variegated hues above the roofs, but to-day the musician had no eyes for
the beautiful spectacle. The bright light in the wet street did not
charm him. The hot rays of the day-star were not lasting, for "they drew
rain." All that surrounded him seemed confused and restless. Beside a
beautiful image which he treasured in the sanctuary of his memories, only
allowing his mind to dwell upon it in his happiest hours, sought to
intrude. His real diamond was in danger of being exchanged for a stone,
whose value he did not know. With the old, pure harmony blended another
similar one, but in a different key. How could he still think of
Isabella, without remembering Henrica! At least he had not heard the
young lady sing, so his recollection of Isabella's songs remained
unclouded. He blamed himself because, obeying an emotion of vanity, he
had promised to send new songs to the proud young girl, the friend of
Spain. He had treated Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma rudely on account of
his opinions, but sought to approach her, who laughed at what he prized
most highly, because she was a woman, and it was sweet to hear his work
praised by beautiful lips. "Hercules throws the club aside and sits down
at the distaff, when Omphale beckons, and the beautiful Esther and the
daughter of Herodias--" murmured Wilhelm indignantly. He felt sorely
troubled, and longed for his quiet attic chamber beside the dove-cote.

"Something unpleasant has happened to him in Delft," thought his father.

"Why doesn't he relish his fried flounders to-day?" asked his mother,
when he had left them after dinner. Each felt that something oppressed
the pride and favorite of the household, but did not attempt to discover
the cause; they knew the moods to which he was sometimes subject for half
a day.

After Wilhelm had fed his doves, he went to his room, where he paced