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 % ^CJUF
 
 THE CLOISTER AND 
 THE HEARTH 
 
 oA TALE OF THE {MIDDLE oAGES 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES READE, D.C.L. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND," ETC. ETC. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY WALTER BESANT 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 ILontfan 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 1896

 
 Stack 
 l-Anweac 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mHE Cloister and the Hearth" is Charles Reade's greatest work and, I 
 -*- believe, the greatest historical novel in the language. It has been my 
 happy lot to pasture in the fair fields of mediaeval literature, and my delight 
 humbly to attempt from time to time the restoration of life as it was during or 
 before the great Renascence. Now, life at all times, except perhaps during tho 
 cave-and-flint-weapon period, has been, and is, many-sided, complex, and per- 
 petually varying. Think how it will fare in five hundred years with the writer 
 who attempts to portray England in this year of grace ; by what mighty labours 
 what examination of old documents what comparisons, reading of contem- 
 porary essays, descriptions of Functions, ceremonies, and debates, estimate of 
 forces as the influences of the Land League, the real power of Noncon- 
 formists, the strength of the Church, the prejudices of the people he will 
 arrive at something like a picture of life as it is now. And even in the hands 
 of the most skilful how meagre will probably be the result ! Because the 
 historian will not be able to understand the relative importance of questions, 
 nor will he perceive that what seems to him the most important of events may 
 have seemed to us a mere trifle compared with the weight of a speech in the 
 House, or a new book, or even an article in a magazine. Therefore I do not 
 say that the whole of life, as it was at the end of the fourteenth century, may 
 be found in " The Cloister and the Hearth ; " but I do say, that there is por- 
 trayed so vigorous, lifelike, and truthful a picture of a time long gone by, and 
 differing in almost every particular from our own, that the world has never 
 seen its like. To me it is a picture of the past more faithful than anything 
 in the works of Scott. As one reads it, one feels in the very atmosphere of 
 the century; one breathes the air just before the Great Dawn of Learning 
 and Religion ; it is still twilight, but the birds are twittering already on the 
 boughs ; it is a time when men are weary of the past ; there is no freshness 
 or vigour in the poetry; all the tunes are old tunes. There is plenty of 
 fanaticism, but no faith ; under the tiara the Pope yawns ; under the scarlet 
 cloak the cardinals scoff ; in his chamber the scholar asks whether the newly 
 found Greek is not better than all the ecclesiastical jargon ; in the very cloister 
 are monks secretly at work on the new learning, and cursing the stupid itera- 
 tion of tho bell ; even the children of the soil are asking themselves how long. 
 
 iii
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Alas ! they must wait till the Greater Jacquerie of 1792 relieves them. There 
 is uncertainty everywhere ; there is the restless movement which goes before 
 a change. There is, however, plenty of ordered activity in certain directions. 
 Soldiers fight, and great lords lead armies ; there are court ceremonies at which 
 knights feast and common people gape ; prentice lads go a-wandering along the 
 roads ; with them tramp the vagrant scholars ; the forests are full of robbers ; 
 the beggars are a nation to themselves, and a very horrible, noisome, miserable 
 nation ; the towns are crowded within narrow walls ; fever and the plague are 
 constantly breaking out ; there is no ladder by which men can climb except 
 that lowered for them by the Church ; where a man is born, there he sticks. 
 A fine, picturesque time; with plenty of robberies and murders in it; vast 
 quantities of injustice in it ; with lords among the peasants, like locusts among 
 corn, devouring the substance ; with fierce punishments for the wicked, but not 
 so fierce as those which certainly await most people in the next world ; with 
 gibbets, racks, red-hot pincers, wheels, processions of penitents, heavy wax 
 candles, cutting off of hands, and every possible stimulus to virtue ; yet a world 
 in which virtue was singularly rare. All this life and more is in "The 
 Cloister and the Hearth ; " not described, but acted. The reader who knows the 
 literature of the times says to himself as he goes on : " Here is Erasmus ; hero 
 is Froissart ; here is Deschamps ; here is Coquillart ; here is Gringoire ; here 
 is Villon; here is Luther," and so on, taking pleasure in proving the sources. 
 The reader who does not know, or does not inquire, presently finds himself 
 drawn completely out of himself and his own time; before he reaches tho 
 end, he thinks like the characters in the book ; he feels like them ; he talks 
 like them. This is the general effect of the book ; but, besides, there runs 
 through it the sweetest, saddest, and most tender love story ever devised by 
 wit of man. There is no heroine in fiction more dear to me than Margaret : 
 she is always real ; always tho true woman ; brave in the darkest hour ; 
 and for ever yearning in womanly fashion for the love that has been cruelly 
 torn from her. 
 
 " Oh 1 my love," cried the lover-priest at her death-bed, " if thou hast lived doubt- 
 ing of thy Gerard's heart, die not so ; for never was woman loved so tenderly as thou 
 this ten yeare past." 
 
 " Calm thyself, dear one," said the dying woman, with a heavenly smile. " I km-w 
 it, only, being but a woman, / could not die happy till I Jieard thce say so." 
 
 I do not suppose that by these remarks one can add anything to the real 
 reputation of Charles Reade, or to the admiration with which tho English- 
 speaking races regard his works. They may, however, lead others to consider 
 the position occupied by this writer, which is and has been, since tho death 
 of Thackeray and Dickens alone in the front rank. That is to say, alone 
 because ho resembles no other writer living or dead not alone, because there 
 has been no other in line with him. His merits are his own, and they are 
 those of the first order of writers. He cannot be classified or compared : in
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 order to be classified, a man must be either a leader or one of a following. 
 Reade cannot, certainly, be accused of following. One can only say that he 
 stands in the first rank, and that he stands alone. One can only say that 
 this great writer there is no greater praise paints women as they are, 
 men as they are, things as they are. What we call genius is first the 
 power of seeing men, women, and things as they are most of us, being 
 without genius, are purblind and then the power of showing them by 
 means of " invention " by the grafting of " invention " upon fact. No man 
 has shown greater power of grasping fact and of weaving invention upon it 
 than Charles Reade. 
 
 WALTER BESANT.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 A SMALL portion of this tale appeared in Once a Week, July September 
 -^- 1859, under the title of " A Good Fight." 
 
 After writing it, I took wider views of the subject, and also felt uneasy at 
 having deviated unnecessarily from the historical outline of a true story. These 
 two sentiments have cost me more than a year's very hard labour, which I ven- 
 ture to think has not been wasted. After this plain statement I trust all who 
 comment on this work will see that to describe it as a reprint would be unfair 
 to the public and to me. The English language is copious, and, in any true 
 man's hands, quite able to convey the truth namely, that one- fifth of the 
 present work is a reprint, and four-fifths of it a new composition. 
 
 CHARLES READE.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NOT a day passes over the earth, but men and 
 women of no note do great deeds, speak great 
 words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these 
 obscure heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the 
 greater part will never be known till that hour, 
 when many that are great shall be small, and 
 the small great ; but of others the world's 
 knowledge may be said to sleep: their lives 
 and characters lie hidden from nations in the 
 annals that record them. The general reader 
 cannot feel them, they are presented so curtly 
 and coldly : they are not like breathing stories 
 appealing to his heart, but little historic hail- 
 stones striking him but to glance off his bosom : 
 nor can he understand them ; for epitomes are 
 not narratives, as skeletons are not human 
 figures. 
 
 Thus records of prime truths remain a dead 
 letter to plain folk ; the writers have left so 
 much to the imagination, and imagination is so 
 rare a gift. Here, then, the writer of fiction 
 may be of use to the public as an interpreter. 
 
 There is a musty chronicle, written in toler- 
 able Latin, and in it a chapter where every 
 sentence holds a fact. Here is told, with harsh 
 brevity, the strange history of a pair, who lived 
 untrumpeted, and died unsung, four hundred 
 years ago ; and lie now, as unpitied, in that 
 stern page, as fossils in a rock. Thus, living or 
 dead, Fate is still unjust to them. For if I 
 can but show you what lies below that dry 
 chronicler's words, methinks you will correct 
 the indifference of centuries, and give those 
 two sore-tried souls a place in your heart for 
 a day. 
 
 It was past the middle of the fifteenth 
 century ; Louis XI. was sovereign of France ; 
 Edward IV. was wrongful king of England ; 
 and Philip "the Good," having by force and 
 cunning dispossessed his cousin Jacqueline, 
 and broken her heart, reigned undisturbed this 
 many years in Holland, where our tale begins. 
 
 Elias, and Catherine his wife, lived in the 
 little town of Tergou. He traded, wholesale 
 and retail, in cloth, silk, browrf holland, and, 
 above all, in curried leather, a material highly 
 valued by the middling people, because it would 
 stand twenty years' wear, and turn an ordinary 
 knife, no small virtue in a jerkin of that century, 
 in which folk were so liberal of their steel ; 
 even at dinner a man would leave his meat 
 
 awhile, and carve you his neighbour, on a very 
 moderate difference of opinion. 
 
 The couple were well to do, and would have 
 been free from all earthly care, but for nine 
 children. When these were coming into the 
 world, one per annum, each was hailed with 
 rejoicings, and the saints were thanked, not 
 expostulated with ; and when parents and 
 children were all young together, the latter 
 were looked upon as lovely little playthings 
 invented by Heaven for the amusement, joy, 
 and evening solace of people in business. 
 
 But as the olive-branches shot up, and the 
 parents grew older, and saw with their own 
 eyes the fate of large families, misgivings and 
 care mingled with their love. They belonged 
 to a singularly wise and provident people : in 
 Holland reckless parents were as rare as dis- 
 obedient children. So now when the huge loaf 
 came in on a gigantic trencher, looking like a 
 fortress in its moat, and, the tour of the table 
 once made, seemed to have melted away, Elias 
 and Catherine would look at one another and 
 say, " Who is to find bread for them all when 
 we are gone ? " 
 
 At this observation the younger ones needed 
 all their filial respect to keep their little Dutch 
 countenances ; for in their opinion dinner and 
 supper came by nature like sunrise and sunset, 
 and, so long as that luminary should travel 
 round the earth, so long must the brown loaf 
 go round their family circle, and set in their 
 stomachs only to rise again in the family oven. 
 But the remark awakened the national thought- 
 fulness of the elder boys, and being often re- 
 peated, set several of the family thinking, some 
 of them good thoughts, some ill thoughts, ac- 
 cording to the nature of the thinkers. 
 
 " Kate, the children grow so, this table will 
 soon be too small." 
 
 " We cannot afford it, Eli, " replied Catherine, 
 answering not his words, but his thought, after 
 the manner of women. 
 
 Their anxiety for the future took at times a 
 less dismal but more mortifying turn. The free 
 burghers had their pride as well as the nobles ; 
 and these two could not bear that any of their 
 blood should go down in the burgh after their 
 decease. 
 
 So by prudence and self-denial they managed 
 to clothe all the little bodies, and feed all the 
 great mouths, and yet put by a small hoard to 
 meet the future ; and, as it grew and grew, 
 they felt a pleasure the miser hoarding for 
 himself knows not,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 One day the eldest boy but one, aged nine- 
 teen, came to his mother, and, with that out- 
 ward composure which has so misled some 
 persons as to the real nature of this people, 
 begged her to intercede with his father to 
 send him to Amsterdam, and place him with 
 a merchant. " It is the way of life that likes 
 me: merchants are wealthy; I am good at 
 numbers ; prithee, good mother, take my part 
 in this, and I shall ever be, as I am now, your 
 debtor." 
 
 Catherine threw up her hands with dismay 
 and incredulity. ' ' What ! leave Tergou ? " 
 
 " What is one street to me more than another ? 
 If I can leave the folk of Tergou, I can surely 
 leave the stones." 
 
 " What ! quit your poor father now he is no 
 
 "Mother, if I can leave you, I can leave 
 him." 
 
 " What I leave your poor brothers and sisters, 
 that love you so dear ? " 
 
 ! ' There are enough in the house without 
 me." 
 
 " What mean you, Richart ? Who is more 
 thought of than you ? Stay, have I spoken sharp 
 to you ? Have I been unkind to you ? " 
 
 " Never that I know of ; and if you had, you 
 should never hear of it from me. Mother," said 
 Richart gravely, but the tear was in his eye, 
 " it all lies in a word, and nothing can change 
 my mind. There will be one mouth less for 
 you to feed." 
 
 " There now, see what my tongue has done, " 
 said Catherine, and the next moment she began 
 to cry. For she saw her first young bird on the 
 edge of the nest trying his wings to fly into the 
 world. Richart had a calm, strong will, and 
 she knew he never wasted a word. 
 
 It ended as nature has willed all such dis- 
 course shall end : young Richart went to 
 Amsterdam with a face so long and sad as it 
 had never been seen before, and a heart like 
 granite. 
 
 That afternoon at supper there was one mouth 
 less. Catherine looked at Richart's chair and 
 wept bitterly. On this Elias shouted roughly 
 and angrily to the children, "Sit wider, can't 
 ye : sit wider I " and turned his head away over 
 the back of his seat awhile, and was silent. 
 
 Richart was launched, and never cost them 
 another penny ; but to fit him out and place 
 him in the house of Vander Stegen, the mer- 
 chant, took all the little hoard but one gold 
 crown. They began again. Two years passed, 
 Richart found a niche in commerce for his 
 brother Jacob, and Jacob left Tergou directly 
 after dinner, which was at eleven in the fore- 
 noon. At supper that day Elias remembered 
 what had happened the last time ; so it was in 
 a low whisper he said, " Sit wider, dears ! " 
 Now until that moment, Catherine would not 
 see the gap at table, for her daughter Catherine 
 had besought her not to grieve to-night, and 
 ehe had said, " No, sweetheart, I promise I will 
 not, since it vexes my children." But when 
 Klias whispered " Sit wider 1 " says she, "Ay ! 
 the table will soon be too big for the children, 
 and you thought it would be too small ; " and 
 having delivered this with forced calmness, she 
 
 put up her apron the next moment, and wept 
 sore. 
 
 " "Us the best that leave us," sobbed she ; 
 " that is the cruel part." 
 
 " Nay 1 nay I " said Elias, " our children are 
 good children, and all are dear to us alike. 
 Heed her not ! What God takes from us still 
 seems better than what He spares to us : that 
 is to say, men are by nature unthankful and 
 women silly." 
 
 "And I say Richart and Jacob were the 
 flower of the flock," sobbed Catherine. 
 
 The little coffer was empty again, and to fill 
 it they gathered like ants. In those days 
 speculation was pretty much confined to the 
 card-and-dice business. Elias knew no way to 
 wealth but the slow and sure one. "A penny 
 saved is a penny gained," was his humble creed. 
 All that was not required for the business and 
 the necessaries of life went into the little 
 coffer with steel bands and florid key. They 
 denied themselves in turn the humblest luxuries, 
 and then, catching one another's looks, smiled ; 
 perhaps with a greater joy than self-indulgence 
 has to bestow. And so in three years more 
 they had gleaned enough to set up their fourth 
 son as a master-tailor, and their eldest daughter 
 as a robemaker, in Tergou. Here were two 
 more provided for : their own trade would on- 
 able them to throw work iiito the hands of this 
 pair. But the coffer was drained to the dre^s, 
 and this time the shop too bled a little in goods 
 if not in coin. 
 
 Alas ! there remained on hand two that were 
 unable to get their bread, and two that were 
 unwilling. The unable ones were, i, Giles, a 
 dwarf, of the wrong sort, half stupidity, half 
 malice, all head and claws and voice, run from 
 by dogs and unprejudiced females, and sided 
 with through thick and thin by his mother ; 2, 
 Little Catherine, a poor little girl that could 
 only move on crutches. She lived in pain, but 
 smiled through it, with her marble face and 
 violet eyes and long silky lashes ; and fretful 
 or repining word never came from her lips. The 
 unwilling ones were Sybrandt, the youngest, 
 a ne'er-do-weel, too much in love with play Lo 
 work ; and Cornelia, the elde.-^t, who had made 
 calculations, and stuck to the hearth, waiting 
 for dead men's shoes. Almost worn out by their 
 repeated efforts, and above all dispirited by the 
 moral and physical infirmities of those that now 
 remained on hand, the anxious couple would 
 often say, " What will become of all these when 
 we shall be no longer here to take care of 
 them ? " But when they had said this a good 
 many times, suddenly the domestic horizon 
 cleared, and then they used still to say it, 
 because a habit is a habit, but they uttered it 
 half mechanically now, and added brightly aiul 
 cheerfully, " But thanks to St. Bavon and all 
 the saints, there's Gerard." 
 
 Young Gerard was for many years of his life 
 a son apart and distinct, object of no fears and 
 no great hopes. No fears, for he was going 
 into the Church, and the Church could always 
 maintain her children by hook or by crook in 
 those days : no great hopes, because his family 
 had no interest with the great to get him a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 benefice, and the young man's own habits were 
 frivolous, and, indeed, such as our cloth mer- 
 chant would not have put up with in any one 
 but a clerk that was to be. His trivialities were 
 reading and penmanship, and he was so wrapped 
 up in them that often he could hardly be got 
 away to his meals. The day was never long 
 enough for him ; and he carried ever a tinder- 
 box and brimstone matches, and begged ends 
 of candles of the neighbours, which he lighted 
 at unreasonable hours ay, even at eight of the 
 clock at night in winter, when the very bur- 
 gomaster was abed. Endured at home, his 
 practices were encouraged by the monks of a 
 neighbouring convent. They had taught him 
 penmanship, and continued to teach him, until 
 one day they discovered, in the middle of a 
 lesson, that he was teaching them. They pointed 
 this out to him in a merry way : he hung his 
 head and blushed : he had suspected as much 
 himself, but mistrusted his judgment in so 
 delicate a matter. "But, my sou," said an 
 elderly monk, " how is it that you, to whom God 
 has given an eye so true, a hand so subtle yet 
 firm, and a heart to love these beautiful crafts, 
 how is it you do not colour as well as write ? A 
 scroll looks but barren unless a border of fruit, 
 and leaves, and rich arabesques surround the 
 good words, and charm the sense as those do 
 the soul and understanding ; to say nothing of 
 the pictures of holy men and women departed, 
 with which the several chapters should be 
 adorned, and not alone the eye soothed with 
 the brave and sweetly blended colours, but the 
 heart lifted by effigies of the saints in glory. 
 Answer me, my son." 
 
 At this Gerard was confused, and muttered 
 that he had made several trials at illuminat- 
 ing, but had not succeeded well ; and thus the 
 matter rested. 
 
 Soon after this a fellow-enthusiast came on 
 the scene in the unwonted form of an old lady. 
 Margaret, sister and survivor of the brothers 
 Van Eyck, left Flanders, and came to end her 
 days in her native country. She bought a 
 small house near Tergou. In course of time 
 she heard of Gerard, and saw some of his 
 hnncliwork : it pleased her so well that she 
 sent her female servant, Reicht Heynes, to ask 
 him to come to her. This led to an acquaint- 
 ance : it could hardly be otherwise, for little 
 Tergou had never held so many as two zealots 
 of this sort before. At first the old lady 
 damped Gerard's courage terribly. At each 
 visit she fished out of holes and corners draw- 
 ings and paintings, some of them by her own 
 hand, that seemed to him unapproachable ; but 
 if the artist overpowered him, the woman kept 
 his heart up. She and Reicht soon turned him 
 inside out like a glove : among other things, 
 they drew from him what the good monks had 
 failed to hit upon, the reason why he did not 
 illuminate, viz., that he could not afford the 
 gold, the blue, and the red, but only the cheap 
 earths ; and that he was afraid to ask his 
 mother to buy the choice colours, and was sure 
 he should ask her in vain. Then Margaret 
 Van Eyck gave him a little brush-gold, and 
 some vermilion and ultramarine, and a piece 
 of good vellum to lay them on. He almost 
 
 adored her. As he left the house Reicht ran 
 after him with a candle and two quarters : he 
 quite kissed her. But better even than the 
 gold and lapis-lazuli to the illuminator was 
 the sympathy to the isolated enthusiast. That 
 sympathy was always ready, and, as he returned 
 it, an affection sprung up between the old 
 painter and the young caligrapher that was 
 doubly characteristic of the time. For this 
 was a century in which the fine arts and the 
 higher mechanical arts were not separated by 
 any distinct boundary, nor were those who 
 practised them ; and it was an age in which 
 artists sought out and loved one another. 
 Should this last statement stagger a painter or 
 writer of our clay, let me remind him that even 
 Christians loved one another at first starting. 
 
 Backed by an acquaintance so venerable, 
 and strengthened by female sympathy, Gerard 
 advanced in learning and skill. His spirits, 
 too, rose visibly: he still looked behind him 
 when dragged to dinner in the middle of an 
 initial G ; but once seated, showed great social 
 qualities ; likewise a gay humour, that had 
 hitherto but peeped in him, shone out, and 
 often he set the table in a roar, and kept it 
 there, sometimes with his own wit, sometimes 
 with jests which were glossy new to his family, 
 being drawn from antiquity. 
 
 As a return for all he owed his friends the 
 monks, he made them exquisite copies from 
 two of their choicest MSS., viz., the life of 
 their founder, and their Comedies of Terence, 
 the monastery finding the vellum. 
 
 The high and puissant Prince, Philip "the 
 Good," Duke of Burgundy, Luxemburg, and 
 Brabant, Earl of Holland and Zealand, Lord 
 of Friesland, Count of Flanders, Artois, and 
 Hainault, Lord of Salins and Macklyn was 
 versatile. 
 
 He could fight as well as any king going ; 
 and he could lie as well as any, except the 
 King of France. He was a mighty hunter, and 
 could read and write. His tastes were wide 
 and ardent. He loved jewels like a woman, 
 and gorgeous apparel. He dearly loved maids 
 of honour, and indeed paintings generally ; in 
 proof of which he ennobled Jan Van Eyck. He 
 had also a rage for giants, dwarfs, and Turks. 
 These last stood ever planted about him, tur- 
 baned and blazing with jewels. His agents 
 inveigled them from Istamboul with fair pro- 
 mises ; but the moment he had got them, he 
 baptized them by brute force in a large tub ; 
 and this done, let them squat with their faces 
 towards Mecca, and invoke Mahound as much 
 as they pleased, laughing in his sleeve at their 
 simplicity in fancying they were still infidels. 
 He had lions in cages, and fleet leopards trained 
 by Orientals to run down hares and deer. In 
 short, he relished all rarities, except the hum- 
 drum virtues. For anything singularly pretty 
 or diabolically ugly, this was your customer. 
 The best of him was, he was open-handed to 
 the poor ; and the next best was, he fostered 
 the arts in earnest: whereof he now gave a 
 signal proof. He offered prizes for the best 
 specimens of orfevrerie in two kinds, religious 
 and secular : item, for the best paintings in 
 white of egg, oils, and tempera; these to be
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 on panel, silk, or metal, as the artists chose : 
 item, for the best transparent painting on glass : 
 item, for the best illuminating and border- 
 painting on vellum : item, for the fairest writ- 
 ing on vellum. The burgomasters of the several 
 towns were commanded to aid all the poorer 
 competitors by receiving their specimens and 
 sending them with due care to Rotterdam at 
 the expense of their several burghs. When this 
 was cried by the bellman through the streets of 
 Tergou, a thousand mouths opened, and one 
 heart beat Gerard's. He told his family 
 timidly he should try for two of those prizes. 
 They stared in silence, for their breath was 
 gone at his audacity ; but one horrid laugh 
 exploded on the floor like a petard. Gerard 
 looked down, and there was the dwarf, slit and 
 fanged from ear to ear at his expense, and 
 laughing like a lion. Nature, relenting at 
 having made Giles so small, had given him as 
 a set-off the biggest voice on record. His 
 very whisper was a bassoon. He was like 
 those stunted wide-mouthed pieces of ordnance 
 we see on fortifications ; more like a flower- 
 pot than a cannon ; but ods tympana how they 
 bellow I 
 
 Gerard turned red with anger, the more so as 
 the others began to titter. White Catherine 
 saw, and a pink tinge came on her cheek. She 
 said softly, "Why do you laugh? Is it be- 
 cause he is our brother you think he cannot 
 be capable? Yes, Gerard, try with the rest. 
 Many say you are skilful ; and mother and I 
 will pray the Virgin to guide your hand." 
 
 " Thank you, little Kate. You shall pray to 
 our Lady, and our mother shall buy me vellum 
 and the colours to illuminate with." 
 
 " What will they cost, my lad 1 " 
 
 " Two gold crowns " (about three shillings and 
 fonrpence English money). 
 
 " What ! " screamed the housewife, " when 
 the bushel of rye costs but a groat ! What 1 
 me spend a month's meal and meat and fire on 
 such vanity as that : the lightning from heaven 
 would fall on me, and my children would all be 
 beggars." 
 
 "Mother I" sighed little Catherine implor- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Oh I it Is in vain, Kate," said Gerard, 
 with a sigh. " I shall have to give it up, or ask 
 the dame Van Eyck. She would give it me, 
 but I think shame to be for ever taking from 
 her." 
 
 "It is not her affair," said Catherine, very 
 sharply ; "what has she to do coming between 
 me and my son ? " and she left the room with a 
 red face. Little Catherine smiled. Presently 
 the housewife returned with a gracious, affec- 
 tionate air, and two little gold pieces in her 
 hand. 
 
 "There, sweetheart," said she, "you won't 
 have to trouble dame or demoiselle for two 
 paltry crowns." 
 
 But on this Gerard fell a thinking how he 
 could spare her purse. 
 
 ; 'One will do, mother. I will ask the good 
 monks to let me send my copy of their : Ter- 
 ence : ' it is on snowy vellum, and I can write 
 no better : so then I shall only need six sheets 
 of vellum for my borders and miniatures, and 
 
 gold for my ground, and prime colours one 
 crown will do." 
 
 "Never tyne the ship for want of a bit of 
 tar, Gerard," said this changeable mother. But 
 she added, "Well, there, I will put the crown 
 in my pocket. That won't be like putting it 
 back in the box. Going to the box to take out 
 instead of putting in, it is like going to my 
 heart with a knife for so many drops of blood. 
 You will be sure to want it, Gerard. The house 
 is never built for less than the builder counted 
 on." 
 
 Sure enough, when the time came, Gerard 
 longed to go to Rotterdam and see the Duke, 
 and above all to see the work of his competi- 
 tors, and so get a lesson from defeat. And the 
 crown came out of the housewife's pocket with 
 a very good grace. Gerard would soon be a 
 priest. It seemed hard if he might not enjoy 
 the world a little before separating himself 
 from it for life. 
 
 The night before he went, Margaret Van 
 Eyck asked him to take a letter for her, aud 
 when he came to look at it, to his surprise he 
 found it was addressed to the Princess Marie, 
 at the Stadthouse in Rotterdam. 
 
 The day before the prizes were to be dis- 
 tributed, Gerard started for Rotterdam in his 
 holiday suit, to wit, a doublet of silver-grey 
 cloth, with sleeves, and a jerkin of the same 
 over it, but without sleeves. From his waist 
 to his heels he was clad in a pair of tight-fitting 
 buckskin hose fastened by laces (called points) 
 to his doublet. His shoes were pointed, in 
 moderation, and secured by a strap that passed 
 under the hollow of the foot. On his head and 
 the back of his neck he wore his flowing hair, 
 and pinned to his back between his shoulders 
 was his hat : it was further secured by a purple 
 silk ribbon little Kate had passed round him 
 from the sides of the hat, and knotted neatly 
 on his breast ; below his hat, attached to the 
 upper rim of his broad waist-belt, was his 
 leathern wallet. When he got within a league 
 of Rotterdam he was pretty tired, but he soon 
 fell in with a pair that were more so. He 
 found an old man sitting by the roadside quite 
 worn out, and a comely young woman holding 
 his hand, with a face brimful of concern. The 
 country people trudged by, and noticed nothing 
 amiss ; but Gerard, as he passed, drew con- 
 clusions. Even dress tells a tale to those who 
 study it so closely as he did, being an illumi- 
 nator. The old man wore a gown, and a fur 
 tippet, and a velvet cap, sure signs of dignity ; 
 but the triangular purse at his girdle was lean, 
 the gown rusty, the fur worn, sure signs of 
 poverty. The young woman was dressed in 
 plain russet cloth : yet snow-white lawn covered 
 that part of her neck the gown left visible, and 
 ended half way up her white throat in a little 
 band of gold embroidery ; and her head-dress 
 was new to Gerard : instead of hiding her hair 
 in a pile of linen or lawn, she wore an open net- 
 work of silver cord with silver spangles at the 
 interstices : in this her glossy auburn hair was 
 rolled in front into two solid waves, and sup- 
 ported behind in a luxurious and shapely mass. 
 His quick eye took in all this, and the old man's 
 pallor, and the tears in the young woman's
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 eyes. So when he had passed them a few 
 yards, he reflected, and turned back, and came 
 towards them bashfully. 
 
 " Father, I fear you are tired." 
 
 "Indeed, my son, I am," replied the old 
 man, " and faint for lack of food." 
 
 Gerard's address did not appear so agreeable 
 to the girl as to the old man. She seemed 
 ashamed, and with much reserve in her manner, 
 said, that it was her fault she had underrated 
 the distance, and imprudently allowed her 
 father to start too late in the day. 
 
 "No, no ! " said the old man ; "it is not the 
 distance, it is the want of nourishment." 
 
 The girl put her arms round his neck with 
 tender concern, but took that opportunity of 
 whispering, " Father, a stranger a young 
 man ! " 
 
 But it was too late. Gerard, with simplicity, 
 and quite as a matter of course, fell to gather- 
 ing sticks with great expedition. This done, 
 he took down his wallet, out with the manchet 
 of bread and the iron flask his careful mother 
 had put up, and his everlasting tinder-box ; 
 lighted a match, then a candle-end, then the 
 sticks and put his iron flask on it. Then down 
 he went on his stomach, and took a good blow : 
 then looking up, he saw the girl's face had 
 thawed, and she was looking down at him and 
 his energy with a demure smile. He laughed 
 back to her. "Mind the pot," said he, "and 
 don't let it spill, for Heaven's sake : there's a 
 cleft stick to hold it safe with ; " and with this 
 he set off running towards a cornfield at some 
 distance. 
 
 Whilst he was gone, there came by, on a 
 mule with rich purple housings, an old man 
 redolent of wealth. The purse at his girdle 
 was plethoric, the fur on his tippet was ermine, 
 broad and new. 
 
 It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, the burgo- 
 master of Tergou. He was old, and his face 
 furrowed. He was a notorious miser, and 
 looked one generally. But the idea of supping 
 with the Duke raised him just now into mani- 
 fest complacency. Yet at the sight of the 
 faded old man and his bright daughter sitting 
 by a fire of sticks, the smile died out of his 
 face, and he wore a strange look of pain and 
 uneasiness. He reined in his mule. " Why, 
 I'eter, Margaret," said he, almost fiercely, 
 "what mummery is this?" Peter was going 
 to answer, but Margaret interposed hastily, 
 and said : " My father was exhausted, so I am 
 warming something to give him strength before 
 we go on." " What ! reduced to feed by the 
 roadside like the Bohemians," said Ghysbrecht, 
 and his hand went into his purse ; but it did 
 not seem at home there ; it fumbled uncertainly, 
 afraid too large a coin might stick to a finger 
 and come out. 
 
 At this moment who should come bounding 
 up but Gerard. He had two straws in his 
 hand, and he threw himself down by the fire 
 and relieved Margaret of the cooking part : 
 then suddenly recognising the burgomaster, he 
 coloured all over. Ghysbrecht Van Swieten 
 started and glared at him, and took his hand 
 out of his purse. " Oh ! " said he bitterly, " I 
 am not wanted," and went slowly on, casting 
 
 a long look of suspicion on Margaret, and 
 hostility on Gerard, that was not very intelli- 
 gible. However, there was something about it 
 that Margaret could read enough to blush at, 
 and almost toss her head. Gerard only stared 
 with surprise. "By St. Bavon. I think the old 
 miser grudges us three our quart of soup," said 
 he. When the young man put that interpreta- 
 tion on Ghysbrecht's strange and meaning look, 
 Margaret was greatly relieved, and smiled gaily 
 on the speaker. 
 
 Meantime Ghysbrecht plodded on, more 
 wretched in his wealth than these in their 
 poverty. And the curious thing is, that the 
 mule, the purple housings, and one-half the 
 coin in that plethoric purse, belonged not to 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, but to that faded 
 old man and that comely girl, who sat by a 
 roadside fire to be fed by a stranger. They 
 did not know this ; but Ghysbrecht knew it, 
 and carried in his heart a scorpion of his own 
 begetting: that scorpion is remorse the re- 
 morse that, not being penitence, is incurable, 
 and ready for fresh misdeeds upon a fresh 
 temptation. 
 
 Twenty years ago, when Ghysbrecht Van 
 Swieten was a hard and honest man, the 
 touchstone opportunity came to him, and he 
 did an act of heartless roguery. It seemed 
 a safe one. It had hitherto proved a safe 
 one, though he had never felt safe. To-day 
 he had seen youth, enterprise, and, above all, 
 knowledge, seated by fair Margaret and her 
 father on terms that look familiar and loving. 
 
 And the fiends are at his ear again. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " THE soup is hot," said Gerard. 
 
 " But how are we to get it to our mouths ? " 
 inquired the senior, despondingly. 
 
 " Father, the young man "has brought us 
 straws." And Margaret smiled slily. 
 
 " Ay, ay 1 " said the old man ; " but my poor 
 bones are stiff, and indeed the fire is too hot 
 for a body to kneel over with these short 
 straws. St. John the Baptist, but the young 
 man is adroit 1 " 
 
 For, while he stated his difficulty, Gerard 
 removed it. He untied in a moment the knot 
 on his breast, took his hat off, put a stone 
 into each corner of it, then, wrapping his 
 hand in the tail of his jerkin, whipped the 
 flask off the fire, wedged it in between the 
 stones, and put the hat under the old man's 
 nose with a merry smile. The other tremu- 
 lously inserted the pipe of rye-straw and 
 sucked. Lo and behold, his wan, drawn face 
 was seen to light up more and more, till it 
 quite glowed ; and as soon as he had drawn a 
 long breath : 
 
 " Hippocrates and Galen ! " he cried, " 'tis 
 a soupe au vin the restorative of restoratives. 
 Blessed be the nation that invented it, and 
 the woman that made it, and the young man 
 who brings it to fainting folk. Have a suck, 
 my girl, while I relate to our young host the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 history and virtues of this his sovereign com- 
 pound. This corroborative, young sir, was 
 unknown to the ancients : we find it neither 
 in their treatises of medicine, nor in those 
 popular narratives, which reveal many of their 
 remedies, both in chirurgery and medicine 
 proper. Hector, in the Ilias, if my memory 
 does not play me false " 
 
 [Margaret. " Alas ! he's off."] 
 
 " was invited by one of the ladies of 
 
 the poem to drink a draught of wine ; but 
 he declined, on the plea that he was just 
 going into battle, and must not take aught to 
 weaken his powers. Now, if the soupe au 
 vin had been known in Troy, it is clear that 
 in declining vinum merum upon that score, 
 he would have added in the next hexameter, 
 'But a toupe au vin, madam, I will degust, 
 and gratefully.' Not only would this have 
 been but common civility a virtue no perfect 
 commander is wanting in but not to have 
 done it would have proved him a shallow 
 and improvident person, unfit to be trusted 
 with the conduct of a war ; for men going 
 into a battle need sustenance and all possible 
 support, as is proved by this, that foolish 
 generals, bringing hungry soldiers to blows 
 with full ones, have been defeated, in all ages, 
 by inferior numbers. The Romans lost a great 
 battle in the north of Italy to Hannibal, the 
 Carthaginian, by this neglect alone. Now, 
 this divine elixir gives in one moment force 
 to the limbs and ardour to the spirits ; and 
 taken into Hector's body at the nick of time, 
 would, by the aid of Phoebus, Venus, and the 
 blessed saints, have most likely procured the 
 Greeks a defeat. For note how faint and 
 weary and heart-sick I was a minute ago ; 
 well, I suck this celestial cordial, and now 
 behold me brave as Achilles and strong as 
 an eagle." 
 
 " Oh, father, now ! an eagle, alack ! " 
 
 "Girl, I defy thee and all the world. 
 Ready, I say, like a foaming charger, to 
 devour the space between this and Rotter- 
 dam, and strong to combat the ills of life, oven 
 poverty and old age, which last philosophers 
 have called the tummum malum. Negatur ; 
 unless the man's life has been ill-spent which, 
 by the bye, it generally has. Now for the 
 moderns ! " 
 
 " Father ! dear father I " 
 
 " Fear me not, girl ; I will be brief, unreason- 
 ably and unseasonably brief. The toupe au 
 vin, occurs not in modern science ; but this 
 is only one proof more, if proof were needed, 
 that for the last few hundred years physicians 
 have been idiots, with their chicken-broth and 
 their decoction of gold, whereby they attribute 
 the highest qualities to that meat which has 
 the least juice of any meat, and to that metal 
 which has less chemical qualities than all the 
 metals. Mountebanks I dunces ! homicides ! 
 Since, then, from these no light is to be 
 gathered, go we to the chroniclers; and first 
 we find that Duguesclin, a French knight, 
 being about to join battle with the English 
 masters, at that time, of half France, and 
 sturdy strikers by sea and land drank, not 
 one, "but three s'oupet au tin in honour of 
 
 the Blessed Trinity. This done, he charged 
 the islanders ; and, as might have been fore- 
 told, killed a multitude, and drove the rest 
 into the sea. But he was only the first of a 
 long list of holy and hard-hitting ones who 
 have, by this divine restorative, been susten- 
 tated, fortified, corroborated, and consoled." 
 
 "Dear father, prithee add thyself to that 
 venerable company ere the soup cools." And 
 Margaret held the hat imploringly in both 
 hands till he inserted the straw once more. 
 
 This spared them the "modern instances," 
 and gave Gerard an opportunity of telling 
 Margaret how proud his mother would be 
 her soup had profited a man of learning. 
 
