ld not dry; remonstrances that
would worry him, but could not shake him.

This young man, who had just screwed his physical courage up to defy the
redoubtable Unions had a fit of moral cowardice, and was so reluctant to
encounter the gentlest woman in England, that he dined at a chop-house,
and then sauntered into a music hall, and did not get home till past
ten, meaning to say a few kind, hurried words, then yawn, and slip to
bed.

But, meantime, Mrs. Little's mind had not been idle. She had long
divined a young rival in her son's heart, and many a little pang of
jealousy had traversed her own. This morning, with a quickness which may
seem remarkable to those who have not observed the watchful keenness
of maternal love, she had seen that her rival had worked upon Henry to
resign his declared intention of leaving Hillsborough. Then she felt her
way, and, in a moment, she had found the younger woman was the stronger.

She assumed as a matter of course, that this girl was in love with Henry
(who would not be in love with him?), and had hung, weeping, round his
neck, when he called from Cairnhope to bid her farewell, and had made
him promise to stay. This was the mother's theory; wrong, but rational.

Then came the question, What should she do? Fight against youth and
nature? Fight, unlikely to succeed, sure to irritate and disturb. Risk
any of that rare affection and confidence her son had always given her?

While her thoughts ran this way, seven o'clock came, and no Henry. Eight
o'clock, and no Henry. "Ah!" thought the mother, "that one word of mine
has had this effect already."

She prepared an exquisite little supper. She made her own toilet with
particular care; and, when all was ready, she sat down and comforted
herself by reading his letters, and comparing his love with the cavalier
behavior of so many sons in this island, the most unfilial country in
Europe.

At half past ten Henry came up the stairs, not with the usual light
elastic tread, but with slow, hesitating foot. Her quick ear caught
that too, and her gentle bosom yearned. What, had she frightened him? He
opened the door, and she rose to receive him all smiles. "You are rather
late, dear," she said; "but all the better. It has given me an excuse
for reading your dear letters all over again; and I have a thousand
questions to ask you about Cairnhope. But sit down first, and have your
supper."

Henry brightened up, and ate a good supper, and his mot