And then all at once the evil imaginings faded, and there rose up instead of them a picture of what might be in the future, of a home he might make for Sigrid and Swanhild here in London, where he now roamed about so wretchedly, of a life which should in every way be a contrast to his present misery. But he felt, as thousands have felt before him, that he was handicapped in the struggle by his loneliness, and perhaps it was this consciousness more than any expectation of finding work which made him swallow his pride and turn his steps toward Brixton. CHAPTER XII. By the time he reached Brixton it was quite dusk. Roy had never actually given him his address; but he made inquiries at a shop in the neighborhood, was offered the loan of a directory, and having found what he needed was soon making his way up the well-swept carriage-drive which led to Rowan Tree House. He was tired with the walk and with his lonely day of wasted work and disappointment. When he saw the outlines of the big, substantial house looming out of the twilight he began to wish that he had never come, for he thought to himself that it would be within just such another house as the Morgans’, with its hateful air of money, like the house of Miss Kilmansegg in the poem: “Gold, and gold, and everywhere gold.” To his surprise the door was suddenly flung open as he approached, and a little boy in a velvet tunic came dancing out on to the steps to meet him. “Roy! Roy!” shouted the little fellow merrily, “I’ve come to meet you!” Then speedily discovering his mistake, he darted back into the doorway, hiding his face in Cecil’s skirt. She stood there with a little curly-headed child in her arms, and her soft gray eyes and the deep blue baby eyes looked searching out into the semi-darkness. Frithiof thought the little group looked like a picture of the Holy Family. Somehow he no longer dreaded the inside of the house. For the first time for weeks he felt the sort of rest which is akin to happiness as Cecil recognized him, and came forward with a pretty eagerness of manner to greet him, too much astonished at his sudden appearance for any thought of shyness to intervene. “We thought you must have gone back to Norway,” she exclaimed. “I am so glad you have come to see us. The children thought it was Roy who opened the gate. He will be home directly. He will be so glad to see you.” “I should have called before,” said Frithiof, “but my days have been very full, and then, too, I was not quite sure of your address.” He followed her into the brightly lighted hall, and with a sort of satisfaction shut out the damp November twilight. “We have so often spoken of you and your sisters,” said Cecil, “but when Roy called at the Arundel and found that you had left without giving any address, we thought you must have gone back to Bergen.”