To-day macaroni, to-morrow macaroni with a couple of chicken drumsticks
to boot, and so on.  I've often drawn my belt tighter after dinner.  As
for the art of fencing, Torelli is certainly no bungler, but he too has
the skipping fashion in his method.  You must keep your eyes open in a
passado with him, but if I can once get to my quarte, tierce, and side-
thrust, I have him."

"An excellent series," said Junker von Warmond.  "It has been useful to
me."

"I know, I know," replied the captain eagerly.  "You silenced the French
brawler with it at Namur.  There's the catch in my throat again.
Something will happen to-day, gentlemen, something will surely happen."

The fencing-master grasped the front of his ruff with his left hand and
set the glass on the table with his right.  He had often done so far more
carelessly, but to-day the glass shattered into many fragments.

"That's nothing," cried the young nobleman.  "Waiter, another glass for
Captain Allertssohn."

The fencing-master pushed his chair back from the table, and looking at
the broken pieces of greenish glass, said in an altered tone, as if
speaking to himself rather than his companions:

"Yes, yes, something serious will happen to-day.  Shattered into a
thousand pieces.  As God wills!  I know where my place is."

Von Warmond filled a fresh glass, saying with a slight shade of reproof
in his tone:  "Why, Captain, Captain, what whims are these?  Before the
battle of Brill I fell in jumping out of the boat and broke my sword.
I soon found another, but the idea came into my head: 'you'll meet your
death to-day.'  Yet here I sit, and hope to empty many a beaker with
you."

"It has passed already," said the fencing-master, raising his hat and
wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Every one must meet his death-hour, and if mine is approaching to-day
--be it as God wills!  My family won't starve.  The house on the new
Rhine is free from mortgage, and though they don't inherit much else, I
shall leave my children an honest name and trustworthy friends.  I know
you won't lose sight of my second boy, the musician, Wilhelm.  Nobody is
indispensable, and if Heaven wishes to call me from this command, Junker
von Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, can fill my place.  You, Herr von Warmond,
are in just the right spot, and the good cause will reach a successful
end even without me."

The musician listened with surprise to the softened tone of the strange
man's voice, but the young nobleman raised his drinking-cup, exclaiming:

"Such heavy thoughts for a light glass!  You make too much of the matter,
Captain.  Take your bumper again, and pledge me: Long live the noble art
of fencing, and your series: quarte, tierce and side-thrust!"

"They'll live," replied Allertssohn, "ay, they'll live.  Many hundreds of
noble gentlemen use the sword in this country, and the man who sits here
has taught them to wield it according to the rules.  My series has served
many in duelling, and I, Andreas, their master, have made tierce follow
quarte and side-thrust tierce thousands of times, but always with buttons
on the foils and against padded doublets.  Outside the walls, in the
battle-field, no one, often as I have pressed upon the leaders, has ever
stood against me in single combat.  This Brescian sword-blade has more
than once pierced a Spanish jerkin, but the art I teach, gentlemen, the
art I love, to which my life has been devoted, I have never practised in
earnest.  That is hard to bear, gentlemen, and if Heaven is disposed,
before calling him away from earth, to grant a poor man, who is no worse
than his neighbors, one favor, I shall be permitted to cross blades once
in a true, genuine duel, and try my series against an able champion in a
mortal struggle.  If God would grant Andreas this--"

Before the fencing-master had finished the last sentence, an armed man
dashed the door open, shouting: "The light is raised at Leyderdorp!"

At these words Allertssohn sprang from his chair as nimbly as a youth,
drew himself up to his full height, adjusted his shoulder-belt and drew
down his sash, exclaiming:

"To the citadel, Hornist, and sound the call for assembling the troops.
To your volunteers, Captain Van Duivenvoorde.  Post yourself with four
companies at the Hohenort Gate, to be ready to take part, if the battle
approaches the city-walls.  The gunners must provide matches.  Let the
garrisons in the towers be doubled.  Klaas, go to the sexton of St.
Pancratius and tell him to ring the alarm-bell, to warn the people at
the fair.  Your hand, Junker.  I know you will be at your post, and you,
Meister Wilhelm."

"I'll go with you," said the musician resolutely.  "Don't reject me.
I have remained quiet long enough; I shall stifle here."

Wilhelm's cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a lustre so bright
and angry, that Junker von Warmond looked at his phlegmatic friend in
astonishment, while the captain called:

"Then station yourself in the first company beside my ensign.  You don't
look as if you felt like jesting, and the work will be in earnest now,
bloody earnest."

