you the meadow?"  he made curt, evasive replies.
The steadfast man, who sat so silently with frowning brow among his
family, sometimes attacking the viands on his plate, then leaving them
untouched, did not look like one who yields to idle whims.

All present, even the men and maid-servants, were still devoting
themselves to the food, when the master of the house rose, and pressing
both hands over the back of his head, which was very prominently
developed, exclaimed groaning:

"I can hold out no longer.  Do you give thanks, Maria.  Go to the town-
hall, Janche, and ask if no messenger has yet arrived."

The man-servant wiped his mouth and instantly obeyed.  He was a tall,
broad-shouldered Frieselander, but only reached to his master's forehead.

Peter Van der Werff, without any form of salutation, turned his back on
his family, opened the door leading into his study, and after crossing
the threshold, closed it with a bang, approached the big oak writing-
desk, on which papers and letters lay piled in heaps, secured by rough
leaden weights, and began to rummage among the newly-arrived documents.
For fifteen minutes he vainly strove to fix the necessary attention upon
his task, then grasped his study-chair to rest his folded arms on the
high, perforated back, adorned with simple carving, and gazed
thoughtfully at the wooden wainscoting of the ceiling.  After a few
minutes he pushed the chair aside with his foot, raised his hand to his
mouth, separated his moustache from his thick brown beard, and went to
the window.  The small, round, leaden-cased panes, however brightly they
might be polished, permitted only a narrow portion of the street to be
seen, but the burgomaster seemed to have found the object for which he
had been looking.  Hastily opening the window, he called to his servant,
who was hurriedly approaching the house:

"Is he in, Janche?"

The Frieselander shook his head, the window again closed, and a few
minutes after the burgomaster seized his hat, which hung, between some
cavalry pistols and a plain, substantial sword, on the only wall of his
room not perfectly bare.

The torturing anxiety that filled his mind, would no longer allow him to
remain in the house.

He would have his horse saddled, and ride to meet the expected messenger.

Ere leaving the room, he paused a moment lost in thought, then approached
the writing-table to sign some papers intended for the town-hall; for his
return might be delayed till night.

Still standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out before
him, and seized the pen.  Just at that moment the door of the room gently
opened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked under
a light foot.  He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to be
interrupted.

His wife was now standing close behind him.  Four and twenty years his
junior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did not
venture to divert her husband's attention from his business.

She waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned her
pretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:

"It is I, Peter!"

"Very well, my child," he answered curtly, raising the second paper
nearer his eyes.

"Peter!"  she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but with
timidity.  "I have something to tell you."

Van der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her,
and said:

"Now, child?  You see I am busy, and there is my hat."

"But Peter!"  she replied, a flash of something like indignation
sparkling in her eyes, as she continued in a voice pervaded with a
slightly perceptible tone of complaint: "We haven't said anything to each
other to-day.  My heart is so full, and what I would fain say to you is,
must surely--"

"When I come home Maria, not now," he interrupted, his deep voice
sounding half impatient, half beseeching.  "First the city and the
country--then love-making."

At these words, Maria raised her head proudly, and answered with
quivering lips:

"That is what you have said ever since the first day of our marriage."

"And unhappily--unhappily--I must continue to say so until we reach the
goal," he answered firmly.  The blood mounted into the young wife's
delicate cheeks, and with quickened breathing, she answered in a hasty,
resolute tone:

"Yes, indeed, I have known these words ever since your courtship, and as
I am my father's daughter never opposed them, but now they are no longer
suited to us, and should be: 'Everything for the country, and nothing at
all for the wife.'"

Van der Werff laid down his pen and turned full towards her.

Maria's slender figure seemed to have grown taller, and the blue eyes,
swimming in tears, flashed proudly.  This life-companion seemed to have
been created by God especially for him.  His heart opened to her, and
frankly stretching out both hands, he said tenderly:

"You know how matters are!  This heart is changeless, and other days will
come."

"When?"  asked Maria, in a tone as mournful as if she believed in no
happier future.

"Soon," replied her husband firmly.  "Soon, if only each one gives
willingly what our native land demands."

