out this Chevalier Georg
and his singing. Unfortunately we shan't be long together. I want to go
home."

"The doctor will not allow you to travel yet."

"No matter. I shall go as soon as I feel well enough. My father is
refused admittance, but your husband can do much, and I must speak with
him."

"Will you receive him to-morrow?"

"The sooner the better, for he is your husband and, I repeat, the ground
is burning under my feet."

"Oh!" exclaimed Maria.

"That sounds very sad," cried Henrica. "Do you want to hear, that I
shall find it hard to leave you? I shouldn't go yet; but my sister
Anna, she is now a widow--Thank God, I should like to say, but she is
suffering want and utterly deserted. I must speak to my father about
her, and go forth from the quiet haven into the storm once more."

"My husband will come to you," said Maria.

"That's right, that's right! Come in, children! Put the flowers on the
table yonder. You, little elf, sit down on the stool and you, Salvatore,
shall give me the flowers. What does this mean? I really believe the
scamp has been putting perfumed oil on his curly head. In honor of me,
Salvatore? Thank you!--We shall need the hoops later. First we'll make
bouquets, and then bind them with the leaves to the wood. Sing me a song
while we are working, Maria. The first one! I can bear it to-day."

CHAPTER XXIII.

Half Leyden had followed the brave captain's coffin, and among the other
soldiers, who rendered the last honors to the departed, was Georg von
Dornburg. After the funeral, the musician Wilhelm led the son of the
kind comrade, whom so many mourned, to his house. Van der Werff found
many things to be done after the burial, but reserved the noon hour; for
he expected the German to dine.

The burgomaster, as usual, sat at the head of the table; the Junker
had taken his place between him and Maria, opposite to Barbara and the
children.

The widow never wearied of gazing at the young man's fresh, bright face,
for although her son could not compare with him in beauty, there was
an honest expression in the Junker's eyes, which reminded her of her
Wilhelm.

Many a question and answer had already been exchanged between those
assembled round the board, many a pleasant memory recalled, when Peter,
after the dishes had been removed and a new jug with better wine placed
on the table, filled the young nobleman's glass again, and raised his
own.

"Let us drink this bumper," he cri