committing a crime."
"We, too, cling to the good old faith."

"Never mind faith," said the third.  We are Calvinists, but I take no
pleasure in throwing my pennies into Orange's maw, nor can it gratify me
to again tear up the poles before the Cow-gate, ere the wind dries the
yarn."

"Only let us hold together," advised the older man.  "People don't
express their real opinions, and any poor ragged devil might play the
hero.  But I tell you there will be sensible men enough in every ward,
every guild, nay, even in the council, and among the burgomasters."

"Hush," whispered the second citizen, "there comes Van der Werff with the
city clerk and young Van der Does; they are the worst of all."

The three persons named came down the broad street, talking eagerly
together, but in low tones.

"My uncle is right, Meister Peter," said Jan Van der Does, the same tall
young noble, who, on the morning of that day, had sent Nicolas Van
Wibisma home with a kindly warning.  "It's no use, you must seek the
Prince and consult with him."

"I suppose I must," replied the burgomaster.  "I'll go to-morrow
morning."

"Not to-morrow," replied Van Hout.  "The Prince rides fast, and if you
don't find him in Delft--"

"Do you go first," urged the burgomaster, "you have the record of our
session."

"I cannot; but to-day you, the Prince's friend, for the first time lack
good-will."

"You are right, Jan," exclaimed the burgomaster, "and you shall know what
holds me back."

"If it is anything a friend can do for you, here he stands," said von
Nordwyk.

Van der Werff grasped the hand the young nobleman extended, and answered,
smiling: "No, my lord, no.  You know my young wife.  To-day we should
have celebrated the first anniversary of our marriage, and amid all these
anxieties I disgracefully forgot it."

"Hard, hard," said Van Hout, softly.  Then he drew himself up to his full
height, and added resolutely: "And yet, were I in your place, I would go,
in spite of her."

"Would you go to-day?"

"To-day, for to-morrow it may be too late.  Who knows how soon egress
from the city may be stopped and, before again venturing the utmost, we
must know the Prince's opinion.  You possess more of his confidence than
any of us."

"And God knows how gladly I would bring him a cheering word in these
sorrowful hours; but it must not be to-day.  The messenger has ridden off
on my bay."

"Then take my chestnut, he is faster too," said Janus Dousa and Van der
Werff answered hastily.

"Thanks, my lord.  I'll send for him early tomorrow morning."

The blood mounted to Van Hout's head and, thrusting his hand angrily
between his girdle and doublet, he exclaimed: "Send me the chestnut, if
the burgomaster will give me leave of absence."

"No, send him to me," replied Peter calmly.  "What must be, must be; I'll
go to-day."

Van Hout's manly features quickly smoothed and, clasping the
burgomaster's right hand in both his, he said joyously:

"Thanks, Herr Peter.  And no offence; you know my hot temper.  If the
time seems long to your young wife, send her to mine."

"And mine," added Dousa.  "It's a strange thing about those two little
words 'wish' and 'ought.'  The freer and better a man becomes, the more
surely the first becomes the slave of the second.

"And yet, Herr Peter, I'll wager that your wife will confound the two
words to-day, and think you have sorely transgressed against the 'ought.'
These are bad times for the 'wish.'"

Van der Werff nodded assent, then briefly and firmly explained to his
friends what he intended to disclose to the Prince.

The three men separated before the burgomaster's house.

"Tell the Prince," said Van Hout, on parting, "that we are prepared for
the worst, will endure and dare it."

At these words Janus Dousa measured both his companions with his eyes,
his lips quivered as they always did when any strong emotion filled his
heart, and while his shrewd face beamed with joy and confidence, he
exclaimed: "We three will hold out, we three will stand firm, the tyrant
may break our necks, but he shall not bend them.  Life, fortune, all that
is dear and precious and useful to man, we will resign for the highest of
blessings."

"Ay," said Van der Werff, loudly and earnestly, while Van Hout
impetuously repeated: "Yes, yes, thrice yes."

The three men, so united in feeling, grasped each other's hands firmly
for a moment.  A silent vow bound them in this hour, and when Herr von
Nordwyk and Van Hout turned in opposite directions, the citizens who met
them thought their tall figures had grown taller still within the last
few hours.

The burgomaster went to his wife's room without delay, but did not find
her there.

She had gone out of the gate with his sister.

The maid-servant carried a light into his chamber; he followed her,
examined the huge locks of his pistols, buckled on his old sword, put
what he needed into his saddle-bags, then, with his tall figure drawn up
to its full height, paced up and down the room, entirely absorbed in his
task.

Herr von Nordwyk's chestnut horse was stamping on the pavement before the
door, and Hesperus was rising above the roofs.

