the great tears fell to the floor. Addie now rose and went up to his father:
"Daddy . . ."
"My boy . . . my boy!"
"The old man sent you this message: 'Tell your father . . . that I forgive him . . . and tell your mother so . . . too. . . . '"
Addie flung his arm round his father's neck; and Van der Welcke now sobbed on his son's breast. He could restrain himself no longer. He gave one great, loud sob, clutching hold of his own son, like a child. . . . Had it not always been like that, the child the consoler of his father? The son now his mother's consoler?
The emotion lasted but a moment, because of the calmness of older years; but it was a moment full as the whole soul and the whole life of a small being. The older man felt all his soul, saw all his small life. Was that coming for him: forgiveness? Was it coming to him through his son? Because of his son, perhaps . . . mysteriously, for some mysterious law and mystic reason? . . . He felt it . . . as an enlightening surprise . . . though he merely said, after a pause:
"I'm glad, Addie . . . that you went. And now you must tell . . . Mamma."
"I'll tell her this very evening, Father."
"This evening?"
"Yes, I can't wait any longer. Those last words . . . are lying like a weight . . . on my heart: I must hand them on . . ."
"To Mamma also . . ."
"To feel relieved. . . ."
"Then go to her," said Van der Welcke, very calmly.
And he remained sitting in his chair. His fingers mechanically rolled a fresh cigarette. But in his
