Page:Between the twilights being studies of Indian women by one of themselves (IA betweentwilights00soraiala).pdf/138

118 blaming him not, set patiently about his bidding, sparing nothing—the one note of joy in that chaunt of sorrow being this: “He came to his Mother, he loved her enough to come, to trust her;” … and, as the half-understood regret passed like a shadow over the dying mind, she used all her art to brush it away. “Fear not, my Son; was it not written? Is this not fruit of that past birth of which you have no remembrance. All is illusion even sin; all is good, yes, even sin could we know it … and your death-ceremonies shall be to be envied of men, buying you sinlessness through many future births. Fear not. … And, when he is of age, the boy, he also shall perform your ceremony … a new birth to righteousness. Do not fear, my Son.”

It is this memory which is in the soul of Big-Mother, as she plays with her son’s son on the terrace in the mystic hour between the lights.

But the boy will grow, and there will be a bride to be found for him. What great excitement this means for the Zenana, few know who have not gone in and out among the