In the convent she had reached the conviction that it would be degrading
to think longer of the man who, in return for the most ardent love,
offered nothing but alms in jingling coin; yet her poor heart would
not cease its yearning.

Meanwhile she never wearied of seeking motives that would place his
conduct in a more favourable light. Whatever he might have withheld from
her, he was nevertheless the best and noblest of men, and as she limped
aimlessly on, the conviction strengthened that the mere sight of him
would dispel the mists which, on this sunny spring day, seemed to veil
everything around and within her.

But he remained absent, and suddenly it seemed more disgraceful to seek
him than to stand in the stocks.

Yet the pilgrimage to Compostella, of which the confessor had spoken?
For the very reason that it had been described to her as unattainable,
it would perhaps be rated at a high value in heaven, and restore to her
while on earth the peace she had lost.

She pondered over this thought on her way to the tavern, where she found
a corner to sleep, and a carrier who, on the day after the morrow, would
take her to the sea for a heller pound. Other pilgrims had also engaged
passage at Antwerp for Corunna, the harbour of Compostella, and her means
were sufficient for the voyage. This assurance somewhat soothed her
while she remained among people of her own calling.

But she spent a sleepless night; for again and again the dead child's
image appeared vividly before her. Rising from the soft pillows in the
coffin, she shook her finger threateningly at her, or, weeping and