She spoke to him, but her voice was weak, and failed her.

At length she put herself in his track, and when he came near, stretched out her hand and touched him.
He started backward, trembling from head to foot; but seeing who it was, demanded why she came there.

Before she could reply, he spoke again.
'Am I to live or die?
Do you murder too, or spare ?' 'My son--our son,' she answered, 'is in this prison.' 'What is that to me ?' he cried, stamping impatiently on the stone pavement.

'I know it.

He can no more aid me than I can aid him.