Allertssohn walked out of doors with a steady step, addressed his men in
a few curt, vigorous words, ordered the drummers to beat their drums,
while marching through the city, to rouse the people at the fair, placed
himself at the head of his trusty little band, and led them towards the
new Rhine.

The moon shone brightly down into the quiet streets, was reflected from
the black surface of the river, and surrounded the tall peaked gables of
the narrow houses with a silvery lustre.  The rapid tramp of the soldiers
was echoed loudly back from the houses through the silence of the night,
and the vibration of the air, shaken by the beating of the drums, made
the panes rattle.

This time no merry children with paper flags and wooden swords preceded
the warriors, this time no gay girls and proud mothers followed them, not
even an old man, who remembered former days, when he himself bore arms.
As the silent troops reached the neighborhood of Allertssohn's house, the
clock in the church-steeple slowly struck twelve, and directly after the
alarm-bell began to sound from the tower of Pancratius.

A window in the second story of the fencing-toaster's house was thrown
open, and his wife's face appeared.  An anxious married life with her
strange husband had prematurely aged pretty little Eva's countenance,
but the mild moonlight transfigured her faded features.  The beat of her
husband's drums was familiar to her, and when she saw him at midnight
marching past to the horrible call of the alarm-bell, a terrible dread
overpowered her and would scarcely allow her to call: "Husband, husband!
What is the matter, Andreas?"

He did not hear, for the roll of the drums, the tramp of the soldiers'
feet on the pavement and the ringing of the alarm-bell drowned her voice;
but he saw her distinctly, and a strange feeling stole over him.  Her
face, framed in a white kerchief and illumined by the moonlight, seemed
to him fairer than he had ever seen it since the days of his wooing, and
he felt so youthful and full of chivalrous daring, on his way to the
field of danger, that he drew himself up to his full height and marched
by, keeping most perfect time to the beat of the drums, as in lover-like
fashion he threw her a kiss with his left hand, while waving his sword in
the right.

The beating of drums and waving of banners had banished every gloomy
thought from his mind.  So he marched on to the Gansort.  There stood a
cart, the home of travelling traders, who had been roused from sleep by
the alarm-bell, and were hastily collecting their goods.  An old woman,
amid bitter lamentations, was just harnessing a thin horse to the shafts,
and from a tiny window a child's wailing voice was heard calling,
"mother, mother," and then, "father, father."

The fencing-master heard the cry.  The smile faded from his lips, and his
step grew heavier.  Then he turned and shouted a loud "Forward" to his
men.  Wilhelm was marching close behind him and at a sign from the
captain approached; but Allertssohn, quickening his pace, seized the
musician's arm, saying in a low tone:

"You'll take the boy to teach?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good; you'll be rewarded for it some day," replied the fencing-master,
and waving his sword, shouted: "Liberty to Holland, death to the
Spaniard, long live Orange!"

The soldiers joyously joined in the shout, and marched rapidly with him
through the Hohenort Gate into the open country and towards Leyderdorp.




CHAPTER XVIII.

Adrian hurried home with his vial, and in his joy at bringing the sick
lady relief, forgot her headache and struck the knocker violently against
the door.  Barbara received him with a by no means flattering greeting,
but he was so full of the happiness of possessing the dearly-bought
treasure, that he fearlessly interrupted his aunt's reproving words, by
exclaiming eagerly, in the consciousness of his good cause:

"You'll see; I have something here for the young lady; where is mother?"

Barbara perceived that the boy was the bearer of some good tidings, which
engrossed his whole attention, and the fresh happy face pleased her so
much, that she forgot to scold and said smiling:

"You make me very curious; what is the need of so much hurry?"

"I've bought something; is mother up-stairs?"

"Yes, show me what you have bought."

"A remedy.  Infallible, I tell you; a remedy for headache."

"A remedy for headache?"  asked the widow in astonishment.  "Who told you
that fib?"

"Fib?"  repeated the boy, laughing.  "I got it below cost."

"Show it to me, boy," said Barbara authoritatively, snatching at the
vial, but Adrian stepped back, hid the medicine behind him, and replied:

"No, aunt; I shall take it to mother myself."

"Did one ever hear of such a thing!"  cried the widow.  "Donkeys dance on
ropes, school-boys dabble in doctor's business!  Show me the thing at
once!  We want no quack wares."

