this for her, she was one step nearer to Edward Wallingford. What though both Adrian's letter and his messenger spoke of him as injured in health by his long captivity? He would soon recover now; joy and rest and freedom, and above all, love, would restore him.

Meanwhile, in another part of the ship, the faithful Neeltje was collecting the baggage of her mistress, with a great expenditure of proverbial philosophy, and a little assistance from Adrian's messenger, a clerk of Plantin's named Veerkamp, who was accustomed to travel on his master's business. Her task was the harder because Marie's friends in Leyden had overwhelmed her with gifts for herself and her brother, and some of them-such as conserves and sweetmeats, and rare and costly plants-were of a kind distinctly troublesome to travellers.

Marie would not have cared just then had all of them been sunk in the sea. She gazed on, and with a brightening colour, when the green line disappeared, and was replaced by grey walls and sombre buildings. But presently the ships and boats. grew so numerous that they obstructed her view. Slowly, more slowly still, the good ship Hecuba threaded her way through them all; at first silently, then amidst distracting shouts and cries in a confusion of tongues. At last the quay appeared, crowded with porters, servants, apprentices and idlers of all sorts. The many-coloured clothing men affected then, either from fancy or to mark their ranks and callings, gave the scene a far gayer look than it would have now.

Marie's eager eyes sought for two figures, and found them. The Hecuba had been sighted in ample time for Adrian and Wallingford to take the short walk from the Place aux Gants to the quay. There they stood together, the tall figure of her brother in his doctor's robe-and beside him? Marie's heart throbbed so quickly that her eyes for a moment refused their office. A mist swam before them.

Ropes were thrown, and the ship made fast to the stanchions on the quay. Then planks were laid; and the two she watched for were amongst the first to cross. The meeting looked for, prayed for so long, painted by fancy in a thousand different ways-came, and passed. It was over in a moment, and it was utterly unlike all that she had pictured. The next thing she heard distinctly was the voice of Neeltje, "My masters, fair words won't fill the sack. Twill be too late to cry over spilled milk when all Mejuffrouw's belongings, from her best brocade to her Leyden cheese, are carried off by these thieves of porters, heaven knows where. For that Veerkamp is just as sharp as a leaden dagger, and runs just as fast as if he had eggs in his shoes."

A scene of bustle and confusion followed, in which Adrian took little part, though he commanded some attention by his liberal promises of largesse. At last, however, all was done, and Marie led away in triumph between her brother and her lover. Adrian was willing to cede to his companion the right hand and the right of way; but to his amazement saw him presently disappear, and found on looking back that he had gone

quietly to the assistance of Neeltje, whom he was relieving of some of the parcels under the load of which she had staggered on shore, considering them too precious to be entrusted to the porters.

"I have heard," thought Adrian, "of a superfluity of naughtiness; but I never thought there was such a thing as a superfluity of goodness, until poor Edward came back from prison to show it." But Marie availed herself of the opportunity to ask eagerly:

"Is he really ill, brother?"

"Not ill exactly, dear sister; yet not, I fear me, in sound health,-I think you will find him greatly changed-you must not wonder, or remark upon it.”

They soon reached the Place aux Gants. In view of Marie's return, Wallingford had insisted on taking up his quarters in the neighbouring inn; but he remained to share the dinner Dame Catherine had prepared in her honour. When it was over, Adrian withdrew, that the lovers might hold converse for a little "under four eyes." His own had been busy enough, meanwhile.

He did not go to see his patients, nor to the printing house of Plantin, to inspect the progress of those difficult anatomical engravings which were to illustrate his treatise. He chose instead a solitary walk outside the town, leading to the meadow where long ago the field preachings used to be held. There was no need for field preachings now; the pastors had what pulpits they wanted, and said in them what they pleased, none making them afraid. The good times for which in those old days they used to long, were come now. And yet-"oh for the touch of the vanished hand" that had lain in his as he walked home from that proscribed field preaching! So earth gives and takes-giving, with one hand, the fruition of long cherished hopes, and taking meanwhile with the other that which made the spring of hope itself within us. "But," said Adrian, with a bright upward look, "Thou hast kept the good wine until now.'

His earthly cares now were all for others, not for himself. He was the guardian of his sister's welfare, and he thought of her position and her prospects with much uneasiness. Wallingford was sure to desire a speedy marriage, and who could say such a desire was anything but reasonable? They had waited for each other long and patiently, until their youth was almost gone. Why should they lose more time than had been unavoidably lost already? Circumstances were favourable at present; there seemed the prospect of an interval of peace sufficient, at least, for the beginning of home life. He knew that Edward's

position in his own country was good; his means were sufficient, and Marie would not go to him quite empty-handed. While of his own disposition and character what could be said, except that he was too amiable, too unselfish?

