"Do you know what you are asking, Harry? A thousand pounds would run Hatton Hall for a year."
"I have to live decently, I suppose."
With these words he left the mill and went at once to the Hall. Mrs. Hatton was in the garden, tying up some straying branches of honeysuckle. At her feet were great masses of snowdrops tall and white among moss and ivy, and the brown earthen beds around were cloth of gold with splendid crocus flowers; but beyond these things, she saw her son
as soon as he reached the gate. And she called him by his name full and heartily and stood with open arms to receive him.
Harry plunged at once into his dilemma. "Mother! Mother!" he cried, taking both her hands in his. "Mother, John is angry with me, but you will stand by me, I know you will. It is about Lucy, mother. I found her in great trouble, and I took her out of it. Don't say I did wrong, mother. Stand by me—you always have done so."
"You took her out of it! Do you mean that you married her?"
"How else could I help her? She is my wife now, and I will take care that no one troubles her. May I bring her to see you, mother?"
Mrs. Hatton stood looking at Harry. It was difficult for her to take in and believe what she heard, but in a few moments she said,
"Where is she?"
"At the little hotel in the village."