"Quack wares!"  replied Adrian eagerly.  "It cost all my fair money, and
it's good medicine."

During this little discussion Doctor Bontius came down-stairs with the
burgomaster's wife.  He had heard the boy's last words and asked sternly:

"Where did you get the stuff?"

With these words, he seized the hand of the lad, who did not venture to
resist the stern man, took the little vial and printed directions from
him and, after Adrian had curtly answered: "From Doctor Morpurgo!"
continued angrily:

"The brew is good to be thrown away; only we must take care not to poison
the fishes with it, and the thing cost half a florin.  You're a rich
young man, Meister Adrian!  If you have any superfluous capital again,
you can lend it to me."

These words spoiled the boy's pleasure, but did not convince him, and he
defiantly turned half away from the physician.  Barbara understood what
was passing in his mind, and whispered compassionately to the doctor and
her sister-in-law:

"All his fair money to help the young lady."

Maria instantly approached the disappointed child, drew his curly head
towards her and silently kissed his forehead, while the doctor read the
printed label, then without moving a muscle, said as gravely as ever:

"Morpurgo isn't the worst of quacks, the remedy he prescribes here may do
the young lady good after all."  Adrian had been nearer crying than
laughing.  Now he uttered a sigh of relief, but still clasped Maria's
hand firmly, as he again turned his face towards the doctor, listening
intently while the latter continued:

"Two parts buckbeans, one part pepper-wort, and half a part valerian.
The latter specially for women.  Let it steep in boiling water and drink
a cupful cold every morning and evening!  Not bad--really not bad.  You
have found a good remedy, my worthy colleague.

"I had something else to say to you, Adrian.  My boys are going to the
English riders this evening, and would be glad to have you accompany
them.  You can begin with the decoction to-day."

The physician bowed to the ladies and went on; Barbara followed him into
the street, asking:

"Are you in earnest about the prescription?"

"Of course, of course," replied the doctor, "my grandmother used this
remedy for headache, and she was a sensible woman.  Evening and morning,
and the proper amount of sleep."

Henrica occupied a pretty, tastefully-furnished room.  The windows looked
out upon the quiet court-yard, planted with trees, adjoining the chamois-
leather work shops.  She was allowed to sit up part of the day in a
cushioned arm-chair, supported by pillows.  Her healthy constitution was
rapidly rallying.  True, she was still weak, and the headache spoiled
whole days and nights.  Maria's gentle and thoughtful nature exerted a
beneficial influence upon her, and she cheerfully welcomed Barbara, with
her fresh face and simple, careful, helpful ways.

When Maria told her about the purchase Adrian had made for her, she was
moved to tears; but to the boy she concealed her grateful emotion under
jesting words, and greeted him with the exclamation:

"Come nearer, my preserver, and give me your hand."

Afterwards, she always called him "my preserver" or, as she liked to
mingle Italian words with her Dutch, "Salvatore" or "Signor Salvatore."
She was particularly fond of giving the people, with whom she associated,
names of her own, and so called Barbara, whose Christian name she thought
frightful, "Babetta," and little slender, pretty Bessie, whose company
she specially enjoyed, "the elf."  The burgomaster's wife only remained
"Frau Maria," and when the latter once jestingly asked the cause of such
neglect, Henrica replied that she suited her name and her name her; had
she been called Martha, she would probably have named her "Maria."

The invalid had passed a pleasant, painless day, and when towards evening
Adrian went to see the English riders and the fragrance of the blooming
lindens and the moonlight found their way through the open windows of her
room, she begged Barbara not to bring a light, and invited Maria to sit
down and talk with her.

From Adrian and Bessie the conversation turned upon their own childhood.
Henrica had grown up among her father's boon companions, amid the
clinking of glasses and hunting-shouts, Maria in a grave burgher
household, and what they told each other seemed like tidings from a
strange world.

"It was easy for you to become the tall, white lily you are now," said
Henrica, "but I must thank the saints, that I came off as well as I did,
for we really grew up like weeds, and if I hadn't had a taste for singing
and the family priest hadn't been such an admirable musician, I might
stand before you in a still worse guise.  When will the doctor let me
hear you sing?"

"Next week; but you musn't expect too much.  You have too high an opinion
of me.  Remember the proverb about still waters.  Here in the depths it
often looks far less peaceful, than you probably suppose."

