I had a letter from my mother, last summer, speaking of the fact, that
she had never been present at the marriage of one of her children. A
pang of remorse came as I read it, and I thought, if Angelino dies,[A]
I will not give her the pain of knowing that I have kept this secret
from her;--she shall hear of this connection, as if it were something
new. When I found he would live, I wrote to her and others. It half
killed me to write those few letters, and yet, I know, many are
wondering that I did not write more, and more particularly. My mother
received my communication in the highest spirit. She said, she was
sure a first object with me had been, now and always, to save her
pain. She blessed us. She rejoiced that she should not die feeling
there was no one left to love me with the devotion she thought I
needed. She expressed no regret at our poverty, but offered her feeble
means. Her letter was a noble crown to her life of disinterested,
purifying love.
[Footnote A: This was when Margaret found Nino so ill at Rieti.]