up to the door. "Wilt go and tell Father Jäsewyk that Reinout the pedlar is here?" Roskě knew quite well what a pedlar was.

"SAY THAT REINOUT THE PEDLAR IS HERE."

She had an inspiration. Throwing down her stick, and looking up in his face, she asked eagerly, "Please you, Master Pedlar, have you any caps in your pack?"

"For pretty little maidens such as thou?"

"Oh no, mother makes my caps." Roskě was a Dutch maiden now, a quaint little figure in close white cap, tight bodice and starched apror, and heavy petticoats down to her feet. "I mean a boy's cap," she added, a very pretty one, for holidays."

66

"Hush-hush-'tis a secret," she cried in a small agony, as she saw Dirk, who had caught sight of the pedlar, racing up.

"Welcome at last!" he cried. "Come in, come in, Master Reinout! I will tell my grandfather."

The pedlar was soon seated in the living room, with every person in the house around him, except Gretchen, who was deaf, and busy besides preparing the meal for him. He had already taken a cup of wine from the hand of old Jäsewyk. "And now," said he, "I will open my pack."

Roske's eyes sparkled, but she was doomed to disappointment. He meant his burden of news, the commodity he really dealt in, and for which the others were only a blind.

"What sort of wares in it? White or black?" asked Koos Jäsewyk eagerly.

"More white than black this time, thank God. To begin with, the glorious deeds done by His soldiers in His war-but you have heard perhaps of Alkmaar already?"

"That we have. Brave little town! The first to show that a whole Spanish army may be baffled by a handful of determined men."

"And women," said Joanna Jäsewyk. "Don't forget they stood on the ramparts beside the men. Nor did any leave their post, till they dropped down dead or dying."

"And now," resumed the pedlar, "there has been a great sea-fight off the coast of Zealand, and God, who sits above the water-floods, has given the victory to His own."

"Thank God," said old Jäsewyk. "Glorious news!" his son added. Roskě fidgeted a little, thinking of the pack; but Dirk stood with flashing eyes and open mouth, devouring every word.

Reinout resumed presently, "Alva has set sail for Spain. If curses could sink a ship, his would have touched the bottom ere it left the port."

"Whom have they sent us in place of him?" asked Koos.

"A certain Don Luis de Requesens, Grand Commander of Castile, of whom no one knows any ill, or any good. Upon one thing only all agree, he cannot be as bad as his predecessor. Even Spain could not furnish us with two Alvas. God forgive me, for I scarce believe He made him! Do you know his last exploit?"

"Do not tell us what will only rouse passions it is hard to still again," said old Jäsewyk, with a glance at his grandson's flushed face and blazing eyes, "tell us rather such untoward news as you may have, since both kinds usually go together."

"The ill news is, that the lord of St. Aldegonde has been made prisoner. But the Prince has told the Spaniards that the head of their Admiral shall answer for his; so, tho' he is in the lion's mouth, we hope he will come out safe. What concerns you more, my masters, is that the successes of our friends elsewhere have driven more of the Spaniards into this neighbourhood. Between this and Leyden, and all round Leyden, is just now the worst place in the world for honest men to set foot in."

"Are we in danger here?" asked Joanna in some trepidation.

"You might be safer if the Spaniards were farther off," said Reinout judiciously, "I passed two companies on the march between this and Delft, but luckily no one noticed me."

"What do you think of our chance of getting to Leyden?" asked Adrian.

"I will tell you when these are gone." Gretchen just then announced the traveller's repast, and all, except Jäsewyk and Adrian, went with him to the room where it was served.

"It is eighteen years," Jäsewyk began, “since I first saw the Prince of Orange. That was the time I went South. I was in Brussels when his late Majesty the Emperor abdicated the throne, and I saw all the great folk who were there, him among the rest. A tall slight youth, just twoand-twenty, splendidly handsome, proud in bearing, magnificent in dress; and there was that in his face you might trust to the uttermost-if you were to be trusted, though if you sought to deceive him you would find him subtler than yourself. With the richest heritage in Europe, and the Emperor's special favour-fit at once to be the counsellor of kings and the idol of the multitude-if ever man yet had his portion in this world it was William of Nassau. What had he to do with the Word of God, and the persecuted remnant that held it? To be sure, his mother was a Lutheran, but (besides that Lutheranism savours of compromise) he had been taken from her, a child, and brought up in the Emperor's very chamber. Yet, even then, he had begun to pity us."

