There was something about the movements of the merchant for the rest of the day that troubled the young man. It was plain to him that suspicion had been aroused by that letter. Oh, how bitterly now did he repent! How he dreaded discovery and punishment! Exposure would disgrace and ruin him, and bow the head of his widowed mother even to the grave.
That evening at supper, Mrs. Lewis noticed that her son did not eat; and that his face was troubled.
"You are not well," she said "perhaps a rest will make you feel better."
"It's nothing but a headache; I'll lie down on the sofa in the parlor a little while."
Mrs. Lewis followed him into the parlor shortly, and sitting down on the sofa on which he was lying, placed her hand upon his head. Ah, it would take more than the loving pressure of a mother's hand to ease the pain which he was suffering. The touch of that pure hand increased the pain to agony.
"Do you feel better?" asked Mrs. Lewis. She had remained some time with her hand on his forehead.
"Not much," he replied; "I think a walk in the open air will do me good," he added, rising.
"Don't go out, James," said Mrs. Lewis, a troubled feeling coming into her heart.
"I'll only walk a few squares," he replied, as he hurried down the street.