At last they reached the bridge, and were quite near the chalet. Squib suddenly began to wonder what they would think there of his appearing at such an hour, and, for a moment, he paused, as though in doubt; but Moor uttered a quick, sharp bark, either of joy or command, and out from the chalet darted a little bare-headed figure, and Squib heard Ann-Katherin’s voice raised in sudden excitement and relief.
“Mother, he has come! He is here! Mother—Seppi—the little Herr has come!”
The next moment Frau Ernsthausen herself had come running out, and she met Squib a few paces from her door. Her face was pale and stained with weeping. Her voice shook as she held out her hands.
“Ah, the good God must surely have sent His angel to tell you! Oh, how my poor little Seppi has been calling for you!”
“Moor came for me,” answered Squib, rather bewildered and awed. “What does Seppi want?”
“Ah, don’t ask! don’t ask! My child is dying!” cried the poor mother, her tears gushing forth again. “Peter is away for the doctor. I could not let Ann-Katherin go, nor did she know the way. But all the night through he has been asking for you. Oh, thank God that you have come in time!”
Very full of awe, but without any sense of fear, Squib entered the low door, and found himself in the familiar room. A shaft of sunlight entered with him, and Seppi, who was lying in his bed propped up high with pillows, stretched out his arms to him with such a smile of welcome.
“The angel has brought him, mother!” he cried, in a quick succession of panting breaths. “I see the shining of his wings. How good God is!”
Squib went straight up and took Seppi’s two hands.
“I have come,” he said simply. “Moor came for me; he said you wanted me, Seppi!”