Now when it is remembered that Ramsay had opened and read the whole of the despatches, it may at once be supposed what a valuable acquaintance he would appear to Mynheer Krause; but we must not anticipate.  Ramsay’s reply was, “I feel it my bounden duty to impart all I am possessed of to my very worthy host, but allow me to observe, mynheer, that prudence is necessary—­we may be overheard.”

“I am pleased to find one of your age so circumspect,” replied Krause; “perhaps it would be better to defer our conversation till after supper, but in the meantime, could you not just give me a little inkling of what is going on?”

Ramsay had difficulty in stifling a smile at this specimen of Mynheer Krause’s eagerness for intelligence.  He very gravely walked up to him, looked all round the room as if he was afraid that the walls would hear him, and then whispered for a few seconds into the ear of his host.

“Indeed!” exclaimed Krause, looking up into Ramsay’s face.

Ramsay nodded his head authoritatively.

“Gott in himmel!” exclaimed the syndic; but here the bell for dinner rang a loud peal.  “Dinner is on the table, mynheer,” continued the syndic, “allow me to show you the way.  We will talk this over to-night.  Gott in himmel!  Is it possible?”

Mynheer Krause led the way to another saloon, where Ramsay found not only the table prepared, but, as he had anticipated, the daughter of his host, to whom he was introduced.  “Wilhelmina,” said Mynheer Krause, “our young friend will stay with us, I trust, some time, and you must do all you can to make him comfortable.  You know, my dear, that business must be attended to.  With me, time is money; so much so, that I can scarcely do justice to the affairs of the state devolving upon me in virtue of my office.  You must, therefore, join with me, and do your best to amuse our guest.”

To this speech, Wilhelmina made no reply, but by a gracious inclination of her head towards Ramsay, which was returned with all humility.  The dinner was excellent, and Ramsay amused himself very well indeed until it was over.  Mynheer Krause then led the way to the saloon, called for coffee, and, so soon as he had finished it, made an apology to his guest, and left him alone with his beautiful daughter.

Wilhelmina Krause was a young person of a strong mind irregularly cultivated; she had never known the advantage of a mother’s care, and was indeed self-educated.  She had a strong tinge of romance in her character, and, left so much alone, she loved to indulge in it.

In other points she was clever, well read, and accomplished; graceful in her manners, open in her disposition, to a fault; for, like her father, she could not keep a secret, not even the secrets of her own heart; for whatever she thought she gave utterance to, which is not exactly the custom in this world, and often attended with unpleasant consequences.

The seclusion in which she had been kept added to the natural timidity of her disposition—­but when once intimate, it also added to her confiding character.  It was impossible to see without admiring her, to know her without loving her; for she was nature herself, and, at the same time, in her person one of Nature’s masterpieces.