Page:Plays by Jacinto Benavente - Third series (IA playstranslatedf03benauoft).pdf/242

. But Emilia?

. Has gone. She is not here… not here. She is afraid… afraid of love, afraid of life. Everything is over between us.

. My poor boy! Then…?

. Now you will never leave us.

. Yes, now more than ever I must. One illusion that is lost is but a small part of life. Now more than ever I must! The wretched poverty of this existence shall never again crush my heart, brimming over with the fulness of life. I shall win the right to love, to be happy—it is a right which belongs to my children.

. Oh! My son

. Let him go. You have no right to discourage him. Others have done the same. Our mother Spain was prodigal of her children, and sent them forth to give life and body to those nations, the daughters of her race, who are to-day her chief, perhaps her only pride. Let him go, and his mother's love and benediction must go with him. A cradle is more sacred than the grave… greater than the past is the future.

Curtain