saw
the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretched companions. Oh,
how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clothes were! The men
seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something that he did not
like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of the dispute he
turned his head, and caught sight of the old coach; and Melchior, seeing
this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all his might. The brother
seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and (was it fancy?) Time
seemed to go slower. The brother made up his mind; he turned and jumped
from the dog-cart as he had jumped from the old coach long ago, and,
ducking in and out among the horses and carriages, ran for his life. The
men came after him; but he ran like the wind--pant, pant, nearer,
nearer; at last the coach was reached, and Melchior seized the prodigal
by his rags and dragged him in.

"'Oh, thank God, I have got you safe, my brother!'

"But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the old
curly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face than
the rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for the opera-glasses
of the crowd! Yet poor Hop-o'-my-thumb was on the front seat at last,
with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking the head that
rested against him.

"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is
streaked with white.'

"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than
mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.'

"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what
are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that crowd,
brother.'

"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice; 'but
I see----'

"'You see what?' said Melchior.

"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out----'

"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No! surely
no!'

"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and the
prodigal's sunken eyes looked more sunken still as he gazed. As for
Melchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony,
terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to strike him; he seized
his brother, and pushed him to the farthest corner of the seat, and then
planted himself firmly at the door, just as Death came up and put his
hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low, steady voice, more piteous
than cries or tears.

"'I humbly beseech you, good Deat