der Welcke enjoyed being there. And, as they had brought their bicycles, they went on long expeditions. . . .
When alone with his father, Van der Welcke spoke out more and more. He spoke of the past, humbly, as though once more asking forgiveness of that stern father who to him, the son, seemed almost supernatural in his absolute virtue and stainlessness. He spoke of Rome, he even spoke of De Staffelaer, who was still alive, at his country-place near Haarlem, a man as old as Van der Welcke’s father; he spoke of those last dismal years at Brussels, of how they had both longed for Dutch air and Dutch people, especially for their own families. But he also said that, however glad he might be to see his parents again, he thought that to Constance this renewal of family-ties was often a disappointment. As he talked, he felt himself the boy, the student, the young man of former days, who also had talked much with his father, with his father alone, even as Addie now talked with him. He spoke of his boy and admitted that he worshipped him, that they both worshipped him. The old man, quietly smoking his pipe, listened, taking a new interest in those younger lives, the lives of his son and grandson. The old man felt as though he were rediscovering something of his son, but he also felt him to be very far away from him, without love or fear of God.
Van der Welcke spoke on. . . . And, almost unconsciously, in this confession and avowal of his life and thoughts and feelings, he told how Addie
