He must not forget"-- her voice became very soft--"that one day he is to be my hero." She spoke in the language almost lost in the land, but which a few--and they were always as rich in blood as in possessions--cherished in its purity, that they might be more certainly distinguished from Gentile peoples--the language in which the loved Rebekah and Rachel sang to Benjamin.
The words appeared to set him thinking anew; after a while, however, he caught the hand with which she fanned him, and said, "Today, O my mother, I have been made to think of many things that never had place in my mind before.

Tell me, first, what am I to be ?" "Have I not told you?
You are to be my hero." He could not see her face, yet he knew she was in play.

He became more serious.
"You are very good, very kind, O my mother.

No one will ever love me as you do." He kissed the hand over and over again.
"I think I understand why you would have me put off the question," he continued.

"Thus far my life has belonged to you.