All the dogged resistance faded from Petersen's manner, and he sat trembling, with face down. For a moment Tom was in consternation lest he break into tears. But he controlled himself and in shame told his story, aided by questions from Tom. Tom heard him without comment, breathing rapidly and gulping at parts of the brokenly-told story. When the account was ended Tom gripped Petersen's hand. "You're all right, Petersen!" he said huskily. Tears trickled down from Petersen's eyes, and his simple face twitched with remorse. Tom fell into thought. He understood Petersen's fear to face his wife. He, too, was uncertain how Mrs. Petersen, in her religious fervor, would regard what Petersen had done. He had to tell her, of course, since Petersen had shown he could not. But how should he tell her--how, so that the woman, and not the religious enthusiast, would be reached? Presently Tom handed Petersen his hat, and picked up his own. "Come on," he said; and to Maggie he called through the bedroom door: "I'll be back in an hour." As they passed through the tunnel Tom, who had slipped his hand through Petersen's arm for guidance, felt the Swede begin to tremble; and it was so across the little stone-paved court, with the square of stars above, and up the nervous stairway, whose February odors had been multiplied by the June warmth. Before his own door Petersen held back. Tom understood. "Wait here for me, then," he said, and knocked upon the door. "Who's there?" an eager voice questioned. "Keating." When she answered, the eagerness in the voice had turned to disappointment. "All right, Brother Keating. In just a minute." Tom heard the sounds of rapid dressing, and then a hand upon the knob. Petersen shrank back into the darkness of a corner. The door opened. "Come in, Brother Keating," she said, not quite able to hide her surprise at this second visit in one evening. A coal oil lamp on the kitchen table revealed the utter barrenness and the utter cleanness--so far as unmonied effort could make clean those scaling walls and that foot-hollowed floor--which he had seen on his first visit five months before. He was hardly within the door when her quick eyes caught the strain in his manner. One thin hand seized his arm excitedly. "What is it, brother? Have you heard from Nels?" "Ye-es," Tom admitted hesitatingly. He had not planned to begin the story so. "And he's alive? Quick! He's alive?" "Yes." She sank into a chair, clasped both hands over her heart, and turned her eyes upward. "Praise the Lord! I thank Thee, Lord! I knew Thou wouldst keep him." Immediately her wide, burning eyes were back on Tom. "Where is he?" "He's been very wicked," said Tom, shaking his head sadly, and lowering himself into the only other chair. "So wicked he's afraid you can never forgive him. And I don't see how you can. He's afraid to come home."