re he found Lysbeth, who had risen from
the table anxiously awaiting his return. So dreadful were the times that
a knocking on the door at an unaccustomed hour was enough to throw those
within into a paroxysm of fear, especially if at the moment they chanced
to be harbouring a pastor of the New Faith, a crime punishable with
death. That sound might mean nothing more than a visit from a neighbour,
or it might be the trump of doom to every soul within the house,
signifying the approach of the familiars of the Inquisition and of a
martyr's crown. Therefore Lysbeth uttered a sigh of joy when her husband
appeared, followed only by a girl.

"Wife," he said, "here is our cousin, Elsa Brant, come to visit us from
The Hague, though why I know not as yet. You remember Elsa, the little
Elsa, with whom we used to play so many years ago."

"Yes, indeed," answered Lysbeth, as she put her arms about her and
embraced her, saying, "welcome, child, though," she added, glancing at
her, "you should no longer be called child who have grown into so fair
a maid. But look, here is the Pastor Arentz, of whom you may have heard,
for he is the friend of your father and of us all."

"In truth, yes," answered Elsa curtseying, a salute which Arentz
acknowledged by saying gravely,

"Daughter, I greet you in the name of the Lord, who has brought you to
this house safely, for which give thanks."

"Truly, Pastor, I have need to do so since--" and suddenly she stopped,
for her eyes met those of Foy, who was gazing at her with such wonder
and admiration stamped upon his open face that Elsa coloured at the
sight. Then, recovering herself, she held out her hand, saying, "Surely
you are my cousin Foy; I should have known you again anywhere by your
hair and eyes."

"I am glad," he answered simply, for it flattered him to think that this
beautiful young lady remembered her old playmate, whom she had not seen
for at least eleven years, adding, "but I do not think I should have
known you."

"Why?" she asked, "have I changed so much?"

"Yes," Foy answered bluntly, "you used to be a thin little girl with red
arms, and now you are the most lovely maiden I ever saw."

At this speech everybody laughed, including the Pastor, while Elsa,
reddening still more, replied, "Cousin, I remember that _you_ used to be
rude, but now you have learned to flatter, which is worse. Nay, I beg of
you, spare me," for Foy showed signs of wishing to argue the point. Then
turni