eaming.

"Olof," she said after a while, turning to him with a new light in her
eyes, "do you know, a pilgrimage brings healing. It is always so in
books--the pilgrims are filled with hope, and go back with rejoicing
to their home.... Home...!" She started, as if wakening at the word.

"Should I go home, I wonder? What do you say, Olof? Father and
mother--they would be waiting for me. I know they would gladly take me
back again, in spite of all. Do you know, Olof, I have not been home
for two years now. I have been.... Oh no, I cannot, bear to think....
Yes, I will go home. Only let me sit here just a little while, and
look into your eyes--as we used to do. I will be stronger after that."

And she sat looking at him. But Olof stared blankly before him, as at
some train of shadowy visions passing before his eyes.

"You have changed, Olof, since I saw you last," murmured the woman at
his feet. "Have you suffered?..."

Olof did not answer. He pressed his lips together, and great tears
gathered anew in his eyes.

"Oh, life is cruel!" she broke out suddenly, and hid her face in his
lap once more.

For a moment she lay thus; deep, heavy silence seemed to fill the
room. At last she looked up.

"I am going now," she said. "But, Olof, are we...?" She looked at him,
hoping he would understand.

He took both her hands in his. "Are you going--home?" he asked
earnestly.

"Yes, yes. But tell me--are we...?"

"Yes, yes." He uttered the words in a sigh, as if to himself. Then,
pressing her hand, he rose to his feet.

Staggering like a drunken man, he followed her to the door, and stood
looking out after her as she went. Then the night mist seemed to rise
all about him, swallowing up everything in its clammy gloom.

THE RECKONING

He sits deep in thought. Not a sound in the room.

Then a knocking....

The man starts, rises to his feet, and stares about him with wide
eyes, as if unable to recognise his surroundings. He glances towards
the door, and a shudder of fear comes over him--are they coming to
torture him again?

Furiously he rushes to the door and flings it wide. "Come in, then!"
he cries. "Come in--as many as you please! Rags or finery, sane or
mad, in--in! I've hung my head long enough! Bid them begone--and they
come again--well, come in and have done. Bring out your reckoning,
every one. Here's what's left of me--come and take your share!"

But he calls to the empty air. And his courage fails as