She stood with hands clasped, and wondering eyes. The pilgrim--his
hat on the ground, his white head and rugged face displayed--was
gazing as though devouring her with his eyes, murmuring, "Unchanged!
unchanged!"
"What is this!" thundered the young Baron. "What are you doing to
the lady?"
"Hush! hush, Ebbo!" exclaimed Christina. "It is thy father! On thy
knees! Thy father is come! It is our son, my own lord. Oh, embrace
him! Kneel to him, Ebbo!" she wildly cried.
"Hold, mother," said Ebbo, keeping his arm round her, though she
struggled against him, for he felt some doubts as he looked back at
his walk with the stranger, and remembered Heinz's want of
recognition. "Is it certain that this is indeed my father?"
"Oh, Ebbo," was the cry of poor Christina, almost beside herself,
"how could I not be sure? I know him! I feel it! Oh, my lord, bear
with him. It is his wont to be so loving! Ebbo, cannot you see it
is himself?"
"The young fellow is right," said the stranger, slowly. "I will
answer all he may demand.
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