Many years after that time the little boy came again to the river; but he was not a little boy now,—he was a big, strong man.
"The river is the same," said he; "the wind is the same cold, cutting wind of ice, and the same black cloud obscures yonder shore. I wonder where the strange old man can be."
"I am he," said a solemn voice.
The man turned and looked on him who spoke, and he saw a warrior clad in black armor and wielding an iron sword.
"No, you are not he!" cried the man. "You are a warrior come to do me harm."
"I am indeed a warrior," said the other. "Come with me across the river."
"No," replied the man, "I will not go with you. Hark, I hear the voices of my wife and children calling to me,—I will return to them!"
The warrior strove to hold him fast and bear him across the river to the yonder shore, but the man prevailed against him and returned to his wife and little ones, and the warrior was left upon the river-bank.
Then many years went by and the strong man became old and feeble. He found no pleasure in the world, for he was weary of living. His wife and children were dead, and the old man was alone. So one day in those years he came to the bank of the river for the third time, and he saw that the waters had become quiet and that the wind which came up from the river was warm and gentle and smelled of flowers; there was no dark cloud overhanging the yonder shore, but in its place was a golden mist through which the old man could see people walking on the yonder shore and stretching out their hands to him, and he could hear them calling him by name. Then he knew they were the voices of his dear ones.
"I am weary and lonesome," cried the old man. "All have gone before me: father, mother, wife, children,—all whom I have loved. I see them and hear them on yonder shore, but who will bear me to them?"