There was a wild energy in her voice that frightened him, as she went on hurriedly with an accent he had never heard till then,— “Once before, with this same dread at my heart, I parted two-and-twenty years ago, but I let _him_ go without saying a word. I waited patiently. I even sang and tried to be happy. As the time went by I laughed as I thought how pleased he would be when he saw how his children had grown. I tied about your waist a sash of his favorite color, that he had brought me from the distant Indies, and I kept every thing in readiness for—what? They came and told me that he had gone down at sea—No, no; do not interrupt me. I let him go without saying a word. I must speak this time!” She paused for a moment as if waiting until her excitement had calmed, and with her trembling hand put back the hair from his forehead, then went on unsteadily in a tone but little louder than a whisper,— “You have the same dreamy far-off look in your eyes. I know you must go my child, I know you can not resist—but when your father left he said it would be only for a little while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty years.” There was another moment of silence, as though her thoughts had gone back over that long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice, she went on once more, calling him again unconsciously by the name she had used when he was a little child,— “Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not say it, I can not bear it! You will come back, you must come back to me!” A wild terror had crept into her face, then she broke down completely. “There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I did not used to be so foolish. Do not mind me. I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not strong any more, but—I can wait again—” “Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,” he said, drawing his arm close about her, “how peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love it better than any thing else in the whole world. It has always been gentle to me—you need not fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if you can only wait.” Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as he added the last words, and when Miriam, anxious to atone for her past weakness, said quickly,— “Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made her repeat it. Then rallying himself he went on gaily,— “Why, I will come back, mother, I will come back so grand and rich that you shall be three times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And I will take care of you always then. But, mother,” he said, the choking sensation coming again in his throat,—“promise that you will not worry about me while I am gone, or I shall never be happy, not even in any of the beautiful lands I will see—won’t you promise me, mother? Promise me that you will wait patiently, promise me that—that you will not give up—” “Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come back, I can wait again—I can even wait a long while.”