Christian Christiansson bowed but scarcely spoke. He was no longer in fear of discovery, for now he knew that unless he wished it otherwise he could pass through Iceland unknown; but standing there in the old home, with the traces of his boyhood about him, his heart swelled and his throat thickened, and it was as much as he could do to control himself.
After a moment a servant announced dinner, and the Minister led the way to the dining-room. It was the same old room, with the same furniture, and hardly altered in any particular. But it was full of ghosts in the eyes of him who entered it again. In one rapid glance Christian Christiansson took in everything--the chair his father used to sit in, his mother's place, Magnus's, and Thora's. And remembering that all these were gone; that everything connected with his own people had faded away; that the old house was inhabited by others now, and nothing remained except himself and he had neither part nor lot in it, the palpitation of his heart nearly choked him again, and he sat at the table like a guilty thing.
But if Christian Christiansson was silent the Minister talked incessantly.
"You will find that Iceland knows all about you, Mr. Christiansson--all about you! Speaking for myself I may say that in addition to the ordinary channels of intelligence I have some private sources of information. My son--you know my son, I think?"
Christian Christiansson bowed.
"My son has kept me constantly informed, so you will find me abreast of all your movements. Certainly, I take it amiss that he did not warn me of your coming--but perhaps he didn't know. He didn't? I thought as much. Not that he would have told me if you had wished it concealed. Neils is discretion itself, sir--discretion itself. For instance I could never persuade him to tell me who you were. I tempted him--I confess I tempted him. But no! 'Business is business, father,' he would say, and I was forced to be content."
"Iceland is honored that you show yourself first in your own country, sir," said the Rector.
"Indeed it is, Rector, and Mr. Christiansson will find that his fame is no empty bubble here."
"There isn't a student who doesn't sing your songs, sir," said the Rector.
"Nor a girl of fourteen in a farmhouse who doesn't play your music," said the Minister's wife.