The room into which they were ushered, was an ample, commodious apartment, constructed in the true Dutch fashion, with a polished oak floor, and noble rafters of the same wood. It was hung around with some few gay colored prints, illustrating Scripture subjects, and some bright tin sconces; and the furniture was substantial, although homely. A large mahogany press, whose bright surface and polished brass knobs, might have compared in brilliancy with the mirror, stood in one corner; an old fashioned Indian chest, ponderous and highly japanned, ornamented the opposite niche. Some heavy chairs with long, high backs, and formal arms and legs; the never failing spinning wheel and Dutch clock; and a pair of tall, ill-shaped, brass fire-dogs, completed the garniture of the apartment. The walls were decorated with festoons of evergreen, tastefully arranged by the fair hands of Barbara herself. Two ill-looking, dingy paintings, also occupied a couple of recesses; and a neatly polished cherry table, near a window, displayed an inviting array of apple brandy, cherry wine, cider, and such refreshments as were indigenous to the country. The good dame, after welcoming kindly her guests, bustled off to resume the superintendence of the kitchen; and the unfortunate Barbara herself, arrayed in bridal trim, and looking through her tears, as lovely as the violet, freshly bathed in dew, remained, seated in one of the large chairs, and vainly endeavoring to conceal her emotion. As Adolf entered, her heart palpitated violently, and she could with difficulty so far command herself, as to bid him welcome. Nor did the sight of Barbara in such distress, fail equally to afflict her lover; a grief which Rudenfranck artfully increased, by hinting strongly to Adolf, the possibility of changing the entire face of the scene.
The magistrate having arrived, and matters being so arranged as to bring the affiance to a conclusion, Rudenfranck took the opportunity to lead Adolf apart from the rest.
“Thou thrice sodden ass,” said he, “can’st thou call thyself a lover, and yet allow so much innocence and beauty to be sacrificed to age and avarice? Say thou the word; promise to obey me, and thou shalt yet possess her. See, they are about to sign. Hesitate a moment longer—and look, Barbara implores thee—she is lost. Farewell.”
“Stay,” rejoined Adolf, hurriedly, “this must not—shall not be. Rudenfranck, I promise.”
“Then, demand of old Mullerhorn that the ceremony be delayed, and leave the rest to me.”
“Father Philip,” said Adolf, addressing Mullerhorn, who was just about to affix his name to the deed, “you are aware how long and how truly I have loved Barbara. To see her thus sacrificed, is more than I can bear, and I entreat you to consider farther upon this matter, and to defer this marriage.”
The guests looked utterly confounded. Chriss Mienckel opened wide his large, gray eyes, and stared upon the bold hunter in profound amazement. Barbara turned red and pale by turns; and old Mullerhorn crimsoned with rage.
“Have I not told ye, Adolf Westerbok, that I would never bestow Barbara upon a beggarly hunter? What devil then, prompts thee to interrupt a match which thou hast no power to prevent?”
“Dearest father,” said Barbara, clasping the hard hand of the old man, “hearken to Adolf.”
“Away, idle girl! Adolf, tempt me not to do thee an injury.”