Northrup went across the space between him and his mother and laid his hand upon hers.
“Mother, I understand. Lately I have felt a new sympathy for Father, and a new contempt. He missed a lot that was worth while, but he did not know. It was damnable; he might have––kept you.”
“No, Brace. It is the world’s thought. I have never been bitter. I only wish he could have been happy––after––after he went away.”
“And he wasn’t?” This had never been discussed between them.
“No, dear. He married a woman who seemed to be what he wanted. She wearied of him. He died a lonely, a bitter man. I was saved the bitterness, at least, and I had you.”
Another pause. Then:
“Brace, I know it will seem foolish, but perhaps when you are far away it won’t seem so foolish. I want to tell you, dear, that I wish I had never spoken a harsh word to you. Life hurts so at the best––many women are feeling this as I do, dear. Once––you must humour me, Brace––once, after I punished you, I regretted it. I asked your pardon and you said, ‘Don’t mention it, Mother, I understood.’ I want you to say it now, son; it will be such a comfort.”
“I believe, God hearing me, Mother, that I have understood; have always known that you were the best and dearest of mothers.”
“Thank you.”