The door of the house now opened.

He went into the entry and found, not his wife, but Adrian, who had just
returned home, told the boy to give his most loving remembrances to his
mother, and say that he was obliged to seek the Prince on important
business.

Old Trautchen had already washed and undressed little Elizabeth, and now
brought him the child wrapped in a coverlet.  He kissed the dear little
face, which smiled at him out of its queer disguise, pressed his lips to
Adrian's forehead, again told him to give his love to his mother, and
then rode down Marendorpstrasse.

Two women, coming from the Rheinsburger gate, met him just as he reached
St. Stephen's cloister.  He did not notice them, but the younger one
pushed the kerchief back from her head, hastily grasped her companion's
wrist, and exclaimed in a low tone:

"That was Peter!"

Barbara raised her head higher.

"It's lucky I'm not timid.  Let go of my arm.  Do you mean the horseman
trotting past St. Ursula alley?"

"Yes, it is Peter."

"Nonsense, child!  The bay has shorter legs than that tall camel; and
Peter never rides out at this hour."

"But it was he."

"God forbid!  At night a linden looks like a beechtree.  It would be a
pretty piece of business, if he didn't come home to-day."

The last words had escaped Barbara's lips against her will; for until
then she had prudently feigned not to suspect that everything between
Maria and her husband was not exactly as it ought to be, though she
plainly perceived what was passing in the mind of her young sister-in-
law.

She was a shrewd woman, with much experience of the world, who certainly
did not undervalue her brother and his importance to the cause of their
native land; nay, she went so far as to believe that, with the exception
of the Prince of Orange, no man on earth would be more skilful than Peter
in guiding the cause of freedom to a successful end; but she felt that
her brother was not treating Maria justly, and being a fair-minded woman,
silently took sides against the husband who neglected his wife.

Both walked side by side for a time in silence.  At last the widow
paused, saying:

"Perhaps the Prince has sent a messenger for Peter.  In such times, after
such blows, everything is possible.  You might have seen correctly."

"It was surely he," replied Maria positively.

"Poor fellow!"  said the other.  "It must be a sad ride for him!  Much
honor, much hardship!  You've no reason to despond, for your husband will
return tomorrow or the day after; while I--look at me, Maria!  I go
through life stiff and straight, do my duty cheerfully; my cheeks are
rosy, my food has a relish, yet I've been obliged to resign what was
dearest to me.  I have endured my widowhood ten years; my daughter
Gretchen has married, and I sent Cornelius myself to the Beggars of the
Sea.  Any hour may rob me of him, for his life is one of constant peril.
What has a widow except her only son?  And I gave him up for our
country's cause!  That is harder than to see a husband ride away for a
few hours on the anniversary of his wedding-day.  He certainly doesn't do
it for his own pleasure!"

"Here we are at home," said Maria, raising the knocker.

Trautchen opened the door and, even before crossing the threshold,
Barbara exclaimed:

"Is your master at home?"

The reply was in the negative, as she too now expected.

Adrian gave his message; Trautchen brought up the supper, but the
conversation would not extend beyond "yes" and "no."

After Maria had hastily asked the blessing, she rose, and turning to
Barbara, said:

"My head aches, I should like to go to bed."

"Then go to rest," replied the widow.  "I'll sleep in the next room and
leave the door open.  In darkness and silence--whims come."

Maria kissed her sister-in-law with sincere affection, and lay down in
bed; but she found no sleep, and tossed restlessly to and fro until near
midnight.

Hearing Barbara cough in the next room, she sat up and asked:

"Sister-in-law, are you asleep?"

"No, child.  Do you feel ill?"

"Not exactly; but I'm so anxious--horrible thoughts torment me."

Barbara instantly lighted a candle at the night-lamp, entered the chamber
with it, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Her heart ached as she gazed at the pretty young creature lying alone,
full of sorrow, in the wide bed, unable to sleep from bitter grief.

Maria had never seemed to her so beautiful; resting in her white night-
robes on the snowy pillow, she looked like a sorrowing angel.

Barbara could not refrain from smoothing the hair back from the narrow
forehead and kissing the flushed cheeks.

Maria gazed gratefully into her small, light-blue eyes and said
beseechingly:

"I should like to ask you something."

"Well?"

"But you must honestly tell me the truth."

"That is asking a great deal!"

"I know you are sincere, but it is--"

"Speak freely."

"Was Peter happy with his first wife?"

"Yes, child, yes."

"And do you know this not only from him, but also from his dead wife,
Eva?"

"Yes, sister-in-law, yes."

"And you can't be mistaken?"

