I went back to Morley's, and ascertained that Stony Stratford was on the road to Rugby, and that I must leave the train at Wolverton station. I called a Hansom cab, and reached Euston Square depot just in time for the train. I will not attempt to describe the emotions which agitated me as I sped over the country. I was on the point of meeting my mother, and though the rich panorama of an English landscape was passing before me, I could think of nothing else. In two hours I reached the Wolverton station, and there learned that it was four and a half miles to Stony Stratford. I engaged a team to take me over. My driver inquired till he found the house of Mrs. Challis. It was a small and mean dwelling, and I began to feel indignant that my mother was compelled to live in such a place. My knock, under the influence of this feeling, was a very decided one. "Is Mrs. Thornton at home?" I inquired--my utterance almost choked by agitation--of the woman who came to the door. "She is, but she don't see any one," replied the woman, sourly, as she abruptly closed the door in my face. I rapped again, and my knuckles not proving sufficient, I used my boot. "You can't see Mrs. Thornton!" snarled the woman, angrily, as she opened the door a little crack. "I can and will!" I replied. "Mr. Bunyard sent me." "O, did he?" she added, opening the door. "Here's the paper he gave me." She looked at it, and invited me to enter. My limbs trembled under me as I walked into the room. "Mrs. Thornton is out in the garden, but I will call her," said Mrs. Challis--or I supposed it was she. "Never mind calling her. I will see her in the garden," I added, going out of the back door, which was open, without waiting for the woman's permission. Walking in the back part of the garden I discovered a lady, thin and pale, dressed in coarse but neat garments. It was my mother. I could hardly control myself. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her. "Mrs. Thornton?" I asked, tremblingly. "I am Mrs. Thornton," replied she, gazing curiously at me. "I suppose you know Amos Thornton?" I continued, not daring to tell her who I was. "To my sorrow I do," she replied, shaking her head. "I have heard that you had a son." "He is gone--why do you ask?" "Gone?" "He is dead," said she, sadly. "Are you sure?" "For a long time I would not believe it." "I think it is a mistake." Her chest heaved with emotion, and the tears flowed down her pale cheek. She gazed at me a moment, and then threw her arms around my neck. "You are my son--I know you are!" sobbed she. "My mother!" was all I could say; and we wept for many minutes in silence, closely folded in each other's arms. When I raised my head, Mrs. Challis was standing by us. She had a troubled look, as though she feared something had gone wrong. "What does all this mean?" she asked; but neither of us took any notice of her. "I have hoped all the time that you were not dead," said my mother, smiling through her tears.