At these words the young wife loosed her hands from her husband's, for
the door had opened and Barbara called to her brother from the threshold.

"Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma, the Glipper, is in the entry and wants to
speak to you."

"Show him up," said the burgomaster reluctantly.  When again alone with
his wife, he asked hastily "Will you be indulgent and help me?"

She nodded assent, trying to smile.

He saw that she was sad and, as this grieved him, held out his hand to
her again, saying:

"Better days will come, when I shall be permitted to be more to you than
to-day.  What were you going to say just now?"

"Whether you know it or not--is of no importance to the state."

"But to you.  Then lift up your head again, and look at me.  Quick, love,
for they are already on the stairs."

"It isn't worth mentioning--a year ago to-day--we might celebrate the
anniversary of our wedding to-day."

"The anniversary of our wedding-day!"  he cried, striking his hands
loudly together.  "Yes, this is the seventeenth of April, and I have
forgotten it."

He drew her tenderly towards him, but just at that moment the door
opened, and Adrian ushered the baron into the room.

Van der Werff bowed courteously to the infrequent guest, then called to
his blushing wife, who was retiring: "My congratulations!  I'll come
later.  Adrian, we are to celebrate a beautiful festival to-day, the
anniversary of our marriage."

The boy glided swiftly out of the door, which he still held in his hand,
for he suspected the aristocratic visitor boded him no good.

In the entry he paused to think, then hurried up the stairs, seized his
plumeless cap, and rushed out of doors.  He saw his school-mates, armed
with sticks and poles, ranging themselves in battle array, and would have
liked to join the game of war, but for that very reason preferred not to
listen to the shouts of the combatants at that moment, and ran towards
the Zylhof until beyond the sound of their voices.

He now checked his steps, and in a stooping posture, often on his knees,
followed the windings of a narrow canal that emptied into the Rhine.

As soon as his cap was overflowing with the white, blue, and yellow
spring flowers he had gathered, he sat down on a boundary stone, and with
sparkling eyes bound them into a beautiful bouquet, with which he ran
home.

On the bench beside the gate sat the old maidservant with his little
sister, a child six years old.  Handing the flowers, which he had kept
hidden behind his back, to her, he said:

"Take them and carry them to mother, Bessie; this is the anniversary of
her wedding-day.  Give her warm congratulations too, from us both."

The child rose, and the old servant said, "You are a good boy, Adrian."

"Do you think so?"  he asked, all the sins of the forenoon returning to
his mind.

But unluckily they caused him no repentance; on the contrary, his eyes
began to sparkle mischievously, and a smile hovered around his lips, as
he patted the old woman's shoulder, whispering softly in her ear:

"The hair flew to-day, Trautchen.  My doublet and new stockings are lying
up in my room under the bed.  Nobody can mend as well as you."

Trautchen shook her finger at him, but he turned hastily back and ran
towards the Zyl-gate, this time to lead the Spaniards against the
Netherlanders.




CHAPTER III.

The burgomaster had pressed the nobleman to sit down in the study-chair,
while he himself leaned in a half-sitting attitude on the writing-table,
listening somewhat impatiently to his distinguished guest.

"Before speaking of more important things," Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma
had begun, "I should like to appeal to you, as a just man, for some
punishment for the injury my son has sustained in this city."

"Speak," said the burgomaster, and the nobleman now briefly, and with
unconcealed indignation, related the story of the attack upon his son at
the church.

"I'll inform the rector of the annoying incident," replied Van der Werff,
"and the culprits will receive their just dues; but pardon me, noble sir,
if I ask whether any inquiry has been made concerning the cause of the
quarrel?"

Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma looked at the burgomaster in surprise and
answered proudly:

"You know my son's report."

"Both sides must be fairly heard," replied Van der Werff calmly.  "That
has been the custom of the Netherlands from ancient times."

"My son bears my name and speaks the truth."

"Our boys are called simply Leendert or Adrian or Gerrit, but they do the
same, so I must beg you to send the young gentleman to the examination at
the school."

