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 valiant 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 lo