Page:The great Galeoto; Folly or saintliness; two plays done from the verse of José Echegaray into English prose by Hannah Lynch (IA greatgaleotofoll00echerich).djvu/192

 out paper.] Here is the proof. Unhappily it is no dream. It is terrible and implacable reality. I have read it a hundred times, and can never weary of reading it: 'I have loved you like a son, although you are no child of ours.' 'Although you are no child of ours!'

. [Aside, watching him.] He is reading—reading that letter written by one he believed to be his mother. I it is who am his mother—not another. [Advances slowly.] How sad he looks! and there are tears in his eyes. In his eyes, do I say? Perhaps it is my own eyes, looking at him, that are wet. His eyes or mine! What matter? There are tears somewhere. [Comes nearer.] He is crying. Why? Because I am his mother? But what of that, if nobody else knows my secret? I am so near death! Yes, death! I shall soon die. Cold and eternal night has already penetrated to the depths of my being. It is all dark within. [''Staggers and leans against the table. Don Lorenzo turns to her.'']

. Juana!

. Still that name.

. Mother!

. It offends you that I am such—I see it.

. Do you think so ill of me?

. Well, if it does not offend you, you are ashamed of me as your mother?

. I ashamed of you! To-morrow the world will know that I am your son.

. To-morrow! What do you mean? [With terror.] My hearing is dull, and I cannot rightly have understood what you said.

. I made a mistake. Not to-morrow. You must leave Spain first, and then, when you are in some safe place, since man's justice can often be very cruel, I 152