 "Ayl but," said Margaret, "it would like 
 her ill to see her son give all and take none him- 
 self. Why brought you but two straws ? " 
 
 " Fair mistress, I hoped you would let ine put 
 my lips to your straw, there being but two." 
 
 Margaret smiled and blushed. "Never beg 
 that you may command," said she. " The 
 straw is not mine, 'tis yours : you cut it in 
 yonder field." 
 
 " I cut it, and that made it mine ; but after 
 that, your lip touched it, and that made it yours." 
 
 "Did it? Then I will lend it you. There - 
 now it is yours again : your lip has touched it." 
 
 "No, it belongs to us both now. Let us 
 divide it." 
 
 " By all means ; you have a knife." 
 
 " No, I will not cut it that would be unlucky. 
 I'll bite it. There 1 I shall keep my half : you 
 will burn yours, once you get home, I doubt." 
 
 " You know me not. I waste nothing. It is 
 odds but I make a hairpin of it, or something." 
 
 This answer dashed the novice Gerard, insi i/a< 1 
 of provoking him, to fresh efforts, and he was 
 silent. And now, the bread and soup being 
 disposed of, the old scholar prepared to con- 
 tinue his journey. Then came a little difliculty : 
 Gerard the adroit could not tie his ribbon again 
 as Catherine had tied it. Margaret, after slily 
 eyeing his efforts for some time, offered to help 
 him; for at her age girls love to be coy and 
 tender, saucy and gentle, by turns, and she saw 
 she had put him out of countenance but now. 
 Then a fair head, with its stately crowu of 
 auburn hair, glossy and glowing through silver, 
 bowed sweetly towards him ; and, while it rav- 
 ished his eye, two white supple hands played deli- 
 cately upon the stubborn ribbon, and moulded 
 it with soft and airy touches. Then a heavrnlv 
 thrill ran through the innocent young man, and 
 vague glimpses of a new world of feeling and 
 sentiment opened on him. And these new and 
 exquisite sensations Margaret unwittingly pro- 
 longed: it is not natural to her sex to hurry 
 aught that pertains to the sacred toilet. N.-;y, 
 when the taper fingers had at last, subjugated 
 tho ends of the knot, her mind was not quite 
 easy, till, by a inuixuuvre peculiar to the female 
 hand, she had made her palm convex, and so 
 applied it with a gentle pressure to the centre 
 of the knot a sweet little coaxing hand-kiss, 
 as much as to say, "Now be a good knot, and 
 ." The palm-kiss was bestowed on the 
 ribbon, but the wearer's heart leaped to meet it. 
 
 "There, that is how it was," said Margaret. 
 and drew back to take one last keen survey of
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 her work ; then, looking up for simple approval 
 of her skill, received full in her eyes a longing 
 gaze of such ardent adoration, as made her 
 lower them quickly and colour all over. An 
 indescribable tremor seized her, and she re- 
 treated with downcast lashes and tell-tale 
 cheeks, and took her father's arm on the 
 opposite side. Gerard, blushing at having 
 scared her away with his eyes, took the other 
 arm ; and so the two young things went down- 
 cast and conscious, and propped the eagle along 
 in silence. 
 
 They entered Rotterdam by the Schiedamze 
 Poort ; and, as Gerard was unacquainted with 
 the town, Peter directed him the way to the 
 Hooch Straet, in which the Stadthouse was. 
 He himself was going with Margaret to his 
 cousin, in the Ooster-Waagen Straet, so, almost 
 on entering the gate, their roads lay apart. 
 They bade each other a friendly adieu, and 
 Gerard dived into the great town. A profound 
 sense of solitude fell upon him, yet the streets 
 were crowded. Then he lamented too late that, 
 out of delicacy, he had not asked his late com- 
 panions who they were and where they lived. 
 
 " Beshrew my shame facedness ! " said he. 
 " But their words and their breeding were above 
 their means, and something did whisper me 
 they would not be known. I shall never see 
 her more. Oh! weary world, I hate you and 
 your ways. To think I must meet beauty and 
 goodness and learning three pearls of price 
 and never see them more ! " 
 
 Falling into this sad reverie, and letting his 
 body go where it would, he lost his way ; but 
 presently meeting a crowd of persons all moving 
 in one direction, he mingled with them, for he 
 argued they must be making for the Stadthouse. 
 Soon the noisy troop that contained the moody 
 Gerard emerged, not upon the Stadthouse, but 
 upon a large meadow by the side of the Maas ; 
 and then the attraction was revealed. Games 
 of all sorts were going on : wrestling, the game 
 of palm, the quintain, legerdemain, archery, 
 tumbling, in which art, I blush to say, women 
 as well as men performed, to the great delecta- 
 tion of the company. There was also a trained 
 bear, who stood on his head, and marched up- 
 right, and bowed with prodigious gravity to his 
 master; and a hare that beat a drum, and a 
 cock that strutted on little stilts disdainfully. 
 These things made Gerard laugh now and then ; 
 but the gay scene could not really enliven it, 
 for his heart was not in tune with it. So hear- 
 ing a young man say to his fellow that the Duke 
 had been in the meadow, but was gone to the 
 Stadthouse to entertain the burgomasters and 
 aldermen and the competitors for the prizes, 
 and their friends, he suddenly remembered he 
 was hungry, and should like to sup with a 
 prince. He left the river-side, and this time he 
 found the Hooch Straet, and it speedily led him 
 to the Stadthouse. But when he got "there he 
 was refused, first at one door, then at another", 
 till he came to the great gate of the courtyard. 
 It was kept by soldiers, and superintended bv 
 a pompous major-domo, glittering in an em- 
 broidered collar and a gold chain of office, and 
 holding a white staff with a gold knob. There 
 was a crowd of persons at the gate endeavouring 
 
 to soften this official rock. They came up in 
 turn like ripples, and retired as such in turn. 
 It cost Gerard a struggle to get near him, and 
 when he was within four heads of the gate, he 
 saw something that made his heart beat ; there 
 was Peter, with Margaret on his arm, soliciting 
 humbly for entrance. 
 
 ' My cousin the alderman is not at home ; 
 they say he is here. 1 ' 
 
 " What is that to me, old man ? " 
 " If you will not let us pass in to him, at least 
 take this leaf from my tablet to my cousin. 
 See I have written his name : he will come 
 out to as." 
 
 'For what do you take me? I carry no 
 messages. I keep the gate." 
 
 He then bawled, in a stentorian voice, 
 inexorably : 
 
 " No strangers enter here, but the competitors 
 and their companies." 
 
 " Come, old man," cried a voice in the crowd, 
 " you have gotten your answer ; make way." 
 Margaret turned half round imploringly : 
 
 "Good people, we are come from far, and my 
 father is old ; and my cousin has a new servant 
 that knows us not, and would not let us sit in our 
 cousin's house." 
 
 At this the crowd laughed hoarsely. Mar- 
 garet shrank as if they had struck her. At 
 that moment a hand grasped hers a magic 
 grasp; it felt like heart meeting heart or 
 magnet steel. She turned quickly round at 
 it, and it was Gerard. Such a little cry of 
 joy and appeal came from her bosom, and she 
 began to whimper prettily. 
 
 They had hustled her and frightened her, for 
 one thing ; and her cousin's thoughtlessness, 
 in not even telling his servant they were coming, 
 was cruel ; and the servant's caution, however 
 wise and faithful to her master, was bitterly 
 mortifying to her father and her. And to her 
 so mortified, and anxious and jostled, came 
 suddenly this kind hand and face. " Hinc 
 illre lacrimse." 
 
 "All is well now," remarked a coarse 
 humourist ; " she hath gotten her sweetheart." 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw ! " went the crowd. 
 
 She dropped Gerard's hand directly, and 
 turned round, with eyes flashing through her 
 tears : 
 
 " I have no sweetheart, you rude men. But 
 I am friendless in your boorish town, and this is 
 a friend ; and one who knows, what you know 
 not, how to treat the aged and the weak." 
 
 The crowd was dead silent. They had only 
 been thoughtless, and now felt the rebuke, 
 though severe, was just. The silence enabled 
 Gerard to treat with the porter. 
 
 " I am a competitor, sir." 
 
 "What is your name?" and the man eyed 
 him suspiciously. 
 
 " Gerard, the son of Elias." 
 
 The janitor inspected a slip of parchment he 
 held in his hand : 
 
 " Gerard Eliassoen can enter." 
 
 " With my company, these two ? " 
 
 "Nay; those are not your company: they 
 came before you." 
 
 "What matter? They are my friends, and 
 without them I go not in."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Stay without, then." 
 
 " That will I not." 
 
 " That we will see." 
 
 "We will, and speedily." And with this, 
 Gerard raised a voice of astounding volume 
 and power, and shouted so that the whole 
 street rang : 
 
 "Ho ! PHILIP, EARL OP HOLLAND ! " 
 
 " Are you mad ? " cried the porter. 
 
 " HERE is ONE OF YOUR VARLETS DEFIES 
 YOU." 
 
 " Hush, hush 1 " 
 
 " AND WILL NOT LET YOUR GUESTS PASS IN." 
 " Hush ! murder ! The Duke's there. I'm 
 dead," cried the janitor, quaking. 
 
 Then suddenly trying to overpower Gerard's 
 thunder, he shouted, with all his lungs : 
 
 "OPEN THE GATE, YE KNAVES 1 WAY 
 THERE FOR GERARD ELIASSOEN AND HIS 
 COMPANY 1 (The fiends go with him !)" 
 
 The gate swung open as by magic. Eight 
 soldiers lowered their pikes half-way, and 
 made an arch, under which the victorious 
 three marched in triumphant. The moment 
 they had passed, the pikes clashed together 
 horizontally to bar the gateway, and all but 
 pinned an abdominal citizen that sought to 
 wedge in along with them. 
 
 Onc,e past the guarded portal, a few steps 
 brought the trio upon a scene of Oriental 
 luxury. The courtyard was laid out in tables 
 loaded with rich meats and piled with gorgeous 
 plate. Guests in rich and various costumes 
 sat beneath a leafy canopy of fresh-cut branches 
 fastened tastefully to golden, silver, and blue 
 silken cords that traversed the area ; and fruits 
 of many hues, including some artificial ones of 
 gold, silver, and wax, hung pendant, or peeped 
 like fair eyes among the green leaves of plane- 
 trees and lime-trees. The Duke's minstrels 
 swept their lutes at intervals, and a fountain 
 played red Burgundy in six jets that met and 
 battled in the air. The evening sun darted its 
 fires through those bright and purple wine 
 spouts, making them jets and cascades of 
 molten rubies, then passing on, tinged with 
 the blood of the grape, shed crimson glories 
 here and there on fair faces, snowy beards, 
 velvet, satin, jewelled hilts, glowing gold, 
 gleaming silver, and sparkling glass. Gerard 
 and his friends stood dazzled, spell-bound. 
 Presently a whisper buzzed round them, " Salute 
 the Duke ! Salute the Duke 1 " They looked 
 up, and there on high, under the dais, was 
 their sovereign, bidding them welcome with 
 a kindly wave of the hand. The men bowed 
 low, and Margaret curtsied with a deep and 
 graceful obeisance. The Duke's hand being 
 up, he gave it another turn, and pointed the 
 new-comers out to a knot of valets. Instantly 
 seven of his people, with an obedient start, 
 went headlong at our friends, seated them at 
 a table, and put fifteen many-coloured soups 
 before them, in little silver bowls, and as many 
 wines in crystal vases. 
 
 "Nay, father, let us not eat until we have 
 thanked our good friend," said Margaret, now 
 first recovering from all this bustle. 
 " Girl, he is our guardian angeL" 
 Gerard put his face into his hands. 
 
 "Tell me when you have done," said he, 
 " and I will reappear and have my supper, for 
 I am hungry. I know which of us three is the 
 happiest at meeting again." 
 
 " Me ? " inquired Margaret. 
 
 " No : guess again." 
 
 "Father?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then I have no guess which it can be ; " 
 and she gave a little crow of happiness and 
 gaiety. The soup was tasted, and vanished in 
 a twirl of fourteen hands, and fish came on the 
 table in a dozen forms, with patties of lobster 
 and almonds mixed, and of almonds and cream, 
 and an immense variety of brmtets known 
 to us as rissoles. The next trifle was a wild 
 boar, which smelt divine. Why, then, did 
 Margaret start away from it with two shrieks 
 of dismay, and pinch so good a friend as 
 Gerard? Because the Duke's cumnicr had 
 been too clever ; had made this excellent dish 
 too captivating to the sight as well as taste. 
 He had restored to the animal, by elaborate 
 mimicry with burnt sugar and other edible 
 colours, the hair and bristles he had robbed 
 him of by fire and water. To make him still 
 more enticing, the huge tusks were carefully 
 preserved in the brute's jaw, and gave his 
 mouth the winning smile that comes of tusk 
 in man or beast ; and two eyes of coloured sugar 
 glowed in his head. St. Argus 1 what eyes ! so 
 bright, so bloodshot, so threatening they fol- 
 lowed a man and every movement of his knife 
 and spoon. But, indeed, I need the pencil of 
 Granville or Tenniel to make you see the two 
 gilt valets on the opposite side of the table 
 putting the monster down before our friends, 
 with a smiling, self-satisfied, benevolent ob- 
 sequiousness for this ghastly monster was 
 the flower of all comestibles old Peter clasp- 
 ing both hands in pious admiration of it ; 
 Margaret wheeling round with horror-stricken 
 eyes and her hand on Gerard's shoulder, 
 squeaking and pinching ; his face of unwise 
 delight at being pinched, the grizzly brute 
 glaring sulkily on all, and the guests grinning 
 from ear to ear. 
 
 "What's to do?" shouted ths Duke, hearing 
 the signals of female distress. Seven of his 
 people with a zealous start went headlong and 
 told him. He laughed and said, " Give her of 
 the beef-stuffing, then, and bring me Sir Boar." 
 Benevolent monarch ! The beef-stuffing was 
 his own private dish. On these grand occa- 
 sions an ox was roasted whole, and reserved 
 for the poor. But this wise as well as charit- 
 able prince had discovered, that whatever veni- 
 son, hares, lamb, poultry, c., you skewered 
 into that beef cavern, got cooked to perfection, 
 retaining their own juices and receiving those 
 of the reeking ox. These he called his beef- 
 stuffing, and took delight therein, as did now 
 our trio ; for, at his word, seven of his people 
 went headlong, and drove silver tridents into 
 the steaming cave at random, and speared a 
 kid, a cygnet, and a flock of wildfowl. These 
 presently smoked before Gerard and company ; 
 and Peter's face, sad and slightly morose at the 
 loss of the savage hog, expanded and shone. 
 After this, twenty different tarts of fruits and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 herbs, and last of all, confectionery on a Titanic 
 scale ; cathedrals of sugar, all gilt and painted 
 in the interstices of the bas-reliefs ; castles 
 with their moats, and ditches imitated to the 
 life ; elephants, camels, toads ; knights on horse- 
 back jousting ; kings and princesses looking 
 on ; trumpeters blowing ; and all these person- 
 ages delicious eating, and their veins filled 
 with sweet-scented juices : works of art made 
 to be destroyed. The guests breached a bastion, 
 crunched a crusader and his horse and lance, 
 or cracked a bishop, cope, chasuble, crosier and 
 all, as remorselessly as we do a caraway comfit ; 
 sipping meanwhile hippocras and other spiced 
 drinks, and Greek and Corsican wines, while 
 every now and then little Turkish boys, tur- 
 baned, spangled, jewelled, and gilt, came offer- 
 ing on bended knee golden troughs of rose-water 
 and orange-water to keep the guests' hands 
 cool and perfumed. 
 
 But long before our party arrived at this final 
 stage appetite had succumbed, and Gerard had 
 suddenly remembered he was the bearer of 
 a letter to the Princess Marie, and, in an un- 
 dertone, had asked one of the servants if he 
 would undertake to deliver it. The man took it 
 with a deep obeisance : " He could not deliver 
 it himself, but would instantly give it one of the 
 Princess's suite, several of whom were about." 
 
 It may be remembered that Peter and Mar- 
 garet came here not to dine, but to find their 
 cousin. Well, the old gentleman ate heartily, 
 and being much fatigued, dropped asleep, and 
 forgot all about his cousin. Margaret did not 
 remind him ; we Shall hear why. 
 
 Meantime, that cousin was seated within a 
 few feet of them, at their backs, and discovered 
 them when Margaret turned round and screamed 
 at the boar. But he forbore to speak to them, 
 for municipal reasons. Margaret was very 
 plainly dressed, and Peter inclined to thread- 
 bare. So the alderman said to himself : 
 
 "'Twill be time to make up to them when 
 the sun sets and the company disperses : then 
 I will take my poor relations to my house, and 
 none will be the wiser." 
 
 Half the courses were lost on Gerard and 
 Margaret. They were no great eaters, and just 
 now were feeding on sweet thoughts that 
 have ever been unfavourable to appetite. But 
 there is a delicate kind of sensuality, to whose 
 influence these two were perhaps more sensitive 
 than any other pair in that assembly the 
 delights of colour, music, and perfume, all of 
 which blended so fascinatingly here. 
 
 Margaret leaned back and half closed her 
 eyes, and murmured to Gerard : " What a lovely 
 scene ! the warm sun, the green shade, the rich 
 dresses, the bright music of the lutes and the 
 cool music of the fountain, and all faces so 
 happy and gay! and then, it is to you we 
 owe it." 
 
 Gerard was silent all but his eyes ; observing 
 which- 
 
 "Now, speak not to me," said Margaret 
 languidly ; " let me listen to the fountain : what 
 are you a competitor for ? " 
 
 He told her. 
 
 "Very well! You will gain one prize, at 
 least." 
 
 " Which ? which ? have you seen any of my 
 work ? " 
 
 " I ? no. But you will gain a prize." 
 
 " I hope so ; but what makes you think so ? " 
 
 "Because you were so good to my father." 
 
 Gerard smiled at the feminine logic, and 
 hung his head at the sweet praise, and was 
 silent. 
 
 "Speak not," murmured Margaret. "They 
 say this is a world of sin and misery. Can that 
 be ? What is your opinion ? " 
 
 " No I that is all a silly old song," explained 
 Gerard. " 'Tis a byword our elders keep re- 
 peating, out of custom : it is not true." 
 
 " How can you know ? You are but a child," 
 said Margaret, with pensive dignity. 
 
 " Why, only look round I And then I thought 
 I had lost you for ever; and you are by my 
 side ; and now the minstrels are going to play 
 again. Sin and misery ? Stuff and nonsense 1 " 
 
 The lutes burst out. The courtyard rang 
 again with their delicate harmony. 
 
 "What do you admire most of all these 
 beautiful things, Gerard ? " 
 
 " You know my name ? How is that ? " 
 
 " White magic. I am a witch." 
 
 "Angels are never witches. But I can't 
 think how you " 
 
 fi Foolish boy ! was it not cried at the gate 
 loud enough to deave one ? " 
 
 " So it was. Where is my head ? What do 
 I admire most ? If you will sit a little more 
 that way, I'll tell you." 
 
 "This way?" 
 
 " Yes ; so that the light may fall on you. 
 There ! I see many fair things here, fairer than 
 I could have conceived ; but the fairest of all, 
 to my eye, is your lovely hair in its silver frame, 
 and the setting sun kissing it. It minds me of 
 what the Vulgate praises for beauty, ' an apple 
 of gold in a mticork of silver,' and oh, what a pity 
 I did not know you before I sent in my poor 
 endeavours at illuminating ! I could illuminate 
 so much better now. I could do everything 
 better. There, now the sun is full on it, it is 
 like an aureole. So our Lady looked, and none 
 since her until to-day." 
 
 ' Oh, fie ! it is wicked to talk so. Compare 
 a poor, coarse-favoured girl like me with the 
 Queen of Heaven ? Oh, Gerard ! I thought you 
 were a good young man." And Margaret was 
 shocked apparently. 
 
 Gerard tried to explain. "I am no worse 
 than the rest ; but how can I help having eyes, 
 and a heart Margaret 1 " 
 
 "Gerard 1" 
 
 " Be not angry now I " 
 
 "Now, is it likely?" 
 
 "I love you." 
 
 "Oh, for shame! you must not say that to 
 me," and Margaret coloured furiously at this 
 sudden assault. 
 
 " I can't help it. I love you. I love you." 
 
 "Hush, hush I for pity's sake ! I must not 
 listen to such words from a stranger. I am un- 
 grateful to call you a stranger. Oh, how one 
 may be mistaken ! If I had known you were 
 
 so bold " And Margaret's bosom began to 
 
 heave, and her cheeks were covered with blushes,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and she looked towards her sleeping father, 
 very much like a timid thing that meditates 
 actual flight. 
 
 Then Gerard was frightened at the alarm he 
 caused. "Forgive me," said he imploringly. 
 " How could any one help loving you ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I will try and forgive you you 
 are so good in other respects ; but then you must 
 promise me never to say yon to say that again." 
 
 "Give me your hand then, or you don't for- 
 give me." 
 
 She hesitated ; but eventually put out her 
 hand a very little way, very slowly, and with 
 seeming reluctance. He took it, and held it 
 prisoner. When she thought it had been there 
 long enough, she tried gently to draw it away. 
 He held it tight : it submitted quite patiently 
 to force. What is the use resisting force ? She 
 turned her head away, and her long eyelashes 
 drooped sweetly. Gerard lost nothing by his 
 promise. Words were not heeded here ; and 
 silence was more eloquent. Nature was in that 
 day what she is in ours ; but manners were 
 somewhat freer. Then, as now, virgins drew 
 back alarmed at the first words of love ; but of 
 
 prudery and artificial coquetry there was little, 
 and the young soon read one another's hearts. 
 Everything was on Gerard's side, his good looks, 
 her belief in his goodness, her gratitude ; and 
 opportunity : for at the Duke's banquet this 
 mellow summer eve, all things disposed the 
 female nature to tenderness : the avenues 
 to the heart lay open ; the senses were so 
 soothed and subdued with lovely colours, gentle 
 sounds, and delicate odours ; the sun gently 
 sinking, the warm air, the green canopy, the 
 cool music of the now violet fountain. 
 
 Gerard and Margaret sat hand in hand in 
 silence ; and Gerard's eyes sought hers lovingly ; 
 and hers now and then turned on him timidly 
 and imploringly ; and presently two sweet un- 
 reasonable tears rolled down her cheeks, and 
 she smiled deliciously while they were drying : 
 yet they did not take long. 
 
 And the sun declined ; and the air cooled ; 
 and the fountain plashed more gently ; and the 
 pair throbbed in unison and silence, and this 
 weary world looked heaven to them. 
 
 h I l/=fez^=t: J J vt -^? W J I ^ 
 
 Oh, the mcr-ry days, tho mcr-ry days when wo were young. 
 
 ^ z= g = -g-l='^ E ^EE^^ ; ^E 
 
 Oh, tho mer ry days, tho mer-ry days when, we were young. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A GRAVE white-haired seneschal came to their 
 table, and inquired courteously whether Gerard 
 Eliassoen was of their company. Upon Gerard's 
 answer, he said : 
 
 "The Princess Marie would confer with 
 you, young sir; I am to conduct you to her 
 presence." 
 
 Instantly all faces within hearing turned 
 sharp round, and were bent with curiosity and 
 envy on the man that was to go to a princess. 
 
 Gerard rose to obey. 
 
 " I wager we shall not see you again," said 
 Margaret calmly, but colouring a little. 
 
 "That will you," was the reply: then he 
 whispered in her ear: "This is my good 
 princess ; but you are my queen." He added 
 aloud: "Wait for me, I pray you, I will 
 presently return." 
 
 " Ay. ay 1 " said Peter, awaking and speaking 
 at one and the same moment. 
 
 Gerard gone, the pair whose dress wa-i M> 
 homely, yet they were with the man whom the 
 Princess sent for, became "the cynosure of 
 neighbouring eyes ; " observing which, William 
 Johnson came forward, acted surprise, and 
 claimed his relations. 
 
 " And to think that there was I at your backs, 
 and you saw me not ! " 
 
 " Nay, cousin Johnson, I saw you long syne," 
 said Margaret coldly. 
 
 " You saw me, and spoke not to me ? " 
 
 "Cousin, it was for you to welcome ns to 
 
 Rotterdam, as it is for us to welcome you at 
 Sevenbergen. Your servant denied us a seat 
 in your house." 
 
 " The idiot !" 
 
 "And I had a mind to see whether it was 
 'like maid like master :' for there is sooth in 
 bywords." 
 
 William Johnson blushed purple. He saw 
 Margaret was keen, and suspected him. He 
 did the wisest thing under the circumstances, 
 trusted to deeds not words. He insisted on 
 their coming home with him at once, and lio 
 would show them whether they were welcome 
 to Rotterdam or not. 
 
 " Who doubts it, cousin ? Who doubi 
 said the scholar. 
 
 Margaret thanked him graciously, but de- 
 murred to go just now : said she wanted to 
 hear the minstrels again. In about a quarter 
 of an hour Johnson renewed his proposal, and 
 bade her observe that many of the guests had 
 left. Then her real reason came out. 
 
 " It were ill manners to our friend ; and ho 
 will lose us. He knows not where we lodge in 
 Rotterdam, and the city is large, and we have 
 parted company once already." 
 
 "Oh!" said Johnson, "we will provide for 
 that. My young man, ahem ! I mean my 
 secretary, shall sit here and wait, and bring 
 him on to my house : he shall lodge with me 
 and with no other." 
 
 " Cousin, we'shall be too burdensome." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; you shall see whether you are 
 welcome or not, you and your friends, and your
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 friends' friends, if need be ; and I shall hear 
 what the Princess would with him." 
 
 Margaret felt a thrill of joy that Gerard 
 should be lodged under the same roof with 
 her; then she had a slight misgiving. "But 
 if your young man should be thoughtless, and 
 go play," and Gerard miss him ? " 
 
 " He go play ? He leave that spot where I 
 put him, and bid him stay ? Ho 1 stand forth, 
 Hans Cloterman." 
 
 A figure clad in black serge and dark violet 
 hose arose, and took two steps and stood before 
 them without moving a muscle : a solemn, pre- 
 cise young man, the very statue of gravity and 
 starched propriety. At his aspect Margaret, 
 being very happy, could hardly keep her coun- 
 tenance. But she whispered Johnson, " I 
 would put my hand in the fire for him. We 
 are at your command, cousin, as soon as you 
 have given him his orders." 
 
 Hans was then instructed to sit at the table 
 and wait for Gerard, and conduct him to Ooster- 
 Waagen Straet. He replied, not in words, but 
 by calmly taking the seat indicated, and Mar- 
 garet, Pe'ter, and William Johnson went away 
 together. 
 
 "And, indeed, it is time you were abed, 
 father, after all your travel," said Margaret. 
 This had been in her mind all along. 
 
 Hans Cloterman sat waiting for Gerard, 
 solemn and business-like. The minutes flew 
 by, but excited no impatience in that perfect 
 young man. Johnson did him no more than 
 Justice when he laughed to scorn the idea of 
 his secretary leaving his post or neglecting his 
 duty in pursuit of sport or out of youthful 
 hilarity and frivolity. 
 
 As Gerard was long in coming, the patient 
 Hans his employer's eye being no longer on 
 him improved the time by quaffing solemnly, 
 silently, and at short but accurately measured 
 intervals, goblets of Corsican wine. The wine 
 was strong, so was Cloterman's head; and 
 Gerard had been gone a good hour ere the 
 model secretary imbibed the notion that Crea- 
 tion expected Cloterman to drink the health 
 of all good fellows, and nommtment of the 
 Duke of Burgundy there present. With this 
 view he filled bumper nine, and rose gingerly 
 but solemnly and slowly. Having reached his 
 full height, he instantly rolled upon the grass, 
 goblet in hand, spilling the cold liquor on 
 more than one ankle whose owners frisked 
 but not disturbing a muscle in his own long 
 face, which, in the total eclipse of reason, re- 
 tained its gravity, primness, and infallibility. 
 
 The seneschal led Gerard through several pas- 
 sages to the door of the pavilion, where some 
 young noblemen, embroidered and feathered, 
 sat sentinel, guarding the heir-apparent, and 
 playing cards by the red light of torches their 
 servants held. A whisper from the seneschal, 
 and one of them rose reluctantly, stared at 
 Gerard with haughty surprise, and entered the 
 pavilion. He presently returned, and, beckon- 
 ing the pair, led them through a passage or two 
 and landed them in an ante-chamber, where sat 
 three more young gentlemen, feathered, furred, 
 and embroidered like pieces of fancy work, and 
 
 deep in that instructive and edifying branch of 
 learning, dice. 
 
 You can't see the Princess it is too late, " 
 said one. 
 
 Another followed suit : 
 
 "She passed this way but now with her 
 nurse. She is gone to bed, doll and all. Deuce- 
 :e again 1 " 
 
 Gerard prepared to retire. The seneschal, 
 with an incredulous smile, replied : 
 
 " The young man is here by the Countess's 
 orders ; be so good as conduct him to her 
 ladies." 
 
 On this a superb Adonis rose, with an injured 
 look, and led Gerard into a room where sat or 
 lolloped eleven ladies, chattering like magpies. 
 Two, more industrious than the rest, were play- 
 ing cat's-cradle with fingers as nimble as their 
 tongues. At the sight of a stranger all the 
 tongues stopped like one piece of complicated 
 machinery, and all the eyes turned on Gerard, 
 as if the same string that checked the tongues 
 had turned the eyes on. Gerard was ill at ease 
 before, but this battery of eyes discountenanced 
 him, and down went his eyes on the ground. 
 Then the cowards finding, like the hare who 
 ran by the pond and the frogs scuttled into the 
 water, that there was a creature they could 
 frighten, giggled and enjoyed their prowess. 
 Then a duenna said severely, ' ' Mesdames 1 " 
 and they were all abashed at once as though a 
 modesty string had been pulled. This same 
 duenna took Gerard, and marched before him 
 in solemn silence. The young man's heart sank, 
 and he had half a mind to turn and run out of 
 the place. " What must princes be," he thought, 
 " when their courtiers are so freezing ? Doubt- 
 less they take their breeding from him they 
 serve." These reflections were interrupted by 
 the duenna suddenly introducing him into a 
 room where three ladies sat working, and a 
 pretty little girl tuning a lute. 
 
 The ladies were richly but not showily dressed, 
 and the duenna went up to the one who was 
 hemming a kerchief, and said a few words in 
 a low tone. This lady then turned towards 
 Gerard with a smile, and beckoned him to 
 come near her. She did not rise, but she laid 
 aside her work, and her manner of turning to- 
 wards him, slight as the movement was, was 
 full of grace and ease and courtesy. She began 
 a conversation at once. 
 
 "Margaret Van Eyck is an old friend of 
 mine, sir, and I am right glad to have a letter 
 from her hand, and thankful to you, sir, for 
 bringing it to me safely. Marie, my love, this 
 is the young gentleman who brought you that 
 pretty miniature." 
 
 " S'ir, I thank you a thousand times," said 
 the young lady. 
 
 " I am glad you feel her debtor, sweetheart, 
 for our friend would have us to do him a little 
 service in return." 
 
 " I will do anything on earth for him," replied 
 the young lady with ardour. 
 
 " Anything on earth is nothing in the world," 
 said the Countess of Charolois quietly. 
 
 "Well, then, I will What would you 
 
 have me to do, sir ? " 
 
 Gerard had just found out what high society
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 he was in. "My sovereign demoiselle," said 
 he, gently and a little tremulously, "where 
 there have been no pains, there needs no 
 reward." 
 
 " But we must obey mamma. All the world 
 must obey mamma." 
 
 "That is true. Then, our demoiselle, re- 
 ward me, if you will, by letting me hear the 
 stave you were going to sing and I did inter- 
 rupt it." 
 
 " What 1 you love music, sir ? " 
 
 "I adore it." 
 
 The little princess looked inquiringly at her 
 mother, and received a smile of assent. She 
 then took her lute and sang a romaunt of the 
 day. Although but twelve years old, she was 
 a well-taught and painstaking musician. Her 
 little claw swept the chords with courage and 
 precision, and struck out the notes of the 
 arpeggio clear, and distinct, and bright, like 
 twinkling stars ; but the main charm was her 
 voice. It was not mighty, but it was round, 
 clear, full, and ringing like a bell. She sang with 
 a certain modest eloquence, though she knew 
 none of the tricks of feeling. She was too 
 young to be theatrical, or even sentimental, so 
 nothing was forced all gushed. Her little 
 mouth seemed the mouth of Nature. The ditty, 
 too, was as pure as its utterance. As there 
 were none of those false divisions those whin- 
 ing slurs, which are now sold so dear by Italian 
 songsters, though every jackal in India delivers 
 them gratis to his customers all night, and 
 sometimes gets shot for them, and always 
 deserves it so there were no cadences and 
 fiorituri, the trite, turgid, and feeble expletives 
 of song, the skim-milk with which mindless 
 musicians and mindless writers quench fire, 
 wash out colour, and drown melody and mean- 
 ing dead. 
 
 While the pure and tender strain was flow- 
 ing from the pure young throat, Gerard's eyes 
 filled. The Countess watched him with interest, 
 for it was usual to applaud the Princess loudly, 
 but not with cheek and eye. So when the 
 voice ceased, and the glasses left off ringing, 
 she asked demurely, " Was he content ? " 
 
 Gerard gave a little start ; the spoken voice 
 broke a charm and brought him back to earth. 
 
 "Oh, madam I" he cried, "surely it is thus 
 that cherubs and seraphs sing, and charm the 
 saints in heaven." 
 
 " I am somewhat of your opinion, my young 
 friend," said the Countess, with emotion ; and 
 she bent a look of love and gentle pride upon 
 her pirl : a heavenly look, such as, they say, is 
 given to the eye of the short-lived resting on 
 the short-lived. 
 
 The Countess resumed : 
 
 " My old friend requests me to be serviceable 
 to you. It is the first favour she has done us 
 the honour of asking us, and the request is 
 sacred. You are in holy orders, sir ? " 
 
 Gerard bowed, 
 
 "I fear you are not a priest, you look too 
 young." 
 
 " Oh no, madam ; I am not even a sub-deacon. 
 I am only a lector ; but next month I shall be 
 au exorcist, and before long an acolyth." 
 
 "Well, Monsieur Gerard, with your accom- 
 plishments you can soon pass through the in- 
 ferior orders. And let me beg you to do so. 
 For the day after you have said your first mass 
 I shall have the pleasure of appointing you to 
 a benefice." 
 
 " Oh, madam 1 " 
 
 " And, Marie, remember I make this promise 
 in your name as well as my own." 
 
 " Fear not, mamma : I will not forget. But 
 if he will take my advice, what he will be is 
 Bishop of Liege. The Bishop of Liege is a 
 beautiful bishop. What I do you not remember 
 him, mamma, that day we were at Lie"ge ? he 
 was braver than grandpapa himself. He had 
 on a crown, a high one, and it was cut in the 
 middle, and it was full of oh ! such beautiful 
 jewels ; and his gown stiff with gold ; and his 
 mantle, too ; and it had a broad border, all 
 pictures ; but, above all, his gloves ; you have no 
 such gloves, mamma. They were embroidered 
 and covered with jewels, and scented with such 
 lovely scent ; I smelt them all the time he was 
 giving me his blessing on my head with them. 
 Dear old man I I dare say he will die soon 
 most old people do and then, sir, you can be 
 bishop, you know, and wear " 
 
 " Gently, Marie, gently : bishoprics are for old 
 gentlemen ; and this is a young gentleman," 
 
 " Mamma ! he is not so very young." 
 
 " Not compared with you, Marie, eh ? " 
 
 "He is a good bigth, dear mamma; and I 
 am sure he is good enough for a bishop. " 
 
 " Alas ! mademoiselle, you are mistaken." 
 
 " I know not that, Monsieur Gerard ; but I 
 am a little puzzled to know on what grounds 
 mademoiselle there pronounces your character 
 so boldly." 
 
 "Alas! mamma," said the Princess, "you 
 have not looked at his face, then ; " and she 
 raised her eyebrows at her mother's simplicity. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the Countess, " I 
 have. Well, sir, if I cannot go quite so fast as 
 my daughter, attribute it to my age, not to a 
 want of interest in your welfare. A benefice 
 will do to begin your career with ; and I must 
 take care it is not too far from what call you 
 the place ? " 
 
 "Tergou, madam." 
 
 "A priest gives up much," continued the 
 Countess ; " often, I fear, he learns too late how 
 much ; " and her woman's eye rested a moment 
 on Gerard with mild pity and half surprise at 
 his resigning her sex and all the heaven they can 
 bestow, and the great parental joys : " at least 
 you shall be near your friends. Have you a 
 mother " 
 
 " Yes, madam, thanks be to God ! " 
 
 " Good ! You shall have a church near Ter- 
 gou. She will thank me. And now, sir, we 
 must not detain you too long from those who 
 have a better claim on your society than we 
 have. Duchess, oblige me by bidding one of 
 the pages conduct him to the hall of banquet ; 
 the way is hard to find." 
 
 Gerard bowed low to the Countess and the 
 Princess, and backed towards the door. 
 
 " I hope it will be a nice benefice," said the 
 Princess to him, with a pretty smile, as he was 
 going out ; then, shaking her head with an air
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 of solemn misgiving, " but you had better have 
 been Bishop of Lidge." 
 
