lish enough to trust and
love you, if you would have done that!

I left her by the fire, and went to my mother's room.

IX

If you have ever felt the heartache, you will know what I suffered in
secret when my mother took my hand, and said, "I am sorry, Francis, that
your night's rest has been disturbed through _me_." I gave her the
medicine; and I waited by her till the pains abated. My aunt Chance went
back to her bed; and my mother and I were left alone. I noticed that her
writing-desk, moved from its customary place, was on the bed by her side.
She saw me looking at it. "This is your birthday, Francis," she said.
"Have you anything to tell me?" I had so completely forgotten my Dream,
that I had no notion of what was passing in her mind when she said those
words. For a moment there was a guilty fear in me that she suspected
something. I turned away my face, and said, "No, mother; I have nothing to
tell." She signed to me to stoop down over the pillow and kiss her. "God
bless you, my love!" she said; "and many happy returns of the day." She
patted my hand, and closed her weary eyes, and, little by little, fell off
peaceably into sleep.

I stole downstairs again. I think the good influence of my mother must
have followed me down. At any rate, this is true: I stopped with my hand
on the closed kitchen door, and said to myself: "Suppose I leave the
house, and leave the village, without seeing her or speaking to her more?"

Should I really have fled from temptation in this way, if I had been left
to myself to decide? Who can tell? As things were, I was not left to
decide. While my doubt was in my mind, she heard me, and opened the
kitchen door. My eyes and her eyes met. That ended it.

We were together, unsuspected and undisturbed, for the next two hours.
Time enough for her to reveal the secret of her wasted life. Time enough
for her to take possession of me as her own, to do with me as she liked.
It is needless to dwell here on the misfortunes which had brought her
low; they are misfortunes too common to interest anybody.

Her name was Alicia Warlock. She had been born and bred a lady. She had
lost her station, her character, and her friends. Virtue shuddered at the
sight of her; and Vice had got her for the rest of her days. Shocking and
common, as I told you. It made no difference to _me_. I have said it
already--I say it again--I was a man bewitched. Is there anything so very
wonderful in that? Just remember