Keeping to the side track for some time, Guest the One-eyed made his way
down from the vicarage lands unobserved, but soon turned off across the
hills towards the main road. Step by step he dragged himself towards his
home, shivering in fever, weary and exhausted, leaving the rest to God.
The journey must be made; this road he must travel to the end, no matter
what greeting he might find. Curses only, it might be; a death without a
single kindly word. But his way to death lay through Borg—and he was
nearing the end of it now.
Home to Borg! home to Borg! home to Borg! The words beat in his blood
like a promise of release, his heart sobbed with joy, and a new hope
filled him, driving all doubt away. Peace and forgiveness were near.
Home to Borg! home to Borg! home to Borg! All was brighter now; a
childlike happiness came over him. He had sinned and fled, fearing his
punishment; now he was returning home to be forgiven.
He made such speed as he could, despite his waning strength. Homeward!
homeward!
Rain and hail began to fall once more, but he did not heed. His mind was
full of the thought that he was nearing a kindly end, a peaceful passing
into eternal rest.
Home to Borg! home to Borg! home to Borg!
His feet stepped in time to the ring of the words, that sounded like
sweetest music in the ears of the wearied pilgrim. Never before had
there been such a welcome message for any on earth. Only a bruised and
tortured soul could feel the joy of it: home to Borg! home to Borg!
Great is the glory of the sun that brings delight, of the spring that
fills the world with sweetness, but nothing to the wonder of returning
home after years of struggle, years of suffering in body and soul, to
die among those one loves, those who will forgive.
Home to Borg! home to Borg! home to Borg!
... Only the stream to cross now ... only the little slope to climb ...
only a few steps more....