the interior of the house, but
Hannah had, and although there were things that needed to be done, there
was less than he had imagined.

"I'm going to be married, Hannah!" he said to her soon after he had
arrived home.

"Are you, now?" she exclaimed.

"Yes. You remember Mr. Graham?..."

"Ay, poor sowl, I mind him ... the nice-spoken, well-behaved lad he
was!..."

"Well, I'm going to marry his sister!"

"It'll be quaren nice to think o' this house havin' a mistress in it
again, an' wee weans, mebbe. I was here, a young girl, when your father
brought your mother home ... I mind it well ... she was a quiet woman,
an' she stud in the hall there as nervous as a child 'til I went forrit
to her, an' said, 'Ye're right an' welcome, ma'am!', an' then she
plucked up her heart, an' she give me a wee bit of a smile, an' said
'Thank ye, Hannah!' for your father told her who I was. An' she used to
come an' talk to me afore you were born ... she was terrible frightened,
poor woman. Ay, she was terrible frightened of havin' you! Your father
couldn't make her out at all. It was a quare pity!"

He let her ramble on, for he wanted now to hear about his mother, of
whom he knew so little. There was a portrait of her in the house, a
fair, slight, timid-looking woman who seemed to be shrinking out of the
frame. It was odd to think that she was his mother, this frightened
woman of whom he had no memory whatever, for whom he had no tender
feeling. He had loved his father deeply, but he had no love for his
mother. How could he feel love for her? He had never known her!... But
now he wanted to know all that Hannah knew about her, for Hannah perhaps
had known more about her than any one. Hannah had cared for her, pitied
her....

"Yes, Hannah!" he said, so that she might proceed.

"She was sure she was goin' to die, an' I had the quare work to keep her
quiet. An' she was terrible feard of dyin'!"

He listened to her with a strange feeling of pain. All that he had
endured at the thought of fighting had been endured by his mother at the
thought of giving him birth. He felt that now, at last, he knew his
mother and could sympathise with her and love her.

"But sure what was the sense of bein' afeard of that," Hannah Went on.
"God wouldn't be hard on the like of her, the poor, innocent woman. I
toul' lies til her, God forgive me, an' let on to her that people made
out that it was worse nor it was to have a child ... but she had a
despert