One-two-three--"
The landlord cast a timid, questioning glance at the nobleman, and as the
latter shrugged his shoulders and said audibly: "There is probably room
for more than two cloaks at the fire," Quatgelat took the Leyden guests'
wraps from the bench and hung them on two chairs, which he pushed up to
the mantel-piece.

While this was being done, the fencing-master slowly continued to count.
By the time he reached twenty the landlord had finished his task, yet the
irate captain still gave him no peace, but said:

"Now our reckoning, man.  Wind and storm are far from pleasant, but I
know even worse company.  There's room enough at the fire for four
cloaks, and in Holland for all the animals in Noah's ark, except
Spaniards and the allies of Spain.  Deuce take it, all the bile in my
liver is stirred.  Come to the horses with me, Herr Wilhelm, or there'll
be mischief."

The fencing-master, while uttering the last words, stared angrily
at the nobleman with his prominent eyes, which even under ordinary
circumstances, always looked as keen as if they had something marvellous
to examine.

Wibisma pretended not to hear the provoking words, and, as the fencing-
master left the room, walked calmly, with head erect, towards the
musician, bowed courteously, and thanked him for the kindness he had
shown his son the day before.

"You are not in the least indebted to me," replied Wilhelm Corneliussohn.
"I helped the young nobleman, because it always has an ill look when
numbers attack one."

"Then allow me to praise this opinion," replied the baron.

"Opinion," repeated the musician with a subtle smile, drawing a few notes
on the table.

The baron watched his fingers silently a short time, then advanced nearer
the young man, asking:

"Must everything now relate to political dissensions?"

"Yes," replied Wilhelm firmly, turning his face with a rapid movement
towards the older man.  "In these times 'yes,' twenty times 'yes.'  You
wouldn't do well to discuss opinions with me, Herr Matanesse."

"Every man," replied the nobleman, shrugging his shoulders, "every man of
course believes his own opinion the right one, yet he ought to respect
the views of those who think differently."

"No, my lord," cried the musician.  "In these times there is but one
opinion for us.  I wish to share nothing, not even a drink at the table,
with any man who has Holland blood, and feels differently.  Excuse me, my
lord; my travelling companion, as you have unfortunately learned, has an
impatient temper and doesn't like to wait."

Wilhelm bowed distantly, waved his hand to Nicolas, approached the
chimney-piece, took the half-dried cloaks on his arm, tossed a coin on
the table and, holding in his hands a covered cage in which several birds
were fluttering, left the room.

The baron gazed after him in silence.  The simple words and the young
man's departure aroused painful emotions.  He believed he desired what
was right, yet at this moment a feeling stole over him that a stain
rested on the cause he supported.

It is more endurable to be courted than avoided, and thus an expression
of deep annoyance rested on the nobleman's pleasant features as he
returned to his son.

Nicolas had not lost a single word uttered by the organist, and the blood
left his ruddy cheeks as he was forced to see this man, whose appearance
had especially won his young heart, turn his back upon his father as if
he were a dishonorable man to be avoided.

The words, with which Janus Dousa had left him the day before, returned
to his mind with great force, and when the baron again seated himself
opposite him, the boy raised his eyes and said hesitatingly, but with
touching earnestness and sincere anxiety:

"Father, what does that mean?  Father--are they so wholly wrong, if they
would rather be Hollanders than Spaniards?"

Wibisma looked at his son with surprise and displeasure, and because he
felt his own firmness wavering, and a blustering word often does good
service where there is lack of possibility or inclination to contend
against reasons, he exclaimed more angrily than he had spoken to his son
for years:

"Are you, too, beginning to relish the bait with which Orange lures
simpletons?  Another word of that kind, and I'll show you how malapert
lads are treated.  Here, landlord, what's the meaning of that nonsense on
yonder tree?"

"The people, my lord, the Leyden fools are to blame for the mischief,
not I.  They decked the tree out in that ridiculous way, when the troops
stationed in the city during the siege retired.  I keep this house as a
tenant of old Herr Van der Does, and dare not have any opinions of my
own, for people must live, but, as truly as I hope for salvation, I'm
loyal to King Philip."

"Until the Leyden burghers come out here again," replied Wibisma
bitterly.  "Did you keep this inn during the siege?"

