y, out of all his playfellows he was the only one who, far from
fearing her had clung to her. But to-night! who had ever seen Sabina in
such a mood? Was this the harsh bitter woman whose heart seemed filled
with gall, whose tongue cut like a dagger every one against whom she used
it? Was this Sabina who no doubt was kindly disposed towards him but who
loved no one else, not even herself? Did he see rightly, or was he under
some delusion? Tears, genuine, honest, unaffected tears filled her eyes
as she went on:

"Here I he, a poor sickly woman, sensitive in body and in soul as if I
were covered with wounds. Every movement, and even the gaze and the voice
of most of my fellow-creatures is a pain to me. I am old, much older than
you think and so wretched, so wretched, none of you can imagine how
wretched. I was never happy as a child, never as a girl, and as a
wife--merciful gods!--every kind word that Hadrian has ever vouchsafed me
I have paid for with a thousand humiliations."

"He always treats you with the utmost esteem," interrupted Verus.

"Before you, before the world! But what do I care for esteem! I may
demand the respect, the adoration of millions and it will be mine. Love,
love, a little unselfish love is what I ask--and if only I were sure, if
only I dared to hope that you give me such love, I would thank you with
all that I have, then this hour would be hallowed to me above all
others."

"How can you doubt me Mother? My dearly beloved Mother!"

"That is comfort, that is happiness!" answered Sabina. "Your voice is
never too loud for me, and I believe you, I dare trust you. This hour
makes you my son, makes me your mother."

Tender emotion, the emotion that softens the heart, thrilled through
Sabina's dried-up nature and sparkled in her eyes. She felt like a young
wife of whom a child is born, and the voice of her heart sings to her in
soothing tones: "It lives, it is mine, I am the providence of a living
soul, I am a mother."

She gazed blissfully into Verus' eyes and exclaimed, "Give me your hand
my son, help me up, for I will be here no longer. What good spirits I
feel in! Yes, this is the joy that is allotted to other women before
their hair is grey! But child--dear and only child--you must love me
really as a mother. I am too old for tender trifling, and yet I could not
bear it if you gave me nothing but a child's reverence. No, no, you must
be my friend whose heart warns him of my wishes, who can lau