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But it was long before he could recognize that countenance, so changed was its expression, so tender, so mother-like. Nay, the face of his own mother had never seemed to him so soft with a mother's passion. "Ah!" he murmured, half rising, and flinging his young arms round her neck. Mrs.
No marvel that even her husband's clasp could not remove the look of heart-broken, speechless suffering which settled stonily down in Ursula's face, as she watched her boy storming about, furious with uncontrollable passion and pain. At last, mother-like, she forgot the passion in pity of the pain. "He is not strong yet; he will do himself harm. Let me go to him! John, let me!"
How he started at the sudden bellow of two stags, and the clatter of their horns as they fought in the brake close by, and how beautiful the castle looked when presently he emerged from the bushes and looked down upon it! This was the very room he slept in; the Baroness, mother-like, came to see that he was comfortable.
By the light of this sun I was, in my own opinion, last to behold and take leave of some of those creatures on whom I doted with a mother-like fondness, guided by nature and passion, and uncured and unhardened by all the doctrine of that philosophical school where I had learned to bear pains and to despise death.
And the other, a form hovering dark and mother-like, her awful face black with the mists of centuries, had aforetime bent in love over her white master's cradle, rocked his sons and daughters to sleep, and closed in death the sunken eyes of his wife to the world; ay, too, had laid herself low to his lust and borne a tawny man child to the world, only to see her dark boy's limbs scattered to the winds by midnight marauders riding after Damned Niggers.
Campion at the hall-door, the flush was gone, her lips were tightly compressed, and her parting words were not audible. Campion wound a mother-like arm around her waist and kissed her. Cecilia shivered and turned her face to her friend smiling; but such a smile, one of those smiles that seem brimful of tears.
"Carolyn June," Skinny finally said, a sigh of resignation breaking from his lips, "I'll be what you said just a good friend I always will be that to you! But before we start in, do you mind if I if I go up to Eagle Butte and get drunk!" In spite of herself she laughed. But in it was a tenderness almost mother-like.
It would have been a valuable revelation to some theologians to see in those two what <i>love</i> might mean. So gentle was Rob of the Angels, that all the women, down to the youngest maid-child, gave him a compassionate, mother-like love.
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