"I have heard," said Adrian, "that the Prince disapproves of all punishing of men for what they believe."

Jäsewyk looked a little shocked.

"I can

scarcely think," he said, "that such a wise man as the Prince would hold so absurd and mischievous an opinion. Of course, we all know that Anabaptists, and such like misbelievers, should be restrained by the Civil Power.-But, a good master always bears his servants' charges, and, Mynheer, when any man shows kindness to the Lord's servants, He pays."

"The Prince has come back now," said Adrian, after a pause. "It is not the first or the second time. However oft defeated and driven into exile, yet can nothing shake his steadfast determination to die in this land, or to save it. He and you

-men of Holland and Zealand-have made your choice now for life or death. When you raised the Orange flag in these provinces you flung down the dice. Jacta est alea.'

6

"Mynheer, I must say I mislike your talk about dice and games of chance. The truth is, that as God sent the Israelites Moses, and afterwards Gideon and the rest, so He has sent us William of Nassau. To him alone upon earth can we look for salvation out of the hands of our enemies. But God's ministers are not promised light tasks, nor an easy time upon earth. what I hear, I would not know now, in the sadfaced care-worn man, the splendid youth I remember. His vast wealth he has poured forth like water, leaving himself, they say, scarce even bread to eat and his brothers are doing the same.

From

"No-that were for ourselves, not for himbut that God, who is sure to pay, would not pay him as He paid the king of Babylon for his service against Tyre-with a richer kingdom than he lost, even the treasures of Egypt. That is the servant's portion, not the son's. 'Twas a bold thing to ask for one of the great ones of the earth, and yet I dared-I strove mightily with the Lord

that He would put him amongst the children, and give him the inheritance amongst them that are sanctified. I had no assurance that I was heard, I knew not if he was of the number of God's elect not until to-day. Now, at last, I know. What else but God's Spirit could move him, at the very lowest ebb of our fortunes, to join the little flock of His people? And when the thing we have asked of God is given us like that, then indeed we see the salvation of the Lord."

Adrian made no reply. Of late a feeling had been growing upon him, that passionate devotion to religious belief, such as made men and women around him ready to die for it, was far less easy to the thoughtful and cultured-like himself—than to the simple and unlettered. Therefore, he took a heavy discount from the raptures of his host, at the conversion of a man whom he profoundly reverenced as the greatest practical intellect he knew. "The Prince sees the Reformed Faith is the best, and he wishes to unite himself more closely with its professors," he thought. "But I think, if he knew of them, he would hardly thank good Master Jäsewyk for his prayers."

A

CHAPTER XIII.-PARTINGS.

LTHOUGH Reinout's pack was quite a secondary concern, still, in a place so remote and secluded, its contents were very welcome. All were glad to supply themselves with small articles of clothing and convenience; the men especially with buckles, nails, and knives, the women with implements of needlework. Rose was lavish in her purchases, both to supply herself and Roskě, and to make presents to her kind friends. She and Roskě had an important private consultation, after which she asked Reinout if he had any blue cloth. He produced a small square of fine texture, which she took.

"Have you got any orange ribbon ?" was the next inquiry.

florin to pay for cloth and ribbon, receiving in exchange a few small coins or "tokens."

When he was gone, her mother told her she would cut the cloth for her into a cap for Dirk, and make an orange cockade to adorn it, but that no doubt she would like to do the sewing herself, that it might be all her own gift. Roskě did not love sewing, but she loved Dirk, so she readily agreed. Eventually, the cap was made somehow, though it is to be feared that for every stitch the child put in the mother put in twenty. However, it gave unbounded satisfaction, both to giver and receiver, although it looked so gay, and so different from the rest of Dirk's sombre habiliments, that Joanna feared it was 66 worldly."

