His bed had not been slept in. “Been? There was something I had to do. No time during the day. So I've just got it done before——” “Where have you been?” said Mrs. Teesdale. The young man stared. His mother had repeated the question thrice, each time in exactly the same tone, without raising her voice or moving a muscle as she stood on the threshold, with the brass door-handle still between her fingers. “What business is it of yours, mother?” he said sullenly. “Surely to goodness I'm old enough to do what I like? I'm not what you'd exactly call a boy.” “You are my boy. Where have you been?” “In Melbourne—since you so very much want to know.” He had lost patience, and adopted defiance. “I was sure of it,” said Mrs. Teesdale, coming into the room now, and quietly shutting the door behind her. “I was sure of it.” Then, very slowly and deliberately, she raised her left arm, until one lean finger pointed to the wall at his left, and through that wall, as it were, into the room which had been occupied by each of the two visitors. Her eyes flashed into her son's. The lean finger trembled. But she said no word. “What does that mean?” he asked at last, with an uneasy laugh. “You have been—with—that woman!” “I wish I had,” said John William. “You have!” cried his mother. “I have not. With her? Why, I haven't set eyes on her since the day you took and—the day she left us,” said the angered man, ending quietly. “Then what have you been doing?” “I have been looking for her.” “For that woman?” “Yes.” “Looking in Melbourne?” “Yes.” “In the streets?—in the streets?” “Yes.” “And you have never seen her since——” “Never.” “But this isn't the first time! You've been looking night after night! So that's why you ran up them other horses? That's why you're half dead unless you get some sleep of afternoons?” “Mother,” he said, “it is.” “Oh, my God!” cried Mrs. Teesdale, reeling, and breaking down very suddenly. “Oh, my God!” In an instant strong arms were round her; but she would not have them; she freed herself and sat down on the chair that was by the bedside, warding him off with one hand while with the other she covered her face. It cut him to the heart to hear her sobs; to note the tears trickling through the old fingers, gnarled and knotted by a long life of hard work; to see the light strong frame, that had seemed all bone and muscle, like a hawk, so shaken. But because of her other hand, which forbade him to touch her, he could only stand aloof with his beard upon his chest and his thick arms folded. At length she calmed herself; and sat looking up at him with both hands in her lap. Her poor feet were bare; he had snatched a pillow from the bed and pushed it under them while she was still beside herself; and now, when she saw what he had done, she looked at him more kindly; and when she spoke, her voice was softer than ever he had heard it, boy or man. “John William, you must give this up.”