I became calmer in about an hour, and arose, and went into the front kitchen. My mother was seated at the window, employed at her needle; and, as she raised her eyes, I perceived they were red with weeping. I walked slowly towards her, and stood by her side.
"Mother!" I said, in a low and tremulous voice.
"Well, John; I hope you are a good boy now?"
"Mother!" I repeated, "you don't know how you have hurt me."
"I am sorry I struck you so hard, child; I did not mean to do it;" and she averted her head.
"Not that—not that!" I cried passionately, beating my bosom with my clenched hands. "It's here, mother—here. I told you the truth, and you would not believe me."
"Mr. Ward has returned now," said my mother; "I will go ask him;" and she arose.
I caught her by the gown. "Oh, mother!" I said, "this is the second time you would not believe me. You shall not go to Mr. Ward yet!" and I drew her into the seat. "Say first that you are sorry for it—only a word. Oh, do say it!"
As I looked up, I saw the tears gathering in her eyes. I fell upon my knees, and hid my face in her lap. "No, no; don't say anything now to me—don't—don't!" A spasm rose from my chest into my throat, and I fell senseless at her feet.