The torturing anxiety that filled his mind, would no longer allow him to remain in the house.
He would have his horse saddled, and ride to meet the expected messenger.
Ere leaving the room, he paused a moment lost in thought, then approached the writing-table to sign some papers intended for the town-hall; for his return might be delayed till night.
Still standing, he looked over the two sheets he had spread out before him, and seized the pen. Just at that moment the door of the room gently opened, and the fresh sand strewn over the white boards creaked under a light foot. He doubtless heard it, but did not allow himself to be interrupted.
His wife was now standing close behind him. Four and twenty years his junior, she seemed like a timid girl, as she raised her arm, yet did not venture to divert her husband’s attention from his business.
She waited quietly till he had signed the first paper, then turned her pretty head aside, and blushing faintly, exclaimed with downcast eyes:
“It is I, Peter!”
“Very well, my child,” he answered curtly, raising the second paper nearer his eyes.
“Peter!” she exclaimed a second time, still more eagerly, but with timidity. “I have something to tell you.”
Van der Werff turned his head, cast a hasty, affectionate glance at her, and said: