"I didn't want to break down," she apologised, drawing me even closer to her, as though appealing for my forgiveness, "but, oh! I couldn't help it. I've never loved you so desperately as I do at this moment."
"Mother," I stuttered, "I've been rotten—more rotten than you know."
"No, my big boy, you've been perfect. I wouldn't have had you different in any way. Everything about you pleased me. And how—how can I give you up?"
"I'll come back to you, mother. I swear I will."
"Oh, but you mustn't allow any thought of me to unnerve you out there, Rupert," she said, quickly releasing my hands, lest it were traitorous to hold me back. "Do everything you are called to do—however dangerous—" The word caused her to sob. "Don't think of me when you've got to fight. No, I don't mean that—" Mother was torn between her emotions. "Rather think of me, and do the—dangerous thing—if it's right—yes, do it—because I want you to, but oh!" she sobbed, "come back to me—come back—come back."
I leant over and, lifting her face up gently with both my hands, kissed her and said:
"Yes, mother."
And then by a sudden effort of her will she seemed to recover. She said smilingly and almost calmly:
"I'm so proud. I think it's wonderful your going out there."
§9