My father also looked frightened, and questioned the squire closely as
to the man's appearance, but without learning anything more. Then he
bade him adieu with little ceremony, and taking horse rode away for
Yarmouth.

That night my mother never slept, but sat all through it in her nursing
chair, brooding over I know not what. As I left her when I went to my
bed, so I found her when I came from it at dawn. I can remember well
pushing the door ajar to see her face glimmering white in the twilight
of the May morning, as she sat, her large eyes fixed upon the lattice.

'You have risen early, mother,' I said.

'I have never lain down, Thomas,' she answered.

'Why not? What do you fear?'

'I fear the past and the future, my son. Would that your father were
back.'

About ten o'clock of that morning, as I was making ready to walk into
Bungay to the house of that physician under whom I was learning the
art of healing, my father rode up. My mother, who was watching at the
lattice, ran out to meet him.

Springing from his horse he embraced her, saying, 'Be of good cheer,
sweet, it cannot be he. This man has another name.'

'But did you see him?' she asked.