The young man was frightened. Was the wound so deep—
"Great God, mother! you are unhappy? What can be the cause?"
She wept without replying. Paul pressed his cheek against her lovely head, his eyes full of tears.
"You will not tell me? But, remember, dearest mother, that you have always been my mother and sister at the same time. I know there are some things that a mother can not reveal to her son. Keep your secret from your son, but confide it to your loving brother."
"Thank you, darling. I am unhappy."
"But, why?"
"Because I—"
"Open your heart so that I can sympathize with you."
"Forgive me, Paul. I am weak and miserable. I dread to reveal my heart's secrets. A mother ought not to make a confidant of her son; but I am wretched! and who can sympathize with me but you? Who can comfort me, but you? You were angry when I married your step-father. But I loved him, and I could not resist his pleading. He confessed his faults, his past love-affairs, fully to me, and I, in my foolish vanity, thought I could change his life; thought his love would keep him pure and loyal to me. For four years his conduct has been above reproach. Is he deceiving me now? I do not know. I do not wish to know. His disloyalty, if it exists, has not taken him away from home; but I feel that he is drifting away from me. He is no longer mine. For two months has this terrible truth been slowly forcing itself upon me. I have a rival, a pitiless rival, whose iron will and stony heart are coming between me and my husband.
"I am losing his confidence, as well as his affection. I no longer reign supreme. If you knew how I have suffered! Many a time have I spent the whole night in tears and misery! When we met again in the morning, you knew not that my smiling face was only a mask to cover the sorrow and despair within."