My anxiety would have been very great if I had not been returning immediately to Guernsey. But once there, and in communication with Tardif, I could not believe any danger would threaten Olivia from which I could not protect or rescue her. She was of age, and had a right to act for herself. With two such friends as Tardif and me, no one could force her away from her chosen home. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. HOME AGAIN. My mother was looking out for me when I reached home the next morning. I had taken a car from the pier-head to avoid meeting any acquaintances; and hers was almost the first familiar face I saw. It was pallid with the sickly hue of a confirmed disease, and her eyes were much sunken; but she ran across the room to meet me. I was afraid to touch her, knowing how a careless movement might cause her excruciating pain; but she was oblivious of every thing save my return, and pressed me closer and closer in her arms, with all her failing strength, while I leaned my face down upon her dear head, unable to utter a word. "God is very good to me," sobbed my mother. "Is He?" I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, so forced and altered it was. "Very, very good," she repeated. "He has brought you back to me." "Never to leave you again, mother," I said--"never again!" "No; you will never leave me alone again here," she whispered. "Oh, how I have missed you, my boy!" I made her sit down on the sofa, and sat beside her, while she caressed my hand with her thin and wasted fingers. I must put an end to this, if I was to maintain my self-control. "Mother," I said, "you forget that I have been on the sea all night, and have not had my breakfast yet." "The old cry, Martin," she answered, smiling. "Well, you shall have your breakfast here, and I will wait upon you once more." I watched her furtively as she moved about, not with her usual quick and light movements, but with a slow and cautious tread. It was part of my anguish to know, as only a medical man can know, how every step was a fresh pang to her. She sat down with me at the table, though I would not suffer her to pour out my coffee, as she wished to do. There was a divine smile upon her face; yet beneath it there was an indication of constant and terrible pain, in the sunken eyes and drawn lips. It was useless to attempt to eat with that smiling face opposite me. I drank thirstily, but I could not swallow a crumb. She knew what it meant, and her eyes were fastened upon me with a heart-breaking expression. That mockery of a meal over, she permitted me to lay her down on the sofa, almost as submissively as a tired child, and to cover her with an eider-down quilt; for her malady made her shiver with its deadly coldness, while she could not bear any weight upon her. My father was gone out, and would not be back before evening. The whole day lay before us; I should have my mother entirely to myself.