“Don’t torture me,” cried the young wife, with pathetic entreaty.
“I will not torture you, Maria, but you must hear me. I was in earnest, terrible earnest in the mute vow I swore, and have sought to release myself from it by death. You have heard how I rushed like a madman among the Spaniards, at the storming of the Boschhuizen fortification in July. Your bow, the blue bow from Delft, the knot of ribbons the color of the sky, fluttered on my left shoulder as I dashed upon swords and lances. I was not to die, and came out of the confusion uninjured. Oh! Maria, for the sake of this oath I have suffered unequalled torments. Release me from it, Maria, let me once, only once, freely confess—”
“Stop, Georg, stop,” pleaded the young wife. “I will not, must not hear you-neither to-day, nor tomorrow, never, never, to all eternity!”
“Once, only once, I will, I must say to you, that I love you, that life and happiness, peace and honor—”
“Not one word more, Junker von Dornburg. There is our house. You are our guest, and if you address a single word like the last ones to your friend’s wife—”
“Maria, Maria—oh, don’t touch the knocker. How can you so unfeelingly destroy the whole happiness of a human being—”
The door had opened, and the burgomaster’s wife crossed the threshold. Georg stood opposite to her, held out his hand as if beseeching aid, and murmured in a hollow tone:
“Cast forth to death and despair! Maria, Maria, why do you treat me thus?”
She laid her right hand in his, saying:
“That we may remain worthy of each other, Georg.”