"Where's my mother?"
"Over the hills, somewhere, after that man of hers. He's like a bad child: runs for the pleasure he gets in seeing her follow, I believe."
"Was he drunk?" he asked, and looking round, he saw a tragedy in every shadow.
"He'd been drinking. She sent for me."
His look sharpened. "For the first time?"
"The third," she owned.
"It's like that?"
"You see, there've been long years of it."
"I know! Do I not know!"
"He slept till morning, but when the light came he went, and she after him. It's oftenest at night he goes, and then she cannot always follow. It's bad, Alexander. You'll not be leaving her again? Or will you?"