“Good Lord, what a wreck!” thought John. He helped him to rise and enter. The poor creature's limbs were stiff with cold, and he stumbled from weakness as he crossed the threshold.
“But, thank God, you are back and no harm done!” said John. “How anxious we've been! You must never go out again—never! There, brother, sit there.”
The wandering eyes looked up with a supplicating expression. “Forgive me. Brother Storm——”
But John would not listen. “Hush, brother! what have I to forgive? How cold you are! Your hands are like ice. What can I do? There's no fire in the house at this time of night—even in the kitchen it will be out now. But wait, I can rub you with my hands. See, I'm warm and strong. There's a deal of blood in me yet. That's better, isn't it? Tingling, eh? That's right—that's good! Now for your feet—your feet will be colder still.”
“No, brother, no. I ought to be kissing the feet of everybody in the house and asking the prayers of the community, and yet you——”
“Tut! what nonsense! Let me take off this shoe. Dear me, how it sticks! Why, you've worn it through and through. Look! What a mercy the snow was hard! If there had been thaw, now! How far you must have walked!”
“Yes, I've wandered a long way, brother.”
“You shall tell me all about it. I want to hear everything—every single thing.”
“There's nothing to tell. I've failed in my errand—that's all.”
John, who was on his knees, drew back and looked up. “Do you mean, then—-Have you not seen your sister?”