Stephen's days were filled with work, and his evenings were his mother's.

Only after she slept did he have freedom.

Just as soon as it was safe for him to leave the house, he flew to Mercy; but, oh, how meagre and pitiful did the few moments seem! "Hardly long enough to realize that I am with you, my darling," he often said.
"But then it is every day, Stephen,--think of that," Mercy would reply, bent always on making all things easier instead of harder for him.

Even the concealment, which was at times well-nigh insupportable to her, she never complained of now.

She had accepted it.