Without replying, he buried his head in his hands. Elaine went to him, put her arms around him, and drew his head to her bosom.
"My poor child, how you must suffer."
"Oh, mother!" and he wept like a little child. She kissed him, caressed him, as if he were again the little son of so many years ago. A son never seems a man in his mother's eyes, and when he is in trouble, she takes him again to her heart, as she did in his childhood.
She whispered:
"And have you found it out? And did you try to conceal it from me to save my happiness, as I have kept it from you to save yours, my brave Paul?"
In the midst of her bitter anguish, she still felt a glow of pride at this proof of her son's noble character. They seemed drawn still closer together by their mutual suffering—their mutual sacrifice.
Grieving over his sorrow, she forgot her own. He was so young. He had barely raised the cup of life and happiness to his lips, when it was dashed from his hand. So young, so brave, so noble!
Finally, she raised her head:
"We must weep no longer, Paul. Every crime must have its punishment. Do your duty. Those two criminals deserve no mercy. They have dishonored the mother and the son. You know where to find them. Do your duty—my revenge and yours!"
She raised her hand and pointed to the door, beautiful as Truth, implacable as Destiny!