essness of the external world disturbed that
silent dark figure at the window; within him, conflicting passions
jarred like the boughs of the trees and his fancies surged like the
eddying leaves.

"The roses of desire--the sanctified lilies!" he muttered.

As he stood there the stars grew pale; the sky trembled and quivered
before the advent of morn. A heavy footstep fell behind him, and,
turning, he beheld the care-taker.

"Not in bed yet, Oly-koeks?" cheerfully said the land baron.

"I am just up."

"In that case, it is time for me to retire," returned the master, with
a yawn. "This is a dull place, Oly-koeks; no life; no variety. Nothing
going on!"

The servant glanced at the formidable array of bottles. "And he calls
this a quiet life!" thought the care-taker, losing his impassiveness
and viewing the table with round-eyed wonder.

"Nothing going on?" he said aloud. "Mynheer, the Patroon, complained
of too much life here, with people taking farms all around. But, if
you are dull, a farmer told me last night there was a company of
strolling players in Vanderdonkville--"

"Strollers!" exclaimed Mauville, wheeling around. "What are they
called?"

"Lord; I don't know, sir. They're show-folks, and that's all--"

"Do many strolling players come this way?"

"Not for weeks and months, sometimes! The old patroon ordered the
_schout_ to arrest them if they entered the _wyck_."

"Is Vanderdonkville in the _wyck_?" asked the land baron quickly.

"No. It was separated from the _wyck_ when Rickert Jacobus married--"

"Never mind the family genealogy! Have the coach ready at nine--"

"To-night?"

"This morning," replied Mauville, lightly. "And, meanwhile, put this
to bed," indicating Scroggs, who was now snoring like a bag-pipe with
one arm lovingly wound around a leg of the library table.

The care-taker hoisted the attorney on his broad shoulders, his burden
still piping as they crossed the hall and mounted the stairway. Having
deposited his load within the amazing depths of a Dutch feather
mattress, where he lay well-nigh lost to sight, but not unheard, the
_wacht-meester_ of the _steyn_ left him to well-earned slumber and
descended to the kitchen.

At the appointed hour, the land baron, freshly shaven, not a jaded
line in his face, and elastic in step, appeared on the front porch
before which his carriage was waiting.

"When shall I expect you back?" asked Oly-koeks, who had reappeared at
the sound of h