She held me in her arms, kissing me tenderly. 'My dear, we agreed that no sacrifice could be too great for the safety of our boy. Yes, we agreed to that. Let us kiss each other before we do a thing after which we can never kiss each other again. No, never again.'
'Why not again, Madam?'
'Oh,' she pushed me from her, 'it is now eight of the clock, he will be here at ten! I promised I would tell thee before he came! And all is in readiness.'
'For what, Madam?'
Why, even then I guessed not her meaning, though I might have done so; but I never thought that so great a wickedness was possible!
'No sacrifice should be too great for us!' she cried, clasping her head with her hands and looking wildly about. 'None too great! Not even the sacrifice of my own son's love—no; not that! Why, let us think of the sacrifices men make for their country, for their religion. Abraham was ready to offer his son, Isaac; Jephthah sacrificed his daughter; King Mesha slew his eldest son for a burnt offering. Thousands of men die every year in battle for their country. What have we to offer? If we give ourselves, it is but a slight thing that we offer at the best.'
'Surely, Madam,' I cried, 'you know that we would willingly die for the sake of Robin?'
'Yes, Child; to die—to die were nothing. It is to live—we must live—for Robin.'
'I understand not, Madam.'