“He may rally a little, but I think he will never rise from his bed,” was the reply. “We will do all we can for him, enemy though he is. He may not be so bad a man, and he is suffering.”
“And he has made others suffer,” returned his wife.
“That is true. Blindness and egotism will always do that.”
Madam van der Deen said nothing. Her narrow religious view made her behold only a pit of fire for such as François.
Yet the dawn of another day saw him still alive, and so it continued day after day, a little better, a little worse, while above Alaine, exhausted by fever, was watched over by faithful little Trynje and her mother.
Madam De Vries did not tarry long, but took her aching heart back to her home. “I am a lonely, childless old woman,” she told Trynje, “and I care not how soon I leave this wretched world. It is woe and misery on every side.” And when she disappeared into the forest with her little retinue, Trynje watched her with eyes full of tears. She still gave her some love and much pity.
CHAPTER XVII
FORGIVENESS
At last there came a day when Alaine, though pitifully weak and pale, was able to creep out into the open air, supported by the strong arm of Trynje’s father, solicitously followed by Madam van der Deen and Trynje, and stared at by a group of tow-headed little children of various ages.
“I want to go home, Mynheer,” Alaine whispered to the good man, who so carefully placed her in the big chair which had been set for her under a spreading tree.
He nodded. “You shall go.”