by curiosity or compassion. I was
beginning to feel hardened to the painful task, and answered their eager
inquiries without changing countenance, or betraying more than a decent
emotion on the melancholy occasion.

CHAPTER XIX.

MY MOTHER.

I was relieved from my embarrassing situation by a message from my
mother. She was ill, and wished to see me, begging me to return home
without a moment's delay.

"Ah, poor woman! This is a sad judgment--a heavy blow to her. She must
feel this bad enough," said one of the old servants. "Yes, yes, Noah,
lose no time in going home to comfort your mother."

I gazed from one to the other in blank astonishment. They shook their
heads significantly. I hurried away without asking or comprehending what
they meant.

As I walked rapidly home, I pondered over their strange conduct. Beyond
my losing my situation of gamekeeper and porter to the lodge, I could
not see in what way the death of Mr. Carlos should so terribly affect my
mother, without she suspected that I was his murderer. Guilt is
naturally timid; but my plans had been laid with such caution and
secrecy, and carried out so well, that it was almost next to an
impossibility for her to suspect a thing in itself so monstrously
improbable.

The murder had been an impulsive, not a premeditated act.
Four-and-twenty hours ago I would have shot the man who could have
thought me capable of perpetrating such a deed.

The clocks in the village were striking eight when I entered the lodge.
My mother was sitting in her easy chair, supported by pillows. Her face
was deathly pale, and she had been crying violently. Two women, our
nearest neighbours, were standing by her side, bathing her wrists and
temples with hartshorn.

"Oh, Noe," exclaimed Mrs. Jones, "I'm glad thee be come to thy mother.
She hath been in fits ever since she heard the dreadful news."

"We could not persuade her that you were safe," said Mrs. Smith. "She
will be content when she sees you herself."

"Mother,"--and I went up to her and kissed her rigid brow--"are you
better now?"

She took my hand and clasped it tightly between her own, but made no
reply. Her face became convulsed, the tears flowed over her cheeks like
rain, and she fainted in my arms.

"She is dying!" screamed both women.

"She will be better presently," I said. "Open the window--give me a
glass of water! There--there, she is coming to! Speak to me, dear
Mother!"

"Is it true, Noah?"