Like most of the inhabitants of Haarlem, they were put to death by the Spanish destroyers at the capture of the noble, hapless city.

Nothing was left of her beloved sister except a faithful memory of her, and her betrothed bridegroom's letters, which she now held in her hand.
They expressed love, the true, lofty love, that can speak with the tongues of angels and move mountains.

There lay her husband's letter.
Miserable scrawl! She shrank from opening it again, as she laid the beloved mementoes back into the box, yet her breast heaved as she thought of Peter.

She knew too that she loved him, and that his faithful heart belonged to her.

But she was not satisfied, she was not happy, for he showed her only tender affection or paternal kindness, and she wished to be loved differently.