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.
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