demand the respect, the adoration of millions and it will be mine. Love,
love, a little unselfish love is what I ask--and if only I were sure, if
only I dared to hope that you give me such love, I would thank you with
all that I have, then this hour would be hallowed to me above all
others."

"How can you doubt me Mother? My dearly beloved Mother!"

"That is comfort, that is happiness!" answered Sabina. "Your voice is
never too loud for me, and I believe you, I dare trust you. This hour
makes you my son, makes me your mother."

Tender emotion, the emotion that softens the heart, thrilled through
Sabina's dried-up nature and sparkled in her eyes. She felt like a young
wife of whom a child is born, and the voice of her heart sings to her in
soothing tones: "It lives, it is mine, I am the providence of a living
soul, I am a mother."

She gazed blissfully into Verus' eyes and exclaimed, "Give me your hand
my son, help me up, for I will be here no longer. What good spirits I
feel in! Yes, this is the joy that is allotted to other women before
their hair is grey! But child--dear and only child--you must love me
really as a mother. I am too old for tender trifling, and yet I could
not bear it if you gave me nothing but a child's reverence. No, no, you
must be my friend whose heart warns him of my wishes, who can laugh with
me to-day, and weep with me to-morrow--and who shows that he is happier
when his eye meets mine. You are now my son; and soon you shall have the
name of son; that is happiness enough for one evening. Not another word
--this hour is like the finished masterpiece of some great painter; every
touch that could be added might spoil it. You may kiss my forehead, I