My luggage had already been taken up and the maid showed me the way to my room. On the stairs we met Mr. Gould. “It is all right,” he said in a low voice, “I have just come from my mother’s room. She is overjoyed. You will see her this evening.” He paused and added, “And have you heard the worst of me?” “Not yet,” I said. “That will come.” Then he guessed how much I knew, and hated me almost as much as I hated him. The maid who was unpacking for me asked me if I would lunch downstairs with Mr. Gould, or if I preferred to lunch in my own room. It is always well to get to know one’s enemy, and I did not hesitate. A few minutes later I was sitting down to lunch alone with a man whom two hours before I had never seen in my life, and of whom I now knew very little, and nothing which was not dead against him. He was really very clever. He hardly spoke of his mother at all, he was quiet in his manner, and showed himself most attentive to my personal comfort. I was not to consider myself a prisoner at all. I could have the brougham that afternoon and go anywhere I liked. If it was convenient to me to be back at six o’clock, that would be the best time for me to see his mother. But if not, some other arrangement might be made. Did I like the room that had been given me? If not, it could be changed. There was another little room just opposite to it in the same passage, which was being got ready to serve as a private sitting-room for me. I thanked him, and said I was not going out. Turning the conversation away from myself, I made him talk to me about his half-sister. He talked about her in the most easy and matter-of-fact way. I do not suppose he ever cared for her or for anybody except himself. All the same, the information that I got as to minute points of her personal appearance and her manner of speaking were very useful. At six o’clock I was quite ready. Mr. Gould now seemed a little nervous and excited. He kept on giving me fragments of stupid advice and telling me things that he had told me before. The interview was to be a very short one, and the doctor and the nurse were both in the dimly lit room when I entered it, though they stood at some distance from the bed. On the bed lay the dying woman--a handsome old Jewess, with white-yellow skin of one even tint, colourless lips, and blazing eyes. I went straight up to the bed and took her claw of a hand and bent over her and kissed her. She spoke in a very low voice, and I just caught the words, “Thought I’d lost you.” “No,” I said, “I’m here, and I will not leave you again until you get better.” Her eyes closed and opened again and fixed themselves on me. “Pray for me,” she said.