The same spirit of pride, the same devotion of love, brooded over the happy circle as Harvey sat this placid evening between his mother and sister in the home that had furnished him so little of luxury, so much of welcome and of love. He was home, and he was theirs. Trembling joy mingled with the mother’s voice as now and then she broke in with kindly speech upon the story Harvey found himself telling again and again. The story was of his career in general, and of the last great struggle in particular; how he had shut himself up to his work in a final spasm of devotion, pausing only to eat and sleep till the final trials were over and the victory won. And the great day, his graduation day, was described over and over, both listeners in a transport of excitement while he told, modestly as he might, of the ovation that had greeted him when he was called forward to receive his hard-won honours.
"And you’re a B.A., Harvey, now—a real B.A., aren’t you, Harvey?" Jessie cried ecstatically. "It seems almost too good to be true."
Harvey merely smiled; but his mother spoke for him. "Of course he is," she answered quietly; "it’ll be on all his letters. But the medal, Harvey—oh, my son, I always knew you’d win it," her voice low and triumphant. "I can hardly just believe it; out of all those students—with their parents so rich and everything—that my own son carried it off from them all. And has it your name on it, Harvey?—with the degree on it too?" she enquired eagerly.
"Of course," said Harvey, "it’s in my trunk—and my hood’s there too; they’re both there, mother. It’s a beautiful hood—and I’ll show them to you if you’ll wait a moment," he exclaimed impulsively, rising as he spoke.
But his eyes met Jessie’s and a darkness like the darkness of death fell upon them both. Jessie was trembling from head to foot, her hand going up instinctively to her face as if she had been struck. Harvey’s pale cheek and quivering lips betrayed the agony that wrung him.
"Forgive me, mother," his broken voice implored as he flung himself down beside her, his arms encircling her; "forgive me, my mother—I forgot, oh, I forgot," as he stroked the patient face with infinite gentleness, his hands caressing the delicate cheeks again and again.