“But whom could they send?”
Henrica thought of Wilhelm; he was her sister’s friend.
“But he is in the military service,” replied the burgomaster. “I know him. He will not desert the city in these times of trouble, not even for his mother.”
“But I know the right messenger,” said Maria. “We’ll send Junker Georg.”
“That’s a good suggestion,” said Peter. “We shall find him in his lodgings. I must go to Van Hout, who lives close by, and will send the German to you. But my time is limited, and with such gentlemen, fair women can accomplish more than bearded men. Farewell, dear Fraulein, once more—we rejoice to have you for our guest.”
When the burgomaster had left the room, Henrica said:
“How quickly, and how differently from what I expected, all this has happened. I love you. I am under obligations to you, but to be imprisoned, imprisoned. The walls will press upon me, the ceiling will seem like a weight. I don’t know whether I ought to rejoice or despair. You have great influence with the Junker. Tell him about Anna, touch his heart, and if he would go, it would really be best for us both.”
“You mean for you and your sister,” replied Maria with a repellent gesture of the hand. “There is the lamp. When the Junker comes, we shall see each other again.”
Maria went to her room and threw herself on the couch, but soon rose and paced restlessly to and fro. Then stretching out her clasped hands, she exclaimed:
“Oh, if he would only go, if he would only go! Merciful God! Kind, gracious Father in Heaven, grant him every happiness, every blessing, but save my peace of mind; let him go, and lead him far, far away from here.”