 Gerard followed his new conductor, his heart 
 warm with gratitude ; but ere he reached the 
 banquet-hall a chill came over him. The mind 
 of one who has led a quiet, uneventful life is 
 not apt to take in contradictory feelings at the 
 same moment and balance them, but rather to 
 be overpowered by each in turn. While Gerard 
 was with the Countess, the excitement of so 
 new a situation, the unlooked-for promise, the 
 joy and pride it would cause at home, possessed 
 him wholly ; but now it was passion's turn to 
 be heard again. What ! give up Margaret, whose 
 soft hand he still felt in his, and her deep eyes 
 in his heart? resign her and all the world of 
 love and joy she had opened on him to-day? 
 The revulsion, when it did come, was so strong 
 that he hastily resolved to say nothing at home 
 about the offered benefice. " The Countess is 
 so good," thought he, " she has a hundred ways 
 of aiding a young man's fortune : she will not 
 compel me to be a priest when she shall learn 
 I love one of her sex : one would almost think 
 she does know it, for she cast a strange look 
 on me, and said, ' A priest gives up much, too 
 much.' I dare say she will give me a place 
 about the palace." And with this hopeful re- 
 flection his mind was eased, and, being now at 
 the entrance of the banqueting-hall, he thanked 
 his conductor, and ran hastily with joyful eyes 
 to Margaret. He came in sight of the table 
 she was gone. Peter was gone too. Nobody 
 was at the table at all ; only a citizen in sober 
 garments had just tumbled under it dead drunk, 
 and several persons were raising him to carry 
 him a%vay. Gerard never guessed how important 
 this solemn drunkard was to him : he was look- 
 ing for " Beauty," and let the " Beast " lie. He 
 ran wildly round the hall, which was now com- 
 paratively empty. She was not there. He left 
 the palace : outside he found a crowd gaping 
 at two great fan-lights just lighted over the 
 gate. He asked them earnestly if they had 
 seen an old man in a gown, and a lovely girl 
 pass out. They laughed at the question. " They 
 were staring at these new lights that turn night 
 into day. They didn't trouble their heads about 
 old men and young wenches, every-day sights." 
 From another group he learned there was a 
 Mystery being played under canvas hard by, 
 and all the world gone to see it. This revived 
 his hopes, and he went and saw the Mystery. 
 In this representation divine personages, too 
 pacred for me to name here, came clumsily 
 down from heaven to talk sophistry with the 
 cardinal Virtues, the nine Muses, and the seven 
 deadly Sins, all present in human shape, and 
 not unlike one another. To enliven which 
 weary stuff in rattled the Prince of the power 
 of the air, and an imp that kept molesting 
 him and buffeting him with a bladder, at each 
 thwack of which the crowd were in ecstasies. 
 When the Vices had uttered good store of ob- 
 scenity and the Virtues twaddle, the celestials, 
 including the nine Muses, went gingerly bac 1 
 to heaven one by one ; for there was but on, 
 cloud ; and two artisans worked it up with its 
 supernatural freight, and worked it down with 
 a winch, in full sight of the audience. These 
 
 disposed of, the bottomless pit opened and 
 flamed in the centre of the stage ; the car- 
 penters and Virtues shoved the Vices in, and 
 the Virtues and Beelzebub and his tormentor 
 danced merrily round the place of eternal 
 torture to the fife and tabor. 
 
 This entertainment was writ by the Bishop 
 of Ghent for the diffusion of religious senti- 
 ment by the aid of the senses, and was an 
 average specimen of theatrical exhibitions so 
 long as they were in the hands of the clergy. 
 But, in course of time, the laity conducted 
 plays, and so the theatre, I learn from the 
 pulpit, has become profane. 
 
 Margaret was nowhere in the crowd, and 
 Gerard could not enjoy the performance ; he 
 actually went away in Act 2, in the midst of 
 a much-admired piece of dialogue, in which 
 Justice out-quibbled Satan. He walked through 
 many streets, but could not find her he sought. 
 At last, fairly worn out, he went to a hostelry 
 and slept till daybreak All that day, heavy 
 and heartsick, he sought her, but could never 
 fall in with her or her father, nor ever obtain 
 the slightest clue. Then he felt she was false 
 or had changed her mind. He was irritated 
 now, as well as sad. More good fortune fell 
 on him ; he almost hated it. At last, on the 
 third day, after he had once more been through 
 every street, he said, "She is not in the town, 
 and I shall never see her again. I will go 
 home." He started for Tergou with royal 
 favour promised, with fifteen golden angels in 
 his purse, a golden medal on his bosom, and a 
 heart like a lump of lead. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT was near four o'clock in the afternoon. Eli 
 was in the shop. His eldest and youngest sons 
 were abroad. Catherine and her little crippled 
 daughter had long been anxious about Gerard, 
 and now they were gone a little way down the 
 road, to see if by good luck he might be visible 
 in the distance ; and Giles was alone in the 
 sitting-room, which I will sketch, furniture and 
 dwarf included. 
 
 The Hollanders were always an original and 
 leading people. They claim to have invented 
 printing (wooden type), oil-painting, liberty, 
 banking, gardening, &c. Above all, years before 
 my tale, they invented cleanliness. So, while the 
 English gentry, in velvet jerkins and chicken- 
 toed shoes, trode floors of stale rushes, foul re- 
 ceptacle of bones, decomposing morsels, spittle, 
 dogs, eggs, and all abominations, this hosier's 
 sitting-room at Tergou was floored with Dutch 
 tiles, so highly glazed and constantly washed, 
 that you could eat off them. There was one 
 large window ; the cross stone-work in the 
 centre of it was very massive, and stood in 
 relief, looking like an actual cross to the in- 
 mates, and was eyed as such in their devotions. 
 The panes were very small and lozenge-shaped, 
 nd soldered to one another with strips of lead : 
 xhe like you may see to this day in our rural 
 cottages. The chairs were rude and primitive,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 all but the arm-chair, whose back, at right 
 angles with its seat, was so high that the 
 sitter's head stopped two feet short of the top. 
 This chair was of oak, and carved at the summit. 
 There was a copper pail, that went in at the 
 waist, holding holy water, and a little hand- 
 besom to sprinkle it far and wide ; and a long, 
 narrow, but massive oak table, and a dwarf 
 sticking to its rim by his teeth, his eyes glaring, 
 and his claws in the air like a pouncing vampire. 
 Nature, it would seem, did not make Giles a 
 dwarf out of malice prepense ; she constructed 
 a head and torso with her usual care ; but just 
 then her attention was distracted, and she left 
 the rest to chance ; the result was a human 
 wedge, an inverted cone. He might justly have 
 taken her to task in the terms of Horace : 
 
 " Amphora coepit 
 Iiistltui ; currente rota cor urceus exit? 
 
 His centre was anything but his centre of 
 gravity. Bisected, upper Giles would have 
 outweighed three lower Giles. But this very 
 disproportion enabled him to do feats that 
 would have baffled Milo. His brawny arms 
 had no weight to draw after them ; so he 
 could go up a vertical pole like a squirrel, 
 and hang for hours from a bough by one 
 hand like a cherry by its stalk. If he could 
 have made a vacuum with his hands, as the 
 lizard is said to do with its feet, he would 
 have gone along a ceiling. Now, this pocket- 
 athlete was insanely fond of griping the dinner- 
 table with both hands, and so swinging ; and 
 then climax of delight! he would seize it 
 with his teeth, and, taking off his hands, 
 hold on like grim death by his huge ivories. 
 
 But all our joys, however elevating, suffer 
 interruption. Little Kate caught Sampsonet 
 in this posture, and stood aghast. She was 
 her mother's daughter, and her heart was with 
 the furniture, not with the I2mo gymnast. 
 
 " Oh, Giles ! how can you ? Mother is at 
 hand. It dents the table." 
 
 " Go and tell her, little tale-bearer," snarled 
 Giles. "You are the one for making mischief." 
 
 "Am I?" inquired Kate calmly; "that is 
 news to me." 
 
 "The biggest in Tergou," growled Giles, 
 fastening on again. 
 
 "Oh, indeed ! " s;tid Kate drily. 
 
 This piece of unwonted satire launched, and 
 Giles not visibly blasted, she sat down quietly 
 and cried. 
 
 Her mother came in almost at that moment, 
 and Giles hurled himself under the table, and 
 I hen- glared. 
 
 " What is to do now ? " said the dame sharply. 
 I'hen turning IMT experienced eyes from Kate to 
 Liiles, :md observing tho position lie h.-ni 
 up, and a sheepish expression, she hinted at 
 luffing of ears. 
 
 " Nay, mother," said the girl ; " it was but a 
 loulMi \vord Giles spoke. I had not noticed it 
 it another time ; but I was tired and in care 
 [or Gerard, you know." 
 
 " Let no one be in care for me," said a faint 
 
 roice at the door, and in tottered Gerard, pale, 
 
 tod worn nut ; und mnidst uplifted hands 
 
 ind cries of delight, curiosity, and anxiety 
 
 mingled, dropped exhausted into the 
 
 Beating Kotterdam, like a covert, for Mar- 
 garet, and the long journey afterwards, had 
 fairly knocked Gerard up. But elastic youth 
 soon revived, and behold him the centre of an 
 eager circle. First of all they must hear about 
 the prizes. Then Gerard told them he had 
 been admitted to see the competitors' works, 
 all laid out in an enormous hall before the 
 judges pronounced. "Oh, mother! oh, Kate! 
 when I saw the goldsmiths' work, I had liked 
 to have fallen on the floor. I thought not all 
 the goldsmiths on earth had so much gold, 
 silver, jewels, and craft of design and facture. 
 But, in sooth, all the arts are divine." 
 
 Then, to please the females, he described to 
 them the reliquaries, feretories, calices, crosiers, 
 crosses, pyxes, monstrances, and other wonders 
 ecclesiastical, and the goblets, hanaps, watches, 
 clocks, chains, brooches, &c., so that their 
 mouths watered. 
 
 " But, Kate, when I came to the illuminated 
 work from Ghent and Bruges, my heart sank. 
 Mine was dirt by the side of it. For the fir.st 
 minute I could almost have cried ; but I prayed 
 for a better spirit, and presently I was able to 
 enjoy them, and thank God for those lovely 
 works, and for those skilful, patient craftsmen, 
 whom I own my masters. Well, the coloured 
 work was so beautiful I forgot all about the 
 black and white. But next day, when all the 
 other prizes had been given, they came to the 
 writing, and whose name think you was called 
 first?" 
 
 "Yours," said Kate. 
 
 The others laughed her to scorn. 
 
 " You may well laugh," said Gerard, "but for 
 all that, Gerard Eliassoen of Tergou was the 
 name the herald shouted. I stood stupid ; they 
 thrust me forward. Everything swam before 
 my eyes. I found myself kneeling on a cushion 
 at the feet of the Duke. He said something to 
 me, but I was so fluttered I could not answer 
 him. So then he put his hand to his side, and 
 did not draw a glaive and cut off my dull head, 
 but gave me a gold medal, and there it is." 
 There was a yell and almost a scramble. " And 
 then he gave me fifteen great bright golden 
 angels". I had seen one before, but I never 
 handled one. Here they are." 
 
 " Oh, Gerard ! oh, Gerard ! " 
 
 " There is one for you, our eldest ; and one 
 for you, Sybrandt, and for you, Little Mischief; 
 and two for thce, Little Lily, because God huth 
 afflicted thee ; and one for myself, to buy colours 
 and vellum ; and nine for her that nursed us all, 
 and risked the two crowns upon poor Gerard's 
 hand." 
 
 The gold drew out their characters. Cornelis 
 and Sybrandt clutched each his coin with one 
 glare of greediness and another glare of envy 
 at Kate, who had got two pieces. Giles seized 
 his and rolled it along the floor and gambolled 
 after it. Kate put down her crutches and sat 
 down, and held out her little arms to Gerard 
 with a heavenly gesture of love and tenderness ; 
 and the mother, fairly benumbed at first by tho 
 shower of gold that fell on her apron, now cried 
 out, " Leave kissing him, Kate ; he is my son,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 21 
 
 Hot yours. Ah, Gerard ! my boy ! I have not 
 loved you as you deserved." 
 
 Then Gerard threw himself on his knees be- 
 side her, and she flung her arms round him and 
 wept for joy and pride upon his neck. 
 
 " Good lad ! good lad ! " cried the hosier, with 
 some emotion. "I must go and tell the neigh- 
 bours. Lend me the medal, Gerard ; I'll show 
 it my good friend Peter Buyskens ; he is ever 
 regaling me with how his son Jorian won the 
 tin mug a shooting at the butts." 
 
 " Ay, do, my man ; and show Peter Buyskens 
 one of the angels. Tell him there are fourteen 
 more where that came from. Mind you bring 
 it me back ! " 
 
 " Stay a minute, father ; there is better news 
 behind," said Gerard, flushing with joy at the 
 joy he caused. 
 
 " Better ! better than this ? " 
 
 Then Gerard told his interview with the 
 Countess, and the house rang with joy. 
 
 "Now, God bless the good lady, and bless 
 the dame Van Eyck I A benefice ? our son ! 
 My cares are at an end. Eli, my good friend 
 and master, now we two can die happy when- 
 ever our time comes. This dear boy will take 
 our place, and none of these loved ones will 
 want a home or a friend." 
 
 From that hour Gerard was looked upon as 
 the stay of the family. He was a son apart, 
 but in another sense. He was always in the 
 right, and nothing too good for him. Cornelis 
 and Sybrandt became more and more jealous 
 of him, and longed for the day he should go 
 to his benefice : they would get rid of the 
 favourite, and his reverence's purse would be 
 open to them. With these views he co-oper- 
 ated. The wound love had given him throbbed 
 duller and duller. His success and the affec- 
 tion and admiration of his parents made him 
 think more highly of himself, and resent with 
 more spirit Margaret's ingratitude and dis- 
 courtesy. For all that, she had power to cool 
 him towards the rest of her sex, and now for 
 every reason he wished to be ordained priest as 
 soon as he could pass the intermediate orders. 
 He knew the Vulgate already better than most 
 of the clergy, and studied the rubric and the 
 dogmas of the Church with his friends the 
 monks ; and, the first time the bishop came 
 that way, he applied to be admitted "exorcist," 
 the third step in holy orders. The bishop 
 questioned him, and ordained him at once. He 
 had to kneel, and, after a short prayer, the 
 bishop delivered to him a little MS. full of 
 exorcisms, and said: "Take this, Gerard, and 
 have power to lay hands on the possessed, 
 whether baptized or catechumens ! " and he 
 took it reverently, and went home invested by 
 the Church with power to cast out demons. 
 
 Returning home from the church, he was 
 met by little Kate on her crutches. 
 
 "Oh, Gerard ! who, think you, hath sent to our 
 house seeking you? the burgomaster himself." 
 
 " Ghysbrecht Van Swieten ? What would he 
 with me ? " 
 
 "Nay, Gerard, I know not. But he seems 
 urgent to see you. You are to go to his house 
 on the instant." 
 
 " Well, he is the burgomaster : I will go ; 
 
 but it likes me not. Kate, I have seen him 
 cast such a look on me as no friend casts. No 
 matter ; such looks forewarn the wise. To be 
 sure, he knows " 
 
 " Knows what, Gerard ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 " Kate, I'll go." 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 GHYSBRECHT VAN SWIETEN was an artful 
 man. He opened on the novice with something 
 quite wide of the mark he was really aiming at. 
 "The town records," said he, "are crabbedly 
 written, and the ink rusty with age." He 
 offered Gerard the honour of transcribing them 
 fair. 
 
 Gerard inquired what he was to be paid. 
 
 Ghysbrecht offered a sum that would have 
 just purchased the pens, ink, and parchment. 
 
 "But, burgomaster, my labour? Here is a 
 year's work." 
 
 " Your labour ? Call you marking parchment 
 labour? Little sweat goes to that, I trow." 
 
 " 'Tis labour, and skilled labour to boot ; and 
 that is better paid in all crafts than rude labour, 
 sweat or no sweat. Besides, there's my time." 
 
 " Your time ? Why, what is time to you, at 
 two-and-twenty ? " Then fixing his eyes keenly 
 on Gerard, to mark the effect of his words, he 
 said : " Say, rather, you are idle grown. You 
 are in love. Your body is with these chanting 
 monks, but your heart is with Peter Brandt and 
 his red-haired girl." 
 
 " I know no Peter Brandt." 
 
 This denial confirmed Ghysbrecht's suspicion 
 that the caster-out of demons was playing a 
 deep game. 
 
 "Ye lie ! " he shouted. "Did I not find you 
 at her elbow on the road to Rotterdam ? " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Ah! And you were seen at Sevenbergen 
 but t'other day." 
 
 "Was I?" 
 
 " Ay ; and at Peter's house." 
 
 " At Sevenbergen ? " 
 
 " Ay, at Sevenbergen." 
 
 Now, this was what in modern days is called 
 a draw. It was a guess, put boldly forth as 
 fact, to elicit by the young man's answer 
 whether he had been there lately or not. 
 
 The result of the artifice surprised the crafty 
 one. Gerard started up in a strange state of 
 nervous excitement. 
 
 "Burgomaster," said he, with trembling voice, 
 "I have not been at Sevenbergen these three 
 years, and I know not the name of those you 
 saw me with, nor where they dwelt ; but, as 
 my time is precious, though you value it not, 
 give you good day." And he darted out, with 
 his eyes sparkling. 
 
 Ghysbrecht started up in huge ire ; but he 
 sank into his chair again. 
 
 " He fears me not. He knows something, if 
 not all." 
 
 Then he called hastily to his trusty servant, 
 and almost dragged him to a window.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND r lHE HEARTH. 
 
 " See you yon man ? " ho cried. " Haste ! 
 Follow him I " But let him not see you. He is 
 young, but old in craft. Keep him in sight all 
 day. Let me know whither he goes, and what 
 lie does." 
 
 It was night when the servant returned. 
 
 " Well ? well ? " cried Van Swieten eagerly. 
 
 " Master, the young man went from you to 
 Sevenbergen." 
 
 Ghysbrecht groaned. 
 
 "To the house of Peter the Magician." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " LOOK into your own heart and write ! " said 
 Herr Cant ; and earth's cuckoos echoed the cry. 
 Look into the Rhine where it is deepest, and 
 the Thames where it is thickest, and paint the 
 bottom. Lower a bucket into a well of self- 
 deception, and what comes up must be im- 
 mortal truth, mustn't it? Now, in the first 
 place, no son of Adam ever reads his own heart 
 at all, except by the habit acquired, and the 
 light gained, from some years' perusal of other 
 hearts ; and even then, with his acquired saga- 
 city and reflected light, he can but spell and 
 decipher his own heart, not read it fluently. 
 Half way to Sevenbergen Gerard looked into 
 his own heart, and asked it why he was going 
 to Sevenbergen. His heart replied without a 
 moment's hesitation, "We are going out of 
 curiosity to know why she jilted us, and to 
 show her it has not broken our hearts, and that 
 we are quite content with our honours and our 
 benefice in prospectu, and don't want her nor 
 any of her fickle sex." 
 
 He soon found out Peter Brandt's cottage ; 
 ami there sat a girl in the doorway, plying her 
 needle, and a stalwart figure leaned on a long 
 bow and talked to her. Gerard felt an un- 
 accountable pang at the sight of him. How- 
 ever, the man turned out to be past fifty years 
 of age, an old soldier, whom Gerard remembered 
 to have seen shoot at the butts with admirable 
 force and skill. Another minute and the youth 
 stood before them. Margaret looked up and 
 dropped her work, and uttered a faint cry, and 
 was white and red by turns. But these signs 
 of emotion were swiftly dismissed, and she 
 tamed far more chill and indifferent than she 
 would if she had not betrayed this agitation. 
 
 " What ! is it you, Master Gerard ? What on 
 earth brings you her, I wonder ? " 
 
 " I was passing by and saw you ; so I thought 
 I would give you good day, and ask after your 
 father." 
 
 " My father is well. He will be here anon." 
 
 " Then I may as well stay till he comes." 
 
 "As you will. Good M'artin, step into the 
 village and tell my father here is a friend 
 of his." 
 
 " And not of yours ? " 
 
 " My father's friends are mine." 
 
 "That is doubtful It was not like a friend 
 to promise to wait for me, and then make off 
 the moment my back was turned. Cruel Mar- 
 garet 1 you little know bow I searched the town 
 
 for you ; how for want of you nothing was 
 pleasant to me." 
 
 " These are idle words ; if you had desired 
 my father's company, or mine, you would have 
 come back. There I had a bed laid for you, 
 sir, at my cousin's, and he would have made 
 much of you, and, who knows, I might have 
 made much of you too. I was in the humour 
 that day. You will not catch me in the same 
 ,mind again, neither you nor any young man, I 
 warrant me." 
 
 "Margaret, I came back the moment the 
 Countess let me go ; but you were not there." 
 
 " Nay, you did not, or you had seen Hans 
 Cloterman at our table ; we left him to bring 
 you on." 
 
 " I saw no one there, but only a drunken man, 
 that had just tumbled down." 
 
 "At our table? How was he clad ?" 
 
 " Nay, I took little heed : in sad-coloured 
 garb." 
 
 At this Margaret's face gradually warmed ; but 
 presently, assuming incredulity and severity, 
 she put many shrewd questions, all of which 
 Gerard answered most loyally. Finally, the 
 clouds cleared, and they guessed how the mis- 
 understanding had come about. Then came a 
 revulsion of tenderness, all the more powerful 
 that they had done each other wrong ; and then, 
 more dangerous still, came mutual confessions. 
 Neither had been happy since ; neither ever 
 would have been happy but for this fortunate 
 meeting. 
 
 And Gerard found a MS. Vulgate lying open 
 on the table, and pounced upon it like a hawk. 
 MSS. were his delight ; but before he could get 
 to it two white hands quickly came flat upon 
 the page, and a red face over them. 
 
 " Nay, take away your hands, Margaret, that 
 I may see where you are reading, and I will 
 read there too at home ; so shall my soul meet 
 yours in the sacred page. You will not ? Nay, 
 then I must kiss them away." And he kissed 
 them so often, that for very shame they were 
 fain to withdraw, and, lo 1 the sacrod book lay 
 open at 
 
 " An apple of gold in a network of silver." 
 
 "There, now," said she, "I had been hunting 
 for it ever so long, and found it but even now 
 and to be caught ! " and with a touch of incon- 
 sistency she pointed it out to Gerard with her 
 white finger. 
 
 " Ay," said he, "but to-day it is all hidden in 
 that great cap." 
 
 "It is a comely cap, I'm told by some." 
 
 "Maybe ; but what it hides is beautiful." 
 
 " It is not : it is hideous." 
 
 " Well, it was beautiful at Rotterdam." 
 
 "Ay, everything was beautiful that day" 
 (with a little "sigh). 
 
 And now Peter came in, and welcomed Gerard 
 cordially, and would have him to stay supper. 
 And Margaret disappeared ; and Gerard had a 
 nice learned chat with Peter ; and Margaret re- 
 appeared with her hair in her silver net, and 
 shot a glance half arch, half coy, and glided 
 ibout them, and spread supper, "and beamed 
 bright with gaiety and happiness. And in the 
 cool evening Gerard coaxed her out, and she
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 objected and came ; and coaxed her on to the 
 road to Tergou, and she declined, and came ; 
 and there they strolled up and down, hand in 
 hand ; and when he must go, they pledged each 
 other never to quarrel or misunderstand one 
 another again ; and they sealed the promise 
 with a long loving kiss, and Gerard went home 
 on wings. 
 
 From that day Gerard spent most of his even- 
 ings with Margaret, and the attachment deep- 
 ened and deepened on both sides, till the hours 
 they spent together were the hours they lived ; 
 the rest they counted and underwent. And at 
 the outset of this deep attachment all went 
 smoothly. Obstacles there were, but they 
 seemed distant and small to the eyes of hope, 
 youth, and love. The feelings and passions of 
 so many persons, that this attachment would 
 thwart, gave no warning smoke to show their 
 volcanic nature and power. The course of true 
 love ran smoothly, placidly, until it had drawn 
 these two young hearts into its current for ever. 
 
 And then 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ONE bright morning unwonted velvet shone, 
 unwonted feathers waved, and horses' hoofs 
 glinted and ran through the streets of Tergou, 
 and the windows and balconies were studded 
 with wondering faces. The French ambassador 
 was riding through to sport in the neighbouring 
 forest. 
 
 Besides his own suite, he was attended by 
 several servants of the Duke of Burgundy, lent 
 to do him honour and minister to his pleasure. 
 The Duke's tumbler rode before him with a 
 grave, sedate majesty, that made his more noble 
 companions seem light, frivolous persons. But 
 ever and anon, when respect and awe neared the 
 oppressive, he rolled off his horse so ignobly and 
 funnily, that even the ambassador was fain to 
 burst out laughing. He also climbed up again 
 by the tail in a way provocative of mirth, and 
 so he played his part. Towards the rear of the 
 pageant rode one that excited more attention 
 still the Duke's leopard. A huntsman, mounted 
 on a Flemish horse of prodigious size and power, 
 carried a long box fastened to the rider's loins 
 by straps curiously contrived, and on this box 
 sat a bright leopard crouching. She was 
 chained to the huntsman. The people admired 
 her glossy hide and spots, and pressed near, 
 and one or two were for feeling her, and pull- 
 ing her tail ; then the huntsman shouted in a 
 terrible voice, " Beware ! At Antwerp one did 
 but throw a handful of dust at her, and the 
 Duke made dust of him." 
 
 " Gramercy ! " 
 
 " I speak sooth. The good Duke shut him 
 up in prison, in a cell under ground, and the 
 rats cleaned the flesh off his bones in a night. 
 Served him right for molesting the poor thing." 
 There was a murmur of fear, and the Tergovians 
 shrank from tickling the leopard of their 
 sovereign. 
 
 But an incident followed that raised their 
 
 spirits again. The Duke's giant, a Hungarian 
 seven feet four inches high, brought up the rear. 
 This enormous creature had, like some other 
 giants, a treble, fluty voice of little power. He 
 was a vain fellow, and not conscious of this nor 
 any defect. Now it happened he caught sight 
 of Giles sitting on the top of the balcony ; so 
 he stopped and began to make fun of him. 
 
 " Hallo ! brother ! " squeaked he, " I had 
 nearly passed without seeing thee." 
 
 " You are plain enough to see," bellowed 
 Giles in his bass tones. 
 
 "Come on my shoulder, brother," squeaked 
 Titan, and held out a shoulder of mutton fist 
 to help him down. 
 
 " If I do I'll cuff your ears," roared the 
 dwarf. 
 
 The giant saw the homuncule was irascible, 
 and played upon him, being encouraged thereto 
 by the shouts of laughter. For he did not see 
 that the people were laughing not at his wit, 
 but at the ridiculous incongruity of the two 
 voices the gigantic feeble rife, and the petty 
 deep, loud drum, the mountain delivered of a 
 squeak, and the mole-hill belching thunder. 
 
 The singular duet came to as singular an end. 
 Giles lost all patience and self-command, and 
 being a creature devoid of fear, and in a rage to 
 boot, he actually dropped upon the giant's nock, 
 seized his hair with one hand, and punched his 
 head with the other. The giant's first impulse 
 was to laugh, but the weight and rapidity of 
 the blows soon corrected that inclination. 
 
 " He ! he ! Ah ! ha ! hallo ! oh ! oh ! Holy 
 saints 1 here I help ! or I must throttle the imp. 
 
 I can't ! I'll split your skull against the " 
 
 andhe made a wild run backwards at the balcony. 
 Giles saw his danger, seized the balcony in time 
 with both hands, and whipped over it just as 
 the giant's head came against it with a stunning 
 crack. The people roared with laughter and 
 exultation at the address of their little champion. 
 The indignant giant seized two of the laughers, 
 knocked them together like dumb-bells, shook 
 them and strewed them flat (Catherine shrieked 
 and threw her apron over Giles), then strode 
 wrathf ully away alter the party. This incident 
 had consequences no one then present foresaw. 
 Its immediate results were agreeable. The 
 Tergovians turned proud of Giles, and listened 
 with more affability to his prayers for parch- 
 ment. For he drove a regular trade with his 
 brother Gerard in this article. Went about and 
 begged it gratis, and Gerard gave him coppers 
 for it. 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day, Catherine 
 and her daughter were chatting together about 
 their favourite theme, Gerard, his goodness, 
 his benefice, and the brightened prospects of 
 the whole family. 
 
 Their good luck had come to them in the 
 very shape they would have chosen ; besides the 
 advantages of a benefice such as the Countess 
 Charolois would not disdain to give, there was 
 the feminine delight at having a priest, a holy 
 man, in their own family. "He will marry 
 Cornelis and Sybrandt : for they can wed (good 
 housewives), now, if they will. Gerard will take 
 care of you and Giles, when we are gone."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "Yes, mother, and we can confess to him 
 instead of to a stranger," said Kate. 
 
 " Ay, girl ! and he can give the sacred oil to 
 your father and me, and close our eyes when 
 our time comes." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! not for many, many years, I 
 do pray Heaven. Pray speak not of that, it 
 always makes me sad. I hope to go before you, 
 mother dear. No ; let us be gay to-day. I am 
 out of pain, mother, quite out of all pain ; it 
 does seem so strange ; and I feel so bright and 
 happv, that mother, can you keep a secret ? " 
 
 "Nobody better, child. Why, you know I 
 can." 
 
 ' Then I will show you something so beautiful. 
 Yon never saw the like, I trow. Only Gerard 
 must never know ; for sure he means to surprise 
 us with it ; he covers it up so, and sometimes 
 he carries it away altogether." 
 
 Kate took her crutches, and moved slowly 
 away, leaving her mother in an exalted state of 
 curiosity. She soon returned with something 
 in a cloth, uncovered it, and there was a lovely 
 picture of the Virgin, with all her insignia, and 
 wearing her tiara over a wealth of beautiful 
 hair, which flowed loose over her shoulders. 
 Catherine, at first, was struck with awe. 
 
 "It is herself," she cried; "it is the Queen 
 of Heaven. I never saw one like her to my mind 
 before." 
 
 " And her eyes, mother : lifted to the sky, 
 as if they belonged there, and not to a mortal 
 creature. And her beautiful hair of burning 
 gold." 
 
 " And to think I have a son that can make 
 the saints live again upon a piece of wood 1 " 
 
 " The reason is, he is a young saint himself, 
 mother. He is too good for this world ; he is 
 here to portray the blessed, and then to go away 
 and be with them for ever." 
 
 Ere they had half done admiring it, a strange 
 voice was heard at the door. By one of the 
 furtive instincts of their sex they hastily hid 
 the picture in the cloth, though there was no 
 need. And the next moment in came, casting his 
 eyes furtively around, a man that had not en- 
 tered the house this ten years Ghysbrecht Van 
 Swieten. 
 
 The two women were so taken by surprise, 
 that they merely stared at him and at one 
 another, and said " The burgomaster I " in a tone 
 so expressive, that Ghysbrecht felt compelled 
 to answer it. , 
 
 " Yes I I own the last time I came here was 
 not on a friendly errand. Men love their own 
 interest Eli's and mine were contrary. Well, 
 let this visit atone the last. To-day I come on 
 your business, and none of mine." Catherine 
 and her daughter exchanged a swift glance of 
 contemptuous incredulity. They knew the man 
 better than he thought. 
 
 " It is about your son Gerard." 
 
 " Ay I ay ! you want him to work for the town 
 all for nothing. He told us." 
 
 " I come on no such errand. It is to let you 
 know he has fallen into bad hands." 
 
 " Now Heaven and the saints forbid 1 Man, 
 torture not a mother I Speak out, and quickly : 
 speak ere you have time to coin falsehood : we 
 know thee." 
 
 Ghysbrecht turned pale at this affront, and 
 spite mingled with the other motives that 
 brought him here. "Thus it is, then," said he, 
 grinding his teeth and speaking very fast. 
 " Your son Gerard is more like to be father of 
 a family than a priest : he is for ever with 
 Margaret, Peter Brandt's red-haired girl, and 
 loves her like a cow her calf." 
 
 Mother and daughter both burst out laughing. 
 Ghysbrecht stared at them. 
 
 "What! you knew it?" 
 
 " Carry this tale to those who know not my 
 son Gerard. Women are nought to him." 
 
 " Other women, mayhap. But this one is the 
 apple of his eye to him, or will be, if you part 
 them not, and soon. Come, dame, make me nut 
 waste time and friendly counsel : my servan" 
 has seen them together a score times, handed, 
 and reading babies in one another's eyes like 
 you know, dame you have been young too." 
 
 "Girl, I am ill at ease. Yea, I have been 
 young, and know how blind and foolish the 
 young are. My heart ! he has turned me sick 
 in a moment. Kate, if it should be true ? " 
 
 "Nay, nay!" cried Kate eagerly. "Gerard 
 might love a young woman : all young men do : 
 I can't find what they see in them to love so ; 
 but if he did, he would let us know ; he would 
 not deceive us. You wicked man ! No, dear 
 mother, look not so I Gerard is too good to love 
 a creature of earth. His love is for our Lady 
 and the saints. Ah! I will show you the picture 
 there : if his heart was earthly, could he paint 
 the Queen of Heaven like that look ! look ! " 
 and she held the picture out triumphantly, and, 
 more radiant and beautiful in this moment 
 of enthusiasm than ever dead picture was or 
 will be, overpowered the burgomaster with her 
 eloquence and her feminine proof of Gerard's 
 purity. His eyes and mouth opened, and re- 
 mained open : in which state they kept turning, 
 face and all, as if on a pivot, fro'in the picture 
 to the women, and from the women to the 
 picture. 
 
 "Why, it is herself," he gasped. 
 
 " Isn't it ! " cried Kate, and her hostility was 
 softened. " You admire it ? I forgive you for 
 frightening us." 
 
 "Am I in a mad-house?" said Ghysbrecht 
 Van Swieten, thoroughly puzzled. " You show 
 me a picture of the girl ; and you say he painted 
 it ; and that is a proof he cannot love her. Why, 
 they all paint their sweethearts, painters do." 
 
 'f A picture of the girl?" exclaimed Kate, 
 shocked. " Fie I this is no girl ; this is our 
 blessed Lady." 
 
 " No, no ; it is Margaret Brandt." 
 
 " Oh blind ! It is the Queen of Heaven." 
 
 " No ; only of Sevenbergen village." 
 
 " Profane man ! behold her crown ! " 
 
 " Silly child I look at her red hair I Would 
 the Virgin be seen in red hair ? She who had 
 the pick c.f all the colours ten thousand years 
 before the world began." 
 
 At this moment an anxious facewas insinuated 
 round the edge of the open door : it was their 
 neighbour Peter Buyskens. 
 
 " What is to do ? " said he in a cautious 
 whisper. "We can hear you all across the 
 street. What on earth is to do ? "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Oh, neighbour 1 What is to do? Why, here 
 is the burgomaster blackening our Gerard." 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Van Swieten. " Peter Buy- 
 skens is come in the nick of time. He knows 
 father and daughter both. They cast their 
 glamour on him." 
 
 "What ! is she a witch too ? " 
 
 " Else the egg takes not after the bird. Why 
 is her father called the magician ? I tell you 
 they bewitched this very Peter here ; they cast 
 unholy spells on him, and cured him of the 
 colic : now, Peter, look and tell me who is that ? 
 and you, be silent, women, for a moment, if you 
 cau : who is it, Peter ? " 
 
 "Well, to be sure ! " said Peter, in reply ; and 
 his eye seemed fascinated by the picture. 
 
 " Who is it ? " repeated Ghysbrecht im- 
 petuously. 
 
 Peter Buyskens smiled. " Why, you know as 
 well as I do ; but what have they put a crown 
 on her for ? I never saw her in a crown, for 
 my part." 
 
 " Man alive I Can't you open your great jaws, 
 and just speak a wench's name plain out to 
 oblige three people ? " 
 
 " I'd do a great deal more to oblige one of 
 you than that, burgomaster. If it isn't as 
 natural as life ! " 
 
 "Curse the man! he won't, he won't curse 
 him!" 
 
 " Why, what have I done now 7 " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " said little Kate, " for pity's sake 
 tell us ; are these the features of a living woman, 
 of of Margaret Brandt ? " 
 
 " A mirror is not truer, my little maid." 
 
 " But is it she, sir, for very certain 1 " 
 
 " Why, who else should it be ? " 
 
 "Now, why couldn't you say so at once?" 
 snarled Ghysbrecht. 
 
 " I did say so, as plain as I could speak," 
 snapped Peter ; and they growled over this small 
 bone of contention so zealously, that they did 
 not see Catherine and her daughter had thrown 
 their aprons over their heads, and were rocking 
 to and fro in deep distress. The next moment 
 Elias came in from the shop, and stood aghast. 
 Catherine, though her face was covered, knew 
 his footstep. 
 
 " That is my poor man," she sobbed. " Tell 
 him, good Peter Buyskens, for I have not the 
 courage." 
 
 Elias turned pale. The presence of the burgo- 
 master in his house, after so many years of cool- 
 ness, coupled with his wife's and daughter's dis- 
 tress, made him fear some heavy misfortune. 
 
 " Richart ! Jacob ! " he gasped. 
 
 " No, no ! " said the burgomaster ; " it is 
 nearer home, and nobody is dead or dying, old 
 friend." 
 
 " God bless you, burgomaster ! Ah ! some 
 thing has gone off my breast that was like to 
 choke me. Now, what is the matter ? " 
 
 Ghysbrecht then told him all that he told the 
 women, and showed the picture in evidence. 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Eli, profoundly relieved. 
 " What are ye roaring and bellowing for ? It 
 is vexing it is angering, but it is not like death, 
 nor even sickness. Boys will be boys. He will 
 outgrow that disease : 'tis but skin-deep." 
 But when Ghysbrecht told him that Margaret 
 
 was a girl of good character ; that it was not to 
 be supposed she would be so intimate if marriage 
 had not been spoken of between them, his brow 
 darkened. 
 
 " Marriage ! that shall never be," said he 
 sternly. " I'll stay that ; ay, by force, if need 
 be as I would his hand lifted to cut his throat. 
 I'd do what old John Koestein did t'other day." 
 
 "And what is that, in Heaven's name?" asked 
 the mother, suddenly removing her apron. 
 
 It was the burgomaster who replied : 
 
 " He made me shut young Albert Koestein up 
 in the prison of the Stadthouse till he knocked 
 under. It was not long: forty-eight hours, 
 all alone, on bread and water, cooled his hot 
 stomach. ' Tell my father I am his humble 
 servant,' says he, 'and let me into the sun 
 once more the sun is worth all the wenches 
 in the world.' " 
 
 " Oh, the cruelty of men I " sighed Catherine. 
 
