“Esther!  I will not hear the utterance of such language from any one!” exclaimed Mr. Howland, whose imperious nature could ill brook an accusation like this.

“I have uttered only what I believe to be true,” answered the wife, in a milder tone, yet with a firmness that showed her spirit to be unsubdued.  No further words passed between them.  Half an hour afterward, up to which time Andrew had not come home, Mr. Howland left the house and went to his place of business.

Time passed on until nearly noon, and yet Andrew was still away.  Mrs. Howland, whose mind was in a state of strong excitement, could bear her suspense and fear no longer, and she resolved to go out and seek for her wandering son.  She had dressed herself, and was just taking up her bonnet, as the door of her room opened, and Andrew came in, looking pale and distressed.  Across his forehead was a deep, red mark, the scar left by the wound he received, when he fell on the pavement, in the attempt to escape from the watchman.

“My son!” exclaimed Mrs. Howland, in a voice that thrilled the poor boy’s heart—­for it was full of sympathy and tenderness—­and then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Overcome by this reception, Andrew wept aloud.  As soon as he could speak, he said—­

“Indeed, indeed, mother!  I am innocent.  You wouldn’t let me in last night, and I was going to sleep in the building, when the watchman came and said I meant to set it on fire!  I’m bad enough, mother, but not so wicked as that!  Why should I set a house on fire?”

“I didn’t believe it for a moment, Andrew,” replied Mrs. Howland.  “But, oh! isn’t it dreadful?”

“I’m not to blame, mother,” said the weeping boy.  “I didn’t mean to stay out later than ten.  But I was deceived in the time.  I was a good way off when the clock struck, and I ran home as fast as I could.  I’m sure it wasn’t ten minutes after when I rang the bell.  But nobody would let me in; not even you, mother—­and I thought so hard of that!”

With what a pang did these last words go through the heart of Mrs. Howland.

“I wanted to let you in,” replied the mother, “but your father said that I must not do so.”

“And so you left me to sleep in the streets,” said the boy, with much bitterness.  “I couldn’t have turned a dog off in that way!”

“Don’t, don’t speak so, Andrew!  You will break my heart!” returned the mother, sobbing, “I did open the door for you, but you were not there.”

“I knocked and rung a good while.”

“I know.  But I had to wait until your father was asleep.  Then I went down, but it was too late.”

“Yes—­yes, it was too late,” said Andrew, speaking now in a firmer voice.  “And it is too late now.  I am to be tried as a felon, and it may be, will be sent to the State Prison.  Oh, dear!”

And he covered his face with his hands, and sobbed.