As usual, she set Peter’s study in order before proceeding to any other task, and while doing so, cast a friendly glance at the dead Eva’s picture.  On the writing-table lay the bible, the only book not connected with his business affairs, that her husband ever read.  Barbara sometimes drew comfort and support from the volume, but also used it as an oracle, for when undecided low to act she opened it and pointed with her finger to certain passage.  This usually had a definite meaning and she generally, though not always, acted as it directed.  To-day she had been disobedient, for in response to her question whether she might venture to send a bag of all sorts of dainties to her son, a Beggar of the Sea, in spite of the Spaniards encircling the city, he had received the words of Jeremiah:  “Their tents and their flocks shall they take away:  they shall take to themselves their curtains and all their vessels and their camels,” and yet the bag had been entrusted early that morning to a widow, who intended to make her escape to Delft with her young daughter, according to the request of the magistrates.  The gift might perhaps reach Rotterdam; a mother always hopes for a miracle in behalf of her child.

Before Maria restored the bible to its old place, she opened it at the thirteenth chapter of the first Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians, which speaks of love, and was specially dear to her.  There were the words:  “Charity suffereth long and is kind, charity is not easily provoked;” and “Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.”

To be kind and patient, to hope and endure all things, was the duty love imposed upon her.

When she had closed the bible and was preparing to go to Henrica, Barbara ushered Janus Dousa into the room.  The young nobleman to-day wore armor and gorget, and looked far more like a soldier than a scientist or poet.  He had sought Peter in vain at the town-hall, and hoped to find him at home.  One of the messengers sent to the Prince had returned from Dortrecht with a letter, which conferred on Dousa the office made vacant by Allertssohn’s death.  He was to command not only the city-guard, but all the armed force.  He had accepted the appointment with cheerful alacrity, and requested Maria to inform her husband.

“Accept my congratulations,” said the burgomaster’s wife.  “But what will now become of your motto:  ‘Ante omnia Musae?’”

“I shall change the words a little and say:  ’Omnia ante Musas.”

“Do you understand that jargon, child?” asked Barbara.

“A passport will be given the Muses,” replied Maria gaily.

Janus was pleased with the ready repartee and exclaimed:  “How bright and happy you look!  Faces free from care are rare birds in these days.”

Maria blushed, for she did not know how to interpret the words of the nobleman, who understood how to reprove with subtle mockery, and answered naively:  “Don’t think me frivolous, Junker.  I know the seriousness of the times, but I have just finished a silent confession and discovered many bad traits in my character, but also the desire to replace them with more praiseworthy ones.”