"Not in this case certainly!  But what puts such thoughts into your head?
The Bible says: 'Let the dead bury their dead.'  Now turn over and try
to sleep."

Barbara went back to her room, but hours elapsed ere Maria found the
slumber she sought.




CHAPTER V.

The next morning two horsemen, dressed in neat livery, were waiting
before the door of a handsome House in Nobelstrasse, near the market-
place.  A third was leading two sturdy roan steeds up and down, and a
stable-boy held by the bridle a gaily-bedizened, long maned pony.  This
was intended for the young negro lad, who stood in the door-way of the
house and kept off the street-boys, who ventured to approach, by rolling
his eyes and gnashing his white teeth at them.

"Where can they be?"  said one of the mounted men:  "The rain won't keep
off long to-day."

"Certainly not," replied the other.  "The sky is as grey as my old felt-
hat, and, by the time we reach the forest, it will be pouring."

It's misting already."

"Such cold, damp weather is particularly disagreeable to me."

"It was pleasant yesterday."

"Button the flaps tighter over the pistol-holsters!  The portmanteau
behind the young master's saddle isn't exactly even.  There!  Did the
cook fill the flask for you?"

"With brown Spanish wine.  There it is."

"Then let it pour.  When a fellow is wet inside, he can bear a great deal
of moisture without."

"Lead the horses up to the door; I hear the gentlemen."

The man was not mistaken; for before his companion had succeeded in
stopping the larger roan, the voices of his master, Herr Matanesse Van
Wibisma, and his son, Nicolas, were heard in the wide entry.

Both were exchanging affectionate farewells with a young girl, whose
voice sounded deeper than the halfgrown boy's.

As the older gentleman thrust his hand through the roan's mane and was
already lifting his foot to put it in the stirrup, the young girl, who
had remained in the entry, came out into the street, laid her hand on
Wibisma's arm, and said:

"One word more, uncle, but to you alone."

The baron still held his horse's mane in his hand, exclaiming with a
cordial smile:

"If only it isn't too heavy for the roan.  A secret from beautiful lips
has its weight."

While speaking, he bent his ear towards his niece, but she did not seem
to have intended to whisper, for she approached no nearer and merely
lowered her tone, saying in the Italian language:

"Please tell my father, that I won't stay here."

"Why, Henrica!"

"Tell him I won't do so under any circumstances."

"Your aunt won't let you go."

"In short, I won't stay."

"I'll deliver the message, but in somewhat milder terms, if agreeable to
you."

"As you choose.  Tell him, too, that I beg him to send for me.  If he
doesn't wish to enter this heretic's nest himself, for which I don't
blame him in the least, he need only send horses or the carriage for me."

"And your reasons?"

"I won't weight your baggage still more heavily.  Go, or the saddle will
be wet before you ride off"

"Then I'm to tell Hoogstraten to expect a letter."

"No.  Such things can't be written.  Besides, it won't be necessary.
Tell my father I won't stay with aunt, and want to go home.  Good-bye,
Nico.  Your riding-boots and green cloth doublet are much more becoming
than those silk fal-lals."

The young lady kissed her hand to the youth, who had already swung
himself into the saddle, and hurried back to the house.  Her uncle
shrugged his shoulders, mounted the roan, wrapped the dark cloak closer
around him, beckoned Nicolas to his side, and rode on with him in advance
of the servants.

No word was exchanged between them, so long as their way led through the
city, but outside the gate, Wibisma said:

"Henrica finds the time long in Leyden; she would like to go back to her
father."

"It can't be very pleasant to stay with aunt," replied the youth.

"She is old and sick, and her life has been a joyless one."

"Yet she was beautiful.  Few traces of it are visible, but her eyes are
still like those in the portrait, and besides she is so rich."

"That doesn't give happiness."

"But why has she remained unmarried?"  The baron shrugged his shoulders,
and replied: "It certainly didn't suit the men."

"Then why didn't she go into a convent?"

"Who knows?  Women's hearts are harder to understand than your Greek
books.  You'll learn that later.  What were you saying to your aunt as
I came up?"

"Why, just see," replied the boy, putting the bridle in his mouth, and
drawing the glove from his left hand, "she slipped this ring on my
finger."

"A splendid emerald!  She doesn't usually like to part with such things."

"She first offered me another, saying she would give it to me to make
amends for the thumps I received yesterday as a faithful follower of the
king.  Isn't it comical?"

"More than that, I should think."

"It was contrary to my nature to accept gifts for my bruises, and I
hastily drew my hand back, saying the burgher lads had taken some home
from me, and I wouldn't have the ring as a reward for that."

