“Ah! how you exaggerate, dear,” he said, with a smile. Then:
“Will you see Roland?” he inquired.
“When you please,” she answered.
He arose, stooped and kissed her forehead, and left the room.
In a few moments the door opened and Roland entered.
The blood rushed to the lady’s face, and then left it paler than before. She held out both hands to receive him.
“My son! Oh, my son! Can you forgive me?” she wailed.
Roland dropped on one knee and lifted her hands to his lips, in silent reverence. Then he arose and folded her in his arms, still in silence.
“Speak to me, Roland,” she said at last, when he had drawn a chair and seated himself at her side.
“Dear mother,” he said, very gently, “I have heard your whole story from the lips of my stepfather—my honored father, I should rather say, for truly he has done a father’s part, and given a father’s love to me—and I feel for him the deepest love, respect and compassion. I wish from my soul that at my hands the demon who has wronged you so bitterly could receive his punishment.”