 " As to that, the burgomaster has no choice : 
 it is the law. And if a father says, 'Burgo- 
 master, lock up my son,' he must do it. A 
 fine thing it would be if a father might not 
 lock up his own son." 
 
 " Well, well ! it won't come to that with me 
 and my son. He never disobeyed me in his 
 life : he never shall. Where is he ? It is past 
 supper-time. Where is he, Kate ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I know not, father." 
 
 " I know," said Ghysbrecht ; " he is at Seven- 
 bergen. My servant met him on the road." 
 
 Supper passed in gloomy silence. Evening 
 descended no Gerard ! Eight o'clock came 
 no Gerard ! Then the father sent all to bed, 
 except Catherine. 
 
 " You and I will walk abroad, wife, and talk 
 over this new care." 
 
 " Abroad, my man, at this time ? Whither ? " 
 
 " Why, on the road to Sevenbergen." 
 
 "Oh no; no hasty words, father. Poor 
 Gerard ! he never vexed you before." 
 
 " Fear me not. But it must end ; and I am 
 not one that trusts to-morrow with to-day's 
 work." 
 
 The old pair walked hand in hand ; for, 
 strange as it may appear to some of my readers, 
 the use of the elbow to couples walking was not 
 discovered in Europe till centuries after this. 
 They sauntered on a long time in silence. The 
 night was clear and balmy. Such nights, calm 
 and silent, recall the past from the dead. 
 
 " It is a many years since we walked so late, 
 my man," said Catherine softly. 
 
 "Ay, sweetheart, more than we shall see 
 again (Is he never coming, I wonder ?)" 
 
 " Not since our courting days, Eli." 
 
 " No. Ay, you were a buxom lass then." 
 
 " And you were a comely lad, as ever a girl's 
 eye stole a look at. I do suppose Gerard is with 
 her now, as you used to be with me. Nature 
 is strong, and the same in all our generations." 
 
 " Nay, I hope he has left her by now, con- 
 found her, or we shall be here all night." 
 
 " Eli 1 " 
 
 "Well, Kate?" 
 
 "I have been happy with you, sweetheart, 
 for all our rubs much happier, I trow, than 
 if I had been a a nun. You won't speak
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 harshly to the poor child? One can be firm 
 without being harsh." 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 " Have you been happy with me, my poor 
 Eli?" 
 
 "Why, you know I have. Friends I have 
 known, but none like thee. Buss me, wife ! " 
 
 " A heart to share joy and grief with is a 
 great comfort to man or woman. Isn't it, Eli ? " 
 
 *' It is so, my lass. 
 
 'It doth Joy double, 
 And halveth trouble,' 
 
 runs the byword. And so I have found it, 
 Bweetheart. Ah ! here comes the young fool." 
 Catherine trembled, and held her husband's 
 hand tight. The moon was bright, but they 
 were in the shadow of some trees, and their 
 son did not see them. He came singing in the 
 moonlight, and his face shining. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHILE the burgomaster was exposing Gerard 
 at Tergou, Margaret had a trouble of her own 
 at Sevenbergen. It was a housewife's distress, 
 but deeper than we can well conceive. She 
 came to Martin Wittenhaagen, the old soldier, 
 with tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Martin, there's nothing in the house, and 
 Gerard is coming, and he is so thoughtless. He 
 forgets to sup at home. When he gives over 
 work, then he runs to me straight, poor soul ; 
 and often he comes quite faint. And to think 
 I have nothing to set before my servant that 
 loves me so dear." 
 
 Martin scratched his head. "What can I do ? " 
 
 "It is Thursday; it is your day to shoot 
 sooth to say, I counted on you to-day." 
 
 "Nay," said the soldier, "I may not shoot 
 when the Duke or his friends are at the chase ; 
 read else. I am no scholar." And he took out 
 of his pouch a parchment with a grand seal. 
 It purported to be a stipend and a licence given 
 by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, to Martin Witten- 
 haagen, one of his archers, in return for services 
 in the wars, and for a wound received at the 
 Duke's side. The stipend was four rnerks yearly, 
 to bo paid by the Duke's almoner, and the 
 licence was to shoot three arrows once a week, 
 viz., on Thursday, and no other day, in any of 
 the Duke's forests in Holland, at any game but 
 a seven-year old buck or a doe carrying fawn ; 
 proviso, that the Duke should not be hunting 
 on that day, or any of his friends. In this case 
 Martin was not to go and disturb the woods on 
 peril of his salary and his head, and a fine of 
 a penny. 
 
 Margaret sighed and was silent. 
 
 "Come, cheer up, mistress," said he; "for 
 your sake I'll peril my carcass ; I have done 
 that for many a one that was not worth your 
 forefinger. It is no such mighty risk either. 
 Ill but step into the skirts of the forest here. 
 It is odds but they drive a hare or a fawn 
 within reach of my arrow." 
 
 " Well, if I let you go, you must promise me 
 
 not to go far, and not to be seen ; far better 
 Gerard went supperless than ill should come 
 to you, faithful Martin." 
 
 The required promise given, Martin took his 
 bow and three arrows, and stole cautiously into 
 the wood : it was scarce a furlong distant. The 
 horns were heard faintly in the distance, and 
 all the game was afoot. " Come," thought 
 Martin, " I shall soon fill the pot, and no one 
 be the wiser." He took his stand behind a 
 thick oak that commanded a view of an open 
 glade, and strung his bow, a truly formidable 
 weapon. It was of English yew, six feet two 
 inches high, and thick in proportion ; and 
 Martin, broad-chested, with arms all iron and 
 cord, and used to the bow from infancy, could 
 draw a three-foot arrow to the head, and, when 
 it flew, the eye could scarce follow it, and the 
 bowstring twanged as musical as a harp. This 
 bow had laid many a stout soldier low in the 
 wars of the Hoecks and Cabbel-jaws. In tho^e 
 days a battlefield was not a cloud of smoke ; 
 the combatants were few, but the deaths many 
 for they saw what they were about ; and 
 fewer bloodless arrows flew than bloodless 
 bullets now. A hare came cantering, then fat 
 sprightly, and her ears made a capital V. Martin 
 levelled his tremendous weapon at her. The 
 arrow flew, the string twanged ; but Martin had 
 been in a hurry to pot her, and lost her by 
 an inch : the arrow seemed to hit her, but it 
 struck the ground close to her, and passed under 
 her belly like a flash, and hissed along the short 
 grass and disappeared. She jumped three feet 
 perpendicular and away at the top of her speed. 
 " Bungler 1 " said Martin. A sure proof he was 
 not an habitual bungler, or he would have 
 blamed the hare. He had scarcely fitted another 
 arrow to his string when a wood-pigeon settled 
 on the very tree he stood under. " Aha ! " 
 thought he, "you are small, but dainty." This 
 time he took more pains ; drew his arrow care- 
 fully, loosed it smoothly, and saw it, to all 
 appearance, go clean through the bird, carrying 
 feathers skyward like dust. Instead of failing 
 at his feet, the bird, whose breast was torn, not 
 fairly pierced, fluttered feebly away, and, by a 
 great effort, rose above the trees, flew some fifty 
 yards, and fell dead at last ; but where he could 
 not see for the thick foliage. 
 
 " Luck is against me," said he desponding! y. 
 But he fitted another arrow, and eyed the glade 
 keenly. Presently he heard a bustle behind him, 
 and turned round just in time to see a noble 
 buck cross the open, but too late to shoot at 
 him. He dashed his bow down with an impre- 
 cation. At that moment a long spotted animal 
 glided swiftly across after the deer ; its belly 
 seemed to touch the ground as it went. Martin 
 took up his bow hastily : he recognised the 
 Duke's leopard. "The hunters will not be far 
 from her," said he, "and I must not be seen. 
 Gerard must go supperless this night." 
 
 He plunged into the wood, following the buck 
 and leopard, for that was his way home. He 
 had not gone far when he heard an unusual 
 sound ahead of him leaves rustling violently 
 and the ground trampled. He hurried in the 
 direction. He found the leopard on the buck's 
 back, tearing him with teeth and claw and the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 buck running in a circle and bounding con- 
 vulsively, with the blood pouring down his i 
 hide. Then Martin formed a desperate resolu- ' 
 tion to have the venison for Margaret. He 
 drew his arrow to the head, and buried it in 
 the deer, who, spite of the creature on his back, 
 bounded high into the air, and fell dead. The 
 leopard went on tearing him as if nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 Martin hoped that the creature would gorge 
 itself with blood, and then let him take the 
 meat. He waited some minutes, then walked 
 resolutely up, and laid his hand on the buck's 
 leg. The leopard gave a frightful growl, and 
 left off sucking blood. She saw Martin's game, 
 and was sulky and on her guard. What was 
 to be done ? Martin had heard that wild crea- 
 tures cannot stand the human eye. Accordingly, 
 he stood erect, and fixed his on the leopard: 
 the leopard returned a savage glance, and never 
 took her eye off Martin. Then Martin, con- 
 tinuing to look the beast down, the leopard, 
 brutally ignorant of natural history, flew at his 
 head with a frightful yell, flaming eyes, and 
 jaws and claws distended. He had but just 
 time to catch her by the throat, before her teeth 
 could crush his face ; one of her claws seized 
 his shoulder and rent it, the other, aimed at 
 his cheek, would have been more deadly still, 
 but Martin was old-fashioned, and wore no hat, 
 but a scapulary of the same stuff as his jerkin, 
 and this scapulary he had brought over his head 
 like a hood ; the brute's claw caught in the 
 loose leather. Martin kept her teeth off his face 
 with great difficulty, and griped her throat 
 fiercely, and she kept rending his shoulder. 
 It was like blunt reaping-hooks grinding and 
 tearing. The pain was fearful ; but, instead 
 of cowing the old soldier, it put his blood up, 
 and he gnashed his teeth with rage almost as 
 fierce as hers, and squeezed her neck with iron 
 force. The two pair of eyes flared at one another 
 and now the man's were almost as furious as 
 the brute's. She found he was throttling her, 
 and made a wild attempt to free herself, in 
 which she dragged his cowl all over his face 
 and blinded him, and tore her claw out of his 
 shoulder, flesh and all; but still he throttled 
 her with hand and arm of iron. Presently her 
 long tail, that was high in the air, went down. 
 "Aha!" cried Martin joyfully, and griped her 
 like death ; next, her body lost its elasticity, 
 and he held a choked and powerless thing : 
 he griped it still, till all motion ceased, then 
 dashed it to the earth ; then, panting, removed 
 his cowl : the leopard lay mute at his feet with 
 tongue protruding and bloody paw ; and for 
 the first time terror fell on Martin. " I am a 
 dead man : I have slain the Duke's leopard." 
 He hastily seized a few handfuls of leaves and 
 threw them over her ; then shouldered the buck, 
 and staggered away, leaving a trail of blood 
 all the way his own and the buck's. He burst 
 into Peter's house a horrible figure, bleeding 
 and bloodstained, and flung the deer's carcass 
 down. 
 
 "There no questions," said he, "but broil 
 me a steak on't ; for I am faint." 
 
 Margaret did not see he was wounded ; she 
 thought the blood was all from the deer. 
 
 She busied herself at the fire, and the stout 
 soldier stanched and bound his own wound 
 apart ; and soon he and Gerard and Margaret 
 were supping royally on broiled venison. 
 
 They were very merry ; and Gerard, with 
 wonderful thoughtfulness, had brought a flask 
 of Schiedam, and under its influence Martin re- 
 vived, and told them how the venison was got ; 
 and they all made merry over the exploit. 
 
 Their mirth was strangely interrupted. Mar- 
 garet's eye became fixed and fascinated, and her 
 cheek pale with fear. She gasped, and could 
 not speak, but pointed to the window with trem- 
 bling finger. Their eyes followed hers, and 
 there in the twilight crouched a dark form 
 with eyes like glowworms. 
 
 It was the leopard. 
 
 While they stood petrified, fascinated by the 
 eyes of green fire, there sounded in the wood a 
 single deep bay. Martin trembled at it. 
 
 " They have lost her, and laid muzzled blood- 
 hounds on her scent ; they will find her here, 
 and the venison. Good-bye, friends, Martin 
 Wittenhaagen ends here." 
 
 Gerard seized his bow, and put it into the 
 soldier's hands. 
 
 " Be a man," he cried ; " shoot her, and fling 
 her into the wood ere they come up. Who will 
 know ? " 
 
 More voices of hounds broke out, and nearer. 
 
 "Curse her!" cried Martin; "I spared her 
 once ; now she must die, or I, or both more 
 likely ; " and he reared his bow, and drew his 
 arrow to the head. 
 
 " Nay ! nay I " cried Margaret, and seized the 
 arrow. It broke in half: the pieces fell on 
 each side the bow. The air at the same time 
 filled with the tongues of the hounds : they 
 were hot upon the scent. 
 
 " What have you done, wench ? You have 
 put the halter round my throat." 
 
 " No ! " cried Margaret. " I have saved you : 
 stand back from the window, both ! Your knife, 
 quick ! " 
 
 She seized his long-pointed knife, almost tore 
 it out of his girdle, and darted from the room. 
 The house was now surrounded with baying 
 dogs and shouting men. 
 
 The glowworm eyes moved not. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MARGARET cut off a huge piece of venison, and 
 ran to the window and threw it out to the green 
 eyes of fire. They darted on it with a savage 
 snarl ; and there was a sound of rending and 
 crunching : at this moment, a hound uttered a 
 bay so near and loud it rang through the house ; 
 and the three at the window shrank together. 
 Then the leopard feared for her supper, and 
 glided swiftly and stealthily away with it to- 
 wards the woods, and the very next moment 
 horses and men and dogs came helter-skelter 
 past the window, and followed her full cry. 
 Martin and his companions breathed again : the 
 leopard was swift, and would not be caught 
 within a league of their house. They grasped
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hands. Margaret seized this opportunity, and 
 cried a little ; Gerard kissed the tears away. 
 
 To table once more, and Gerard drank to 
 woman's wit : " 'Tis stronger than man's force," 
 said he. 
 
 "Ay," said Margaret, "when those she loves 
 are in danger ; not else." 
 
 To-night Gerard stayed with her longer than 
 usual, and went home prouder than ever of her, 
 and happy as a prince. Some little distance 
 from home, under the shadow of some trees, he 
 encountered two figures : they almost barred 
 his way. 
 
 It was his father and mother. 
 
 Out so late I what could be the cause ? 
 
 A chill fell on him. 
 
 He stopped and looked at them : they stood 
 grim and silent. He stammered out some words 
 of inquiry. 
 
 " Why ask ? " said his father ; " you know why 
 we are here." 
 
 " Oh, Gerard 1 " said his mother, with a voice 
 full of reproach and yet of affection. 
 
 Gerard's heart quaked : he was silent. 
 
 Then his father pitied his confusion, and said 
 to him : 
 
 " Nay, you need not to hang your head. You 
 are not the first young fool that has been caught 
 by a red cheek and a pair of blue eyes." 
 
 "Nay, nay!" put in Catherine, "it was witch- 
 craft ; Peterthe Magician is well knownforthat." 
 
 " Come, Sir Priest," resumed his father, " you 
 know you must not meddle with women folk. 
 But give us your promise to go no more to 
 Sevenbergen, and here all ends : we won't be 
 hard on you for one fault." 
 
 " I cannot promise that, father." 
 
 " Not promise it, you young hypocrite I " 
 
 "Nay, father, miscall me not : I lacked courage 
 to tell you what I knew would vex you ; and 
 right grateful am I to that good friend, who- 
 ever he be, that lias let you wot. 'Tis a load off 
 my mind. Yes, father, I love Margaret ; and 
 call me not a priest, for a priest I will never be. 
 I will die sooner." 
 
 " That we shall see, young man. Come, gain- 
 say me no more ; you will learn what 'tis to 
 disrespect a father." 
 
 Gorard held his peace, and the three walked 
 home in gloomy silence, broken only by a deep 
 sigh or two from Catherine. 
 
 From that hour the little house at Tergou was 
 no longer the abode of peace. Gerard was taken 
 to task next day before the whole family ; and 
 every voice was loud against him, except little 
 Kate's and the dwarf's, who was apt to take his 
 cue from her without knowing why. As for 
 Cornells and Sybrandt, they were bitterer than 
 their father. Gerard was dismayed at finding 
 so many enemies, and looked wistfully into his 
 little sister's face : her eyes were brimming at 
 the harsh words showered on one who but 
 yesterday was the universal pet. But she gave 
 him no encouragement : she turned her head 
 away from him and said : 
 
 " Dear, dear Gerard, pray to Heaven to cure 
 you of this folly ! " 
 
 " What, are you against me too? " said Gerard 
 sadly ; and he rose with a deep sigh, and left the 
 bouse and went to Sevenbergen. 
 
 The beginning of a quarrel, where the parties 
 are bound by affection though opposed in interest 
 and sentiment, is comparatively innocent : both 
 are perhaps in the right at first starting, and 
 then it is that a calm, judicious friend, capable 
 of seeing both sides, is a gift from Heaven. Foi 
 the longer the dissension endures, the wider and 
 deeper it grows by the fallibility and irascibility 
 of human nature : these are not confined to eithei 
 side, and finally the invariable end is reached 
 both in the wrong. 
 
 The combatants were unequally matched : 
 Eias was angry, Cornelis and Sybrandt spiteful 
 but Gerard, having a larger and more cultivated 
 mind, saw both sides where they saw but one, 
 and had tits of irresolution, and was not wroth, 
 but unhappy. He was lonely, too, in this 
 struggle. He could open his heart to no one 
 Margaret was a high-spirited girl : he dared nol 
 tell her what he had to endure at home ; slu 
 was capable of siding with his relations bj 
 resigning him, though at the cost of her O\\T 
 happiness. Margaret Van Eyck had been a 
 great comfort to him on another occasion ; but 
 now he dared not make her his confidant. Hei 
 own history was well known. In early life she 
 had many offers of marriage ; but refused them 
 all for the sake of that art to which a wife't 
 and mother's duties are so fatal : thus she re 
 mained single and painted with her brothers. 
 How could he tell her that he declined the 
 benefice she had got him, and declined it for 
 the sake of that which at his age she had 
 despised and sacrificed so lightly ? 
 
 Gerard at this period bade fair to succumb. 
 But the other side had a horrible ally in 
 Catherine, senior. This good-hearted but Tin- 
 educated woman could not, like her daughter, 
 act quietly and firmly : still less could she net 
 upon a plan. She irritated Gerard at times, and 
 so helped him ; for anger is a great sustainer 
 of the courage : at others she turned round in a 
 moment and made onslaughts on her own forces. 
 To take a single instance out of m.iny : one day 
 that they were all at home, Catherine and 
 all, Cornelis said : " Our Gerard wed Margaret 
 Brandt ? Why, it is hunger marrying thirst." 
 
 " And what will it be when you marry ? " cried 
 Catherine. " Gerard can paint, Gerard can 
 write, but what can you do to keep a woman, 
 ye lazy loon ? Nought but wait for your father's 
 shoon. Oh, we can see why you and Sybrandt 
 would not have the poor boy to marry. You are 
 afraid he will come to us for a share of our 
 substance. And say that he does, and say that 
 we give it him, it isn't yourn we part from, and 
 mayhap never will be." 
 
 On these occasions Gerard smiled slily, and 
 picked up heart, and temporary confusion fell 
 on Catherine's unfortunate allies. But at last, 
 after more than six months of irritation, came 
 the climax. The father told the son before the 
 whole family he had ordered the burgomaster 
 to imprison him in the Stadthouse rather than 
 let him marry Margaret. Gerard turned pale 
 with anger at this, but by a great effort held 
 his peace. His father went on to say, " And a 
 priest you shall be before the year is out, nilly- 
 willy." 
 
 "Is it so?" cried Gerard, "Then, hear me,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 29 
 
 all. By God and St. Bavon I swear I will never 
 be a priest while Margaret lives. Siuce force 
 is to decide it, and not'love and duty, try force, 
 father ; but force shall not serve you, for the 
 day I see the burgomaster come lor me, I leave 
 Tergou for ever, and Holland too, and my 
 father's house, where it seems I have been valued 
 all these years, not for myself, but for what is 
 to be got out of me." 
 
 And he flung out of the room white with 
 anger and desperation. 
 
 "There!" cried Catherine, "that comes of 
 driving young folk too hard. But men are 
 crueller than tigers, even to their own flesh and 
 blood. Now, Heaven forbid he should ever 
 leave us, married or single." 
 
 As Gerard came out of the house, his cheeks 
 pale and his heart panting, he met Reicht 
 Heynes : she had a message for him : Margaret 
 Van Eyck desired to see him. He found the 
 old lady seated grim as a judge. She wasted 
 no tune in preliminaries, but inquired coldly 
 why he had not visited her of late : before he 
 could answer, she said in a sarcastic tone, "I 
 thought we had been friends, young sir." 
 
 At this Gerard looked the picture of doubt 
 and consternation. 
 
 "It is because you never told her you were 
 in love," said Reicht Heynes, pitying his con- 
 fusion. 
 
 " Silence, wench ! Why should he tell us his 
 affairs ? We are not his "friends : we have not 
 deserved his confidence." 
 
 "Alas ! my second mother," said Gerard, " I 
 did not dare to tell you my folly." 
 
 " What folly ? Is it folly to love ? " 
 
 " I am told so every day of my life.' 
 
 " You need not have been afraid to tell my 
 mistress ; she is always kind to true lovers." 
 
 " Madam Reicht I was afraid because I 
 was told " 
 
 " Well, you were told ? " 
 
 " That in your youth you scorned love, pre- 
 ferring art." 
 
 " I did, boy ; and what is the end of it ? Be- 
 hold me here a barren stock, while the women 
 of my youth have a troop of children at their 
 side, and grandchildren at their knee. I gave 
 up the sweet joys of wifehood and motherhood 
 for what ? For my dear brothers. They have 
 gone and left me long ago. For my art. It 
 has all but left me too. I have the know- 
 ledge still, but what avails that when the hand 
 trembles. No, Gerard ; I look on you as my 
 son. You are good, you are handsome, you are 
 a painter, though not like some I have known. 
 I will not let you throw your youth away as 
 I did mine : you shall marry this Margaret. I 
 have inquired, and she is a good daughter. 
 Reicht here is a gossip. She has told me all 
 about it. But that need not hinder you to tell 
 me." 
 
 Poor Gerard was overjoyed to be permitted 
 to praise Margaret aloud, and to one who could 
 understand what he loved in her. 
 
 Soon there were two pah- of wet eyes over 
 his story ; and when the poor boy saw that, 
 there were three. 
 
 Women are creatures brimful of courage. 
 Theirs is not exactly the same quality as manly 
 
 courage ; that would never do, hang it all ; we 
 should have to give up trampling on them. 
 No ; it is a vicarious courage. They never take 
 part in a bull-fight by any chance ; but it is 
 remarked that they sit at one unshaken by 
 those tremors and apprehensions for the com- 
 batants to which the male spectator feeble- 
 minded wretch ! is subject. Nothing can 
 exceed the resolution with which they have 
 been known to send forth men to battle : as 
 some witty dog says, Les femmes sont tres braves 
 avcc le pcau d'autrui. 
 
 By this trait Gerard now profited. Margaret 
 and Reicht were agreed that a man should al- 
 ways take the bull by the horns. Gerard's only 
 course was to marry Margaret Brandt off-hand ; 
 the old people would come to after a while, the 
 deed once done. Whereas, the longer this mis- 
 understanding continued on its present footing, 
 the worse for" all parties, especially for Gerard. 
 
 " See how pale and thin they have made him 
 amongst them." 
 
 " Indeed you are, Master Gerard," said 
 Reicht. " It makes a body sad to see a young 
 man so wasted and worn. Mistress, when I 
 met him in the street to-day, I had liked to 
 have burst out crying : he was so changed." 
 
 "And I'll be bound the others keep their 
 colour ; eh, Reicht ? such as it is." 
 
 " Oh, I see no odds in them." 
 
 "Of course not. We painters are no match 
 for boors. We are glass, they are stone. We 
 can't stand the worry, worry, worry of little 
 minds ; and it is not for the good of mankind 
 we should be exposed to it. It is hard enough, 
 Heaven knows, to design and paint a master- 
 piece, without having gnats and flies stinging 
 us to death into the bargain." 
 
 Exasperated as Gerard was by his father's 
 threat of violence, he listened to these friendly 
 voices telling him the prudent course was rebel- 
 lion. But though he listened, he was not con- 
 vinced. 
 
 " I do not fear my father's violence," he said, 
 "but I do fear his anger. When it came to 
 the point he would not imprison me. I would 
 marry Margaret to-morrow if that was my only 
 fear. No ; he would disown me. I should 
 take Margaret from her father, and give her a 
 poor husband, who would never thrive, weighed 
 down by his parent's curse. Madam ! I some- 
 times think if I could but marry her secretly, 
 and then take her away to some country where 
 my craft is better paid than in this ; and after a 
 year or two, when the storm had blown over, 
 you know, could come back with money in my 
 purse, and say, 'My dear parents, we do not seek 
 your substance, we but ask you to love us once 
 more as you used, and as we" have never ceased 
 to love you ' but, alas ! I shall be told these are 
 the dreams of an inexperienced young man." 
 
 The old lady's eyes sparkled. 
 
 "It is no dream, but a piece of wonderful 
 common-sense in a boy ; it remains to be seen 
 whether you have spirit to carry out your own 
 thought. There is a country, Gerard, where 
 certain fortune awaits you at this moment. 
 Here the arts freeze, but there they flourish, as 
 they never yet flourished in any age or land." 
 
 " It is Italy ! " cried Gerard. " It is Italy ! "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "Ay, Italy! where painters are honoured 
 like princes, and scribes are paid three hundred 
 crowns for copying a single manuscript. Know 
 you not that his Holiness the Pope has written 
 to every land for skilful scribes to copy the 
 hundreds of precious manuscripts that are 
 pouring into that favoured land from Constan- 
 tinople, whence learning and learned men are 
 driven by the barbarian Turks ? " 
 
 " Nay, I know not that ; but it has been the 
 dream and hope of my life to visit Italy, the 
 queen of all the arts ; oh, madam 1 But the 
 journey, and we are all so poor." 
 
 "Find you the heart to go, I'll find the 
 means. I know where to lay my hand on ten 
 golden angels : they will take you to Borne : and 
 the girl with you, if she loves you as she ought." 
 
 They sat till midnight over this theme. And, 
 after that day, Gerard recovered his spirits, 
 and seemed to carry a secret talisman against 
 all the gibes and the harsh words that flew 
 about his ears at home. 
 
 Besides the money she procured him for the 
 journey, Margaret Van Eyck gave him money's 
 worth. Said she, " I will tell you secrets that 
 I learned from masters that are gone from me, 
 and have left no fellow behind. Even the 
 Italians know them not ; and what I tell you 
 now in Tergou you shall sell dear in Florence. 
 Note my brother Jan's pictures: time, which 
 fades all other paintings, leaves his colours 
 bright as the day they left the easel. The 
 reason is, he did nothing blindly, nothing in a 
 hurry. He trusted to no hireling to grind his 
 colours ; he did it himself, or saw it done. His 
 panel was prepared, and prepared again I will 
 show you how a year before he laid his colour 
 on. Most of them are quite content to have 
 their work sucked up and lost, sooner than not 
 be in a hurry. Bad painters are always in a 
 hurry. Above all, Gerard, I warn you use but 
 little oil, and never boil it : boiling it melts 
 that vegetable dross into its very heart which 
 it is our business to clear away ; for impure 
 oil is death to colour. No ; take your oil and 
 pour it into a bottle with water. In a day or 
 two the water will turn muddy : that is muck 
 from the oil. Pour the dirty water carefully 
 away, and add fresh. When that is poured 
 away, you will fancy the oil is clear. You are 
 mistaken. Reicht, fetch me that I" Beicht 
 brought a glass trough with a glass lid fitting 
 tight. " When your oil has been washed in 
 bottle, put it into this trough with water, and 
 put the trough in the sun all day. You will 
 soon see the water turbid again. But mark, 
 you must not carry this game too far, or the 
 sun will turn your oil to varnish. When it is 
 as clear as crystal, and not too luscious, drain 
 carefully, and cork it up tight. Grind your 
 own prime colours, and lay them on with this 
 oil, and they shall live. Hubert would put 
 sand or salt in the water to clear the oil quicker. 
 But Jan used to say, ' Water will do it best ; 
 give water time.' Jan Van Eyck was never in 
 a hurry, and that is why the world will not 
 forget him in a hurry." 
 
 This and several other receipts, qua nunc 
 perscribere lonyum ett, Margaret gave him with* 
 sparkling eyes, and Gerard received them like 
 
 a legacy from Heaven, so interesting are some 
 things that read uninteresting. Thus provided 
 with money and knowledge, Gerard decided to 
 marry and fly with his wife to Italy. Nothing 
 remained now but to inform Margaret Brandt 
 of his resolution, and to publish the banns as 
 quietly as possible. He went to Sevenbergen 
 earlier than usual on both these errands. He 
 began with Margaret ; told her of the Dame 
 Van Eyck's goodness, and the resolution he had 
 come to at last, and invited her co-operation. 
 
 She refused it plump. 
 
 "No, Gerard ; you and I have never spoken of 
 your family, but when you come to marriage " 
 She stopped, then began again. "I do think 
 your father has no ill-will to me more than to 
 another. He told Peter Buyskens as much, 
 and Peter told me. But so long as he is bent 
 on your being a priest (you ought to have told 
 me this instead of I you), I could not marry you, 
 Gerard, dearly as I love you. " 
 
 Gerard strove in vain to shake this resolution. 
 He found it very easy to make her cry, but 
 impossible to make her yield. Then Gerard was 
 impatient and unjust 
 
 " Very well ! " he cried ; " then you are on 
 their side, and you will drive me to be a priest, 
 for this must end one way or another. My 
 parents hate me in earnest, but my lover only 
 loves me in jest." 
 
 And with this wild, bitter speech, he flung 
 away home again, and left Margaret weeping. 
 
 When a man misbehaves, the effect is curious 
 on a girl who loves him sincerely. It makes 
 her pity him. This, to some of us males, seems 
 anything but logical. The fault is in our own 
 eye ; the logic is too swift for us. The girl argues 
 thus : " How unhappy, how vexed, poor * 
 must be ; Aim to misbehave ! Poor thing I " 
 
 Margaret was full of this sweet womanly pity, 
 when, to her great surprise, scarce an hour and 
 a half after he left her, Gerard came running 
 back to her with the fragments of a picture in 
 his hand, and panting with anger and grief. 
 
 " There, Margaret I see ! see ! the wretches ! 
 Look at their spite 1 They have cut your portrait 
 to pieces." 
 
 Margaret looked, and, sure enough, some ma- 
 licious hand had cut her portrait into five pieces. 
 She was a good girl, but she was not ice ; she 
 turned red to her very forehead. 
 
 "Who did it?" 
 
 " Nay, I know not. I dared not ask ; for I 
 should hate the hand that did it, ay, till my dying 
 day. My poor Margaret I The butchers, the 
 ruffians 1 Six months' work cut out of my life, 
 and nothing to show for it now. See, they have 
 hacked through your very face ; the sweet face 
 that every one loves who knows it. Oh, heartless, 
 merciless vipers I " 
 
 "Never mind, Gerard," said Margaret, pant- 
 ing. " Since this is how they treat you for my 
 sake Ye rob him of my portrait, do ye ? Well, 
 then, he shall have the face itself, such as it is," 
 
 " Oh, Margaret ! " 
 
 " Yes, Gerard ; since they are so cruel, I will 
 be the kinder : forgive me for refusing you. 
 I will be your wife : to-morrow, if it is your 
 pleasure."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Gerard kissed her hands with rapture, and 
 then her lips ; and in a tumult of joy ran for 
 Peter and Martin. They came and witnessed 
 the betrothal; a solemn ceremony in those 
 days, and indeed for more than a century later, 
 though now abolished. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE banns of marriage had to be read three 
 times, as in our days ; with this difference, that 
 they were commonly read on week-days, and 
 the young couple easily persuaded the cur to do 
 the three readings in twenty-four hours : he was 
 new to the place, and their looks spoke volumes 
 in their favour. They were cried on Monday at 
 matins and at vespers ; and, to their great de- 
 light, nobody from Tergou was in the church. 
 The next morning they were both there, pal- 
 pitating with anxiety, when, to their horror, a 
 stranger stood up and forbade the banns, on the 
 score that the parties were not of age, and their 
 parents not consenting. 
 
 Outside the church door Margaret and Gerard 
 held a trembling, and almost despairing consul- 
 tation ; but, before they could settle anything, 
 the man who had done them so ill a turn ap- 
 proached, and gave them to understand that he 
 was very sorry to interfere : that his inclination 
 was to further the happiness of the young ; but 
 that in point of fact his only means of getting 
 a living was by forbidding banns : what then ? 
 " The young people give me a crown, and I undo 
 my work handsomely ; tell the cure I was mis- 
 informed, and all goes smoothly." 
 
 " A crown ! I will give you a golden angel to 
 do this," said Gerard eagerly ; the man con- 
 sented as eagerly, and went with Gerard to the 
 cure", and told him he had made a ridiculous 
 mistake, which a sight of the parties had recti- 
 fied. On this the curd agreed to marry the 
 young couple next day at ten : and the pro- 
 fessional obstructor of bliss went home with 
 Gerard's angel. Like most of these very clever 
 knaves, he was a fool, and proceeded to drink 
 his angel at a certain hostelry in Tergou, where 
 was a green devoted to archery and the com- 
 mon sports of the day. There, being drunk, he 
 bragged of his day's exploit ; and who should 
 be there, imbibing every word, but a great fre- 
 quenter of the spot, the ne'er-do-weel Sybrandt. 
 Sybrandt ran home to tell his father; his father 
 was not at home ; he was gone to Rotterdam 
 to buy cloth of the merchants. Catching his 
 elder brother's eye, he made him a signal to 
 come out, and told him what he had heard. 
 
 There are black sheep in nearly every large 
 family ; and these two were Gerard's black 
 brothers. Idleness is vitiating : waiting for the 
 death of those we ought to love is vitiating ; 
 and these two one-idea'd curs were ready to tear 
 any one to death that should interfere with that 
 miserable inheritance which was their thought 
 by day and their dream by night. Their parents' 
 parsimony was a virtue ; it was accompanied by 
 industry, and its motive was love of their off- 
 spring ; but in these perverse and selfish hearts 
 
 that homely virtue was perverted into avarice, 
 than which no more fruitful source of crimes is 
 to be found in nature. 
 
 They put their heads together, and agreed not 
 to tell their mother, whose sentiments were so 
 uncertain, but to go first to the burgomaster. 
 They were cunning enough to see that he was 
 averse to the match, though they could not 
 divine why. 
 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten saw through them 
 at once ; but he took care not to let them see 
 through him. He heard their story, and putting 
 on magisterial dignity and coldness, he said : 
 
 " Since the father of the family is not here, 
 his duty falleth on me, who am the father of 
 the town. I know your father's mind ; leave 
 all to me ; and, above all, tell not a woman a 
 word of this, least of all the women that are in 
 your own house : for chattering tongues mar 
 wisest counsels." 
 
 So he dismissed them, a little superciliously : 
 he was ashamed of his confederates. 
 
 On their return home they found their brother 
 Gerard seated on a low stool at their mother's 
 knee : she was caressing his hair with her hand, 
 speaking very kindly to him, and promising to 
 take his part with his father and thwart his 
 love no more. The main cause of this change 
 of mind was characteristic of the woman. She 
 it was who in a moment of female irritation 
 had cut Margaret's picture to pieces. She had 
 watched the effect with some misgivings, and 
 had seen Gerard turn pale as death, and sit 
 motionless like a bereaved creature, with the 
 pieces in his hands, and his eyes fixed on them 
 till tears came and blinded them. Then sho 
 was terrified at what she had clone ; and next 
 her heart smote her bitterly ; and she wept sore 
 apart ; but, being what she was, dared not own 
 it, but said to herself, " I'll not say a word, but 
 I'll make it up to him." And her bowels yearned 
 over her son, and her feeble violence died a 
 natural death, and she was transferring her 
 fatal alliance to Gerard when the two black 
 sheep came in. Gerard knew nothing of the 
 immediate cause ; on the contrary, inexperienced 
 as he was in the ins and outs of females, her 
 kindness made him ashamed of a suspicion he 
 had entertained that she was the depredator, 
 and he kissed her again and again, and went to 
 bed happy as a prince to think his mother was 
 his mother once more at the very crisis of his 
 fate. 
 
 The next morning, at ten o'clock, Gerard and 
 Margaret were in the church at Sevenbergen, 
 he radiant with joy, she with blushes. Peter 
 was also there, and Martin Wittenhaagen, but 
 no other friend. Secrecy was everything. Mar- 
 garet had declined Italy. She could not leave 
 her father ; he was too learned and too help- 
 less. But it was settled they should retire into 
 Flanders for a few weeks until the storm should 
 be blown over at Tergou. The cure* did not 
 keep them waiting long, though it seemed an 
 age. Presently he stood at the altar, and called 
 them to him. They went hand in hand, the 
 happiest in Holland. The cur opened his book. 
 
 But ere he uttered a single word of the sacred 
 rite, a harsh voice cried " Forbear ! " And the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 constables of Tergou came up the aisle and 
 seized Gerard in the name of the law. Martin's 
 long knife flashed out directly. 
 
 " Forbear, man 1 " cried the priest. " What 1 
 draw your weapon in a church, and ye who 
 interrupt this holy sacrament, what means this 
 impiety ? " 
 
 " There is no impiety, father," said the bur- 
 gomaster's servant respectfully. "This young 
 man would marry against his father's will, and 
 his father has prayed our burgomaster to deal 
 with him according to the law. Let him deny 
 it if he can." 
 
 "Is this so, young man 7" 
 
 Gerard hung his head. 
 
 "We take him to Kotterdam to abide the 
 sentence of the Duke. 
 
