, and her very smile was a thanksgiving. Brave little Nell clasped her hands together (it was just the attitude she used on that _other_ Christmas Eve), and said, “Thank God.” For a minute or two there was a dead silence in the room, only broken by Captain Wray, who took snuff violently. “John,” said my mother, at length, and her voice faltered just a very little, “John, you know more than you have told; let me hear it all. I am more than strong enough to bear it; I have waited for years in preparation of this hour. Tell me, when did it happen, and where?” I sat down between her and Nelly, and said, as calmly as I could, “Now, my dearest mother, be brave and cheery, father is still alive. It would not be well for you to see him for some time, but he is in London, and well.” The tears came at last; not a dry eye was in the room; but when I left them to go with Captain Wray to the “King’s Arms” (for he could not remain inactive), a voice had said to the storm of feeling, “Peace, be still;” and there was a great calm.