that turned his heart to stone. Surely one of the household at least must go, with all this agony ! He had hoped that one might have been himself, who could so well be spared, but now he feared it was to be instead the best beloved, the treasure of all. The look on the young face of the dying Spaniard haunted his memory; he could not-no, he could not-go home to see that look on the face of Freule Roskě. He would not go unless he could bring the food which might save her even yet. But what chance of that? None, while yonder fort stood there, full of desperate Spaniards.

Dirk Willemzoon could hope in God now; the bond of despair was loosed from off his heart. He prayed, and found comfort in his prayer. God was good that which He would do with them must be good also. If it was not His will to save them here and now, there was His heaven to look for, after brief suffering-suffering which, as the Englishman said, was but for a moment, and wrought out an exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Thinking of that glory beyond, he fell unawares into a light sleep, leaning against the battlement of the town.

But

A noise-sudden, great, and terrible, and sounding close to his ear, aroused him. Was it thunder? Was it the discharge of cannon? No; it was more like falling masonry. Had the Spaniards made a breach in the wall? Were they storming the town? He shook from head to foot, remembering Adrian's awful vow. still, he ought to go home-better for them to die all together. The ensuing silence, however, struck him with as much astonishment as the noise had done. If it was what he feared, other sounds would follow at once- "The voice of them that shout for mastery, and the voice of them that cry being overcome.' But there was nothing of the kind. Dead silence followed, unbroken by a cry, a murmur. He stood and listened to the silence, in awe and wonder.

Presently his head felt cold, for the wind was blowing upon it. He put up his hand instinctively; his cap, Roske's gift, had fallen off. Though death was all around him, he could not lose that without a pang. He feared it had fallen over the rampart while he dozed; but as he moved his foot, he touched something soft beside it, and found, to his great joy, that it was his lost treasure. He picked it up and put it on firmly, feeling as though its recovery was an omen for good. But what was he to do next? He had not the least idea; so he stayed where he was, looking out into the darkness, and listening for the sounds that never came. "Perhaps," he thought, "a great heap of gunpowder has exploded somewhere, either with friends or foes-but if so, should I not have seen the light?"

But even while he said it, he did see, through the darkness, gleaming points of light. No glare to illumine the midnight; no blaze as of burning gunpowder only faint flickering lights like wavering torches, mirrored fitfully in the waters beneath. 66 They are just where the Fort of Lammen stands," Dirk thought, peering through the darkness. Then, after a moment, "They are

A voice beside him, or within him, he knew not which, and he never knew, cried aloud: "The fort is empty, the Spaniards have abandoned it!" He stood transfixed, as if shot through with a bolt-but a bolt bringing life, not death. Then he made a wild, headlong rush in the dark, stumbling over stones, knocking against walls, falling down steps. But nothing stopped him. On, on he sped, out of the citadel, along a street or twomaking his way almost by instinct through the pitchy darkness, until he reached the house of the Burgomaster. A light was burning there, and a servant answered his summons. Yes, he could see the Burgomaster; he had not retired to rest.

He was ushered into a sombre but stately room. A fire was burning on the hearth within the deep, tiled embrasure, and the red light, mingled with that of the lamp on the table, shone upon costly furniture of carved oak. But Dirk saw nothing save the face of the great Burgomaster-a face as worn and wasted with famine as that of the poorest in the town, yet full of power and courage. Van der Werf looked up from a heap of parchments he was examining, perhaps with a view to burning them if the Spaniards entered the town, and asked him what he wanted. Somehow the quiet, matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke calmed the spirit of the boy, and enabled him to tell his tale with something like composure.

The ever-watchful Burgomaster had heard the noise, of course, but he deemed it best to remain passive till the morning; any movement now would only create a panic, waste their strength, and diminish their chance of a successful sortie. Whatever it was, most certainly it was no assault of the Spaniards. But the lights? Was Dirk clear about the position in which he had seen them, the direction in which they were moving?

Dirk repeated his story without wavering, adding eagerly, "I am right sure, your worship, 'twas the Spaniards leaving the fort."

The grave, stern face relaxed into something like a smile at the boy's simple confidence. "You think so?" he said.

"I think, your worship, that the Lord has looked unto the host of the Spaniards, and troubled them."

Then, after a pause: My

But go

son, thou didst well to come to me, instead of giving the alarm and rousing the town. home now, sleep if thou canst; if not, pray for God's mercy. Keep silence about what thou hast seen, for, I doubt not, 'tis a trap the Spaniards have set to lure us to destruction."

"But if it please your worship-" he hesitated and stopped.

"Speak on, my boy; fear nothing I know thee for the brave lad who brought us tidings from the fleet, some three weeks ago."

"If it please your worship to let me go to the fort, and try."

The Burgomaster shook his head. throwing thy life away," he said.

""Twere

me.

"The first glimmer will do for I go, your worship. And, if you see a cap of blue with a knot of orange in it wave from the top of Lammen, you will know we are saved."

He went forth; and helped by the lights that shone from a few of the casements, made his way to the gate nearest the Lammen Fort. He found the guard in much excitement and alarm about the noise; but the lights they had not seen-probably from their position they could not. He showed them the Burgomaster's ring, and a postern was opened for him immediately.

There was by this time just a faint glimmer of light, enough to keep him from falling into the nearest ditch-enough, too, to show him the Fort of Lammen, looking dark against the cold grey sky, scarce a hundred rods away. No light was seen, no sound heard from it.

Dirk never felt the ground beneath his flying feet till he paused at the entrance of the fort. The door stood wide open before him. He went in, no man forbidding him. No man was there, either to forbid or to welcome. The fort was deserted.

