She took his hand, for he was hanging back as they came near the parlor-door, and led him in.

She looked like some guardian angel, with her face that beamed out trust, and hope, and thankfulness.

He, on the contrary, hung his head in angry, awkward shame; and half wished he had trusted to his own wits, and tried to evade the police, rather than have been forced into this interview.
His mother came to him; for she loved him all the more fondly, now he seemed degraded and friendless.

She could not, or would not, comprehend the extent of his guilt; and had upbraided Mr.Buxton to the top of her bent for thinking of sending him away to America.

There was a silence when he came in which was insupportable to him.