The peaceful days glided on; days that in after years some of the party would very gladly have recalled. Frost and snow were gone away, and the life of spring was stirring in forest and garden, when Reinout came again.

"This time the contents of my pack are all white," he said.

With joy and gladness, he told of the expedition of brave Count Louis of Nassau, who had come to the aid of the Prince at the head of a small army of Germans, and accompanied by his young brother, Count Henry. So far entirely successful, he had advanced upon Maestricht, and the siege of Leyden was raised in consequence, the Spanish army marching south to oppose him. Reinout told the tale with the addition of many particulars, and many rumours, true and false. Then he produced a letter, which he handed to Adrian. "This," he said, "is for Doctor Adrian Pernet, from Master Kreutzon the apothecary, of Rotterdam."

The Doctor cut the strings that fastened his letter, broke the seals, and read, in much surprise at the contents.

During the first days of Adrian's married life, when the Prince had restored order in Antwerp, he had written to his parents, entreating them to send him his youngest and favourite sister, Marie, and promising to provide for her suitably. They refused, having heard of his change of faith, and he had now almost forgotten the matter. But this letter of Kreutzon's informed him that the young girl, driven to desperation by the determination of her parents to force her into a convent, had taken the bold step of making her escape, with the assistance of a friendly brother-in-law, who put her on board a Flemish ship, sailing for Rotterdam. She meant to throw herself on her brother's protection, and thought she would find him there, in the house of Kreutzon; but heard, on her arrival, to her dismay, that he had gone to Leyden. The way by sea being now open however, it was easy to follow him there in one of the many vessels passing to and fro. No doubt she had arrived by this time, solitary and friendless, save for a recommendation Kreutzon had given her to the friend Adrian had intended to join, one Floriszoon, an apothecary.

Adrian and Rose held a consultation on the letter. Rose's compassion for the lonely, friendless girl was very great; and she urged Adrian to go at once to Leyden and join her.

"And let you and Roskě follow after?" said he.

No, indeed-oh no, we will all go together," Rose answered earnestly. That was not a time for unnecessary partings. Adrian himself was concerned tenderly for his "little sister," as he called her, having only known her as a child, his pet and plaything. He had all along intended to go on to Leyden as soon as it was safe to do so; and he now readily agreed to hasten his departure.

Every one at Jäsewyk was sorry to lose the guests. Dirk pleaded earnestly to be allowed to drive their cart, (which he had long ago repaired,) at least part of the way; but the honour was given to Koos, who besides had business in Leyden, and was glad to go there. Old Jäsewyk, though he sometimes deplored in Adrian what he called "a lack of savour" in spiritual things, yet felt that he was losing in him something between a brother and a son, and in Rose a dear daughter. For Roske the whole house was in mourning. She kissed Dirk over and over again, and told him, with a fine disregard of the effects of time in "levelling up," that she would have him always for her big brother, and they should live together; which did him much more good than the broad piece of gold Adrian bestowed on him. The last thing they saw, as they disappeared into the forest, was the farewell wave of his precious holiday cap.

No one else at Jäsewyk missed any of the party as Dirk missed Roskě. The young have an infinite capacity for suffering, and suffering, with them, lies very near despair.

"Manhood rears

A haughty brow, and age has done with tears,
But youth bows down to misery, in amaze.”

Dirk was older than his years, even as years counted then, and of unusually deep, strong character. He had been overwhelmed suddenly by what was, to him, a horror of great darkness. Only one thing had held him from that utter despair of the young which would have left him crushed and powerless, a mere machine. Rage, passing quickly into hate, kept his heart alive; although it was a bitter, burning, joyless life. To avenge the agonies of his father, the tears of his mother, became his one thought night and day; to kill Papists and Spaniards his one passionate longing. This, and the reflection that his father's faith had differed from theirs, held him aloof from his kindred, for hate always isolates. Besides, they were accustomed to pray for their persecutors; and he could not pray for his father's murderers. He ceased by-and-by to pray at all. Against the wrongs that were eating out his heart he had cried to God-wildly, passionatelyand God had not heard. So he thought then. A dread suspicion, worse than the worst agony of pain, was stealing over him that God, if He were there at all, was on the side of the Spaniards and the Inquisition.

