eyes--a gesture of weariness and despair. Then she faced
him.

"Take him," she said, her voice hoarse. "Take him away from me. I
ain't fit to have him. Understand? He's got to grow up into a man.
And I can't teach him how. Take him. Take him altogether. Make
him--like yourself. Before you come," she proceeded, now feverishly
pacing the floor, "I never knew that men was good. No man ever looked
in my eyes the way you do. I know them--oh, I know them! And when my
boy grows up, I want him to look in the eyes of women the way you
look--in mine. Just that! Only that! If only, oh, if only my son
will look in the eyes of women the way you look in mine! Understand?
I _want_ him to. But I can't teach him how. I don't know enough. I
ain't good enough."

The curate rose.

"You can't take his voice and leave his soul," she went on. "You got
to take his soul. You got to make it--like your own."

"Not like mine!"

"Just," she said, passionately, "like yours. Don't you warn me!" she
flashed. "I know the difference between your soul and mine. I know
that when his soul is like yours he won't love me no more. But I can't
help that. I got to do without him. I got to live my life--and let
him live his. It's the way with mothers and sons. God help the
mothers! It's the way of the world.... And he'll go with you," she
added. "I'll get him so he'll be glad to go. It won't be nice to
do--but I can do it. Maybe you think I can't. Maybe you think I love
him too much. It ain't that I love him too much. It's because I love
him _enough_!"

"You offer the boy to me?"

"Will you take him--voice and soul?"

"I will take him," said the curate, "soul and voice."

She began at once to practice upon the boy's love for her--this
skillfully, persistently: without pity for herself or him. She sighed,
wept, sat gloomy for hours together: nor would she explain her sorrow,
but relentlessly left it to deal with his imagination, by which it was
magnified and touched with the horror of mystery. It was not
hard--thus to feign sadness, terror, despair: to hint misfortune,
parting, unalterable love. Nor could the boy withstand it; by this
depression he was soon reduced to a condition of apprehension and grief
wherein self-sacrifice was at one with joyful opportunity. Dark days,
these--hours of agony, premonition, fearful expectation. And when they
had sufficiently wrought upon him, she was ready to proceed.

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