thing in my room was as I had left it, except the tulip,—that was gone. Some one must have had a key for my room, or have got a false one made on purpose.”
She was nearly choking with sobs, and was unable to continue.
Cornelius, immovable and full of consternation, heard almost without understanding, and only muttered,—
“Stolen, stolen, stolen, I am lost!”
“Oh, Cornelius, forgive me, forgive me, it will kill me!”
Seeing Rosa’s distress, Cornelius seized the iron bars of the grating, and furiously shaking them, called out,—
“Rosa, Rosa, we have been robbed, it is true, but shall we allow ourselves to be dejected for all that? No, no; the misfortune is great, but it may perhaps be remedied; Rosa, we know the thief!”
“Alas! what can I say about it?”
“But I say, that it is no one else but that infamous Jacob. Shall we allow him to carry to Haarlem the fruit of our labour, the fruit of our sleepless nights, the child of our love? Rosa, we must pursue, we must overtake him!”
“But how can we do all this, my friend, without letting my father know that we were in communication with each other? How should I, a poor girl with so little knowledge of the world and its ways, be able to attain this end, which, perhaps, you could not attain yourself?”
“Rosa, Rosa, open this door to me, and you will see whether I will not find the thief—whether I will not make him confess his crime and beg for mercy.”
“Alas!” cried Rosa, sobbing, “can I open the door for you? have I the keys? If I had had them, would not you have been free long ago?”
"Your father has them—your wicked father, who has
