The Day of Judgment Part 20

He was angry that the train was late, and wondered why the porters could be so indifferent about it. He had all sorts of fears, too, concerning his mother's welfare. Had she been able to catch the connection at Bristol and Manchester? Had some accident happened?

Presently the signal fell, and a little later the train swept into the station. There were but few people present, because it was late, and it happened to be a wet day. Eagerly he looked at the carriage windows, and then suddenly he felt as though his heart were too great for his bosom. He saw a lonely, tired-looking woman step from the carriage and look expectantly round. "Mother!" he cried. "My dear, dear mother!" And then the sad-eyed, weary woman laid her head on his broad shoulder and sobbed for very joy.

A little later Paul and his mother were riding through the now silent streets of Brunford towards his new home. A strange feeling possessed his heart, for while he knew that the woman who sat by his side was his mother, she was a stranger to him. His heart had gone out to her with a great rush of pity and love when she first stepped from the train, but now that they were alone in the darkness it seemed as though his lips were sealed. He had nothing to say to her, and she, wellnigh overcome by her long, weary journey and her new experiences, seemed almost afraid. This was no wonder, for the situation was strange. She had left her boy at the workhouse when he was but an infant in arms.

It had almost broken her heart to do this, but she felt that for Paul's sake it would be better for her to go away, better that he should not know of the sadness of his mother's life. And for seventeen years she had kept away from him. It is true she had made inquiries concerning his life at St. Mabyn, but very little more. Paul had grown up with the idea that he was fatherless and motherless, or even if that were not the case he knew nothing about either of them. Then, presently, when the time came for her to tell him the miserable story of the past, she had written asking him to meet her on the lonely moors, and after that she had gone away again in silence. So they were strangers to each other, even although the ties that bound them were so strong that only death could break them. The woman was almost startled when, stepping from the train, she saw the tall, well-dressed fellow rushing towards her. But her heart had claimed her son, and for the moment that was enough. Now, however, that they were alone in the cab, everything seemed in darkness again. She could not recall a feature of her boy's face. He might be an absolute stranger to her. Ere long the cab drew up to the door of a house, and when once ushered into bright and cheerful surroundings everything became changed. For the moment she did not pay any attention to the room, she looked only at him. She put her hands upon his shoulders and scanned his face, feature by feature. Her own face was a study as she did this. She seemed to be looking for something in him. She might be trying to read his heart.

Her own eyes almost grew young again as she looked, and her lips were tremulous with a great emotion.

"My mother's a beautiful woman," said Paul to himself. "She looks terribly sad under the great sorrow in her life, but when she's happy, as I will make her happy, I shall be proud of her."

But for a time neither of them spoke. Each seemed to be trying to realise the situation, trying to understand that they were mother and son. At length the woman spoke.

"Thank G.o.d," she said. "You are nothing like him! You are my child--black hair, black eyes, dark-skinned, strong, resolute. No, you are nothing like him. You are my laddie, all mine! Kiss me again, my boy!"

Paul, nothing loth, enfolded her in his arms as a lover might his la.s.s.

"I have tried to make things nice for you, mother. How do you like the house?" he said at length.

She looked round the room and her eyes were full of wonder. "Why, Paul," she said, "this is a gentleman's house!"

"Of course," he said. "Come, let me show you the other rooms. And then the maid shall take you up to your own room. I am sure you must want something to eat badly."

He led her around the house, his heart full of pride. It was easy to see she was pleased, easy to see that she wondered at all the luxuries he had provided for her.

"Are you sure you ought to have done this, Paul?" she said at length.

"Why, mother?"

"Why, these things must have cost you such a lot of money. I don't need them. I have lived in poverty all my life, and you're making a lady of me!"

"Of course I am, mother!" And he laughed a glad laugh. "Of course I am! Everyone in the town shall respect and love you."

"And you've done all this for me?"

"All because I wanted to see you with me, mother. All because I wanted you to be happy. I've only you and you've only me. And don't fear about the money. In spite of everything I've been very successful, and I can afford all I've bought, aye, and more. I've only got one servant for you, mother, but, of course, you'll want others. Only I didn't know how to choose them, and I thought you might like to do it yourself."

"I want no servants, Paul!" she said. "I want to do everything for you with my own hands. I want to cook for you, and scrub for you, and wash for you, and live for you!"

