“Where’s your son to-day, ma’am?” cried Farmer Wadhurst, interrupting the gracious words of the lady. “Where is he to-day, and where has he been for the past fortnight?” “He has been in several places,” she replied. “He went to look after an agent--Mr. Dunning has left us--it was very awkward--first to Buckinghamshire, then to Lincoln. I got a letter from him yesterday from Sandy-cliffe; he is having some yachting--a week of yachting. I fancy he saw his chance now that Priscilla is visiting her friend. I don’t think he would have been so ready if she----” “Read that,” cried the man, interrupting her once again, laying a telegram--almost flinging it--on the table before her. “What is this?” she enquired, looking about for her _pince-nez_. “It is a telegram from Jack. What--what--oh, don’t tell me that something has happened--that he is hurt--something dreadful--that you were sent to break it to me.” “Read it,” he said. “Something dreadful! Maybe not so dreadful to you; not so strange either. You are his mother; you may have heard something like it about him before.” She had found her glasses, and picked up the telegram with shaking fingers. “_Priscilla no longer here left week yesterday?_ “What does this mean?” she asked. “She was staying with Miss Branksome at Lullton Priory. Is this from General Branksome?” “I got wind of something being wrong,” said he, “and I telegraphed last evening to the Branksomes asking if she was with them. That’s the answer I got. You know what it means. But I warned her. God knows I did my duty by her in warning her against him. She would not listen to me.” “I don’t know what you are thinking of. Can you not tell me what it is that is in your mind? You surely do not suppose that Priscilla--that my son---” “What’s in my mind is that your son is a scoundrel, ma’am--that’s what’s in my mind--a rank, foul scoundrel! He has induced her to run away with him, and for the past week they have been living together as man and wife, wherever he is.” “You lie, sir; I tell you, you lie. My son may have his faults, but he was never a seducer of women.” “Then he has begun now; every wickedness must have a start. He has started with my daughter. I knew that he meant no good. I warned her--God knows that I warned her, not once, but twice--every time that I’d a chance of words with her. It wasn’t often of late; she had a way of stalking out of the room every time that I opened my lips to warn her against him.” “Mr. Wadhurst, you are mistaken. I feel certain that you are mistaken,” she cried. “What object could he have in carrying out so shocking a scheme? There was no obstacle in the way of their marriage. I had received Priscilla as a daughter.” He smiled. “Mothers know nothing of the ways of their sons,” he said. “I’ve known some that looked on their sons as saints, when all the time----”