Alfred gazed on her thus kneeling at his feet--his mother, she, who in his infancy had knelt beside him, to guide on high his childish prayers.

The heart of the misguided boy was softened, tears filled his eyes.

He would have spoken; he would have pledged himself to do all that she had asked, when suddenly the ridicule of his companions flashed before his fancy.

Could he bear that?
No; he could see his mother at his feet, but he could not meet the ridicule of the world.

He raised her hastily, but in perfect silence; pressed her to his heart, kissed her cheek repeatedly, then placed her on a couch, and darted from her presence.