“And of that I am not conscious,” he answered, emphatically, in his bitterness. “Father! I would lay down my life to shield you from care! think of me as favourably as you can.”
“You will not make me your full confidant?”
“I wish I could! I wish I could!”
He wrung his father’s hand, and turned to his mother, halting before her. Would she give him her good-night kiss?
Would she? Did a fond mother ever turn against her child? To the prison, to the scaffold, down to the very depths of obloquy and scorn, a loving mother clings to her son. All else may forsake; but she, never, be he what he will. Mrs. Channing drew his face to hers, and burst into sobs as she sheltered it on her bosom.
“You will have faith in me, my darling mother!”
The words were spoken in the softest whisper. He kissed her tenderly, and hastened from the room, not trusting himself to say good night to Constance. In the hall he was waylaid by Judith.
“Master Arthur, it isn’t true?”
“Of course it is not true, Judith. Don’t you know me better?”
“What an old oaf I am for asking, to be sure! Didn’t I nurse him, and haven’t I watched him grow up, and don’t I know my own boys yet?” she added to herself, but speaking aloud.