here?"

"It is I. Father knows it all, and he has nearly killed me; and mother,
too."

"Is that what you have come to tell me?"

"No, I would like to help you some. I have been trying to see you these
many days." And he stepped close up to the boat.

"Thank you; I need no help."

"But, Brita," implored he, "I have sold my gun and my dog, and
everything I had, and this is what I have got for it." He stretched out
his hand and reached her a red handkerchief with something heavy bound
up in a corner. She took it mechanically, held it in her hand for
a moment, then flung it far out into the water. A smile of profound
contempt and pity passed over her countenance.

"Farewell, Halvard," said she, calmly, and pushed the boat into the
water.

"But, Brita," cried he, in despair, "what would you have me do?"

She lifted the child in her arms, then pointed to the vacant seat at
her side. He understood what she meant, and stood for a moment wavering.
Suddenly, he covered his face with his hands and burst into tears.
Within half an hour, Brita boarded the vessel, and as the first red
stripe of the dawn illumined the horizon, the wind filled the sails, and
the ship glided westward toward that land where there is a home for them
whom love and misfortune have exiled.

It was a long and wearisome voyage. There was an old English clergyman
on board, who collected curiosities; to him she sold her rings and
brooches, and thereby obtained more than sufficient money to pay her
passage. She hardly spoke to any one except her child. Those of her
fellow-parishioners who knew her, and perhaps guessed her history, kept
aloof from her, and she was grateful to them that they did. From morning
till night, she sat in a corner between a pile of deck freight and the
kitchen skylight, and gazed at her little boy who was lying in her lap.
All her hopes, her future, and her life were in him. For herself, she
had ceased to hope.

"I can give thee no fatherland, my child," she said to him. "Thou shalt
never know the name of him who gave thee life. Thou and I, we shall
struggle together, and, as true as there is a God above, who sees us,
He will not leave either of us to perish. But let us ask no questions,
child, about that which is past. Thou shalt grow and be strong, and thy
mother must grow with thee."

During the third week of the voyage, the English clergyman baptized the
boy, and she called him Thomas, after the day in the almanac on whi