Thoughts of her children at last aroused her, as the gathering night darkened the chamber in which she sat, and she endeavoured to rally herself, and to assume a calmness that she was far from feeling.  A reason would have to be given for the father’s non-appearance at the tea-table.  That could easily be done.  Fatigue and a slight indisposition had caused him to lie down:  and as he had fallen asleep, it was thought best not to awaken him.  Such a tale was readily told, and as readily received.  The hardest task was to school her feelings into submission, and so control the expression of her face, and the tone of her voice, as to cause none to suspect that there was anything wrong.

To do this fully, however, was impossible.  Her manner was too evidently changed; and her face wore too dreamy and sad an expression to deceive her daughters, who inquired, with much tenderness and solicitude, whether she was not well, or whether anything troubled her.

“I am only a little indisposed,” was her evasive reply to her children’s kind interrogatories.

“Can’t I do something for you?” inquired Ellen, with an earnest affection in her manner.

“No, dear,” was her mother’s brief response; and then followed a silence, oppressive to all, which remained unbroken until the tea things were removed.

“Alfred is again away at tea-time,” Mrs. Graham at length said, as they all arose from the table.

“He went out this afternoon with Charles Williams,” Mary replied.

“Did he?” the mother rejoined quickly, and with something of displeasure in her tone.

“Yes.  Charles called for him in his buggy about four o’clock, and they rode out together.  I thought you knew it.”

“No.  I was lying down about that time.”

“You do not seem to like Charles Williams much.”

“I certainly do not, Anna, as a companion for Alfred.  He is too fond of pleasure and sporting, and I am very much afraid will lead your brother astray.”

“I never saw anything wrong about him, Ma.”

“Perhaps not.  But I have learned to be a much closer observer in these matters than you, Mary.  I have seen too many young men at Alfred’s age led away, not to feel a deep and careful solicitude for him.”

As the subject seemed to give their mother pain, her daughters did not reply; and then another, and still more troubled silence followed.

A chill being thrown thus over the feelings of all, the family separated at an early hour.  But Mrs. Graham did not retire to bed.  She could not, for she was strangely uneasy about her son.  It was about twelve o’clock when Alfred came in.  His mother opened her door as he passed it, to speak to him—­but her tongue refused to give utterance to the words that trembled upon it.  He, too, was intoxicated!