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"
I
am
very
sure
of
it
,
"
I
replied
.
"
Is
she
such
a
dear
as
you
think
her
?
"
he
asked
me
.
"
Heaven
help
her
,
"
I
said
,
"
if
she
be
not
dearer
than
that
.
"
Heaven
help
all
mothers
if
they
be
not
really
dears
,
for
their
boy
will
certainly
know
it
in
that
strange
short
hour
of
the
day
when
every
mother
stands
revealed
before
her
little
son
.
That
dread
hour
ticks
between
six
and
seven
;
when
children
go
to
bed
later
the
revelation
has
ceased
to
come
.
He
is
lapt
in
for
the
night
now
and
lies
quietly
there
,
madam
,
with
great
,
mysterious
eyes
fixed
upon
his
mother
.
He
is
summing
up
your
day
.
Nothing
in
the
revelations
that
kept
you
together
and
yet
apart
in
play
time
can
save
you
now
;
you
two
are
of
no
age
,
no
experience
of
life
separates
you
;
it
is
the
boy
's
hour
,
and
you
have
come
up
for
judgment
.
"
Have
I
done
well
to-day
,
my
son
?
"
You
have
got
to
say
it
,
and
nothing
may
you
hide
from
him
;
he
knows
all
.
How
like
your
voice
has
grown
to
his
,
but
more
tremulous
,
and
both
so
solemn
,
so
unlike
the
voice
of
either
of
you
by
day
.
"
You
were
a
little
unjust
to
me
to-day
about
the
apple
;
were
you
not
,
mother
?
"
Stand
there
,
woman
,
by
the
foot
of
the
bed
and
cross
your
hands
and
answer
him
.
"
Yes
,
my
son
,
I
was
.
I
thought
--
"
But
what
you
thought
will
not
affect
the
verdict
.
"
Was
it
fair
,
mother
,
to
say
that
I
could
stay
out
till
six
,
and
then
pretend
it
was
six
before
it
was
quite
six
?
"
