ce.

Wilhelm suddenly interrupted his explanation, for Andreas had suddenly
started up, upsetting his stool, and exclaimed:

"It's coming! The dove! Roland, my fore man, there it comes!"

For the first time Wilhelm heard the boy's lips utter his father's
exclamation. Some great emotion must have stirred his heart, and in truth
he was not mistaken; the speck piercing the air, which his keen eye had
discovered, was no longer a mere spot, but an oblong something--a bird,
the pigeon!

Wilhelm seized the flag on the balcony, and waved it as joyously as ever
conqueror unfurled his banner after a hard-won fight. The dove came
nearer--alighted, slipped into the cote, and a few minutes after the
musician appeared with a tiny letter.

"To the magistrates!" cried Wilhelm. "Take it to your husband at once.
Oh! dear lady, dear lady, finish what the dove has begun. Thank God!
thank God! they are already at North-Aa. This will save the poor people
from despair! And now one thing more! You shall have the roasted bird,
but take this grain too; a barley-porridge is the best medicine for
Barbara's condition; I've tried it!"

When evening came, and the musician had told his parents the joyful news,
he ordered the blue dove with the white breast to be caught. "Kill it
outside the house," said he, "I can't bear to see it."

Andreas soon came back with the beheaded pigeon.

His lips were bloody, Wilhelm knew from what, yet he did not reprove the
hungry boy, but merely said:

"Fie, you pole-cat!"

Early the next morning a second dove returned. The letters the winged
messengers had brought were read aloud from the windows of the town-hall,
and the courage of the populace, pressed to the extremest limits of
endurance, flickered up anew and helped them bear their misery. One of
the letters were addressed to the magistrates, the other to Janus Dousa;
they sounded confident and hopeful, and the Prince, the faithful shield
of liberty, the friend and guide of the people, had recovered from his
sickness and visited the vessels and troops intended for the relief of
Leyden. Rescue was so near, but the north-east wind would not change, and
the water did not rise. Great numbers of citizens, soldiers, magistrates
and women stood on the citadel and other elevated places, gazing into the
distance.

A thousand hands were clasped in fervent prayer, and the eyes of all were
turned in feverish expectation and eager yearning towards the south, but
t