"Yes, my lord, the Spaniards had no cause to complain of me, and if a
poor man's services are not too insignificant for you, they are at your
disposal."

"Ah! ha!"  muttered the baron, gazing attentively at the landlord's
disagreeable face, whose little eyes glittered very craftily, then
turning to Nicolas, said:

"Go and watch the blackbirds in the window yonder a little while, my son,
I have something to say to the host."

The youth instantly obeyed and as, instead of looking at the birds, he
gazed after the two enthusiastic supporters of Holland's liberty, who
were riding along the road leading to Delft, remembered the simile of
fetters that drag men down, and saw rising before his mental vision the
glitter of the gold chain King Philip had sent his father, Nicolas
involuntarily glanced towards him as he stood whispering eagerly with the
landlord.  Now he even laid his hand on his shoulder.  Was it right for
him to hold intercourse with a man whom he must despise at heart?  Or was
he--he shuddered, for the word "traitor," which one of the school-boys
had shouted in his ears during the quarrel before the church, returned to
his memory.

When the rain grew less violent, the travellers left the inn.  The baron
allowed the hideous landlord to kiss his hand at parting, but Nicolas
would not suffer him to touch his.

Few words were exchanged between father and son during the remainder of
their ride to the Hague, but the musician and the fencing-master were
less silent on the way to Delft.

Wilhelm had modestly, as beseemed the younger man, suggested that his
companion had expressed his hostile feelings towards the nobleman too
openly.

"True, perfectly true," replied Allertssohn, whom his friends called
"Allerts."  "Very true!  Temper oh! temper!  You don't suspect, Herr
Wilhelm--But we'll let it pass."

"No, speak, Meister."

"You'll think no better of me, if I do."

"Then let us talk of something else."

"No, Wilhelm.  I needn't be ashamed, no one will take me for a coward."

The musician laughed, exclaiming: "You a coward!  How many Spaniards has
your Brescian sword killed?"

"Wounded, wounded, sir, far oftener than killed," replied the other.  "If
the devil challenges me I shall ask: Foils, sir, or Spanish swords?  But
there's one person I do fear, and that's my best and at the same time my
worst friend, a Netherlander, like yourself, the man who rides here
beside you.  Yes, when rage seizes upon me, when my beard begins to
tremble, my small share of sense flies away as fast as your doves when
you let them go.  You don't know me, Wilhelm."

"Don't I?  How often must one see you in command and visit you in the
fencing-room?"

"Pooh, pooh--there I'm as quiet as the water in yonder ditch--but when
anything goes against the grain, when--how shall I explain it to you,
without similes?"

"Go on."

"For instance, when I am obliged to see a sycophant treated as if he were
Sir Upright--"

"So that vexes you greatly?"

"Vexes?  No!  Then I grow as savage as a tiger, and I ought not to be so,
I ought not.  Roland, my foreman, probably likes--"

"Meister, Meister, your beard is beginning to tremble already!"

"What did the Glippers think, when their aristocratic cloaks--"

The landlord took yours and mine from the fire entirely on his own
responsibility."

"I don't care!  The crook-legged ape did it to honor the Spanish
sycophant.  It enraged me, it was intolerable."

"You didn't keep your wrath to yourself, and I was surprised to see how
patiently the baron bore your insults."

"That's just it, that's it!"  cried the fencing-master, while his beard
began to twitch violently.  "That's what drove me out of the tavern,
that's why I took to my heels.  That--that--Roland, my fore man."

"I don't understand you."

"Don't you, don't you?  How should you; but I'll explain.  When you're as
old as I am, young man, you'll experience it too.  There are few
perfectly sound trees in the forest, few horses without a blemish, few
swords without a stain, and scarcely a man who has passed his fortieth
year that has not a worm in his breast.  Some gnaw slightly, others
torture with sharp fangs, and mine--mine.--Do you want to cast a glance
in here?"

The fencing-master struck his broad chest as he uttered these words and,
without waiting for his companion's reply, continued:

"You know me and my life, Herr Wilhelm.  What do I do, what do I
practise?  Only chivalrous work.

"My life is based upon the sword.  Do you know a better blade or surer
hand than mine?  Do my soldiers obey me?  Have I spared my blood in
fighting before the red walls and towers yonder?  No, by my fore man
Roland, no, no, a thousand times no."

