the last tender, anxious touches to the array of her beloved charge. Presently the door opened, and Gysbert laughingly demanded admission,—Gysbert no longer a little lad of fourteen, but a tall fine youth of nineteen. He entered at his sister’s bidding, and surveyed her admiringly from top to toe.
“Thou art perfect, my Jacqueline, but no one knows how I hate to part with thee, even to Pieter whom I do certainly love.”
“But thou art not parting with me, Gysbert. Are we not going to stay right here with thee and father? I shall be with thee as much as ever!”
“Well, I suppose that is true. After all, I am only gaining a brother by this! But dost thou remember, Jacqueline, how we used to talk over our ambitions up there on Hengist Hill? I am in a fair way to gain mine, for what dost thou think!—Karel Van Mander told father that I bid fair to become a great artist if I persevere, and he is the greatest
