On the steps stood Donna Elvira, his mother, awaiting them, with a kind of proud patience.

She had drawn herself up to her full height, was evidently fighting for self-composure; but, at the sight of her son, her hauteur melted, and, with a cry, she clasped him in her arms; but, the next moment, with a Spanish courtesy which swiftly melted to tenderness, she turned to the rather pale and trembling girl, and embraced her.

With a hand of each in hers, she drew them into the house.

There are moments too sacred for intrusion; such moments were those which passed between these three.

At first sight, the Donna's heart had gone out to her son's beautiful young wife; and it was with a sigh that she said, after much talk had passed between them, "Yes, you must not forget, dearest child, that you have a mother, and another home, here in the South.