"Who denies it, Meister Allerts?  But tell me, what do you mean by your
cry: Roland, my fore man?"

"Another time, Wilhelm; you mustn't interrupt me now.  Hear my story
about where the worm hides in me.  So once more: What I do, the calling I
follow, is knightly work, yet when a Wibisma, who learned how to use his
sword from my father, treats me ill and stirs up my bile, if I should
presume to challenge him, as would be my just right, what would he do?
Laugh and ask: 'What will the passado cost, Fencing-master Allerts?  Have
you polished rapiers?'  Perhaps he wouldn't even answer at all, and we
saw just now how he acts.  His glance slipped past me like an eel, and he
had wax in his ears.  Whether I reproach, or a cur yelps at him, is all
the same to his lordship.  If only a Renneberg or Brederode had been in
my place just now, how quickly Wibisma's sword would have flown from its
sheath, for he understands how to fight and is no coward.  But I--I?
Nobody would willingly allow himself to be struck in the face, yet so
surely as my father was a brave man, even the worst insult could be more
easily borne, than the feeling of being held in too slight esteem to be
able to offer an affront.  You see, Wilhelm, when the Glipper looked past
me--"

"Your beard lost its calmness."

"It's all very well for you to jest, you don't know--"

"Yes, yes, Herr Allerts; I understand you perfectly."

"And do you also understand, why I took myself and my sword out of doors
so quickly?"

"Perfectly; but please stop a moment with me now.  The doves are
fluttering so violently; they want air."  The fencing-master stopped his
steed, and while Wilhelm was removing the dripping cloth from the little
cage that rested between him and his horse's neck, said:

"How can a man trouble himself about such gentle little creatures?  If
you want to diminish, in behalf of feathered folk, the time given to
music, tame falcons, that's a knightly craft, and I can teach you."

"Let my doves alone," replied Wilhelm.  "They are not so harmless as
people suppose, and have done good service in many a war, which is
certainly chivalrous pastime.  Remember Haarlem.  There, it's beginning
to pour again.  If my cloak were only not so short; I would like to cover
the doves with it."

"You certainly look like Goliath in David's garments."

"It's my scholar's cloak; I put my other on young Wibisma's shoulders
yesterday."

"The Spanish green-finch?"

"I told you about the boys' brawl."

"Yes, yes.  And the monkey kept your cloak?"

"You came for me and wouldn't wait.  They probably sent it back soon
after our departure."

"And their lordships expect thanks because the young nobleman accepted
it!"

"No, no; the baron expressed his gratitude."

"But that doesn't make your cape any longer.  Take my cloak, Wilhelm.
I've no doves to shelter, and my skin is thicker than yours."




ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A blustering word often does good service
Held in too slight esteem to be able to offer an affront
The shirt is closer than the coat
Those two little words 'wish' and 'ought'
Wet inside, he can bear a great deal of moisture without






THE BURGOMASTER'S WIFE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 2.


CHAPTER VII.

A second and third rainy day followed the first one.  White mists and
grey fog hung over the meadows.  The cold, damp north-west wind drove
heavy clouds together and darkened the sky.  Rivulets dashed into the
streets from the gutters on the steep roofs of Leyden; the water in the
canals and ditches grew turbid and rose towards the edges of the banks.
Dripping, freezing men and women hurried past each other without any form
of greeting, while the pair of storks pressed closer to each other in
their nest, and thought of the warm south, lamenting their premature
return to the cold, damp, Netherland plain.

In thoughtful minds the dread of what must inevitably come was
increasing.  The rain made anxiety grow as rapidly in the hearts of many
citizens, as the young blades of grain in the fields.  Conversations,
that sounded anything but hopeful, took place in many tap-rooms--in
others men were even heard declaring resistance folly, or loudly
demanding the desertion of the cause of the Prince of Orange and liberty.

Whoever in these days desired to see a happy face in Leyden might have
searched long in vain, and would probably have least expected to find it
in the house of Burgomaster Van der Werff.

Three days had now elapsed since Peter's departure, nay the fourth was
drawing towards noon, yet the burgomaster had not returned, and no
message, no word of explanation, had reached his family.

Maria had put on her light-blue cloth dress with Mechlin lace in the
square neck, for her husband particularly liked to see her in this gown
and he must surely return to-day.

