"Yes," he replied. "He's Member of Parliament now."
"But never mind," was her reply. "It's coming, Paul. It's coming!" And then, looking straight into his eyes, she said, "You've not told me all yet, my lad."
"What can there be more to tell?" he said.
"Ay, Paul. I'm a woman, I'm a woman, and I know how laddies feel. There's a lass somewhere. Tell me about her. Nay, I'm not jealous. I know it must be so, it ought to be so, because each lad must have his lass. Only tell me about her!"
"It's a poor story, mother," he said. "And I think I hate my lassie as much as I love her. And I've scarcely ever spoken to her. Besides——"
"Besides what, Paul?"
"Well, you see," he replied, "she's the daughter of Mr. Bolitho, the man who's worsted me in everything. It was he who sent me to Strangeways Gaol. It was he who blackened my name. It was he who beat me in the fight! And I love her and hate her at the same time!"
There was a silence for some time and Paul saw that her face was dark with anger.
"And have you ever spoken to her?" she asked. "Does she know what you feel? Forgive me for asking, Paul, but I've been thinking about all these things through the years, and wondering about them down there in the lonely farm. For I've had scarcely anyone to speak to. My one thought and my one comfort has been you! And I've said to myself, 'He's a young man now, and, like all young men, he'll love his lass.' I'm your mother, Paul, and I think I can see into your heart. Have you ever spoken to her?"
It seemed as though all the barriers of the past were broken down. He had thought never to mention his secret to anyone, and yet he found himself speaking freely.