"But you have learned to keep the surface calm when it storms; I haven't.
A strange stillness has stolen over me here.  Whether I owe it to illness
or to the atmosphere that pervades this house, I can't tell, but how long
will it last?  My soul used to be like the sea, when the hissing waves
plunge into black gulfs, the seagulls scream, and the fishermen's wives
pray on the shore.  Now the sea is calm.  Don't be too much frightened,
if it begins to rage again."

At these words Maria clasped the excited girl's hands, saying
beseechingly:

"Be quiet, be quiet, Henrica.  You must think only of your recovery now.
And shall I confess something?  I believe everything hard can be more
easily borne, if we can cast it impatiently forth like the sea of which
you speak; with me one thing is piled on another and remains lying there,
as if buried under the sand."

"Until the hurricane comes, that sweeps it away.  I don't want to be an
evil prophet, but you surely remember these words.  What a wild, careless
thing I was!  Then a day came, that made a complete revolution in my
whole nature."

"Did a false love wound you?"  asked Maria modestly.

"No, except the false love of another," replied Henrica bitterly.  "When
I was a child this fluttering heart often throbbed more quickly, I don't
know how often.  First I felt something more than reverence for the one-
eyed chaplain, our music-teacher, and every morning placed fresh flowers
on his window, which he never noticed.  Then--I was probably fifteen--
I returned the ardent glances of Count Brederode's pretty page.  Once he
tried to be tender, and received a blow from my riding-whip.  Next came
a handsome young nobleman, who wanted to marry me when I was barely
sixteen, but he was even more heavily in debt than my father, so he was
sent home.  I shed no tears for him, and when, two months after, at a
tournament in Brussels, I saw Don Frederic, the son of the great Duke of
Alva, fancied myself as much in love with him as ever any lady worshipped
her Amadis, though the affair never went beyond looks.  Then the storm,
of which I have already spoken, burst, and that put an end to love-
making.  I will tell you more about this at some future time; I need not
conceal it, for it has been no secret.  Have you ever heard of my sister?
No?  She was older than I, a creature-God never created anything more
perfect.  And her singing!  She came to my dead aunt's, and there--But I
won't excite myself uselessly--in short, the man whom she loved with all
the strength of her heart thrust her into misery, and my father cursed
and would not stretch out a finger to aid her.  I never knew my mother,
but through Anna I never missed her.  My sister's fate opened my eyes to
men.  During the last few years many have wanted me, but I lacked
confidence and, still more, love, for I shall never have anything to do
with that."

"Until it finds you," replied Maria.  "It was wrong to speak of such
things with you, it excites you, and that is bad."

"Never mind; it will do me good to relieve my heart.  Did you love no one
before your husband?"

"Love?  No, Henrica, I never really loved any one except him."

"And your heart waited for the burgomaster, ere it beat faster?"

"No, it had not always remained quiet before; I grew up among social
people, old and young, and of course liked some better than others."

"And surely one best of all."

"I won't deny it.  At my sister's wedding, my brother-in-law's friend,
a young nobleman, came from Germany and remained several weeks with us.
I liked him, and remember him kindly even now."

"Have you never heard from him again?"

"No; who knows what has become of him.  My brother-in-law expected great
things from him, and he possessed many rare gifts, but was reckless,
fool-hardy, and a source of constant anxiety to his mother."

"You must tell me more about him."

"What is the use, Henrica?"

"I don't want to talk any more, but I should like to be still, inhale the
fragrance of the lindens, and listen, only listen."

"No, you must go to bed now.  I'll help you undress and, when you have
been alone an hour, come back again."

"One learns obedience in your house, but when my preserver comes home,
bring him here.  He must tell me about the English riders.  There comes
Fran Babetta with his decoction.  You shall see that I take it
punctually."

The boy returned home late, for he had enjoyed all the glories of the
fair with the doctor's children.  He was permitted to pay only a short
visit to Henrica, and did not see his father at all, the latter having
gone to a night council at Herr Van Bronkhorst's.

The next morning the fair holidays were to end, school would begin and
Adrian had intended to finish his tasks this evening; but the visit to
the English riders had interfered, and he could not possibly appear
before the rector without his exercise.  He frankly told Maria so, and
she cleared a place for him at the table where she was sewing, and helped
the young scholar with many a word and rule she had learned with her dead
brother.

When it lacked only half an hour of midnight, Barbara entered, saying:

"That's enough now.  You can finish the rest early to-morrow morning
before school."

Without waiting for Maria's reply, she closed the boy's books and pushed
them together.

