“And God knows how gladly I would bring him a cheering word in these sorrowful hours; but it must not be to-day. The messenger has ridden off on my bay.”
“Then take my chestnut, he is faster too,” said Janus Dousa and Van der Werff answered hastily.
“Thanks, my lord. I’ll send for him early tomorrow morning.”
The blood mounted to Van Hout’s head and, thrusting his hand angrily between his girdle and doublet, he exclaimed: “Send me the chestnut, if the burgomaster will give me leave of absence.”
“No, send him to me,” replied Peter calmly. “What must be, must be; I’ll go to-day.”
Van Hout’s manly features quickly smoothed and, clasping the burgomaster’s right hand in both his, he said joyously:
“Thanks, Herr Peter. And no offence; you know my hot temper. If the time seems long to your young wife, send her to mine.”
“And mine,” added Dousa. “It’s a strange thing about those two little words ‘wish’ and ‘ought.’ The freer and better a man becomes, the more surely the first becomes the slave of the second.
“And yet, Herr Peter, I’ll wager that your wife will confound the two words to-day, and think you have sorely transgressed against the ‘ought.’ These are bad times for the ‘wish.’”
Van der Werff nodded assent, then briefly and firmly explained to his friends what he intended to disclose to the Prince.