shoulder and went on--

"You rebuke me. Well--I am the loser. And you are angry because I
banish you. What could you do for me but weary your own patience? Your
mother is a shattered woman. My sense of life is little more than a
sense of what was--except when the pain is present. You reproach me
that I parted with you. I had joy enough without you then. Now you are
come back to me, and I cannot make you a joy. Have you the cursing
spirit of the Jew in you? Are you not able to forgive me? Shall you be
glad to think that I am punished because I was not a Jewish mother to
you?"

"How can you ask me that?" said Deronda, remonstrantly. "Have I not
besought you that I might now at least be a son to you? My grief is
that you have declared me helpless to comfort you. I would give up much
that is dear for the sake of soothing your anguish."

"You shall give up nothing," said his mother, with the hurry of
agitation. "You shall be happy. You shall let me think of you as happy.
I shall have done you no harm. You have no reason to curse me. You
shall feel for me as they feel for the dead whom they say prayers
for--you shall long that I may be freed from all suffering--from all
punishment. And I shall see you instead of always seeing your
grandfather. Will any harm come to me because I broke his trust in the
daylight after he was gone into darkness? I cannot tell:--if you think
_Kaddish_ will help me--say it, say it. You will come between me and
the dead. When I am in your mind, you will look as you do now--always
as if you were a tender son--always--as if I had been a tender mother."

She seemed resolved that her agitation should not conquer her, but he
felt her hand trembling on his shoulder. Deep, deep compassion hemmed
in all words. With a face of beseeching he put his arm around her and
pressed her head tenderly under his. They sat so for some moments. Then
she lifted her head again and rose from her seat with a great sigh, as
if in that breath she were dismissing a weight of thoughts. Deronda,
standing in front of her, felt that the parting was near. But one of
her swift alternations had come upon his mother.

"Is she beautiful?" she said, abruptly.

"Who?" said Deronda, changing color.

"The woman you love."

It was not a moment for deliberate explanation. He was obliged to say,
"Yes."

"Not ambitious?"

"No, I think not."

"Not one who must have a path of her own?"

"I think her nature is not given to make gr