Thus it went on for fifteen days, at first to the disappointment, and then to the great grief, of Van Baerle. On the sixteenth day, at last, she came back without it. Van Baerle had addressed it to his nurse, the old Frisian woman; and implored any charitable soul who might find it to convey it to her as safely and as speedily as possible. In this letter there was a little note enclosed for Rosa. Van Baerle’s nurse had received the letter in the following way. Leaving Dort, Mynheer Isaac Boxtel had abandoned, not only his house, his servants, his observatory, and his telescope, but also his pigeons. The servant, having been left without wages, first lived on his little savings, and then on his master’s pigeons. Seeing this, the pigeons emigrated from the roof of Isaac Boxtel to that of Cornelius van Baerle. The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, who could not live without something to love. She conceived an affection for the pigeons which had thrown themselves on her hospitality; and when Boxtel’s servant reclaimed them with culinary intentions, having eaten the first fifteen already, and now wishing to eat the other fifteen, she offered to buy them from him for a consideration of six stivers per head. This being just double their value, the man was very glad to close the bargain, and the nurse found herself in undisputed possession of the pigeons of her master’s envious neighbour. In the course of their wanderings, these pigeons with others visited the Hague, Loewestein, and Rotterdam, seeking variety, doubtless, in the flavour of their wheat or hempseed. Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand of God in everything, had willed that Cornelius van Baerle should happen to hit upon one of these very pigeons. Therefore, if the envious wretch had not left Dort to follow his rival to the Hague in the first place, and then to Gorcum or to Loewestein,--for the two places are separated only by the confluence of the Waal and the Meuse,--Van Baerle’s letter would have fallen into his hands and not the nurse’s: in which event the poor prisoner, like the raven of the Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time, his trouble, and, instead of having to relate the series of exciting events which are about to flow from beneath our pen like the varied hues of a many coloured tapestry, we should have naught to describe but a weary waste of days, dull and melancholy and gloomy as night’s dark mantle. The note, as we have said, had reached Van Baerle’s nurse. And also it came to pass, that one evening in the beginning of February, just when the stars were beginning to twinkle, Cornelius heard on the staircase of the little turret a voice which thrilled through him. He put his hand on his heart, and listened. It was the sweet harmonious voice of Rosa.