"She'll be very tired," he reflected, as that night he wended his way to the station. "She will have been travelling all day. She left Launceston early this morning, and it will have been a rush for her." So he was careful to engage a cab some time before the train was due, and then walked up and down the station with a fast-beating heart. Yes, life was becoming new to him in, a way that he could not understand. He felt less bitter towards the world, less bitter towards Mr. Bolitho, less angry at what had happened to him. The six months in Strangeways Gaol seemed but a horrible dream. The struggles of the past were far behind. He, while yet but a youth, had succeeded beyond all expectations, and, added to all this, his mother was coming to live with him; and for the first time in his life he would have a home! No youth waiting for his sweetheart was ever more impatient than Paul. He was angry that the train was late, and wondered why the porters could be so indifferent about it. He had all sorts of fears, too, concerning his mother's welfare. Had she been able to catch the connection at Bristol and Manchester? Had some accident happened? Presently the signal fell, and a little later the train swept into the station. There were but few people present, because it was late, and it happened to be a wet day. Eagerly he looked at the carriage windows, and then suddenly he felt as though his heart were too great for his bosom. He saw a lonely, tired-looking woman step from the carriage and look expectantly round. "Mother!" he cried. "My dear, dear mother!" And then the sad-eyed, weary woman laid her head on his broad shoulder and sobbed for very joy.