“What is it?” cried Richard, hoarsely—­“what is it?”

“Well, merely this:  that thinking that no money should be spared to help you in this dreadful trouble, Richard, and having but a very little of my own, I—­I forgot my pride and steadfast resolution never to ask your father—­”

“You did not apply to Carew for money, surely?” ejaculated Richard, angrily.  “To let him know that I was here was ruin.”

“It may have been ill judged, indeed, dear Richard,” replied his mother, quietly; “but it was not ill meant.  Do you suppose it cost me nothing to be his suppliant?  Do you suppose I have no scorn nor hate, as you have, for those who have wronged me and you?  If fury could avail to set you free, your mother would be as the tigress robbed of her young.  It is an easy thing enough to fume and foam; it is hard to have to clasp the knees of those whom you despise, in vain.”

“He refused you, then—­this man?”

“He did, Richard.  He told me—­what I had not learned from you; I do not say it to reproach you, dear—­what it was that had so long detained you at Gethin.  He mentioned, in coarsest terms, your love for Harry, and how you had misrepresented yourself to Trevethick as the heir of Crompton in order to win her.  He expressed a callous indifference to your present peril, and added something more in menace than in warning respecting that affair with Chandos which caused you to leave his roof.  Since it seemed you had made no secret of the matter to Mr. Weasel, I showed him Carew’s note; and his opinion is that Trevethick has spies at work to track your past.  This may or may not injure you.  Mr. Weasel thinks that it will not; but it shows the rancor with which this case is pressed by Trevethick—­a malice which we are altogether at a loss to understand.”

Richard ground his heel upon the stone without reply, while his mother looked at him in gravest sorrow.

“Your time is almost up, ma’am,” said the warder; “there’s only a minute more.”

“You told her how much depended on her, mother, did you?” said Richard, rousing himself in the effort.

“Yes, dear.  She will not fail us, never fear.  Keep heart and hope; and as for me, you will be sure that not a moment of my waking thoughts is wasted upon aught but you.  I shall see you again, once more at least, before your—­before the trial comes on; and Mr. Weasel will be here next week again.  Is there any thing, my own dear boy, that I can do for you?”

“One moment, mother.  Carew has not punished you on my account, I trust?  He has not cut off—­”

“The annuity?  Yes; he has stopped that.”

“May he rot on earth, and perish everlastingly!”

“Hush, hush, dear; pray be calm; there is no need to fret.  I can support myself without his aid; indeed I can; and perhaps he may relent when he gets sane, for he was like a madman at my coming to Crompton.  Mr. Whymper will do all he can, I am sure.  How cruel it was of me to heed your words, and tell you—­Look to him, warder, look to my son!” she screamed.