Paul stood with great, wide eyes, that had never tear to soften them, gazing vacantly into the weeping eyes before him. His lips quivered, but he did not speak.
"Paul, speak to me—speak to me—only speak—only let me hear your voice! See, I am at your feet—your mother kneels to you—forgive her as God has forgiven her!"
And loosing her grasp, she flung herself on the ground before him, and covered her face with her hands.
Paul seemed not at first to know what was happening. Then he stooped and raised his mother to her feet.
"Mother, rise up," he said in a strange, hollow tone. "Who am I that I should presume to pardon you? I am your son—you are my mother!"
His vacant eyes gathered a startled expression. He glanced quickly around the room, and said in a deep whisper:
"How many know of this?"
"None besides ourselves."
The frightened look disappeared. In its place came a look of overwhelming agony.
"But I know of it; oh, my God!" he cried; and into the chair from which his mother had risen he fell like a wounded man.