It was at the last a silent and rapid parting. Snorro could not speak. He laid Jan in his berth, and covered him as tenderly as a mother would cover her sick infant. Then he kissed him, and walked away. Dr. Balloch, who watched the scene, felt the deep pathos and affection that had no visible expression but in Snorro’s troubled eyes and dropped head; and Lord Lynne pressed his hand as a last assurance that he would remember his promise concerning 144 Jan’s welfare. Then the anchor was lifted, and the yacht on the tide-top went dancing southward before the breeze.
At the manse door the minister said, “God be thy consolation, Snorro! Is there any thing I, his servant, can do for thee?”
“Yes, thou can let me see that picture again.”
“Of the Crucified?”
“That is what I need.”
“Come then.”
He took a candle from Hamish and led him into the study. In the dim light, the pallid, outstretched figure and the divine uplifted face had a sad and awful reality. Even upon the cultivated mind and heart, fine pictures have a profound effect; on this simple soul, who never before had seen any thing to aid his imagination of Christ’s love, the effect was far more potent. Snorro stood before it a few minutes full of a holy love and reverence, then, innocently as a child might have done, he lifted up his face and kissed the pierced feet.
Dr. Balloch was strangely moved and troubled. He walked to the window with a prayer on his lips, but almost immediately returned, and touching Snorro, said—
“Take the picture with thee, Snorro. It is thine. Thou hast bought it with that kiss.”