“It’s very strange,” said Dick, troubled; “and somehow _I_ feel for him as I never felt for anybody else. You knew his--father----?” “I won’t have any questions from you, Dick,” she cried passionately, rising from her chair. “I told you I knew his--people. Some time or other I’ll tell you how I knew them; but not now.” “I wonder does he know anything about it,” said Dick, speaking more to himself than her. “It’s very strange; he said he thought you were a lady, mother; and that he had seen you before----” “Did he? God bless him!” cried the woman, surprised by sudden tears. “But I ain’t a lady--I ain’t a lady,” she added, under her breath; “he was wrong there.” “You have some lady ways, mother, now and again,” said Dick, pondering. “It _is_ strange. If you knew his people, as you say, does he know?” “Not a word, Dick, and he mustn’t know. Remember, if it was my last word--_he_ mustn’t know! Promise me you’ll not speak. If he knew and they knew--they’d--I don’t know what they mightn’t do. Dick, you will never betray your mother?--you will never--never----” “Hush, mother dear; you are worrying yourself for nothing,” said her gentle boy. “If there’s nothing wrong, what could they or anybody do? Of course, I won’t say a word. All the safer,” he added, with a laugh, “because I don’t know what words to say. When you keep me dark, mother, I can’t give out any light to other people, can I? It’s the surest way.” She took no notice of this implied reproof, the most severe that had ever come from Dick’s gentle lips. She was another creature altogether from the languid woman whom he had found sitting there in the midst of the untidy room. A new light had come into her eyes--all her stupor and weariness were over. Dick was startled, and he was a trifle hurt at the same time, which was natural enough. If there had been any material for jealousy in him, I think it must have developed at that moment--for all his love had not called forth from his mother one tittle of the feeling which to all appearance an utter stranger awoke. Dick sighed, but his nature was not in the smallest degree self-contemplative; and he shook the momentary feeling away ere it had time to take form. “If I can get leave, I’ll go up to Oxford and see about it to-morrow,” he said. When he had come to this conclusion, he went towards the door to return to his work, leaving her active and revived, both in mind and body. But he stopped before he reached it, and turned back. “Mother,” he said, with a little solemnity, “Mr Ross will be only about two years at Oxford. What shall we do when he goes away? We cannot follow him about wherever he goes.” “God knows,” she said, stopping short in her sweeping. “Perhaps the world may end before then; perhaps----. We can’t tell,” she added solemnly, bowing her head as if to supreme destiny, “what may happen any day or any year. It’s all in God’s hand.”