n of
his feet, and the look which he darted from time to time around the
room, as if to satisfy himself that his happiness was "not a sham but a
reality." But his happiness seemed far from contagious. On his right
hand there was a lovely creature, seated on a footstool, who did not
partake his enjoyment. There was something so sweet and so harmonious in
her expression, that you felt sure at once she was as good as she was
beautiful. There was poetry also in her dejected attitude, and in the
long lashes that shadowed her blue eyes; nor was the charm diminished by
the marble neck bent lowly down, and covered with long flowing locks of
the richest brown. And the poetry was, perhaps, increased by the
contrast offered by the sorrowing countenance of the girl to the radiant
visage of the plethoric individual in the chair. Whilst the ambitious
thoughts of the burgomaster rose to the regions inhabited by the
Stadtholder, the poor girl's miserable reflections returned upon
herself. Her eyes were dimmed with tears. It was easy to see that that
had long been their occupation, and that some secret sorrow preyed upon
the repose of the fair maid of Haarlem.

It was Maina, the betrothed of Frederick. On the left of the
burgomaster, negligently leaning on the back of the magistrate's chair,
was a man still young in years, but so wrinkled and careworn, from study
or bad health, that he might have passed for old. The man's expression
was cold and severe; his look proud and fiery; his language rough and
harsh. On analysing his features you could easily make out that he had
prodigious powers of mind, a character imperious and jealous, and such
indomitable pride that he might do a mischief to any rival who might be
bold enough to cross his path.

Now, we are aware of one at least who ran the risk; for the man was
Laurentius Castero. Frederick Katwingen started back on entering the
burgomaster's room. His eye encountered the glance of Castero, and in
the look then interchanged, they felt that they were enemies between
whom no reconciliation could take place. From Laurentius, Frederick
turned his eye to Maina. The sorrowful attitude of the maiden would have
revealed to him all that had happened, if the self-satisfied look of his
rival had left any thing to be learned. The conqueror brow-beat the
vanquished.

"Mr Katwingen," said the burgomaster, deliberately weighing every word,
"you are aware of the high compliment paid by the Stadtholder