The latter instantly drew his sword, and when Georg imperiously demanded what he wanted, replied in a boyish voice, but a proud, resolute tone: 

“I ask you that question!  I am in my father’s house.”

“Indeed!” replied the German smiling, for he had now recognized the speaker’s figure by the dim light.  I Put up your sword.  If you are young Matanesse Van Wibisma, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“I am.  But what are you doing on our premises at night, sword in hand?”

“I’m warming the wall to my own satisfaction, or, if you want to know the truth, mounting guard.”

“In our house?”

“Yes, Junker.  There is some one up-stairs with your cousins, who wouldn’t like to be surprised by the Spaniards.  Go up.  I know from Captain Van Duivenvoorde what a gallant young fellow you are.”

“From Herr von Warmond?” asked Nicolas eagerly.  “Tell me! what brings you here, and who are you?”

“One who is fighting for your liberty, a German, Georg von Dornburg.”

“Oh, wait here, I entreat you.  I’ll come back directly.  Do you know whether Fraulein Van Hoogstraten—­”

“Up there,” replied Georg, pointing towards the ceiling.

Nicolas sprang up the stairs in two or three bounds, called his cousin, and hastily told her that her father had had a severe fall from his horse while hunting, and was lying dangerously ill.  When Nicolas spoke of Anna he had at first burst into a furious passion, but afterwards voluntarily requested him to tell him about her, and attempted to leave his bed to accompany him.  He succeeded in doing so, but fell back fainting.  When his father came early the next morning, she might tell him that he, Nicolas, begged his forgiveness; he was about to do what he believed to be his duty.

He evaded Henrica’s questions, and merely hastily enquired about Anna’s health and the Leyden citizen, whom Georg had mentioned.

When he heard the name of the musician Wilhelm, he begged her to warn him to depart in good time, and if possible in his company, then bade her a hurried farewell and ran down-stairs.

Wilhelm soon followed.  Henrica accompanied him to the stairs to see Georg once more, but as soon as she heard his voice, turned defiantly away and went back to her sister.

The musician found Junker von Dornburg engaged in an eager conversation with Nicolas.

“No, no, my boy,” said the German cordially, “my way cannot be yours.”

“I am seventeen years old.”

“That’s not it; you’ve just confronted me bravely, and you have a man’s strength of will—­but life ought still to bear flowers for you, if such is God’s will—­you are going forth to fight sword-in-hand to win a worthy destiny of peace and prosperity, for yourself and your native land, in freedom—­but I, I—­give me your hand and promise—­”

“My hand?  There it is; but I must refuse the promise.  With or without you—­I shall go to the Beggars!”