It was late when Fred was called to his mother, and he went down as timid as a child called to an interview of which it knows nothing, but that it must involve terrific consequences. He had looked at himself anxiously in the glass before he obeyed the summons, wishing that he knew some way of making himself look less pale, his eyes less excited. The girls knew ways of doing this, Fred believed, but he did not know. He plunged his head into cold water to relieve the heaviness and heat he felt, as of something bursting from his forehead; and then he went downstairs, slowly labouring to collect his thoughts to think what he should say. Mrs. Dalyell was in bed, her head with the background of the red curtains looking at the first glance almost ghastly, her face very pale, her eyes excited like his own. She grasped him by both hands and made him sit down by her. The candles were still burning, but a faint glimmer of blue showed between the curtains. She kept holding his hand, but it was a minute or two before she spoke. “Fred, do you know if I said anything? What did I say? What did they tell you? Did they say that I----?” She gasped for breath, and could not finish the sentence, but did so with her eyes and with the pressure of her hand. “I heard nothing, mother, but that you fainted.” She pressed his hand tightly again and said, “I didn’t faint. I let them think so--to conceal--Though I was scarcely conscious of what I was doing, I felt it gleam through me that to let them think I was unconscious was best. But I never was unconscious for a moment, Fred--you understand what I am saying?--nor was I asleep, nor could I have been dreaming. You hear what I am saying, Fred?” “Yes, mother: but don’t, for heaven’s sake, excite yourself; it may make you ill again.” “What will make me ill? I want you to understand. I’ve not been ill, only--that they might have no suspicion. Fred, above all things I want you to understand that I am in my full senses, meaning every word I say.” “Yes, mother,” he said, pressing her hand. She renewed her grip upon it, as if she were holding fast to something lest she should be carried away. “Well!” she said, with a long-drawn breath. Then looking him fall in the eyes as if to defy misunderstanding: “Fred,” she said, “I have seen your father!” “Mother!” he cried. “Hush--this was what I was afraid of--that you would think me out of my senses. Look at me. I am not calm, perhaps, but I am as steady as you are.” (That was not saying much; but absorbed in her own extraordinary sensations, Mrs. Dalyell fortunately did not notice Fred.) “I was not thinking of him, nor even questioning as I sometimes do. I was more quiet than usual: when, just there, where the curtain is, I saw your father!” “You must have been over-excited, mother, though you did not know it. My coming home and the girls’ talk--and all of us making ourselves disagreeable--without knowing it your mind must have----”