“Meanwhile the sister-in-law had turned, and instead of enquiring at a time so near the holy feast what had induced her to commit such a crime, she shrieked, “Stop thief!” and similar cries.

“So the widow was taken to the Hole, and as she had hitherto borne an unsullied reputation and was the child of a good man, justice allowed itself to be satisfied with having her scourged with rods privately instead of in public.  So she came here.  But as her poor body was too fragile to withstand all the trouble which had come upon her, she had a violent attack of fever, and a few hours ago death stretched its hand towards her.”

“And the children?” asked Frau Christine, deeply moved.

“She was allowed to have the baby,” answered Sister Hildegard, “but she told us about the others and their desolate condition.  In the delirium of fever she saw them stealing and the constable seizing them.  Then your Eva encouraged me to send for them by promising to provide their food.  So they came here.  The worker on cloth from whom she rented her little room had helped them, and it was from her that Sister Pauline, whom I sent there, first learned that Walpurga, for whose sake she had so sadly forgotten her duty, was not even her own child, but an adopted one whom her late husband, on one of his trips, had found abandoned on the highroad at Vierzehnheiligen, beside an image of the Virgin, and brought home with him.”

Here Sister Hildegard paused, and Frau Christine also remained silent a long time.

Yet, it was horrible here, and the air was impure; but had Countess Cordula looked more closely she would probably have seen one of the beautiful flowers which often bloomed amidst all the weeds, the poisonous and parasitic vegetation.

Eva was right to pity this woman, and if her life could be saved she herself would relieve her necessities and secure her children’s future.  She silently made this resolve whilst the Sister led the way to the couch of the scourged thief.  The unfortunate woman should learn that God often compels us to traverse the roughest and stoniest paths in the wilderness ere he leads us into the Promised Land.

Eva was so deeply absorbed in her conversation with the Dominican that she did not see her aunt until she stood before her.

They greeted each other with a silent nod, and a smile of satisfaction flitted over the girl’s face as she motioned to the sleeper whose slumber she was watching.

The young mother’s pretty face still glowed with the flush of fever.  One arm clasped the baby, which lay amidst the white linen Katterle had just brought.  He was a pretty child, who showed no traces of the poverty in which he had been reared.  Beside the widow were two little girls about six years old.  The one at the left was sound asleep, with her head resting on her little fat arm.  The other, at the sick woman’s right, pressed her fair head upon her breast.  Her slumber was