"Well?"

"Two of his children have starved to death."

"And the weaver's family opposite," added Barbara, weeping.  "Such nice
people!  The young wife was confined four days ago, and this morning
mother and child expired of weakness, expired, I tell you, like a lamp
that has consumed its oil and must go out.  At the cloth-maker
Peterssohn's, the father and all five children have died of the plague.
If that isn't pitiful!"

"Stop, stop!"  said Georg, shuddering.  "I must go to the court-yard to
drill."

"What's the use of that!  The Spaniards don't attack; they leave the work
to the skeleton death.  Your fencing gives an appetite, and the poor
hollow herrings can scarcely stir their own limbs."

"Wrong, Frau Barbara, wrong," replied the young man.  "The exercise and
motion sustains them.  Herr von Nordwyk knew what he was doing, when he
asked me to drill them in the dead fencing-master's place."

"You're thinking of the ploughshare that doesn't rust.  Perhaps you are
right; but before you go to work, take a sip of this.  Our wine is still
the best.  When people have something to do, at least they don't mutiny,
like those poor fellows among the volunteers day before yesterday.  Thank
God, they are gone!"

While the widow was filling a glass, Wilhelm's mother came into the
kitchen and greeted Barbara and the young nobleman.  She carried under
her shawl a small package clasped tightly to her bosom.  Her breadth was
still considerable, but the flesh, with which she had moved about so
briskly a few months ago, now seemed to have become an oppressive burden.

She took the little bundle in her right hand, saying "I have something
for your Bessie.  My Wilhelm, good fellow--"

Here she paused and restored her gift to its old place.  She had seen the
Junker's plucked present, and continued in an altered tone: "So you
already have a pigeon--so much the better!  The city clerk's little girl
is beginning to droop too.  I'll see you to-morrow, if God wills."

She was about to go, but Georg stopped her, saying: "You are mistaken, my
good lady.  I shot that bird to-day, I'll confess now, Frau Barbara; my
corvus is a wretched crow."

"I thought so," cried the widow.  "Such an abomination!"

Yet she thrust her finger into the bird's breast, saying: "But there's
meat on the creature."

"A crow!"  cried Wilhelm's mother, clasping her hands.  "True, dogs and
cats are already hanging on many a spit and have wandered into many a
pan.  There is the pigeon."

Barbara unwrapped the bird as carefully, as if it might crumble under her
fingers, gazing tenderly at it as she weighed it carefully in her hand;
but the musician's mother said:

"It's the fourth one Wilhelm has killed, and he said it would have been a
good flier.  He intended it specially for your Bessie.  Stuff it nicely
with yellow paste, not too solid and a little sweetened.  That is what
children like, and it will agree with her, for it is cheerfully given.
Put the little thing away.  When we have known any creature, we feel
sorry to see it dead."

"May God reward you!"  cried Barbara, pressing the kind old hand.
"Oh! these terrible times!"

"Yet there is still something to be thankful for."

"Of course, for it will be even worse in hell," replied the widow.

"Don't fall into sin," said the aged matron:  "You have only one sick
person in the house.  Can I see Frau Maria?"

"She is in the workshops, taking the people a little meat from our store.
Are you too so short of flour?  Cows are still to be seen in the
pastures, but the grain seems to have been actually swept away; there
wasn't a peck in the market.  Will you take a sip of wine too?  Shall I
call my sister-in-law?"

"I will seek her myself.  The usury in the market is no longer to be
endured.  We can do nothing more there, but she is already bringing
people to reason."

"The traders in the market?" asked Georg.

"Yes, Herr von Dornburg,  yes.  One wouldn't believe how much that
delicate woman can accomplish.  Day before yesterday, when we went about
to learn how large a stock of provisions every house contains, people
treated me and the others very rudely, many even turned us out of doors.
But she went to the roughest, and the cellars and store-rooms opened
before her, as the waves of the sea divided before the people of Israel.
How she does it, Heaven knows, but the people can't refuse her."

Georg drew a long breath and left the kitchen.  In the court-yard he
found several city soldiers, volunteers and militia-men, with whom be
went through exercises in fencing.  Van der Werff placed it at his
disposal for this purpose, and there certainly was no man in Leyden more
capable than the German of supplying worthy Allertssohn's place.

Barbara was not wrong.  His pupils looked emaciated and miserable enough,
but many of them had learned, in the dead man's school, to wield the
sword well, and were heartily devoted to the profession.

In the centre of the court-yard stood a human figure, stuffed with tow
and covered with leather, which bore on the left breast a bit of red
paper in the shape of a heart.  The more unskilful were obliged to thrust
at this figure to train the hand and eye; the others stood face to face
in pairs and fought under Georg's direction with blunt foils.

The Junker had felt very weak when he entered the kitchen, for the larger
half of his ration of bread had been left at the unfortunate tailor's;
but Barbara's wine had revived him and, rousing himself, he stepped
briskly forth to meet his fencers.  His doublet was quickly flung on a
bench, his belt drawn tighter, and he soon stood in his white shirt-
sleeves before the soldiers.

As soon as his first word of command was heard, Henrica's window closed
with a bang.  Formerly it had often been opened when the fencing drill
began, and she had not even shrunk from occasionally clapping her hands
and calling "bravo."  This time had long since passed, it was weeks since
she had bestowed a word or glance on the young noble.  She had never
made such advances to any man, would not have striven so hard to win a
prince's favor!  And he?  At first he had been distant, then more and
more assiduously avoided her.  Her pride was deeply wounded.  Her purpose
of diverting his attention from Maria had long been forgotten, and
moreover something--she knew not what had come between her and the young
wife.  Not a day elapsed in which he did not meet her, and this was a
source of pleasure to Henrica, because she could show him that his
presence was a matter of indifference, nay even unpleasant.  Her
imprisonment greatly depressed her, and she longed unutterably for the
open country, the fields and the forest.  Yet she never expressed a wish
to leave the city, for--Georg was in Leyden, and every waking and
dreaming thought was associated with him.  She loved him to-day, loathed
him tomorrow, and did both with all the ardor of her passionate heart.
She often thought of her sister too, and uttered many prayers for her.
To win the favor of Heaven by good works and escape ennui, she helped
the Grey Sisters, who lived in a little old convent next to Herr Van der
Werff's house, nurse the sick whole they had lovingly received, and even
went with Sister Gonzaga to the houses of the Catholic citizens, to
collect alms for the little hospital.  But all this was done without
joyous self-devotion, sometimes with extravagant zeal, sometimes lazily,
and for days not at all.  She had become excessively irritable, but after
being unbearably arrogant one day, would seem sorrowful and ill at ease
the next, though without asking the offended person's pardon.

The young girl now stood behind the closed window, watching Georg, who
with a bold spring dashed at the leathern figure and ran the sword in his
right hand through the phantom's red heart.

The soldiers loudly expressed their admiration.  Henrica's eye, also
sparkled approvingly, but suddenly they lost their light, and she stepped
farther back into the room, for Maria came out of the workshops in the
court-yard and, with her gaze fixed on the ground, walked past the
fencers.

The young wife had grown paler, but her clear blue eyes had gained a more
confident, resolute expression.  She had learned to go her own way, and
sought and found arduous duties in the service of the city and the poor.
She had remained conqueror in many a severe conflict of the heart, but
the struggle was not yet over; she felt this whenever Georg's path
crossed hers.  As far as possible she avoided him, for she did not
conceal from herself, that the attempt to live with him on the footing
of a friend and brother, would mean nothing but the first step on the
road to ruin for him and herself.  That he was honestly aiding her by a
strong effort at self-control, she gratefully felt, for she stood heart
to heart with her husband on the ship of life.  She wished no other
guide; nay the thought of going to destruction with Peter had no terror
to her.  And yet, yet! Georg was like the magnetic mountain, that
attracted her, and which she must avoid to save the vessel from sinking.

To-day she had been asking the different workmen how they fared, and
witnessed scenes of the deepest misery.

The brave men knew that the surrender of the city might put an end to
their distress, but wished to hold out for the sake of liberty and their
religion, and endured their suffering as an inevitable misfortune.

In the entry of the house Maria met Wilhelm's mother, and promised her
she would consult with Frau Van Hout that very day, concerning the
extortion practised by the market-men.  Then she went to poor Bessie, who
sat, pale and weak, in a little chair.  Her prettiest doll had been lying
an hour in the same position on her lap.  The child's little hands and
will were too feeble to move the toy.  Trautchen brought in a cup of new
milk.  The citizens were not yet wholly destitute of this, for a goodly
number of cows still grazed outside the city walls under the protection
of the cannon, but the child refused to drink and could only be induced,
amid tears, to swallow a few drops.

While Maria was affectionately coaxing the little one, Peter entered the
room.  The tall man, the very model of a stately burgher, who paid
careful heed to his outward appearance, now looked careless of his
person.  His brown hair hung over his forehead, his thick, closely-
trimmed moustache straggled in thin lines over his cheeks, his doublet
had grown too large, and his stockings did not fit snugly as usual, but
hung in wrinkles on his powerful legs.

Greeting his wife with a careless wave of the hand, he approached the
child and gazed silently at it a long time with tender affection.  Bessie
turned her pretty little face towards him and tried to welcome him, but
the smile died on her lips, and she again gazed listlessly at her doll,
Peter stooped, raised her in his arms, called her by name and pressed his
lips to her pale cheeks.  The child gently stroked his beard and then
said feebly:

"Put me down, dear father, I feel dizzy up here."  The burgomaster, with
tears in his eyes, put his darling carefully back in her little chair,
then left the room and went to his study.  Maria followed him and asked
"Is there no message yet from the Prince or the estates?"

He silently shrugged his shoulders.

"But they will not, dare not forget us?"  cried the young wife eagerly.

"We are perishing and they leave us to die," he answered in a hollow
tone.

"No, no, they have pierced the dykes; I know they will help us."

"When it is too late.  One thing follows another, misfortune is heaped on
misfortune, and on whom do the curses of the starving people fall?  On
me, me, me alone."

"You are acting with the Prince's commissioner."

Peter smiled bitterly, saying: "He took to his bed yesterday.  Bontius
says it is the plague.  I, I alone bear everything."

"We bear it with you," cried Maria.  "First poverty, then hunger, as we
promised."

"Better than that.  The last grain was baked today.  The bread is
exhausted."

"We still have oxen and horses."

"We shall come to them day after to-morrow.  It was determined: Two
pounds with the bones to every four persons.  Bread gone, cows gone, milk
gone.  And what will happen then?  Mothers, infants, sick people!  And
our Bessie!"

The burgomaster pressed his hands on his temples and groaned aloud.  But
Maria said: "Courage, Peter, courage.  Hold fast to one thing, don't let
one thing go--hope."

"Hope, hope," he answered scornfully.

"To hope no longer," cried Maria, "means to despair.  To despair means in
our case to open the gates, to open the gates means--"

"Who is thinking of opening the gates?  Who talks of surrender?"  he
vehemently interrupted.  "We will still hold firm, still, still----
There is the portfolio, take it to the messenger."




CHAPTER XXIX.

Bessie had eaten a piece of roast pigeon, the first morsel for several
days, and there was as much rejoicing over it in the Van der Werff
household, as if some great piece of good fortune had befallen the
family.  Adrian ran to the workshops and told the men, Peter went to the
town-hall with a more upright bearing, and Maria, who was obliged to go
out, undertook to tell Wilhelm's mother of the good results produced by
her son's gift.

Tears ran down the old lady's flabby cheeks at the story and, kissing the
burgomaster's wife, she exclaimed:

"Yes, Wilhelm, Wilhelm!  If he were only at home now.  But I'll call his
father.  Dear me, he is probably at the town-hall too.  Hark, Frau Maria,
hark--what's that?"

The ringing of bells and firing of cannon had interrupted her words; she
hastily threw open the window, crying:

"From the Tower of Pancratius!  No alarm-bell, firing and merry-ringing.
Some joyful tidings have come.  We need them!  Ulrich, Ulrich!  Come back
at once and bring us the news.  Dear Father in Heaven!

"Merciful God!  Send the relief.  If it were only that!"

The two women waited in great suspense.  At last Wilhelm's brother Ulrich
returned, saying that the messengers sent to Delft had succeeded in
passing the enemy's ranks and brought with them a letter from the
estates, which the city-clerk had read from the window of the town-hall.
The representatives of the country praised the conduct and endurance of
the citizens, and informed them that, in spite of the damage done to
thousands of people, the dykes would be cut.

In fact, the water was already pouring over the land, and the messengers
had seen the vessels appointed to bring relief.  The country surrounding
Leyden must soon be inundated, and the rising flood would force the
Spanish army to retreat, "Better a drowned land than a lost land," was a
saying that had been decisive in the execution of the violent measure
proposed, and those who had risked so much might be expected to shrink
from no sacrifice to save Leyden.

The two women joyously shook hands with each other; the bells continued
to ring merrily, and report after report of cannon made the window-panes
rattle.

As twilight approached, Maria turned her steps towards home.  It was long
since her heart had been so light.  The black tablets on the houses
containing cases of plague did not look so sorrowful to-day, the
emaciated faces seemed less pitiful than usual, for to them also help was
approaching.  The faithful endurance was to be rewarded, the cause of
freedom would conquer.

She entered the "broad street" with winged steps.  Thousands of citizens
had flocked into it to see, hear, and learn what might be hoped, or what
still gave cause for fear.  Musicians had been stationed at the corners
to play lively airs; the Beggars' song mingled with the pipes and
trumpets and the cheers of enthusiastic men.  But there were also throngs
of well-dressed citizens and women, who loudly and fearlessly mocked at
the gay music and exulting simpletons, who allowed themselves to be
cajoled by empty promises.  Where was the relief?  What could the handful
of Beggars--which at the utmost were all the troops the Prince could
bring--do against King Philip's terrible military power, that surrounded
Leyden?  And the inundation of the country?  The ground on which the city
stood was too high for the water ever to reach it.  The peasants had been
injured, without benefitting the citizens.  There was only one means of
escape--to trust to the King's mercy.

"What is liberty to us?"  shouted a brewer, who, like all his companions
in business, had long since been deprived of his grain and forbidden to
manufacture any fresh beer.  "What will liberty be to us, when we're cold
in death?  Let whoever means well go the town-hall, and demand a
surrender before it is too late."

"Surrender!  The mercy of the King!"  shouted the citizens.

"Life comes first, and then the question whether it shall be free or
under Spanish rule, Calvanistical or Popish!"  screamed a master-weaver.
"I'll march to the town-hall with you."

"You are right, good people," said Burgomaster Baersdorp, who, clad in
his costly fur-bordered cloak, was coming from the town-hall and had
heard the last speaker's words.  "But let me set you right.  To-day the
credulous are beginning to hope again, and the time for pressing your
just desire is ill-chosen.  Wait a few days and then, if the relief does
not appear, urge your views.  I'll speak for you, and with me many a
good man in the magistracy.  We have nothing to expect from Valdez, but
gentleness and kindness.  To rise against the King was from the first a
wicked deed--to fight against famine, the plague and death is sin and
madness.  May God be with you, men!"

"The burgomaster is sensible," cried a cloth-dyer.

"Van Swieten and Norden think as he does, but Meister Peter rules through
the Prince's favor.  If the Spaniards rescue us, his neck will be in
danger, when they make their entrance into the city  So no matter who
dies; he and his are living on the fat of the land and have plenty."

"There goes his wife," said a master-weaver, pointing to Maria.  "How
happy she looks!  The leather business must be doing well.  Holloa--Frau
Van der Werff!  Holloa!  Remember me to your husband and tell him, his
life may be valuable; but ours are not wisps of straw."

"Tell him, too," cried a cattle-dealer, who did not yet seem to have been
specially injured by the general distress, "tell him oxen can be
slaughtered, the more the better; but Leyden citizens--"

The cattle-dealer did not finish his sentence, for Herr Aquanus had seen
from the Angulus what was happening to the burgomaster's wife, came out
of the tavern into the street, and stepped into the midst of the
malcontents.

"For shame!"  he cried.  "To assail a respectable lady in the street!
Are these Leyden manners?  Give me your hand, Frau Maria, and if I hear a
single reviling word, I'll call the constables.  I know you.  The gallows
Herr Van Bronkhorst had erected for men like you, is still standing by
the Blue Stone.  Which of you wants to inaugurate them?"

The men, to whom these words were addressed, were not the bravest of
mortals, and not a syllable was heard, as Aquanus led the young wife into
the tavern.  The landlord's wife and daughter received her in their own
rooms, which were separated from those occupied by guests of the inn,
and begged her to make herself comfortable there until the crowd had
dispersed.  But Maria longed to reach home, and when she said she must
go, Aquanus offered his company.

Georg von Dornburg was standing in the entry and stepped back with a
respectful bow, but the innkeeper called to him, saying:

"There is much to be done to-day, for many a man will doubtless indulge
himself in a glass of liquor after the good news.  No offence, Frau Van
der Werft; but the Junker will escort you home as safely as I--and you,
Herr von Dornburg--"

"I am at your service," replied Georg, and went out into the street with
the young wife.

For a time both walked side by side in silence, each fancying he or she
could hear the beating of the other's heart.  At last Georg, drawing a
long breath, said:

"Three long, long months have passed since my arrival here.  Have I been
brave, Maria?"

"Yes, Georg."

"But you cannot imagine what it has cost me to fetter this poor heart,
stifle my words, and blind my eyes.  Maria, it must once be said--"

"Never, never," she interrupted in a tone of earnest entreaty.  "I know
that you have struggled honestly, do not rob yourself of the victory
now."

"Oh!  hear me, Maria, this once hear me."

"What will it avail, if you oppress my soul with ardent words?  I must
not hear from any man that he loves me, and what I must not hear, you
must not speak."

"Must not?"  he asked in a tone of gentle reproach, then in a gloomy,
bitter mood, continued: "You are right, perfectly right.  Even speech is
denied me.  So life may run on like a leaden stream, and everything that
grows and blossoms on its banks remain scentless and grey.  The golden
sunshine has hidden itself behind a mist, joy lies fainting in my heart,
and all that once pleased me has grown stale and charmless.  Do you
recognize the happy youth of former days?"

"Seek cheerfulness again, seek it for my sake."

"Gone, gone," he murmured sadly.  "You saw me in Delft, but you did not
know me thoroughly.  These eyes were like two mirrors of fortune in which
every object was charmingly transfigured, and they were rewarded; for
wherever they looked they met only friendly glances.  This heart then
embraced the whole world, and beat so quickly and joyously!  I often did
not know what to do with myself from sheer mirth and vivacity, and it
seemed as if I must burst into a thousand pieces like an over-loaded
firelock, only instead of scattering far and wide, mount straight up to
Heaven.  Those days were so happy, and yet so sad--I felt it ten times
as much in Delft, when you were kind to me.  And now, now?  I still have
wings, I still might fly, but here I creep like a snail--because it is
your will."

"It is not my wish," replied Maria.  "You are dear to me, that I may be
permitted to confess--and to see you thus fills me with grief.  But now--
if I am dear to you, and I know you care for me--cease to torture me so
cruelly.  You are dear to me.  I have said it, and it must be spoken,
that everything may be clearly understood between us.  You are dear to
me, like the beautiful by-gone days of my youth, like pleasant dreams,
like a noble song, in which we take delight, and which refreshes our
souls, whenever we hear or remember it--but more you are not, more you
can never be.  You are dear to me, and I wish you to remain so, but that
you can only do by not breaking the oath you have sworn."

"Sworn?"  asked Georg.  "Sworn?"

"Yes, sworn," interrupted Maria, checking her steps.  "On Peter's breast,
on the morning of his birthday--after the singing.  You remember it well.
At the time you took a solemn vow; I know it, know it no less surely,
than that I myself swore faith to my husband at the altar.  If you can
give me the lie, do so."

Georg shook his head, and answered with increasing warmth:

"You read my soul.  Our hearts know each other like two faithful friends,
as the earth knows her moon, the moon her earth.  What is one without the
other?  Why must they be separated?  Did you ever walk along a forest
path?  The tracks of two wheels run side by side and never touch.  The
axle holds them asunder, as our oath parts us."

"Say rather--our honor."

"As our honor parts us.  But often in the woods we find a place where the
road ends in a field or hill, and there the tracks cross and intersect
each other, and in this hour I feel that my path has come to an end.  I
can go no farther, I cannot, or the horses will plunge into the thicket
and the vehicle be shattered on the roots and stones."

"And honor with it.  Not a word more.  Let us walk faster.  See the
lights in the windows.  Everyone wants to show that he rejoices in the
good news.  Our house mustn't remain dark either."

"Don't hurry so.  Barbara will attend to it, and how soon we must part!
Yet you said that I was dear to you."

"Don't torture me," cried the young wife, with pathetic entreaty.

"I will not torture you, Maria, but you must hear me.  I was in earnest,
terrible earnest in the mute vow I swore, and have sought to release
myself from it by death.  You have heard how I rushed like a madman among
the Spaniards, at the storming of the Boschhuizen fortification in July.
Your bow, the blue bow from Delft, the knot of ribbons the color of the
sky, fluttered on my left shoulder as I dashed upon swords and lances.
I was not to die, and came out of the confusion uninjured.  Oh!  Maria,
for the sake of this oath I have suffered unequalled torments.  Release
me from it, Maria, let me once, only once, freely confess--"

"Stop, Georg, stop," pleaded the young wife.  "I will not, must not hear
you-neither to-day, nor tomorrow, never, never, to all eternity!"

"Once, only once, I will, I must say to you, that I love you, that life
and happiness, peace and honor--"

"Not one word more, Junker von Dornburg.  There is our house.  You are
our guest, and if you address a single word like the last ones to your
friend's wife--"

"Maria, Maria--oh, don't touch the knocker.  How can you so unfeelingly
destroy the whole happiness of a human being--"

The door had opened, and the burgomaster's wife crossed the threshold.
Georg stood opposite to her, held out his hand as if beseeching aid, and
murmured in a hollow tone:

"Cast forth to death and despair!  Maria, Maria, why do you treat me
thus?"

She laid her right hand in his, saying:

"That we may remain worthy of each other, Georg."

She forcibly withdrew her icy hand and entered the house; but he wandered
for hours through the lighted streets like a drunken man, and at last
threw himself, with a burning brain, upon his couch.  A small volume,
lightly stitched together, lay on a little table beside the bed.  He
seized it, and with trembling fingers wrote on its pages.  The pencil
often paused, and he frequently drew a long breath and gazed with dilated
eyes into vacancy.  At last he threw the book aside and watched anxiously
for the morning.




CHAPTER XXX.

Just before sunrise Georg sprang from his couch, drew out his knapsack,
and filled it with his few possessions; but this time the little book
found no place with the other articles.

The musician Wilhelm also entered the court-yard at a very early-hour,
just as the first workmen were going to the shops.  The Junker saw him
coming, and met him at the door.

The artist's face revealed few traces of the want he had endured, but
his whole frame was trembling with excitement and his face changed color
every moment, as he instantly, and in the utmost haste, told Georg the
purpose of his early visit.

Shortly after the arrival of the city messengers, a Spanish envoy had
brought Burgomaster Van der Werff a letter written by Junker Nicolas
Matanesse, containing nothing but the tidings, that Henrica's sister had
reached Leyderdorp with Belotti and found shelter in the elder Baron
Matanesse's farm-house.  She was very ill, and longed to see her sister.
The burgomaster had given this letter to the young lady, and Henrica
hastened to the musician without delay, to entreat him to help her escape
from the city and guide her to the Spanish lines.  Wilhelm was undergoing
a severe struggle.  No sacrifice seemed too great to see Anna again, and
what the messenger had accomplished, he too might succeed in doing.  But
ought he to aid the flight of the young girl detained as hostage by the
council, deceive the sentinels at the gate, desert his post?

Since Henrica's request that Georg would escort her sister from Lugano
to Holland, the young man had known everything that concerned the latter,
and was also aware of the state of the musician's heart.

"I must, and yet I ought not," cried Wilhelm.  "I have passed a terrible
night; imagine yourself in my place, in the young lady's."

"Get a leave of absence until to-morrow," said Georg resolutely.  "When
it grows dark, I'll accompany Henrica with you.  She must swear to return
to the city in case of a surrender.  As for me, I am no longer bound by
any oath to serve the English flag.  A month ago we received permission
to enter the service of the Netherlands.  It will only cost me a word
with Captain Van der Laen, to be my own master."

"Thanks, thanks; but the young lady forbade me to ask your assistance."

"Folly, I shall go with you, and when our goal is reached, fight my way
through to the Beggars.  Our departure will not trouble the council, for,
when Henrica and I are outside, there will be two eaters less in Leyden.
The sky is grey; I hope we shall have a dark night.  Captain Van
Duivenvoorde commands the guard at the Hohenort Gate.  He knows us both,
and will let us pass.  I'll speak to him.  Is the farm-house far inside
the village?"

"No, outside on the road to Leyden."

"Well then, we'll meet at Aquanus's tavern at four o'clock."

"But the young lady--"

"It will be time enough, if she learns at the gate who is to accompany
her."

When Georg came to the tavern at the appointed hour, he learned that
Henrica had received another letter from Nicolas.  It had been given to
the outposts by the Junker himself, and contained only the words "Until
midnight, the Spanish watch-word is 'Lepanto.' Your father shall know to-
day, that Anna is here."

After the departure from the Hohenort Gate had been fixed for nine
o'clock in the evening, Georg went to Captain Van der Laen and the
commandant Van der Does, received from the former the discharge he
requested, and from Janus a letter to his friend, Admiral Boisot.  When
he informed his men, that he intended to leave the city and make his way
to the Beggars, they declared they would follow, and live or die with
him.  It was with difficulty that he succeeded in restraining them.
Before the town-hall he slackened his pace.  The burgomaster was always
to be found there at this hour.  Should he quit the city without taking
leave of him?  No, no!  And yet--since yesterday he had forfeited the
right to look frankly into his eyes.  He was afraid to meet him, it
seemed as if he were completely estranged from him.  So Georg rushed past
the town-hall, and said defiantly: "Even if I leave him without a
farewell, I owe him nothing; for I must pay for his kindness with cruel
suffering, perhaps death.  Maria loved me first, and what she is, and
was, and ever will be to me, she shall know before I go."

He returned to his room at twilight, asked the manservant to carry his
knapsack to Captain Van Duivenvoorde at the Hohenort Gate, and then went,
with his little book in his doublet, to the main building to take leave
of Maria.  He ascended the staircase slowly and paused in the upper
entry.

The beating of his heart almost stopped his breath.  He did not know at
which door to knock, and a torturing dread overpowered him, so that he
stood for several minutes as if paralyzed.  Then he summoned up his
courage, shook himself, and muttered: "Have I become a coward!"  With
these words he opened the door leading into the dining-room and entered.
Adrian was sitting at the empty table, beside a burning torch, with some
books.  Georg asked for his mother.

"She is probably spinning in her room," replied the boy.

"Call her, I have something important to tell her."  Adrian went away,
returning with the answer that the Junker might wait in his father's
study.

"Where is Barbara?"  asked Georg.

"With Bessie."

The German nodded, and while pacing up and down beside the dining-room,
thought, "I can't go so.  It must come from the heart; once, once more
I will hear her say, that she loves me, I will--I will--Let it be
dishonorable, let it be worthy of execration, I will atone for it;
I will atone for it with my life!"

While Georg was pacing up and down the room, Adrian gathered his books
together, saying: "B-r-r-r, Junker, how you look to-day!  One might be
afraid of you.  Mother is in there already.  The tinder-box is rattling;
she is probably lighting the lamp."

"Are you busy?"  asked Georg.  "I've finished."

"Then run over to Wilhelm Corneliussohn and tell him it is settled: we'll
meet at nine, punctually at nine."

"At Aquarius's tavern?"  asked the boy.

"No, no, he knows; make haste, my lad."