Oh! the anguished longing of that cry, as if the mother's heart went out and broke with yearning! Would he, could he resist that appeal? "Mother!" I saw a wild movement beside me, and a figure rushed forward and flung himself on his knees by the bed. I saw him encircle the dying woman in his arms and press his lips passionately to hers. She laid her hands round his neck and smoothed his face, just as if he had been a child. "Robert, my little Robert!" The intervening years had passed away to her mind; the memory of crime and sin [{240}] was taken from her, and only the consciousness of her child's presence was with her. "Forgiveness!" we heard her murmur; and she drew her son's head yet closer to her breast. Then there was a dead stillness. Once more the surgeon approached and touched Lister Wilmot on the shoulder. He raised his head a little, and the arms that clung round his neck fell powerless on the coverlet.
"She has fainted," said Mr. Lovell. Lister knelt on whilst restoratives were being applied, with his face buried in his hands. After a while consciousness came back; her eyes opened, and lighted up with a gleam of ineffable joy as they fell upon her son's bent head. She passed her hand caressingly over his hair, and then let it rest upon his shoulder.
"This is more than I deserved," she said; and her voice was fainter than when last she had spoken. "I ought not to have such happiness as this. Are you there, Mr. Kavanagh?"
"Yes, I am here;" and I went up to the bedside.
"I have done grievous wrong to your friend Mr. Atherton. Can you, can he forgive me?"
I told her yes, freely from my heart, and I knew I might say so from him. She moved her hand restlessly over Wilmot's hair, and a momentary look of trouble crossed her face.
I asked her if she had anything else to say to me; not to fear. That I prayed the Almighty Father to forgive her, even as I forgave any trouble she had caused me.
"My son, my poor boy! What will be done to him? He is innocent of the crimes I have revealed—innocent of the murder, innocent about the will."
Then a broken, hollow voice answered, "No, mother—not entirely. I suspected there was something wrong, but the temptation to profit by it was too strong."
She looked more troubled; and I thought she glanced at me piteously, imploringly.