"She is ready to fulfil her promise," he answers, evasively. "She is willing to marry me whenever I like, as I told you before--to-morrow! to-night! this instant, if I wish!" "For a home, of course; one can understand that, in her situation," says his mother, in a tone of slighting pity. Bob perceives, and is stung by it. "No, not for a home!" he answers, indignantly. "Poor soul! she may have that without paying such a heavy toll for it." "To what motive, then, do you ascribe her willingness?" "She told me that she liked me better than any one else in the world," he answers, with the reluctance of one who is making a statement that he believes will not be credited by the auditor to whom it is addressed. "My poor simple boy! and you believed her?" (with a sort of compassionate scorn). He hesitates. "I believe that she meant what she said at the moment," he replies, doubtfully. "If there was such perfect harmony of opinion between you, why was the engagement broken, may I ask?" she inquires, a little sharply. No answer, except quickened breathing, and a frown slightly contracting his climate-bronzed forehead. "Was it--oh, my dear boy! if it was so, no one can respect your scruples more than I do--was it because you were not quite sure that she was one of the Lord's people?" "Oh, dear, no," answers the young man, quickly, with scarcely repressed impatience in his tone--"nothing of the kind. God forbid my being so presumptuously uncharitable! How am I to know who is, or who is not? All I know is that if she is not, neither am I; and I trust, mother, that you will find, by-and-bye, that they are not quite such, a scanty nation as you seem to imagine." "A higher authority than I am has expressly designated them 'a little flock,'" says the old woman, sententiously, pursing up her mouth; "but far be it from me to wish to judge, whatever you may imply. But I am still waiting to hear what your motive was for breaking your engagement, a motive which you seem to have such an unaccountable difficulty in telling me." He looks down, for an instant or two, biting his lips, then speaks petulantly: "Why should I tell you, mother?--why should I tell any one? A man's _motives_ are his own concern, whatever his actions may be; if mine are strong enough to satisfy myself and her, surely that is enough." "Oh, of course," answers his mother, rather nettled at what she considers a want of confidence; "only that, unless I am put in possession of the circumstances of the case, I really don't see how I can be expected to give advice----" "I don't want advice," interrupts the young man, eagerly. "I want a much better thing--assistance." "Assistance in what?" "Why, in hindering that poor girl," he says, with warmth, "from being thrown upon the world penniless, helpless, and without a friend, as she will be after the sale at Glan-yr-Afon." "Not without a friend, as long as you are alive, Bob; one can answer for that!" rejoins his mother, rather tartly.