He went to the manse in the gloaming to tell them how he had seen the last of Marjorie, how she had been happy and bright, and how she had promised to write a letter to him and to many more; but he never mentioned Allison’s name, Mrs Hume noticed, nor did she.
He found his mother sitting by the light of the fire. She gave him her usual greeting.
“Well, John?” said she, cheerfully.
“Well, mother?” said he cheerfully also.
There was not much more said for a while. John’s thoughts were faraway, his mother saw, and she sat waiting with patience till they should come back again—with a patience which might have failed at last.
“He maybe needs a sharp word,” she thought.
It could wait, however; and in a little she said gently:
“You are looking tired, John; you have been overworking yourself, I doubt.”
John laughed.
“Oh! no, mother; far from that. I have plenty of work before me, however, and must buckle to it with a will. You are thinking of coming with me, mother? I hope your heart is not failing you at the thought of the change?”