The spray of yellow wall-flowers on her breast had been cut from the
blooming plant in the window of her room, and Barbara had helped arrange
her thick hair.

It lacked only an hour of noon, when the young wife's delicate, slender
figure, carrying a white duster in her hand, entered the burgomaster's
study.  Here she stationed herself at the window, from which the pouring
rain streamed in numerous crooked serpentine lines, pressed her forehead
against the panes, and gazed down into the quiet street.

The water was standing between the smooth red tiles of the pavement.  A
porter clattered by in heavy wooden shoes, a maid-servant, with a shawl
wrapped around her head, hurried swiftly past, a shoemaker's boy, with a
pair of boots hanging on his back, jumped from puddle to puddle,
carefully avoiding the dry places;--no horseman appeared.

It was almost unnaturally quiet in the house and street; she heard
nothing except the plashing of the rain.  Maria could not expect her
husband until the beat of horses' hoofs was audible; she was not even
gazing into the distance--only dreamily watching the street and the
ceaseless rain.

The room had been thoughtfully heated for the drenched man, whose return
was expected, but Maria felt the cold air through the chinks in the
windows.  She shivered, and as she turned back into the dusky room, it
seemed as if this twilight atmosphere must always remain, as if no more
bright days could ever come.

Minutes passed before she remembered for what purpose she had entered the
room and began to pass the dusting-cloth over the writing-table, the
piles of papers, and the rest of the contents of the apartment.  At last
she approached the pistols, which Peter had not taken with him on his
journey.

The portrait of her husband's first wife hung above the weapons and sadly
needed dusting, for until now Maria had always shrunk from touching it.

To-day she summoned up her courage, stood opposite to it, and gazed
steadily at the youthful features of the woman, with whom Peter had been
happy.  She felt spellbound by the brown eyes that gazed at her from the
pleasant face.

Yes, the woman up there looked happy, almost insolently happy.  How much
more had Peter probably given to his first wife than to her?

This thought cut her to the heart, and without moving her lips she
addressed a series of questions to the silent portrait, which still gazed
steadily and serenely at her from its plain frame.

Once it seemed as if the full lips of the pictured face quivered, once
that the eyes moved.  A chill ran through her veins, she began to be
afraid, yet could not leave the portrait, and stood gazing upward with
dilated eyes.

She did not stir, but her breath came quicker and quicker, and her eyes
seemed to grow keener.

A shadow rested on the dead Eva's high forehead.  Had the artist intended
to depict some oppressive anxiety, or was what she saw only dust, that
had settled on the colors?

She pushed a chair towards the portrait and put her foot on the seat,
pushing her dress away in doing so.  Blushing, as if other eyes than the
painted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the white
stocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat.  She could now
look directly into the eyes of the portrait.  The cloth in Maria's
trembling hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from the rosy
flesh.  She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and perceived
the signature of the artist to whom the picture owed its origin.  "Artjen
of Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand had finished even the
unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy.  She well knew the
silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on the plump neck.
Peter had given it to her as a wedding present, and she had worn it to
the altar; but the little diamond cross suspended from the middle she had
never seen.  The gold buckle at Eva's belt had belonged to her since her
last birthday--it was very badly bent, and the dull points would scarcely
pierce the thick ribbon.

"She had everything when it was new," she said to herself.  "Jewels?
What do I care for them!  But the heart, the heart--how much love has
she left in Peter's heart?"

She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in
her ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save
herself from weeping.

"If he would only come, if he would only come!"  cried a voice in her
tortured soul.

The door opened, but she did not notice it.

Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of
kindly reproach.

Maria started and blushing deeply, said"

"Please give me your hand; I should like to get down.  I have finished.
The dust was a disgrace."  When she again stood on the floor, the widow
said, "What red cheeks you have!  Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen
to me, child--!"

Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker
fell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window.

The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed:

"That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician.  He has been to Delft.  I
heard it from his mother.  Perhaps he brings news of Peter.  I'll send
him up to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are.  If
you want me, you'll find me with Bessie.  She is feverish and her eyes
ache; she will have some eruption or a fever."

Barbara left the room.  Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks,
and paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered.

After the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly:

"Did you see my husband in Delft?"

"Yes indeed," replied Wilhelm, "the evening of the day before yesterday."

