"Go to bed," she said. "Go to bed quickly. The maids will be up soon, and they must suspect nothing. Sleep in peace, my boy; your debts shall be paid, paid to the utmost farthing!"
He stooped to kiss her, and she threw her arms wildly round his neck. "Oh, my lad, my lad!" she said; "morning is coming, the morning is coming. There's a God in the Heavens after all! And yet, and yet—— Oh, Paul, I forgot, I forgot! Did I tell you that everything could be? Nothing can be, my boy, nothing! I forgot! I forgot!"
And her voice almost rose to a scream.
"What is it, mother?"
She walked round the room like one demented. "I did not think of that," she said. "I did not think of that. I thought I had made everything plain. I thought, I thought, and now——"
"Tell me, mother, tell me!"
"No, I can't tell you. It would kill you—kill you; and I thought there was a God in the heavens. And there isn't, Paul. There isn't. Only the Devil lives. Oh, my boy! my boy! But leave me, leave me. I must think, I must think. There, go away. Don't trouble about me, Paul. I'm all right, I'm all right. But go away! Go away!" She pushed him out of the room as she spoke, and locked the door behind him.
"She's right in one thing, at all events," said Paul. "I can do no good by staying with her, and I had better go to bed. The servants will be talking, else, and they must know nothing." He threw himself on the bed, and tried to understand all that had taken place. It seemed as though something terrible had happened, some dire calamity had taken place. The world seemed a different place from what it had been a few hours before. Since meeting with Ned Wilson, that had happened which had altered the whole course of his life. The very air seemed laden with terror, the skies were black with doom. It seemed to him as though ravens were croaking, and the church bell tolling for the dead; and then, while trying to drive the black scenes of the night from his mind, it seemed as though his senses became dulled. Everything became unreal. The past might have been blotted out, even those years at St. Mabyn were like a dream, while all the events since were just as a tale that is told. It was simply Nature taking him into her arms, and rocking him on her broad bosom. His strength had given way. The events of the night, his home-coming, his mother's strange behaviour, and the excitement which it all meant had simply worn him out, and now Nature was trying to restore him. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and lay like a log upon his bed. How long he slept he did not know, but presently he heard a sharp knock at the door.
"It's half-past eight o'clock, sir. Are yo noan gettin' up?"
"What?" he cried, half asleep.