ers
yesterday."

"The Spanish green-finch?"

"I told you about the boys' brawl."

"Yes, yes. And the monkey kept your cloak?"

"You came for me and wouldn't wait. They probably sent it back soon
after our departure."

"And their lordships expect thanks because the young nobleman accepted
it!"

"No, no; the baron expressed his gratitude."

"But that doesn't make your cape any longer. Take my cloak, Wilhelm.
I've no doves to shelter, and my skin is thicker than yours."

CHAPTER VII.

A second and third rainy day followed the first one. White mists and
grey fog hung over the meadows. The cold, damp north-west wind drove
heavy clouds together and darkened the sky. Rivulets dashed into the
streets from the gutters on the steep roofs of Leyden; the water in the
canals and ditches grew turbid and rose towards the edges of the banks.
Dripping, freezing men and women hurried past each other without any
form of greeting, while the pair of storks pressed closer to each other
in their nest, and thought of the warm south, lamenting their premature
return to the cold, damp, Netherland plain.

In thoughtful minds the dread of what must inevitably come was
increasing. The rain made anxiety grow as rapidly in the hearts of many
citizens, as the young blades of grain in the fields. Conversations,
that sounded anything but hopeful, took place in many tap-rooms--in
others men were even heard declaring resistance folly, or loudly
demanding the desertion of the cause of the Prince of Orange and
liberty.

Whoever in these days desired to see a happy face in Leyden might have
searched long in vain, and would probably have least expected to find it
in the house of Burgomaster Van der Werff.

Three days had now elapsed since Peter's departure, nay the fourth
was drawing towards noon, yet the burgomaster had not returned, and no
message, no word of explanation, had reached his family.

Maria had put on her light-blue cloth dress with Mechlin lace in the
square neck, for her husband particularly liked to see her in this gown
and he must surely return to-day.

The spray of yellow wall-flowers on her breast had been cut from the
blooming plant in the window of her room, and Barbara had helped arrange
her thick hair.

It lacked only an hour of noon, when the young wife's delicate, slender
figure, carrying a white duster in her hand, entered the burgomaster's
study. Here she stationed herself at the window, from which the po