'She Will
Surely Come,' I Said, 'but I Don't Know Whether I Shall See Her Or
Not.
Perhaps it will be just a whisper in my ear, perhaps a touch of
her hand on mine, but I shall know that she is with me.' And at last,
worn out with waiting and watching, I went to my bed and said she will
come to-morrow.
And the next night and the next it was the same.
Sometimes I would go up the ladder, always standing against the gable
so that one could go up, and standing on the roof, look out over the
plain and see where our horses were grazing. There I would sit or lie
on the thatch for hours. And I would cry: 'Come to me, my mother! I
cannot live without you! Come soon-come soon, before I die of a broken
heart!' That was my cry every night, until worn out with my vigil I
would go back to my room. And she never came, and at last I knew that
she was dead and that we were separated for ever - that there is no
life after death."
His story pierced me to the heart, and without another word I left
him, but I succeeded in making myself believe that grief for his
mother had made him mad, that as a boy he had got these delusions in
his mind and had kept them all his life. Now this recollection haunted
me.
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