I knew no more of the world, of what is called the world, than I did of those golden cities seen through the cloud-vistas of sunset.

It seemed as grand, as remote, and as inaccessible.
At this moment I turned my gaze towards the distant cloud-turrets gleaming above, walls on which chariots and horsemen of fire seemed passing and repassing, and I was conscious of but one deep, earnest thought,--"my mother!" One prayer, sole and agonizing, trembled on my lips:-- "Take her not from me, O my God! I will drink the cup of poverty and humiliation to the dregs if thou wilt, without a murmur, but spare, O spare my mother!" God did spare her for a little while.

The dark hands on the dial-plate of destiny once moved back at the mighty breath of prayer..