Poor child! One of Myga's principal worries was that she was not entirely alone. There was still someone to watch over Michael van Bergen's daughter. The orphan knew full well that at least one heart had remained faithful to her, that Jan Norris of Amsterdam would have shed his blood to the last drop for her. Jan Norris, however, was an outcast, under threat of the gallows if he fell into the hands of the Spaniards in the streets of Antwerp. And Jan Norris the sea beggar often appeared in various disguises in the streets of Antwerp. Jan Norris had not forgotten the memories of his youth as quickly as Jan Geerdes Norris, his father, thought he would have done. Jan and Myga were still effectively betrothed to each other. No power on earth could have separated them--they had sworn to each other an oath that was mutually binding. What was to become of them, neither of them, as long as Michael lived, could possibly have said. Michael van Bergen had now been dead and buried for a fortnight, but Jan had disappeared months ago. Was he still alive? Had he drowned at sea? Had the Spaniards boarded his ship, caught him and hanged him? Who could say? What would poor abandoned Myga have done with herself, all alone in the world, if Jan really had been dead? The night gradually drew on, but Myga was afraid to lie down. She was unable to sleep for grief and anxiety, so why should she have gone to bed? It gradually became quite cold in her little room, but she scarcely seemed to feel the cold and did not put more coal on the tiny fire that was burning in the grate. She put away her hand loom and covered her face with her hands, leaning her head on her breast. She sat like this for quite some time till eventually she got up shivering to seek the shelter of her bed. She was bending down once more to check if the bolts on her door had been correctly adjusted when she heard something and held her breath. "Myga?" Someone was whispering through the door from outside. Myga's whole body trembled. "Oh my God!" "Myga?" The whispering came again through the keyhole. With a sudden cry the young woman drew aside the bolts and turned the key in the lock. The door flew open and the very next moment a young man in the officer's uniform of a regiment of mercenaries with Spanish markings on the shoulder was holding Myga in his arms. "Myga, oh Myga!" "Oh Jan, Jan, dearest Jan!" Tender kisses for the next few minutes took the place of words for both of them. Then Jan Norris sank, completely exhausted apparently, onto the nearest chair and Myga now noticed for the first time the disarray of her sweetheart's apparel, noticed that he had lost his hat, that one of his cheeks was bleeding from a slight graze. "My God, what's happened, Jan? I'm trembling! Oh, you've been reckless again--oh Jan, Jan, bad Jan!"