‘And what sort of a heart should I have if I let him elude me?’ said John. ‘No, if you would stand my friend, you must find him out for me. I am going abroad. I am leaving England--for good.’ ‘Is it for good?’ said Mrs. Montressor. ‘Oh, I’m afraid it’s for bad, my poor boy.’ ‘I hope not,’ said John, steadily, ‘at all events it’s all the good that is left me. And I cannot go without him. Tell Montressor, for God’s sake, if he wants to stand my friend, to bring my father to me, or send me his address.’ It took him some time to convince her, but he succeeded, or seemed to succeed, at last. And he went away, not at all sure that the object of his search was not shut up behind the door which Mrs. Montressor guarded so carefully. He resumed his thoughts where he had dropped them, as he went down again the same dark and dingy stairs; they seemed to wait for him just at the point at which he had left off. The very first night! he almost laughed when he thought of it: and then he began to account to himself for that meeting, following up the course of events to the time of his first acquaintance with Joe. He went back upon this carelessly enough, remembering the man in the foundry at Liverpool, and before that, before that---- John started so violently that he slipped down half-a-dozen steps at the bottom of the stairs, and a sort of stupor seized his brain till he got into the open air and walked it off. There came before him like a picture the evening walk with Mr. Cattley, the tumult outside the ‘Green Man,’ the half-drunken tramp who wanted some woman of the name of May. Good God! was he so near the discovery then, and yet had no notion of it! He remembered the very attitude of the man sitting with his back against the wall, maundering on in his hoarse tones, half-drunk, muddled yet obstinate, about his mate’s wife and the news he was bringing. Could it be his mother--_his mother!_ the fellow was seeking all the time: and had he got thus closely on the scent from some vague information about the change of habitation made by his grandparents? How strange all seemed, how impossible, and yet how natural! And to think of the boy going gravely by, disgusted yet half-amused, with his lantern, looking down from such immense heights of boyish immaculateness upon the wretched, degraded creature who played the helot’s part before him, and called forth his boyish abstract protest against the cruelty of the classic moralists who thus essayed to teach their children by the degradation of others. It all came before him, every step of the road, the aspect of everything, every word almost that had passed between Mr. Cattley and himself. And all this time it was himself whom Joe was seeking, and at last--at last--his message had come home! He seemed to be gazing at the village street, and that first act of the tragedy played upon it, with a smile to himself at the strange, amazing, incredible, yet still and always so natural--oh, so