With these words the musician gave Maria a letter.  She hastily took it from his hand, saying: 

“No offence, Herr Wilhelm, but we’ll discuss your motet to-morrow, or whenever you choose; to-day—­”

“To-day your time belongs to this letter,” interrupted Wilhelm.  “That is only natural.  The messenger has performed his commission, and the music-master will try his fortune with you another time.”

As soon as the young man had gone, Maria went to her room, sat down at the window, hurriedly opened her husband’s letter and read: 

     “My dear and faithful wife!

“Meister Wilhelm Corneliussohn, of Leyden, will bring you this letter.  I am well, but it was hard for me to leave you on the anniversary of our wedding-clay.  The weather is very bad.  I found the Prince in sore affliction, but we don’t give up hope, and if God helps us and every man does his duty, all may yet be well.  I am obliged to ride to Dortrecht to-day.  I have an important object to accomplish there.  Have patience, for several days must pass before my return.

“If the messenger from the council inquires, give him the papers lying on the right-hand side of the writing-table under the smaller leaden weight.  Remember me to Barbara and the children.  If money is needed, ask Van Hout in my name for the rest of the sum due me; he knows about it.  If you feel lonely, visit his wife or Frail von Nordwyk; they would be glad to see you.  Buy as much meal, butter, cheese, and smoked meat, as is possible.  We don’t know what may happen.  Take Barbara’s advice!  Relying upon your obedience,

“Your faithful husband,

“PeterADRIANSSOHN Van der Werff.”

Maria read this letter at first hastily, then slowly, sentence by sentence, to the end.  Disappointed, troubled, wounded, she folded it, drew the wall-flowers from the bosom of her dress—­she knew not why—­and flung them into the peat-box by the chimney-piece.  Then she opened her chest, took out a prettily-carved box, placed it on the table, and laid her husband’s letter inside.

Long after it had found a place with other papers, Maria still stood before the casket, gazing thoughtfully at its contents.

At last she laid her hand on the lid to close it; but hesitated and took up a packet of letters that had lain amid several gold and silver coins, given by godmothers and godfathers, modest trinkets, and a withered rose.

Drawing a chair up to the table, the young wife seated herself and began to read.  She knew these letters well enough.  A noble, promising youth had addressed them to her sister, his betrothed bride.  They were dated from Jena, whither he had gone to complete his studies in jurisprudence.  Every word expressed the lover’s ardent longing, every line was pervaded by the passion that had filled the writer’s heart.  Often the prose of the young scholar, who as a pupil of Doctor Groot had won his bride in Delft, rose to a lofty flight.