“John,” she said, with marked interest, “I was telling you last night about my visit to Hatton Hall while you were in London.  You interrupted and then left me.  Have you any objections to my finishing the story now?  I shall not go to Hatton Hall again and as mother declines to tell her own fault, it is only fair to me that you know the whole truth.  I don’t want you to think worse of me than is necessary.”

“Tell me whatever you wish, Jane, then we will forget the subject.”

“As if that were possible!  O John, as if it were possible to forget one hour of our life together!”

“You are right.  It is not possible—­no, indeed!”

“Well, John, when I left Harlow House that afternoon, I went straight to Hatton Hall.  It was growing late, but I expected to have a cup of tea there and perhaps, if asked, stay all night and have a good wise talk over the things that troubled me.  When I arrived at the Hall your mother had just returned from the village.  She was sitting by the newly-made fire with her cloak and bonnet on but they were both unfastened and her furs and gloves had been removed.  She looked troubled, and even angry, and when I spoke to her, barely answered me.  I sat down and began to tell her I had been at Harlow all day.  She did not inquire after mother’s health and took no interest in any remark I made.”

“That was very unlike my mother.”

“It was, John.  Finally I said, ’I see that you are troubled about something, mother,’ and she answered sharply, ’Yes, I’m troubled and plenty of reason for trouble.’  I asked if I could help in any way.”

John sat upright at this question and said, “What reply did mother make?”

“She said, ’Not you!  The trouble is past all help now.  I might have prevented it a few days ago, but I did not know the miserable lass was again on the road of sin and danger.  Nobody knew.  Nobody stopped her.  And, O merciful God, in three days danger turned out to be death!  I have just come back from her funeral.’  ‘Whose funeral?’ I asked.  ’Susanna Dobson’s funeral,’ mother said.  ‘Did you never hear John speak of her?’ I told her you never spoke to me of your hands; I knew nothing about them.  ‘Well then,’ mother continued, ’I’ll tell you something about Susanna.  Happen it may do you good.  She came here with her husband and baby all of three years ago, and they have worked in Hatton factory ever since.  She was very clever and got big wages.  The day before John went to London she was ill and had to leave her loom.  The next day Gammer Denby came to tell me she was very ill and must have a good doctor.  I sent one and in the afternoon went to see her.  By this time her husband had been called from the mill, and while I was sitting at the dying woman’s side, he came in.’”

“Stop, Jane.  My dear love, what is the use of bringing that dying bed to our fireside?  Mother should not have repeated such a scene.”