rom him
for a consideration of six stivers per head.

This being just double their value, the man was very glad to close the
bargain, and the nurse found herself in undisputed possession of the
pigeons of her master's envious neighbour.

In the course of their wanderings, these pigeons with others visited
the Hague, Loewestein, and Rotterdam, seeking variety, doubtless, in the
flavour of their wheat or hempseed.

Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand of God in everything, had
willed that Cornelius van Baerle should happen to hit upon one of these
very pigeons.

Therefore, if the envious wretch had not left Dort to follow his
rival to the Hague in the first place, and then to Gorcum or to
Loewestein,--for the two places are separated only by the confluence of
the Waal and the Meuse,--Van Baerle's letter would have fallen into his
hands and not the nurse's: in which event the poor prisoner, like
the raven of the Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time, his
trouble, and, instead of having to relate the series of exciting events
which are about to flow from beneath our pen like the varied hues of a
many coloured tapestry, we should have naught to describe but a weary
waste of days, dull and melancholy and gloomy as night's dark mantle.

The note, as we have said, had reached Van Baerle's nurse.

And also it came to pass, that one evening in the beginning of February,
just when the stars were beginning to twinkle, Cornelius heard on the
staircase of the little turret a voice which thrilled through him.

He put his hand on his heart, and listened.

It was the sweet harmonious voice of Rosa.

Let us confess it, Cornelius was not so stupefied with surprise, or
so beyond himself with joy, as he would have been but for the pigeon,
which, in answer to his letter, had brought back hope to him under her
empty wing; and, knowing Rosa, he expected, if the note had ever reached
her, to hear of her whom he loved, and also of his three darling bulbs.

He rose, listened once more, and bent forward towards the door.

Yes, they were indeed the accents which had fallen so sweetly on his
heart at the Hague.

The question now was, whether Rosa, who had made the journey from the
Hague to Loewestein, and who--Cornelius did not understand how--had
succeeded even in penetrating into the prison, would also be fortunate
enough in penetrating to the prisoner himself.

Whilst Cornelius, debating this point within himself