She noticed that his steps were weak and slow, felt that his hands were like ice, and saw his blue lips and chattering teeth. She removed the strange cloak, placed her chair in front of the fire, seated him in it, and then knelt upon the floor to draw off his stiff, sodden top-boots. He was passive as a child in her hands. Her care for him overcame all other dread, and not until she had placed his feet upon a stool, in the full warmth of the blaze, given him a glass of hot wine and lavender, and placed a pillow under his head, did she sit down at his side to hear the story. “I thought of this, last night,” he said, with a faint smile; “not that I ever expected to see it. The man was right; it's a mercy of God that I ever got out alive!” “Then be grateful to God, my boy!” she replied, “and let me be grateful, too. It will balance misfortune,--for that there it misfortune in store for us. I see plainly.” Gilbert then spoke. The narrative was long and painful, and he told it wearily and brokenly, yet with entire truth, disguising nothing of the evil that had come upon them. His mother sat beside him, pale, stony, stifling the sobs that rose in her throat, until he reached the period of his marvellous rescue, when she bent her head upon his arm and wept aloud. “That's all, mother!” he said at the close; “it's hard to bear, but I'm more troubled on your account than on my own.” “Oh, I feared we were over-sure!” she cried. “I claimed payment before it was ready. The Lord chooses His own time, and punishes them that can't wait for His ways to be manifest! It's terribly hard; and yet, while His left hand smites, His right hand gives mercy! He might ha' taken you, my boy, but He makes a miracle to save you for me!” When she had outwept her passionate tumult of feeling, she grew composed and serene. “Haven't I yet learned to be patient, in all these years?” she said. “Haven't I sworn to work out with open eyes the work I took in blindness? And after waiting twenty-five years, am I to murmur at another year or two? No, Gilbert! It's to be done; I _will_ deserve my justice! Keep your courage, my boy; be brave and patient, and the sight of you will hold me from breaking down!” She arose, felt his hands and feet, set his pillow aright, and then stooped and kissed him. His chills had ceased; a feeling of heavy, helpless languor crept over him. “Let Sam see to Roger, mother!” he murmured. “Tell him not to spare the oats.” “I'd feed him with my own hands, Gilbert, if I could leave you. I'd put fine wheat-bread into his manger, and wrap him in blankets off my own bed! To think that Roger,--that I didn't want you to buy,--Lord forgive me, I was advising your own death!”