ome way.

At the end of an hour she bade the boy farewell, and when again walking
towards the Achtergracht with Herr von Warmond, he asked joyously:

"How shall I get to the Beggars?"

"You?" asked the captain in astonishment.

"Yes, I!" replied the Junker eagerly. "I shall soon be seventeen, and
when I am--Wait, just wait--you'll hear of me yet."

"Right, Nicolas, right," replied the other. "Let us be Holland nobles and
noble Hollanders."

Three hours later, Junker Matanesse Van Wibisma rode into the Hague with
Belotti, whom he had loved from childhood. He brought his father nothing
but a carefully-folded and sealed letter, which Janus Dousa, with a
mischievous smile, had given him on behalf of the citizens of Leyden for
General Valdez, and which contained, daintily inscribed on a large sheet,
the following lines from Dionysius Cato:

"Fistula dulce canit volucrem dum decipit auceps."

["Sweet are the notes of the flute, when the fowler lures the bird
to his nest."]

CHAPTER XXVII.

The first week in June and half the second had passed, the beautiful
sunny days had drawn to a close, and numerous guests sought the "Angulus"
in Aquarius's tavern during the evening hours. It was so cosy there when
the sea-breeze whistled, the rain poured, and the water fell plashing on
the pavements. The Spanish besieging army encompassed the city like an
iron wall. Each individual felt that he was a fellow-prisoner of his
neighbor, and drew closer to companions of his own rank and opinions.
Business was stagnant, idleness and anxiety weighed like lead on the
minds of all, and whoever wished to make time pass rapidly and relieve
his oppressed soul, went to the tavern to give utterance to his own hopes
and fears, and hear what others were thinking and feeling in the common
distress.

All the tables in the Angulus were occupied, and whoever wanted to be
understood by a distant neighbor was forced to raise his voice very loud,
for special conversations were being carried on at every table. Here,
there, and everywhere, people were shouting to the busy bar-maid, glasses
clinked together, and pewter lids fell on the tops of hard stone-ware
jugs.

The talk at a round table in the end of the long room was louder than
anywhere else. Six officers had seated themselves at it, among them Georg
von Dornburg. Captain Van der Laen, his superior officer, whose past
career had been a truly heroic one, was loudly relating in