nning to scatter, and from a patch of blue sky the sun
was shining brightly down on Nobelstrasse. A rainbow shimmered in
variegated hues above the roofs, but to-day the musician had no eyes for
the beautiful spectacle. The bright light in the wet street did not charm
him. The hot rays of the day-star were not lasting, for "they drew rain."
All that surrounded him seemed confused and restless. Beside a beautiful
image which he treasured in the sanctuary of his memories, only allowing
his mind to dwell upon it in his happiest hours, sought to intrude. His
real diamond was in danger of being exchanged for a stone, whose value he
did not know. With the old, pure harmony blended another similar one, but
in a different key. How could he still think of Isabella, without
remembering Henrica! At least he had not heard the young lady sing, so
his recollection of Isabella's songs remained unclouded. He blamed
himself because, obeying an emotion of vanity, he had promised to send
new songs to the proud young girl, the friend of Spain. He had treated
Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma rudely on account of his opinions, but sought
to approach her, who laughed at what he prized most highly, because she
was a woman, and it was sweet to hear his work praised by beautiful lips.
"Hercules throws the club aside and sits down at the distaff, when
Omphale beckons, and the beautiful Esther and the daughter of Herodias--"
murmured Wilhelm indignantly. He felt sorely troubled, and longed for his
quiet attic chamber beside the dove-cote.

"Something unpleasant has happened to him in Delft," thought his father.

"Why doesn't he relish his fried flounders to-day?" asked his mother,
when he had left them after dinner. Each felt that something oppressed
the pride and favorite of the household, but did not attempt to discover
the cause; they knew the moods to which he was sometimes subject for half
a day.

After Wilhelm had fed his doves, he went to his room, where he paced
restlessly to and fro. Then he seized his violin and wove all the
melodies be had heard from Isabella's lips into one. His music had rarely
sounded so soft, and then so fierce and passionate, and his mother, who
heard it in the kitchen, turned the twirling-stick faster and faster,
then thrust it into the firmly-tied dough, and rubbing her hands on her
apron, murmured:

"How it wails and exults! If it relieves his heart, in God's name let him
do it, but cat-gut is dear and it will cost