"Is it true? Are you really my mother? But you are ill; don't try to speak. Let me help you up to the porch; you can hardly stand."
He put his arm round her and guided her faltering steps to the porch, followed by the distracted Lily, who felt as if walking in her sleep. In the porch, there was a broad stone seat, on which Fred placed his mother; he knelt beside her, and said—
"Is it true that you are really my mother?—the 'muddie' for whom Frank and I fretted so—to find when we ran away? From whom we escaped, I cannot remember. I only recall an angry, cruel face. For pity's sake, tell me who you are."
"I am surely your mother, my son. You always called me 'muddie.' Come here, Lily; this is your brother Fred. Why, where has the child gone?"
For Lily, having caught sight of her father and Dr. Wentworth at the door of the Cygnet, had run down the steps to the gate, and across the road to her father's side.
"Father," she cried, "we have found him! Mother and I, up there. Come, I will show you the way."
"Lily, tell me—does my poor Janet know that Frank is dead?"
"I think she does. It was a little grave, all over flowers—and then he came round the church. I did not quite understand, but mother did."
"It must have been the inscription that I told you of: she understood, no doubt. Tell her the exact words were, 'Tell muddie that I took care of Fred.' Mr. Rayburn, in finding Fred you've found a good and noble son; but little Frank was a hero and a martyr, to my mind."
"He was his mother's son," was the answer.