"Then tell me--"

"At once, at once.  I bring you a whole pouch full of messages.  First
from your mother."

"Is she well?"

"Well and bright.  Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty."

"And my husband?"

"I found him with the doctor.  Herr Groot sends the kindest remembrances
to you.  We had musical entertainments at his home yesterday and the day
be fore.  He always has the latest novelties from Italy, and when we try
this motet here--"

"Afterwards, Herr Wilhelm!  You must first tell me what my husband--"

"The burgomaster came to the doctor on a message from the Prince.  He was
in haste, and could not wait for the singing.  It went off admirably.  If
you, with your magnificent voice, will only--"

"Pray, Meister Wilhelm?"

"No, dear lady, you ought not to refuse.  Doctor Groot says, that when a
girl in Delft, no one could support the tenor like you, and if you, Frau
von Nordwyk, and Herr Van Aken's oldest daughter--"

"But, my dear Meister!"  exclaimed the burgomaster's wife with increasing
impatience, "I'm not asking about your motets and tabulatures, but my
husband."

Wilhelm gazed at the young wife's face with a half-startled, half-
astonished look.  Then, smiling at his own awkwardness, he shook his
head, saying in a tone of good-natured repentance:

"Pray forgive me, little things seem unduly important to us when they
completely fill our own souls.  One word about your absent husband must
surely sound sweeter to your ears, than all my music.  I ought to have
thought of that sooner.  So--the burgomaster is well and has transacted a
great deal of business with the Prince.  Before he went to Dortrecht
yesterday morning, he gave me this letter and charged me to place it in
your hands with the most loving greetings."

With these words the musician gave Maria a letter.  She hastily took it
from his hand, saying:

"No offence, Herr Wilhelm, but we'll discuss your motet to-morrow, or
whenever you choose; to-day--"

"To-day your time belongs to this letter," interrupted Wilhelm.  "That is
only natural.  The messenger has performed his commission, and the music-
master will try his fortune with you another time."

As soon as the young man had gone, Maria went to her room, sat down at
the window, hurriedly opened her husband's letter and read:

"MY DEAR AND FAITHFUL WIFE!

"Meister Wilhelm Corneliussohn, of Leyden, will bring you this
letter.  I am well, but it was hard for me to leave you on the
anniversary of our wedding-clay.  The weather is very bad.  I found
the Prince in sore affliction, but we don't give up hope, and if God
helps us and every man does his duty, all may yet be well.  I am
obliged to ride to Dortrecht to-day.  I have an important object to
accomplish there.  Have patience, for several days must pass before
my return.

"If the messenger from the council inquires, give him the papers
lying on the right-hand side of the writing-table under the smaller
leaden weight.  Remember me to Barbara and the children.  If money
is needed, ask Van Hout in my name for the rest of the sum due me;
he knows about it.  If you feel lonely, visit his wife or Frail von
Nordwyk; they would be glad to see you.  Buy as much meal, butter,
cheese, and smoked meat, as is possible.  We don't know what may
happen.  Take Barbara's advice!  Relying upon your obedience,

"Your faithful husband,

"PETER ADRIANSSOHN VAN DER WERFF."

Maria read this letter at first hastily, then slowly, sentence by
sentence, to the end.  Disappointed, troubled, wounded, she folded it,
drew the wall-flowers from the bosom of her dress--she knew not why--and
flung them into the peat-box by the chimney-piece.  Then she opened her
chest, took out a prettily-carved box, placed it on the table, and laid
her husband's letter inside.

Long after it had found a place with other papers, Maria still stood
before the casket, gazing thoughtfully at its contents.

At last she laid her hand on the lid to close it; but hesitated and took
up a packet of letters that had lain amid several gold and silver coins,
given by godmothers and godfathers, modest trinkets, and a withered rose.

Drawing a chair up to the table, the young wife seated herself and began
to read.  She knew these letters well enough.  A noble, promising youth
had addressed them to her sister, his betrothed bride.  They were dated
from Jena, whither he had gone to complete his studies in jurisprudence.
Every word expressed the lover's ardent longing, every line was pervaded
by the passion that had filled the writer's heart.  Often the prose of
the young scholar, who as a pupil of Doctor Groot had won his bride in
Delft, rose to a lofty flight.

