years."

Maria nodded. Barbara left the room, but returning after a few minutes,
said beseechingly:

"You look ill, child, come and lie down. An hour's sleep is better than
three meals. At your age, such a night as this last one doesn't pass
without leaving traces. The sun is shining so brightly, that I've drawn
your window-curtains. I've made your bed, too. Be sensible and come."

While uttering the last words, she took Maria's hand and drew her away.
The young wife made no resistance, and though her eyes did not remain dry
when she was alone, sleep soon overpowered her.

Towards noon, refreshed by slumber, and newly dressed, she went to the
captain's house. Her own heart was heavy, and compassion for herself and
her own fate again had the mastery. Eva Peterstochter, the fencing-
master's widow, a quiet, modest woman, whom she scarcely knew by sight,
did not appear. She was sitting alone in her room, weeping, but Maria
found in her house the musician, Wilhelm, who had spoken comforting words
to his old friend's son, and promised to take charge of him and make him
a good performer.

The burgomaster's wife sent a message to the widow, begging to see her
the next day, and then went out into the street with Wilhelm. Everywhere
groups of citizens, women, and journeymen were standing together, talking
about what had happened and the coming trouble. While Maria was telling
the musician who the dead Castilian was, and that Henrica desired to
speak with him, Wilhelm, as soon as possible, she was interrupted more
than once; for sometimes a company of volunteers or city guards, relieved