She looked at the clock, observing that it was quarter to eight. She regretted exceedingly having to break up this heart-to-heart talk, but with true unselfishness she said, with a not unhappy sigh:
"It's nearly eight as it is, I'm afraid. You'll have to be stirring now or you'll be late," and she made as though to move.
"Just a minute, though, Mamma!"
"Yes, dear!"
"I wanted to ask you another thing!" He hesitated and looked at her soulfully, having, from his point of view, reached the critical point of the interview. u Mamma," he murmured irresolutely.
"What is it, Matt, my dear?"
'It's just like this, Mamma! I may as well be honest with you! I've been an awful spendthrift," he confessed. "People have taken advantage of my generosity. I have no money just now. How can I go about with Agnes with nothing in my pocket?" He had the air of one, the victim of his own open-handedness, from whom the words fell shamefully. "I'm used to having some cash always with me. It makes me feel so small to be without it, specially when I'm with a lady, back in my own town. Could you not help me, Mamma, until I get started again?"
She saw at once that it was a supremely reasonable request. She had been right in assuming that her boy, accustomed to high and lavish society, could not confront Levenford penniless; still less could he encounter Miss Moir in such a penurious predicament. In the flush of her reunion to him she threw caution to the winds and, with a magnificent sacrifice, she arose silently, unlocked her drawer and withdrew from it the square box which contained her accumulated savings for the initial repayment of her heavy debt. She looked adoringly at Matthew, heedless of the future, remembering only that she was the mother of this loving and devoted son.
"This is my all, Matt," she said soberly, "and I've saved it dearly for a most important and necessary cause. But I'm going to give ye some of it."
His eyes gleamed as she opened the box and took out a pound.
"Take this for your pocket, son," she said simply, holding out the note to him in her outstretched hand, her worn face softened by love, her bent figure drooping a little towards him. "I give it to you gladly. It's yours!" It was a sacrifice of supreme and touching beauty.
"How much have ye altogether?" asked Matthew ingenuously, rising up and going close to her. "You've got a lot in there, right enough."
"There's nearly three pounds here," she replied, "and it's been a weary job for me to save it. Times are hard with us now, Matt harder than ye might think. I'll need every penny of this by the end of the month."
"Mamma! Let me keep it for you," he said wheedlingly. "I'll keep it till the end of the month. I'll not spend it. I might as well keep it in my pocket as let you lock it in that old tin box. What a funny place to keep your money!" He made the idea of her little box as a receptacle for money appear almost ludicrous. "I'll be your banker, Mamma! It's nice for me to feel I have something to fall back on, even if I never have the need for it. Just the feel of it beside me would make me comfortable. Come on, Mamma! A pound is nothing, really, to a fellow like me." He held out his hand coaxingly.
She looked at him with a vague, frightened doubt in her eyes.
"It's most important for me to have this money by the end o' the month," she stammered. "I don't know what'll happen if I haven't got it."
"You shall have it then," he assured her. "What a worrier you are! Leave it to me. I'm as safe as the Bank of England!" He took the money out of the open box as he continued talking volubly, reassuringly. "You're not going to let your Matt go about like a pauper, are you, Mamma!" He laughed at the very idea. "A gentleman needs a little ready brass to give him assurance. You'll be right as rain, Mamma," he continued, edging into the hall. "I'll see to that! Don't sit up for me now; I'll like as not be late."
He was out and away with a last, gay wave and she was left with the open, empty box in her hands, staring at the panels of the front door that had closed behind him. She sighed convulsively whilst the piano chattered i& her ears with a false sprightliness. Blindly she suppressed the recurrent thought of her missing watch and an inchoate doubt as co the wisdom of so weakly allowing him to take the money. Matt was a good boy! He was hers again and their mutual love would surmount any obstacle and conquer all difficulties. He was on his way to worship God with a good Christian girl. Happiness flowed into her heart once more and she returned to the kitchen, well content with what she had done.
She sat down, gazing into the fire, a faint reminiscent smile upon her face at the memory of his tenderness to her. "He did relish that fish, the boy," she murmured to herself. "I maun make him some more nice dishes." Then, suddenly, as she was about to recall Nessie to her lessons, the door bell rang with a short, trenchant peal. Mamma felt startled as she got up, it was so far beyond the time of an ordinary visitor. Matthew had his key, he could not have returned like this; the least thing upset her nowadays, she reflected, as she cautiously opened the door. Miss Moir, palely outlined in the glimmer of the lobby lamp, stood before her.
