came from the Van der Werff house, where he had learned that the
next day but one, June fourteenth, would be the burgomaster's birthday.
Adrian had told Henrica, and the latter informed him. The master of the
house was to be surprised with a song on the morning of his birthday
festival.

"Excellent," said Georg, interrupting his friend, "she will manage the
matter admirably."

"Not she alone; we can depend upon Fran Van der Werff too. At first she
wanted to decline, but when I proposed a pretty madrigal, yielded and
took the soprano."

"The soprano?" asked the Junker excitedly. "Of course I'm at your
service. Let us go; have you the notes at home?"

"No, Herr von Dornburg, I have just taken them to the ladies; but early
to-morrow morning--"

"There will be a rehearsal early to-morrow morning! The jug is for me,
Jungfer Dortchen! Your health, Colonel Mulder! Captain Huivenvoorde, I
drain this goblet to your new standard and hope to have many a jolly ride
by your side."

The German's eyes again sparkled with an eager light, and when Captain
Van der Laen, continuing his conversation, cried enthusiastically: "The
Beggars of the Sea will yet sink the Spanish power. The sea, gentlemen.
the sea! To base one's cause on nothing, is the best way! To exult, leap
and grapple in the storm! To fight and struggle man to man and breast to
breast on the deck of the enemy's ship! To fight and conquer, or perish
with the foe!"

"To your health, Junker!" exclaimed the colonel. "Zounds, we need such
youths!"

"Now you are your old self again," said Wilhelm, turning to his friend.
"Touch glasses to your dear ones at home."

"Two glasses for one," cried Georg. "To the dear ones at home--to the
joys and sorrows of the heart, to the fair woman we love! War is rapture,
love is life! Let the wounds bleed, let the heart break into a thousand
pieces. Laurels grow green on the battle-field, love twines garlands of
roses-roses with thorns, yet beautiful roses! Go, beaker! No other lips
shall drink from you."

Georg's cheeks glowed as he flung the glass goblet into a corner of the
room, where it shattered into fragments. His comrades at the table
cheered loudly, but Captain Cromwell rose quietly to leave the room, and
the landlord shook his wise head doubtfully.

It seemed as if fire had poured into Georg's soul and his spirit had
gained wings. The thick waving locks curled in dishevelled masses around
his handsome head, as leaning far