 At this Margaret uttered a cry of despair, 
 and the young creatures, who were so happy a 
 moment ago, fell to sobbing in one another's 
 arms so piteously, that the instruments of op- 
 pression drew back a step and were ashamed ; 
 but one of them that was good-natured stepped 
 up under pretence of separating them, and 
 whispered to Margaret : 
 
 " Rotterdam ? it is a lie. We but take him 
 to our Stadthouse." 
 
 They took him away on horseback, on the 
 road to Rotterdam ; and, after a dozen halts, 
 and by sly detours, to Tergou. Just outside the 
 town they were met by a rude vehicle covered 
 with canvas. Gerard was put into this, and 
 :ibout five in the evening was secretly conveyed 
 into the prison of the Stadthouse. He was 
 taken up several flights of stairs and thrust into 
 a small room lighted only by a narrow window, 
 with a vertical iron bar. The whole furniture 
 was a huge oak chest. 
 
 Imprisonment in that age was one of the 
 highroads to death. It is horrible in its mildest 
 form; but in those days it implied cold, un- 
 broken solitude, torture, starvation, and often 
 poison. Gerard felt he was in the hands of an 
 enemy. 
 
 " Oh, the look that man gave me on the road 
 to Rotterdam. There is more here than my 
 father's wrath. I doubt I shall see no more 
 the light of day." And he kneeled down and 
 commended his soul to God. 
 
 Presently he rose and sprang at the iron bar 
 of the window, and clutched it. This enabled 
 him to look out by pressing his knees against 
 the walL It was but for a minute ; but in that 
 minute he saw a sight such as none but a 
 captive can appreciate. 
 
 Martin Wittenhaagen's back. 
 
 Martin was sitting, quietly fishing in the 
 brook near the Stadthouse. 
 
 Gerard sprang again at the window, and 
 whistled. Martin instantly showed that he was 
 watching much harder than fishing. He turned 
 hastily round and saw Gerard ; made him a 
 signal, and taking up his line and bow, wont 
 quickly off. 
 
 Gerard saw by this that his friends were not 
 idle : yet he had rather Martin had stayed. 
 The very sight of him was a comfort. Ho held 
 on, looking at the soldier's retiring form as long 
 as he could, then falling back somewhat heavily, 
 wrenched the rusty iron bar, held only by rusty 
 
 nails, away from the stone-work just as Ghys- 
 brecht Van Swieten opened the door stealthily 
 behind him. The burgomaster's eye fell in- 
 stantly on the iron, and then glanced at the 
 window ; but he said nothing. The window 
 was a hundred feet from the ground ; and if 
 Gerard had a fancy for jumping out, why should 
 he balk it? He brought a brown loaf and a 
 pitcher of water, and set them on the chest in 
 solemn silence. Gerard's first impulse was to 
 brain him with the iron bar and fly down the 
 stairs ; but the burgomaster seeing something 
 wicked in his eye, gave a little cough, and three 
 stout fellows, armed, showed themselves directly 
 at the door. 
 
 " My orders are to keep you thus until you 
 shall bind yourself by an oath to leave Margaret 
 Brandt, and return to the Church, to which you 
 have belonged from your cradle." 
 
 " Death sooner." 
 
 "With all my heart." And the burgomaster 
 retired. 
 
 Martin went with all speed to Sevenbergen ; 
 there he found Margaret pale and agitated, 
 but full of resolution and energy. She was 
 just finishing a letter to the Countess Charo- 
 lois, appealing to her against the violence and 
 treachery of Ghysbrecht. 
 
 "Courage!" cried Martin on entering. "I 
 have found him. He is in the haunted tower, 
 right at the top of it. Ay, I know the place : 
 many a poor fellow has gone up there straight, 
 and come down feet foremost." 
 
 He then told them how he had looked v.p 
 and seen Gerard's face at a window that was 
 like a slit in the wall. 
 
 " Oh, Martin ! how did he look f " 
 
 " What mean you ? He looked like Gerard 
 Eliassoen." 
 
 " But was he pale ? " 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "Looked he anxious? Looked he like one 
 doomed ? " 
 
 "Nay, nay ; as bright as a pewter pot." 
 
 "You mock me. Stay ! then that must have 
 been at sight of you. He counts on us*. Oh, 
 what shall we do ? Martin, good friend, take 
 this at once to Rotterdam." 
 
 Martin held out his hand for the letter. 
 
 Peter had sat silent all this time, but ponder- 
 ing, and yet contrary to custom, keenly attentive 
 to what was going on around him. 
 
 "Put not your trust in princes," said he. 
 
 " Alas I what else have we to trust in ? " 
 
 " Knowledge." 
 
 " Well-a-day, father ! your learning will not 
 .serve us here." 
 
 " How know you that ? Wit has been too 
 strong for iron bars ere to-day." 
 
 " Ay, father ; but nature is stronger than wit, 
 and she is against us. Think of the height ! 
 No ladder in Holland might reach him." 
 
 " I need no ladder ; what I need is a gold 
 crown." 
 
 " Nay, I have money, for that matter. I have 
 nine angels. Gerard gave them me to keep ; 
 but what do they avail ? The burgomaster will 
 not be bribed to let Gerard free." 
 
 ' What do they avail ? Give mo but one ciown,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 33 
 
 and the young man shall sup with us this 
 night." 
 
 Peter spoke so eagerly and confidently, that 
 for a moment Margaret felt hopeful ; but she 
 caught Martin's eye dwelling upon him with an 
 expression of benevolent contempt. 
 
 "It passes the powers of man's invention," 
 said she, with a deep sigh. 
 
 "Invention!" cried the old man.' "A fig 
 for invention. What need we invention at this 
 time of day ? Everything has been said that is 
 to be said, and done that ever will be done. I 
 shall tell you how a Florentine knight was shut 
 up in a tower higher than Gerard's ; yet did his 
 faithful squire stand at the tower foot and get 
 him out, with no other engine than that in your 
 hand, Martin, and certain kickshaws I shall buy 
 for a crown." 
 
 Martin looked at his bow, and turned it round 
 in his hand, and seemed to interrogate it. But 
 the examination left him as incredulous as 
 before. 
 
 Then Peter told them his story, how the 
 faithful squire got the knight out of a high 
 tower at Brescia. The manoeuvre, like most 
 things that are really scientific, was so simple, 
 that now their wonder was they had taken for 
 impossible what was not even difficult. 
 
 The letter never went to Rotterdam. They 
 trusted to Peter's learning and their own dex- 
 terity. 
 
 It was nine o'clock on a clear moonlight 
 night ; Gerard, senior, was still away ; the 
 rest of his little family had been some time 
 abed. - 
 
 A figure stood by the dwarf's bed. It was 
 white, and the moonlight shone on it. .' 
 
 With an unearthly noise, between a yell and 
 a snarl, the gymnast rolled off his bed and 
 under it by a single unbroken movement. A 
 soft voice followed him in his retreat. 
 
 " Why, Giles, are you af card of me ? " 
 
 At ihi?, Giles's head peeped cautiously up, 
 and he saw it was only his sister Kate. 
 
 She put her finger to her lips. "Hush! 
 lest the wicked Cornells or the wicked Sybrandt 
 hear us." Giles's claws seized the side of the 
 bed, and he returned to his place by one un- 
 divided gymnastic. 
 
 Kate then revealed to Giles that she had 
 heard Cornelis and Sybrandt mention Gerard's 
 name ; and being herself in great anxiety at 
 his not coming home all day, had listened at 
 their door, and had made a fearful discovery. 
 Gerard was in prison, in the haunted tower of 
 the Stadthouse. He was there, it seemed, by 
 their father's authority. But here must be 
 some treachery ; for how could their father 
 have ordered this cruel act? He was at 
 Rotterdam. She ended by entreating Giles to 
 bear her company to the foot of the haunted 
 tower, to say a word of comfort to poor Gerard, 
 and let him know their father was absent, and 
 would be sure to release him on his return. 
 
 "Dear Giles, I would go alone, but I am 
 afeard of the spirits that men say do haunt the 
 tower ; but with you I shall not be afeard." 
 
 "Nor I with you," said Giles. "I don't 
 believe there are any spirits in Tergou. I never 
 
 saw one. This last was the likest one ever I 
 saw ; and it was but you, Kate, after all." 
 
 In less than half an hour Giles and Kate 
 opened the house-door cautiously and issued 
 forth. She made him carry a lantern, though 
 the night was bright. " The lantern gives me 
 more courage against the evil spirits," said she. 
 
 The first day of imprisonment is very trying, 
 especially if to the horror of captivity is added 
 the horror of utter solitude. I observe that in 
 our own day a great many persons commit 
 suicide during the first twenty-four hours of the 
 solitary cell This is doubtless why our Jairi 
 abstain so carefully from the impertinence of 
 watching their little experiment upon the human 
 soul at that particular stage of it. 
 
 As the sun declined, Gerard's heart too sank 
 and sank ; with the waning light even the em- 
 bers of hope went out. He was faint, too, with 
 hunger ; for he was afraid to eat the food Ghys- 
 brecht had brought him ; and hunger alone cows 
 men. He sat upon the chest, his arms and his 
 head drooping before him, a picture of despon- 
 dency. Suddenly something struck the wall 
 beyond him very sharply, and then rattled on 
 the floor at his feet. It was an arrow ; he saw 
 the white feather. A chill ran through him 
 they meant then to assassinate him from the 
 outside. He crouched. No more missiles came. 
 He crawled on all fours, and took up the arrow ; 
 there was no head to it. He uttered a cry of 
 hope : had a friendly hand shot it ? He took 
 it up, and felt it all over : he found a soft sub- 
 stance attached to it. Then one of his eccentri- 
 cities was of grand use to him. His tinder-box 
 enabled him to strike a light : it showed him 
 two things that made his heart bound with 
 delight, none the less thrilling for being some- 
 what vague. Attached to the arrow was a skein 
 of silk, and on the arrow . itself were words 
 written. 
 
 How his eyes devoured them, his heart pant- 
 ing the while. 
 
 Wtll fcelobet, mafee fajft tfje silk to tty fcnife 
 anu louur to us : but IjolD tljtne enfl fast : tljen 
 count an fjuncrcn ano nrato up. 
 
 Gerard seized the oak chest, and with almost 
 superhuman energy dragged it to the window : 
 a moment ago he could not have moved it. 
 Standing on the chest and looking down, he 
 saw figures at the tower foot. They were so 
 indistinct, they looked like one huge form. He 
 waved his bonnet to them with trembling hand : 
 then he undid the silk rapidly but carefully, 
 and made one end fast to his knife and lowered 
 it till it ceased to draw. Then he counted a 
 hundred. Then pulled the silk carefully up : 
 it came up a little heavier. At last he came to 
 a large knot, and by that knot a stout whipcord 
 was attached to the silk. What could this 
 mean ? While he was puzzling himself Mar- 
 garet's voice came up to him, low but clear. 
 "Draw up, Gerard, till you see liberty." At 
 the word Gerard drew the whipcord line up, 
 and drew and drew till he came to another 
 knot, and found a cord of some thickness take 
 the place of the whipcord. He had no sooner 
 besun to draw this up, than he found that he
 
 34 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 had now a heavy weight to deal with. Then 
 the truth suddenly flashed on him, and he went 
 to work and pulled and pulled till the perspira- 
 tion rolled down him : the weight got heavier 
 and heavier, and at last he was well-nigh ex- 
 hausted : looking down, he saw in the moonlight 
 a sight that revived him : it was as it were a 
 great snake coming up to him out of the deep 
 shadow cast by the tower. He gave a shout of 
 joy, and a score more wild pulls, and lo ! a stout 
 new rope touched his hand : he hauled and 
 hauled, and dragged the end into his prison, and 
 instantly passed it through both handles of the 
 chest in succession, and knotted it firmly ; then 
 sat for a moment to recover his breath and 
 collect his courage. The first thing was to 
 make sure that the chest was sound, and cap- 
 able of resisting his weight poised in mid-air. 
 He jumped with all his force upon it. At the 
 third jump the whole side burst open, and out 
 scuttled the contents, a host of parchments. 
 
 After the first start and misgiving this gave 
 him, Gerard comprehended that the chest had 
 not burst, but opened : he had doubtless jumped 
 upon some secret spring. Still it shook in some 
 degree his confidence in the chest's powers of 
 resistance ; so he gave it an ally : he took the 
 iron bar and fastened it with the small rope 
 across the large rope, and across the window. 
 He now mounted the chest, and from the chest 
 put his foot through the window, and sat half 
 in and half out, with one hand on that part of 
 the rope which was inside. In the silent night 
 he heard his own heart beat. 
 
 The free air breathed on his face, and gave 
 him the courage to risk what we must all lose 
 one day for liberty. Many dangers awaited 
 him, but the greatest was the first getting on 
 to the rope outside. Gerard reflected. Finally, 
 he put himself in the attitude of a swimmer, 
 his body to the waist being in the prison, his 
 legs outside. Then holding the inside rope 
 with both hands, he felt anxiously with his 
 feet for the outside rope, and when he had got 
 it, he worked it in between the palms of his 
 feet, and kept it there tight : then he uttered 
 a short prayer, and, all the calmer for it, put 
 liis left hand on the sill and gradually wriggled 
 out. Then he seized the iron bar, and for one 
 fearful moment hung outside from it by his 
 right hand, while his left hand felt for the rope 
 down at his knees ; it was too tight against the 
 wall for his fingers to get round it higher up. The 
 moment he had fairly grasped it, he left the bar, 
 and swiftly seized the rope with the right hand 
 too ; but in this manoeuvre his body necessarily 
 fell about a yard. A stifled cry came up from 
 below. Gerard hung in mid-air. He clenched 
 his teeth, and nipped the rope tight wiili his 
 feet and gripped it with his hands, and went 
 down slowly hand below hand. He passed by 
 one huge rough stone after another. He saw 
 there was green moss on one. He looked up 
 and he looked down. The moon shone into 
 his prison window : it seemed very near. The 
 fluttering figures below seemed an awful dis- 
 tance. It made him dizzy to look down : so he 
 fixed his eyes steadily on the wall close to him, 
 and went slowly down, down, down. 
 
 He passed a rusty, slimy streak on the wall : 
 
 it was some ten feet long. The rope made his 
 hands very hot. He stole another look up. 
 
 The prison window was a good way off now. 
 
 Down down down down. 
 
 The rope made his hands sore. 
 
 He looked up. The window was so distant, 
 he ventured now to turn his eyes downward 
 again ; and there, not more than thirty feet 
 below him, were Margaret and Martin, their 
 faithful hands upstretched to catch him should 
 he fall. He could see their eyes and their teeth 
 shine in the moonlight. For their mouths were 
 open, and they were breathing hard. 
 
 " Take care, Gerard ! oh, take care ! Look 
 not down." 
 
 "Fear me not," cried Gerard joyfully, and 
 eyed the wall, but came down faster. 
 
 In another minute his feet were at their 
 hands. They seized him ere he touched the 
 ground, and all three clung together in one 
 embrace. 
 
 " Hush ! away in silence, dear one." 
 
 They stole along the shadow of the wall. 
 
 Now, ere they had gone many yards, suddenly 
 a stream of light shot from an angle of the 
 building, and lay across their path like a 
 barrier of fire, and they heard whispers and 
 footsteps close at hand. 
 
 "Back!" hissed Martin. "Keep in the 
 shade." 
 
 They hurried back, passed the dangling rope, 
 and made for a little square projecting tower. 
 They had barely rounded it when the light shot 
 trembling past them, and flickered uncertainly 
 into the distance. 
 
 "A lantern! " groaned Martin in a whisper. 
 " They are after us." 
 
 "Give me my knife," whispered Gorurd. 
 " I'll never be taken alive." 
 
 " No, no 1 " murmured Margaret ; " is there 
 no way out where we are ? " 
 
 " None ! none ! But I carry six lives at my 
 shoulder ; " and with the word, Martin strung 
 his bow, and fitted an arrow to the string : "in 
 war never wait to be struck : I will kill one or 
 two ere they shall know where there death comes 
 from : " then, motioning his companions to be 
 quiet, he began to draw his bow, and, ere the 
 arrow was quite drawn to the head, he glided 
 round the corner ready to loose the string the 
 moment the enemy should offer a mark. 
 
 Gerard and Margaret held their breath in 
 horrible expectation : they had never seen a 
 human being killed. 
 
 And now a wild hope, but half repressed, 
 thrilled through Gerard, that this watchful 
 enemy might be the burgomaster in person. 
 The soldier, he knew, would send an arrow 
 through a burgher or burgomaster, as he would 
 through a boar in a wood. 
 
 But who may foretell the future, however near? 
 The bow, instead of remaining firm, and loosing 
 the deadly shaft, was seen to waver first, then 
 shake violently, and the stout soldier staggered 
 back to them, his knees knocking and his cheeks 
 blanched with fear. He let his arrow fall, and 
 clutched Gerard's shoulder. 
 
 "Let me feel flesh and blood," he gasped. 
 " The haunted tower 1 the haunted tower 1 "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 35 
 
 His terror communicated itself to Margaret 
 and Gerard. They gasped rather than uttered 
 an inquiry. 
 
 " Hush ! " he cried, " it will hear you. Up the 
 wall ! it is going up the wall ! Its head is on fire. 
 Up the wall, as mortal creatures walk upon 
 green sward. If you know a prayer, say it, for 
 hell is loose to-night." 
 
 "I have power to exorcise spirits," said 
 Gerard, trembling. " I will venture forth." 
 
 4 ' Go alone, then ! " said Martin ; "I have looked 
 on't once, and live." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE strange glance of hatred the burgomaster 
 had cast on Gerard, coupled with his imprison- 
 ment, had filled the young man with a persuasion 
 that Ghysbrecht was his enemy to the death, 
 and he glided round the angle of the tower, 
 fully expecting to see no supernatural appear- 
 ance, but some cruel and treacherous contrivance 
 of a bad man to do him a mischief in that prison, 
 his escape from which could hardly be known. 
 
 As he stole forth, a soft but brave hand crept 
 into his ; and Margaret was by his side, to share 
 this new peril. 
 
 No sooner was the haunted tower visible, than 
 a sight struck their eyes that benumbed them 
 as they stood. More than half way up the 
 tower, a creature with a fiery head, like an 
 enormous glowworm, was steadily mounting the 
 wall : the body was dark, but its outline visible 
 through the glare from the head, and the whole 
 creature not much less than four feet long. 
 
 At the foot of the tower stood a thing in 
 white, that looked exactly like the figure of a 
 female. G erard and Margaret palpitated with 
 awe. 
 
 " The rope ! the rope ! It is going up the 
 rope," gasped Gerard. 
 
 As they gazed, the glowworm disappeared in 
 Gerard's late prison, but its light illuminated 
 the cell inside and reddened the window. The 
 white figure stood motionless below. 
 
 Such as can retain their senses after the first 
 prostrating effect of the supernatural are apt to 
 experience terror in one of its strangest forms, 
 a wild desire to fling themselves upon the terrible 
 object. It fascinates them as the snake the 
 bird. The great tragedian Macready used to 
 render this finely in Macbeth, at Banquo's 
 second appearance. He flung himself with 
 averted head at the horrible shadow. This 
 strange impulse now seized Margaret. She put 
 down Gerard's hand quietly, and stood bewil- 
 dered ; then, all in a moment, with a wild cry, 
 darted towards the spectre. Gerard, not aware 
 of the natural impulse I have spoken of, never 
 doubted the evil one was drawing her to her 
 perdition. He fell on his knees. 
 
 "Exorcizo vos. In nomine beatas Mariae, 
 exorcizo vos." 
 
 While the exorcist was shrieking his incan- 
 tations in extremity of terror, to his infinite 
 relief he heard the spectre utter a feeble cry of 
 fear. To find that hell had also its little weak- 
 
 nesses was encouraging. He redoubled his 
 exorcisms, and presently he saw the ghastly 
 shape kneeling at Margaret's knees, and heard 
 it praying piteously for mercy. 
 
 Kate and Giles soon reached the haunted 
 tower. Judge their surprise when they found a 
 new rope dangling from the prisoner's window 
 to the ground. 
 
 " I see how it is," said the inferior intelligence, 
 taking facts as they came. " Our Gerard has 
 come down this rope. He has got clear. Up I 
 go f and see." 
 
 " No, Giles, no ! " said the superior intelligence, 
 blinded by prejudice. " See you not this is 
 glamour ? This rope is a line the evil one casts 
 out to wile thee to destruction. He knows the 
 weaknesses of all our hearts ; he has seen how 
 fond you are of going up things. Where should 
 our Gerard procure a rope ? how fasten it in the 
 sky like this ? It is not in nature. Holy saints, 
 protect us this night, for hell is abroad." 
 
 " Stuff ! " said the dwarf ; " the way to hell is 
 down, and this rope leads up. I never had the 
 luck to go up such a long rope. It may be years 
 ere I fall in with such a long rope all ready 
 hung for me. As well be knocked on the head 
 at once as never know happiness." 
 
 And he sprung on to the rope with a cry of 
 delight, as a cat jumps with a mew on to a table 
 where fish is. All the gymnast was on fire ; and 
 the only concession Kate could gain from him 
 was permission to fasten the lantern on his neck 
 first. 
 
 " A light scares the ill spirits," said she. 
 
 And so, with his huge arms, and his legs like 
 feathers, Giles went up the rope faster than his 
 brother came down it. The light at the nape 
 of his neck made a glowworm of him. His 
 sister watched his progress with trembling 
 anxiety. Suddenly a female figure started out 
 of the solid masonry, and came flying at her 
 with more than mortal velocity. 
 
 Kate uttered a feeble cry. It was all she 
 could, for her tongue clove ' to her palate with 
 terror. Then she dropped her crutches, and 
 sank upon her knees, hiding her face and 
 moaning : 
 
 " Take my body, but spare my soul 1 " 
 
 Margaret (panting). " Why, it is a woman ! " 
 
 Kate (quivering). " Why, it is a woman I " 
 
 Margaret. " How you scared me ! " 
 
 Kate. "I am scared enough myself. Oh! 
 oh ! oh ! " 
 
 " This is strange I But the fiery-headed thing ? 
 Yet it was with you, and you are harmless ! But 
 why are you here at this time of night ? '* 
 
 " Nay, why are YOU ? " 
 
 M Perhaps we are on the same errand ? Ah I 
 you are his good sister, Kate." 
 
 " And you are Margaret Brandt." 
 
 "Yea." 
 
 " All the better. You love him you are here. 
 Then Giles was right. He has won free." 
 
 Gerard came forward, and put the question at 
 rest. But all further explanation was cut short 
 by a horrible unearthly noise, like a sepulchre 
 ventriloquising : 
 
 " PAKCHMENT I -^- J>ABCHMENT I PAKCH-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 At each repetition, it rose in intensity. They 
 looked up, and there was the dwarf, with his 
 bands full of parchments, and his face lighted 
 with fiendish joy and lurid with diabolical fire. 
 The light being at his neck, a more infernal 
 " transparency " never startled mortal eye, 
 With tie word, the awful imp hurled parch- 
 ment at the astonished heads below. Down 
 came records, like wounded wild-dncks ; some 
 collapsed, others fluttering, and others spread 
 out and wheeling slowly down in airy circles. 
 They had hardly settled", when again the sepul- 
 chral roar was heard "Parchment! parch- 
 ment ! " and down pattered and sailed another 
 flock of documents: another followed: they 
 whitened the grass. Finally, the fire-headed 
 imp, with his light body and horny bands, slid 
 down the rope like a falling star, and (busi- 
 ness before sentiment) proposed to his rescued 
 brother an immediate settlement for the mer- 
 chandise he had just delivered, 
 
 " Hush I " said Gerard ; " yon speak too loud. 
 Gather them up, and follow us to a safer place 
 than this." 
 
 " Will yon not come home with me, Gerard 1 " 
 said little Kate. 
 
 " I bare no home." 
 
 " You shall not say so. Who is more welcome 
 than you will be, after this cruel wrong, to your 
 father's house ? " 
 
 "Father! I have no father," said Gerard 
 sternly. " He that was my father is turned my 
 gaoler. I have escaped from his hands ; I will 
 never come within their reach again," 
 
 " An enemy did this, and not our father." 
 
 And she told him what she had overheard 
 Cornells and Sybrandt say. But the injury was 
 too recent to be soothed. Gerard showed a 
 bitterness of indignation be had hitherto seemed 
 incapable of. 
 
 " Cornells and Sybrandt are two ill curs that 
 have shown me their teeth and their heart a 
 long while ; but they could do no more. My 
 father it is that pave the burgomaster authority, 
 or he durst not have laid a finger on me, that 
 am a free burgher of this town. So be it, then. 
 I was his son. I am his prisoner. He has 
 played his part. I shall play mine. Farewell 
 the burgh where I was born, and lived honestly, 
 and was put in prison. While there is another 
 town left in creation, 111 never trouble you 
 again, Tergou. " 
 
 "Oh, Gerard! Gerard 1" 
 
 Margaret whispered her : " Do not gainsay 
 him now. Give his choler time to cool I " 
 
 Kate turned quickly towards her. " Let me 
 look at your face ? " The inspection was favour- 
 able, it seemed, for the whispered: "It is a 
 comely face, and no mischief-maker's." 
 
 me not," said Margaret, in the same 
 tone. " I could not be happy without your love, 
 as well as Gerard's." 
 
 " These are comfortable words," sobbed Kate. 
 Then, looking up, she said, "I little thought to 
 like yon so well My heart is willing, but my 
 infirmity will not let me embrace you." 
 
 At ibii hint, Margaret wound candy round 
 Gerard's sister, and kissed her lovingly.' 
 
 " Often he has ipoken of you to me, Kate ; 
 and often I longed for this." 
 
 " You, too, Gerard," said Kate ; " kiss me ere 
 you go ; for my heart lies heavy at parting with 
 j you this night. " 
 
 Gerard kissed her, and she went on her 
 crutches home. The last thing they heard of 
 her was a little patient sigh. Then the tears 
 came and stood thick in Margaret's eyes. But 
 Gerard was a man, and noticed not his sister's 
 sigh. 
 
 As they turned to go to Sevenbergen, the 
 dwarf nudged Gerard with his bundle of parch- 
 ments, and held out a concave claw. 
 
 Margaret dissuaded Gerard. ' ' Why take what 
 is not ours ? " 
 
 ' ' Oh, spoil an enemy how you can." 
 
 " But may they not make this a handle for 
 I fresh violence ? " 
 
 "How can they ? Think you I shall stay in 
 | Tergou after this ? The burgomaster robbed 
 me of my liberty : I doubt I should take his life 
 for it. if I could." 
 
 "Oh, fie! Gerard." 
 
 " What ! Is life worth more than liberty ? 
 Well, I can't take his life, so I take the first 
 thing that comes to hand." 
 
 He gave Giles a few Kma.11 coins, with which 
 the urchin was gladdened, and shuffled after 
 his sister. Margaret and Gerard were speedily 
 joined by Martin, and away to Sevenbergen. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 GHYSBRECHT VAN SWIETEX kept the key of 
 Gerard's prison in his pouch. He waited till 
 ten of the clock ere he visited him ; for be said 
 to himself, "A little hunger sometimes does 
 well; it breaks "em." At ten he crept up the 
 stairs with a loaf and pitcher, followed by his 
 trusty servant well armed. Ghysbrecht listened 
 at the door. There was no sound inside. A 
 grim smile stole over his features. "By this 
 time he will be as down-hearted as Albert 
 Koestein was," thought he. He opened the 
 door. 
 
 No Gerard. 
 
 Ghysbrecht stood stupefied. 
 
 Although his face was not visible, bis body 
 seemed to lose all motion in so peculiar a way, 
 and then after a little he fell a trembfiag so, 
 that the servant behind him saw there was some- 
 thing amiss, and crept close to bun and peeped 
 over his shoulder. At sight of the empty cell, 
 and the rope, and iron bar, he uttered a loud 
 exclamation of wonder ; but his surprise doubled 
 when his master, disregarding all else, suddenly 
 flung himself on his knees before the empty 
 chest, and felt wildly all over4t with qi 
 hands, as if unwilling to trust his eyes in a 
 matter so important. 
 
 The servant gazed at him in utter bewilder- 
 ment, 
 
 " Why, master, what is the mr.- 
 
 Ghysbrecht's pale lips worked as if he was 
 going to answer ; but they uttered no sound : 
 hi* bands f ell by bis side, and he stared into the 
 
 what avails glaring into that 
 
 "Why,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 empty box ? The lad is not there. See here ! ! Dierich showed the moment he learned Gerard 
 Note the conning of the young rogue ; he hath was not at home, bad not been at home that 
 
 ' night. 
 
 "Come away then," said he roughly. "We 
 
 taken out the bar, and- 
 
 " GONE ! GONE ! GONE '. : ' 
 
 " Gone ! What is gone 1 Holy saints ! he is I are wasting time." He added vehemently, " 111 
 planet-struck." j find him if he is above ground." 
 
 " STOP THIEF ! " shrieked Ghysbrecht, and j Affection sharpens the wits, and often it has 
 suddenly turned on his servant and collared him, ; made an innocent person more than a match 
 and shook him with rage. " D'ye stand there, j for the wily. As Dierich was going out, Kate 
 knave, and see your master robbed ? Kun ! fly ! ' made him a signal she would speak with him 
 A hundred crowns to him that finds it me again, privately. He bade kis men go on, and wailed 
 No, no ! 'tis in vain. Oh, fool ! fool ! to leave j outside the door. She joined him. 
 that in the same room with him. But none 
 ever found the secret spring before. 
 ever would but he. It was to be. It is to 
 be. Lost ! lost ! " and his years and infirmity 
 now gained the better of his short-lived frenzy, 
 and he sank on the chest muttering " Lost ! 
 lost ! " 
 
 "What is lost, master?" asked the servant 
 kindly. 
 
 " Hush ! " said she ; " my mother knows not 
 None ! Gerard has left Tergou." 
 " How ? " 
 
 " I saw him last night.-'' 
 " Ay ! Where ? " cried Dierich eagerly. 
 " At the foot of the haunted tower." 
 " How did he get the rope ? " 
 " I know not ; but this I know ; my brother 
 Gerard bade me there farewell, and he is mam 
 
 " House and lands and good name," groaned leagues from Tergou ere this. The town, you 
 
 know, was always unworthy of him, and when 
 it imprisoned him, he vowed never to set foot 
 in it again. Let the burgomaster be content, 
 then. He has imprisoned him, and he has 
 driven him from his birthplace and from his 
 native land. What need now to rob him and 
 us of our good name ? " 
 
 This might at another moment have struck 
 Dierich as good sense ; but he was too morti- 
 fied at this escape of Gerard and the loss of a 
 
 crowns to him who shall recover them ; all. 
 mind, all that were in this bos. If one be 
 missing, I give nothing." 
 
 " 'Tis a bargain, master : the hundred crowns 
 are in my pouch. See you not that where 
 Gerard Eliassoen is, there are the pieces of 
 sheepskin you rate so high ? " 
 
 Ghysbrecht, and wrung his hands feeblv. 
 
 " WHAT ? " cried the servant. 
 
 This emphatic word, and the tone of eager 
 curiosity, struck on Ghysbrecht's ear and re- 
 vived his natural cunning. 
 
 " I have lost the town records," stammered 
 he, and he looked askant at the man like a fox 
 caught near a hen-roost 
 
 "' Oh, is that all?" 
 
 " Is't not enough ? What will the burghers 
 
 say to me ? What will the burgh do ? " Then j hundred crowns. 
 
 he suddenly burst out again, "A hundred ! "What need had he to steal?" retorted he 
 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Gerard stole not the trash ; he but took it 
 to spite the burgomaster, who stole his libertv ; 
 but he shall answer to the Duke for it, he shall 
 As for these skins of parchment you keep such 
 a coil about, look in the nearest brook or stye, 
 and 'tis odds but you find them." 
 
 " That is true ; that is true ; good Dierich : ' " Think ye so, mistress ? think ye so ? " And 
 good faithful Dierich. All, mind, all that were j Dierich's eyes flashed. "Mayhap you know 
 in the chest." 
 
 ' ' Master, I will take the constables to Gerard's 
 house, and seize him for the theft." 
 
 "The theft? ay I good; very good. It is 
 theft. I forgot that. So, as he is a thief now, ( 
 
 we will put him in the dungeons below, where sharply. " The sheepskin you scorn, I value it 
 the toads are and the rats. Dierich, that man more than the skin of any he in Tergou."' 
 must never see daylight again. 'Tis his own \ And he went off hastily on a false scent 
 fault ; he must be prying. Quick, quick ! ere Kate returned into the house and drew Giles 
 he has time to talk, you know, time to talk." aside. 
 
 In less than half an hour Dierich Brower and " Giles, my heart misgives me ; breathe not 
 four constables entered the hosier's house, and to a soul what I say to you. I have told Dirk 
 demanded young Gerard of the panic-stricken Brower that Gerard is out of Holland, but much 
 Catherine. ! I doubt be is not a league from Tergon." 
 
 ' : Alas ! what has he done now ? " cried she : " Why, where is he, then ? " 
 " that boy will break my heart." " Where should he be, but with her he loves ? 
 
 " Xay, dame, but a trick of youth," said Die- But if so, he must not loiter. These.be deep 
 rich, " He hath but made off with certain skins and dark and wicked men that seek him. Giles, 
 of parchment, in a frolic doubtless ; but the bur- I see that in Dirk Brewer's eye makes me 
 gomaster is answerable to the burgh for their tremble. Oh, why cannot I fly to Sevenbergen 
 safe keeping, so he is in care about them : as and bid him away ? Why am" I not lusty and 
 for the youth, he will doubtless be quit for a active like other girls ? " God forgive me for 
 reprimand." ; fretting at His will ; but I never felt till now 
 
 This smooth speech completely imposed on what it is to be lame and weak and useless, 
 Catherine ; but her daughter was more suspi- But you are strong, dear Giles," added she 
 cious, and that suspicion was strengthened by j coaxkigly ; "you are very strong." 
 the disproportionate anger and disappointment " Yes. I am strong," thundered Ferpusillus ; 
 
 'tis so." 
 
 "This I know, that Gerard is too good to 
 steal, and too wise to load himself with rubbish, 
 going a journey." 
 
 Give you good day, then," said Dierich
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 then, catching sight of her meaning, " bat I hate 
 to go on foot," he added sulkily. 
 
 " Alas ! alas I who will help me if you will not ? 
 Dear Giles, do you not love Gerard ? " 
 
 " Yes, I like him best of the lot. I'll go to 
 Sevenbergen on Peter Buyskens his mule. Ask 
 you him, for ho won't lend her me." 
 
 Kate remonstrated. The whole town would 
 follow him. It would be known whither he was 
 gone, and Gerard be in worse danger than before. 
 
 Giles parried this by promising to ride out of 
 the town the opposite way, and not turn the 
 mule's head towards Sevenbergen till he had got 
 rid of the curious. 
 
 Kate then assented and borrowed the mule. 
 She charged Giles with a short but meaning 
 message, and made him repeat it after her 
 over and over, till he could say it word for 
 word. 
 
 Giles started on the mule, and little Kate re- 
 tired, and did the last thing now in her power 
 for her beloved brother prayed on her knees 
 long and earnestly for his safety. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GEEARD and Margaret went gaily to Seven- 
 bergen in the first flush of recovered liberty and 
 successful adventure. But these soon yielded 
 to sadder thoughts. Gerard was an escaped 
 prisoner, and liable to be retaken and perhaps 
 punished ; and therefore he and Margaret would 
 have to part for a time. Moreover, he had con- 
 ceived a hatred to his native place. Margaret 
 wished him to leave the country for a while, 
 but at the thought of his going to Italy her 
 heart fainted. Gerard, on the contrary, was re- 
 conciled to leaving Margaret only by his desire 
 to visit Italy, and his strong conviction that 
 there he should earn money and reputation, and 
 remove every obstacle to their marriage. He 
 had already told her all that the demoiselle Van 
 Eyck had said to him. He repeated it, and re- 
 minded Margaret that the gold pieces were only 
 given him to go to Italy with. The journey was 
 clearly for Gerard's interest. He was a crafts- 
 man and an artist, lost in this boorish place. 
 In Italy they would know how to value him. 
 On this ground above all the unselfish girl gave 
 her consent ; but many tender tears came with 
 it, and at that Gerard, young and loving as her- 
 self, cried bitterly with her, and often they asked 
 one another what they had done, that so many 
 different persons should be their enemies, and 
 combine, as it seemed, to part them. 
 
 They sat hand in hand till midnight, now 
 deploring their hard fate, now drawing bright 
 and hopeful pictures of the future, in the midst 
 of which Margaret's tears would suddenly flow, 
 and then poor Gerard's eloquence would die 
 away in a sigh. 
 
 The morning found them resigned to part, 
 but neither had the courage to say when ; and 
 much I doubt whether the hour of parting ever 
 would have struck. 
 
 But about three in the afternoon, Giles, 
 who had made a circuit of many miles to avoid 
 
 suspicion, rode up to the door. They both ran 
 out to him, eager with curiosity. 
 
 "Brother Gerard," cried he, in his tremendous 
 tones, " Kate bids you run for your life. They 
 charge you with theft ; you have given them a 
 handle. Think not to explain. Hope not for 
 justice in Tergou. The parchments you took, 
 they are but a blind. She hath seen your death 
 in the men's eyes ; a price is on your head. Fly ! 
 For Margaret's sake and all who love you, loiter 
 not life away, but fly 1 " 
 
 It was a thunder-clap, and left two white 
 faces looking at one another, and at the terrible 
 messenger. 
 
 Then Giles, who had hitherto but uttered by 
 i'ote what Catherine bade him, put in a word of 
 his own. 
 
 "All the constables were at our house after 
 you, and so was Dirk Brower. Kate is wise, 
 Gerard. Best give ear to her rede, and fly." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Gerard," cried Margaret wildly. 
 " Fly on the instant. Ah ! those parchments ; 
 my mind misgave me : why did I let you take 
 them ? " 
 
 " Margaret, they are but a blind : Giles says 
 so. No matter : the old caitiff shall never see 
 them again ; I will not go till I have hidden his 
 treasure where he shall never find it." Gerard 
 then, after thanking Giles warmly, bade him 
 farewell, and told him to go back and tell Kate 
 he was gone. "For I shall be gone ere you 
 reach home," said he. He then shouted for 
 Martin ; and told him what had happened, and 
 begged him to go a little way towards Tergou, 
 and watch the road. 
 
