And he felt pity as well as loathing for the poor, worn creature who had climbed the same stair a few hours before.
As he entered his room the warmth and home feeling had come back there also.

The portraits of his father and mother first caught his eye.

Some one had put a wreath around each and they seemed to beam on him with a pleased and tender smile.

They opened afresh the flood-gates of memory for him, but the memories were sweet and tender.
He glanced at a mirror almost with trembling.

The last time he had looked at himself he had seen only that old, haggard face with the ghostly figures branded across the brow.