My mother shed some tears and many prayers over me at parting.

Not that she was moved to any grief at losing me.
That were a grief I should respect and the memory of which I should treasure as a sacred thing.

Her tears were tears of dread lest, surrounded by perils in the world, I should succumb and thus falsify her vows.
She, herself, confessed it in the valedictory words she addressed to me.
Words that left the conviction clear upon my mind that the fulfilment of her vow was the only thing concerning me that mattered.

To the price that later might be paid for it I cannot think that she ever gave a single thought.
Tears there were too in the eyes of Fra Gervasio.

My mother had suffered me to do no more than kiss her hand--as was my custom.