 " Ay 1 " said Martin, " and if I see Dirk Brower 
 or any of his men, I will shoot an arrow into 
 the oak-tree that is in our garden ; and on that 
 you must run into the forest hard by, and meet 
 me at the weird hunter's spring. Then I will 
 guide you through the wood." 
 
 Surprise thus provided against, Gerard 
 breathed again. He went with Margaret, and 
 while she watched the oak-tree tremblingly, 
 fearing every moment to see an arrow strike 
 among the branches, Gerard dug a deep hole to 
 bury the parchments in. 
 
 He threw them in, one by one. They were 
 nearly all charters and records of the burgh ; 
 but one appeared to be a private deed between 
 Floris Brandt, father of Peter, and Ghysbrecht. 
 
 " Why, this is as much yours as his," said 
 Gerard. " I will read this. " 
 
 " Oh, not now, Gerard, not now," cried 
 Margaret. "Every moment you lose fills me 
 with fear ; and see, large drops of rain are 
 beginning to fall, and the clouds lower." 
 
 Gerard yielded to this remonstrance ; but he 
 put the deed into his bosom, and threw the 
 earth in over the others, and stamped it down. 
 While thus employed there came a flash of 
 lightning followed by a peal of distant thunder, 
 and the rain came down heavily. Margaret and 
 Gerard ran into the house, whither they were 
 speedily followed by Martin. 
 
 "The road is clear," said he, "and a heavy 
 storm coming on." 
 
 His words proved true. The thunder came 
 nearer and nearer till it crashed overhead : 
 the flashes followed one another close, like tha
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 39 
 
 strokes of a whip, and the rain fell in torrents. 
 Margaret hid her face not to see the lightning. 
 On this, Gerard put up the rough shutter and 
 lighted a candle. The lovers consulted together, 
 and Gerard blessed the storm that gave him a 
 few hours more with Margaret. The sun set 
 unperceived, and still the thunder pealed, and 
 the lightning flashed, and the rain poured. 
 Supper was set ; but Gerard and Margaret could 
 not eat : the thought that this was the last 
 time they should sup together choked them. 
 The storm lulled a little. Peter retired to rest. 
 But Gerard was to go at peep of day, and 
 neither he nor Margaret could afford to lose an 
 hour in sleep. Martin sat a while, too ; for he 
 was fitting a new string to his bow, a matter in 
 which he was very nice. 
 
 The lovers murmured their sorrows and their 
 love beside him. 
 
 Suddenly the old man held up his hand to 
 them to be silent. 
 
 They were quiet and listened, and heard 
 nothing. But the next moment a footstep 
 crackled faintly upon the autumn leaves that 
 lay strewn in the garden at the back door of the 
 house. To those who had nothing to fear such 
 a step would have said nothing ; but to those 
 who had enemies it was terrible. For it was a 
 foot trying to be noiseless. 
 
 Martin fitted an arrow to his string and 
 hastily blew out the candle. At this moment, 
 to their horror, they heard more than one foot- 
 step approach the other door of the cottage, 
 not quite so noiselessly as the other, but very 
 stealthily and then a dead pause. 
 
 Their blood froze in their veins. 
 
 " Oh, Kate ! oh, Kate ! You said fly on the 
 instant. " And Margaret moaned and wrung her 
 hands in anguish and terror and wild remorse 
 for having kept Gerard. 
 
 " Hush, girl ! " said Martin, in a stem whisper. 
 
 A heavy knock fell on the door. 
 And on the hearts within. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 As if this had been a concerted signal, the 
 back door was struck as rudely the next in- 
 stant. They were hemmed in. But at these 
 alarming sounds Margaret seemed to recover 
 some share of self-possession. She whispered, 
 " Say he was here, but is gone." And with this 
 she seized Gerard and almost dragged him up 
 the rude steps that led to her father's sleeping- 
 room. Her own lay next beyond it. 
 
 The blows on the door were repeated. 
 
 " Who knocks at this hour ? " 
 
 " Open, and you will see ! " 
 
 " I open not to thieves honest men are all 
 abed now." 
 
 "Open to the law, Martin Wittenhaagen, or 
 you shall rue it." 
 
 "Why, that is Dirk Brewer's voice/ I trow. 
 What make you so far from Tergou I . 
 
 " Open, and you will know." 
 
 Martin drew the bolt very slowly, T and in 
 
 rushed Dierich and four more. They let in 
 their companion who was at the back door. 
 
 " Now, Martin, where is Gerard Eliassoen ? " 
 
 " Gerard Eliassoen ? Why, he was here but 
 now ?" 
 
 " Was here ? " Dierich's countenance fell 
 " And where is he now ? " 
 
 " They say he has gone to Italy. Why, what 
 is to do 1 " 
 
 " No matter. When did he go ? Tell me not 
 that he went in such a storm as this ! " 
 
 "Here is a coil about Gerard Eliassoen," said 
 Martin contemptuously. Then he lighted the 
 candle, and seating himself coolly by the fire, 
 proceeded to whip some fine silk round his bow- 
 string at the place where the nick of the arrow 
 frets it. " I'll tell you," said he carelessly. 
 "Know you his brother Giles a little misbe- 
 gotten imp, all head and arms ? Well, he came 
 tearing over here on a mule, and bawled out 
 something, I was too far off to hear the creature's 
 words, but only its noise. Any way, he started 
 Gerard. For as soon as he was gone, there was 
 such crying and kissing, and then Gerard went 
 away. They do tell me he has gone to Italy 
 mayhap you know where that is, for I don't." 
 
 Dierich's countenance fell lower and lower at 
 this account. There was no flaw in it. A cun- 
 ninger man than Martin would perhaps have 
 told a lie too many, and raised suspicion. But 
 Martin did his task well He only told the one 
 falsehood he was bade to tell, and of his own 
 head invented nothing. 
 
 " Mates," said Dierich, " I doubt he speaks 
 sooth. I told the burgomaster how 'twould be. 
 He met the dwarf galloping Peter Buyskens' 
 mule from Sevenbergen. ' They have sent that 
 imp to Gerard,' says he, ' so, then, Gerard is at 
 Sevenbergen.' ' Ah, master I ' says I, ' 'tis too 
 late now. We should have thought of Seven- 
 bergen before, instead of wasting our time 
 hunting all the odd corners of Tergou for those 
 cursed parchments that we shall never find till 
 we find the man that took 'em. If he was at 
 Sevenbergen,' quoth I, ' and they sent the dwarf 
 to him, it must have been to warn him we are 
 after him. He is leagues away by now,' quoth 
 I. Confound that chalk-faced girl ! she has out- 
 witted us bearded men ; and so I told the burgo- 
 master, but he would not hear reason. A wet 
 jerkin apiece, that is all we shall get, mates, by 
 this job." 
 
 Martin grinned coolly in Dierich's face. 
 
 "However," added the latter, "to content 
 the burgomaster, we will search the house." 
 
 Martin turned grave directly. 
 
 This change of countenance did not escape 
 Dierich. He reflected a moment. 
 
 ' ' Watch outside two of you, one on each side 
 of the house, that no one jump from the upper 
 windows. The rest come with me." 
 
 And he took the candle and mounted the 
 stairs, followed by three of his comrades. 
 
 Martin was left alone. 
 
 The stout soldier hung his head. All had 
 gone so well at first ; and now this fatal turn ! 
 Suddenly it occurred to him that all was not yet 
 lost. Gerard must be either in Peter's room or 
 Margaret's ; they were not so very high from the 
 ground. Gerard would leap out. Dierich had
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 left a man below ; but what then ? For half a 
 minute Gerard and he would be two to one, and 
 in that brief space, what might not be done ? 
 
 Martin then held the back door ajar and 
 watched. The light shone in Peter's room. 
 " Curse the fool ! " said he, " is he going to let 
 them take him like a girl ? " 
 
 The light now passed into Margaret's bedroom. 
 Still no window was opened. Had Gerard in- 
 tended to escape that way, he would not have 
 waited till the men were in the room. Martin 
 saw that at once, and left the door, and came to 
 the foot-stair and listened. He began to think 
 Gerard must have escaped by the window while 
 all the men were in the house. The longer the 
 silence continued, the stronger grew this con- 
 viction. But it was suddenly and rudely dissi- 
 pated. 
 
 Faint cries issued from the inner bedroom 
 Margaret's. 
 
 " They have taken him," groaned Martin ; 
 "they have got him." 
 
 It now flashed across Martin's mind that if 
 they took Gerard away, his life was not worth a 
 button ; and that, if evil befell him, Margaret's 
 heart would break. He cast his eyes wildly 
 round like some savage beast seeking an escape, 
 and in a twinkling formed a resolution terribly 
 characteristic of those iron times and of a soldier 
 driven to bay. He stepped to each door in turn, 
 and imitating Dirk Brewer's voice, said sharply, 
 " Watch the window ! " He then quietly closed 
 and bolted both doors. He then took up his 
 bow and six arrows ; one he fitted to his string, 
 the others he put into his quiver. His knife he 
 placed upon a chair behind him, the hilt towards 
 him ; and there he waited at the foot of the 
 stair with the calm determination to slay those 
 four men, or be slain by them. Two, he knew, 
 he could dispose of by his arrows, ere they could 
 get near him, and Gerard and he must take their 
 chance hand-to-hand with the remaining pair. 
 Besides, he had seen men panic-stricken by a 
 sudden attack of this sort. Should Brower and 
 his men hesitate but an instant before closing 
 with him, he should shoot three instead of two, 
 and then the odds would be on the right side. 
 
 He had not long to wait. The heavy steps 
 sounded in Margaret's room, and came nearer 
 and nearer. 
 
 The light also approached, and voices. " 
 
 Martin's heart, stout as it was, beat hard, to 
 hear men coming thus to their death, and per- 
 haps to his ; more likely so than not : for four 
 is long odds in a battlefield of ten feet square, 
 and Gerard might be bound perhaps, and power- 
 less to help. But this man, whom we have seen 
 shake in his shoes at a Giles-o'-lanthorn, never 
 wavered in this awful moment of real danger, 
 but stood there, his body all braced for com- 
 bat, and his eye glowing, equally ready to take 
 life and lose it. Desperate game ! to win which 
 was exile instant and for life, and to lose it 
 was to die that moment upon that lloor he 
 stood on. 
 
 Dierich Brower and his men found Peter in 
 his first sleep. They opened his cupboards, they 
 ran their knives into an alligator he had nailed 
 
 to his wall ; they looked under his bed : it was 
 a large room, and apparently full of hiding- 
 places, but they found no Gerard. 
 
 Then they went on to Margaret's room, and 
 the very sight of it was discouraging it was 
 small and bare, and not a cupboard in it ; there 
 was, however, a large fireplace and chimney. 
 Dierich's eye fell on these directly. Here they 
 found the beauty of Sevenbergen sleeping on an 
 old chest not a foot high, and no attempt made 
 to cover it ; but the sheets were snowy white, 
 and so was Margaret's own linen. And there 
 she lay, looking like a lily fallen into a rut. 
 
 Presently she awoke, and sat up in the bed, 
 like one amazed ; then, seeing the men, began 
 to scream faintly, and pray for mercy. 
 
 She made Dierich Brower ashamed of his 
 errand. 
 
 " Here is a to-do," said he, a little confused. 
 " We are not going to hurt you, my pretty maid. 
 Lie you still, and shut your eyes, and think 
 of your wedding-night, while I look up this 
 chimney to see if Master Gerard is there." 
 
 " Gerard ! in my room ? " 
 
 " Why not ? They say that you and he " 
 
 " Cruel ! you know they have driven him away 
 from me driven him from his native place. 
 This is a blind. You are thieves ; you are wicked 
 men ; you are not men of Sevenbergen, or you 
 would know Margaret Brandt better than to look 
 for her lover in this room of all others in the 
 world. Oh, brave ! Four great hulking men 
 to come, armed to the teeth, to insult one poor 
 honest girl ! The women that live in your own 
 houses must be naught, or you would respect 
 them too much to insult a girl of good character." 
 
 "There! come away, before we hear worse," 
 said Dierich hastily. " He is not in the chimney. 
 Plaster will mend what a cudgel breaks ; but a 
 woman's tongue is a double-edged dagger, and a 
 girl is a woman with her mother's milk still in 
 her." And he beat a hasty retreat. "I told the 
 burgomaster how 'twould be." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WHERE is the woman that cannot act a part ? 
 Where is she who will not do it, and do it well, 
 to save the man she loves? Nature on these 
 great occasions comes to the aid of the simplest 
 of the sex, and teaches her to throw dust in 
 Solomon's eyes. The men had no sooner retired 
 than Margaret stepped out of bed, and opened 
 the long chest on which she had been lying down 
 in her skirt and petticoat and stockings, and 
 night-dress over all ; and put the lid, bed-clothes 
 and all, against the wall : then glided to the 
 door and listened. The footsteps died away 
 through her father's room and down the: stairs. 
 Now in that chest there was a peculiarity that 
 it was almost impossible for a stranger to detect. 
 A part of the boarding of the room had been 
 broken, and Gerard being applied to to make it 
 look neater, and being short of materials, had 
 ingeniously sawed away a space sufficient just 
 to admit Margaret's soi-disant bed, and with the 
 materials thus acquired he had repaired the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 whole room. As for the bed or chest, it really 
 rested on the rafters a foot below the boards. 
 Consequently it was full two feet deep, though 
 it looked scarce one. 
 
 All was quiet. Margaret kneeled and gave 
 thanks to Heaven. Then she glided from the 
 
 better than herself. Ah I I am a murderess. 
 
 The worst in all the world, 
 have murdered him. Ah ! ah 
 
 Help I help! I 
 ah ! ah ! ah ! " 
 
 She tore her hair, and uttered shriek after 
 shriek, so wild, so piercing, they fell like a 
 knell upon the ears of Dierich Brower and his 
 
 door and leaned over the chest, and whispered men. All started to their feet and looked at 
 tenderly, " Gerard ! " one another. 
 
 Gerard did not reply. 
 
 She then whispered, a little louder, " Gerard, 
 all is safe, thank Heaven ! You may rise ; but 
 oh ! be cautious ! " 
 
 Gerard made no reply. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder 
 ' Gerard ! " 
 3l3 
 
 Xo reply. 
 " Oh, whi 
 
 Oh, what is this ?" she cried, and her hands 
 ran wildly over his face and his bosom. She 
 took him "by the shoulders ; she shook him ; she 
 lifted him ; but he escaped from her trembling 
 hands, and fell back, not like a man, but like a 
 body. A great dread fell on her. The lid had 
 been down. She had lain upon it. The men 
 had been some time in the room. With all the 
 strength of frenzy she tore him out of the chest. 
 She bore him in her arms to the window. She 
 dashed the window open. The sweet air came 
 in. She laid him in it and in the moonlight. 
 His face was the colour of ashes ; his body was 
 all limp and motionless. She felt his heart. 
 Horror ! it was as still as the rest ! Horror of 
 horrors ! she had stifled him with her own 
 body. 
 
 The mind cannot all at once believe so great 
 and sudden and strange a calamity. Gerard, 
 who had got alive into that chest scarce five 
 minutes ago, how could he be dead ? 
 
 She called him by all the endearing names 
 that heart could think or tongue could frame. 
 She kissed him and fondled him and coaxed 
 him and implored him to speak to her. 
 
 No answer to words of love, such as she had 
 never uttered to him before, nor thought she 
 could utter. Then the poor creature, trembling 
 all over, began to say over that ashy face little 
 foolish things that were at once terrible and 
 pitiable. 
 
 " Oh, Gerard ! I am very sorry you are dead. 
 I am very sorry I have killed you. Forgive me 
 for not letting the men take you ; it would have 
 been better than this. Oh, Gerard ! I am very, 
 very sorry for what I have done." Then she 
 began suddenly to rave. " No ! no ! such things 
 
 to see the men come back 
 he lowered his bow and 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARTIN WITTENHAAGEN, standing at the foot 
 of the stairs with his arrow drawn nearly to 
 the head and his knife behind him, was struck 
 with amazement 
 without Gerard : 
 looked open-mouthed at them. They, for their 
 part, were equally puzzled at the attitude they 
 had caught him in. 
 
 "Why, mates, was the old fellow making 
 ready to shoot at us ? " 
 
 " Stuff ! " said Martin, recovering his stolid 
 composure ; " I was but trying my new string. 
 There ! I'll unstring my bow, if you think that." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Dierich suspiciously, " there 
 is something more in you than I understand : 
 put a log on, and let us dry our hides a bit ere 
 we go." 
 
 A blazing fire was soon made, and the men 
 gathered round it, and their clothes and long 
 hair were soon smoking from the cheerful 
 blaze. Then it was that the shrieks were heard 
 in Margaret's room. They all started up, and 
 one of them seized the candle and ran up the 
 steps that led to the bedrooms. 
 
 Martin rose hastily too, and being confused 
 by these sudden screams, and apprehending 
 danger from the man's curiosity, tried to pre- 
 vent him from going there. 
 
 At this Dierich threw his arms round him 
 from behind, and called on the others to keep 
 him. The man that had the candle got clear 
 away, and all the rest fell upon Martin, and 
 after a long and fierce struggle, in the course 
 of which they were more than once all rolling 
 on the floor, with Martin in the middle, they 
 succeeded in mastering the old Samson, and 
 binding him hand and foot with a rope they 
 had brought for Gerard. 
 
 Martin groaned aloud. He saw the man had 
 made his way to Margaret's room during the 
 
 can't be, or there is no God. It is monstrous, j struggle, and here was he powerless. 
 
 How can my Gerard be dead ? How can I have j " Ay, grind your teeth, you old rogue," said 
 
 killed my Gerard ? I love him. Oh, God ! you 
 know how I love him. He does not. I never 
 told him. If he knew my heart, he would 
 speak to me, he would not be so deaf to his 
 poor Margaret. It is all a trick to make me 
 cry out and betray him ; but no ! I love him 
 top well for that. I'll choke first." And she 
 seized her own throat, to check her wild desire 
 to scream in her terror and anguish. 
 
 " If he would but say one word. Oh, Gerard ! 
 don't die without a word. Have mercy on 
 me and scold me, but speak to me : if you are 
 angry with me, scold me ! curse me ! I deserve 
 it : the idiot that killed the man she loved 
 
 Dierich, panting with the struggle. " You 
 shan't use them." 
 
 " It is my belief, mates, that our lives were 
 scarce safe while this old fellow's bones were 
 free." 
 
 " He makes me think this Gerard is not far 
 off," put in another. 
 
 " No such luck," replied Dierich. " Hallo, 
 mates. Jorian Ketel is a long time in that 
 girl's bedroom. Best go and see after him, 
 some of us." 
 
 The rude laugh caused by this remark had 
 hardly subsided, when hasty footsteps were 
 heard running along overhead.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Oh, here he comes, at last. Well, Jorian, 
 what is to do now up there ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 JORIAN KETEL went straight to Margaret's 
 room, and there, to his infinite surprise, he 
 found the man he had been in search of, pale 
 and motionless, his head in Margaret's lap, 
 and she kneeling over him, mute now, and 
 stricken to stone. Her eyes were dilated yet 
 glazed, and she neither saw the light nor heard 
 the man, nor cared for anything on earth, but 
 the white face in her lap. 
 
 Jorian stood awestruck, the candle shaking 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Why, where was he, then, all the time ? " 
 
 Margaret heeded him not Jorian went to 
 the empty chest and inspected it. He began 
 to comprehend. The girl's dumb and frozen 
 despair moved him. 
 
 "This is a sorry sight," said he; "it is a 
 black night's work : all for a few skins ! Better 
 have gone with us than so. She is past an- 
 swering me, poor wench. Stop ! let us try 
 whether " 
 
 He took down a little round mirror, no bigger 
 than his hand, and put it to Gerard's mouth 
 and nostrils, and held it there. When he with- 
 drew it, it was dull. 
 
 "THERE is LIFE IN HIM ! " said Jorian Ketel 
 to himself. 
 
 Margaret caught the words instantly, though 
 enly muttered, and it was as if a statue should 
 start into life and passion. She rose and flung 
 her arms round Jorian's neck. 
 
 " Oh, bless the tongue that tells me so ! " and 
 she clasped the great rough fellow again and 
 again, eagerly, almost fiercely. 
 
 "There, there! let us lay him warm," said 
 Jorian ; and in a moment he raised Gerard and 
 laid him on the bed-clothes. Then he took out 
 a flask he carried, and filled his hand twice 
 with Schiedamze, and flung it sharply each 
 time in Gerard's face. The pungent liquor 
 co-operated with his recovery he gave a faint 
 sigh. Oh, never was sound so joyful to human 
 ear ! She flew towards him, but then stopped, 
 quivering for fear she should hurt him. She 
 had lost all confidence in herself. 
 
 " That is right let him alone," said Jorian ; 
 " don't go cuddling him as you did me, or you'll 
 drive his breath back again. Let him alone : 
 he is sure to come to. 'Tisn't like as if he was 
 an old man." 
 
 Gerard sighed deeply, and a faint streak of 
 colour stole to his lips. Jorian made for the 
 door. He had hardly reached it, when he found 
 his legs seized from behind. 
 
 It was Margaret ! She curled round his 
 knees like a serpent, and kissed his hand, and 
 fawned on him. " You won't tell ? You have 
 saved his life ; you have not the heart to thrust 
 him back into his grave, to undo your own good 
 work ? " 
 
 "No, no ! It is not the first time I have done 
 you two a good turn ; 'twas I told you in the 
 
 church whither we had to take him. Besides, 
 what is Dirk Brower to me? I'll see him 
 hanged ere I'll tell him. But I wish you'd tell 
 me where the parchments are ! There are a 
 hundred crowns offered for them. That would 
 be a good windfall for my Joan and the children, 
 you know." 
 
 " Ah ! they shall have those hundred crowns." 
 
 " What ! are the things in the house ? " asked 
 Jorian eagerly. 
 
 " No ; but I know where they are ; and by 
 God and St. Bavon I swear you shall have them 
 to-morrow. Come to me for them when you 
 will, but come alone." 
 
 " I were mad else. What ! share the hundred 
 crowns with Dirk Brower I And now may my 
 bones rot in my skin if I let a soul .know the 
 poor boy is here." 
 
 He then ran off, lest by staying longer he 
 should excite suspicion, and have them all 
 after him. And Margaret knelt, quivering from 
 head to foot, and prayed beside Gerard and 
 for Gerard. 
 
 " What is to do ? " replied Jorian to Dierich 
 Brower's query ; " why, we have scared the girl 
 out of her wits. She was in a kind of fit." 
 
 " We had better all go and doctor her, then." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! and frighten her into the church- 
 yard. Her father is a doctor, and I have roused 
 him, and set him to bring her round. Let us 
 see the fire, will ye ? " 
 
 His off-hand way disarmed all suspicion. And 
 soon after the party agreed that the kitchen 
 of the "Three Kings" was much warmer than 
 Peter's house, and they departed, having first 
 untied Martin. 
 
 " Take note, mate, that I was right, and the 
 burgomaster wrong," said Dierich Brower at the 
 door ; " I said we should be too late to catch 
 him, and we were too late." 
 
 Thus Gerard, in one terrible night, grazed 
 the prison and the grave. 
 
 And how did he get clear at last ? Not by 
 his cunningly contrived hiding-place, nor by 
 Margaret's ready wit ; but by a good impulse in 
 one of his captors, by the bit of humanity left 
 in a somewhat reckless fellow's heart, aided by 
 his desire of gain. So mixed and seemingly 
 incongruous are human motives, so shortsighted 
 our shrewdest counsels. 
 
 They whose moderate natures or gentle fates 
 keep them, in life's passage, from the fierce 
 extremes of joy and anguish our nature is cap- 
 able of, are perhaps the best, and certainly the 
 happiest of mankind. But to such readers I 
 should try in vain to convey what bliss un- 
 speakable settled now upon these persecuted 
 lovers. Even to those who have joyed greatly 
 and greatly suffered, my feeble art can present 
 but a pale reflection of Margaret's and Gerard's 
 ecstasy. 
 
 To sit and see a beloved face come back from 
 the prave to the world, to health and beauty, 
 by swift gradations ; to see the roses return to 
 the loved cheek, love's glance to the loved eye, 
 and his words to the loved mouth this was 
 Margaret's a joy to balance years of sorrow.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 43 
 
 It was Gerard's to awake from a trance, and 
 find his head pillowed on Margaret's arm ; to 
 hear the woman he adored murmur new words 
 of eloquent love, and shower tears and tender 
 kisses and caresses on him. He never knew, 
 till this sweet moment, how ardently, how 
 tenderly, she loved him. He thanked his 
 enemies. They wreathed their arms sweetly 
 round each other, and trouble and danger 
 seemed a world, an age behind them. They 
 called each other husband and wife. Were 
 they not solemnly betrothed ? And had they 
 not stood before the altar together ? Was not 
 the blessing of Holy Church upon their union ? 
 her curse on all who would part them ? 
 
 But as no woman's nerves can bear with im- 
 punity so terrible a strain, presently Margaret 
 turned faint, and sank on Gerard's shoulder, 
 smiling feebly, but quite, quite unstrung. Then 
 Gerard was anxious, and would seek assistance. 
 But she held him with a gentle grasp, and im- 
 plored him not to leave her for a moment. 
 ' ' While I can lay my hand on you, I feel you 
 are safe, not else. Foolish Gerard ! nothing 
 ails me. I am weak, dearest, but happy, oh 1 so 
 happy ! " 
 
 Then it was Gerard's turn to support that 
 dear head, with its great waves of hair flowing 
 loose over him, and nurse her, and soothe her, 
 quivering on his bosom, with soft encouraging 
 words and murmurs of love, and gentle caresses. 
 Sweetest of all her charms is a woman's weak- 
 ness to a manly heart. 
 
 Poor things ! they were happy. To-morrow 
 they must part. But that was nothing to them 
 now. They had seen Death, and all other 
 troubles seemed light as air. While there is 
 life there is hope ; while there is hope there is 
 joy. Separation for a year or two, what was it 
 to them, who were so young, and had caught a 
 glimpse of the grave ? The future was bright, 
 the present was heaven : so passed the blissf ul 
 hours. 
 
 Alas 1 their innocence ran other risks besides 
 the prison and the grave. They were in most 
 danger from their own hearts and their in- 
 experience, now that visible danger there was 
 none. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 GHYSBRECIIT VAN SWIETEN could not sleep 
 all night for anxiety. He was afraid of thunder 
 and lightning, or he would have made one of 
 the party that searched Peter's house. As soon 
 as the storm ceased altogether, he crept down- 
 stairs, saddled his mule, and rode to the " Three 
 Kings" at Sevenbergen. There he found his 
 men sleeping, some on the chairs, some on the 
 tables, some on the floor. He roused them 
 furiously, and heard the story of their un- 
 successful search, interlarded with praises of 
 their zeaL 
 
 " Fool ! to let you go without me," cried the 
 burgomaster. " My life on't he was there all 
 the time. Looked ye under the girl's bed ? " 
 " No ; there was no room for a man there." 
 " How know ye that, if ye looked not ? " 
 
 snarled Ghysbrecht. " Ye should have looked 
 under her bed, and in it too, and sounded all 
 the panels with your knives. Come, now, get 
 up, and I shall show ye how to search." 
 
 Dierich Brower got up and shook himself : 
 " If you find him, call me a horse and no man." 
 
 In a few minutes Peter's house was again 
 surrounded. 
 
 The fiery old man left his mule in the hands 
 of Jorian Ketel, and, with Dierich Brower and 
 the others, entered the house. 
 
 The house was empty. 
 
 Not a creature to be seen, not even Peter. 
 They went upstairs, and then suddenly one 
 of the men gave a shout, and pointed through 
 Peter's window, which was open. The others 
 looked, and there, at some little distance, walk- 
 ing quietly across the fields with Margaret and 
 Martin, was the man they sought. Ghysbrecht, 
 with an exulting yell, descended the stairs and 
 flung himself on his mule ; and he and his men 
 set off in hot pursuit. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 GERARD, warned by recent peril, rose before 
 daybreak and waked Martin. The old soldier 
 was astonished. He thought Gerard had 
 escaped by the window last night. Being 
 consulted as to the best way for him to leave 
 the country and elude pursuit, he said there 
 was but one road safe. "I must guide you 
 through the great forest to a bridle-road I 
 know of. This will take you speedily to a 
 hostelry, where they will lend you a swift 
 horse ; and then a day's gallop will take you 
 out of Holland. But let us start ere the folk 
 here quit their beds." 
 
 Peter's house was but a furlong and a half 
 from the forest. They started, Martin with his 
 bow and three arrows, for it was Thursday ; 
 Gerard with nothing but a stout oak staff Peter 
 gave him for the journey. 
 
 Margaret pinned up her kirtle and farthingale, 
 for the road was wet. Peter went as far as his 
 garden hedge with them, and then, with more 
 emotion than he often bestowed on passing 
 events, gave the young man his blessing. 
 
 The sun was peeping above the horizon as 
 they crossed the stony field and made for the 
 wood. They had crossed about half, when 
 Margaret, who kept nervously looking back 
 every now and then, uttered a cry, and, follow- 
 ing her instinct, began to run towards the wood, 
 screaming with terror all the way. 
 
 Ghysbrecht and his men were in hot pursuit. 
 
 Resistance would have been madness. Martin 
 and Gerard followed Margaret's example. The 
 pursuers gained slightly on them ; but Martin 
 kept shouting, " Only win the wood ! only win 
 the wood ! " 
 
 They had too good a start for the men on foot, 
 and their hearts bounded with hope at Martin's 
 words, for the great trees seemed now to stretch 
 their branches like friendly arms towards them, 
 and their leaves like a screen. 
 
 But an unforeseen danger attacked them. The
 
 44 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 fiery old burgomaster flung himself on his mule, 
 and, spurring him to a gallop, he headed not 
 his own men only, but the fugitives. His 
 object was to cut them off, The old man came 
 galloping in a semicircle, and got on the edge 
 of the wood, right in front of Gerard ; the 
 others might escape for aught he cared. 
 
 Margaret shrieked, and tried to protect 
 Gerard by clasping him ; but he shook her off 
 without ceremony. 
 
 Ghysbrecht in his ardour forgot that hunted 
 animals turn on the hunter ; and that two men 
 can hate, and two can long to kill the thing 
 they hate. 
 
 Instea* of attempting to dodge him, as the 
 burgomaster made sure he would, Gerard flew 
 right at him, with a savage, exulting cry, and 
 struck at him with all his heart and soul and 
 strength. The oak staff came down on Ghys- 
 brecht's face with a frightful crash, and laid 
 him under his mule's tail beating the devil's 
 tattoo with his heels, his face streaming, and 
 his collar spattered with blood. 
 
 The next moment, the three were in the wood. 
 The yell of dismay and vengeance that burst 
 from Ghysbrecht's men at that terrible blow 
 which felled their leader told the fugitives that 
 it was now a race for life or death. 
 
 " Why run ? " cried Gerard, panting. " You 
 have your bow, and I have this," and he shook 
 his bloody staff. 
 
 "Boy!" roared Martin; "the GALLOWS 1 
 Follow me," and he fled into the wood. Soon 
 they heard a cry like a pack of hounds open- 
 ing on sight of the game. The men were in 
 the wood, and saw them flitting amongst the 
 trees. Margaret moaned and panted as she 
 ran ; and Gerard clenched his teeth and 
 grasped his staff. The next minute they came 
 to a stiff hazel coppice. Martin dashed into it, 
 and shouldered the young wood aside as if it 
 were standing corn. 
 
 Ere they had gone fifty yards in it they came 
 to four blind paths. 
 
 Martin took one. " Bend low," said he. And, 
 half-creeping, they glided along. Presently 
 their path was again intersected with other 
 little tortuous paths. They took one of them. 
 It seemed to lead back ; but it soon took a turn, 
 and, after a while, brought them to a thick 
 pine grove, where the walking was good and 
 hard. There were no paths here ; and the 
 young fir-trees were so thick, you could not see 
 three yards before your nose. 
 
 When they had gone some way in this, 
 Martin sat down ; and, having learned in war 
 to lose all impression of danger with the danger 
 itself, took a piece of bread and a slice of ham 
 out of his wallet, and began quietly to eat his 
 breakfast. 
 
 The young ones looked at him with dismay. 
 He replied to their looks. 
 
 ' All Sevenbergen could not find you now ; 
 you will lose your purse, Gerard^ long before 
 you get to Italy ; is that the way to carry a 
 purse ? " 
 
 Gerard looked, and there was a large tri- 
 angular purse, entangled by its chains to the 
 buckle and strap of his wallet. 
 
 "This is none of mine," said he. " What is 
 
 in it, I wonder ? " and he tried to detach it ; 
 but in passing through the coppice it had be- 
 come inextricably entangled in his strap and 
 buckle. " It seems loath to leave me," said 
 Gerard, and he had to cut it loose with his 
 knife. The purse, on examination, proved to 
 be well provided with silver coins of all sizes, 
 but its bloated appearance was greatly owing 
 to a number of pieces of brown paper folded 
 and doubled. A light burst on Gerard. " Why, 
 it must be that old thief's ; and see I stuffed 
 with paper to deceive the world ! " 
 
 The wonder was how the burgomaster's 
 purse came on Gerard. 
 
 They hit at last upon the right solution. 
 The purse must have been at Ghysbrecht's 
 saddle-bow, and Gerard rushing at his enemy, 
 had unconsciously torn it away, thus felling 
 his enemy and robbing him, with a single 
 gesture. 
 
 Gerard was delighted at this feat, but Mar- 
 garet was uneasy. 
 
 ' Throw it away, Gerard, or let Martin take 
 it back. Already they call you a thief. I can- 
 not bear it." 
 
 " Throw it away ? give it him back ? not a 
 stiver! This is spoil "lawfully won in battle 
 from an enemy. Is it not, Martin ? " 
 
 " Why, of course. Send him back the brown 
 paper, an' you will ; but the purse or the coin 
 that were a sin." 
 
 " Oh, Gerard ! " said Margaret, " you are 
 going to a distant land. We need the good- 
 will of Heaven. How can we hope for that if 
 we take what is not ours ? " 
 
 But Gerard saw it in a different light. 
 
 " It. is Heaven that gives it me by a miracle, 
 and I shall cherish it accordingly," said this 
 pious youth. " Thus the favoured people spoiled 
 the Egyptians, and were blessed." 
 
 " Take your own way," said Margaret humbly ; 
 "you are wiser than I am. You are my hus- 
 band," added she, in a low murmuring voice; 
 " is it for me to gainsay you ? " 
 
 These humble words from Margaret, who, till 
 that day, had held the whip-hand, rather sur- 
 prised Martin for the moment. They recurred 
 to him some time afterwards, and then they 
 surprised him less. 
 
 Gerard kissed her tenderly in return for 
 her wife-like docility, and they pursued their 
 journey hand in hand, Martin loading the way, 
 into the depths of the huge forest. The farther 
 they went, the more absolutely secure from 
 pursuit they felt. Indeed, the townspeople 
 never ventured so far as this into the trackless 
 part of the forest 
 
 Impetuous natures repent quickly. Gerard 
 was no sooner out of all danger than his con- 
 science began to prick him. 
 
 "Martin, would I had not struck quite so 
 hard." 
 
 "Whom? Oh! let that pass; he is cheap 
 served." 
 
 "Martin, I saw his grey hairs as my stick 
 fell on him. I doubt they will not from my 
 sight this while." 
 
 Martin grunted with contempt. " Who 
 spares a badger for his grey hairs? The greyer 
 your enemy is, the older ; and the older the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 45 
 
 craftier ; and the craftier the better for a little 
 killing." 
 
 "Killing? killing, Martin? Speak not of 
 killing ! " and Gerard shook all over. 
 
 " I am much mistook if you have not," said 
 Martin cheerfully. 
 
 " Now Heaven forbid ! " 
 
 "The old vagabond's skull cracked like a 
 walnut, aha 1 " 
 
 ' ' Heaven and the saints forbid it ! " 
 
 " He rolled off his mule like a stone shot out 
 of a cart. Said I to myself, ' There is one wiped 
 out,' " and the iron old soldier grinned ruth- 
 lessly. 
 
 Gerard fell on his knees and began to pray 
 for his enemy's life. 
 
 At this Martin lost his patience. " Here's 
 mummery. What ! you that set up for learn- 
 ing, know you not that a wise man never 
 strikes his enemy but to kill him ? And what 
 is all this coil about killing of old men ? If it 
 had been a young one, now, with the joys of 
 life waiting for him, wine, women, and pillage ! 
 But an old fellow at the edge of the grave, 
 why not shove him in ? Go he must, to-day or 
 to-morrow ; and what better place for grey- 
 beards ? Now, if ever I should be so mischancy 
 as to last so long as Ghysbrecht did, and have 
 to go on a mule's legs instead of Martin Wit- 
 tenhaagen's, and a back like this (striking the 
 wood of his bow), instead of this (striking the 
 string), I'll thank and bless any young fellow 
 who will knock me on the head, as you have 
 done that old shopkeeper ; malison on his 
 memory." 
 
 " Oh, culpa mea ! culpa mea ! " cried Gerard, 
 and smote upon his breast. 
 
 "Look there!" said Martin to Margaret 
 scornfully, " he is a priest at heart still ; and when 
 he is not in ire, St. Paul, what a milksop ! " 
 
 " Tush, Martin ! " cried Margaret reproach- 
 fully : then she wreathed her arms round Gerard, 
 and comforted him with the double magic of a 
 woman's sense and a woman's voice. 
 
