She leaned
her head on his shoulder and sobbed broken-heartedly. She said not a
word, she made no attempt to scold; but the desolation of her tears was
overwhelming. It lasted some time--too long for Rowland's courage. He
had stood silent, wishing simply to appear very respectful; but the
elation that was mentioned a while since had utterly ebbed, and he found
his situation intolerable. He walked away--not, perhaps, on tiptoe, but
with a total absence of bravado in his tread.
The next day, while he was at home, the servant brought him the card of
a visitor. He read with surprise the name of Mrs. Hudson, and hurried
forward to meet her. He found her in his sitting-room, leaning on the
arm of her son and looking very pale, her eyes red with weeping, and her
lips tightly compressed. Her advent puzzled him, and it was not for
some time that he began to understand the motive of it. Roderick's
countenance threw no light upon it; but Roderick's countenance, full of
light as it was, in a way, itself, had never thrown light upon anything.
He had not been in Rowland's rooms for several weeks, and he immediately
began to look at those of his own works that adorned them.
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