At this point in Adrian's meditations, the pale ghost of an old fancy, dismissed long ago, and more than half forgotten, flitted unbidden across his mind. A chance remark of Dame Catherine's had called it up.

"Have you ever noticed, Monsieur, the look

M. Valenvorde (so she called him) has of that young gentleman, your pupil, who went off from you so suddenly in the old days?"

"Strange," he thought, "that this resemblance should strike her after so many years, just as it struck myself in Leyden. There must be a curious likeness between the two-a mere chance, no doubt. My Rose thought it foolish and mischievous for me to allow my mind to dwell on the matter. But this is how it happens when a man tries to think seriously, or to pray; all sorts of irrelevant, inconsequent thoughts come crowding into his mind. Let me resolve to banish them, and face the position calmly. In marrying this excellent, attractive, and in every way admirable man, my sister may be simply earning an early widowhood and a broken heart. Well, even if she knew it, she would probably choose, nay insist on the sacrifice, for she loves him. But should I permit it? Oh that my Rose was here, with her woman's wit, which was ever, in her, the truest wisdom! while I-ah me, I know nothing! Nothing, except a few secrets of Nature, which are no use to any one in such a strait as this."

Long did he walk to and fro in that silent place, thinking, thinking. It well may be also that he asked counsel, though not of any human counseller.

At last a thought came to him. Edward and Marie had never been formally betrothed. Might they not be content to wait a little longer for the actual marriage, if their right to one another was recognized by a solemn betrothal? This ceremony, after the manner of the times, would permit of their enjoying afterwards a good deal of each other's society, while it would afford a breathing time which might decide their future. "We shall know what to do in the end-if Edward is still alive, and in his right mind,' Adrian's heart whispered sadly.

He went home resolved to propose this course to Edward and to Marie, but expecting a lively opposition. "Edward will call me the most cruel of men, and no wonder," he thought. "Marie will say nothing, but she will hate me in her heart," a reflection which betrayed more knowledge of human nature than might have been expected from Adrian Pernet.

NOT

CHAPTER XXXI.-ADRIAN'S NOTE-BOOK AGAIN. от dated." The betrothal feast is over at last. I may doff lace and velvet, which I suit as ill as they suit me, don my old cloak, and sit down to complete my observations on the structure of the eye. I think I would rather go through a moderate siege, or a reasonable imprisonment, than the like again. But I should not murmur, since the principals in the transaction have taken so calmly what I thought would have been a terrible blow to them. Truly, for lovers, they are very philosophical; a thing no doubt much to be commended.

"When I first, in fear and trembling, ventured to propose betrothal instead of marriage, I felt as one who rushes with all his weight to burst open

a thrice locked door, and lo! it yields at a touch. The shock of a too easy success was more startling than failure. If Wallingford had been I, and Marie Rose, in the days of our wooing! I fear the explanation is that poor Edward feels himself a doomed man, and would spare Marie an early widowhood, perhaps in a foreign land.

"For he now proposes making a visit to England, to see his friends, and arrange his affairs. He has duly informed the Estates of his deliverance : his old commission was cancelled long ago; but they will be very glad to give him a new one in the army they are raising to co-operate with the French auxiliary force, if he should decide on remaining here. Through various untoward circumstances he has not yet seen the Prince, though he earnestly desires to do so-as earnestly, that is, as he seems to desire anything. Methinks he has so long looked martyrdom in the face that he cannot get rid of the martyr's resignation and indifference to earth.

"January 2, 1582.-This book has lain for months, forgotten, in my great iron-bound chest. I have found it now in seeking for another, so I may as well write down that Edward has returned from England, much improved in health, which is very comfortable to us all. He brings tidings that the Queen will not marry Anjou; but that he that is to say, Anjou-is coming over here next month, and then shall we have wonderful doings in this good town of Antwerp. Already the masters of the Guilds are devising miracles and mysteries and such like pageants, toys and flowers to hide the true significance and solemnity of this thing. This new Duke of Brabant, as we are to call him, is ready enough to swear all manner of oaths to us. But will he keep them? God knoweth.

'January 12.-I fear Marie is being worn out by this long waiting. I asked her to-day if she did not rejoice in Edward's restoration to health. Instead of answering me, she burst into tears and hurried out of the room. Of late I have noticed much unevenness in her spirits, which is a new thing with her. Oh, Rose, would thou wert with us now! My Roskě too, if she had lived, would be by this time a young maiden, skilled in those ways of women which my grosser wit can by no means understand.

February 6.-I am growing yet more anxious about Marie. She does not eat, and I am sure she does not sleep. She has as much of the society of her betrothed as either of them seems to wish for, yet it does not appear to yield her over much content. It can scarcely be concern for his health that ails her. He is much stronger now, that is to say, so far as I can judge, for he does not greatly frequent my society.

