That night Mrs. Leigh stopped at home—that only night for many months.  Even Tom, the scholar, looked up from his books in ; but then he remembered that Will had not been well, and that his mother’s attention having been called to the circumstance, it was only natural she should stay to watch him.  And no watching could be more tender, or more complete.  Her loving eyes seemed never from his face—his grave, sad, face.  When Tom went to bed the mother left her seat, and going up to Will, where he sat looking at the fire, but not seeing it, she kissed his forehead, and said—“Will! lad, I’ve been to see Susan Palmer!”  
She felt the start under her hand which was placed on his shoulder, but he was silent for a minute or two.  Then he said,—
 
“What took you there, mother?”
 
“Why, my lad, it was likely I should wish to see one you cared for; I did not put myself forward.  I put on my Sunday clothes, and tried to behave as yo’d ha’ liked me.  At least, I remember trying at first; but after, I forgot all.”
 
She rather wished that he would question her as to what made her forget all.  But he only said—
 
“How was she looking, mother?”
 
“Well, thou seest I never set eyes on her before; but she’s a good, gentle-looking creature; and I love her dearly, as I’ve reason to.”
 
Will looked up with surprise, for his mother was too shy to be usually taken with strangers.  But, after all, it was naturally in this case, for who could look at Susan without loving her?  So still he did not ask any questions, and his poor mother had to take courage, and try again to introduce the subject near to her heart.  But how?
 
“Will!” said she (jerking it out in sudden despair of her own powers to lead to what she wanted to say), “I telled her all.”
 
“Mother! you’ve ruined me,” said he, up, and standing opposite to her with a stern white look of affright on his face.
 
“No! my own dear lad; dunnot look so scared; I have not ruined you!” she exclaimed, placing her two hands on his shoulders, and looking fondly into his face.  “She’s not one to harden her heart against a mother’s sorrow.  My own lad, she’s too good for that.  She’s not one to judge and scorn the sinner.  She’s too deep read in her New for that.  Take courage, Will; and thou mayst, for I watched her well, though it is not for one woman to let out another’s secret.  Sit thee down, lad, for thou look’st very white.”
 
He sat down.  His mother drew a stool towards him, and sat at his feet.
 
“Did you tell her about Lizzie, then?” asked he, and low.
 
“I did; I telled her all! and she fell a-crying over my deep sorrow, and the poor wench’s sin.  And then a light comed into her face, trembling and quivering with some new glad thought; and what dost thou think it was, Will, lad?  , I’ll not misdoubt but that thy heart will give thanks as mine did, afore God and His angels, for her great goodness.  That little Nanny is not her niece, she’s our Lizzie’s own child, my little grandchild.”  She could no longer restrain her tears; and they fell hot and fast, but still she looked into his face.
 
“Did she know it was Lizzie’s child?  I do not comprehend,” said he, flushing red.
 
“She knows now: she did not at first, but took the little helpless creature in, out of her own pitiful, loving heart, guessing only that it was the child of shame; and she’s worked for it, and kept it, and tended it ever sin’ it were a baby, and loves it fondly.  Will! won’t you love it?” asked she, .
 
He was silent for an instant; then he said, “Mother, I’ll try.  Give me time, for all these things startle me.  To think of Susan having to do with such a child!”
 
“Ay, Will! and to think, as may be, yet of Susan having to do with the child’s mother!  For she is tender and pitiful, and speaks hopefully of my lost one, and will try and find her for me, when she comes, as she does sometimes, to thrust money under the door, for her baby.  Think of that, Will.  Here’s Susan, good and pure as the angels in heaven, yet, like them, full of hope and mercy, and one who, like them, will rejoice over her as .  Will, my lad, I’m not afeard of you now; and I must speak, and you must listen.  I am your mother, and I dare to command you, because I know I am in the right, and that God is on my side.  If He should lead the poor wandering lassie to Susan’s door, and she comes back, crying and sorryful, led by that good angel to us once more, thou shalt never say a casting-up word to her about her sin, but be tender and helpful towards one ‘who was lost and is found;’ so may God’s rest on thee, and so mayst thou lead Susan home as thy wife.”
 
She stood no longer as the , , gentle mother, but firm and , as if the interpreter of God’s will.  Her manner was so unusual and solemn, that it overcame all Will’s pride and stubbornness.  He rose softly while she was speaking, and his head, as if in at her words, and the solemn injunction which they conveyed.  When she had spoken, he said, in so a voice that she was almost surprised at the sound, “Mother, I will.”
 
“I may be dead and gone; but, all the same, thou take home the wandering sinner, and heal up her sorrows, and lead her to her Father’s house.  My lad!  I can speak no more; I’m turned very faint.”
 
He placed her in a chair; he ran for water.  She opened her eyes, and smiled.
 
“God bless you, Will.  Oh! I am so happy.  It seems as if she were found; my heart is so filled with gladness.”
 
That night Mr. Palmer stayed out late and long.  Susan was afraid that he was at his old haunts and habits—getting tipsy at some public-house; and this thought oppressed her, even though she had so much to make her happy in the consciousness that Will loved her.  She sat up long, and then she went to bed, leaving all arranged as well as she could for her father’s return.  She looked at the little , sleeping girl who was her bed-fellow, with redoubled tenderness, and with many a prayerful thought.  The little arms entwined her neck as she lay down, for Nanny was a light , and was conscious that she, who was loved with all the power of that sweet, childish heart, was near her, and by her, although she was too sleepy to utter any of her half-formed words.
 
And, by-and-by, she heard her father come home, stumbling uncertain, trying first the windows, and next the door fastenings, with many a loud incoherent .  The little innocent twined around her seemed all the sweeter and more lovely, when she thought sadly of her father.  And presently he called aloud for a light.  She had left matches and all arranged as usual on the dresser; but, fearful of some accident from fire, in his unusually state, she now got up softly, and putting on a cloak, went down to his assistance.
 
! the little arms that were unclosed from her soft neck belonged to a light, easily sleeper.  Nanny missed her darling Susy; and terrified at being left alone, in the vast mysterious darkness, which had no bounds and seemed infinite, she slipped out of bed, and , in her little nightgown, towards the door.  There was a li............