"Alas," thought the mother, "when did ever my boy find it hard to speak with me before?" "She suspects something," thought her son. This was not the truth; she did not suspect, she _knew_. "Tell me now of all that hath befallen thee since ever _The Lady Betty_ touched at St. Mary's." "Nay, tell me first if thou, like my father, hast forgiven the loss of the dear old boat." "Speak not of the loss of a boat though it had held half our fortune when thy life was in the scale. Oh, my son, my son!" The mother covered her face with her hands and fell to weeping, not so much, to tell the truth, because her son might have been lost to her, as because he _had_ been. Romney, shrewd as he thought himself, never dreamed of what was passing in her mind. "Now then, little Mother, cheer up! What's the use of weeping when thou hast me here safe and sound? As for my adventures, they have in truth been many and wonderful. To begin at the beginning, I found St. Mary's mightily dull till I did make acquaintance with Mistress Neville and her niece who is with us here." "Neville, so that is her name?" "Why, of course, Neville,--Peggy Neville," Romney said the name slowly as if it were music in his ears. "'T was at their house, Mother, I met Governor Brent, and he did make particular inquiry for my father, and said the fame of his courage and wisdom was spread beyond the boundaries of Virginia." This was a good feint on the boy's part and drew his mother's attention for the moment. "Said he so indeed? Why, 'twas right civilly spoke. I trust thou didst return what courtesy thou couldst to the Governor." "Yes, and no. I did him some small favors; but in the end I robbed him of his prisoner." "Romney!" "Ay, that did I, and would do it again. The man was falsely accused." "Accused of what?" "Murder." Elizabeth Huntoon's face fell. She dearly loved the atmosphere of respectability, and had no mind to be mixed up with a felony. Her son paid little heed to her expression. "Oh, but 'twas shrewdly planned,--Peggy and I--" "Peggy!" Romney could have bitten his tongue out. The mischief was done. He halted, stammered, and finally resolved to throw himself on his mother's mercy, which he might better have done in the beginning. "Yes, _Peggy_!--the sweetest name for the sweetest girl in the colonies. When thou dost know her better, Mother, thou wilt say so too." "Thou dost not seem to have needed long knowledge to find it out; but thou must needs remember that all thou hast told me of her so far is that she is sister to a murderer." "Mother!" cried Romney, flinging off his mother's hand and jumping up to pace the floor. "It was thou who didst say the word." "Not I. Am I like to speak such a foul falsehood of the man I honor most in the world, next to my father! I said _accused_ of murder,--a mighty different thing, as any but a woman would know."