h, why do I speak? Words are but
sound. No, Lady Lanswell, I refuse your apology now or at any time! We
are enemies, and shall remain so until we die!"

The countess shrunk from the passion of her indignant words.

"You are right in some measure," she said, sadly. "I was very hard, but
it was for my son's sake! Ah, believe me, all for him."

"Your son," retorted Leone; "you make your son the excuse for your own
vanity, pride, and ambition. What you did, Lady Lanswell, proved how
little you loved your son; you parted us knowing that he loved me,
knowing that his whole heart was bound up in me, knowing that he had but
one wish, and it was to spend his whole life with me; you parted us
knowing that he could never love another woman as he loved me, knowing
that you were destroying his life, even as you have destroyed mine. Did
love for your son actuate you then?"

"What I believed to be my love for my son and care for his interests
alone guided me," said Lady Lanswell.

"Love for your son!" laughed Leone. "Have you ever read the story of the
mother of the Maccabees, who held her twin sons to die rather than they
live to deny the Christian faith? Have you read of the English mother
who, when her fair-haired son grew pale at the sound of the first
cannon, cried, 'Be brave, my son, death does not last one minute--glory
is immortal.' I call such love as that the love of a mother for her
son--the love that teaches a man to be true, if it cost his life; to be
brave, if courage brings him death; to be loyal and noble. True motherly
love shows itself in that fashion, Lady Lanswell."

The proud head of Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, drooped before this girl
as it had never done before any power on earth.

"What has your love done for your son, Lady Lanswell?" she asked. "Shall
I tell you? You made him a traitor, a coward, a liar--through your
intrigues, he perjured himself. You made him disloyal and ignoble--you
made him _false_. And yet you call that love! I would rather have the
love of a pagan mother than such as yours.

"What have you done for him?" she continued, the fire of her passion
rising--"what have you done for him? He is young and has a long life
before him. Is he happy? Look at his face--look at his restless, weary
eyes--listen to the forced bitter laugh! Is he happy, after all your
false love has done for him? You have taken from him the woman he loves,
and you have given him one for whom he cares so little he w