"Is what I hear true? Is it no dream?"
"I wish it were as true that the substance and colour of health were restored to your cheek."
"My own mother! is she one I can be so fond of as I can of you? People generally did not like her—so I have been given to understand."
"They told you that? Well, your mother now tells you that, not having the gift to please people generally, for their approbation she does not care. Her thoughts are centred in her child. Does that child welcome or reject her?"
"But if you are my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely I can live. I should like to recover——"
"You must recover. You drew life and strength from my breast when you were a tiny, fair infant, over whose blue eyes I used to weep, fearing I beheld in your very beauty the sign of qualities that had entered my heart like iron, and pierced through my soul like a sword. Daughter! we have been long parted; I return now to cherish you again."
She held her to her bosom; she cradled her in her arms; she rocked her softly, as if lulling a young child to sleep.
"My mother—my own mother!"
The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent, feeling the endearment and hearing the appeal, gathered her closer still. She covered her with noiseless kisses; she murmured love over her, like a cushat fostering its young.
There was silence in the room for a long while.