“Go then—­just as you choose—­Or is the young lady taking you in tow?  Nobleman’s son and nobleman’s daughter!  Like to like—­Yet, no; there has been nothing between you.  Her heart is good, but I should wish you another wife than that Popish Everyday-different.”

“So Henrica has told you—­”

“She has just gone.  Dear me-she has her relatives outside; and we—­it’s hard to divide a plum into twelve pieces.  I said farewell to her cheerfully; but you, Georg, you—­”

“I shall take her out of the city, and then—­you won’t blame me for it—­then I shall make my way through to the Beggars.”

“The Beggars!  That’s a different matter, that’s right.  You’ll be in your proper place there!  Cheer up, Junker, and go forth boldly?  Give me your hand, and if you meet my boy—­he commands a ship of his own.—­Dear me, I remember something.  You can wait a moment longer.  Come here, Trautchen.  The woollen stockings I knit for him are up in the painted chest.  Make haste and fetch them.  He may need them on the water in the damp autumn weather.  You’ll take them with you?”

“Willingly, most willingly; and now let me thank you for all your kindness.  You have been like an own mother to me.”  Georg clasped the widow’s hand, and neither attempted to conceal how dear each had become to the other and how hard it was to part.  Trautchen had given Barbara the stockings, and many tears fell upon them, while the widow was bidding the Junker farewell.  When she noticed they were actually wet, she waved them in the air and handed them to the young man.

The night was dark but still, even sultry.  The travellers were received at the Hohenort Gate by Captain Van Duivenvoorde, preceded by an old sergeant, carrying a lantern, who opened the gate.  The captain embraced his brave, beloved comrade, Dornburg; a few farewell words and god-speeds echoed softly from the fortification walls, and the trio stepped forth into the open country.

For a time they walked silently through the darkness.  Wilhelm knew the way and strode in front of Henrica; the Junker kept close at her side.

All was still, except from time to time they heard a word of command from the walls, the striking of a clock, or the barking of a dog.

Henrica had recognized Georg by the light of the lantern, and when Wilhelm stopped to ascertain whether there was any water in the ditch over which he intended to guide his companions, she said, under her breath: 

“I did not expect your escort, Junker.”

“I know it, but I, too, desired to leave the city.”

“And wish to avail yourself of our knowledge of the watchword.  Then stay with us.”

“Until I know you are safe, Fraulein.”

“The walls of Leyden already lie between you and the peril from which you fly.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“So much the better.”

Wilhelm turned and, in a muffled voice, requested his companions to keep silence.  They now walked noiselessly on, until just outside the camp they reached the broad road around which they had made a circuit.  A Spanish sentinel challenged them.