s
aware, Ella," he added, in a low voice, "that our friend Noah is his
son."

"Indeed!" she cried, in surprise; "that accounts for the affection we
both felt for him when a boy,--the interest we feel for him still."

"I wish I was more deserving of your good opinion," I said. "But believe
me, Mrs. Manners, I shall retain, during my life, a grateful remembrance
of your kindness."

I lifted my hat with profound respect, and looked long and sadly upon
her. It was for the last time; for she followed her husband to India,
and I never saw her again. Then whistling to my dogs, I pursued my
solitary way.

CHAPTER XXI.

MY MOTHER AND THE SQUIRE.

From that hour I became a prey to constant remorse. My health declined,
and my mother at last remarked the change in my appearance; but at that
time I am certain she had no idea of the cause.

"Noah," said she, one night, as we were crouching over the fire, for it
was winter, and very cold,--"you are much changed of late. You look ill,
and out of spirits; you eat little, and speak less. My dear son, what in
the world ails you?"

"I am tired of this place, Mother. I should like to sell off, and go to
America."

"And leave me for ever?"

"You, of course, would go with me."

"Never!" said my mother, emphatically. "Of all places in the world, I
cannot go there."

I looked up inquiringly.

"I will give you my reasons," she continued. "Listen to me, Noah. I have
never told you anything about myself; but, before I die, it is only
right that you should know all. My husband, whose name you bear, is
not, to my knowledge, dead. If living, he is in America."

"Oh, that I had been his son!" I groaned; "but, Mother,
proceed--proceed."

"To make matters intelligible to you, it is necessary that I should go
back to my early days. I was the only child of a poor shoemaker in St.
Alban's. My father was reckoned a good hand at his trade, but he was
sadly addicted to drink. For ten years before he died, I never remember
his going one night to his bed sober. My poor mother was a neat, quiet
little woman, who did all in her power to keep things straight. But
first one piece of household furniture went, and then another, until we
were left with bare walls and an empty cupboard.

"'Annie,' said my mother, 'this won't do. You must go out and work for
your living: you cannot stay at home and starve.'

"'And you, Mother?'

"'God will take care of me, my child. I cannot leave your