While thus occupied, the room shook with rude blows on the door of the
house.  Maria threw down her sewing and started from her seat, while
Barbara exclaimed:

"For Heaven's sake, what is it?"  Adrian rushed into his father's room
and opened the window.

The ladies had hurried after him, and before they could question the
disturber of the peace, a deep voice called:

"Open, I must come in."

"What is it?"  asked Barbara, who recognized a soldier in the moonlight.
"We can't hear our own voices; stop that knocking."

"Call the burgomaster!"  shouted the messenger, who had been constantly
using the knocker.  "Quick, woman; the Spaniards are coming."

Barbara shrieked aloud and beat her hands.  Maria turned pale, but
without losing her composure, replied: "The burgomaster is not at home,
but I'll send for him.  Quick, Adrian, call your father."

The boy rushed down-stairs, meeting in the entry the man-servant and
Trautchen, who had jumped hastily out of bed, throwing on an under-
petticoat, and was now trying, with trembling hands, to unlock the door.
The man pushed her aside, and as soon as the door creaked on its hinges,
Adrian darted out and ran, as if in a race, down the street to the
commissioner's.  Arriving before any other messenger, he pressed through
the open door into the dining-hall and called breathlessly to the men,
who were holding a council over their wine:

"The Spaniards are here!"

The gentlemen hastily rose from their seats.  One wanted to rush to the
citadel, another to the town-hall and, in the excitement of the moment,
no sensible reflection was made.  Peter Van der Werff alone maintained
his composure and, after Allertssohn's messenger had appeared and
reported that the captain and his men were on the way to Leyderdorp, the
burgomaster pointed out that the leaders' care should now be devoted to
the people who had come to the fair.  He and Van Hout undertook to
provide for them, and Adrian was soon standing with his father and the
city clerk among the crowds of people, who had been roused from sleep by
the wailing iron voice from the Tower or Pancratius.




CHAPTER XIX.

Adrian's activity for this night was not yet over, for his father did not
prevent his accompanying him to the town-hall.  There he directed him to
tell his mother, that he should be busy until morning and the servant
might send all persons, who desired to speak to him after one o'clock,
to the timber-market on the Rhine.  Maria sent the boy back to the town-
hall, to ask his father if he did not want his cloak, wine, a lunch or
anything of the sort.

The boy fulfilled this commission with great zeal, for he never had felt
so important as while forcing his way through the crowds that had
gathered in the narrower streets; he had a duty to perform, and at night,
the time when other boys were asleep, especially his school-mates, who
certainly would not be allowed to leave the house now.  Besides, an
eventful period, full of the beating of drums, the blare of trumpets, the
rattle of musketry and roar of cannon might be expected.  It seemed as if
the game "Holland against Spain" was to be continued in earnest, and on a
grand scale.  All the vivacity of his years seized upon him, and when he
had forced a way with his elbows to less crowded places, he dashed
hurriedly along, shouting as merrily as if spreading some joyful news in
the darkness:

"They are coming!" "the Spaniards!" or "Hannibal ante portas."

After learning on his return to the town-hall, that his father wanted
nothing and would send a constable if there was need of anything, he
considered his errand done and felt entitled to satisfy his curiosity.

This drew him first to the English riders.  The tent where they had given
their performances had disappeared from the earth, and screaming men and
women were rolling up large pieces of canvas, fastening packs, and
swearing while they harnessed horses.  The gloomy light of torches
mingled with the moonbeams and showed him on the narrow steps, that led
to a large four-wheeled cart, a little girl in shabby clothes, weeping
bitterly.  Could this be the rosy-cheeked angel who, floating along on
the snow-white pony, had seemed to him like a happy creature from more
beautiful worlds?  A scolding old woman now lifted the child into the
cart, but he followed the crowd and saw Doctor Morpurgo, no longer clad
in scarlet, but in plain dark cloth, mounted on a lean horse, riding
beside his cart.  The negro was furiously urging the mule forward, but
his master seemed to have remained in full possession of the calmness
peculiar to him.  His wares were of small value, and the Spaniards had
no reason to take his head and tongue, by which he gained more than he
needed.

