“You are at home already, and I sitting quietly here spinning!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, child.  Please come in here, I have something to say to you.”

“For Heaven’s sake!  Peter, tell me what has happened.  How your voice sounds, and how pale you look!”

“I’m not ill, but matters are serious, terribly serious, Maria.”

“Then it is true that the enemy—­”

They gained great advantage to-day and yesterday, but I beg you, if you love me, don’t interrupt me now; what I have to say is no easy thing, it is hard to force the lips to utter it.  Where shall I begin?  How shall I speak, that you may not misunderstand me?  You know, child, I took you into my house from a warm nest.  What we could offer was very little, and you had doubtless expected to find more.  I know you have not been happy.”

“But it would be so easy for you to make me so.”

“You are mistaken, Maria.  In these troublous times but one thing claims my thoughts, and whatever diverts them from it is evil.  But just now one thing paralyzes my courage and will-anxiety about your fate; for who knows what is impending over us, and therefore it must be said, I must take my heart to the shambles and express a wish.—­A wish?  Oh, merciful Heaven, is there no other word for what I mean!”

“Speak, Peter, speak, and do not torture me!” cried Maria, gazing anxiously into her husband’s face.  It could be no small matter, that induced the clear-headed, resolute man to utter such confused language.

The burgomaster summoned up his courage and began again: 

“You are right, it is useless to keep back what must be said.  We have determined at the town-hall to-day, to request the women and girls to leave the city.  The road to Delft is still open; day after to-morrow it may no longer be so, afterwards—­who can predict what will happen afterwards?  If no relief comes and the provisions are consumed, we shall be forced to open the gates to the enemy, and then, Maria, imagine what will happen!  The Rhine and the canals will grow crimson, for much blood will flow into them and they will mirror an unequalled conflagration.  Woe betide the men, tenfold woe betide the women, against whom the conqueror’s fury will then be directed.  And you, you—­the wife of the man who has induced thousands to desert King Philip, the wife of the exile, who directs the resistance within these walls.”

At the last words Maria had opened her large eyes wider and wider, and now interrupted her husband with the question:  “Do you wish to try how high my courage will rise?”

“No, Maria.  I know you will hold out loyally and would look death in the face as fearlessly as your sister did in Haarlem; but I, I cannot endure the thought of seeing you fall into the hands of our butchers.  Fear for you, terrible fear, will destroy my vigorous strength in the decisive hours, so the words must be uttered—­”