Together, where our boy's fate mattered, we two could help him on his
way. That is what I feel, my dear."
When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers
something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She
stepped back from him.
"Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no
resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest
of my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don't
lift a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier's money
but my own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than
yourself. One thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race
than you. He will win--but yes, he will win!"
Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her
whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last
time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital
warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had long
been absent from it.
He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt
beauty of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him,
which her love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him. He
remembered Luzanne, and now with a spirit alive with anger he said to
her:
"No--no--no, he cannot win." He stretched out a hand.
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