lay your hand in mine. (She falls on her knees with clasped hands.)
I beg you, by the love that once united us, by the memory of the
child that drew us together; by the strength of a mother's love--a
mother's--for so have I loved you, erring child, whom I've sought
in the dark places of the wood and whom at last I've found, hungry
and withered for want of love! Come back to me, prodigal one; and
bury your tired head on my heart, where you rested before ever you
saw the light of the sun. (A change comes over her during this
speech; her clothing falls from her and she is seen to have changed
into a white-robed woman with her hair let down and with a full
maternal bosom.)

STRANGER. Mother!

LADY. Yes, my child, your mother! In life I could never caress you--
the will of higher powers denied it me. Why that was I don't dare
to ask.

STRANGER. But my mother's dead?

LADY. She was; but the dead aren't dead, and maternal love can
conquer death. Didn't you know that? Come, my child, I'll repay
where I have been to blame. I'll rock you to sleep on my knees.
I'll wash you clean from the ... (She omits the word she cannot
bring herself to utter) of hate and sin. I'll comb your hair,
matted with the sweat of fear; and air a pure white sheet for you
at the fire of a home--a home you've never had, you who've known no
peace, you homeless one, son of Hagar, the serving woman, born of a
slave, against whom every man's hand was raised. The ploughmen
ploughed your back and seared deep furrows there. Come, I'll heal