! But what puts such thoughts into your head?
The Bible says: 'Let the dead bury their dead.' Now turn over and try to
sleep."

Barbara went back to her room, but hours elapsed ere Maria found the
slumber she sought.

CHAPTER V.

The next morning two horsemen, dressed in neat livery, were waiting
before the door of a handsome House in Nobelstrasse, near the
market-place. A third was leading two sturdy roan steeds up and down,
and a stable-boy held by the bridle a gaily-bedizened, long maned pony.
This was intended for the young negro lad, who stood in the door-way
of the house and kept off the street-boys, who ventured to approach, by
rolling his eyes and gnashing his white teeth at them.

"Where can they be?" said one of the mounted men: "The rain won't keep
off long to-day."

"Certainly not," replied the other. "The sky is as grey as my old
felt-hat, and, by the time we reach the forest, it will be pouring."

"It's misting already."

"Such cold, damp weather is particularly disagreeable to me."

"It was pleasant yesterday."

"Button the flaps tighter over the pistol-holsters! The portmanteau
behind the young master's saddle isn't exactly even. There! Did the cook
fill the flask for you?"

"With brown Spanish wine. There it is."

"Then let it pour. When a fellow is wet inside, he can bear a great deal
of moisture without."

"Lead the horses up to the door; I hear the gentlemen."

The man was not mistaken; for before his companion had succeeded in
stopping the larger roan, the voices of his master, Herr Matanesse Van
Wibisma, and his son, Nicolas, were heard in the wide entry.

Both were exchanging affectionate farewells with a young girl, whose
voice sounded deeper than the halfgrown boy's.

As the older gentleman thrust his hand through the roan's mane and was
already lifting his foot to put it in the stirrup, the young girl, who
had remained in the entry, came out into the street, laid her hand on
Wibisma's arm, and said:

"One word more, uncle, but to you alone."

The baron still held his horse's mane in his hand, exclaiming with a
cordial smile:

"If only it isn't too heavy for the roan. A secret from beautiful lips
has its weight."

While speaking, he bent his ear towards his niece, but she did not seem
to have intended to whisper, for she approached no nearer and merely
lowered her tone, saying in the Italian language:

"Please tell my father, that I won't stay here."

"Why, Hen