e you not come to me before this?' Mrs. Eldon asked when her son
had seated himself, with his eyes turned upon the fire.

'I was unable to, mother. I have been ill.'

She cast a glance at him. There was no doubting the truth of what he
said; at this moment he looked feeble and pain-worn.

'Where did your illness come upon you?' she asked, her tone unsoftened.

'In Germany. I started only a few hours after receiving the letter in
which you told me of the death.'

'My other letters you paid no heed to?'

'I could not reply to them.'

He spoke after hesitation, but firmly, as one does who has something to
brave out.

'It would have been better for you if you had been able, Hubert. Your
refusal has best you dear.'

He looked up inquiringly.

'Mr. Mutimer,' his mother continued, a tremor in her voice, 'destroyed
his will a day or two before he died.'

Hubert said nothing. His fingers, looked together before him, twitched a
little; his face gave no sign.

'Had you come to me at once,' Mrs. Eldon pursued, 'had you listened
to my entreaties, to my commands'--her voice rang right queenly--'this
would not have happened. Mr. Mutimer behaved as generously as he always
has. As soon as there came to him certain news of you, he told me
everything. I refused to believe what people were saying, and he too
wished to do so. He would not write to you himself; there was one all
sufficient test, he held, and that was a summons from your mother. It
was a test of your honour, Hubert--and you failed under it.'

He made no answer.

'You received my letters?' she went on to ask. 'I heard you had gone
from England, and could only hope your letters would be forwarded. Did
you get them?'

'With the delay of only a day or two.'

'And deliberately you put me aside?'

'I did.'

She looked at him now for several moments. Her eyes grew moist. Then she
resumed, in a lower voice--

'I said nothing of what was at stake, though I knew. Mr. Mutimer was
perfectly open with me. "I have trusted him implicitly," he said,
"because I believe him as staunch and true as his brother. I make no
allowances for what are called young man's follies: he must be above
anything of that kind. If he is not--well, I have been mistaken in
him, and I can't deal with him as I wish to do." You know what he was,
Hubert, and you can imagine him speaking those words. We waited. The bad
news was confirmed, and from you there came nothing. I would not hint at
th