Together, where our boy's fate mattered, we two could help him on his
way. That is what I feel, my dear."
When he touched her arm she did not move, yet there was in his fingers
something which stirred ulcers long since healed and scarred. She stepped
back from him.
"Do not touch me. The past is buried for ever. There can be no
resurrection. I know what I should do, and I will do it. For the rest of
my life, I shall live for my son. I hope he will defeat you. I don't lift
a hand to help him except to give him money, not John Grier's money but
my own, always that. You are fighting what is stronger than yourself. One
thing is sure, he is nearer to the spirit of your race than you. He will
win--but yes, he will win!"
Her face suffused with warmth, became alive with a wonderful fire, her
whole being had a simple tragedy. Once again, and perhaps for the last
time, she had renewed the splendour of her young womanhood. The vital
warmth of a great idea had given an expression to her face which had long
been absent from it.
He fell back from her. Then suddenly passion seized him. The gaunt beauty
of her roused a spirit of contest in him. The evil thing in him, which
her love for her son had almost conquered, came back upon him.
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