about."

"I wish you'd let me do your thinking for you, Paul." And Paul almost
shuddered as he saw the look in her eyes. "You think I'm a weak
woman," she went on. "You think I know nothing, and can do nothing.
But you're mistaken, my boy. I know a great deal, and can do a great
deal."

She reached towards him, and put her arms round his neck. "Oh, my lad,
my lad!" she said. "You're the only thing I love. All through those
long years in Cornwall I had nothing to brighten my life but the
thought of you. I had only one thing to live for and to hope for, and
that was your happiness; and you shall have it. All that you hope for,
Paul--all that you hope for shall come to pass. Sometimes a weak,
ignorant woman can do more than a clever man; and you're clever. Oh,
yes, you are! You've got into Parliament, and you'll make a name in
the world; but you haven't found the things you started out to find.
You haven't got your rightful name. But you shall have everything,
Paul: you shall have revenge, and you shall have love; and I, your
mother, will give it you. As for that man Wilson, never fear, Paul,
you shall have your revenge!"

"What do you mean, mother?"

"I mean all I say, Paul; never fear. But you want to be alone now, so
I'll go and leave you."

As she went towards the door, he heard her muttering something about
Howden Clough, but he did not pay much attention to her; his mind was
too full of other things.

She closed the door behind her, and left him to his thoughts. He went
into the lavatory and bathed his face, and as he looked at the wound on
his temple a curious smile played around his lips. Presently he went
back to his study again, and sat for hours brooding and planning,
Murder was in his heart. "And they talk of God," he said. "They talk
of a beneficent Providence that controls all and arranges all! A man
has to be his own Providence. He has to shape his own destiny. He has
to fight his own battles."

It was nearly midnight when at length he rose to his feet. His mind
seemed to be made up as to what he intended to do. His course was
mapped out. "Why, it's nearly twelve o'clock," he said. "And mother
has not come to bid me 'Good-night.' I wonder why." He left the room,
and found that the house was in absolute silence. All the lights were
turned out; the ticking of an eight-day clock in the hall sounded
clearly in the silence of the night. "I'll go up into her room," he
said.