“And then he struck me over the face with his glove, mother, and I couldn’t stand that, and I hit out, and sent him staggering against the wall.”
“Why?—what for?” insisted Lady Gowan.
“And in a moment he whipped out his sword and attacked me, and of course I had to draw, or he would have run me through.”
“Is that true, sir—Andrew Forbes drew on you first?”
“Of course it’s true, mother,” said the lad proudly. “Did I ever tell you a lie?”
“Never, my boy,” said Lady Gowan firmly. “It has been my proud boast to myself that I could trust my son in everything.”
“Then why did you ask me in that doubting way if it was true?”
“Because my son is prevaricating with me, and speaking in a strange, evasive way. He never spoke to me like that before. Do you think me blind, Frank? Do you think that I, upon whom your tiny eyes first opened—your mother, who has watched you with all a mother’s love from your birth, cannot read every change in your countenance? Do you think I cannot see that you are fighting hard to keep something back?—you, whom I have always been so proud to think were as frank by nature as you are by name? Come, be honest with me. You are hiding something from me?”
“Yes, mother,” cried the lad, throwing back his head and speaking defiantly now, “I am.”
“Then tell me what it is at once. I am your mother, from whom nothing should be hid. If the matter is one for which you feel shame, if it is some wrong-doing, the more reason that you should come to me, my boy, and confide in me, that I may take you once again to my heart, and kneel with you, that we may together pray for forgiveness and the strength to be given to save you from such another sin.”