A little later the two met, and the relationship was evident at the first glance. They were mother and son. The youth was about seventeen years of age, tall and muscular. He wore the dress of a mechanic, and there was in his appearance a suggestion of capability and of resolute resolve. Strangely handsome he was, and yet no one seemed attracted by him. During his journey from Bodmin a labourer would pass the time of day, but he seemed to take no notice. And once the driver of a farmer's cart offered to give him a lift, but he only shook his head and trudged on. There was an eager questioning look in his eyes, and he seemed to be wondering greatly as to the result of his journey. Two days before he had received a letter, urging him to come to a certain spot on Altarnun Moors, and promising him that he should hear of things concerning which he had long been anxious to know. The letter had no signature, but the address given was "Lancroft, near Launceston." Who the writer of the letter was the youth had not the slightest idea, but he never thought of refusing the request made. Almost ever since he could remember he had wondered concerning his father and mother, and now he felt sure that the time of revelation was come. Presently the two met, and each looked steadily into the other's face, as if wondering who the other might be. "You received a letter two days ago?" said the woman. "Yes," was his reply. "I wrote it." Simple as the words were, they were uttered with a sob. He saw that she was under very strong emotion, and noted the yearning look in her eyes. "You have wondered all your life who your father and mother are?" and the woman controlled her voice with difficulty. "I know you have. You want to know all about them, don't you?" "I shouldn't have come here if I hadn't!" was his reply. "I'm your mother!" said the woman. He looked at her curiously. He had been thinking, ever since they had met, whether this might not be so; nevertheless the news came to him as a kind of shock. A woman with sad eyes and an expression of unsatisfied yearning in her face; yet handsome withal. "Do you not believe it?" she asked. "My boy! my boy! I'm your mother, and, if I have kept silent about it, it has been for love of you!" And she held out her hands towards him. It seemed as though something touched his heart, as though his whole being thrilled with a recognition of the truth, and, in a way he could not understand, a great love for this lonely woman sprang suddenly into his heart. "Yes, I believe you are my mother." "I have come to tell you everything, Paul," she said. "It's a sad story, but I believe you'll understand." "Yes," he replied, "I shall understand!" The woman looked at him, still with the same expression of tender yearning in her eyes. "It's a hard question to ask," she said, "but can you feel towards me as a laddie should feel to his mother?" "Yes," he replied, "I do."