“Sure of it! Did not I give him birth, and did I not watch like one hanging over the deathbed of an only child, year after year, to catch some token that he could hear what I said? Did I not try and try, day after day, month after month, year after year, to teach him only to name the name of mother? and when at last I lost all hope that I should ever hear the sound of his voice, did I not still bless Heaven that I was not childless, though my son could not call me mother?”
“_Het is jammer!_” exclaimed the worthy magistrate, wiping his eyes. “But still a dumb man may kill another, for all this. What have you to say against that?”
At this moment the poor speechless youth recognised his mother, and uttering a strange inarticulate scream, burst away from the executioner, leaped from the cart, and throwing himself on her bosom, sobbed as if his heart was breaking. The mother pressed him to her heart in silent agony, and the absence of words only added to the deep pathos of the meeting.
Alderman Schlepevalcker was sorely puzzled as well as affected on this occasion, and after wiping his eyes, addressed the weeping mother.
“How came thy son hither?”
“He is accustomed to ramble about the country, sometimes all day, alone; and one day having strayed farther than usual, lost his way, and being unable to ask any information, wandered we knew not whither, until a neighbour told us a rumour of a poor youth, who was about to be executed at Nieuw-Amsterdam for refusing to answer questions. I thought it might be my son, and came in time, I hope, to save him.”
“Why did not thy husband come with thee?”
“He is dead.”
“And thy father?”
“He died when I was a child.”