Adrian followed him to the long row of booths in the wide street, and
there saw things, which put an end to his thoughtlessness and made him
realize, that the point in question now concerned serious, heart-rending
matters.  He had still been able to laugh as he saw the ginger-bread
bakers and cotton-sellers fighting hand to hand, because in the first
fright they had tossed their packages of wares hap-hazard into each
other's open chests, and were now unable to separate their property; but
he felt sincerely sorry for the Delft crockery-dealer on the corner,
whose light booth had been demolished by a large wagon from Gouda, loaded
with bales, and who now stood beside her broken wares, by means of which
she supported herself and children, wringing her hands, while the driver,
taking no notice of her, urged on his horses with loud cracks of his
whip.  A little girl, who had lost her parents and was being carried away
by a compassionate burgher woman, was weeping piteously.  A poor rope-
dancer, who had been robbed by a thief in the crowd, of the little tin
box containing he pennies he had collected, was running about, ringing
his hands and looking for the watchman.  A shoemaker was pounding riding-
boots and women's shoes in motley confusion into a wooden chest with rope
handles, while his wife, instead of helping him, tore her hair and
shrieked: "I told you so, you fool, you simpleton, you blockhead!
They'll come and rob us of everything."

At the entrance of the street that led past the Assendelft house to the
Leibfrau Bridge, several loaded wagons had become entangled, and the
drivers, instead of getting down and procuring help, struck at each other
in their terror, hitting the women and children seated among the bales.
Their cries and shrieks echoed a long distance, but were destined to be
drowned, for a dancing-bear had broken loose and was putting every one
near him to flight.  The people, who were frightened by the beast, rushed
down the street, screaming and yelling, dragging with them others who did
not know the cause of the alarm, and misled by the most imminent fear,
roared: "The Spaniards!  The Spaniards!"  Whatever came in the way of the
terrified throngs was overthrown.  A sieve-dealer's child, standing
beside its father's upset cart, fell beneath the mob close beside Adrian,
who had stationed himself in the door-way of a house.  But the lad was
crowded so closely into his hiding-place, that he could not spring to the
little one's aid, and his attention was attracted to a new sight, as
Janus Dousa appeared on horseback.  In answer to the cry of "The
Spaniards!  The Spaniards!" he shouted loudly: "Quiet, people, quiet!
The enemy hasn't come yet!  To the Rhine!  Vessels are waiting there for
all strangers.  To the Rhine!  There are no Spaniards there, do you hear,
no Spaniards!"

The nobleman stopped just before Adrian, for his horse could go no
farther and stood snorting and trembling under his rider.  The advice
bore little fruit, and not until hundreds had rushed past him, did the
frightened crowd diminish.  The bear, from which they fled, had been
caught by a brewer's apprentice and taken back to its owner long before.
The city constables now appeared, led by Adrian's father, and the boy
followed them unobserved to the timber-market on the southern bank of the
Rhine.  There another crowd met him, for many dealers had hurried thither
to save their property in the ships.  Men and women pressed past bales
and wares, that were being rolled down the narrow wooden bridges to the
vessels.  A woman, a child, and a rope-maker's cart had been pushed into
the water, and the wildest confusion prevailed around the spot.  But the
burgomaster reached the place just at the right time, gave directions for
rescuing the drowning people, and then made every, exertion to bring
order out of the confusion.

The constables were commanded to admit fugitives only on board the
vessels bound for the places where they belonged; two planks were laid to
every ship, One for goods, the other for passengers; the constables
loudly shouted that--as the law directed when the alarm-bell rang--all
citizens of Leyden must enter their houses and the streets be cleared, on
pain of a heavy penalty.  All the city gates were opened for the passage
of wheeled vehicles, except the Hohenort Gate, which led to Leyderdorp,
where egress was refused.  Thus the crowd in the streets was lessened,
order appeared amid the tumult, and when, in the dawn of morning, Adrian
turned his steps towards home, there was little more bustle in the
streets than on ordinary nights.

His mother and Barbara had been anxious, but he told them about his
father and in what manner he had put a stop to the confusion.

While talking, the rattle of musketry was heard in the distance, awaking
such excitement in Adrian's mind, that he wanted to rush out again; but
his mother stopped him and he was obliged to mount the stairs to his
room.  He did not go to sleep, but climbed to the upper loft in the gable
of the rear building and gazed through the window, to which the bales of
leather were raised by pulleys, towards the east, from whence the sound
of firing was still audible.  But he saw nothing except the dawn and
light clouds of smoke, that assumed a rosy hue as they floated upward.
As nothing new appeared, his eyes closed, and he fell asleep beside the
open window where he dreamed of a bloody battle and the English riders.
His slumber was so sound, that he did not hear the rumble of wheels in
the quiet courtyard below him.  The carts from which the noise proceeded
belonged to traders from neighboring cities, who preferred to leave their
goods in the threatened town, rather than carry them towards the
advancing Spaniards.  Meister Peter had allowed some of them to store
their property with him.  The carts were obliged to pass through the
back-building with the workshops, and the goods liable to be injured by
the weather, were to be placed in the course of the day in the large
garrets of his house.

