'She is gone over to Mrs Craven, who is very bad--believed to be dying. I do not expect her to be back for an hour or two. Mrs Craven has been a great sufferer while you have been away. The doctor says she may die at any moment. Mr Craven is greatly to be pitied.' 'As you may guess, mother, I have not come for nothing. I wish to speak with you on a matter of importance.' Mrs Osborne took a letter out of her pocket, opened it on her lap, and, holding her finger on the sheet, said quietly,-- 'I got this letter from you, my son, in which you say you have met a lady in London whom you intend making your wife, or proposing marriage to. I daresay it is about that matter you wish to speak with me.' 'It--it is not about that I wish to speak with you now, but another matter of importance.' 'Very well, my son. I thought now you are in Stratford, now you have come back to your old home, you might care to say something to your mother about the lady you are going to make your wife, and about your approaching marriage. George, you are not looking well. I hope you are not breaking bad news to me?' 'No, no, mother. I am quite well, and bear no bad news. You must excuse my not entering upon the--the subject of my--of my mar--of my own affairs just now.' 'I know you too well, my son, to think you act without sufficient reason or judgment, and I am certain you act on good reasons when you do not wish to tell me of this haste--I mean this engagement of yours to a lady who was quite unknown to you, as I understand, a few weeks ago. I cannot help my feelings, for I am your mother. You, of course, are old enough and sensible enough to arrange your marriage yourself; but, as I said, not wishing, my son, to hurt you, I cannot help having a mother's feeling in the matter. You are my son.' 'Mother, mother, take my word for it I have good reason for not alluding to my own affairs at present. I know it must look very strange to you that I should not open my mind to you on that matter; but, trust me, I have good reason for not doing so just now.' 'You say no more for yourself than I say for you. Do not for a moment think I am suspecting you of having poor reasons for your silence. When you asked Kate to go up to London, I said,--"We know George has always good reasons for what he does and says." I say so still. I think it a little strange you should ask Kate up to London--say you wanted her most particularly--become engaged to a strange lady, and then come home saying, "I have nothing to tell you about my own marriage." My son, I do not blame or reproach you. I have the fullest faith in your good sense and judgment, but good sense and judgment are not feeling, and you are my son.' He was sitting in front of her, at the opposite side of the table on which Tillotson lay. He dropped his head on his hand, and, turning his white, worn face to the window, looked out at the bare wet trees standing up in the bare wet winter day.