had dared to ask no questions of the people with whom she lived, but
now a sudden weakness had overtaken her, and she felt that to-day must
decide her fate; she could no longer bear this torture of uncertainty.
Thomas remained standing at her side and looked at her with anxiety
and wonder. He knew that she had concealed many things from him, but
whatever her reasons might be, he was confident that they were just and
weighty. It was not for him to question her about what he might have no
right to know. He felt as if he had never loved her as in this
moment, when she seemed to be most in need of him, and an overwhelming
tenderness took possession of his heart. He suddenly stooped down, took
her pale, thin face between his hands and kissed her. The long pent-up
emotion burst forth in a flood of tears; she buried her face in her lap
and wept long and silently. Then the church-bells began to peal down in
the valley, and the slow mighty sound floated calmly and solemnly up to
them. How many long-forgotten memories of childhood and youth did
they not wake in her bosom--memories of the time when the merry
Glitter-Brita, decked with her shining brooches, wended her way to the
church among the gayly-dressed lads and maidens of the parish?

A cluster of white-stemmed birches threw its shadow over the stone where
the penitent mother was sitting, and the tall grass on both sides of
the path nearly hid her from sight. Presently the church-folk began to
appear, and Brita raised her head and drew her veil down over her face.
No one passed without greeting the strangers, and the women and maidens,
according to old fashion, stopped and courtesied. At last, there came
an old white-haired man, leaning on the arm of a middle-aged woman. His
whole figure was bent forward, and he often stopped and drew his breath
heavily.

"Oh, yes, yes," he said, ill a hoarse, broken voice, as he passed before
them, "age is gaining on me fast. I can't move about any more as of old.
But to church I must this day. God help me! I have done much wrong and
need to pray for forgiveness."

"You had better sit down and rest, father," said the woman. "Here is a
stone, and the fine lady, I am sure, will allow a weak old man to sit
down beside her."

Thomas rose and made a sign to the old man to take his seat.

"O yes, yes," he went on murmuring, as if talking to himself. "Much
wrong--much forgiveness. God help us all--miserable sinners. He who
hateth not father