t emotion when
Mrs. Maxa told him how faithfully his mother had tried to send him news.
Her letters had, however, miscarried, because he had changed his
residence so frequently. But he had wanted him to know how constant his
mother's love had been and how anxiously she was waiting his return.

"Mrs. Maxa," he said after a little pause, "I feel terribly ashamed. I
came here with anger and hate in my heart against God and man, and my
only hope was to die as soon as possible. I expected to be forsaken and
despised, and instead of that I meet only kindness and love on every
side. I never deserved such a thing! Do you think I can ever atone for
all the wrong I've done?"

"We must always bear in mind that there is One who is glad to forgive us
our sins, Baron, and He can deliver us from them if we sincerely beg Him
to," Mrs. Maxa answered.

As the Baron remained silent, Mrs. Maxa added, "Will you let me say
something to you on the strength of our old friendship, Baron Bruno?"

"Certainly. I can trust my dear Maxa to say only what is right," he
replied.

"I have noticed that you have evaded mentioning the name Salo, that you
seemed reluctant to answer Leonore's questions concerning his possible
coming. I know that bitter memories are connected with the name, but I
also want you to know that you will deprive yourself of a great blessing
if you banish the boy who bears that name."

"Please let him come here, if only for a little while," Mrs. Maxa
begged, yet more strongly, "so that you can see him. If you can't
willingly see him who may be the pride and joy of your life, then open
the door of his home because, before God, it is right, which you must
feel as fully as I."

The Baron was silent, then finally said, "Salo may come."

Mrs. Maxa's face shone with joy and gratitude. Many things had still to
be discussed, and the two old friends remained sitting under the pine
tree till the last rays of the setting sun were throwing a rosy light
over the gray castle. The children were at last returning from their
walk across the meadows. They looked like a full-blown garden when they
approached the Baron's chair, for they were covered with garlands of
poppies, ivy and cornflowers. Now supper was announced, and the Baron
was escorted to the terrace as before. It was a true triumphal march
this time, when he, throned in his chair with the lion-skin on his knees,
was pushed along by the gaily decked children. The Baron told them ho