"No. She is fretting. She ought to fret. I gave her some soothing medicine. I am not sure I did right."
"O Sewell, what shall I do?"
"Go to Madame Hatton. She is a good, wise woman. She is not in love with her daughter-in-law, but she is as just as women ever are. She will give you far better counsel than a mere man can offer you."
So late as it was, John rode up to Hatton Hall. It had begun to rain but he heeded not any physical discomfort. Still he had a pleasant feeling when he saw the blaze of Hatton hearthfire brightening the dark shadows of the dripping trees. And he suddenly sent his boyish "hello" before him, so it was Mrs. Hatton herself who opened the big hall door, who stood in the glow of the hall lamp to welcome him, and who between laughing and scolding sent him to his old room to change his wet clothing.
He came back to her with a smile and a dry coat, saying, "Dear mother, you keep all the same up
stairs. There isn't pin nor paper moved since I left my room."
"Of course I keep all the same. I would feel very lonely if I hadn't thy room and Harry's to look into. They are not always empty. Sometimes I feel as if you might be there, and Oh but I am happy, when I do so! I just say a 'good morning' or a 'good night' and shut the door. It is a queer thing, John."
"What is queer, mother?"
"That feeling of 'presence.' But whatever brings thee here at this time of night? and it raining, too, as if there was an ark to float!"
"Well, mother, there is in a way. I am in trouble."