When he had done, so wrought upon was I by the sorrow of that countenance that I went forward again to fling myself upon my knees before her.
"Mother, forgive!" I pleaded. And getting no answer I put up my hands to take hers. "Mother!" I cried, and the tears were streaming down my face.
But she recoiled before me.
"Are you my child?" she asked in a voice of horror. "Are you the thing that has grown out of that little child I vowed to chastity and to God? Then has my sin overtaken me--the sin of bearing a son to Giovanni d'Anguissola, that enemy of God!"
"Ah, mother, mother!" I cried again, thinking perhaps by that all-powerful word to move her yet to pity and to gentleness.
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