know and understand." I had hardly spoken the words, when I would have given worlds to recall them--but it was to be--and it was. Sternly she looked at me full in the face, till my eyes dropped before her gaze. Then she spoke steadily and slowly: "Leave this house this moment. You are no son of mine henceforward. Do you think I will have my daughter polluted by the company of an infidel and a blasphemer?" "I will go," I answered fiercely; "I can get my own living at all events!" And before I had time to think, I had rushed upstairs, packed up my bundle, not forgetting the precious books, and was on my way through the frosty, echoing streets, under the cold glare of the winter's moon. I had gone perhaps half a mile, when the thought of home rushed over me--the little room where I had spent my life--the scene of all my childish joys and sorrows--which I should never see again, for I felt that my departure was for ever. Then I longed to see my mother once again--not to speak to her--for I was at once too proud and too cowardly to do that--but to have a look at her through the window. One look--for all the while, though I was boiling over with rage and indignation, I felt that it was all on the surface--that in the depths of our hearts I loved her and she loved me. And yet I wished to be angry, wished to hate her. Strange contradiction of the flesh and spirit! Hastily and silently I retraced my steps to the house. The gate was padlocked. I cautiously stole over the palings to the window--the shutter was closed and fast. I longed to knock--I lifted my hand to the door, and dare not: indeed, I knew that it was useless, in my dread of my mother's habit of stern determination. That room--that mother I never saw again. I turned away; sickened at heart, I was clambering back again, looking behind me towards the window, when I felt a strong grip on my collar, and turning round, had a policeman's lantern flashed in my face. "Hullo, young'un, and what do you want here?" with a strong emphasis, after the fashion of policemen, on all his pronouns. "Hush! or you'll alarm my mother!" "Oh! eh! Forgot the latch-key, you sucking Don Juan, that's it, is it? Late home from the Victory?" I told him simply how the case stood, and entreated him to get me a night's lodging, assuring him that my mother would not admit me, or I ask to be admitted. The policeman seemed puzzled, but after scratching his hat in lieu of his head for some seconds, replied, "This here is the dodge--you goes outside and lies down on the kerb-stone; whereby I spies you a-sleeping in the streets, contrary to Act o' Parliament; whereby it is my duty to take you to the station-house; whereby you gets a night's lodging free gracious for nothing, and company perwided by her Majesty." "Oh, not to the station-house!" I cried in shame and terror.