She pushed a chair towards the portrait and put her foot on the seat, pushing her dress away in doing so. Blushing, as if other eyes than the painted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the white stocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat. She could now look directly into the eyes of the portrait. The cloth in Maria's trembling hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow from the rosy flesh. She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, and perceived the signature of the artist to whom the picture owed its origin. "Artjen of Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand had finished even the unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy. She well knew the silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested on the plump neck. Peter had given it to her as a wedding present, and she had worn it to the altar; but the little diamond cross suspended from the middle she had never seen. The gold buckle at Eva's belt had belonged to her since her last birthday--it was very badly bent, and the dull points would scarcely pierce the thick ribbon. "She had everything when it was new," she said to herself. "Jewels? What do I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she left in Peter's heart?" She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing in her ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to save herself from weeping. "If he would only come, if he would only come!" cried a voice in her tortured soul. The door opened, but she did not notice it. Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone of kindly reproach. Maria started and blushing deeply, said" "Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished. The dust was a disgrace." When she again stood on the floor, the widow said, "What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listen to me, child--!" Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knocker fell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window. The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed: "That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. I heard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I'll send him up to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are. If you want me, you'll find me with Bessie. She is feverish and her eyes ache; she will have some eruption or a fever." Barbara left the room. Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks, and paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered. After the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly: "Did you see my husband in Delft?" "Yes indeed," replied Wilhelm, "the evening of the day before yesterday." "Then tell me--" "At once, at once. I bring you a whole pouch full of messages. First from your mother." "Is she well?" "Well and bright. Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty." "And my husband?"