ild, are you there!" he shouted, rushed up
the steps as nimbly as a youth, met her on one of the upper stairs and
drew her with overflowing tenderness to his heart.

"At last, at last, I have you again!" he cried joyously, pressing
his lips to her eyes and her fragrant hair. She had clasped her hands
closely around his neck, but he released himself, held them in his, and
asked: "Are Barbara and Adrian at home?"

She shook her head.

The burgomaster laughed, stooped, lifted her up like a child, and
carried her into his room. As a beautiful tree beside a burning house
is seized by the neighboring flames, although immediately protected with
cold water, Maria, in spite of her long-cherished resolve to receive
him coolly, was overwhelmed by the warmth of her husband's feelings. She
cordially rejoiced in having him once more, and willingly believed
him, as he told her in loving words how painfully he had felt their
separation, how sorely he had missed her, and how distinctly he, who
usually lacked the ability to remember an absent person, had had her
image before his eyes.

How warmly, with what convincing tones he understood how to give
expression to his love to-day! She was still a happy wife, and showed
him that she was without reserve.

Barbara and Adrian returned home, and there was now much to tell at the
evening meal. Peter had had many a strange experience on the journey,
and gained fresh hope, the boy had distinguished himself at school, and
Bessie's sickness might already be called a danger happily overcome.
Barbara was radiant with joy, for all seemed well between Maria and her
brother.

The beautiful April night passed pleasantly away. When Maria was
braiding black velvet into her hair the next morning, she was full
of grateful emotion, for she had found courage to tell Peter that
she desired to have a larger share in his anxieties than before, and
received a kind assent. A worthier, richer life, she hoped, would
now begin. He was to tell her this very day what he had discussed and
accomplished with the Prince and at Dortrecht, for hitherto no word of
all this had escaped his lips.

Barbara, who was moving about in the kitchen and just on the point of
catching three chickens to kill them, let them live a little longer, and
even tossed half a handful of barley into their coop, as she heard her
sister-in-law come singing down-stairs. The broken bars of Wilhelm's
last madrigal sounded as sweet and full of pr