He was but a boy, and his defeat was gall and wormwood to him. It was
but very little sweetened by the knowledge that his victor had come to
ask after him.

He was lying in bed one afternoon, lonely and homesick and sad. His
father was away, and no one had been in to him for, perhaps, an hour.
The shrill voices of children and the shouts of boys floated in at the
open window from somewhere afar off. He was not able to join them. It
depressed him, and he began to pine for the old plantation--a habit that
followed him through life in the hours of depression.

Suddenly there was a murmur of voices outside the room, and after a few
moments the door softly opened, and a lady put her head in and looked at
him. She was a stranger and was dressed in a travelling-suit. Gordon
gazed at her without moving or uttering a sound. She came in and closed
the door gently behind her, and then walked softly over to the side of
the bed and looked down at him with kind eyes. She was not exactly
pretty, but to Gordon she appeared beautiful, and he knew that she was a
friend. Suddenly she dropped down on her knees beside him and put her
arm over him caressingly.

"I am Norman's mother," she said, "and I have come to look after you and
to take you home with me if they will let me have you." She stooped over
and kissed him.

The boy put up his pinched face and kissed her.

"I will go," he said in his weak voice.