The Prodigal Son

by Sir Hall Caine

"Does he hate him so much then?"

"There was a time when I believe in my heart he would have killed him," said Jon.

Christian Christiansson started up and prepared to go on to Thingvellir, although his half-frozen limbs would scarcely cross the saddle or his swollen fingers hold the reins. Again his heart had fallen low, and the hope with which he had begun his journey--the hope of a joyful reunion at the end of it--was now gone.

The intensity of Magnus's feeling made it impossible that he should reveal himself to his people. If he rode up to the door and said, "I am Oscar, the report of my death was false, and I have come back rich and prosperous," what would Magnus say? He would say, "Your father is dead, your wife is in her grave, your mother and your child have gone through poverty and perhaps want, and all the consequence of your transgressions--do you think that your miserable money will make amends?" And then his brother would fling him back into the road.

Not to-night could he make himself known--not to-night at all events! Perhaps to-morrow, when the sale would be over and the Sheriff gone, and he had smoothed the way and made sure of his welcome! But now he must go to the Inn like any other traveler who had come there to be present at the auction and to bid for the estate.

Seeing his course clear in this way, his heart rose again and he pushed on with a better will. The storm had subsided, and when he came to the sudden mouth of the Almanagja the wind dropped altogether, and it was almost as if some vast volcano in the sky had poured its lava over the earth in snow.

The Chasm itself was full of memories--memories of the day of his triumph, the day of his disgrace--but icicles hung from where the flags of the nations had floated, and drifts of snow, like mighty mushrooms, were lying in the holes where the tents had been. He remembered the witch who had said "Beware of your brother," and he thought of the white face that had broken in upon the dancing. In the breathless calm the sky came out and it spanned the brant walls like a majestical roof studded with stars, but he stumbled in the darkness on to the frozen surface of the drowning pool, and almost rode up to the spot where he had sat with Helga.

At the bridge that crossed the frozen waterfall he caught his first sight of the lighted windows of the Inn-farm, and then his heart seemed to stand still. His mother, his brother, and his little daughter were there, and he had been ten years preparing to join them, but now that he was so near, he could hardly bring himself to go on.

Would his mother recognize him--she who had read his features first and known him from the cradle up? He was afraid she would, and then, in the tumult of his tossing heart, he was afraid she would not. Nobody in Iceland had known him hitherto, and now he was aware that he was leas like himself than ever, for, seeing his face in a glass as he came out of Korastead, he saw that his lips were swollen and his eyes bloodshot with the heavy labor of that awful day.

He had crunched through the broken ice of the river below the bridge and reached the silent snow of the pathway to the farm, when the door opened and two men came out of the house. "The Sheriff and the Pastor," he thought. He drew rein and they did not hear him, but when they had taken the path to the Parsonage, the dogs inside began to bark.