“All the friend I’ve got in the world, sir, is my old mother, and her I haven’t seen for many a long year.”
Earle thought there was a suspicious huskiness in his voice as he said this, and that a tear dropped on his hand as he turned quickly to look out of the window; but he might have been mistaken, and the man was still very weak after his long illness, and tears come unbidden at such a time.
“Your mother! Have you a mother living?”
“Yes, sir, as good a woman as ever drew breath,” Tom said, heartily.
“Who was that woman you had at the hotel in New York?” Earle asked.
“That was one of—the profession. She was nothing to me, and I paid her well for that job. I—I——”
“Well?” Earle said, encouragingly, as he saw Tom evidently had something on his mind, and did not know just how to get rid of it.
“I ain’t usually very white-livered nor tender-hearted, sir. I never thought I was thin-skinned; but—I—I want to tell you that that rascally business about the young lady has laid heavily on my mind this many a day. She was a—particular friend o’ yours, weren’t she?”
“Yes,” Earle said, with a heavy sigh.
Tom Drake started at the sound, and shot an anxious glance at him, while he grew, if possible, paler than he was before.