my eyes so as not to see your face in its pallor and its anguish. You said:

"Mona, my darling, I am going on a journey that will take months, and I want you to wait for me here with 'Mama' until I return"...

I stared at the pink coverlet of my bed and said, as though my lips had turned to wood: "Very well, Mother; I shall await your return, and if your absence grows long, do not trouble yourself over me, for 'Mama' loves me dearly and I love her"...

And at the door you put your head between your hands and wept; then you dried your tears and went out with head held high, beautiful as roses...

Your absence lasted long, and when you returned, and he with you, you came back more beautiful and more assured, more splendid and more marvelous — and I was older and wiser, calmer and more understanding: a quiet young girl who swallowed bitterness and drank sorrow, accepting the enormous truth of her life with submission and a bowed head...

You took me in your arms and cried: "Tomorrow — tomorrow, 'Mona,' I shall come to take you with me! Oh, if you could only see the house, and..."

You stopped when you saw my steady gaze contemplating you. And I said, putting my arm around "Mama's" shoulder:

"I am sorry, Mother, and it pains me to say that I can no longer leave 'Mama.' My parting would bereave her if I went... I am happy here, and you are happy there; let us remain as we are."

You started back as though I had slapped you, and for a moment you stood staring at nothing — or at some hidden thing that we could not see — like a mourner lowering a beloved into the earth! Then you lifted

your head high and held out your hand to me, saying: "I shall say nothing, my daughter, for this is the least requital I deserve... But you know how much I love you, and God knows my heart will remain with you, and yours, always and always..."

I knew what that calm and command of nerves cost you, for like you I was struggling to stand firm and not to cry out: "There is nothing I can do, Mother, for your great house is for you and your husband, and there is no place in it for me"... I held out my hand to you, speaking to you in silence, and you took it as a drowning man clutches at a rescuer's hand; then you went out quickly, without a backward glance. Then I reeled, and threw myself upon Mama's breast, and sobbed...

After that you drew farther away from me, and great differences divided us. You were the wife of a rich notable; you graced assemblies and society; your name appeared here and there as a doer of good works and a member of institutions! Sometimes you would invite me, with Mama, to some of your parties, and I would go fearful and sit in a corner by myself, like a blind woman who does not know how to open her eyes amid those lights and splendors...

•

And yesterday, after "Mama" left me and I remained alone, I felt an enormous weariness oppressing my soul and my body. I bowed my head in submission and asked myself, with closed eyes: How did I lose you, Mother, and how did you lose me? I do not know! How, and when, did the shadows fall across the face of our days, driving from us the light of the sun! How, and when, did the earth split open, so that valleys cut between me and you! I do not know!

Then I got up and went to pictures of you, old and new, and

gazed at them with tenderness and affection... You, with me a child in your hands, smiling. You, watering our garden and laughing. You, carrying me on the shore and making merry! Then your pictures of today: you pre-siding at a charity function. You in the garden of your great house with friends of yours, conversing. You — you in every picture, and in every pose, you...

My pain overflowed, and I closed my eyes and imagined you in your hours of solitude, closing your eyes as I do and remember-ing a beloved little girl, stretching out your hands into space, search-ing for her; and when space and emptiness mock you, covering your face with your palms, fleeing the cruelty of the shadows!... I pictured you receiving the young daughter of a friend of yours, laughing for her while your heart screams, calling for another, crying another name, far away and beloved!... I imagined you in an hour of sickness, the flowers on your right and the medicines on your left, husband and friends with you and around you, and your soul dazed and famished, wishing for her presence alone — that precious daughter — and not all that medley of husband and companions and medicine!...

Then the truth stung me — the truth of your torment. How cruel circumstances were to it, and how cruel it was! I sprang up like a madwoman and cried out for you to hear:

Mother, Mother, I understand now, and I will tell you that I understand! I have forgiven you — so forgive me for what I dried up of the freshness of your life, and what I darkened of the brightness of your days! Here I am now, writing to say that I love you — I love you in every hour of my day and every dream of my night... And tomorrow, when I go out with my classmates from the narrowness of school into