ind him.

Not that she had intended to tell him at first; she was only three and
twenty, and, though Jan van der Welde was as fine a fellow as could be
seen in Utrecht, and had good wages and something put by, Koosje was by
no means inclined to rush headlong into matrimony with undue hurry.
It was more pleasant to live in the professor's good house, to have
delightful walks arm in arm with Jan under the trees in the Baan or
round the Singels, parting under the stars with many a lingering word
and promise to meet again. It was during one of those very partings that
the professor suddenly became aware, as he walked placidly home, of the
change that had come into Koosje's life.

However, Koosje told him blushingly that she did not wish to leave him
just at present; so he did not trouble himself about the matter. He
was a wise man, this old authority on osteology, and quoted oftentimes,
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

So the courtship sped smoothly on, seeming for once to contradict the
truth of the old saying, "The course of true love never did run smooth."
The course of their love did, of a truth, run marvellously smooth
indeed. Koosje, if a trifle coy, was pleasant and sweet; Jan as fine a
fellow as ever waited round a corner on a cold winter night. So brightly
the happy days slipped by, when suddenly a change was effected in the
professor's household which made, as a matter of course, somewhat of a
change in Koosje's life. It came about in this wise.

Koosje had been on an errand for the professor,--one that had kept her
out of doors some time,--and it happened that the night was bitterly
cold; the cold, indeed, was fearful. The air had that damp rawness
so noticeable in Dutch climate, a thick mist overhung the city, and
a drizzling rain came down with a steady persistence such as quickly
soaked through the stoutest and thickest garments. The streets were
well-nigh empty. The great thoroughfare, the Oude Gracht, was almost
deserted, and as Koosje hurried along the Meinerbroederstraat--for she
had a second commission there--she drew her great shawl more tightly
round her, muttering crossly, "What weather! yesterday so warm, to-day
so cold. 'Tis enough to give one the fever."

She delivered her message, and ran on through Oude Kerkhoff as fast as
her feet could carry her, when, just as she turned the corner into the
Domplein, a fierce gust of wind, accompanied by a blinding shower of
rain, assailed he