“Who forgave you the little faults of youth, before you could ask pardon?”
“My mother! Oh, mother, I ask pardon now for all the trouble I ever gave the best, the dearest, the tenderest of mothers.”
“Who will go home to Newcastle, a broken-hearted woman, with the one hope gone that has kept her up in poverty and sorrow so many weary years, if this goes on?”
“Nobody, I hope.”
“Yes, Charles; your mother.”
“Oh, mother; you have been always my best friend.”
“And am this day.”
“Do not be my worst enemy now. It is for me to obey you; but it is for you to think well before you drive me to despair.”
And the poor womanish heart leaned his head on the table, and began to sorrow over his hard fate.
Mrs. Gatty soothed him. “It need not be done all in a moment. It must be done kindly, but firmly. I will give you as much time as you like.”