of one weighted down with a great responsibility. Gysbert frequently told his sister that Vrouw Voorhaas acted as though she had some dark secret on her mind, and Jacqueline was forced to admit the truth of the remark. Her devotion to the children was beyond question, yet she seldom exhibited any outward expression of affection.
Jacqueline bent over a musty-looking old book, turning its pages thoughtfully, and drawing her pretty brows together with a puzzled expression at frequent intervals. Gysbert sat on the opposite side of the table with pencil and paper before him, making a sketch of his sister’s head as she leaned over her book.
“What is it thou art reading so intently?” he demanded at length.
“’Tis an old volume that belonged to father’s library,—the only book that was not sold before we left Louvain,” answered Jacqueline. Neither she nor Gysbert noticed
