And now, as then, his glance sought first of all the farthest background of the place.  What he saw was like and yet unlike what he had seen there.  Then, it had been the figure of a young man, holding out his arms over a group of children; now, it was the figure of an old woman, worn with sickness—­but with the same great gentleness in her face.

The woman’s eyes lit up, as though she had seen a miracle; her glance grew keen, as if wishing to be sure, and softened again, in the certainty that the miracle had come.

The trembling head was lifted, the frail body rose up like a bent bow, her mouth opened, and her lips began to move, but no sound came—­she could but reach out one thin, trembling hand to the figure by the door.

He moved, and walked over to the bed.  And the old woman and the weary man took each other’s hands and pressed them, looked into each other’s eyes and trembled with emotion, unable to speak a word.

Tears rose to the old woman’s eyes, a gleam as of sunset over autumn woods lit her wrinkled face; the thin lips quivered between smiling and weeping.

“So you came after all,” she said at last in a trembling voice.  “I knew you would come—­some time.  And good that you came just now....”

She sank back wearily on the pillow, and the man sat down on a chair at her side, still holding her hands in his.

* * * * *

The old woman lay with her face turned towards her son, looking at him with love in her eyes.

Then her look turned to one of questioning—­there was something she had been waiting years to ask.

“Tell me, my son....”  Her voice was almost a whisper.

But he could not answer.

“Olof, look at me,” she begged.

And the man beside the bed lifted his eyes, great dark eyes full of weariness and stark fear—­but bowed his head again and looked away.

The smile vanished from the old woman’s face.  She gazed long and searchingly at her son’s haggard chin, his sunken cheeks and loose eyelids, the pale forehead, the furrowed temples—­everything.

“Perhaps it has to be,” she murmured, as if speaking to someone else. “’And wasted all his substance....  And he said, I will arise and....’”

Her voice trembled, and Olof, in a hasty glance, saw how her wrinkled mouth quivered with emotion.

And suddenly the coldness that had almost paralysed him up to now, seemed to melt away.  He fell on his knees beside the bed, his face in the coverlet, and knelt there sobbing.

It was as in church, at the moment when each single heart withdraws from all the rest to offer up its own silent prayer.

* * * * *

The old woman lay resting in her bed; her face wore the same look of sorrowful gentleness that it had done for years, despite the ravages of sickness.

But to-day, signs of uneasiness were apparent; shadows of fear seemed flitting ever and anon over her features.