Out of this horrible pit he was drawn, gradually and unawares, by the touch of a little hand, the whisper of a little voice. Unconsciously life began to grow pleasant to him. No amount of formal consolation could have done him as much good

as Roske's childish caresses and imperious little behests. They took him out of himself: they awakened in him the sense of kindliness, of protection for the weak, with which by nature he was largely gifted. The love that grew up in his heart for his little lady was all the deeper because it was dumb.

Her departure sent him back to the gloomy prison of his own dark thoughts. It was worse than ever with him now. "The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest," the relapse more dangerous than the first attack. At last he could bear his life at Jäsewyk no longer. He spoke one day to his grandfather. "Don't think any worse of me than you can help," he said. "You have all been good to me, but I cannot stay here. I am going to be a Sea Beggar, and to kill Spaniards."

So he went.

THE

CHAPTER XIV. SEA BEGGARS.

HE night was fair and fresh. The flat green shores of Zealand lay in the offing, a league or so away. The foamy crests of the waves were glittering in the moonbeams, and catching here and there the lights from dark ships, slowly moving before the wind. To a modern eye these would have looked, for fighting purposes, miserably, absurdly small; utterly devoid of the pomp and pageantry of war they certainly were. Brown sails, torn and mended with ill-matched coloursbrown sides, showing, through a port hole or two, the grim mouth of a carronade masts and rigging not much to look at, but good enough to trust in a storm-shaggy, grimy figures moving to and fro upon the decks-made up the picture. The men wore no pretence of uniform; only they were marked out as 66 Beggars of the Sea," by the crescent on each man's cap, the medal of the Gueux

moonlight alone, but by the redder rays of a torch hung from the rigging. The men were Zealanders, or volunteers from other places, all bold Sea Beggars, fierce-eyed, shaggy-haired, weather-beaten. All, that is to say, save one, who made a sharp contrast with the rest, a youth of two or three and twenty, fair of face, with chestnut hair and blue eyes. He was telling his companions, who seemed to regard him with respect, in indifferent Dutch or Flemish, how a certain thing was always done on board English ships. He was in fact an English volunteer, who had left the ineffective force of Colonel Chester, that he might see-and do-real service in the cause of freedom.

"There is something black, bobbing about on the waves. See there!" said a Zealander, interrupting his discourse.

All looked where he pointed. "I' faith, it's a boy," said another seaman. "He has something on his head, and he's swimming to the ship."

"He's a bold swimmer, to have come so farunless he fell out of a boat," suggested a third.

Meanwhile, with strong, swift strokes, the swimmer drew near, a dark-haired lad, with a bundle strapped on his shoulder.

"Throw him a line, Hans," the mate commanded when he came within reach.

The boy caught it deftly, scrambled up the side of the ship, and stood amidst the group, with bare head and feet, in dripping shirt and trousers. The captain, a grey-haired old mariner, with a face like tanned leather and a patch over one eye, limped up from the cabin, for he was lame from a recent wound, "Art a messenger, boy?" he asked.

"No one's but my own," said Dirk Willemzoon, as he unstrapped the bundle that held the rest of

and with pity."

"As to fear-you have sword and fire.-Try if I fear either. As to pity-I am Dirk Willemzoon." "What has that to do with it?"

"Have you not heard the story of my father, of Dirk Willemzoon, the Anabaptist of Asperen?"

"If it be a story of Spanish cruelty, we may well have heard, and forgotten. No man's memory can hold them all. Only, each keeps his own, to strike by. Do we not, iny mates?"

