CHAPTER X. "Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing COULD words convey anything like a semblance of the meeting of our hero and his long-sought mother in the earth-stopper's rude abode ? could they express the wild joy of John Hardy, upon descending to the breakfast-room the following morning, and seeing-yes, it must be, Tom's mother; but his brain reeled, and his flooded eyes denied their offices, as he rushed forwards to clasp that attenuated, pale, and sorrow-stricken form to his breast ?-could they but give the faintest trace of all these scenes, then, instead of leaving their delineation to the fertile imagination of the reader, each particular should be recorded and measured in terse sentences and syllables. This being impracticable, however, with a poetical licence not unprecedented, much must be left to that which can scarcely fail to please one and all, their unshackled will and pleasure to string the beads, best suited to their several tastes, as may be left unstrung on this rosary of events. After a degree of composure had been restored in the feelings and manner of everybody present, John Hardy inquired, as well as his choking voice would permit, "where she had passed the night?" "At the huntsman's cottage," replied Tom's mother, “where I stopped during a sudden illness some few months since." "Were Squire. you then Mrs. Weston?" asked the "Such was the name I went by," returned she. "And for us to be in ignorance of your being there!" exclaimed John, raising his hands. "Mr. Baldwin little thought who the interesting stranger was, he called you, mother," added our hero. "He was very attentive and kind to me," she rejoined; "but never intimated a wish to know the cause of my being in the neighbourhood." "He would have considered it rude to have expressed the most trifling curiosity," said the Squire. "But as we are not gifted with the like virtue of forbearance, let me ask you, my dear Mrs. Gordon, to enter upon that history which, you must be well assured, all here are feverish to learn.' "Perhaps," remarked John, "you are not sufficiently refreshed to speak much at present." "In that case, of course let my request be postponed," replied the Squire. "Oh no!" rejoined she. "I would as soon -and, indeed, much prefer, at once, to relate what I have to tell without further delay." After a pause, as if the effort was doubtful of success, Mrs. Gordon summoned resolution to begin. "You know already, it was my sacrificed husband's wish that I should, upon my arrival in England, throw myself and infant upon the protection and kindness of one who had been so grievously treated and basely wronged by both him and myself." "Hush, hush," interrupted John, squeezing both her hands between his own. "Don't speak of that. It's all forgiven and forgotten, Mary, long since.” "I made no promise to do so," continued she, looking her gratitude for John's heartfelt consideration, "for when expressed I was unconscious of even the possession of life. As far as myself was concerned, however, I resolved, upon learning the request, not to accede to it. I felt that my punishment was merited, and a just retribution had been visited upon me. Believing, however, that Lieutenant Smith, in whose care I had been entrusted, would, if aware of my determination, use all his power to frustrate it, I apparently consented to the views of his guidance for the purpose of having no obstacles thrown in the way of my own. Feeling that all social ties had been broken, I could not bring myself to meet a single creature with whom I had formerly been acquainted, much less you, Mr. Hardy; and with the intention of secreting myself from the observation of every body in possession of my sad history, I bent my way towards London, in the belief that I should there be secure from the scorn which I so much dreaded, and yet so well deserved. Poor, friendless, and a stranger to the great difficulties of obtaining a livelihood, I took up |