“Even when he saw my mother again, he could not shed a tear, yet his whole body—­and surely his heart also—­trembled with emotion.  Now he lives quietly at the castle.  In the prime of manhood he is an old man, but he is beginning to accommodate himself to life, only he can’t bear the sight of a strange face.  I had a hard battle with him, for as the eldest son, the castle and estate, according to the law, belong to him, but he wanted to resign his rights and put me in his place.  Even when he had brought my mother over to his side, and my uncle and brothers and sisters tried to persuade me to yield to his wish, I remained resolute.  I would not touch what did not belong to me, and our youngest boy, Wolfgang, has grown up, and can fill my place wherever it is necessary.  When the entreaties and persuasions became too strong for me, I saddled my horse and went away again.  It was hard for my mother to let me go, but I had tasted the delight of travelling, and rode off as if to a wedding.  If I must be perfectly frank, I’ll confess that I resigned castle and estates like a troublesome restraint.  Free as the wind and clouds, I followed the same road over which I had ridden with Leonhard, for in your country a war after my own heart was going on, and my future fortune was to be based upon my sword.  In Cologne I enlisted under the banner of Louis of Nassau, and fought with him at Mook Heath till every one retreated.  My horse had fallen, my doublet was torn, there was little left save good spirits and the hope of better days.  These were soon found, for Captain Gensfort asked me to join the English troops.  I became his ensign, and at Alfen held out beside him till the last grain of powder was exhausted.  What happened there, you know.”

“And Captain Van der Laen told us,” said Peter, “that he owes his life to you.  You fought like a lion.”

“It was wild work enough at the fortifications, yet neither I nor my horse had a hair ruffled, and this time I even saved my knapsack and a full purse.  Fate, like mothers, loves troublesome children best, and therefore led me to you and your family, Herr Burgomaster.”

“And I beg you to consider yourself one of them,” replied Peter.  “We have two pleasant rooms looking out upon the court-yard; they shall be put in order for you, if you would like to occupy them.”

“With pleasure,” replied the Junker, and Peter, offering him his hand, said: 

“The duties of my office call me away, but you can tell the ladies what you need, and when you mean to move in.  The sooner, the better we shall be pleased.  Shall we not, Maria?”

“You will be welcome, Junker Georg.  Now I must look after the invalid we are nursing here.  Barbara will ascertain your wishes.”

The young wife took her husband’s hand and left the room with him.

The widow was left alone with the young nobleman and tried to learn everything he desired.  Then she followed her sister-in-law, and finding her in Henrica’s room, clapped her hands, exclaiming: