be polished, permitted only a narrow portion of the street to be seen, but the burgomaster seemed to have found the object for which he had been looking. Hastily opening the window, he called to his servant, who was hurriedly approaching the house:
“Is he in, Janche?”
The Frieselander shook his head, the window again closed, and a few minutes after the burgomaster seized his hat, which hung, between some cavalry pistols and a plain, substantial sword, on the only wall of his room not perfectly bare.
The torturing anxiety that filled his mind, would no longer allow him to remain in the house.
He would have his horse saddled, and ride to meet the expected messenger.
Ere leaving the room, he paused a moment lost in thought, then approached the writing-table to sign some papers intended for the town-hall; for his return might be delayed till night.
Still standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out before him, and seized the pen. Just at that moment the door of the room gently opened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked under a light foot. He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to be interrupted.
His wife was now standing close behind him. Four and twenty years his junior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did not venture to divert her husband’s attention from his business.
She waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned her pretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:
“It is I, Peter!”
“Very well, my child,” he answered curtly, raising the second paper nearer his eyes.
“Peter!” she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but with timidity. “I have something to tell you.”
Van der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her, and said:
“Now, child? You see I am busy, and there is my hat.”
“But Peter!” she replied, a flash of something like indignation sparkling in her eyes, as she continued in a voice pervaded with a slightly perceptible tone of complaint: “We haven’t said anything to each other to-day. My heart is so full, and what I would fain say to you is, must surely—”
“When I come home Maria, not now,” he interrupted, his deep voice sounding half impatient, half beseeching. “First the city and the country—then love-making.”
At these words, Maria raised her head proudly, and answered with quivering lips:
“That is what you have said ever since the first day of our marriage.”
“And unhappily—unhappily—I must continue to say so until we reach the goal,” he answered firmly. The blood mounted into the young wife’s delicate cheeks, and with quickened breathing, she answered in a hasty, resolute tone:
“Yes, indeed, I have known these words ever since your courtship, and as I am my father’s daughter never opposed them, but now they are no longer suited to us, and should be: ‘Everything for the country, and nothing at all for the wife.’ ”
Van der Werff laid down his pen and turned full towards her.
Maria’s slender figure seemed to have grown taller, and the blue eyes, swimming in tears, flashed proudly. This life-companion seemed to have been created by God especially for him. His heart opened to her, and frankly stretching out both hands, he said tenderly:
“You know how matters are! This heart is changeless, and other days will come.”
“When?” asked Maria, in a tone as mournful as if she believed in no happier future.
“Soon,” replied her husband firmly. “Soon, if only each one gives willingly what our native land demands.”
At these words the young wife loosed her hands from her husband’s, for the door had opened and Barbara called to her brother from the threshold.
“Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma, the Glipper, is in the entry and wants to speak to you.”
“Show him up,” said the burgomaster reluctantly. When again alone with his wife, he asked hastily “Will you be indulgent and help me?”
She nodded assent, trying to smile.
He saw that she was sad and, as this grieved him, held out his hand to her again, saying:
“Better days will come, when I shall be permitted to be more to you than to-day. What were you going to say just now?”
“Whether you know it or not—is of no importance to the state.”
“But to you. Then lift up your head again, and look at me. Quick, love, for they are already on the stairs.”
“It isn’t worth mentioning—a year ago to-day—we might celebrate the anniversary of our wedding to-day.”
“The anniversary of our wedding-day!” he cried, striking his hands loudly together. “Yes, this is the seventeenth of April, and I have forgotten it.”
He drew her tenderly towards him, but just at that moment the door opened, and Adrian ushered the baron into the room.
Van der Werff bowed courteously to the infrequent guest, then called to his blushing wife, who was retiring: “My congratulations! I’ll come later. Adrian, we are to celebrate a beautiful festival to-day, the anniversary of our marriage.”
The boy glided swiftly out of the door, which he still held in his hand, for he suspected the aristocratic visitor boded him no good.
In the entry he paused to think, then hurried up the stairs, seized his plumeless cap, and rushed out of doors. He saw his school-mates, armed with sticks and poles, ranging themselves in battle array, and would have liked to join the game of war, but for that very reason preferred not to listen to the shouts of the combatants at that moment, and ran towards the Zylhof until beyond the sound of their voices.
He now checked his steps, and in a stooping posture, often on his knees, followed the windings of a narrow canal that emptied into the Rhine.
As soon as his cap was overflowing with the white, blue, and yellow spring flowers he had gathered, he sat down on a boundary stone, and with sparkling eyes bound them into a beautiful bouquet, with which he ran home.
On the bench beside the gate sat the old maidservant with his little sister, a child six years old. Handing the flowers, which he had kept hidden behind his back, to her, he said:
“Take them and carry them to mother, Bessie; this is the anniversary of her wedding-day. Give her warm congratulations too, from us both.”
The child rose, and the old servant said, “You are a good boy, Adrian.”
“Do you think so?” he asked, all the sins of the forenoon returning to his mind.
But unluckily they caused him no repentance; on the contrary, his eyes began to sparkle mischievously, and a smile hovered