 " Sweetheart !" murmured she, "yon forget : 
 you went not a step out of the way to harm 
 him, who hunted you to your death. You fled 
 from him. He it was who spurred on you. 
 Then did you strike ; but in self-defence and a 
 single blow, and with that which was in your 
 hand. Malice had drawn knife, or struck again 
 and again. How often have men been smitten 
 with staves not one but many blows, yet no ] 
 lives lost ! If then your enemy has fallen, it is j 
 through his own malice, not yours, and by the 
 will of God." 
 
 " Bless you, Margaret ; bless you for think- 
 ing so ! " 
 
 "Yes ; but, beloved one, if you have had the 
 misfortune to kill that wicked man, the more 
 need is there that you fly with haste from 
 Holland. Oh, let us on." 
 
 " Nay, Margaret," said Gerard. " I fear not 
 man's vengeance, thanks to Martin here and 
 this thick wood : only Him I fear whose eye 
 pierces the forest and reads the heart of man. 
 If I but struck in self-defence, 'tis well ; but if 
 in hate, He may bid the avenger of blood follow 
 me to Italy to Italy ? ay, to earth's remotest 
 bounds." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Martin peevishly. " I can't 
 hear for your chat." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Do you hear nothing, Margaret ; my ears are 
 getting old." 
 
 Margaret listened, and presently she heard a 
 tuneful sound, like a single stroke upon a deep 
 ringing bell. She described it so to Martin. 
 
 " Nay, I heard it," said he. 
 
 "And so did I," said Gerard; "it was beau- 
 tiful. Ah ! there it is again. How sweetly it 
 blends with the air. It is a long way off. It is 
 before us, is it not ? " 
 
 " No, no ! the echoes of this wood confound 
 the ear of a stranger. It comes from the pine 
 grove." 
 
 " What ! the one we passed ? " 
 
 " The one we passed." 
 
 "Why, Martin, is this anything? You look 
 pale." 
 
 "Wonderful!" said Martin, with a sickly 
 sneer. " He asks me is it anything f Come, on, 
 on ! at any rate, let us reach a better place than 
 this." 
 
 " A better place for what ? " 
 
 "To stand at bay, Gerard," said Marl in 
 gravely; "and die like soldiers, killing three 
 for one." 
 
 " What's that sound ? " 
 
 " IT IS THE AVENGER OF BLOOD." 
 
 "Oh, Martin, save him! Oh, Heaven be 
 merciful ! What new mysterious peril is 
 this ? " 
 
 'GIRL, IT'S A BLOODHOUND." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE courage, like i:he talent, of common men, 
 runs in a narrow groove. Take them but an 
 inch out of that, and they are done. Martin's 
 courage was perfect as far as it went. He had 
 met and baffled many dangers in the course of 
 his rude life, and these familiar dangers he 
 could face with Spartan fortitude, almost with 
 indifference ; but he had never been hunted by 
 a bloodhound, nor had he ever seen that brute's 
 unerring instinct baffled by human cunning. 
 Here then a sense of the supernatural com- 
 bined with novelty to unsteel his heart. After 
 going a few steps, he leaned on his bow, and 
 euergy and hope oozed out of him. Gerard, 
 to whom the danger appeared slight in pro- 
 portion as it was distant, urged him to flight. 
 
 "What avails it?" said Martin sadly; "if 
 we get clear of the wood we shall die cheap ; 
 here, hard by, I know a place where we may die 
 dear." 
 
 "Alas ! good Martin," cried Gerard, "despair 
 not so quickly; there must be some way to 
 escape." 
 
 " Oh, Martin ! " cried Margaret, " what if we 
 were to part company ? Gerard's life alone is 
 forfeit. Is there no way to draw the pursuit 
 on us twain and let him go safe ? " 
 
 " Girl, you know not the bloodhound's nature. 
 He is not on this man's track or that ; he is on 
 the track of bleed. My life on't they have taken
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 him to where Ghysbrecht fell, and from the 
 dead man's blood to the man that shed it that 
 cursed hound will lead them, though Gerard 
 should run through an army or swim the 
 Meuse." And again he leaned upon his bow, 
 and his head sank. 
 
 The hound's mellow voice rang through the 
 wood. 
 
 A cry more tunable 
 
 Was never halloed to, nor cheered with horn, 
 
 In Crete, in Sparta, or in Thessaly. 
 
 Strange that things beautiful should be terrible 
 and deadly. The eye of the boa-constrictor, 
 while fascinating its prey, is lovely. No royal 
 crown holds such a jewel ; it is a ruby with the 
 emerald's green light playing ever upon it. Yet 
 the deer that sees it loses all power of motion, 
 and trembles, and awaits his death ; and even 
 so, to compare hearing with sight, this sweet 
 and mellow sound seemed to fascinate Martin 
 Wittenhaagen. He stood uncertain, bewildered, 
 and unnerved. Gerard was little better now. 
 Martin's last words had daunted him. He had 
 struck an old man and shed his blood, and, by 
 means of that very blood, blood's four-footed 
 avenger was on his track. Was not the finger 
 of Heaven in this ? 
 
 Whilst the men were thus benumbed, the 
 woman's brain was all activity. The man she 
 loved was in danger. 
 
 ' Lend me your knife," said she to Martin. 
 He gave it her. 
 
 "But 'twill be little use in your hands," 
 said he. 
 
 Then Margaret did a sly thing. She stepped 
 behind Gerard, and furtively drew the knife 
 across her arm, and made it bleed freely ; then 
 stooping, smeared her hose and shoes ; and still 
 as the blood trickled she smeared them ; but so 
 adroitly that neither Gerard nor Martin saw. 
 Then she seized the soldier's arm. 
 
 " Come, be a man I " she said, " and let this 
 end. Take us to some thick place, where 
 numbers will not avail our foes." 
 
 " I am going," said Martin sulkily. " Hurry 
 avails not ; we cannot shun the hound, and the 
 place is hard by ; " then turning to the left, he 
 led the way, as men go to execution. 
 
 He soon brought them to a thick hazel coppice, 
 like the one that had favoured their escape in 
 the morning. 
 
 " There, " said he, " this is but a furlong broad, 
 but it will serve our turn." 
 
 " What are we to do ? " 
 
 "Get through this, and wait on the other 
 side ; then as they come straggling through, 
 shoot three, knock two on the head, and the 
 rest will kill us." 
 
 " Is that all you can think of ? " said Gerard. 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 " Then, Martin Wittenhaagen, I take the lead, 
 for you have lost your head. Come, can you 
 obey so young a roan as I am ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, Martin," cried Margaret, "do not 
 gainsay Gerard ? He is wiser than his years." 
 
 Martin yielded a sullen assent. 
 
 " Do then as you see me do," said Gerard ; 
 and drawing his huge knife, ho cut at every 
 step a hazel shoot or two close by the ground, 
 and turning round twisted them breast-high 
 
 behind him among the standing shoots. Martin 
 did the same, but with a dogged hopeless air. 
 When they had thus painfully travelled through 
 the greater part of the coppice, the bloodhound's 
 deep bay came nearer and nearer, less and less 
 musical, louder and sterner. 
 
 Margaret trembled. 
 
 Martin went down on his stomach and listened. 
 
 " I hear a horse's feet." 
 
 "No," said Gerard; "I doubt it is a mule's. 
 That cursed Ghysbrecht is still alive : none other 
 would follow me up so bitterly." 
 
 "Never strike your enemy but to slay him," 
 said Martin gloomily. 
 
 " I'll hit harder this time, if Heaven gives me 
 the chance," said Gerard. 
 
 At last they worked through the coppice, and 
 there was an open wood. The trees were large, 
 but far apart, and no escape possible that way. 
 
 And now with the hound's bay mingled a 
 score of voices, hooping and hallooing. 
 
 "The whole village is out after us," said 
 Martin. 
 
 " I care not," said Gerard. " Listen, Martin. 
 I have made the track smooth to the dog, but 
 rough to the men, that we may deal with them 
 apart. Thus the hound will gain on the men, 
 and as soon as he comes out of the coppice we 
 must kill him." 
 
 " The hound ? There are more than one." 
 
 " I hear but one." 
 
 "Ayl but one speaks, the others run mute ; 
 but let the leading hound lose the scent, then 
 another shall give tongue. There will be two 
 dogs, at least, or devils in dog's hides." 
 
 " Then we must kill two instead of one. The 
 moment they are dead, into the coppice again, 
 and go right back." 
 
 "That is a good thought. Gerard," said 
 Martin, plucking up heart. 
 
 "Hush I the men are in the wood." 
 
 Gerard now gave his orders in a whisper. 
 
 " Stand you with your bow by the bide of the 
 coppice there, in the ditch. I will go but a 
 few yards to yon oak-tree, and hide behind it ; 
 the dogs will follow me, and, as they come out, 
 shoot as many as you can, the rest will I brain 
 as they come round the tree." 
 
 Martin's eye flashed. They took up their 
 places. 
 
 The hooping and hallooing came closer and 
 closer, and soon even the rustling of the young 
 wood was heard, and every now and then the 
 unerring bloodhound gave a single bay. 
 
 It was terrible ! the branches rustling nearer 
 and nearer, and the inevitable struggle for life 
 and death coming on minute by minute, and 
 that death-knell leading it. A trembling hand 
 was laid on Gerard's shoulder. It made him 
 start violently, strung up as he was. 
 
 " Martin says if we are forced to part com- 
 pany, make for that high ash-tree we came 
 in bv." 
 
 " Yes I yes I yes 1 but go back for Heaven's 
 sake 1 don't come here, all out in the open ! " 
 
 She ran back towards Martin ; but, ere she 
 could get to him, suddenly a huge dog burst 
 out of the coppice, and stood erect a moment. 
 Margaret cowered with fear, but he never 
 noticed her. Scent was to him what sight is
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 47 
 
 to us. He lowered his nose an instant, and the 
 next moment, with an awful yell, sprang straight 
 at Gerard's tree, and rolled head-over-heels dead 
 as a stone, literally spitted by an arrow from 
 the bow that twanged beside the coppice in 
 Martin's hand. That same moment out came 
 another hound and smelt his dead comrade. 
 Gerard rushed out at him ; but ere he could use 
 his cudgel, a streak of white lightning seemed 
 to strike the hound, and he grovelled in the 
 dust, wounded desperately, but not killed, and 
 howling piteously. 
 
 Gerard had not time to despatch him : the 
 coppice rustled too near : it seemed alive. 
 Pointing wildly to Martin to go back, Gerard 
 ran a few yards to the right, then crept 
 cautiously into the thick coppice just as three 
 men burst out. These had headed their com- 
 rades considerably : the rest were following at 
 various distances. Gerard crawled back almost 
 on all-fours. Instinct taught Martin and Mar- 
 garet to do the same upon their line of retreat. 
 Thus, within the distance of a few yards, the 
 pursuers and pursued were passing one another 
 upon opposite tracks. 
 
 A loud cry announced the discovery of the 
 dead and the wounded hound. Then followed 
 a babble of voices, still swelling as fresh pur- 
 suers reached the spot. The hunters, as usual 
 on a surprise, were wasting time, and the hunted 
 ones were making the most of it. 
 
 " I hear no more hounds," whispered Martin 
 to Margaret, and he was himself again. 
 
 It was Margaret's turn to tremble and despair. 
 
 " Oh, why did we part with Gerard ? They 
 will kill my Gerard, and I not near him." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! the head to catch him is not on 
 their shoulders. You bade him meet us at the 
 ash-tree ? " 
 
 "And so I did. Bless you, Martin, for think- 
 ing of that. To the ash-tree ! " 
 
 " Ay I but with less noise." 
 
 They were now nearly at the edge of the 
 coppice, when suddenly they heard hooping and 
 hallooing behind them. The men had satisfied 
 themselves the fugitives were in the coppice, 
 and were beating back. 
 
 " No matter," whispered Martin to his trem- 
 bling companion. " We shall have time to win 
 clear and slip out of sight by hard running. 
 Ah!" 
 
 He stooped suddenly ; for just as he was 
 going to burst out of the brushwood, his 
 eye caught a figure keeping sentinel. It was 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten seated on his mule ; a 
 bloody bandage was across his nose, the bridge 
 of which was broken ; but over this his eyes 
 peered keenly, and it was plain by their ex- 
 pression he had heard the fugitives rustle, and 
 was looking out for them. Martin muttered a 
 terrible oath, and cautiously strung his bow, 
 then with equal caution fitted his last arrow 
 to the string. Margaret put her hands to her 
 face, but said nothing. She saw this man must 
 die or Gerard. After the first impulse she 
 peered through her fingers, her heart panting 
 to her throat. 
 
 The bow was raised, and the deadly arrow 
 steadily drawn to its head, when at that 
 moment an active figure leaped on Ghysbrecht 
 
 from behind so swiftly, it was like a hawk 
 swooping on a pigeon. A kerchief went over 
 the burgomaster, in a turn of the hand his 
 head was muffled in it, and he was whirled 
 from his seat and fell heavily upon the ground, 
 where he lay groaning with terror ; and Gerard 
 jumped down after him. 
 
 " Hist, Martin ! Martin ! " 
 
 Martin and Margaret came out, the former 
 open-mouthed, crying, " Now fly ! fly ! while 
 they are all in the thicket ; we are saved." 
 
 At this crisis, when safety seemed at haml, 
 as fate would have it, Margaret, who had borne 
 up so bravely till now, began to succumb, partly 
 from loss of blood. 
 
 " Oh, my beloved, fly ! " she gasped. " Leave 
 me, for I am faint." 
 
 " No ! no ! " cried Gerard. " Death together, 
 or safety. Ah ! the mule ! mount her, you, and 
 I'll run by your side." 
 
 In a moment Martin was on Ghysbrecht's 
 mule, and Gerard raised the fainting girl in his 
 arms and placed her on the saddle, and relieved 
 Martin of his bow. 
 
 " Help ! treason ! murder ! murder ! " 
 shrieked Ghysbrecht, suddenly rising on his 
 hams. 
 
 " Silence, cur," roared Gerard, and Irodo him 
 down again by the throat as men crush an 
 adder. 
 
 " Now, have you got her firm ? Then fly ! for 
 our lives ! for our lives 1 " 
 
 But even as the mule, urged suddenly by 
 Martin's heel, scattered the flints with his hind 
 hoofs ere he got into a canter, and even as 
 Gerard withdrew his foot from Ghysbrecht's 
 throat to run, Dierich Brower and his five men, 
 who had come back for orders, and heard the 
 burgomaster's cries, burst roaring out of the 
 coppice on them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 SPEECH is the familiar vent of human thoughts ; 
 but there are emotions so simple and over- 
 powering, that they rush out not in words, but 
 in eloquent sounds. At such moments man 
 seems to lose his characteristics, and to be 
 merely one of the higher animals ; for these, 
 when greatly agitated, ejaculate, though they 
 cannot speak. 
 
 There was something terrible and truly 
 animal, both in the roar of triumph with which 
 the pursuers burst out of the thicket on our 
 fugitives, and the sharp cry of terror with 
 which these latter darted away. The pursuers' 
 hands clutched the empty air, scarce two feet 
 behind them, as they fled for life. Confused 
 for a moment, like lions that miss their spring, 
 Dierich and his men let Gerard and the mule 
 put ten yards between them. Then they flew 
 after with uplifted weapons. They were sure 
 of catching them ; for this was not the first 
 time the parties had measured speed. In the 
 open ground they had gained visibly on the 
 three this morning, and now, at last, it was a 
 fair race again, to be settled by speed alone.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 A hundred yards were covered in no time. Yet known, and the slain dog was a keen reminder 
 
 still there remained these ten yards between of it. 
 
 the pursuers and the pursued. Wouverman peered round thebarkcautiously : 
 
 This increase of speed since the morning there was the arrow's point still aimed at him. 
 
 puzzled Dierich Brower. The reason was this. 
 When three run in company, the pace is that of 
 the slowest of the three. From Peter's house 
 to the edge of the forest Gerard ran Margaret's 
 pace ; but now he ran his own ; for the mule 
 was fleet, and could have left them all far 
 behind. Moreover, youth and chaste living 
 began to tell. Daylight grew imperceptibly 
 
 He saw it shine. He dared not move from his 
 shelter. 
 
 When he had been at peep-bo some minutes, 
 his companions came up in great force. 
 
 Then, with a scornful laugh, Martin vanished, 
 and presently was heard to ride off on the mule. 
 
 All the men ran up together. The high 
 ground commanded a view of a narrow but 
 
 between the hunted ones and the hunters, almost interminable glade. 
 
 Then Dierich made a desperate effort, and 
 gained two yards ; but in a few seconds Gerard 
 had stolen them quietly back. The pursuers 
 began to curse. 
 
 Martin heard, and his face lighted up. 
 " Courage, Gerard ! courage, brave lad ! they 
 are straggling." 
 
 It was so. Dierich was now headed by one 
 of his men, and another dropped into the rear 
 altogether. 
 
 They came to a rising ground, not sharp, 
 but long ; and here youth, and grit, and sober 
 living told more than ever. 
 
 Ere he reached the top, Dierich's forty years 
 weighed him down like forty bullets. "Our 
 cake is dough," he gasped. " Take him dead, 
 if you can't alive;" and he left running, and 
 followed at a foot's pace. Jorian Ketel tailed 
 off next ; and then another, and so, one by one, 
 Gerard ran them all to a standstill, except one 
 who kept on stanch as a bloodhound, though 
 losing ground every minute. His name, if I 
 am not mistaken, was Eric Wouverman. Fol- 
 lowed by him, they came to a rise in the 
 wood, shorter, but much steeper than the last. 
 
 " Hand on mane ! " cried Martin. 
 
 Gerard obeyed, and the mule helped him up 
 the hill faster even than he was running before. 
 
 At the sight of this manoeuvre Dierich's man 
 lost heart, and, being now full eighty yards 
 behind Gerard, and rather more than that in 
 advance of his nearest comrade, he pulled up 
 short, and, in obedience to Dierich's order, took 
 down his crossbow, levelled it deliberately, and 
 just as the trio were sinking out of sight over 
 the crest of the hill, sent the bolt whizzing 
 among them. 
 
 There was a cry of dismay ; and, next 
 moment, as if a thunderbolt had fallen on 
 them, they were all lying on the ground, mule 
 and all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE effect was so sudden and magical, that the 
 shooter himself was stupefied for an instant. 
 Then he hailed his companions to join him in 
 effecting the capture, and himself set off up the 
 hill ; but, ere he had got half way, up rose the 
 figure of Martin Wittenhaagen with a bent bow 
 in his hand. Eric Wouverman no sooner saw 
 him in this attitude, than he darted behind a 
 tree, and made himself as small as possible. 
 Martin's skill with that weapon was well 
 
 They saw Gerard and Margaret running along 
 at a prodigious distance ; they looked like 
 gnats ; and Martin galloping after them vcntre 
 dterre. 
 
 The hunters were outwitted as well as outrun. 
 A few words will explain Martin's conduct. We 
 arrive at causes by noting coincidences ; yet, 
 now and then, coincidences are deceitful. " As 
 we have all seen a hare tumble over a briar just 
 as the gun went off, and so raise expectations, 
 then dash them to earth by scudding away un- 
 touched, so the burgomaster's mule put her foot 
 in a rabbit-hole at or about the time the cross- 
 bow bolt whizzed innocuous over her head : she 
 fell and threw both her riders. Gerard caught 
 Margaret, but was carried down by her weight 
 and impetus ; and, behold, the soil was strewed 
 with dramatis personae. 
 
 The docile mule was up again directly, and 
 stood trembling. Martin was next, and looking 
 round saw there was but one in pursuit ; on 
 this he made the young lovers fly on foot, while 
 he checked the enemy as I have recorded. 
 
 He now galloped after his companions, and 
 when after a long race he caught them, he 
 instantly put Gerard and Margaret on the mule, 
 and ran by their side till his breath failed, then 
 took his turn to ride, and so in rotation. Thus 
 the runner was always fresh, and long ere they 
 relaxed their speed all sound and trace of them 
 was hopelessly lost to Dierich and his men. 
 These latter went crestfallen back to look after 
 their chief and their winged bloodhound. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LIFE and liberty, while safe, are little thought 
 of : for why ? they are matters of course. En- 
 dangered, they are rated at their real value. 
 In this, too, they are like sunshine, whose beauty 
 men notice not at noon when it is greatest, but 
 towards evening when it lies in flakes of topaz 
 under shady elms. Yet it is feebler then ; but 
 gloom lies beside it, and contrast reveals its fire. 
 Thus Gerard and Margaret, though they started 
 at erery leaf that rustled louder than its fellows, 
 glowed all over with joy and thankfulness as 
 they glided among the friendly trees in safety 
 and deep tranquil silence, baying dogs and 
 brutal voices yet ringing in their mind's ears. 
 
 But presently Gerard found stains of blood 
 on Margaret's ankles. 
 
 " Martin ! Martin ! help ! they have wounded 
 her : the crossbow ! "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 " No, no ! " said Margaret, smiling to reassure 
 him ; ''I am not wounded, nor hurt at alL" 
 
 "But what is it, then, in Heaven's name?" 
 cried Gerard, in great agitation. 
 
 " Scold me not, then ! " and Margaret blushed. 
 
 " Did I ever scold you ? " 
 
 " No, dear Gerard. Well, then, Martin said 
 it was blood those cruel dogs followed; so I 
 thought if I could but have a little blood on my 
 shoon, the dogs would follow me instead, and 
 let my Gerard wend free. So I scratched my 
 arm with Martin's knife forgive me ! Whose 
 else could I take? Yours, Gerard? Ah, no. 
 You forgive me?" said she beseechingly, and 
 lovingly and fawningly, all in one. 
 
 " Let me see this scratch first," said Gerard, 
 choking with emotion. " There, I thought so. 
 A scratch? I call it a cut a deep, terrible, 
 cruel cut." 
 
 Gerard shuddered at sight of it. 
 
 "She might have done it with her bodkin," 
 said the soldier. " Milksop ! that sickens at 
 sight of a scratch and a little blood." 
 
 "No, no. I could look on a sea of blood, 
 but not on hers. Oh, Margaret ! how could you 
 be so cruel ? " 
 
 Margaret smiled with love ineffable. 
 "Foolish Gerard," murmured she, "to make 
 so much of nothing." And she flung the guilty 
 arm round his neck. "As if I would not give 
 all the blood in my heart for you, let alone a 
 few drops from 1113- arm." And with this, under 
 the sense of his recent danger, she wept on his 
 neck for pity and love ; and he wept with her. 
 
 " And I must part from her," he sobbed ; " we 
 two that love so dear one must be in Holland, 
 one in Italy. Ah me 1 ah me ! ah me 1 " 
 
 At this Margaret wept afresh, but patiently 
 and silently. Instinct is never off its guard, 
 and with her unselfishness was an instinct. To 
 utter her present thoughts would be to add to 
 Gerard's misery at parting, so she wept in silence. 
 
 Suddenly they emerged upon a beaten path, 
 and Martin stopped. 
 
 "This is the bridle-road I spoke of," said he, 
 hanging his head ; " and there away lies the 
 hostelry." 
 
 Margaret and Gerard cast a scared look at one 
 another. 
 
 "Come a step with me, Martin," whispered 
 Gerard. When he had drawn him aside, he 
 said to him in a broken voice, " Good Martin, 
 watch over her for me ! She is my wife ; yet I 
 leave her. See, Martin ! here is gold it was 
 for my journey ; it is no use my asking her to 
 take it she would not ; but you will for her, 
 will you not ? Oh, Heaven ! and is this all I 
 can do for her ? Money ? But poverty is a 
 curse. You will not let her want for any- 
 thing, dear Martin ? The burgomaster's silver 
 is enough for me." 
 
 " Thou art a good lad, Gerard. Neither want 
 nor harm shall come to her. I care more for 
 her little finger than for all the world ; and 
 were she nought to me, even for thy sake would 
 I be a father to her. Go with a stout heart, and 
 God be with thce going and coming." And the 
 rough soldier wrung Gerard's hand, and turned 
 his head away, with unwonted feeling. 
 
 After a moment's silence he was for going 
 
 back to Margaret, but Gerard stopped him. 
 " No, good Martin ; prithee, stay here behind 
 this thicket, and turn your head away from us, 
 while I oh, Martin ! Martin ! " 
 
 By this means Gerard escaped a witness of 
 his anguish at leaving her he loved, and Martin 
 escaped a piteous sight. He did not see the 
 poor young things kneel and renew before 
 Heaven those holy vows cruel men had inter- 
 rupted. He did not see them cling together 
 like one, and then try to part, and fail, and 
 return to one another, and cling again, like 
 drowning, despairing creatures. But he heard 
 Gerard sob, and sob, and Margaret moan. 
 
 At last there was a hoarse cry, and feet pat- 
 tered on the hard road. 
 
 He started up, and there was Gerard running 
 wildly, with both hands clasped above his head, 
 in prayer, and Margaret tottering back towards 
 him with palms extended piteously, as if for 
 help, and ashy cheek and eyes fixed on vacancy. 
 
 He caught her in his arms, and spoke words 
 of comfort to her ; but her mind could not take 
 them in ; only at the sound of his voice she 
 moaned and held him tight, and trembled 
 violently. 
 
 He got her on the mule, and put his arm 
 round her, and so, supporting her frame, which, 
 from being strung like a bow, had now turned 
 all relaxed and powerless, he took her slowly 
 and sadly home. 
 
 She did not shed one tear, nor speak one 
 word. \ 
 
 At the edge of the wood he took her off the 
 mule, and bade her go across to her father's 
 house. She did as she was bid. 
 
 Martin to Rotterdam. Sevenbergen was too 
 hot for him. 
 
 Gerard, severed from her he loved, went like 
 one in a dream. He hired a horse and a guide 
 at the little hostelry, and rode swiftly towards 
 the German frontier. But all was mechanical ; 
 his senses felt blunted ; trees and houses and 
 men moved by him like objects seen through a 
 veil. His companion spoke to him twice, but 
 he did not answer. Only once he cried out 
 savagely, " Shall we never be out of this hateful 
 country ? " 
 
 After many hours' riding they came to the 
 brow of a steep hill ; a small brook ran at the 
 bottom. 
 
 " Halt ! " cried the guide, and pointed across 
 the valley. <: Here is Germany." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 "On t'other side of the bourn. No need to 
 ride down the hill, I trow." 
 
 Gerard dismounted without a word, and took 
 the burgomaster's purse from his girdle : while 
 he opened it, " You will soon be out of this 
 hateful country," said his guide, half sulkily ; 
 " mayhap the one you are going to will like you 
 no better ; any way, though it be a church you 
 have robbed, they cannot take you, once across 
 that bourn." 
 
 These words at another time would have 
 earned the speaker an admonition or a cuff. 
 They fell on Gerard now like idle air. He paid 
 the lad in silence, and descended the hill alone.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The brook was silvery ; it ran murmuring over 
 little pebbles, that glittered, varnished by the 
 clear water ; he sat down and looked stupidly 
 at them. Then he drank of the brook ; then he 
 laved his hot feet and hands in it ; it was very 
 cold : it waked him. He rose, and taking a 
 run, leaped across it into Germany. Even as he 
 touched the strange land he turned suddenly 
 and looked back. " Farewell, ungrateful coun- 
 try ! " he cried. " But for her it would cost me 
 nought to leave you for ever, and all my kith 
 and kin, and the mother that bore me, and 
 my playmates, and my little native town. Fare- 
 well, fatherland welcome the wide world! 
 omne so lum for ti p p at ri a." And 
 with these brave words in his mouth he drooped 
 suddenly with arms and legs all weak, and 
 sat down and sobbed bitterly upon the foreign 
 soil. 
 
 When the young exile had sat a while bowed 
 down, he rose and dashed the tears from his 
 eyes like a man ; and not casting a single 
 glance more behind him, to weaken his heart, 
 stepped out into the wide world. 
 
 His love and heavy sorrow left no room in him 
 for vulgar misgivings. Compared with rending 
 himself from Margaret, it seemed a small thing 
 to go on foot to Italy in that rude age. 
 
 All nations meet in a convent. So, thanks to 
 his good friends the monks, and his own thirst 
 of knowledge, he could speak most of the 
 languages needed on that long road. He said 
 to himself, " I will soon be at Rome ; the sooner 
 the better now." 
 
 After walking a good league, he came to a 
 place where four ways met. Being country 
 roads, and serpentine, they had puzzled many an 
 inexperienced neighbour passing from village to 
 village. Gerard took out a little dial Peter had 
 given him, and set it in the autumn sun, and 
 by this compass steered unhesitatingly for 
 Rome inexperienced as a young swallow flying 
 south ; but unlike the swallow, wandering south 
 alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 NOT far on this road he came upon a little 
 group. Two men in sober suits stood leaning 
 lazily on each side of a horse, talking to one 
 another. The rider, in a silk doublet and 
 bright green jerkin and hose, both of English 
 cloth, glossy as a mole, lay flat on his stomach 
 in the afternoon sun, and looked an enormous 
 lizard. His velvet cloak (flaming yellow) was 
 carefully spread over the horse's loins. 
 
 " Is aught amiss ? " inquired Gerard. 
 
 "Not that I wot of," replied one of the 
 servants. 
 
 "But your master, he lies like a corpse. Are ye 
 not ashamed to let him grovel on the ground ? " 
 
 " Go to ; the bare ground is the best cure for 
 his disorder. If yon get sober in bed, it gives 
 you a headache ; but yon leap up from the hard 
 ground like a lark in spring. En, Ulric ? " 
 
 "Ho speaks sooth, young man," said Ulric 
 warmly. 
 
 "What, is the gentleman drunk?" 
 
 The servants burst into a hoarse laugh at the 
 simplicity of Gerard's question. But suddenly 
 Ulric stopped, and eyeing him all over, said 
 very gravely, "Who are you, and where born, 
 that know not the Count is ever drunk at this 
 hour ? " And Gerard found himself a suspected 
 character. 
 
 "I am a stranger," said he, "but a true 
 man, and one that loves knowledge ; therefore 
 ask I questions, and not for love of prying." 
 
 " If you be a true man," said Ulric shrewdly, 
 "then give us trinkgeld for the knowledge we 
 have given you." 
 
 Gerard looked blank, but putting a good 
 face on it, said, " Trinkgeld you shall have, 
 such as my lean purse can spare, an' if you 
 will tell me why ye have ta'en his cloak from 
 the man and laid it on the beast." 
 
 Under the inspiring influence of coming trink- 
 geld, two solutions were instantly offered Gerard 
 at once : the one was, that should the Count 
 come to himself (which, being a seasoned toper, 
 he was apt to do all in a minute), and find his 
 horse standing sweating in the cold, while a 
 cloak lay idle at hand, he would fall to cursing, 
 and peradventure to laying on ; the other, more 
 pretentious, was, that a horse is a poor milksop, 
 which, drinking nothing but water, has to be 
 cockered up and warmed outside ; but a master, 
 being a creature ever filled with good beer, has 
 a store of inward heat that warms him to the 
 skin, and renders a cloak a mere shred of idle 
 vanity. 
 
 Each of the speakers fell in love with his 
 theory, and, to tell the truth, both had taken 
 a hair or two of the dog that had bitten their 
 master to the brain ; so their voices presently 
 rose so high, that the green sot began to prowl 
 instead of snoring. In their heat they did not 
 notice this. 
 
 Ere long the argument took a turn that 
 sooner or later was pretty sure to enliven a 
 discussion in that age. Hans, holding the 
 bridle with his right hand, gave Ulric a sound 
 cuff with his left ; Ulric returned it with in- 
 terest, his right hand being free ; and at it 
 they went, ding dong, over the horse's mane, 
 pommelling one another, and jagging the poor 
 beast, till he ran backward, and trode with 
 iron heel upon a promontory of the green 
 lord; he, like the toad stung by Ithuriel's 
 spear, started up howling, with one hand 
 clapped to the smart and the other tugging 
 at his hilt. The servants, amazed with terror, 
 lot the horse go ; he galloped off whinnying, 
 the men in pursuit of him crying out with fear, 
 and the green noble after them, volleying curses, 
 his naked sword in his hand, and his body re- 
 bounding from hedge to hedge in his headlong 
 but zigzag career down the narrow lane. 
 
 " In which hurtling" Gerard turned his back 
 on them all, and went calmly south, glad to 
 have saved the four tin farthings he had got 
 ready for trinkgeld, but far too heavy hearted 
 even to smile at their drunken extravagance. 
 
 The sun was nearly setting, and Gerard, who 
 had now for some time been hoping in vain to 
 find an inn by the way, was very ill at ease. To
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 make matters worse, black clouds gathered over 
 the sky. 
 
 Gerard quickened his pace almost to a run. 
 
 It was in vain ; down came the rain in 
 torrents, drenched the bewildered traveller, 
 and seemed to extinguish the very sun for his 
 rays, already fading, could .not cope with this 
 new assailant. Gerard trudged on, dark, and 
 wet, and in an unknown region. " Fool ! to 
 leave Margaret," said he. 
 
 Presently the darkness thickened. 
 
 He was entering a great wood. Huge 
 branches shot across the narrow road, and the 
 benighted stranger groped his way in what 
 seemed an interminable and inky "cave with 
 a rugged floor, on which he stumbled and 
 stumbled as he went. 
 
 On, and on, and on, with shivering limbs, 
 and empty stomach, and fainting heart, till the 
 wolves rose from their lairs and bayed all round 
 the wood. 
 
 His hair bristled ; but he grasped his cudgel, 
 and prepared to sell his life dear. 
 
 There was no wind ; and his excited ear heard 
 light feet patter at times over the newly fallen 
 leaves, and low branches rustle with creatures 
 gliding swiftly past them. 
 
 Presently in the sea of ink there was a great 
 fiery star close to the ground. He hailed it 
 as he would his patron saint. " CANDLE ! a 
 CANDLE ! " he shouted, and tried to run. But 
 the dark and rugged way soon stopped that. 
 The light was more distant than he had thought. 
 But at last, in the very heart of the forest, he 
 found a house, with lighted candles and loud 
 voices inside it. He looked up to see if there 
 was a signboard. There was none. "Not an 
 inn after all," said he sadly. "No matter; 
 what Christian would turn a dog out into this 
 wood to-night ? " and with this he made for the 
 door that led to the voices. He opened it 
 slowly, and put his head in timidly. He drew 
 it out abruptly, as if slapped in the face, and 
 recoiled into the rain and darkness. 
 
 He had peeped into a large but low room, 
 the middle of which was filled by a huge round 
 stove, or clay-oven, that reached to the ceiling ; 
 round this, wet clothes were drying some on 
 lines, and some more compendiously, on rustics. 
 These latter habiliments, impregnated with the 
 wet of the day, but the dirt of a life, and lined 
 with what another foot traveller in these parts 
 calls " rammish clowns," evolved rank vapours 
 and compound odours inexpressible, in steaming 
 clouds. 
 
 In one corner was a travelling family, a large 
 one : thence flowed into the common stock 
 the peculiar sickly smell of neglected brats. 
 Garlic filled up the interstices of the air. And 
 all this with closed window, and intense heat of 
 the central furnace, and the breath of at least 
 forty persons. 
 
 They had just supped. 
 
 Now Gerard, like most artists, had sensitive 
 organs, and the potent effluvia struck dismay into 
 him. But the rain lashed him outside, and the 
 light and the fire tempted him in. 
 
 He could not force his way all at once 
 through the palpable perfumes, but he re- 
 turned to the light again and again, like the 
 
 singed moth. At last he discovered that the 
 various smells did not entirely mix, no fiend 
 being there to stir them round. Odour of 
 family predominated in two corners ; stewed 
 rustic reigned supreme in the centre ; and 
 garlic in the noisy group by the window. He 
 found, too, by hasty analysis, that of these the 
 garlic described the smallest aerial orbit, and 
 the scent of reeking rustic darted farthest a 
 flavour as if ancient goats, or the fathers of all 
 foxes, had been drawn through a river, and were 
 here dried by Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
 So Gerard crept into a corner close to the 
 door. But though the solidity of the main fetors 
 isolated them somewhat, the heat and reeking 
 vapours circulated, and made the walls drip ; 
 and the home-nurtured novice found something 
 like a cold snake wind about his legs, and his 
 head turn to a great lump of lead ; and next, 
 he felt like choking, sweetly slumbering, and 
 dying, all in one. 
 
 He was within an ace of swooning, but 
 recovered to a deep sense of disgust and dis- 
 couragement ; and settled to go back to Hol- 
 land at peep of day. This resolution formed, he 
 plucked up a little heart ; and being faint with 
 hunger, asked one of the men of garlic whether 
 this was not an inn after all ? 
 
 " Whence come you, who know not ' The Star 
 of the Forest "I" was the reply. 
 
 " I am a stranger ; and in my country inns 
 have aye a sign. " 
 
 " Droll country yours ! What need of a sign 
 to a public-house a place that every soul 
 knows ? " 
 
 Gerard was too tired and faint for the labour 
 of argument ; so he turned the conversation, 
 and asked where he could find the landlord ? 
 
 At this fresh display of ignorance, the native's 
 contempt rose too high for words. He pointed 
 to a middle-aged woman seated on the other side 
 of the oven ; and turning to his mates, let them 
 know what an outlandish animal was in the 
 room. Thereat the loud voices stopped, one by 
 one, as the information penetrated the mass ; 
 and each eye turned, as on a pivot, following 
 Gerard, and his every movement, silently and 
 zoologically. 
 
 The landlady sat on a chair an inch or two 
 higher than the rest, between two bundles. 
 From the first, a huge heap of feathers and 
 wings, she was taking the downy plumes, and 
 pulling the others from the quills, and so filling 
 bundle two littering the floor ankle-deep, and 
 contributing to the general stock a stuffy little 
 malaria, which might have played a distin- 
 guished part in a sweet room, but went for 
 nothing here. Gerard asked her if he could 
 have something to eat. 
 
 She opened her eyes with astonishment. 
 " Supper is over this hour and more." 
 
 " But I had none of it, good dame." 
 
 " Is that my fault 2 You were welcome to 
 your share for me." 
 
 " But I was benighted, and a stranger ; and 
 belated sore against my will." 
 
