But," he continued, in gentler tones, "the capacity for suffering does exist, and I can see without any simulation on your part that you have suffered." Before the look of pity which now for the first time softened the stern features, she broke down, and genuine tears coursed down her pallid cheeks as she cried, "Suffered! what have I not suffered! I am homeless, penniless, degraded, an outcast! There is no hope, no help for me unless you will help me.

I know what you must think of me, how even you, my son, must despise me, but as a drowning man catches at a straw, I sent for you, hoping that you would in mercy pity me and help me." "Do you wish me to help you pecuniarily?
I will willingly do that." "Pecuniarily!" she exclaimed, almost in scorn.

"Cannot you understand what I need most?
It is pity, sympathy, love! I want the love and support of my first-born son, and I am willing to beg for it," and, rising from her chair, she threw herself upon her knees beside him, "only be my son, forget the past and let me be to you, as I am, your mother! No, let me be!" she exclaimed, as he would have raised her from her kneeling posture.

"I have no son but you, for Walter, like his father, has deserted me, with taunts and sneers.

I can help you, too," she added, eagerly, but in low tones, "help you in a way of which you little dream.