"By no means," answered the knight resolutely.  "If I had thought the
matter belonged to the rector's department, I should have sought him and
not you, Herr Peter.  My son has his own tutor, and was not attacked in
your school, which in any case he has outgrown, for he is seventeen, but
in the public street, whose security it is the burgomaster's duty to
guard."

"Very well then, make your complaint, take the youth before the judges,
summon witnesses and let the law follow its course.  But, sir," continued
Van der Werff, softening the impatience in his voice, "were you not young
yourself once?  Have you entirely forgotten the fights under the citadel?
What pleasure will it afford you, if we lock up a few thoughtless lads
for two days this sunny weather?  The scamps will find something amusing
to do indoors, as well as out, and only the parents will be punished."

The last words were uttered so cordially and pleasantly, that they could
not fail to have their effect upon the baron.  He was a handsome man,
whose refined, agreeable features, of the true Netherland type, expressed
anything rather than severity.

"If you speak to me in this tone, we shall come to an agreement more
easily," he answered, smiling.  "I will only say this.  Had the brawl
arisen in sport, or from some boyish quarrel, I wouldn't have wasted a
word on the matter--but that children already venture to assail with
jeers and violence those who hold different opinions, ought not to be
permitted to pass without reproof.  The boys shouted after my son the
absurd word--"

"It  is  certainly an insult," interrupted Van der Werff, "a very
disagreeable name, that our people bestow on the enemies of their
liberty."

The baron rose, angrily confronting the other.

"Who tells you," he cried, striking his broad breast, padded with silken
puffs, "who tells you that we grudge Holland her liberty?  We desire,
just as earnestly as you, to win it back to the States, but by other,
straighter paths than Orange--"

"I cannot test here whether your paths are crooked or straight," retorted
Van der Werff; "but I do know this--they are labyrinths."

"They will lead to the heart of Philip, our king and yours."

"Yes, if he only had what we in Holland call a heart," replied the other,
smiling bitterly; but Wibisma threw his head back vehemently, exclaiming
reproachfully:

"Sir Burgomaster, you are speaking of the anointed Prince to whom I have
sworn fealty."

"Baron Matanesse," replied Van der Werff, in a tone of deep earnestness,
as he drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms, and looked the
nobleman sharply in the eye, "I speak rather of the tyrant, whose bloody
council declared all who bore the Netherland name, and you among us,
criminals worthy of death; who, through his destroying devil, Alva,
burned, beheaded, and hung thousands of honest men, robbed and exiled
from the country thousands of others, I speak of the profligate--"

"Enough!"  cried the knight, clenching the hilt of his sword.  "Who gives
you the right--"

"Who gives me the right to speak so bitterly, you would ask?"
interrupted Peter Van der Werff, meeting the nobleman's eyes with a
gloomy glance.  "Who gives me this right?  I need not conceal it.  It was
bestowed by the silent lips of my valiant father, beheaded for the sake
of his faith, by the arbitrary decree, that without form of law, banished
my brother and myself from the country--by the Spaniards' broken vows,
the torn charters of this land, the suffering of the poor, ill-treated,
worthy people that will perish if we do not save them."

"You will not save them," replied Wibisma in a calmer tone.  "You will
push those tottering on the verge of the abyss completely over the
precipice, and go to destruction with them."

"We are pilots.  Perhaps we shall bring deliverance, perhaps we shall go
to ruin with those for whom we are ready to die."

"You say that, and yet a young, blooming wife binds you to life."

"Baron, you have crossed this threshold as complainant to the
burgomaster, not as guest or friend."

"Quite true, but I came with kind intentions, as monitor to the guiding
head of this beautiful, hapless city.  You have escaped the storm once,
but new and far heavier ones are gathering above your heads."

"We do not fear them."

"Not even now?"

"Now, with good reason, far less than ever."

"Then you don't know the Prince's brother--"

"Louis of Nassau was close upon the Spaniards on the 14th, and our cause
is doing well--"

"It certainly did not fare ill at first."

"The messenger, who yesterday evening--"

"Ours came this morning."

"This morning, you say?  And what more--"

"The Prince's army was defeated and utterly destroyed on Mook Heath.
Louis of Nassau himself was slain."

