heart. What changes life brings to us! Thirty years ago this worn,
weary traveller emigrated to the New World. Then he was young,
courageous, filled with all the bright hopes which a new life spread
out before him. What happiness he had known since then; what sorrow he
had passed through; and ah, what guilt and remorse he had borne!

And now he was back again--the tall, erect form so bowed down. Was it
sorrow, guilt, or exhaustion from the journey? The once sunny locks
were white as the snow on the mountains; in the large blue eyes alone
there were still some signs of his former self remaining. "Here is the
dear old place at last!" he murmured to himself, and his bosom heaved
with suppressed emotion. The longer he gazed, the more difficult he
found it to control his feelings, until finally he gave way, and wept
like a child.

Meanwhile the brilliant hues of sunset had faded away, and with the
approaching shadows of night the wind rose and played around the
stranger's hoary head.

"It must be about nine o'clock now, the hour for evening prayer, and
everything will go on just as in the old days, for there is nothing to
create a change here. I will go in, and ask if my child yet lives; and
if so, there may be one to rejoice at my return." Thus soliloquizing,
he put his hat on again, slung his wallet over his shoulder, and
supporting himself on his stout staff, approached the house. Very few
changes had occurred since he had left. A few new houses had been
erected, but the old ones remained unaltered, even the one where he had
formerly lived. He had inherited it from his father, and had carried
on the linen trade there until he left with his first wife for the New
World.

The congregation were returning from the chapel. Here and there a
group would gather before one or other of the dwellings, to enjoy the
mild summer night; and as the old man passed along he greeted a Brother
or a Sister, and they returned it kindly, but like strangers. No one
recognized him, although many looked after him curiously as he
staggered feebly on towards the Sisters' house.

"That is not the Brothers' house, dear Brother," said a young man,
addressing him.

"Yes, I know it. But I know where I am going," he replied, as if
pleased to find the different roads so familiar to him. Then he pulled
the bell at the Sisters' door, and requested to speak with Agatha.

He was ushered into the sitting-room, and as Sister Agatha ent