the one saving faith of her possession. It would be cowardice then, when the greatest was at stake, not to be able to conquer a prejudice acquired in the nursery. He who truly loves can only believe in his beloved one; her heart is his church, her words his only revelation, she alone is worthy of his reverence, and nothing is above her. That is the true regeneration that we desire in a maiden's love, which makes us inseparably one with her. Who can think then of the limitations which men place around one another?"
His companions stared in astonishment at Kerkering's words; only old Van dan Ende nodded approvingly, and Olympia said after an awkward pause:
"While we are talking over principles, a poet's mistress, sick unto death, is perhaps dying for such principles."
"Who is that?" inquired Oldenburg.
"The betrothed of your former friend, the poetess Maria Tesselschade, will hardly greet to-morrow's dawn. Did you know Caspar Barläus, Herr von Spinoza?"
"No, Jufrow Olympia, but my old master, Nigritius, who was once insulted by him, has often abused him to me."
"Seven years since," continued Olympia, "I remember it quite well, it was not long after New Year's Day of 1648, they found him in the well