"No sooner had I given utterance to this interrogative doubt, which was wrung from my tortured heart, than shrieking aloud, she fell forward, and but for my intervening arm, her form would have been prostrate at my feet. I caught her in my arms; I kissed her marble brow; I chafed her cold pulses; and breathed words of comfort, words praying her forgiveness, into her ears. At length she revived, as I supported her against my wildly beating heart; and, with stony eyes staring me in the face, gasped-- "'Remeses! Who hath--who--who hath said this?' "'No one, _no one_, my dearly loved mother,' I answered, tenderly. And when I saw that she was more composed, I said, 'It was only a conjecture--a wild suspicion--for I could not comprehend the mystery between you and my cousin Mœris, except that (as has been done in former dynasties) he and I are in each other's places. Is Mœris thy son, and am I the son of the brother of Amunophis?' "I had no sooner said this, than she raised her head from the gold-embroidered purple cushion of the ivory couch, on which she lay reclining against my arm, and with a strange laugh of joy and surprise, said,-- "'So this is _all_, Remeses! Then thou needest not fear. Mœris is not my son. He is nothing to me but my kinsman. Canst thou believe that that wicked prince is my offspring? I forgive thee, Remeses, because, perhaps, my words, and the necessity of guarding my secret, may have forced thee to this conclusion.' This she spoke with a mind evidently greatly relieved. "'Then, dear mother, I _am_ thy son in spite of Prince Mœris?'