“In all the splendid imagery that makes ‘Aurora Leigh’ deathless, nothing affected me half so deeply as the portrait of the motherless child; and often when I could not sleep, I have whispered in the wee sma’ hours: 

“I felt a mother want about the world,
And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb
Left out at night, in shutting up the fold,
As restless as a nest-deserted bird,
Grown chill through something being away, though what—­
It knows not.  So mothers have God’s license to be missed.”

“My guardians were noble, kind, high-toned, honourable gentlemen, and I owe them thanks, but ah! a girl should be ward only to those who gave her being; and, mother, brown-eyed mother, sweet and holy, it would have been better for your child had she shared her past with none but you.  Do I weary you with my babble?  If so, lay your hand upon my mouth, and I will watch your dear face, and be silent.”

In answer, the mother stooped and kissed many times the perfect lips that smiled at the pressure; but the likeness to a mouth dangerously sweet, treacherously beautiful, mocked her, and Regina saw her turn away her eyes, and felt rather than heard the strangled moan.

“Mother-kisses, the sweetest relic of Eden that followed Eve into a world of pain.  All these dreary years I have kept your memory like a white angel-image, set it up for worship, offered it the best part of myself; and I know I have grown jealously exacting, where you are concerned.  I studied because I wished you to be proud of me; I practised simply that my music might be acceptable and pleasant to you; and when people praised me, said I was pretty, I rejoiced that one day I might be considered worthy of you.  Something wounded me when at last we met.  Let me tell you, my dearest, that you may take out the thorn, and heal the grieved spot.  The day I came,—­how long ago? for I am in a delicious dream, have been eating the luscious lotos of realized hope,—­the day I came, and saw a new, glorious sun shining from my mother’s eyes, you ran to meet me.  I hear you again, ‘My baby! my baby!’ as you rushed across the floor.  You opened your arms, and when you clasped me to your bosom you bent my head back, and gazed at me—­oh! how eagerly, hungrily; and I saw your face turn ghastly white, and a great agony sweep across it, and the lips that kissed me were cold and quivering.  To me it was all sweet as heaven; but the cup of delight I drained, had bitter drops for you.  Mother, tell me, were you disappointed in your daughter?”

“No, darling; no.  The little blue-eyed child has grown into a woman, of whom the haughtiest mother in the land might be proud.  My darling is all I wish her.”

“Ah, mother! the flattery is inexpressibly sweet, falling like dew on parched leaves; but the eyes of your idolatrous baby have grown very keen, and I know that the sight of me brings you a terrible pain you cannot hide.  Last night, when Mrs. Waul made me shake out my hair to show its length, and praised it and my eyebrows, you dropped my hand, and walked away; and in the mirror on the wall, I saw your countenance shaken with grief.  What is it?  We have been apart so long, do take me into your heart fully; tell me why you look at me, and turn aside and shiver?”