voices sounded at first loud and gay in their mother's ears. Then they
sank to a murmur, as the children ran along the road. The dog bounded
about them in circles, barking joyfully, but this sound too grew fainter
and fainter.

When the murmur died away to silence, there seemed no sound left in the
stark gray valley, empty and motionless between the steep dark walls of
pine-covered mountains.

* * * * *

Marise stood for a long time looking after the children. They were
climbing up the long hilly road now, growing smaller and smaller. How
far away they were, already! And that very strength and vigor of which
she was so proud, which she had so cherished and fostered, how rapidly
it carried them along the road that led away from her!

They were almost at the top of the hill now. Perhaps they would turn
there and wave to her.

No, of course now, she was foolish to think of such a thing. Children
never remembered the people they left behind. And she was now only
somebody whom they were leaving behind. She felt the cold penetrate
deeper and deeper into her heart, and knew she ought to go back into the
house. But she could not take her eyes from the children. She thought to
herself bitterly, "This is the beginning of the end. I've been feeling
how, in their hearts, they want to escape from me when I try to hold
them, or when I try to make them let me into their lives. I've given
everything to them, but they never think of that. _I_ think of it! Every
time I look at them I see all those endless hours of sacred sacrifice.