ng, her brother-in-law's impetuous friend, so lavishly
endowed with every gift of nature, who had accompanied him to Holland to
be his groomsman, and at parting had given her the rose which lay before
her in the little casket. No voice had ever suited hers so well; she had
never heard language so poetical from any other lips, never had eyes that
sparkled like the young Thuringian noble's looked into hers.

After the wedding Georg von Dornberg returned home and the young couple
went to Haarlem. She had heard nothing from the young foreigner, and her
sister and her husband were soon silenced forever. Like most of the
inhabitants of Haarlem, they were put to death by the Spanish destroyers
at the capture of the noble, hapless city. Nothing was left of her
beloved sister except a faithful memory of her, and her betrothed
bridegroom's letters, which she now held in her hand.

They expressed love, the true, lofty love, that can speak with the
tongues of angels and move mountains. There lay her husband's letter.
Miserable scrawl! She shrank from opening it again, as she laid the
beloved mementoes back into the box, yet her breast heaved as she thought
of Peter. She knew too that she loved him, and that his faithful heart
belonged to her. But she was not satisfied, she was not happy, for he
showed her only tender affection or paternal kindness, and she wished to
be loved differently. The pupil, nay the friend of the learned Groot, the
young wife who had grown up in the society of highly educated men, the
enthusiastic patriot, felt that she was capable of being more, far more
to her husband, than he asked. She had never expected gushing emotions or
high-strung phrases from the grave man engaged in vigorous action, but
believed he would understand all the lofty, noble sentiments stirring in
her soul, permit her to share his struggles and become the partner of his
thoughts and feelings. The meagre letter received to-day again taught her
that her anticipations were not realized.

He had been a faithful friend of her father, now numbered with the 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