“You don’t mean that?”

“Well, not quite; but it wouldn’t surprise me if his wife told him that really one mustn’t be too intimate with grocers.  In future, I’m going to tell everybody; there shall be no more hiding and sneaking.  That’s what debases a man; not the selling of sugar and tea.  A short time ago, I had got into a vile state of mind; I felt like poisoning myself.  And I’m convinced it was merely the burden of lies weighing upon me.  Yes, yes, you’re quite right; of course, mother must be told.  Shall I leave it to you, Jane?  I think you could break it better.”

After breakfast, Will walked into St. Neots, to have a private conversation with Dr. Edge, and whilst he was away Jane told her mother the story of the lost money.  At the end of an hour’s talk, she went out into the garden, where presently she was found by her brother, who had walked back at his utmost pace, and wore a perturbed countenance.

“You haven’t told yet?” were his first words, uttered in a breathless undertone.

“Why?” asked Jane startled.

“I’m afraid of the result.  Edge says that every sort of agitation must be avoided.”

“I have told her,” said Jane, with quiet voice, but anxious look.  “She was grieved on your account, but it gave her no shock.  Again and again she said how glad she was you had let us know the truth.”

“So far then, good.”

“But Dr. Edge—­what did he tell you?”

“He said he had wanted to see me, and thought of writing.  Yes, he speaks seriously.”

They talked for a little, then Will went into the house alone, and found his mother as she sat in her wonted place, the usual needlework on her lap.  As he crossed the room, she kept her eyes upon him in a gaze of the gentlest reproach, mingled with a smile, which told the origin of Will’s wholesome humour.

“And you couldn’t trust me to take my share of the trouble?”

“I knew only too well,” replied her son, “that your own share wouldn’t content you.”

“Greedy mother!—­Perhaps you were right, Will.  I suppose I should have interfered, and made everything worse for you; but you needn’t have waited quite so long before telling me.  The one thing that I can’t understand is Mr. Sherwood’s behaviour.  You had always given me such a different idea of him.  Really, I don’t think he ought to have been let off so easily.”

“Oh, poor old Godfrey!  What could he do?  He was sorry as man could be, and he gave me all the cash he could scrape together—­”

“I’m glad he wasn’t a friend of mine,” said Mrs. Warburton.  “In all my life, I have never quarrelled with a friend, but I’m afraid I must have fallen out with Mr. Sherwood.  Think of the women who entrust their all to men of that kind, and have no strong son to save them from the consequences.”

After the mid-day meal all sat together for an hour or two in the garden.  By an evening train, Will returned to London.  Jane had promised to let him have frequent news, and during the ensuing week she wrote twice with very favourable accounts of their mother’s condition.  A month went by without any disquieting report, then came a letter in Mrs. Warburton’s own hand.