XIII.
The stars were paling, but the day had not yet dawned, when there came a knock at the door. John started and listened. After an interval the knock was repeated. It was a timid, hesitating tap, as if made with the tips of the fingers low down on the door.
“Praise be to God!” said John, and he drew the slide of the grating. He had expected to see a face outside, but there was nothing there.
“Who is it?” he asked, and there came no answer.
He took up the lamp that was kept burning in the hall and looked out through the bars. There was nothing in the darkness but an icy mist, which appeared to be rising from the ground.
“Only another of my dreams,” he thought, and he laid his hand on the slide to close it.
Then he heard a sigh that seemed to rise out of the ground, and at the same moment the dog uttered a deep bay. He laid hold of the door and pulled it quickly open. At his feet the figure of a man was kneeling, bent double and huddled up.
“Paul!” he cried in an excited whisper.
Brother Paul raised his head. His face was frightfully changed. It was gray and wasted. His eyes wandered, his lips trembled, and he looked like a man who had been flogged.