noise of steps which came up the staircase, and of cries which approached nearer and nearer.
Almost at the same instant he saw before him the pale and distracted face of Rosa.
He started, and turned pale with fright.
“Cornelius, Cornelius!” she screamed, gasping for breath.
“Good Heaven! what is it?” asked the prisoner.
“Cornelius, the tulip.”
“Well?”
“How shall I tell you?”
“Speak, speak, Rosa!”
“Some one has taken—stolen it from us.”
“Stolen—taken?” said Cornelius.
“Yes,” said Rosa, leaning against the door to support herself; “yes, taken, stolen.”
And saying this, she felt her limbs failing her, and she fell on her knees.
“But how? tell me, explain to me.”
“Oh, it is not my fault, my friend.”
Poor Rosa! she no longer dared to call him “My beloved one.”
“You have then left it alone,” said Cornelius, ruefully.
“One minute only, to instruct our messenger, who lives scarcely fifty yards off, on the banks of the Waal.”
“And during that time, notwithstanding all my injunctions, you left the key behind—unfortunate child!”
“No, no, no! that is what I cannot understand. The key was never out of my hands; I clenched it as if I were afraid it would take wings.”
“But how did it happen, then?”
“That’s what I cannot make out. I had given the letter to my messenger; he started before I left his house; I came home, and my door was locked; every-
