The inexpressible, unwearying tenderness of this mother for her son, the love of this boy for his mother, grew with the passage of time--grew into something so significant, so vital and so deep, that even the poisonous atmosphere of the alley could not thwart its growth.
"This feeling grew in the boy's heart; and with it--by a necessary law of nature--another feeling took root and grew also.

Fired by stories of a past, in which wealth and position had been won by his forefathers, he conceived the idea of becoming in his own person a hero--a knight-errant.

And in the grimy, common alley; in the poor, bare sitting-room where his mother sewed unendingly; in the dark closet under the slates where at night he dreamed his child's dreams, he built castles such as never stood upon the hills of Spain! "The germ of his ambition fell into his soul like a seed of fire; and, like a seed of fire, sprang into a flame.

At whatever price--at whatever sacrifice--there must be a golden future, in which the mother he adored would sit in high places; in which the worn hands would never ply a needle except for pastime, the frail figure grow straight and strong, the pale face warm and brighten with the colors of health! "It was a very humble, a very young ambition, but it sprang from the true, clean source of untainted love, like which there is nothing else in all the world." He paused; and from his grave voice it seemed that a wave of emotion passed across the chapel.

The congregation, too fascinated by his words to question their meaning, drew a sigh of rapt anticipation.