"Right, Nico, right."

"So she said too, put the little ring back in the box, found this one,
and here it is."

"A valuable gem!"  murmured the baron, thinking: "This gift is a good
omen.  The Hoogstratens and he are her nearest heirs, and if the silly
girl doesn't stay with her, it might happen--"

But he found no time to finish these reflections, Nicolas interrupted
them by saying:

"It's beginning to rain already.  Don't the fogs on the meadows look like
clouds fallen from the skies?  I am cold."

"Draw your cloak closer."

"How it rains and hails!  One would think it was winter.  The water in
the canals looks black, and yonder--see--what is that?"

A tavern stood beside the road, and just in front of it a single lofty
elm towered towards the sky.  Its trunk, bare as a mast, had grown
straight up without separating into branches until it attained the height
of a house.  Spring had as yet lured no leaves from the boughs, but there
were many objects to be seen in the bare top of the tree.  A small flag,
bearing the colors of the House of Orange, was fastened to one branch,
from another hung a large doll, which at a distance strongly resembled a
man dressed in black, an old hat dangled from a third, and a fourth
supported a piece of white pasteboard, on which might be read in large
black letters, which the rain was already beginning to efface:

"Good luck to Orange, to the Spaniard death.
So Peter Quatgelat welcomes his guests."

This tree, with its motley adornments, offered a by no means pleasant
spectacle, seen in the grey, cold, misty atmosphere of the rainy April
morning.

Ravens had alighted beside the doll swaying to and fro in the wind,
probably mistaking it for a man.  They must have been by no means
teachable birds, for during the years the Spaniards had ruled in Holland,
the places of execution were never empty.  They were screeching as if in
anger, but still remained perched on the tree, which they probably
mistook for a gibbet.  The rest of the comical ornaments and the thought
of the nimble adventurer, who must have climbed up to fasten them, formed
a glaring and offensive contrast to the caricature of the gallows.

Yet Nicolas laughed loudly, as he perceived the queer objects in the top
of the elm, and pointing upward, said:

"What kind of fruits are hanging there?"

But the next instant a chill ran down his back, for a raven perched on
the black doll and pecked so fiercely at it with its hard beak, that bird
and image swayed to and fro like a pendulum.

"What does this nonsense mean?"  asked the baron, turning to the servant,
a bold-looking fellow, who rode behind him.

"It's something like a tavern-sign," replied the latter.  "Yesterday,
when the sun was shining, it looked funny enough--but to-day--b-r-r-r-
it's horrible."

The nobleman's eyes were not keen enough to read the inscription on the
placard.  When Nicolas read it aloud to him, he muttered an oath, then
turned again to the servant, saying:

"And does this nonsense bring guests to the rascally host's tavern?"

"Yes, my lord, and 'pon my soul, it looked very comical yesterday, when
the ravens were not to be seen; a fellow couldn't look at it without
laughing.  Half Leyden was there, and we went with the crowd.  There was
such an uproar on the grass-plot yonder.  Dudeldum--Hubutt, Hubutt--
Dudeldum--fiddles squeaking and bag-pipes droning as if they never would
stop.  The crazy throng shouted amidst the din; the noise still rings in
my ears.  There was no end to the games and dancing.  The lads tossed
their brown, blue and red-stockinged legs in the air, just as the fiddle
played--the coat-tails flew and, holding a girl clasped in the right arm
and a mug of beer high over their heads till the foam spattered, the
throng of men whirled round and round.  There was as much screaming and
rejoicing as if every butter-cup in the grass had been changed into a
gold florin.  But to-day--holy Florian--this is a rain!"

"It will do the things up there good," exclaimed the baron.  "The tinder
grows damp in such a torrent, or I'd take out my pistols and shoot the
shabby liberty hat and motley tatters off the tree."

"That was the dancing ground," said the man, pointing to a patch of
trampled grass.

"The people are possessed, perfectly possessed," cried the baron,
"dancing and rejoicing to-day, and tomorrow the wind will blow the felt-
hat and flag from the tree, and instead of the black puppet they
themselves will come to the gallows.  Steady roan, steady!  The hail
frightens the beasts.  Unbuckle the portmanteau, Gerrit, and give your
young master a blanket."

"Yes, my lord.  But wouldn't it be better for you to go in here until the
shower is over?  Holy Florian!

"Just see that piece of ice in your horse's mane!  It's as large as a
pigeon's egg.  Two horses are already standing under the shed, and
Quatgelat's beer isn't bad."  The baron glanced inquiringly at his son.

