Nevertheless, on her way home she thought with maternal anxiety of her
two boys; but the nearer she approached the unassuming quarter of the
city where she lived the more vividly she felt that she did not belong
there, but in the part of Brussels whence she came.

Her own home was far more richly and prettily furnished than her old one
in Red Cock Street, but it did not yet satisfy her desires, and she did
not feel content in it. To-day a slight feeling of aversion even came
over her as she thought of it.

Perhaps the best plan would have been for her to put an end to this
misery, and, instead of returning, make a pilgrimage to Compostella in
Spain, and while doing so try to find her John in Leganes. But even
while yielding to these thoughts Barbara felt how sinful they were. Did
not her little house look attractive and pretty? It was certainly the
prettiest and neatest in the neighbourhood, and as she drew nearer
pleasure at the thought of seeing her children again awoke. An unkind
reception from her husband would have been painful, after all.

But she was to receive no greeting at all from him. Pyramus had been
detained on the way. Barbara felt this as a friendly dispensation of
Providence. But something else spoiled her return home. Conrad, her
oldest boy, two-year-old Conrad, who was already walking about, beginning
to prattle prettily, and who could show the affection of his little heart
with such coaxing tenderness, came toward her crying, and when she took
him up rested his little burning head against her cheek.

The little fellow's forehead and throat were aching.

Some illness was coming on.