gue, of his kindred. Weary
of living abroad, he fell in with Constance' view, really because of a
chance word from Addie, who also often had the word Holland on his lips;
the father was now thinking of his child's future.... But they must
first learn how the family would receive them. Van der Welcke wrote to
his parents, Constance to Mamma van Lowe. They wrote with all the
humility of exiles; once more asked for forgiveness, after those
fourteen years; said that they were longing to see their country again,
their parents, brothers, sisters, to enjoy the sweet happiness of living
where they would be at home. Both had felt the old inviolable bonds
drawing them towards Holland, as though there were something which they
needed before they could grow old and be a father and mother to their
son.... Henri's parents had not yet written, did not at once reply to
his question whether they could not forgive him now that those long,
long years were past, whether they would not receive his wife, who,
after all, was their daughter-in-law, who, after all, was the mother of
his son, their grandchild. But Mamma van Lowe had sent Constance a sweet
and loving letter, a letter which Constance had kissed, which had made
her sob with happiness. Mamma had written that her child was to come to
her, that all was forgiven, all forgotten, that the brothers and sisters
would receive her with open arms. And she had expressed her own delight,
as the old mother, who found it so difficult to get about, who disliked
travelling, though it was but a two or three hours' journey to Brussels,
and hated being so far from her child, for Constance was her child, in
spite of all. Then Constance could restrain herself no longer and,
without waiting for the letter from Henri's father and mother, had gone
on ahead with Adriaan. Henri remained behind to settle a few matters of
business: he was to follow in a week.

And Holland, yonder, so near and yet so long unattainable, was to them
as a land of promise, a land of peace, of happiness long-deferred, where
they would find, for themselves and for their son, all that of which
they had been starved for years and years: parents and relations, old
friends and acquaintances and, as the very essence of it all, that
fragrant Dutch atmosphere, so indescribable and yet, as they now
realized, craved for by their parched and famished souls. Both, as with
one thought, had suddenly, for all the discord of their lives, known as
a