He sprang up to the very top, and stood there breathless. Then, taking off his cap-the blue cap with the orange knot-he waved it with all his might. The light was growing clearer now, so he hoped his signal would be seen, both in the city and in the fleet. He had to wait some time, and to repeat it often, ere he could be sure. At length a faint cheer from the one, and a hoarse shout of triumph from the other, told him that they knew.

But he must return quickly to the town, and bring more certain tidings. He slipped down from his lofty post, and began rapidly to descend the spiral, ladder-like stair. As he passed an open door something moved him to turn in. He drew back-he almost fell down-fairly overpowered by the most delicious sensation he had ever known in his life. Surely all the spices of

Araby had never breathed such fragrance! What could it be?

He rallied his strength to explore the room. Over a smouldering fire on the hearth hung an iron pot. Some Spanish soldier had been preparing a late supper or an early breakfast. It was only what he would have called an "olla" of carrots, onions, and the like; but never since the world began had these homely vegetables borne such an odour to the senses, or such a rapture to the soul !

His first thought was of Freule Roskě. This meant life for her. Without tasting a morsel, famished though he was, he snatched up the pot, tore off his jacket, and wrapped it in it-his one chance of bearing it safely through that city of starving men to the house of Adrian. Gladly— how gladly would he have fed them all, but for them food was coming fast, and Roskě was dying for the want of it.

His task was made easier-was made possible perhaps by the fact that all the citizens who could walk were already crowding down to the quays to welcome their deliverers, and to get the bread they would bring.

As he entered the town, the first red gleam of the rising sun showed him, beyond the fort, the ships of the Sea Beggars with set sails, all in motion. He prayed God to keep Roskě alive, and not to let his heart break with the rapture, ere the deliverers touched the land.

He had a confused recollection afterwards of holding Roskě in his arms, and feeding her slowly with a tiny silver spoon, her particular favourite ; of seeing the doctor, the two ladies, and the Apothecary Floriszoon, all standing round the dish into which he had poured his treasure trove, and of sharing the meal with them. Then he remembered exhorting them all to go down to the quay and see the ships come in, and to leave him the Freule to take care of. But, she insisted that he should go too, and take her with him, in his arms. There however the confusion ceased. What followed shone clear as sunlight, and stamped itself on his soul for ever.

With feeble, tottering footsteps the little party crept along; it was wonderful that the women could walk at all, but joy and hope lent strength to the weakest that day. At last the quay was reached. Already it was densely crowded, nearly every man, woman, or child in the town who was able to walk or stand being there. And what a crowd! Gaunt, emaciated forms, haggard features, eyes bloodshot with fever, or dim with mortal weakness! More than one dropped down in their very sight; fainting, dying perhaps, with deliverance come-just too late.

Presently some one opened a door, and invited the Pernets in. It was a patient of Adrian's who lived on the quay. "Come to my upper chamber, ladies," he said. "You will see all, and be out of the throng." He led them to the place, and gave them seats at the window.

Outside, the sun was shining in all its glory, as

1 This pot is still preserved, in the Lakenhall Museum, Leyden.

the rude brown ships, with weather-stained sails and damaged cording, came moving up to the quay -moving quickly, yet all too slow for the waiting crowd. Long ere they reached the land, the crews flung out with lavish hand loaves of bread amongst the starving multitude. But the joy was not complete until the first ship touched the quay, and the brave old Admiral sprang on shore. The heroic Burgomaster stepped forward to bid him welcome, and when the people saw those two locked fast in each other's arms, they knew their long agony was over, and that God had sent them deliverance. Then indeed there rose up to heaven such a cry of joy as this poor sorrow-stricken earth has seldom heard, before or since.

With a resistless impulse, which moved them as one man, the vast crowd swept on to the great church of St. Peter-near at hand-to return thanks to Almighty God.

"Let us go too," said Rose to Adrian, when she understood what they were doing.

"Art able, my beloved?" he asked with an anxious glance at her pale face.

"Able for anything now," she answered.

So they all went, Rose leaning on her husband, Tant' Marie following, and Dirk with Roskě in his

arms.

From

Scarce could they find standing room, even in the vast spaces of that immense church. end to end, from side to side, in every vantage coign of window, arch, or pillar, stood closely packed that strange congregation. All ranks were there, from the Admiral and the Burgomaster to the rudest Zeeland fisherman or the poorest Leyden beggar-all ages, from the old man leaning on his staff, to Roskě in the arms of Dirk. One thought filled every soul, one passion throbbed in every heart.

A pastor entered the pulpit, and said in a loud though broken voice, "My brethren, let us sing to the praise and glory of God." He gave out the psalm, or hymn. A mighty volume of sound arose and swelled up to the high arched roof

"God is our strong defence and tower,
Our sword and shield is He;
He helps and saves in every hour
Of dire necessity."

Here the voices faltered-paused. Many broke down completely, but others, with stronger cheer and courage, went on—

"Through our own strength is nothing done,
Our foes would triumph o'er us;
There fights for us the Mighty One-"

It was no use! The last words were but a quavering murmur. Here and there an isolated voice tried again; only to be drowned in the universal passion of weeping that shook the whole assembly. The hardy Zeelanders, the wild Sea Beggarsadmiral and all-wept and sobbed as unrestainedly as the little children of Leyden, who only understood that the Lord was very good, and had given them bread to eat at last.

In those tears the city of the Two Keys paid her tribute of praise and thankfulness. And still, after more than three centuries, as the circling