he could find no peace.
"He--some one ought to go and look for him," she said.

Stephen waked up. "Bring in the soup. If he does not come at the right
time, he can go to bed hungry," he grumbled.

The old woman obeyed, and brought in the soup, but her hands and knees
were trembling. She meant to hurry over to the village herself
afterward, to see what had become of the boy.

Meanwhile the smith had lighted the lamp on the table. He sat down at
his own place. The red light of the lamp shone on his black woolly
head. Just then footsteps were heard on the outer stairs.

Katharine ran out to the landing. "Boy," she called out in the
darkness.

"Yes!" came the answer. He was there. Slowly he came up the steps. His
heavy shoes usually made no noise, for he stepped very lightly. They
clattered now, as if he were stumbling. The maid lifted up the light.
"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed.

The boy's face was as white as snow, his clothes were torn and in
disorder, but even now they were noticeably clean.

"What has happened to you," asked the maid, quickly and anxiously.
Instead of answering, the boy asked whether his father was in the room.

"Yes, yes," she answered, and opened the door for him herself. With
uncertain steps, as if feeling his way, the boy walked in. He was now
thirteen years old, and both slender and strong.

"Well!" asked Stephen Fausch, taking a spoonful of soup.

Cain stepped forward into the ruddy light of the lamp. His pallor
showed strikingly in the light; his eyes seemed to glow and looked very
dark.

"We had a fight," he began in a breathless tone, as if he had but just
shaken off a couple of his enemies. "And then I stayed in the woods a
long time."

Katharine stood in the doorway, leaning forward to hear what would
happen next. Fausch looked sharply at the boy. "Tell me about it," said
he. As he spoke, it seemed as if Cain's appearance caught his eye more
than ever.

"The other boys have been telling me why I am named Cain," he gasped
out. He took hold of the back of a chair and looked Stephen in the
face. It was not hard to see that something had stirred him to the
depths. "They say it is because my mother was a bad woman," he went on.
"But--then--I--I cannot help what my mother did--"

"Eat your supper now," said Stephen Fausch.

Cain did not hear. "I thought it over a long time in the woods," he
went on in short, broken phrases. "If I am such a shameful creature--I
must have done so