Then we went into the sitting-room.
X—"MY MOTHER—SHE BROKE DOWN AND SOBBED"
My mother was standing by the table. She was pale and there was a frightened and despairing look in her eyes.
She gazed at me for a moment as if in terror. Then she sank down upon a chair and hid her face in her hands.
"Is that my boy—is that my boy?..."
It sounded like a heart-broken wailing. I saw that she was sobbing. I perceived that my face had frightened her; the empty sleeve too.
I went over and knelt down beside her, putting my arm round her waist and my head in her lap.
I had always done that as a boy when she was grieved about anything.
Then I felt her hand gently, stroking my head. How soft that hand was! What a blissfulness there was in that quiet, gentle stroking!
Is there anybody who knows how to caress like a mother? Is there anything in the world that holds such rapturous joy?...