"But side by side with these ennobling tasks, these holy missions, there are others, less prominent, which cannot, ought not to be overlooked. By her only child, her sole support, her one hope, a mother must always be the most fondly-loved of all created beings. I was all the world to mine, as she was to me, in the time when I yet knew you not. She would let me go were I to say that I was going with you and for you—a mother is ever ready for any sacrifice. She knows you, for I have poured out my heart, so full of you, to her. She might even push her self-denial to the extreme of urging upon me this long voyage. But, away from her, I should always have her before my eyes, weeping, anxious, despairing, growing weaker and weaker, and, perhaps, dying. I could not bear the thought of her dying when I was far away from her, unable to close her eyes, to hear her latest wish, to receive her parting sigh, to wrap her in her shroud, and scatter flowers on her resting-place! The agony of a mother in such a case would indeed be terrible; I have no right to leave her, I must remain. It is the duty, perhaps the first, of a son to be beside the death-bed of her who has given him life." He stopped, and as she took his hand in hers she said— "You are right. You ought not to leave her, and I would not have you go." "I knew full well that you would tell me so," said he, with tears in his eyes, "but, you will leave me, and with them! Ah," he exclaimed, quickly, "if you could only give up the idea of this journey!" "I have no more right to give it up than you have to leave your mother," was the reply. "You would be present during the last moments of your mother. Recollect that I was not present at those of my husband. I know from strangers that he is dead, but I do not even know the spot where he died, the victim of a dastardly outrage. I shrank, the other evening, from dwelling upon this subject. To you alone I will confess that, before I can think of putting off these widow's weeds, before I can dream of beginning a new life, I must see with my own eyes the spot which witnessed the dying agony of M. de Guéran. I want to learn the details of his last moments, to recover his papers, to publish his studies, his works, and before surrendering his name, if, indeed, I do surrender it, to make it famous. You see, my friend," she continued, softly, "that if you have a duty to perform here, I have one equally binding there beyond. Every one has his work in this world. I respect that which has fallen to your lot, and I ask you to respect mine." He bowed his assent at once, but, after a moment's pause, he could not help saying— "Are you not setting before yourself a task beyond your strength? A woman of your age, brought up as you have been, and accustomed to luxury, to venture into such countries in the midst of such inhabitants?" "I should not be the first woman who has visited them—Mrs. Livingstone, for instance—"