"Yes, yes--I knew your mother!"

"Tell me about her!"

A dull, hopeless agony came into the eyes of the older man. And so his
Gethsemane had come to him again! Every life has this garden to pass
through--some, alas! again and yet again! And Paul Verdayne had thought
that he had long since drained his cup of misery to the dregs. He knew
better now.

"Yes, I will tell you of your mother, Boy," he said, and there was a
strained, guarded note in his voice which his companion's quick ear did
not fail to catch. "But you must be patient if you wish to hear what
little there is, after all, that I can tell you. You must remember, my
Boy, that it is a long time since your mother--died--and men of my age
sometimes--forget!"

"I will remember," the Boy said, gently.

But as he looked up into the face of his friend, something in his heart
told him that Paul Verdayne did _not_ forget! And somehow the older man
felt confident that the Boy knew, and was strangely comforted by the
silent sympathy between them which both felt, but neither could express.

"Your mother, Boy, was the noblest and most beautiful woman that ever
graced a throne. Everyone who knew her must have said that! You are very
like her, Paul--not in appearance, a mistake of Fate to be everlastingly
deplored, but in spirit you are her living counterpart. Ah! you have a
great example to live up to, Boy, in attempting to follow her footsteps!