If you have ever felt the heartache, you will know what I suffered in secret when my mother took my hand, and said, “I am sorry, Francis, that your night’s rest has been disturbed through me.”  I gave her the medicine; and I waited by her till the pains abated.  My aunt Chance went back to her bed; and my mother and I were left alone.  I noticed that her writing-desk, moved from its customary place, was on the bed by her side.  She saw me looking at it.  “This is your birthday, Francis,” she said.  “Have you anything to tell me?” I had so completely forgotten my Dream, that I had no notion of what was passing in her mind when she said those words.  For a moment there was a guilty fear in me that she suspected something.  I turned away my face, and said, “No, mother; I have nothing to tell.”  She signed to me to stoop down over the pillow and kiss her.  “God bless you, my love!” she said; “and many happy returns of the day.”  She patted my hand, and closed her weary eyes, and, little by little, fell off peaceably into sleep.

I stole downstairs again.  I think the good influence of my mother must have followed me down.  At any rate, this is true:  I stopped with my hand on the closed kitchen door, and said to myself:  “Suppose I leave the house, and leave the village, without seeing her or speaking to her more?”

Should I really have fled from temptation in this way, if I had been left to myself to decide?  Who can tell?  As things were, I was not left to decide.  While my doubt was in my mind, she heard me, and opened the kitchen door.  My eyes and her eyes met.  That ended it.

We were together, unsuspected and undisturbed, for the next two hours.  Time enough for her to reveal the secret of her wasted life.  Time enough for her to take possession of me as her own, to do with me as she liked.  It is needless to dwell here on the misfortunes which had brought her low; they are misfortunes too common to interest anybody.

Her name was Alicia Warlock.  She had been born and bred a lady.  She had lost her station, her character, and her friends.  Virtue shuddered at the sight of her; and Vice had got her for the rest of her days.  Shocking and common, as I told you.  It made no difference to me.  I have said it already—­I say it again—­I was a man bewitched.  Is there anything so very wonderful in that?  Just remember who I was.  Among the honest women in my own station in life, where could I have found the like of her?  Could they walk as she walked? and look as she looked?  When they gave me a kiss, did their lips linger over it as hers did?  Had they her skin, her laugh, her foot, her hand, her touch? She never had a speck of dirt on her:  I tell you her flesh was a perfume.  When she embraced me, her arms folded round me like the wings of angels; and her smile covered me softly with its light like the sun in heaven.  I leave you to laugh at me, or to cry over me, just as your temper may incline.  I am not trying to excuse myself—­I am trying to explain.  You are gentle-folks; what dazzled and maddened me, is everyday experience to you.  Fallen or not, angel or devil, it came to this—­she was a lady; and I was a groom.