in Leyden, who must be taught not to follow you blindly
to the shambles."

At these words Van der Werff retreated from the nobleman, clenched his
moustache firmly in his right hand, and raising his deep voice to a
louder tone, said coldly and imperiously:

"Then, as guardian of the safety of this city, I command you to quit
Leyden instantly. If you are found within these walls after noon
to-morrow, I will have you taken across the frontiers by the
city-guard."

The baron withdrew without any form of leave-taking.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Van der Werff, threw himself
into his arm-chair and covered his face with his hands. When he again
sat erect, two large tear-drops sparkled on the paper which had lain
under his fingers. Smiling bitterly, he wiped them from the page with
the back of his hand.

"Dead, dead," he murmured, and the image of the gallant youth, the
clever mediator, the favorite of William of Orange, rose before his
mind--he asked himself how this fresh stroke of fate would affect the
Prince, whom he revered as the providence of the country, admired and
loved as the wisest, most unselfish of men.

William's affliction grieved him as sorely as if it had fallen upon
himself, and the blow that had struck the cause of freedom was a heavy
one, perhaps never to be overcome.

Yet he only granted himself a short time to indulge in grief, for the
point in question now was to summon all the nation's strength to repair
what was lost, avert by vigorous acts the serious consequences which
threatened to follow Louis's defeat, and devise fresh means to carry on
the war.

He paced up and down the room with frowning brow, inventing measures
and pondering over plans. His wife had opened the door, and now remained
standing on the threshold, but he did not notice her until she called
his name and advanced towards him.

In her hand she held part of the flowers the boy had brought, another
portion adorned her bosom.

"Take it," she said, offering him the bouquet. "Adrian, dear boy,
gathered them, and you surely know what they mean."

He willingly took the messengers of spring, raised them to his face,
drew Maria to his breast, pressed a long kiss upon her brow, and then
said gloomily:

"So this is the celebration of the first anniversary of our wedding-day.
Poor wife! The Glipper was not so far wrong; perhaps it would have been
wiser and better for me not to bind your fate to mine."

"How can su