This voice! Oh, this voice! He remembered it so well from their first delightful days. He had walked around the edge of the desk; now he stepped back again, bewildered by her proximity, her lovely form, her radiant eyes beneath the veil. He dropped his own. "And how are you?" she asked, "and the children?" "Fine, thank you. The children are growing out of their clothes. We are all well. And you?" "I have heard nothing from you for so long. I had intended to wait until I could bring it all to you, but it was beyond my strength. While Ole lived he told me about you; but since I cannot go to him any more I have been very impatient. I was here yesterday, but I didn't come in; I turned back--" Should he ask her to go up to the children a moment? "Perhaps you would like to go up-stairs a moment?" he asked. "The children will be delighted. I don't know how the house looks, but if you don't mind--" "I thank you!" He saw how deeply she was moved, although she said nothing more. She gave him her hand in farewell. "I hope they will know me," she said. "I'll be up in a moment," he remarked. "I haven't much to do just now. Perhaps you would like to stay awhile? Here is the key; you need not ring. But be careful of their shoes if you take them on your lap. Well, don't laugh; God knows if their shoes aren't muddy!" Hanka went. He opened the door for her and followed her to the foot of the stairs; then he returned to his office. He walked over to the desk, but he did not work. There she had stood! She wore her black velvet dress to-day; she was up-stairs. Could he go up now? He did not hear the children; they were probably in her lap. He hoped they had on their red dresses. He walked up-stairs, a prey to the strangest emotions. He knocked on the door as if it were somebody else's home he was entering. Hanka got up at once when she saw him. She had taken off her veil; she flushed deeply. He could see now why she used a veil. The joyless days in her solitary room had not left her unmarked; her face spoke plainly of her sufferings. Johanna and Ida stood beside her and clung to her dress; they did not remember her clearly; they looked at her questioningly and were silent. "They don't know me," said Mrs. Hanka, and sat down again. "I have asked them." "Yes, I know you," said Johanna, and crawled up into her lap. Ida did the same. Tidemand looked at them unsteadily. "You mustn't crawl all over mamma, children," he said. "Don't bother mamma now." They didn't hear him; they wanted to bother mamma. She had rings on her fingers and she had the strangest buttons on her dress; that was something to interest them! They began to chatter about these buttons; they caught sight of the mother's brooch and had many remarks to make about that. "Put them down when you are tired of them," said Tidemand. Tired? She? Let them be, let them be!