Her lips opened as though she would speak, but no sound came, and Carnac
could hardly bear to look at her. Yet he did look, and all at once there
rushed into his heart the love he had ever felt for her. After all, he
was her son, and she had not wronged him since his birth. And he who had
wronged her and himself was dead, his pathway closed for ever to the
deeds of life and time. As he looked, his eyes filled with tears and his
lips compressed. At last he came to the bed. Her letter was in his
hand.
"I have read it, mother."
She made no reply, but his face was good for her eyes to see. It had no
hatred or repulsion.
"I know everything now," he added. "I see it all, and I understand all
you have suffered these many years."
"Oh, my son, you forgive your mother?" She was trembling with emotion.
He leaned over and caught her wonderful head to his shoulder. "I love
you, mother," he said gently. "I need you--need you more than I ever
did."
"I have no heart any more, and I fear for you--"
"Why should you fear for me? You wanted me to beat him, didn't you?"
His face grew hard, his lips became scornful. "Wasn't it the only way to
make him settle his account?"
"Yes, the only way. It was not that I fear for you in politics. I was
sure you would win the election. It was not that, it was the girl."
"That's all finished. I am free at last," he said.
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