“I have a secret from you, my darling,” he said, returning her embrace. “But, take this to your heart—whatever your station, whatever mine, I love you entirely. Now, go.”
She opened the door which led into the room of Theresa. She found her awake, with her head bowed upon a table. Katrine was not so much a servant as a dear friend to Theresa, and she passed her arm about her kindly, as she asked why she was sad.
“He is here,” was the answer.
“Who?”
“Van Zandt.”
“I know that; but why should you fear him? Your lover will never see you forced to be his wife. I will not. My lover will not.”
“Alas, what can they do? Willie is far away.”
“Not so far as you may imagine. I heard a tapping at my window just now. I opened it, and who do you suppose was there?”
“Hans Drinker,” said Theresa, with a smile, for she knew that the worthy Dutchman persecuted poor Katrine to the verge of distraction.