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February 11.-I have just overheard something which has given me much pain. I was in my the study reading; and unawares had left open door into the other room, which is concealed by a curtain. Marie was sitting there at her embroidery, and presently Edward came in. I heard his voice and hers in greeting, and some talk followed to which I gave no heed. But anon his words fell distinctly on my ear: Why are you so sad of cheer to-day, my beloved?'

"I could not help hearing every word of her

answer.

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It is a dream I have had. I thought you came out of some dim distance, and walked slowly towards me. I ran to meet you with outstretched hands, glad of heart. But, behold, as we approached, you were not yourself at all, but some one new and strange, whom I did not know. I tried to cry out, but my voice was choked, strangled, as by a hand on my throat. The face came nearer stilla dreadful face. For while I could not choose but gaze at it, it changed and changed, still keeping through all changes some horrible likeness to yours, till at last it showed the jaws of a monster, opening wide to devour me.' Edward laughed, and called it a case of nightmare, which it undoubtedly was. 'But why did the horror take that particular form, I wonder?'

"There was some further talk, their voices sinking low. But at last there canc words of Marie's, which I heard, I often think, Edward, that you love me no longer now.' And then Edward's answer, earnestly and solemnly spoken, 'As much as I ever loved you in my life. I swear it before God.' But then, what less could a lover say?

"February 13.-I have had, for a long time past, a deep distrust of Astrology, which I am careful to keep to myself. Were it otherwise, I should be persuaded Edward was born under the most unlucky of stars. I would that some of my Paduan friends had the casting of his horoscope. I wonder what they would make of it. Being very charitable, and having plenty of time at his command, he has been wont to spend much of it visiting the poor, and relieving their needs. This work of mercy has had a calamitous result, for him. As far as I can understand his story, which is none of the clearest, he was going to visit a sick person in one of the poorest streets, when he met a man haranguing a crowd of people, telling them the Prince was sold to the French, and was bringing in the Duke of Anjou to trample on their liberties-with more of such stuff, which is talked, as we know, by certain foolish persons amongst us. Edward stopped, and was going to answer him, when the crowd took up the matter, and calling the orator Popish spy and traitor, rushed upon him with sticks and stones, and the terrible cry Paapen uit!' They would have killed him, Edward said, to a certainty, if he had not interposed. He got him off safely, but not till some one had fired a pistol at him, and the shot struck Edward, fracturing his sword-arm. A bad fracture, too; the pain apart, it will be months before he has the use of it again. It is awkward, especially now, when all is in preparation for the Duke's solemn entry, and when he is bringing with him a brilliant staff of English nobles and gentlemen-some of them, no doubt, friends of Edward and of his family.

"February 15.-Edward is better, but still suffering much, and in very low spirits. He is very sensitive to pain, a thing in which I have noticed men differ greatly, quite apart from the question of their courage or cowardice. Indeed, that may be the best kind of courage which feels

pain or danger the most keenly, yet faces or endures it bravely. Silk makes a stronger cord than wool. Against Edward's bravery have I nought to say, whatever I may think of his prudence and common-sense. Instead of going

into some house at hand, and sending a messenger for me, he must needs walk off to the nearest barber-surgeon, get the bone set, and then walk back to his inn, nearly fainting with pain, and with no better escort than the barber's apprentice. The lad got him to bed, then came to tell me, and of course I went to him at once. I would have had him come here, that his betrothed might minister to him; but this he will by no means do. More and more do I suspect that there is some serious misunderstanding between the two.

"But the Duke is coming to-morrow, and I must needs go now and prepare for the part thrust upon me in bidding him solemn welcome to this our land, and hearing him take those oaths, as our new lord and governor, which we so devoutly wish he may keep with honest meaning and intent.

"I must to the town hall, to get instructions about my place in the procession, and so forth. It goes ill with me to do this thing. But the Prince wills it. That is enough.

(Late the same evening.)-Since I wrote the above, Neeltje has come back from her walk through the city, to see the preparations for the morrow, in raptures to which a whole Litany of proverbs can scarce do justice. Her greatest joy seems to be in the emblematic car, containing all the virtues. Religion in red satin (a colour very appropriate to the Religion I first knew here); Justice in orange velvet, a compliment doubtless to the Prince; Patriotism as a pelican, and Patience as a brooding hen-serpents also, with tails in their ears, signifying deafness to flattery. Would I could see Marie even a little entertained with these fooleries! Her sad face haunts me. Throughout her long years of suspense it was not half so sad. It is as the face of one whose heart is broken.

Neeltje tells me that the lad who brought us the news of Edward's accident (and a more illlooking youth have I never seen) was no barber's apprentice, but a clerk, or servitor, of that Spaniard from whom I once thought Edward was borrowing money. Why can he not keep at least amongst honest English folk, his own countrymen, when there are so many of them here? But, doubtless, it is an excess of charity which leads him to those who most need his help.