The burgomaster's wife had gone to Henrica at midnight to soothe her
fears, but the sick girl seemed free from all anxiety, and when she heard
that the Spaniards were on the march, her eyes sparkled joyously.  Maria
noticed it and turned away from her guest, but she repressed the harsh
words that sprang to her lips, wished her good-night, and left the
chamber.

Henrica gazed thoughtfully after her and then rose, for no sleep was
possible that night.  The alarm-bell in the Tower of Pancratius rang
incessantly, and more than once doors opened, voices and shots were
heard.  Many tones and noises, whose origin and nature she could not
understand, reached her ears, and when morning dawned, the court-yard
under her windows, usually so quiet, was full of bustle.  Carts rattled,
loud tones mingled excitedly, and a deep masculine voice seemed to be
directing what was going on.  Her curiosity and restlessness increased
every moment.  She listened so intently that her head began to ache
again, but could hear only separate words and those very indistinctly.
Had the city been surrendered to the Spaniards, had King Philip's
soldiers found quarters in the burgomaster's house?  Her blood boiled
indignantly, when she thought of the Castilians' triumph and the
humiliation of her native land, but soon her former joyous excitement
again filled her mind, as she beheld in imagination art re-enter the bare
walls of the Leyden churches, now robbed of all their ornaments, chanting
processions move through the streets, and priests in rich robes
celebrating mass in the newly-decorated tabernacles, amid beautiful
music, the odor of incense, and the ringing of bells.  She expected to
receive from the Spaniards a place where she could pray and free her soul
by confession.  Amid her former surroundings nothing had afforded her any
support, except her religion.  A worthy priest, who was also her
instructor, had zealously striven to prove to her, that the new religion
threatened to destroy the mystical consecration of life, the yearning for
the beautiful, every ideal emotion of the human soul, and with them art
also; so Henrica preferred to see her native land Spanish and Catholic,
rather than free from the foreigners whom she hated and Calvinistical.

The court-yard gradually became less noisy, but when the first rays of
morning light streamed into her windows, the bustle again commenced and
grew louder.  Heavy soles tramped upon the pavement, and amid the voices
that now mingled with those she had formerly heard, she fancied she
distinguished Maria's and Barbara's.  Yes, she was not mistaken.  That
cry of terror must proceed from her friend's mouth, and was followed by
exclamations of grief from bearded lips and loud sobs.

Evil tidings must have reached her host's house, and the woman weeping so
impetuously below was probably kind "Babetta."

Anxiety drove her from her bed.  On the little table beside it, amid
several bottles and glasses, the lamp and the box of matches, stood the
tiny bell, at whose faint sound one of her nurses invariably hastened in.
Henrica rang it three times, then again and again, but nobody appeared.
Then her hot blood boiled, and half from impatience and vexation, half
from curiosity and sympathy, she slipped into her shoes, threw on a
morning dress, went to the chair which stood on the platform in the
niche, opened the window, and looked down at the groups gathered below.

No one noticed her, for the men who stood there sorrowing, and the
weeping women, among whom were Maria and Barbara, were listening with
many tokens of sympathy to the eager words of a young man, and had eyes
and ears for him alone.  Henrica recognized in the speaker the musician
Wilhelm, but only by his voice, for the morion on his curls and the
blood-stained coat of mail gave the unassuming artist a martial, nay
heroic air.

He had advanced a long way in his story, when Henrica unseen became a
listener.

"Yes, sir," he replied, in answer to a question from the burgomaster,
"we followed them, but they disappeared in the village and all remained
still.  To risk storming the houses, would have been madness.  So we kept
quiet, but towards two o'clock heard firing in the neighborhood of
Leyderdorp.  'Junker von Warmond has made a sally,' said the captain,
leading us in the direction of the firing.  This was what the Spaniards
had wanted, for long before we reached the goal, a company of Castilians,
with white sheets over their armor, climbed out of a ditch in the dim
light, threw themselves on their knees, murmured a 'Pater-noster,'