Before leaving the house, he sought Adrian.  The boy was lying in Barbara’s room, complaining of violent pains, and asking if he must die too.

Peter shook his head, but Maria kissed him, exclaiming: 

“No, certainly not.”

The burgomaster’s time was limited.  His wife stopped him in the entry, but he hurried down-stairs without hearing what she called after him.

The young wife returned to Adrian’s bedside, thinking anxiously of the speedy death of many comrades of the dear boy, whose damp hand rested in hers.  She thought of Bessie, followed Peter in imagination to the town-hall, and heard his powerful voice contending for resistance to the last man and the last pound of meat; nay, she could place herself by his side, for she knew what was to come:  To stand fast, stand fast for liberty, and if God so willed, die a martyr’s death for it like Jacoba, Leonhard, and Peter’s noble father.

One anxious hour followed another.

When Adrian began to feel better, she went to Bessie, who pale and inanimate, seemed to be gently fading away, and only now and then raised her little finger to play with her dry lips.

Oh, the pretty, withering human flower!  How closely the little girl had grown into her heart, how impossible it seemed to give her up!  With tearful eyes, she pressed her forehead on her clasped hands, which rested on the head-board of the little bed, and fervently implored God to spare and save this child.  Again and again she repeated the prayer, but when Bessie’s dim eyes no longer met hers and her hands fell into her lap, she could not help thinking of Peter, the assembly, the fate of the city, and the words:  “Leyden saved, Holland saved!  Leyden lost, all is lost!”

So the hours passed until the gloomy day were away into twilight, and twilight was followed by evening.  Trautchen brought in the lamp, and at last Peter’s step was heard on the stairs.

It must be he, and yet it was not, for he never came up with such slow and dragging feet.

Then the study door opened.

It was he!

What could have happened, what had the citizens determined?

With an anxious heart, she told Trautchen to stay with the child, and then went to her husband.

Peter sat at the writing-table in full official uniform, with his hat still on his head.  His face lay buried on his folded arms, beside the sconce.

He saw nothing, heard nothing, and when she at last called him, started, sprang up and flung his hat violently on the table.  His hair was dishevelled, his glance restless, and in the faint light of the glimmering candles his cheeks looked deadly pale.

“What do you want?” he asked curtly, in a harsh voice; but for a time Maria made no reply, fear paralyzed her tongue.

At last she found words, and deep anxiety was apparent in her question: 

“What has happened?”