most depths of his heart, as he tried to grasp the hand of the convict.
"Don't make such a noise," said the latter, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the window, and speaking in the same mysterious whisper in which he had asked for admittance into the house.
What a strange awakening it was to his son, when, in the gray twilight of the breaking day, he looked at Ascher more closely. In his imagination Ephraim had pictured a wan, grief-worn figure, and now he saw before him a strong, well-built man, who certainly did not present the appearance of a person who had just emerged from the dank atmosphere of a prison! On the contrary, he seemed stronger and more vigorous than he had appeared in his best days.
"Has he had such a good time of it . . .?" Ephraim felt compelled to ask himself . . . "how different our poor mother looked!"
With a violent effort he repressed the feelings which swelled his bosom. "Dear father," he said, with tears in his eyes, "make yourself quite comfortable; you have n't closed your eyes the whole night, you must be worn out. You are at home, remember . . . father!"
"It's all right," said Ascher, with a deprecating gesture, "we fellows know other ways of spending the night."
