small, old and young, except herself.

The buildings and the trees that bordered the Achtergracht were already
casting longer shadows, and the golden mists hovering over the roofs
began to be mingled with a faint rosy light, when Maria heard a horseman
trotting up the street. She drew herself up. rigidly and her heart
throbbed violently. She would not receive Peter any differently from
usual, she must be frank to him and show him how she felt, and that
matters could not go on so, nay she was already trying to find fitting
words for what she had to say to him. Just at that moment, the horse
stopped before the door. She went to the window; saw her husband swing
himself from the saddle and look joyously up to the window of her room
and, though she made no sign of greeting, her heart drew her towards him.
Every thought, every fancy was forgotten, and with winged steps she flew
down the corridor to the stairs. Meantime he had entered, and she called
his name. "Maria, child, are you there!" he shouted, rushed up the
steps as nimbly as a youth, met her on one of the upper stairs and drew
her with overflowing tenderness to his heart.

"At last, at last, I have you again!" he cried joyously, pressing his
lips to her eyes and her fragrant hair. She had clasped her hands
closely around his neck, but he released himself, held them in his, and
asked: "Are Barbara and Adrian at home?"

She shook her head.

The burgomaster laughed, stooped, lifted her up like a child, and carried
her into his room. As a beautiful tree beside a burning house is seized
by the neighboring flames, although immediately protected with cold
water, Maria, in spite of her long-cherished resolve to receive him