Late in the afternoon, Brita and her son were
seen returning to the farm-house. A calm, subdued
happiness beamed from the mother's countenance;
she was again at peace with the world
and herself, and her heart was as light as in the
days of her early youth. But her bodily
strength had given out, and her limbs almost
refused to support her. The strain upon her
nerves and the constant effort had hitherto
enabled her to keep up, but now, when that
strain was removed, exhausted nature claimed
its right. The next day--she could not leave
her bed, and with every hour her strength
failed. A physician was sent for. He gave
medicine, but no hope. He shook his head
gravely, as he went, and both mother and son
knew what that meant.
Toward evening, Bjarne Blakstad was
summoned, and came at once. Thomas left the
room, as the old man entered, and what passed
in that hour between father and daughter, only
God knows. When the door was again opened,
Brita's eyes shone with a strange brilliancy, and
Bjarne lay on his knees before the bed, pressing
her hand convulsively between both of his.
"This is my son, father," said she, in a
language which her son did not understand; and a
faint smile of motherly pride and happiness
flitted over her pale features. "I would give
him to thee in return for what thou hast lost;
but God has laid his future in another land."
Bjarne rose, grasped his grandson's hand, and
pressed it; and two heavy tears ran down his
furrowed cheeks.
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