"Ay, captain. I strike for my father, hanged at Haarlem, in spite of the capitulation," said one. "And I for my brother, burned as a heretic." "And I for my mother, buried alive."

He

"And I," spoke an older man who was sitting apart from the rest, "I for my wife and children, all slain in the Blood-bath of Naarden." covered his face with both his wrinkled hands, as if to shut out the sight.

Dirk looked from one to the other. "Hear my tale, and own my right to strike too," he said. "It was a twelvemonth ago, last March. My father, a quiet peaceful man who never hurt any one-not a preacher even-got warning that the Inquisition dogs were on his trail. He fled-not a moment too soon-across the frozen mere, one of the pursuers close at his heels. But he was safe, within a step of freedom, when he heard the ice crack behind him. Turning, he saw that other— his pursuer who had fallen in. He went back, saved his life at the risk of his own-and would to God he had died for him there!"

He stopped. "Go on! go on!" said his hearers. "The man he saved would fain have let him go, but another came up, and bade him do his duty, or take the consequences. So my father was led back, a captive. A year ago, to-day, the end came. It was the worst, the very worst, that men -that fiends-could do. God help me, I can tell no more. The long, long agony

His voice dropped into a silence so intense that the throbbing of those strong, wild hearts was almost audible. The Englishman broke it."Which was but for a moment, and wrought out for him an exceeding and eternal weight of glory," he said.

Dirk turned and looked at him, his eyelids trembling and his lips quivering. But the softened look passed in a moment. He turned back to the captain. "Have I proved my right to go with you, and strike a sword into the hearts of the men who do such things?"

his heart's desire and killing Spaniards, and his coolness and daring won the praise of all. This was, however, only a little affair with a Spanish merchantman. "Wait till we come at their fleet," said Captain Schoet, "then shall you see sport."

There existed, from the first, a strange attraction between the Englishman and the boy, if indeed it was not all on the Englishman's side. He may have felt rather solitary among the wild rough Sea Beggars, for he was of gentle birth and liberal education. He told Dirk that his name was Wallingford Edward Wallingford that his father had broad lands not far away from London town, where there were fields of corn and great pastures, with hills and valleys between them, which last Dirk thought must be very ugly, and quite spoil the look of the country. He even went as far as to tell him, in a quiet watch of the night, as they looked together at the track of the moonbeams on the water, that he had a mother and three sisters, one of them "still but a little maid." Then Dirk repaid the confidence by showing him the cap his little lady had made for him, his one carefully-guarded treasure.

It represented the only softening influence left in his life. More and more as time went on was he entirely dominated by one passion, the thirst for vengeance. He was surrounded by men, driven mad by cruelty and oppression, and that sometimes in no modified sense, no figure of speech. Who shall say where madness begins? Dark is the border land, the debateable ground of that "realm of dreadful night;" and no doubt, in those evil days, many tortured souls were driven across the wavering line that divides the ferocity of vengeance from the frenzy of insanity.

Well was it for those who fought to save, rather than to avenge! Great need was there now, greater than ever before, of the pikes and cutlasses of the bold Sea Beggars. A most disastrous battle had been fought at Mookerhyde, ending in the total overthrow of Count Louis' little army, and his own death, with that of his gallant young brother Henry. There was only one man in the world who would have been a greater loss to the cause of freedom. Count Louis was the flower of the house of Nassau, the best loved son of his mother, the best loved brother of the solitary and silent hero, who henceforth, almost alone, stood fronting the storms of fate, and shielding with his own breast the helpless millions that trusted him.

The disaster of Mookerhyde set the Spanish army free to recommence the siege of the most important town in the northern provinces. Before the end of May, Leyden was invested thoroughly, no less than sixty-two Spanish redoubts engirdling the city, while a great and ever-increasing Spanish force cut off every chance of ingress or egress.

One thought was in the heart and on the ips of every patriot, whether within or without the menaced city, Leyden must not fall." But how to save it? Those within had brave hearts and strong hands, but it was their task-the hardest task of all, perhaps to suffer rather than to do. Those without had their lives to give, and they