The birds made a pleasant noise in the upper branches, and above the low brick wall was a vision of sunset clouds, pink, remote and peaceful, floating across the placid sky.
Agneta de Witt stepped out of the long, open windows; a slim and pale figure in the uncertain light.
She came to meet her father.
“Aunt Johanna says that you stay out too late, sir, and that it is yet over soon in the year to be abroad after the sun hath set.”
All traces of tears had vanished; she spoke with a grave air of wisdom.
Jacob de Witt smiled at her.
“Hast a letter there?”
She held it out eagerly.
“Yea, sir, from Anna.”
“From Anna!” repeated John de Witt tenderly. “What does she say?”