He looked at her curiously. He had been thinking, ever since they had met, whether this might not be so; nevertheless the news came to him as a kind of shock. A woman with sad eyes and an expression of unsatisfied yearning in her face; yet handsome withal.
"Do you not believe it?" she asked. "My boy! my boy! I'm your mother, and, if I have kept silent about it, it has been for love of you!"
And she held out her hands towards him.
It seemed as though something touched his heart, as though his whole being thrilled with a recognition of the truth, and, in a way he could not understand, a great love for this lonely woman sprang suddenly into his heart.
"Yes, I believe you are my mother."
"I have come to tell you everything, Paul," she said. "It's a sad story, but I believe you'll understand."
"Yes," he replied, "I shall understand!"
The woman looked at him, still with the same expression of tender yearning in her eyes.
"It's a hard question to ask," she said, "but can you feel towards me as a laddie should feel to his mother?"
"Yes," he replied, "I do."