“You see there is not much the matter with him; he is always walking,” said Clare, waving her hand to the Rector. “I will call for you, Edgar, in half-an-hour;” and she went away smiling to put on her riding-habit. The brother and sister were going to Thornleigh to pay their homage before Lady Augusta should go away. “Of course I understand you don’t want to alarm Clare,” said the Rector, when they were on their way down the avenue; “but, my dear boy, you are looking very poorly. I don’t like the change in your look. You should speak to the Doctor. He has known you more or less all your life.” “The Doctor! I do not think he knows much about it,” said Edgar, with vehemence. “But I am not ill. I am as well as ever I was.” Then he made a little pause; and then, putting his hand on his old friend’s arm, he said impulsively, yet trying with all his might to hide the force of the impulse, “Mr. Fielding, you have always been very good to me. I want you to help me to recollect what happened long ago. I want you to tell me something about--my mother.” Old Mr. Fielding’s short-sighted eyes woke up amidst the puckers which buried them, and showed a diamond twinkle of kindness in each wrinkled socket. He gave a look of benign goodness to Edgar, and then he turned and sent a glance towards the village which might almost have set fire to Dr. Somers’ high roof. “Yes, Edgar,” he said quickly, “and I am very glad you have asked me. I can tell you a great deal about your mother.” “You knew her, then?” cried the young man, turning upon him with eager eyes. “I knew her very well. She was quite young, younger than you are; but as good a woman, Edgar, as sweet a woman as ever went to heaven.” “I was sure of that!” he cried, holding out his hand; and he grasped that slim hand of the old Rector’s in his strong young grasp, till Mr. Fielding would fain have cried out, but restrained himself, and bore it smiling like a martyr, though the water stood in his eyes. “Somers never saw her,” said Mr. Fielding, waving his hand towards the village. “He was in Italy at the time; but ask his sister, or ask me. Ah, Edgar! in that, as in some other things, the old parson is the best man to come to. Why, boy, it is not you I care for! How do I know you may not turn out a young rascal yet, or as hard as the nether millstone, like so many of the Ardens? but I love you for _her_ sake.” CHAPTER XX. “Your mother was very young,” Mr. Fielding continued, “and early matured as marriage makes a girl. She was a little old-fashioned, I think, as well as I can remember, through being driven into maturity before her time. When a girl is married, not over happily----” “Was her marriage not happy?” Edgar interrupted, with a cloud on his face. “I should not have said that. I mean, you know, her being so young. Why, I don’t think she was as old as Clare when they came back here with you a baby----”