Van der Werff pressed his fingers firmly on the wood of the writing-
table.  The fresh color of his cheeks and lips had yielded to a livid
pallor, and his mouth quivered painfully as he asked in a low, hollow
tone, "Louis dead, really dead?"

"Dead," replied the baron firmly, though sorrowfully.  "We were enemies,
but Louis was a noble youth.  I mourn him with you."

"Dead, William's favorite dead!"  murmured the burgomaster as if in a
dream.  Then, controlling himself by a violent effort, he said, firmly:

"Pardon me, noble sir.  Time is flying.  I must go to the town-hall."

"And spite of my message, you will continue to uphold rebellion?"

"Yes, my lord, as surely as I am a Hollander."

"Do you remember the fate of Haarlem?"

"I remember her citizens' resistance, and the rescued Alkmaar."

"Man, man!"  cried the baron.  "By all that sacred, I implore you to be
circumspect."

"Enough, baron, I must go to the town-hall."

"No, only this one more word, this one word.  I know you upbraid us as
'Glippers,' deserters, but as truly as I hope for God's mercy, you
misjudge us.  No, Herr Peter, no, I am no traitor!  I love this country
and this brave, industrious people with the same love as yourself, for
its blood flows in my veins also.  I signed the compromise.  Here I
stand, sir.  Look at me.  Do I look like a Judas?  Do I look like a
Spaniard?  Can you blame me for faithfully keeping the oath I gave the
king?  When did we of the Netherlands ever trifle with vows?  You, the
friend of Orange, have just declared that you did not grudge any man the
faith to which he clung, and I will not doubt it.  Well, I hold firmly to
the old church, I am a Catholic and shall remain one.  But in this hour I
frankly confess, that I hate the inquisition and Alva's bloody deeds as
much as you do.  They have as little connection with our religion as
iconoclasm had with yours  Like you, I love the freedom of our home.
To win it back is my endeavor, as well as yours.  But how can a little
handful like us ever succeed in finally resisting the most powerful
kingdom in the world?  Though we conquer once, twice, thrice, two
stronger armies will follow each defeated one.  We shall accomplish
nothing by force, but may do much by wise concession and prudent deeds.
Philip's coffers are empty; he needs his armies too in other countries.
Well then, let us profit by his difficulties, and force him to ratify
some lost liberty for every revolted city that returns to him.  Let us
buy from his hands, with what remains of our old wealth, the rights he
has wrested from us while fighting against the rebels.  You will find
open hands with me and those who share my opinions.  Your voice weighs
heavily in the council of this city.  You are the friend of Orange, and
if you could induce him--"

"To do what, noble sir?"

"To enter into an alliance with us.  We know that those in Madrid
understand how to estimate his importance and fear him.  Let us
stipulate, as the first condition, a full pardon for him and his faithful
followers.  King Philip, I know, will receive him into favor again--"

"In his arms to strangle him," replied the burgomaster resolutely.
"Have you forgotten the false promises of pardon made in former times,
the fate of Egmont and Horn, the noble Montigney and other lords?  They
ventured it and entered the tiger's den.  What we buy to-day will surely
be taken from us tomorrow, for what oath would be sacred to Philip?  I am
no statesman, but I know this--if he would restore all our liberties, he
will never grant the one thing, without which life is valueless."

"What is that, Herr Peter?"

"The privilege of believing according to the dictates of our hearts.  You
mean fairly, noble sir;--but you trust the Spaniard, we do not; if we
did, we should be deceived children.  You have nothing to fear for your
religion, we everything; you believe that the number of troops and power
of gold will turn the scales in our conflict, we comfort ourselves with
the hope, that God will give victory to the good cause of a brave people,
ready to suffer a thousand deaths for liberty.  This is my opinion, and I
shall defend it in the town-hall."

"No, Meister Peter, no!  You cannot, ought not."

"What I can do is little, what I ought to do is written within, and I
shall act accordingly."

"And thus obey the sorrowing heart rather than the prudent head, and be
able to give naught save evil counsel.  Consider, man, Orange's last army
was destroyed on Mock Heath."

