set
in, he slipped the paper under the door, and listened with the most
intense attention, but he neither heard Rosa's footsteps nor the
rustling of her gown.

He only heard a voice as feeble as a breath, and gentle like a caress,
which whispered through the grated little window in the door the word,--

"To-morrow!"

Now to-morrow was the eighth day. For eight days Cornelius and Rosa had
not seen each other.

Chapter 20. The Events which took place during those Eight Days

On the following evening, at the usual hour, Van Baerle heard some one
scratch at the grated little window, just as Rosa had been in the habit
of doing in the heyday of their friendship.

Cornelius being, as may easily be imagined, not far off from the door,
perceived Rosa, who at last was waiting again for him with her lamp in
her hand.

Seeing him so sad and pale, she was startled, and said,--

"You are ill, Mynheer Cornelius?"

"Yes, I am," he answered, as indeed he was suffering in mind and in
body.

"I saw that you did not eat," said Rosa; "my father told me that you
remained in bed all day. I then wrote to calm your uneasiness concerning
the fate of the most precious object of your anxiety."

"And I," said Cornelius, "I have answered. Seeing your return, my dear
Rosa, I thought you had received my letter."

"It is true; I have received it."

"You cannot this time excuse yourself with not being able to read.
Not only do you read very fluently, but also you have made marvellous
progress in writing."

"Indeed, I have not only received, but also read your note. Accordingly
I am come to see whether there might not be some remedy to restore you
to health."

"Restore me to health?" cried Cornelius; "but have you any good news to
communicate to me?"

Saying this, the poor prisoner looked at Rosa, his eyes sparkling with
hope.

Whether she did not, or would not, understand this look, Rosa answered
gravely,--

"I have only to speak to you about your tulip, which, as I well know, is
the object uppermost in your mind."

Rosa pronounced those few words in a freezing tone, which cut deeply
into the heart of Cornelius. He did not suspect what lay hidden under
this appearance of indifference with which the poor girl affected to
speak of her rival, the black tulip.

"Oh!" muttered Cornelius, "again! again! Have I not told you, Rosa, that
I thought but of you? that it was you alone whom I regretted, you whom
I missed, you whos