"Yes, mother. But I don't wish to make you a slave, and so, whatever you say, you must have help to do all the hard work. I am going to make you very happy here. Do you like the house?"

"Like it!" she replied. "It's a paradise, my boy! Just a paradise!"

He called the servant to him, and told her to take his mother to her room, and then to have the evening meal ready.

A little later they sat in the dining-room, and for the first time Paul broke down. He was not an emotional man, nor one who gave way to weakness, but when he sat there in his own house with his mother by his side, and realised that they would be able to live together, that he would have a companion for the lonely evenings, and that he would be able to brighten his mother's life, the great deeps of his nature were aroused. It seemed to him as though something, which had been long dead in his being, had burst forth into life.

"I'm too happy to eat!" she said at length. "I will put away these things and then we can talk."

"Oh, no, mother," he said. "You're tired, and the maid is here for the purpose of doing that. Come into our little snuggery here." And he led the way into the room on which he had bestowed so much thought.

"Paul, my boy," she sobbed. "I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you! Aye, even although I cursed the day that you were born, and cursed G.o.d in the bitterness of my heart for the sorrow that came upon me, I'm proud of you! You are my own laddie! And now tell me everything, my lad!"

"No, mother, you're too tired and my story will take a long time!"

"No, I'm not tired," she said. "I feel as though I should never be tired again. It's all so wonderful--this beautiful home, given to me by my son! Oh, my lad, my lad!"

They sat down side by side, Paul holding his mother's hand in his.

"To-morrow," he thought, "or as soon as she is well enough, I'll take her to Manchester, and she shall have the best clothes that money can buy! And when she's dressed as she ought to be, she will look young and handsome!"

And so, as they sat alone, he told the story of the past few years.

Told of his struggles, of his fightings, and of his failures and successes, and how, little by little, he had obtained an education.

Then he described the strike in the town, and the trial which ended in his imprisonment, and of his homecoming and his business life, and then of the election.

"But you'll win yet, Paul!" And her eyes flashed eagerly as she spoke.

"My boy, you'll win yet!"

"Yes, I believe I shall win yet," he said. "Ay, I will, I must!"

"And what kind of a man is this Bolitho?" she asked. And Paul told her. He described the long duel he had had, and how up to the present Mr. Bolitho was the victor.

"And he's the Member of Parliament now?" said his mother.

"Yes," he replied. "He's Member of Parliament now."

"But never mind," was her reply. "It's coming, Paul. It's coming!"

And then, looking straight into his eyes, she said, "You've not told me all yet, my lad."

"What can there be more to tell?" he said.

"Ay, Paul. I'm a woman, I'm a woman, and I know how laddies feel.

There's a la.s.s somewhere. Tell me about her. Nay, I'm not jealous. I know it must be so, it ought to be so, because each lad must have his la.s.s. Only tell me about her!"

"It's a poor story, mother," he said. "And I think I hate my la.s.sie as much as I love her. And I've scarcely ever spoken to her. Besides----"

"Besides what, Paul?"

"Well, you see," he replied, "she's the daughter of Mr. Bolitho, the man who's worsted me in everything. It was he who sent me to Strangeways Gaol. It was he who blackened my name. It was he who beat me in the fight! And I love her and hate her at the same time!"

There was a silence for some time and Paul saw that her face was dark with anger.

"And have you ever spoken to her?" she asked. "Does she know what you feel? Forgive me for asking, Paul, but I've been thinking about all these things through the years, and wondering about them down there in the lonely farm. For I've had scarcely anyone to speak to. My one thought and my one comfort has been you! And I've said to myself, 'He's a young man now, and, like all young men, he'll love his la.s.s.'

I'm your mother, Paul, and I think I can see into your heart. Have you ever spoken to her?"

It seemed as though all the barriers of the past were broken down. He had thought never to mention his secret to anyone, and yet he found himself speaking freely.

"Scarcely, mother," he said. And then he told her of the times they had met, and of what he had said and what she had said. He told her, too, of the rumours concerning Ned Wilson, and of his hopes to make her his wife.

"And he's your enemy, too?"

Paul nodded, and his eyes became dark with anger as he thought of the past.

"Paul," she said at length. "I live only for you now, only for you!