While reading, Maria saw in imagination Jacoba's pretty face, and the
handsome, enthusiastic countenance of her bridegroom.  She remembered
their gay wedding, her brother-in-law's impetuous friend, so lavishly
endowed with every gift of nature, who had accompanied him to Holland to
be his groomsman, and at parting had given her the rose which lay before
her in the little casket.  No voice had ever suited hers so well; she had
never heard language so poetical from any other lips, never had eyes that
sparkled like the young Thuringian noble's looked into hers.

After the wedding Georg von Dornberg returned home and the young couple
went to Haarlem.  She had heard nothing from the young foreigner, and her
sister and her husband were soon silenced forever.  Like most of the
inhabitants of Haarlem, they were put to death by the Spanish destroyers
at the capture of the noble, hapless city.  Nothing was left of her
beloved sister except a faithful memory of her, and her betrothed
bridegroom's letters, which she now held in her hand.

They expressed love, the true, lofty love, that can speak with the
tongues of angels and move mountains.  There lay her husband's letter.
Miserable scrawl!  She shrank from opening it again, as she laid the
beloved mementoes back into the box, yet her breast heaved as she thought
of Peter.  She knew too that she loved him, and that his faithful heart
belonged to her.  But she was not satisfied, she was not happy, for he
showed her only tender affection or paternal kindness, and she wished to
be loved differently.  The pupil, nay the friend of the learned Groot,
the young wife who had grown up in the society of highly educated men,
the enthusiastic patriot, felt that she was capable of being more, far
more to her husband, than he asked.  She had never expected gushing
emotions or high-strung phrases from the grave man engaged in vigorous
action, but believed he would understand all the lofty, noble sentiments
stirring in her soul, permit her to share his struggles and become the
partner of his thoughts and feelings.  The meagre letter received to-day
again taught her that her anticipations were not realized.

He had been a faithful friend of her father, now numbered with the dead.
Her brother-in-law too had attached himself, with all the enthusiasm of
youth, to the older, fully-matured champion of liberty, Van der Werff.
When he had spoken of Peter to Maria, it was always with expressions of
the warmest admiration and love.  Peter had come to Delft soon after her
father's death and the violent end of the young wedded pair, and when he
expressed his sympathy and strove to comfort her, did so in strong,
tender words, to which she could cling, as if to an anchor, in the misery
of her heart.  The valient citizen of Leyden came to Delft more and more
frequently, and was always a guest at Doctor Groot's house.  When the men
were engaged in consultation, Maria was permitted to fill their glasses
and be present at their conferences.  Words flew to and fro and often
seemed to her neither clear nor wise; but what Van der Werff said was
always sensible, and a child could understand his plain, vigorous speech.
He appeared to the young girl like an oak-tree among swaying willows.
She knew of many of his journeys, undertaken at the peril of his life,
in the service of the Prince and his native land, and awaited their
result with a throbbing heart.

More than once in those days, the thought had entered her mind that it
would be delightful to be borne through life in the strong arms of this
steadfast man.  Then he extended these arms, and she yielded to his wish
as proudly and happily as a squire summoned by the king to be made a
knight.  She now remembered this by-gone time, and every hope with which
she had accompanied him to Leyden rose vividly before her soul.

Her newly-wedded husband had promised her no spring, but a pleasant
summer and autumn by his side.  She could not help thinking of this
comparison, and what entirely different things from those she had
anticipated, the union with him had offered to this day.  Tumult,
anxiety, conflict, a perpetual alternation of hard work and excessive
fatigue, this was his life, the life he had summoned her to share at his
side, without even showing any desire to afford her a part in his cares
and labors.  Matters ought not, should not go on so.  Everything that had
seemed to her beautiful and pleasant in her parents' home--was being
destroyed here.  Music and poetry, that had elevated her soul, clever
conversation, that had developed her mind, were not to be found here.
Barbara's kind feelings could never supply the place of these lost
possessions; for her husband's love she would have resigned them all--
but what had become of this love?

With bitter emotions, she replaced the casket in the chest and obeyed the
summons to dinner, but found no one at the great table except Adrian and
the servants.  Barbara was watching Bessie.

Never had she seemed to herself so desolate, so lonely, so useless as
to-day.  What could she do here?  Barbara ruled in kitchen and cellar,
and she--she only stood in the way of her husband's fulfilling his duties
to the city and state.