Slowly Winthrop's horse carried him forward -- but little time then was needed to bring him round to the back of the house, at the kitchen door, whither the horse-path led. It was twilight now; the air was full of the perfume of cedars and pines, -- the clear white light shone in the west yet. Winthrop did not see it. He only saw that there was no light in the windows. And that curl of thin smoke was the only thing he had seen stirring about the house. He got off his horse and went into the kitchen. There was light enough to see who met him there. It was his father. There was hardly light to see faces; but Mr. Landholm laid both hands on his son's shoulders, saying, "My dear boy! -- it's all over! --" And Winthrop laid his face on his father's breast, and for a few breaths, sobbed, as he had not done since -- since his childish eyes had found hiding-place on that other breast that could rest them no more. It was but a few minutes; -- and manly sorrow had given way and taken again its quiet self-control; once and for ever. The father and son wrung each other's hands, the mute speech of hand to hand telling of mutual suffering and endurance, and affection, -- all that could be told; and then after the pause of a minute; Winthrop moved on towards the family room, asking softly, "Is she here?" -- But his father led him through, to the seldom-used east-room. Asahel was there; but he neither spoke nor stirred. And old Karen was there, moving about on some trifling errand of duty; but her quick nature was under less government; it did not bear the sight of Winthrop. Dropping or forgetting what she was about, she came towards him with a bursting cry of feeling, half for herself, half sympathetic; and with the freedom of old acquaintance and affection and common grief, laid her shrivelled black hand on his shoulder and looked up into his face, saying, almost as his father had done, but with streaming eyes and quivering lips, "My dear son! -- she has gone! --" Winthrop took the hand in his and gave it a moment's pressure, and then saying very gently but in a way that was obeyed, "Be quiet Karen," -- he passed her and stood at his mother's bedside.