“My mother was much younger, and different from father; she was handsome and proud too, and in all sorts of ways superior to him. They got to hate each other; they were so quiet about it, but I could see. Their only common interest was me, they both loved me very much. Three years ago she ran away from him. Quite suddenly, you know; there was nothing at all leading up to such a thing. But I could not understand my father, not then, he took it all so calmly. He did not mention even her name to me for a long time, and I feared to intrude; you see, I did not understand, I was only twenty. When I did ask about her he told me not to bother him, forbade me to write to her. I didn’t know where she was, but he knew, and at last I found out too.” “And you defied him, I suppose?” “No, I deceived him. He gave me money for some purpose—to pay a debt—and I stole it. I left him a letter and ran away to my mother. I loved her.” “O well, that was only to be expected,” said Loughlin. “It was all right, quite right.” “She was living with another man. I didn’t know. I was a fool.” “Good lord! That was a shock for you,” Loughlin said. “What did you do?” “No, I was not shocked, she was so happy. I lived with them for a year....” “Extraordinary!” “And then she died.” “Your mother died!” “Yes, so you see I could not stop with my ... I could not stay where I was, and I couldn’t go back to my father.” “I see, no, but you want to go back to your father now.” “I’m afraid. I love him, but I’m afraid. I don’t blame my mother, I feel she was right, quite right—it was such happiness. And yet I feel, too, that father was deeply wronged. I can’t understand that, it sounds foolish. I should so love to go home again. This other kind of life doesn’t seem to eclipse me—things have been extraordinary kind—I don’t feel out of my setting, but still it doesn’t satisfy, it is polite and soft, like silk, perhaps it isn’t barbarous enough, and I want to live, somehow—well, I have not found what I wanted to find.” “What did you want to find?” “I shan’t know until I have found it. I do want to go home now, but I am full of strange feelings about it. I feel as if I was bearing the mark of something that can’t be hidden or disguised of what my mother did, as if I were all a burning recollection for him that he couldn’t fail to see. He is good, a just man. He ... he is the best hurdle maker in three counties.”