The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1902-08-24

it was human nature anyway. The
experience is common to every mother
in greater or less degree. She had to
expect it or she ought to have done so.
Still I did wish he had not been quite
so enthusiastic; not that it would have
made much difference. for it was the
fact that killed. His mother had in
tuition enough, she loved him enough,
to divine the truth through any reti-
cence.
81 can't bear it," I read, ito know
that 1 have no longer the first place
that another woman Is nearer to him
than T. To feel that the first of his
love is given to a stranger! The best
of his heart is hers Who is she? What
right had she to come between us?
What has she done for him compared
to me? Every since he was first put
in my arms, ever since l heard him
cry, the first time, after the awful pain
and anguish of deliveranoe, he has been
mine Mine! Mine! And she has
taken him o God pity me! 1 can
not give him up and live He must
not bring her here. shall never like
her. I hate her! 1 do not believe she
$50, how wicked / am! And he will
be so happy while I suffer! I'm glad
he will be happy, but it kills me.
Thank God it will not be long! 1 don't
want to see her. Pity me, my Saw
Jour! You had a mother! 1 am an
old lonely dying woman. Mercy; mer-
CIV! l don't want to see him, either
that 1 should write tiny son! With
d light in his eyes and love in his voice
for another woman! l shall die now.
Perhaps / may find comfort, then. But
l shall never forget. He wrote about
her on seven pages of his letter! And
one was enough for meb o. Sonny
Boyi' to lose you, to-your old mother
is breaking her heart! Be assured of
one thing. my son; love you and have
loved you better than anyone in the
whole world will ever love you"-these
were the words she had whispered to
me on her deathbed-"no matter how
much joy you may have, how much
happiness, no matter where you may
go, whom you may meet, what they
may say, no one in this world will
ever love you as 1 have. No one will
ever think of you as your mother"
That was all. And I'm afraid it was
true.
I sat there in the gray of the morn
ing with the open book in my hand.
She had told me to give the volume
to George when he returned, and l
could motif | desired to do so-disre-
gard her wish; yet to lay before him
the sorrow, the regret, the sadness of
that last entry, to leave him with that
0ndl InOuRnI Oh MS mother 10 CLOUD
his welded life with a suspicion, which
l knew he could never dispel, that his
joy had been her death, his marriage
had broken her heart-I could not do
it! Still, TO withhold from that boy
the last words of his mother-it did
not seem right.
What did 1 do? you ask. Well, with
a horribly guilty feeling. 1 cut the last
leaf containing those terribly piteous
words out of the diary. 1 did it care
fully, so that he would never know
that anything had been taken away
felt like thief all the time, some
how
1 did not destroy the leaf. I could
not do so. 1 put it away carefully
with my other treasures, and, when
George came home with his sweet,
beautiful young wife-and 1 thanked
God he had her to help him bear his
deep, unfeigned sorrow at the loss of
his mother-I gave him the diary
without the missing leaf, and her last
message to him, as l delivered 1t, was
simply of love and blessing. And I
almost felt as If his mother thanked
me for 1t. l hope so.
l take out that missing leaf some-
times when l am alone in my study,
and read 1t over and wonder whether,
after ALL l did right or no.