"Let us go in," replied Nicolas; "we shall get to the Hague early enough.
See how poor Balthasar is shivering!  Henrica says he's a white boy
painted; but if she could see how well he keeps his color in this
weather, she would take it back."

Herr Van Wibisma turned his dripping, smoking steed, frightened by the
hail-stones, towards the house, and in a few minutes crossed the
threshold of the inn with his son.




CHAPTER VI.

A current of warm air, redolent of beer and food, met the travellers as
they entered the large, low room, dimly lighted by the tiny windows,
scarcely more than loop-holes, pierced in two sides.  The tap-room itself
looked like the cabin of a ship.  Ceiling and floor, chairs and tables,
were made of the same dark-brown wood that covered the walls, along which
beds were ranged like berths.

The host, with many bows, came forward to receive the aristocratic
guests, and led them to the fire-place, where huge pieces of peat were
glimmering.  The heat they sent forth answered several purposes at the
same time.  It warmed the air, lighted a portion of the room, which was
very dark in rainy weather, and served to cook three fowl that, suspended
from a thin iron bar over the fire, were already beginning to brown.

As the new guests approached the hearth, an old woman, who had been
turning the spit, pushed a white cat from her lap and rose.

The landlord tossed on a bench several garments spread over the backs of
two chairs to dry, and hung in their place the dripping cloaks of the
baron and his son.

While the elder Wibisma was ordering something hot to drink for himself
and servants, Nicolas led the black page to the fire.

The shivering boy crouched on the floor beside the ashes, and stretched
now his soaked feet, shod in red morocco, and now his stiffened fingers
to the blaze.

The father and son took their seats at a table, over which the maid-
servant had spread a cloth.  The baron was inclined to enter into
conversation about the decorated tree with the landlord, an over-civil,
pock-marked dwarf, whose clothes were precisely the same shade of brown
as the wood in his tap-room; but refrained from doing so because two
citizens of Leyden, one of whom was well known to him, sat at a short
distance from his table, and he did not wish to be drawn into a quarrel
in a place like this.

After Nicolas had also glanced around the tap-room, he touched his
father, saying in a low tone:

"Did you notice the men yonder?  The younger one--he's lifting the cover
of the tankard now--is the organist who released me from the boys and
gave me his cloak yesterday."

"The one yonder?"  asked the nobleman.  "A handsome young fellow.  He
might be taken for an artist or something of that kind.  Here, landlord,
who is the gentleman with brown hair and large eyes, talking to
Allertssohn, the fencing-master?"

"It's Herr Wilhelm, younger son of old Herr Cornelius, Receiver General,
a player or musician, as they call them."

"Eh, eh," cried the baron.  "His father is one of my old Leyden
acquaintances.  He was a worthy, excellent man before the craze for
liberty turned people's heads.  The youth, too, has a face pleasant to
look at.

"There is something pure about it--something-it's hard to say, something
--what do you think, Nico?  Doesn't he look like our Saint Sebastian?
Shall I speak to him and thank him for his kindness?"

The baron, without waiting for his son, whom he treated as an equal, to
reply, rose to give expression to his friendly feelings towards the
musician, but this laudable intention met with an unexpected obstacle.

The man, whom the baron had called the fencing-master Allertssohn, had
just perceived that the "Glippers" cloaks were hanging by the fire, while
his friend's and his own were flung on a bench.  This fact seemed to
greatly irritate the Leyden burgher; for as the baron rose, he pushed his
own chair violently back, bent his muscular body forward, rested both
arms on the edge of the table opposite to him and, with a jerking motion,
turned his soldierly face sometimes towards the baron, and sometimes
towards the landlord.  At last he shouted loudly:

"Peter Quatgelat--you villain, you!  What ails you, you, miserable
hunchback!--Who gives you a right to toss our cloaks into a corner?"

"Yours,  Captain,"  stammered  the  host, "were already--"

"Hold your tongue, you fawning knave!"  thundered the other in so loud a
tone and such excitement, that the long grey moustache on his upper lip
shook, and the thick beard on his chin trembled.  "Hold your tongue!
We know better.  Jove's thunder!  Nobleman's cloaks are favored here.
They're of Spanish cut.  That exactly suits the Glippers' faces.  Good
Dutch cloth is thrown into the corner.  Ho, ho, Brother Crooklegs, we'll
put you on parade."

"Pray, most noble Captain--"

"I'll blow away your most noble, you worthless scamp, you arrant rascal!
First come, first served, is the rule in Holland, and has been ever since
the days of Adam and Eve.  Prick up your ears, Crooklegs!  If my 'most
noble' cloak, and Herr Wilhelm's too, are not hanging in their old places
before I count twenty, something will happen here that won't suit you.