"True, my lord, and for that very reason we will not use the moments for
words, but deeds."

"I'll take the hint myself, Herr Van der Werf, for many friends of the
king still dwell in Leyden, who must be taught not to follow you blindly
to the shambles."

At these words Van der Werff retreated from the nobleman, clenched his
moustache firmly in his right hand, and raising his deep voice to a
louder tone, said coldly and imperiously:

"Then, as guardian of the safety of this city, I command you to quit
Leyden instantly.  If you are found within these walls after noon to-
morrow, I will have you taken across the frontiers by the city-guard."

The baron withdrew without any form of leave-taking.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Van der Werff, threw himself
into his arm-chair and covered his face with his hands.  When he again
sat erect, two large tear-drops sparkled on the paper which had lain
under his fingers.  Smiling bitterly, he wiped them from the page with
the back of his hand.

"Dead, dead," he murmured, and the image of the gallant youth, the clever
mediator, the favorite of William of Orange, rose before his mind--he
asked himself how this fresh stroke of fate would affect the Prince, whom
he revered as the providence of the country, admired and loved as the
wisest, most unselfish of men.

William's affliction grieved him as sorely as if it had fallen upon
himself, and the blow that had struck the cause of freedom was a heavy
one, perhaps never to be overcome.

Yet he only granted himself a short time to indulge in grief, for the
point in question now was to summon all the nation's strength to repair
what was lost, avert by vigorous acts the serious consequences which
threatened to follow Louis's defeat, and devise fresh means to carry on
the war.

He paced up and down the room with frowning brow, inventing measures and
pondering over plans.  His wife had opened the door, and now remained
standing on the threshold, but he did not notice her until she called his
name and advanced towards him.

In her hand she held part of the flowers the boy had brought, another
portion adorned her bosom.

"Take it," she said, offering him the bouquet.  "Adrian, dear boy,
gathered them, and you surely know what they mean."

He willingly took the messengers of spring, raised them to his face, drew
Maria to his breast, pressed a long kiss upon her brow, and then said
gloomily:

"So this is the celebration of the first anniversary of our wedding-day.
Poor wife!  The Glipper was not so far wrong; perhaps it would have been
wiser and better for me not to bind your fate to mine."

"How can such thoughts enter your mind, Peter!"  she exclaimed
reproachfully.

"Louis of Nassau has fallen," he murmured in a hollow tone, "his army is
scattered."

"Oh-oh!"  cried Maria, clasping her hands in horror, but he continued:

"It was our last body of troops.  The coffers are empty, and where we are
to obtain new means, and what will happen now--this, this--Leave me,
Maria, I beg you.  If we don't profit by the time now, if we don't find
the right paths now, we shall not, cannot prosper."

With these words he threw the bouquet on the table, hastily seized a
paper, looked into it, and, without glancing at her, waved his right
hand.

The young wife's heart had been full, wide open, when she entered the
room.  She had expected so much that was beautiful from this hour, and
now stood alone in the apartment he still shared with her.  Her arms had
fallen by her side; helpless, mortified, wounded, she gazed at him in
silence.

Maria had grown up amid the battle for freedom, and knew how to estimate
the grave importance of the tidings her husband had received.  During his
wooing he had told her that, by his side, she must expect a life full of
anxiety and peril, yet she had joyously gone to the altar with the brave
champion of the good cause, which had been her father's, for she had
hoped to become the sharer of his cares and struggles.  And now?  What
was she permitted to be to him?  What did he receive from her?  What had
he consented to share with her, who could not feel herself a feeble
woman, on this, the anniversary of their wedding-day.

There she stood, her open heart slowly closing and struggling against her
longing to cry out to him, and say that she would as gladly bear his
cares with him and share every danger, as happiness and honor.

The burgomaster, having now found what he sought, seized his hat and
again looked at his wife.

How pale and disappointed she was!

