could now look
directly into the eyes of the portrait. The cloth in Maria's trembling
hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from the rosy flesh.
She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and perceived the
signature of the artist to whom the picture owed its origin. "Artjen of
Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand had finished even the
unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy. She well knew the
silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on the plump neck.
Peter had given it to her as a wedding present, and she had worn it to
the altar; but the little diamond cross suspended from the middle she had
never seen. The gold buckle at Eva's belt had belonged to her since her
last birthday--it was very badly bent, and the dull points would scarcely
pierce the thick ribbon.

"She had everything when it was new," she said to herself. "Jewels? What
do I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she left
in Peter's heart?"

She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in
her ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save
herself from weeping.

"If he would only come, if he would only come!" cried a voice in her
tortured soul.

The door opened, but she did not notice it.

Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of
kindly reproach.

Maria started and blushing deeply, said"

"Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished.
The dust was a disgrace." When she again stood on the floor, the widow
said, "What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen to
me, child--!"

Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker
fell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window.

The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed:

"That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. I
heard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I'll send him
up to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are. If you
want me, you'll find me with Bessie. She is feverish and her eyes ache;
she will have some eruption or a fever."

Barbara left the room. Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks,
and paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered.

After the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly:

"Did you see my husband in Delft?"

"Yes indeed," replied Wilhelm,