"He is coming—he is already on his way home."
Viola flung her arms round her brother's neck. For a long time brother and sister remained locked in a close embrace.
Meanwhile the bird resumed its jubilant song.
"Do you hear how it sings again?" said Ephraim; and he gently stroked his sister's hair. "It knows that it will soon be free."
"A father out of jail!" sobbed Viola, as she released herself from her brother's arms.
"He has had his punishment, dear Viola!" said Ephraim softly.
Viola turned away. There was a painful silence, and then she looked up at her brother again. Her face was aglow, her eyes sparkled with a strange fire; she was trembling with agitation. Never before had Ephraim seen her thus.
"Ephraim, my brother," she commenced, in that measured monotone so peculiar to intense emotion, "with the bird you can do as you please. You can set it free, or, if you like, you can wring its neck. But as for him, I'll never look in his face again, from me he shall not have a word of welcome. He broke our mother's heart . . . our good, good mother; he has dishonored himself and us. And I can never forget it."
"Is it right for a child to talk like that of her own father?" said Ephraim in a tremulous voice.
