“Yes!  I have told Mr. Buxton all.  He is waiting for you in the parlor.  Oh!  I knew he could not be so hard!” She was out of breath.

“I don’t understand you!” said he.  “You’ve never been such a fool as to go and tell him where I am?”

“Yes, I have.  I felt I might trust him.  He has promised not to prosecute you.  The worst is, he says you must go to America.  But come down, Ned, and speak to him.  You owe him thanks, and he wants to see you.”

“I can’t go through a scene.  I’m not up to it.  Besides, are you sure he is not entrapping me to the police?  If I had a farthing of money I would not trust him, but be off to the moors.”

“Oh, Edward!  How do you think he would do anything so treacherous and mean?  I beg you not to lose time in distrust.  He says himself, if Mr. Henry comes before you are off, he does not know what will be the consequence.  The packet sails for America in two days.  It is sad for you to have to go.  Perhaps even yet he may think of something better, though I don’t know how we can ask or expect it.”

“I don’t want anything better,” replied he, “than that I should have money enough to carry me to America.  I’m in more scrapes than this (though none so bad) in England; and in America there’s many an opening to fortune.”  He followed her down the steps while he spoke.  Once in the yellow light of the watery day, she was struck by his ghastly look.  Sharp lines of suspicion and cunning seemed to have been stamped upon his face, making it look older by many years than his age warranted.  His jaunty evening dress, all weather-stained and dirty, added to his forlorn and disreputable appearance; but most of all—­deepest of all—­was the impression she received that he was not long for this world; and oh! how unfit for the next!  Still, if time was given—­if he were placed far away from temptation, she thought that her father’s son might yet repent, and be saved.  She took his hand, for he was hanging back as they came near the parlor-door, and led him in.  She looked like some guardian angel, with her face that beamed out trust, and hope, and thankfulness.  He, on the contrary, hung his head in angry, awkward shame; and half wished he had trusted to his own wits, and tried to evade the police, rather than have been forced into this interview.

His mother came to him; for she loved him all the more fondly, now he seemed degraded and friendless.  She could not, or would not, comprehend the extent of his guilt; and had upbraided Mr. Buxton to the top of her bent for thinking of sending him away to America.  There was a silence when he came in which was insupportable to him.  He looked up with clouded eyes, that dared not meet Mr. Buxton’s.

“I am here, sir, to learn what you wish me to do.  Maggie says I am to go to America; if that is where you want to send me, I’m ready.”

Mr. Buxton wished himself away as heartily as Edward.  Mrs. Browne’s upbraidings, just when he felt that he had done a kind action, and yielded, against his judgment, to Maggie’s entreaties, had made him think himself very ill used.  And now here was Edward speaking in a sullen, savage kind of way, instead of showing any gratitude.  The idea of Mr. Henry’s stern displeasure loomed in the background.