"Oh! Aggie dear, it's you," she exclaimed in some relief, pressing her hand to her side. "I got quite a fright. You've just missed Matthew by a few minutes."
"Can I come in, Mrs. Brodie?" Again Mamma was startled. Not once in the space of three years had Agnes addressed her in such terms and never in such a strange, unnatural voice.
"Come in of course ye can come in, but but I'm telling you Matthew has gone out to meet ye."
"I would like to speak to you, please." '
In amazement Mamma admitted a frozen-faced Agnes. They went into the kitchen.
"What's it a' about, dear?" she faltered. "I don't understand this in the least. Matt's away to meet you. Are ye not well?"
"Quite well, thank you," came from Miss Moir's stiff lips. "Did you know that that Matthew came to see me this afternoon?"
She had the utmost difficulty in uttering his name.
"Yes! He's just told me. He's gone to take you to the meeting; Matt has gone to get you” repeated Mrs. Brodie stupidly, mechanically, as a fearful spasm gripped her heart.
"It's a lie!" exclaimed Agnes. "He's not gone to see me or to look near any meeting."
"What!" faltered Mamma.
"Did he tell you what happened to-day?" said Agnes, sitting up straight and gazing in front of her with hard eyes.
"No! No!" halted Mamma. "He said he couldna speak about it yet."
"I can well believe that," cried Agnes bitterly.
"What was it, then?" whimpered Mrs. Brodie. "Tell us, for God's sake."
Agnes paused for a moment, then, with a quick indrawing of her breath, she steeled herself to her humiliation. "He came in smelling of drink; in fact, he was nearly the worse of it. In spite of that, I was glad to see him. He went into the back shop. He talked a lot of nonsense and then he tried to borrow to borrow money off me."
She sobbed dryly. "I would have given him it but I saw he would just spend it on spirits. When I refused he called me awful names. He swore at me. He said I was a " She broke down completely.
Her big eyes gushed tears. Her full bosom panted with hard sobs; her large mouth drew into gibbering grimaces. In a frenzy of lamentation she flung herself at Mrs. Brodie's feet.
"But that wasna everything," she cried. "I had to go into the shop a minute. When I came back he tried to he tried to insult me, Mamma. I had to struggle with him. Oh! If only he had been kind to me, I would have given him what he wanted. I don't care whether I'm wicked or not. I would! I would!" she shrieked. Her sobs strangled her. "I love him, but he doesn't love me. He called me an ugly bitch. He tried to take to take advantage of me. Oh! Mamma, it's killing me. I wanted him to do it, if only he had loved me. I wanted it!" she repeated in a high hysteria. "I had to tell ye. I'm worse than Mary was. I wish I was dead and finished."
She flung back her head and gazed wildly at Mrs. Brodie. The eyes of the two women met and fused in a dull horror of despair, then Mamma's lips twisted grotesquely, her mouth drew to one side, she made as though to speak but could not, and with an incoherent cry she fell back helplessly in her chair. As Agnes gazed at the limp figure, her eyes slowly grew startled, her thoughts withdrew gradually from her own sorrow.
"Are ye ill?" she gasped. "Oh! I didn't think it would take you like that. I'm so upset myself I never thought it might make you feel as bad as that. Can I not get you anything?"
Mamma's eyes sought the other's face, but still she did not speak.
"What can I do for you?" cried Agnes again. "You look so bad I'm frightened. Will I get you some water will I get the doctor? Speak to me."
At last Mamma spoke.
"I thought my boy was going out with ye to worship the Lord," she whispered in a strange voice. "I prayed that it should be so."
"Oh! Don't talk like that," exclaimed Agnes. "You'll need to corns and lie down a wee. Come and lie down till you're better!"
"My side hurts me," said Mamma dully. "It must be that my heart is broken. Let me go to my bed. I want to be quiet and by my lone in the darkness."
"Let me help you, then," cried Agnes, and taking the other's passive arm she drew her to her feet, supported her, and led her unresistingly up the stairs to her bedroom. There she undressed her and assisted her to bed. "What else can I do for you?" she said, finally. "Would you like the hot bottle?"
"Just leave me," replied Mamma, lying on her back and looking directly upwards. "Ye've been kind to help me, but I want to be by myself now."
"Let me sit with you for a bit! I don't like to go away yet awhile."