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Page 63
The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, who could not live
without something to love. She conceived an affection for
the pigeons which had thrown themselves on her hospitality;
and when Boxtel's servant reclaimed them with culinary
intentions, having eaten the first fifteen already, and now
wishing to eat the other fifteen, she offered to buy them
from him for a consideration of six stivers per head.
This being just double their value, the man was very glad to
close the bargain, and the nurse found herself in undisputed
possession of the pigeons of her master's envious neighbour.
In the course of their wanderings, these pigeons with others
visited the Hague, Loewestein, and Rotterdam, seeking
variety, doubtless, in the flavour of their wheat or
hempseed.
Chance, or rather God, for we can see the hand of God in
everything, had willed that Cornelius van Baerle should
happen to hit upon one of these very pigeons.
Therefore, if the envious wretch had not left Dort to follow
his rival to the Hague in the first place, and then to
Gorcum or to Loewestein, -- for the two places are separated
only by the confluence of the Waal and the Meuse, -- Van
Baerle's letter would have fallen into his hands and not the
nurse's: in which event the poor prisoner, like the raven of
the Roman cobbler, would have thrown away his time, his
trouble, and, instead of having to relate the series of
exciting events which are about to flow from beneath our pen
like the varied hues of a many coloured tapestry, we should
have naught to describe but a weary waste of days, dull and
melancholy and gloomy as night's dark mantle.
The note, as we have said, had reached Van Baerle's nurse.
And also it came to pass, that one evening in the beginning
of February, just when the stars were beginning to twinkle,
Cornelius heard on the staircase of the little turret a
voice which thrilled through him.
He put his hand on his heart, and listened.
It was the sweet harmonious voice of Rosa.
Let us confess it, Cornelius was not so stupefied with
surprise, or so beyond himself with joy, as he would have
been but for the pigeon, which, in answer to his letter, had
brought back hope to him under her empty wing; and, knowing
Rosa, he expected, if the note had ever reached her, to hear
of her whom he loved, and also of his three darling bulbs.
He rose, listened once more, and bent forward towards the
door.
Yes, they were indeed the accents which had fallen so
sweetly on his heart at the Hague.
The question now was, whether Rosa, who had made the journey
from the Hague to Loewestein, and who -- Cornelius did not
understand how -- had succeeded even in penetrating into the
prison, would also be fortunate enough in penetrating to the
prisoner himself.
Whilst Cornelius, debating this point within himself, was
building all sorts of castles in the air, and was struggling
between hope and fear, the shutter of the grating in the
door opened, and Rosa, beaming with joy, and beautiful in
her pretty national costume -- but still more beautiful from
the grief which for the last five months had blanched her
cheeks -- pressed her little face against the wire grating
of the window, saying to him, --
"Oh, sir, sir! here I am!"
Cornelius stretched out his arms, and, looking to heaven,
uttered a cry of joy, --
"Oh, Rosa, Rosa!"
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