Hesitating, he opened the door.

His mother sat up in bed, wearing a dressing-gown of old-rose colour.

She looked at him almost as if she were ashamed of herself, pleading to him, humble.

He saw the ashy look about her.
"Mother!" he said.
"I thought you were never coming," she answered gaily.
But he only fell on his knees at the bedside, and buried his face in the bedclothes, crying in agony, and saying: "Mother--mother--mother!" She stroked his hair slowly with her thin hand.
"Don't cry," she said.

"Don't cry--it's nothing." But he felt as if his blood was melting into tears, and he cried in terror and pain.
"Don't--don't cry," his mother faltered.
Slowly she stroked his hair.