In the dungeon the poor old mother had huddled down, no longer in fear, because her grief had rendered her insensible to everything else.
"I forgive him," she sobbed, thinking of her son. "Let no ill come to him for what he has done to me this day." As she was thus plunged in deepest grief, the iron door opened, flambeaux lighted the palace up, and the guard cried the Prophet's name.
"Woman, get upon thy knees; the Prophet is coming to thee," an officer said.
She started up: "He is coming here—I shall see him?" she whispered to herself. Then the guard left, and John of Leyden came in. He ran toward his mother.
"Mother! My mother!" he cried.
"Nay!" she answered. "In the crowd I obeyed thee—I read some strange message in thy face. But here, with only God's eye upon thee, go down on thy knees before me."
"Oh, mother, I love thee!"
But the old mother reproached him with what he had done—how he had brought a people to despair and had imposed himself upon them as the son of God; but all the while she chided him, she loved him dearly.
"It was my wrongs that made me do this thing, mother," he urged.
But she showed him all his wickedness with such vehemence that he could not answer, and could only weep. Then she spoke quietly.