DESCENDING to the ground-floor of the house, I sent to request amoment's interview with the landlady. I had yet to learn in whichof the London prisons Van Brandt was confined; and she was theonly person to whom I could venture to address the question.

Having answered my inquiries, the woman put her own sordidconstruction on my motive for visiting the prisoner.

"Has the money you left upstairs gone into his greedy pocketsalready?" she asked. "If I was as rich as you are, I should letit go. In your place, I wouldn't touch him with a pair of tongs!"

The woman's coarse warning actually proved useful to me; itstarted a new idea in my mind! Before she spoke, I had been toodull or too preoccupied to see that it was quite needless todegrade myself by personally communicating with Van Brandt in hisprison. It only now occurred to me that my legal advisers were,as a matter of course, the proper persons to represent me in thematter--with this additional advantage, that they could keep myshare in the transaction a secret even from Van Brandt himself.

I drove at once to the office of my lawyers. The seniorpartner--the tried friend and adviser of our family--received me.

My instructions, naturally enough, astonished him. He wasimmediately to satisfy the prisoner's creditors, on my behalf,without mentioning my name to any one. And he was gravely toaccept as security for repayment--Mr. Van Brandt's note of hand!

"I thought I was well acquainted with the various methods bywhich a gentleman can throw away his money," the senior partnerremarked. "I congratulate you, Mr. Germaine, on having discoveredan entirely new way of effectually emptying your purse. Foundinga newspaper, taking a theater, keeping race-horses, gambling atMonaco, are highly efficient as modes of losing money. But theyall yield, sir, to paying the debts of Mr. Van Brandt!"

I left him, and went home.

The servant who opened the door had a message for me from mymother. She wished to see me as soon as I was at leisure to speakto her.

I presented myself at once in my mother's sitting-room.

"Well, George?" she said, without a word to prepare me for whatwas coming. "How have you left Mrs. Van Brandt?"

I was completely thrown off my guard.

"Who has told you that I have seen Mrs. Van Brandt?" I asked.

"My dear, your face has told me. Don't I know by this time howyou look and how you speak when Mrs. Van Brandt is in your mind.Sit down by me. I have something to say to you which I wanted tosay this morning; but, I hardly know why, my heart failed me. Iam bolder now, and I can say it. My son, you still love Mrs. VanBrandt. You have my permission to marry her."

Those were the words! Hardly an hour had elapsed since Mrs. VanBrandt's own lips had told me that our union was impossible. Noteven half an hour had passed since I had given the directionswhich would restore to liberty the man who was the one obstacleto my marriage. And this was the time that my mother hadinnocently chosen for consenting to receive as herdaughter-in-law Mrs. Van Brandt!

"I see that I surprise you," she resumed. "Let me explain mymotive as plainly as I can. I should not be speaking the truth,George, if I told you that I have ceased to feel the seriousobjections that there are to your marrying this lady. The onlydifference in my way of thinking is, that I am now willing to setmy objections aside, out of regard for your happiness. I am anold woman, my dear. In the course of nature, I cannot hope to bewith you much longer. When I am gone, who will be left to carefor you and love you, in the place of your mother? No one will beleft, unless you marry Mrs. Van Brandt. Your happiness is myfirst consideration, and the woman you love (sadly as she hasbeen led astray) is a woman worthy of a better fate. Marry her."

I could not trust myself to speak. I could only kneel at mymother's feet, and hide my face on her knees, as if I had been aboy again.

"Think of it, George," she said. "And come back to me when youare composed enough to speak as quietly of the future as I do."

She lifted my head and kissed me. As I rose to leave her, I sawsomething in the dear old eyes that met mine so tenderly, whichstruck a sudden fear through me, keen and cutting, like a strokefrom a knife.

The moment I had closed the door, I went downstairs to the porterin the hall.

"Has my mother left the house," I asked, "while I have beenaway?"

"No, sir."

"Have any visitors called?"

"One visitor has called, sir."

"Do you know who it was?"

The porter mentioned the name of a celebrated physician--a man atthe head of his profession in those days. I instantly took my hatand went to his house.

He had just returned from his round of visits. My card was takento him, and was followed at once by my admission to hisconsulting-room.

"You have seen my mother," I said. "Is she seriously ill? andhave you not concealed it from her? For God's sake, tell me thetruth; I can bear it."

The great man took me kindly by the hand.

"Your mother stands in no need of any warning; she is herselfaware of the critical state of her health," he said. "She sentfor me to confirm her own conviction. I could not conceal fromher--I must not conceal from you--that the vital energies aresinking. She may live for some months longer in a milder air thanthe air of London. That is all I can say. At her age, her daysare numbered."

He gave me time to steady myself under the blow; and then heplaced his vast experience, his matured and consummate knowledge,at my disposal. From his dictation, I committed to writing thenecessary instructions for watching over the frail tenure of mymother's life.

"Let me give you one word of warning," he said, as we parted."Your mother is especially desirous that you should know nothingof the precarious condition of her health. Her one anxiety is tosee you happy. If she discovers your visit to me, I will notanswer for the consequences. Make the best excuse you can thinkof for at once taking her away from London, and, whatever you mayfeel in secret, keep up an appearance of good spirits in herpresence."

That evening I made my excuse. It was easily found. I had only totell my poor mother of Mrs. Van Brandt's refusal to marry me, andthere was an intelligible motive assigned for my proposing toleave London. The same night I wrote to inform Mrs. Van Brandt ofthe sad event which was the cause of my sudden departure, and towarn her that there no longer existed the slightest necessity forinsuring her life. "My lawyers" (I wrote) "have undertaken toarrange Mr. Van Brandt's affairs immediately. In a few hours hewill be at liberty to accept the situation that has been offeredto him." The last lines of the letter assured her of myunalterable love, and entreated her to write to me before sheleft England.

This done, all was done. I was conscious, strange to say, of noacutely painful suffering at this saddest time of my life. Thereis a limit, morally as well as physically, to our capacity forendurance. I can only describe my sensations under the calamitiesthat had now fallen on me in one way: I felt like a man whosemind had been stunned.

The next day my mother and I set forth on the first stage of ourjourney to the south coast of Devonshire.