She raised her face to her son’s, and he saw there was a curious whiteness upon it.
The large, magnificent room was quite in shadow; soft shadows filled the corners; the white statuettes gleamed in the darkness; one blind was half drawn, and through it came the soft, sweet moonlight. A large night-lamp stood upon the table, but it was carefully shaded. Faint glimmers of light fell upon the bed, with its costly velvet hangings, and on the white, drawn face that lay on the pillows, with the gray shadow of death stealing softly over it––the faint, filmy look that comes only into eyes that death has begun to darken.
His mother had never been demonstrative; she had never cared for many caresses; but now her son’s love seemed her only comfort.
“Rex,” she said, clinging close to him, “I feel that I am dying. Send them all away––my hours are numbered––a mist rises before my face, Rex. Oh, dear Heaven! I can not see you––I have lost my sight––my eyes grow dim.”
A cry came from Rex’s lips.
“Mother, dear mother,” he cried, “there is no pain in this world I would not undergo for your dear sake!” he cried, kissing the stiffening lips.
She laid her hands on the handsome head bent before her.
“Heaven bless you, my son,” she murmured. “Oh, Rex, my hope and my trust are in you!” she wailed. “Comfort me, calm me––I have suffered so much. I have one last dying request to make of you, my son. You will grant my prayer, Rex? Surely Heaven would not let you refuse my last request!”
Rex clasped her in his arms. This was his lady-mother, whose proud, calm, serene manner had always been perfect––whose fair, proud face had never been stained with tears––whose lips had never been parted with sighs or worn with entreaties.