Amidst the pelting of the rain, which had increased within the last few
hours rather than diminished, the pulling of the house-bell could be
heard. Mrs. Yorke drew forth her watch--a jeweled trinket of exquisite
beauty, one of the few relics of her palmy time. "Past midnight," she
murmured, "and all the lodgers are within. Who can it be?"

The bell pealed forth again.

She went into the hall, where the gas was burning, and unlocked the
door. At the same time somebody flung himself violently against it, but
the chain was up.

"Who is it?" inquired she; and it was strange, at such a moment, to hear
how very soft and musically she spoke, although, when talking to herself
a while ago, her tones had been harsh and bitter as her mood.

"It is I, mother," returned the voice from outside.

She unhitched the chain and let him in. "I knew it would be so, Dick,"
said she, quietly.

Richard was pale and haggard, and shone from head to foot with the rain,
which poured off his water-proof coat in streams.

"You were right, mother," said he, as he kissed her cheek. "No
reproaches. Let me have food and fire."

She brought him socks and slippers, made a cheerful blaze, and set cold
meat and spirits upon the table.