"I asked Neeltje if she had heard anything about the street brawl in which he got his hurt. She answered, 'Yes; at least I heard of a fray,' with, as I thought, a look of surprise. But why should any one be surprised, when such things are happening continually? Scarce a day, I suppose, passes without them.

"A thought has just come to me, given, it may be, by God. Why not send for Dirk, who is sitting idle at Cambray, where there is no prospect of any real fighting until spring? I can easily get leave for him; and he will give us just the help and comfort we are needing now.

For

he was Edward's first friend, and loves him almost as an elder brother.

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Pity, it seems to me also, for Dirk himself, that he should waste his youth in mere fighting. True, he is serving his country; and yet I think, with good guidance and instruction, he might serve his country in more important ways. How many

pairs of hands is one head worth? Dirk's head is no common one; I have found in him, for my joy, that noble curiosity about things worth knowing which is the pledge of future excellence. Yes; I will send for Dirk to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXXII.-WALLINGFORD.

HE morning of the 16th of February dawned upon a city all in festal array, and full of stir and tumult. This was to be the most splendid of all the splendid "Joyous Entries" that generation had seen. In deference to the wishes of the Prince, Adrian laid aside his sad recollections of the last one, so far as to appear among the leading physicians of the town, in the stately procession that was to welcome her new sovereign.

But no such necessity lay upon others; and Wallingford had not the strength, and Marie not the will, to bear a part in the general rejoicing.

An unusual stillness reigned in those quiet streets through which the Duke was not to pass; scarce a step was heard save that of Wallingford, as he came to see his betrothed. He looked pale and suffering, and had his arm in a sling. Marie could not be insensible to the claims of womanly pity-even although trust was gone, and love was hovering with poised wings between a ruined nest and a reluctant flight. After the first formal greetings, she inquired kindly for his wounded arm, offered him a cushioned seat, and brought him a cup of wine.

He thanked her with a wistful, half-pathetic smile. "You are good to me to-day, Marie," he said. "Do you know, of late I think it is I who have cause to say you have ceased to love me?"

There were tears in Marie's dark, mournful eyes as she answered, "I have never ceased-I shall never cease to love-the Edward I once knew." Wallingford pressed his lips together. After a perceptible pause, he asked: "Wherein have I changed, and to whom? To you, or to others?" "To every one. Most of all, I think, to your

Faith and to your God." "This to me! Marie, I fail to understand you. Have I kept my Faith for years, in a Jesuit prison, to fall off from it now? And what signs do you see in me of such a falling off? Was ever Protestant more zealous in frequenting the preachings, in reading the Holy Scriptures, and other books of edification?"

Marie shook her head. "That is not what I mean," she said. "It is not speaking ill of the Catholics or their Faith, but-but-oh, I can't find the right words to say it in! Another might, who was wiser. Let that pass, then. But, Edward, answer me once for all-why do you say the thing that is not true?"

He started, as it was natural he should, at such an accusation.

"What do you mean?" he asked, with unloverlike sharpness.

"My words are plain. Will you answer them?" "I require first to know of what untruth I am accused."

"Did you not tell my brother you got that hurt in the quarrel of a Papist, who was set upon by the mob for speaking against the French Alliance?"

"I told the truth. If you doubt me, I will Though I little thought it would come

swear it.

to this, betwixt thee and me."

the Papist, if Papist he were. No shot was fired save one, and that one took effect upon the traitor himself. Tielman saw his arm streaming with blood, and then saw him disappear into the house at the door of which he was standing, and which opened to let him in."

"And you condemn me-me, your betrothedupon the idle story of your serving-girl?" "That is not just, Edward. The thing told is all; the person telling it is nought."

"I think I understand you-at last," said Wallingford, with an air of cold displeasure. "It is no chance difference between my own account of the matter and that of your veracious cutter of diamonds which has kindled your wrath; it is the matter itself, the fact of my having interfered to save the life of a Papist." These were the first really angry words Marie had ever heard from the lips of Wallingford. Still, it was their falsehood, not their bitterness, that stung her.

"You wrong me, Edward," she answered, “are we not taught to love our enemies, and do good to those who persecute us? Did not Dirk's father die 80, for saving the life of an enemy? Thou and I, in the old days, wept together over that tale."

The look of anger passed out of Wallingford's face, to be replaced by one of perplexity, as if he was seeking for something he failed to find. "An' if we did," he said at last, "what has that to do with the question?"

Marie came a step nearer. Her eyes looked into his eyes, as if she sought despairingly for

aught they knew. You said that never while life remained would you forget Dirk's look as he said, A year ago to-day the end came. It was the worst that men could do. The long-long agony' And you interrupted with those words-with what words, Edward?"

"What words? I do not remember-exactly. So long ago I have forgotten so much!"

"These you could not forget. With what words, Edward Wallingford?"

"It is cruel to use my infirmity against me.