“Yet, fear not, son; they cannot torture me.”
“No; for art thou not a woman?”
“Oh, they would not fear to torture a woman. But look on my face, canst thou not read death there? Nay, cry not, ‘mother,’ as thou weepest. They shall come to bite their lips with anger; for they will find me dead.”
Then, as he buried his face in his hands, she was seized with unconquerable fear. “They come—they come. Save me—save thy mother. I am indeed, indeed thy mother.”
“No one cometh; all is quiet.”
“Fire! death by fire! I am afraid—I am afraid. I see her now—my mother. They dragged her and bound her to the stake. There! there! See, the flames have caught her hair; how it shrivels up! And her eyes—ah! she can see me no longer. Help! help! save me!”
And she fell back senseless upon the hard earth.
“Mother, if thou dost love me still—if thou wilt hear thy son’s prayers, be brave and calm.”
As he spoke, she came again to a knowledge of her fate.
“I am worn and weak; or thou shouldst not bid me be calm and brave. I am—very—worn-and—weak.”