His heart ached; he would so gladly have given expression in words to the
great, warm love he felt for her, offered her joyous congratulations; but
in this hour, amid his grief, with such anxieties burdening his breast,
he could not do it, so he only held out both hands, saying tenderly:

"You surely know what you are to me, Maria, if you do not, I will tell
you this evening.  I must meet the members of the council at the town-
hall, or a whole day will be lost, and at this time we must be avaricious
even of the moments.  Well, Maria?"

The young wife was gazing at the floor.  She would gladly have flown to
his breast, but offended pride would not suffer her to do so, and some
mysterious power bound her hands and did not permit her to lay them in
his.

"Farewell," she said in a hollow tone.

"Maria!"  he exclaimed reproachfully.  "To-day is no well-chosen time for
pouting.  Come and be my sensible wife."

She did not move instantly; but he heard the bell ring for the fourth
hour, the time when the session of the council ended, and left the room
without looking back at her.

The little bouquet still lay on the writing-table; the young wife saw it,
and with difficulty restrained her tears.




CHAPTER IV.

Countless citizens had flocked to the stately townhall.  News of Louis of
Nassau's defeat had spread quickly through all the eighteen wards of the
city, and each wanted to learn farther particulars, express his grief and
fears to those who held the same views, and hear what measures the
council intended to adopt for the immediate future.

Two messengers had only too thoroughly confirmed Baron Matanesse Van
Wibisma's communication.  Louis was dead, his brother Henry missing, and
his army completely destroyed.

Jan Van Hout, who had taught the boys that morning, now came to a window,
informed the citizens what a severe blow the liberty of the country had
received, and in vigorous words exhorted them to support the good cause
with body and soul.

Loud cheers followed this speech.  Gay caps and plumed hats were tossed
in the air, canes and swords were waved, and the women and children, who
had crowded among the men, fluttered their handkerchiefs, and with their
shriller voices drowned the shouts of the citizens.

The members of the valiant city-guard assembled, to charge their captain
to give the council the assurance, that the "Schutterij" was ready to
support William of Orange to the last penny and drop of their blood, and
would rather die for the cause of Holland, than live under Spanish
tyranny.  Among them was seen many a grave, deeply-troubled face; for
these men, who filled its ranks by their own choice, all loved William of
Orange: his sorrow hurt them--and their country's distress pierced their
hearts.  As soon as the four burgomasters, the eight magistrates of the
city, and the members of the common council appeared at the windows,
hundreds of voices joined in the Geusenlied,--[Beggars' Song or Hymn.
Beggar was the name given to the patriots by those who sympathized with
Spain.]--which had long before been struck up by individuals, and when at
sunset the volatile populace scattered and, still singing, turned, either
singly or by twos or threes, towards the taverns, to strengthen their
confidence in better days and dispel many a well-justified anxiety by
drink, the market-place of Leyden and its adjoining streets presented no
different aspect, than if a message of victory had been read from the
town-hall.

The cheers and Beggars' Song had sounded very powerful--but so many
hundreds of Dutch throats would doubtless have been capable of shaking
the air with far mightier tones.

This very remark had been made by the three welldressed citizens, who
were walking through the wide street, past the blue stone, and the eldest
said to his companions:

"They boast and shout and seem large to themselves now, but we shall see
that things will soon be very different."

"May God avert the worst!"  replied the other, "but the Spaniards will
surely advance again, and I know many in my ward who won't vote for
resistance this time."

"They are right, a thousand times right.  Requesens is not Alva, and if
we voluntarily seek the king's pardon--"

"There would be no blood shed and everything would take the best course."

"I have more love for Holland than for Spain," said the third.  "But,
after Mook-Heath, resistance is a thing of the past.  Orange may be an
excellent prince, but the shirt is closer than the coat."

"And in fact we risk our lives and fortunes merely for him."

"My wife said so yesterday."

"He'll be the last man to help trade.  Believe me, many think as we do,
if it were not so, the Beggars' Song would have sounded louder."

"There will always be five fools to three wise men," said the older
citizen.  "I took good care not to split my mouth."

"And after all, what great thing is there behind this outcry for freedom?
Alva burnt the Bible-readers, De la Marck hangs the priests.  My wife
likes to go to Mass, but always does so secretly, as if she were