Hermione, that one of the greatest mysteries in human life, at any rate
to me, is this: how some human beings do bear the burdens laid upon
them. Christ bore His cross. But there has only been, since the
beginning of things, one Christ, and it is unthinkable that there can
ever be another. But all those who are not Christ, how is it they bear
what they do bear? It is easy to talk of bravery, the necessity for it
in life. It is always very easy to talk. The thing that is impossible
is to understand. How can you come to me to help you, my friend? And
suppose I were to try. How could I try, except by saying that I think
Vere is very worthy to be loved with all your love?"

"You love Vere, don't you, Emile?"

"Yes."

"And I do. You don't doubt that?"

"Never."

"After all I have said, the way I have spoken, you might."

"I do not doubt it for a moment."

"I wonder if there is any mother who would not, if I spoke to her as I
have spoken to you to-day?"

"I think there is a great deal of untruth spoken of mother's love,
a great deal of misconception about it, as there is about most very
strange, and very wonderful and beautiful things. But are you so sure
that if your husband had stamped himself upon a boy this force within
you could have been satisfied?"

"I have believed so."

She was silent. Then she added, quietly, "I do believe so."

He did not speak, but sat looking down at the sea, which was full of dim
color in the cave.

"I think you are doubting that it would have been so?" she said, at
last.

"Yes, that is true. I am doubting."

"I wonder why?"

"I cannot help feeling that there is passion in you, such passion as
could not be satisfied in any strict, maternal relationship."

"But I am old, dear Emile," she said, very simply.

"When I was standing by that window, looking at the mountains of Ischia,
I was saying to myself, 'This is an old, tired world, suitable for
me--and for you. We are in our right environment to-day.' I was saying
that, Hermione, but was I believing it, really? I don't think I was. And
I am ten years older than you, and I have been given a nature that was,
I think, always older than yours could ever be."

"I wonder if that is so."

She looked at him very directly, even searchingly, not with eager
curiosity, but with deep inquiry.

"You know, Emile," she added, "I tell you very much, but you tell me
very little. Not that I wish to ask anything--no. I respect all your
r