s hard for me to leave you on the
anniversary of our wedding-clay. The weather is very bad. I found
the Prince in sore affliction, but we don't give up hope, and if God
helps us and every man does his duty, all may yet be well. I am
obliged to ride to Dortrecht to-day. I have an important object to
accomplish there. Have patience, for several days must pass before
my return.

"If the messenger from the council inquires, give him the papers
lying on the right-hand side of the writing-table under the smaller
leaden weight. Remember me to Barbara and the children. If money
is needed, ask Van Hout in my name for the rest of the sum due me;
he knows about it. If you feel lonely, visit his wife or Frail von
Nordwyk; they would be glad to see you. Buy as much meal, butter,
cheese, and smoked meat, as is possible. We don't know what may
happen. Take Barbara's advice! Relying upon your obedience,

"Your faithful husband,

"PETER ADRIANSSOHN VAN DER WERFF."

Maria read this letter at first hastily, then slowly, sentence by
sentence, to the end. Disappointed, troubled, wounded, she folded it,
drew the wall-flowers from the bosom of her dress--she knew not why--and
flung them into the peat-box by the chimney-piece. Then she opened her
chest, took out a prettily-carved box, placed it on the table, and laid
her husband's letter inside.

Long after it had found a place with other papers, Maria still stood
before the casket, gazing thoughtfully at its contents.

At last she laid her hand on the lid to close it; but hesitated and took
up a packet of letters that had lain amid several gold and silver coins,
given by godmothers and godfathers, modest trinkets, and a withered rose.

Drawing a chair up to the table, the young wife seated herself and began
to read. She knew these letters well enough. A noble, promising youth had
addressed them to her sister, his betrothed bride. They were dated from
Jena, whither he had gone to complete his studies in jurisprudence. Every
word expressed the lover's ardent longing, every line was pervaded by the
passion that had filled the writer's heart. Often the prose of the young
scholar, who as a pupil of Doctor Groot had won his bride in Delft, rose
to a lofty flight.

While reading, Maria saw in imagination Jacoba's pretty face, and the
handsome, enthusiastic countenance of her bridegroom. She remembered
their gay weddi