 "What have I to do with that? All the 
 world knows ' The Star of the Forest ' sups from 
 six till eight. Come before six, ye sup well ; 
 come before eight, ye sup as pleases Heaven j
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 come after eight, ye get a clean bed, and a 
 stirrup cup, or a born of kine's milk, at the 
 dawning." 
 
 Gerard looked blank. " May I go to bed, 
 then, dame?" said he sulkily ; for it is ill sitting 
 up wet and fasting, and the byword saith, ' He 
 sups who sleeps.' " 
 
 "The beds are not come yet," replied the 
 landlady. " You will sleep when the rest do. 
 Inns are not built for one." 
 
 It was Gerard's turn to be astonished. " The 
 beds were not come 1 what, in Heaven's name, 
 did she mean ? " But he was afraid to ask ; for 
 every word he had spoken hitherto had amazed 
 the assembly, and zoological eyes were upon him 
 he felt them. He leaned against the wall, and 
 sighed audibly. 
 
 At this fresh zoological trait, a titter went 
 round the watchful company. 
 
 "So this is Germany, "thought Gerard; "and 
 Germany is a great co'untry by Holland. Small 
 nations for me." 
 
 He consoled himself by reflecting it was to be 
 his last, as well as his first, night in the land. 
 His reverie was interrupted by an elbow driven 
 into his ribs. He turned sharp on his assailant, 
 who pointed across the room. Gerard looked, 
 and a woman in the corner was beckoning him. 
 He went towards her gingerly, being surprised 
 and irresolute, so that to a spectator her beckon- 
 ing finger seemed to be pulling him across the 
 floor with a gut-line. When he had got up 
 to her, "Hold the child," said she, in a fine 
 hearty voice ; and in a moment she plumped the 
 bairn into Gerard's arms. 
 
 He stood transfixed, jelly of lead in his hands, 
 and sudden horror in his elongated countenance. 
 
 At this ruefully expressive face, the lynx-eyed 
 conclave laughed loud and long. 
 
 " Never heed them," said the woman cheer- 
 fully ; ' ' they know no better ; how should they, 
 bred an' born in a wood?" She was rummaging 
 among her clothes with the two penetrating 
 hands, one of which Gerard had set free. 
 Presently she fished out a small tin plate and a 
 dried pudding; and resuming her child with 
 one arm, held them forth to Gerard with the 
 other, keeping a thumb on the pudding to 
 prevent it from slipping off. 
 
 " Put it in the stove," said she ; " you are too 
 young to lie down fasting." 
 
 Gerard thanked her warmly. But on his way 
 to the stove, his eye fell on the landlady. " May 
 I, dame ? " said he beseechingly. 
 
 " Why not ?" said she. 
 
 The question was evidently another surprise, 
 though less startling than its predecessors. 
 
 Coming to the stove, Gerard found the oven 
 door obstructed by "the rammish clowns." 
 They did not budge. He hesitated a moment. 
 The landlady saw, calmly put down her work, 
 and coming up, pulled a hircine man or two 
 hither, and pushed a hircine man or two thither, 
 with the impassive countenance of a housewife 
 moving her furniture. "Turn about is fair play," 
 she said ; " ye have been dry this ten minutes 
 and better." 
 
 Her experienced eye was not deceived ; 
 Gorgonii had done stewing, and begun baking. 
 Debarred the stove, they trundled home, all but 
 
 one, who stood like a table, where the landlady 
 had moved him to, like a table. And Gerard 
 baked his pudding; and getting to the stove, 
 burst into steam. 
 
 The door opened, and in flew a bundle of 
 straw. 
 
 It was hurled by a hind with a pitchfork. 
 Another and another came flying after it, till 
 the room was like a clean farmyard. These 
 were then dispersed round the stove in layers, 
 like the seats in an arena, and in a moment the 
 company was all on its back. 
 
 The beds had come. 
 
 Gerard took out his pudding, and found it 
 delicious. While he was relishing it, the woman 
 who had given it him, and who was now abed, 
 beckoned him -again. He went to her bundle 
 side. " She is waiting for you," whispered the 
 woman. Gerard returned to the stove, and 
 gobbled the rest of his sausage, casting uneasy 
 glances at the landlady, seated silent as fate 
 amid the prostrate multitude. The food bolted, 
 he went to her, and said, " Thank you kindly, 
 dame, for waiting for me." 
 
 " You are welcome," said she calmly, making 
 neither much nor little of the favour ; and 
 with that began to gather up the feathers. But 
 Gerard stopped her. " Nay, that is my task ; ; ' 
 and he went down on his knees, and collected 
 them with ardour. She watched him demurely. 
 
 "I wot not whence ye come," said she, with 
 a relic of distrust ; adding, more cordially, " but 
 ye have been well brought up ; y' have had a 
 good mother, I'll go bail." 
 
 At the door she committed the whole com- 
 pany to Heaven, in a formula, and disappeared. 
 Gerard to his straw in the very corner for the 
 guests lay round the sacred stove by seniority, 
 i.e., priority of arrival. 
 
 This punishment was a boon to Gerard ; for 
 thus he lay on the shore of odour and stifling 
 heat, instead of in mid-ocean. 
 
 He was just dropping off, when he was awaked 
 by a noise ; and lo ! there was the hind remorse- 
 lessly shaking and waking guest after guest, to 
 ask him whether it was he who had picked up 
 the mistress's feathers. 
 
 " It was I," cried Gerard. 
 
 " Oh, it was you, was it ? " said the other, and 
 came striding rapidly over the intermediate 
 sleepers. " She bade me say, ' One good turn 
 deserves another," and so here's your night- 
 cap," and he thrust a great oaken mug under 
 Gerard's nose. 
 
 "I thank her, and bless her; here goes 
 ugh ! " and his gratitude ended in a wry face ; 
 for the beer was muddy, and had a strange, 
 medicinal twang new to the Hollander. 
 
 " Trinkc aus ! " shouted the hind reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 " Enow is as good as a feast," said the youth 
 Jesuitically. 
 
 The hind cast a look of pity on this stranger 
 who left liquor in his mug. " Ich brings euch," 
 said he, and drained it to the bottom. 
 
 And now Gerard turned his face to the wall 
 and pulled up two handfuls of the nice clean 
 straw, and bored in them with his finger, and 
 so made a scabbard, and sheathed his nose in 
 it. And soon they were all asleep ; men, maids,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 53 
 
 wives, and children all lying higgledy-piggledy, 
 and snoring in a dozen keys like an orchestra 
 slowly tuning ; and Gerard's body lay on straw 
 in Germany, and his spirit was away to Seven- 
 bergen. 
 
 When he woke in the morning he found nearly 
 all his fellow-passengers gone. One or two were 
 waiting for dinner, nine o'clock ; it was now 
 six. He paid the landlady her demand, two 
 pfenning, or about an English halfpenny, and 
 he of the pitchfork demanded trinkgeld, and 
 getting a trifle more than usual, and seeing 
 Gerard eye a foaming milk-pail he had just 
 brought from the cow, hoisted it up bodily to 
 his lips. " Drink your fill, man," said he, and on 
 Gerard offering to pay for the delicious draught, 
 told him in broad patois that a man might 
 swallow a skinful of milk, or a breakfast of air, 
 without putting hand to pouch. At the door 
 Gerard found his benefactress of last night, and 
 a huge-chested artisan, her husband. 
 
 Gerard thanked her, and in the spirit of the 
 age offered her a creutzer for her pudding. 
 
 But she repulsed his hand quietly. " For 
 what do you take me ? " said she, colouring 
 faintly ; " we are travellers and strangers the 
 same as you, and bound to feel for those in like 
 plight." 
 
 Then Gerard blushed in his turn and stam- 
 mered excuses. 
 
 The hulking husband grinned superior to them 
 both. 
 
 " Give the vixen a kiss for her pudding, and 
 cry quits," said he, with an air impartial, judge- 
 like and Jove-like. 
 
 Gerard obeyed the lofty behest, and kissed 
 the wife's cheek. " A blessing go with you 
 both, good people," said he. 
 
 "And God speed you, young man ! " replied 
 the honest couple ; and with that they parted, 
 and never met again in this world. 
 
 The sun had just risen : the rain-drops on 
 the leaves glittered like diamonds. The air was 
 fresh and bracing, and Gerard steered south, 
 and did not even remember his resolve of over- 
 night. 
 
 Eight leagues he walked that day, and in the 
 afternoon came upon a huge building with an 
 enormous arched gateway and a postern by its 
 side. 
 
 "A monastery I" cried he joyfully; "I go 
 no further lest I fare worse." He applied at the 
 postern, and on stating whence he came and 
 whither bound, was instantly admitted and 
 directed to the guest-chamber, a large and 
 lofty room, where travellers were fed and 
 lodged gratis by the charity of the monastic 
 orders. Soon the bell tinkled for vespers, and 
 Gerard entered the church of the convent, and 
 from his place heard a servicesung so exquisitely, 
 it seemed the choirof heaven. But one thing 
 was wanting, Margaret was not there to hear 
 it with him, and this made him sigh bitterly in 
 mid rapture. At supper, plain but wholesome 
 and abundant food, and good beer, brewed in the 
 convent, were set before him and his fellows, 
 and at an early hour they were ushered into a 
 large dormitory, and the number being mode- 
 rate, had each a truckle bed, and for covering, 
 
 sheepskins dressed with the fleece on ; but 
 previously to this a monk, struck by his youth 
 and beauty, questioned him, and soon drew out 
 his projects and his heart. When he was found 
 to be convent bred, and going alone to Rome, 
 he became a personage, and in the morning they 
 showed him over the convent and made him 
 stay and dine in the refectory. They also 
 pricked him a route on a slip of parchment, 
 and the prior gave him a silver guilden to help 
 him on the road, and advised him to join the 
 first honest company he should fall in with, 
 " and not face alone the manifold perils of the 
 way." 
 
 "Perils ? " said Gerard to himself. 
 
 That evening he came to a small straggling 
 town where was one inn ; it had no sign ; but 
 being now better versed in the customs of the 
 country, he detected it at once by the coats 
 of arms on its walls. These belonged to the 
 distinguished visitors who had slept in it at 
 different epochs since its foundation, and left 
 these customary tokens of their patronage. At 
 present it looked more like a mausoleum than 
 a hotel. Nothing moved nor sounded either 
 in it or about it. Gerard hammered on the 
 great oak door : no answer. He hallooed : no 
 reply. After a while he hallooed louder, and 
 at last a little round window, or rather hole 
 in the wall, opened, a man's head protruded 
 cautiously, like a tortoise's from its shell, 
 and eyed Gerard stolidly, but never uttered a 
 syllable. 
 
 "Is this an inn?" asked Gerard, with a 
 covert sneer. 
 
 The head seemed to fall into a brown study ; 
 eventually it nodded, but lazily. 
 
 " Can I have entertainment here ? " 
 
 Again the head pondered and ended by 
 nodding, but sullenly, and seemed a skull 
 overburdened with catch-penny interroga- 
 tories. 
 
 "How am I to get within, an't please you ? " 
 
 At this the head popped in, as if the last 
 question had shot it ; and a hand popped out, 
 pointed round the corner of the building, and 
 slammed the window. 
 
 Gerard followed the indication, and after 
 some research discovered that the fortification 
 had one vulnerable part, a small low door on its 
 flank. As for the main entrance, that was used 
 to keep out thieves and customers, except once 
 or twice in a year, when they entered together, 
 i.e., when some duke or count arrived in pomp 
 with his train of gaudy ruffians. 
 
 Gerard, having penetrated the outer fort, 
 soon found his way to the stove (as the public 
 room was called from the principal article in 
 it), and sat down near the oven, in which were 
 only a few live embers that diffused a mild 
 and grateful heat. 
 
 After waiting patiently a long time, he asked 
 a grim old fellow with a long white beard, who 
 stalked solemnly in, and turned the hour-glass, 
 and then was stalking out, when supper would 
 be. The grisly Ganymede counted the guests 
 on his fingers "When I see thrice as many 
 here as now." Gerard groaned. 
 
 The grisly tyrant resented the rebellious 
 sound. " Inns are not built for one," said he ;
 
 54 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "if you can't wait for the rest, look out for 
 another lodging." 
 
 Gerard sighed. 
 
 At this the greybeard frowned. 
 
 After a while company trickled steadily in, 
 till full eighty persons of various conditions 
 were congregated, and to our novice the place 
 became a chamber of horrors ; for here the 
 mothers got together and compared ringworms, 
 and the men scraped the mud off their shoes 
 with their knives, and left it on the floor, and 
 combed their long hair out, inmates included, 
 and made their toilet, consisting generally of a 
 dry rub. Water, however, was brought in ewers. 
 Gerard pounced on one of these, but at sight of 
 the liquid contents lost his temper and said to 
 the waiter, "Wash you first your water, and 
 then a man may wash his hands withal." 
 
 "An' it likes you not, seek another inn ! " 
 
 Gerard said nothing, but went quietly and 
 courteously besought an old traveller to tell 
 him how far it was to the next inn. 
 
 " About four leagues." * 
 
 Then Gerard appreciated the grim pleasantry 
 of th' unbending sire. 
 
 That worthy now returned with an armful 
 of wood, and counting the travellers, put on 
 a log for every six, by which act of raw justice 
 the hotter the room the more heat he added. 
 Poor Gerard noticed this little flaw in the 
 ancient man's logic, but carefully suppressed 
 every symptom of intelligence, lest his feet 
 should have to carry his brains four leagues 
 farther that night. 
 
 When perspiration and suffocation were far 
 advanced, they brought in the table-cloths ; but 
 oh, so brown, so dirty, and so coarse ; they 
 seemed like sacks that had been worn out in 
 agriculture and come down to this, or like shreds 
 from the mainsail of some worn-out ship. The 
 Hollander, who had never seen such linen even 
 in nightmare, uttered a faint cry. 
 
 "What is to do?" inquired a traveller. 
 Gerard pointed ruefully to the dirty sackcloth. 
 The other looked at it with lack-lustre eye, and 
 comprehended nought. 
 
 A Burgundian soldier with his arbalest at his 
 back came peeping over Gerard's shoulder, and 
 seeing what was amiss, laughed so loud that the 
 room rang again, then slapped him on the back 
 and cried, " Courage 1 le diable est mort." 
 
 Gerard stared : lie doubted alike the good 
 tidings and their relevancy ; but the tones were 
 BO hearty and the arbalestrier's face, notwith- 
 standing a formidable beard, was so gay and 
 genial, that he smiled, and after a pause said 
 drily, "11 a bien fait: avec 1'eau et linge du 
 ]>:ivs on allait le noircir A ne so reconualtre 
 plus." 
 
 "Tiens, tiens!" cried the soldier, "v'lh, qui 
 parle le Fran9ais, peu s'en faut," and he seated 
 himself by Gerard, and in a moment was talk- 
 ing volubly of war, women, and pillage, inter - 
 hn'iing his discourse with curious oaths, at 
 which Gerard drew away from him more or leas. 
 
 1'resently in came the grisly servant, and 
 counted them nil on his fingers superciliously, 
 like Abraham telling sheep ; then went out again, 
 and returned with a deal trencher and deal 
 spoon to each. 
 
 Then there was an interval. Then he brought 
 them a long mug apiece made of glass, and 
 frowned. By-and-by he stalked gloomily in 
 with a hunch of bread apiece, and exit with 
 an injured air. Expectation thus raised, the 
 guests sat for nearly an hour balancing the 
 wooden spoons, and with their own knives 
 whittling the bread. Eventually, when hope 
 was extinct, patience worn out, and hunger 
 exhausted, a huge vessel was brought in with 
 pomp, the lid was removed, a cloud of steam 
 rolled forth, and behold some thin broth with 
 square pieces of bread floating. This, though 
 not agreeable to the mind, served to distend 
 the body. Slices of Strasbourg ham followed, 
 and pieces of salt fish, both so highly salted 
 that Gerard could hardly swallow a mouthful. 
 Then came a kind of gruel, and when the 
 repast had lasted an hour and more, some 
 hashed meat highly peppered ; and the French 
 and Dutch being now full to the brim with the 
 above dainties, and the draughts of beer the 
 salt and spiced meats had provoked, in came 
 roasted kids, most excellent, and carp and 
 trout fresh from the stream. Gerard made an 
 effort and looked angrily at them, but " could 
 no more," as the poets say. The Burgundian 
 swore by the liver and pike-staff of the good 
 centurion, the natives had outwitted him. 
 Then turning to Gerard he said, "Courage, 
 1'ami, le diable est mort," as loudly as before, 
 but not with the same tone of conviction. 
 The canny natives had kept an internal corner 
 for contingencies, and polished the kids' very 
 bones. 
 
 The feast ended with a dish of raw animalcula 
 in a wicker cage. A cheese had been surrounded 
 with little twigs and strings ; then a hole made 
 in it and a little sour wine poured in. This 
 speedily bred a small but numerous vermin. 
 When the cheese was so rotten with them that 
 only the twigs and string kept it from tumbling 
 to pieces and walking off quadrivious, it came 
 to table. By a malicious caprice of fate, cage 
 and menagerie were put down right under the 
 Dutchman's organ of self-torture. He recoiled 
 with a loud ejaculation, and hung to the bench 
 by the calves of his legs. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said a traveller dis- 
 dainfully. " Does the good cheese scare ye ? " 
 Then put it hither, in the name of all the 
 saints ! " 
 
 " Cheese I " cried Gerard, " I see none. These 
 nauseous reptiles have made away with every 
 bit of it." 
 
 " Well," replied another, " it is not gone far. 
 By eating of the mites we eat the cheese to 
 boot." 
 
 "Nay, not so," said Gerard. "These reptiles 
 are made like us, and digest their food and turn 
 it to foul flesh even as we do ours to sweet ; as 
 well might you think to chew grass by eating 
 of grass-fed beeves, as to eat cheese by swallow- 
 ing these uncleanly insects." 
 
 Gerard raised his voice in uttering this, and 
 tho company received the paradox in dead 
 silence, and with a distrustful air, like any 
 other stranger, during which the Burgundian, 
 who understood German but imperfectly, made 
 Gerard Gallicise the discussion. He patted his
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 si 
 
 interpreter on the back. "C'est bien, mon 
 gars : plus fin que toi n'est pas bete," and ad- 
 ministered his formula of encouragement ; and 
 Gerard edged away from him ; for next to ugly 
 sights and ill odours, the poor wretch disliked 
 profaneness. 
 
 Meantime, though shaken in argument, the 
 raw reptiles were duly eaten and relished by 
 the company, and served to provoke thirst, 
 a principal aim of all the solids in that part 
 of Germany. So now the company drank 
 garausscs all round, and their tongues were un- 
 loosed, and oh, the Babel ! But above the fierce 
 clamour rose at intervals, like some hero's war- 
 cry in battle, the trumpet-like voice of the 
 Burgundian soldier shouting lustily, " Courage, 
 camarades, le diable est mort 1 " 
 
 Entered grisly Ganymede holding in his hand 
 a wooden dish with circles and semicircles 
 marked on it in chalk. He put it down on 
 the table and stood silent, sad, and sombre, 
 as Charon by Styx waiting for his boatload 
 of souls. > Then pouches and purses were 
 rummaged, and each threw a coin into the 
 dish. Gerard timidly observed that he had 
 drunk next to no beer, and inquired how much 
 less he was to pay than the others. 
 
 " What mean you ? " said Ganymede roughly. 
 ' ' Whose fault is it you have not drunken ? Are 
 all to suffer because one chooses to be a milk- 
 sop ? You will pay no more than the rest, and 
 no less." 
 
 Gerard was abashed. 
 
 "Courage, petit, le diable est mort," hic- 
 coughed the soldier, and flung Ganymede a 
 coin. 
 
 "You are as bad as he is," said the old man 
 peevishly; "you are paying too much;" and 
 the tyrannical old Aristides returned him some 
 coin out of the trencher with a most reproachful 
 countenance. And now the man whom Gerard 
 had confuted an hour and a half ago awoke 
 from a brown study, in which he had been ever 
 since, and came to him and said, " Yes; but the 
 honey is none the worse for passing through 
 the bees' bellies." 
 
 Gerard stared. The answer had been so long 
 on the road he hadn't an idea what it was an 
 answer to. Seeing him dumbfoundered, the 
 other concluded him confuted, and withdrew 
 calmed. 
 
 The bedrooms were upstairs, dungeons with 
 not a scrap of furniture except the bed, and 
 a male servant settled inexorably who should 
 sleep with whom. Neither money nor prayers 
 would get a man a bed to himself here ; custom 
 forbade it sternly. You might as well have 
 asked to monopolise a see-saw. They assigned 
 to Gerard a man with a great black beard. He 
 was an honest fellow enough, but not perfect ; 
 he would not go to bed, and would sit on the 
 edge of it telling the wretched Gerard by force, 
 and at length, the events of the day, and alter- 
 nately laughing and crying at the same circum- 
 stances, which were not in the smallest degree 
 pathetic or humorous, but only dead trivial. 
 At last Gerard put his fingers in his ears, and 
 lying down in his clothes, for the sheets were 
 too dirty for him to undress, contrived to sleep. 
 But in an hour or two he awoke cold, and found 
 
 dog's lair," 
 
 that his drunken companion had got all the 
 feather bed ; so mighty is instinct. They lay 
 between two beds; the lower one hard and 
 made of straw, the upper soft and filled with 
 feathers light as down. Gerard pulled at it, 
 but the experienced drunkard held it fast 
 mechanically. Gerard tried to twitch it away 
 by surprise, but instinct was too many for 
 him. On this he got out of bed, and kneeling 
 down on his bedfellow's unguarded side, easily 
 whipped the prize away and rolled with it under 
 the bed, and there lay on one edge of it, and 
 curled the rest round his shoulders. Before 
 he slept he often heard something grumbling 
 and growling above him, which was some little 
 satisfaction. Thus Instinct was outwitted, and 
 victorious Reason lay chuckling on feathers, and 
 not quite choked with dust. 
 
 At peep of day Gerard rose, flung the feather 
 bed upon his snoring companion, and went in 
 search of milk and air. 
 
 A cheerful voice hailed him in French : "What 
 ho ! you are up with the sun, comrade." 
 
 "He rises betimes that lies in a doe's 
 answered Gerard crossly. 
 
 "Courage, I'ami! le diable est mort," was 
 the instant reply. The soldier then told him 
 his name was Denys, and he was passing from 
 Flushing in Zealand to the Duke's French 
 dominions; a change the more agreeable to 
 him, as he should revisit his native place, and 
 a host of pretty girls who had wept at his de- 
 parture, and should hear French spoken again. 
 "And who are you, and whither bound ? " 
 
 "My name is Gerard, and I am going to 
 Rome," said the more reserved Hollander, and 
 in a way that invited no further confidences. 
 
 " All the better ; we will go together as far 
 as Burgundy." 
 
 "That is not my road." 
 
 " All roads take to Rome. " 
 
 " Ay, but the shortest road thither is my way." 
 
 "Well, then, it is I who must go out of my 
 way a step for the sake of good company, for 
 thy face likes me, and thou speakest French, or 
 nearly." 
 
 " There go two words to that bargain,-'' said 
 Gerard coldly. " I steer by proverbs too. They 
 do put old heads on young men's shoulders. 
 ' Bon loup manvais compagnon, dit le brebis ; ' 
 and a soldier, they say, is near akin to a wolf." 
 
 "They lie," said Denys; "besides, if he is, 
 ' les loups ne se mangent pas entre eux' " 
 
 "Ay, but, sir soldier, I am not a wolf; and 
 thou knowest, ' a bien petite occasion se saisit le 
 loup du mouton.' " 
 
 " Let us drop wolves and sheep, being men ; 
 my meaning is, that a good soldier never pillages 
 a comrade. Come, young man, too much 
 suspicion becomes not your years. They who 
 travel should learn to read faces ; methinks you 
 might see lealty in mine sith I have seen it in 
 yourn. Is it yon fat purse at your girdle you 
 fear for?" (Gerard turned pale.) "Look 
 hither ! " and he undid his belt, and poured out 
 of it a double handful of gold pieces, then re- 
 turned them to their hiding-place. " There is 
 a hostage for you," said he ; " carry you that, 
 and let us be comrades," and handed him his 
 belt, gold and all.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Gerard stared. " If I am over prudent, you 
 have not enow." But he flushed and looked 
 pleased at the other's trust in him. 
 
 " Bah ! I can read faces ; and so must you, or 
 you'll never take your four bones safe to Rome." 
 
 " Soldier, you would find me a dull companion, 
 for my heart is very heavy," said Gerard, yield- 
 ing. 
 
 "I'll cheer you, mon gars." 
 
 "I think you would," said Gerard sweetly; 
 " and sore need have I of a kindly voice in mine 
 ear this day." 
 
 "Oh! no soul is sad alongside me. I lift 
 up their poor little hearts with my consigne : 
 'Courage, tout le monde, le diable est mort.' 
 Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 "So be it, then," said Gerard. "But take 
 back your belt, for I could never trust by halves. 
 We will go together as far as Rhine, and God 
 go with us both 1 " 
 
 " Amen ! " said Denys, and lifted his cap. 
 "En avant !" 
 
 The pair trudged manfully on, and Denys en- 
 livened the weary way. He chattered about 
 battles and sieges, and things which were new 
 to Gerard ; and he was one of those who make 
 little incidents wherever they go. He passed 
 nobody without addressing him. They don't 
 nnderstand it, but it wakes them up," said he. 
 But whenever they fell in with a monk or priest, 
 he pulled a long face, and sought the reverend 
 father's blessing, and fearlessly poured out on 
 him floods of German words in such order as not 
 to produce a single German sentence. He doffed 
 his cap to every woman, high or low, he caught 
 sight of, and with eagle eye discerned her best 
 feature, and complimented her on it in his native 
 tongue, well adapted to such matters ; and at 
 each carrion crow or magpie, down came his 
 crossbow, and he would go a furlong off the 
 road to circumvent it ; and indeed he did shoot 
 one old crow with laudable neatness and de- 
 spatch, and carried it to the nearest hen-roost, 
 and there slipped in and set it upon a nest. 
 " The good-wife will say, ' Alack, here is Beelze- 
 bub ahatching of my eggs.' " 
 
 " No, you forget tie is dead," objected Gerard. 
 
 " So he is, so he is. But she doesn't know 
 that, not having the luck to be acquainted with 
 me, who carry the good news from city to city, 
 uplifting men's hearts." 
 
 Such was Denys in time of peace. 
 
 Our travellers towards nightfall reached a 
 village ; it was a very small one, but contained 
 a place of entertainment. They searched for 
 it, and found a small house with barn and 
 -Uxbles. In the former was the everlasting 
 Btove, and the clothes drying round it on lines, 
 and a traveller or two sitting morose. Gerard 
 asked for supper. 
 
 " Supper ? We have no time to cook for tra- 
 vellers; we only provide lodging, good lodging 
 for man and beast. You can have some beer." 
 
 " Madman, who, born in Holland, sought other 
 lauds I " snorted Gerard in Dutch. The land- 
 lady started. 
 
 ""What gibberish is that?" asked she, and 
 crossed herself with looks of superstitious alarm. 
 " You can buy what you like in the village, and 
 
 cook it in our oven ; but, prithee, mutter no 
 charms nor sorceries here, good man ; don't ye 
 now, it do make my flesh creep so." 
 
 They scoured the village for food, and ended 
 by supping on roasted eggs and brown bread. 
 
 At a very early hour their chambermaid came 
 for them. It was a rosy-cheeked old fellow with 
 a lanthorn. 
 
 They followed him. He led them across a 
 dirty farmyard, where they had much ado to 
 pick their steps, and brought them into a cow- 
 house. There, on each side of every cow, was 
 laid a little clean straw, and a tied bundle of 
 ditto for a pillow. The old man looked down 
 on this his work with paternal pride. Not so 
 Gerard. " What, do you set Christian men to 
 lie among cattle ? " 
 
 " Well, it is hard upon the poor beasts. They 
 have scarce room to turn. " 
 
 " Oh ! what, it is not hard on us then ? " 
 
 " Where is the hardship ? I have lain among 
 them all my life. Look at me ! I am fourscore, 
 and never had a headache in all my born days 
 all along of lying among the kye. Bless your 
 silly head, kine's breath is ten times sweeter 
 to drink nor Christians'. You try it ! " and he 
 slammed the bedroom door. 
 
 " Denys, where are you ? " whined Gerard. 
 
 "Here, on her other side." 
 
 " What are you doing ? " 
 
 " I know not ; but as near as I can guess, I 
 think I must be going to sleep. What are 
 you at ? " 
 
 " I am saying my prayers." 
 
 " Forget me not in them ! " 
 
 " Is it likely ? Denys, I shall soon have done : 
 do not go to sleep, I want to talk." 
 
 "Despatch then! for I feel augh like 
 floating in the sky on a warm cloud." 
 
 " Denys ! " 
 
 " Augh ! eh ! hallo ! is it time to get up ? " 
 
 "Alack, no. There, I hurried my orisons to 
 talk ; and look at you, going to sleep ! Wo 
 shall be starved before morning, having no 
 coverlets." 
 
 "Well, you know what to do." 
 
 " Not f, fa sooth." 
 
 "Cuddle the cow." 
 
 "Thank YOU." 
 
 "Burrow in the straw then. You must be 
 very new to the world, to grumble at this. 
 How would you bear to lie on the field of battle 
 on a frosty night, as I did t'other day, stark 
 naked, with nothing to keep me warm but the 
 carcass of a fellow I had been and helped 
 km ? " 
 
 " Horrible ! horrible ! Tell me all about it 1 
 Oh, but this is sweet." 
 
 "Well, we had a little battle in Brabant, and 
 won a little victory, but it cost us dear ; several 
 arbalestriers turned their toes up, and I among 
 them." 
 
 " Killed, Denys ? come now 1 " 
 
 " Dead as mutton. Stuck full of pike-holes 
 till the blood ran out of me, like the good wine 
 of MAcon from the trodden grapes. It is right 
 bounteous in me to pour the tale in minstrel 
 phrase, for augh I am sleepy. Augh now 
 where was I ? "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 57 
 
 " Left dead on the field of battle, bleeding 
 like a pig ; that is to say, like grapes, or some- 
 thing ; go on, prithee go on, 'tis a sin to sleep in 
 the midst of a good story." 
 
 "Granted. Well, some of those vagabonds, 
 that strip the dead soldier on the field of 
 glory, came and took every rag off me ; they 
 wrought me no further ill, because there was 
 no need." 
 
 " No ; yon were dead." 
 
 "C'est convenu. This must have been at 
 sundown ; and with the night came a shrewd 
 frost that barkened the blood on my wounds, 
 and stopped all the rivulets that were running 
 from my heart, and about midnight I awoke as 
 from a trance." 
 
 " And thought you were in heaven ? " asked 
 Gerard eagerly, being a youth inoculated with 
 monkish tales. 
 
 " Too frost-bitten for that, mongars; besides, 
 I heard the wounded groaning on all sides, so 
 I knew I was in the old place. I saw I could 
 not live the night through without cover. I 
 groped about shivering and shivering ; at last 
 one did suddenly leave groaning. 'You are 
 sped,' said I, so made up to him, and true 
 enough he was dead, but warm, you know. I 
 took my lord in my arms, but was too weak to 
 carry him, so rolled with him into a ditch hard 
 by ; and there my comrades found me in the 
 morning properly stung with nettles, and hug- 
 ging a dead Fleming for the bare life." 
 
 Gerard shuddered. " And this is war ; this 
 is the chosen theme of poets and troubadours, 
 and Reden Ryckers. Truly was it said by the 
 men of old, dulce beUum inexpertis." 
 
 "Tudis?" 
 
 "I say oh, what stout hearts some men 
 have ! " 
 
 "N'est-ce pas, p'tit? So after that sort- 
 thing this sort thing is heaven. Soft warm 
 good company, comradancow cou'age diable 
 m ornk I " 
 
 And the glib tongue was still for some hours. 
 
 In the morning Gerard was wakened by a 
 liquid hitting his eye, and it was Denys employ- 
 ing the cow's udder as a squirt. 
 
 " Oh, fie ! " cried Gerard, " to waste the good 
 milk ; " and he took a horn out of his wallet. 
 "Fill this ! but indeed I see not what right we 
 have to meddle with her milk at all." 
 
 " Make your mind easy ! Last night la cama- 
 rade was not nice ; but what then, true friend- 
 ship dispenses with ceremony. To-day we make 
 as free with her." 
 
 " Why, what did she do, poor thing ? " 
 
 " Ate my pillow." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" 
 
 " On waking I had to hunt for my head, and 
 found it down in the stable gutter. She ate 
 our pillow from us, we drink our pillow from 
 her. A votre, santd, madame ; et sans ran- 
 cune ; " and the dog drank her milk to her own 
 health. 
 
 " The ancient was right though," said Gerard. 
 " Never have I risen so refreshed since I left my 
 native land. Henceforth let us shun great towns, 
 and still lie in a convent or a cow-house ; for I'd 
 liever sleep on fresh straw, than on linen well 
 washed six months agone ; and the breath of 
 
 kine it is sweeter than that of Christians, let 
 alone the garlic, which men and women folk 
 affect, but cowen abhor from, and so do I, St. 
 Bavon be my witness ! " 
 
 The soldier eyed him from head to foot : 
 " Now but for that little tuft on your chin I 
 should take you for a girl ; and by the finger- 
 nails of St. Luke, no ill-favoured one neither." 
 
 These three towns proved types and re- 
 peated themselves with slight variations for 
 many a weary league ; but even when he could 
 get neither a convent nor a cow-house, Gerard 
 learned in time to steel himself to the inevi- 
 table, and to emulate his comrade, whom he 
 looked on as almost superhuman for hardihood 
 of body and spirit. 
 
 There was, however, a balance to all this 
 veneration. 
 
 Denys, like his predecessor Achilles, had his 
 weak part, his very weak part, thought Gerard. 
 
 His foible was " woman." 
 
 Whatever he was saying or doing, he stopped 
 short at sight of a farthingale, and his whole 
 soul became occupied with that garment and 
 its inmate till they had disappeared ; and some- 
 times for a good while after. 
 
 He often put Gerard to the blush by talking 
 his amazing German to such females as he 
 caught standing or sitting indoors or out, at 
 which they stared ; and when he met a peasant 
 girl on the road, he took off his cap to her and 
 saluted her as if she was a queen ; the invari- 
 able effect of which was, that she suddenly 
 drew herself up quite stiff like a soldier on 
 parade, and wore a forbidding countenance. 
 
 "They drive me to despair," said Denys. 
 "Is that a just return to a civil bonnetad'e ? 
 They are large, they are fair, but stupid as 
 swans." 
 
 " What breeding can you expect from women 
 that wear no hose?" inquired Gerard; "and 
 some of them no shoon ? They seem to me 
 reserved and modest, as becomes their sex, and 
 sober, whereas the men are little better than 
 beer-barrels. Would you have them brazen as 
 well as hoseless ? " 
 
 "A little affability adorns even beauty/' 
 sighed Denys. 
 
 "Then let them alone, sith they are not to 
 your taste," retorted Gerard. " What, is there 
 no sweet face in Burgundy that would pale to 
 see you so wrapped up in strange women ? " 
 
 " Half-a-dozen that would cry their eyes out." 
 
 "Well then!" 
 
 " But it is a long way to Burgundy." 
 
 " Ay, to the foot, but not to the heart. I am 
 there, sleeping and waking, and almost every 
 minute of the day." 
 
 "In Burgundy? Why, I thought you had 
 never " 
 
 "In Burgundy?" cried Gerard contemptu- 
 ously. " No, in sweet Sevenbergen. Ah ! well- 
 a-day ! well-a-day ! " 
 
 Many such dialogues as this passed between 
 the pair on the long and weary road, and 
 neither could change the other. 
 
 One day about noon they reached a town of 
 some pretensions, and Gerard was glad, for he 
 wanted to buy a pair of shoes ; his own were 
 quite worn out. They soon found a shop that
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 displayed a goodly array, and made up to it, 
 and would have entered it, but the shopkeeper 
 sat on the door-step taking a nap, and was so 
 fat as to block up the narrow doorway ; the 
 very light could hardly struggle past his " too, 
 too solid flesh," much less a carnal customer. 
 
 My fair readers, accustomed, when they go 
 shopping, to be met half way with nods, and 
 becks, and wreathed smiles, und waved into a 
 seat, while almost at the same instant an eager 
 shopman flings himself half across the counter 
 in a semicircle to learn their commands, can 
 best appreciate this mediaeval Teuton, who kept 
 a shop as a dog keeps a kennel, and sat at the 
 exclusion of custom snoring like a pig. 
 
 Denys and Gerard stood and contemplated 
 this curiosity ; emblem, permit me to remark, 
 of the lets and hindrances to commerce that 
 characterised his epoch, 
 
 " Jump over him ! " 
 
 "The door is too low." 
 
 " March through him I " 
 
 ' The man is too thick." 
 
 " What is the coil ? " inquired a mumbling 
 voice from the interior ; apprentice with his 
 mouth full. 
 
 " We want to get into your shop." 
 
 " What for, in Heaven's name ??!!!" 
 
 " Shoon, lazy bones ! " 
 
 The ire of the apprentice began to rise at such 
 an explanation. "And could ye find no hour 
 out of all the twelve to come pestering us for 
 shoon, but the one little, little hour my master 
 takes his nap, and I sit down to my dinner, 
 when all the rest of the world is full long ago ? " 
 
 Denys heard, but could not follow the sense. 
 "Waste no more time talking their German 
 gibberish," said he ; " take out thy knife and 
 tickle his fat ribs." 
 
 " That will I not," said Gerard. 
 
 " Then here goes ; I'll prong him with this." 
 
 Gerard seized the mad fellow's arm in dismay, 
 for he had been long enough in the country to 
 guess that the whole town would take part in 
 any brawl with the native against a stranger. 
 But Denys twisted away from him, and the 
 crossbow bolt in his hand was actually on the 
 road to the sleeper's ribs; but at that very 
 moment two females crossed the road towards 
 hi in ; he saw the blissful vision, and instantly 
 forgot what he was about, and awaited their 
 approach with unreasonable joy. 
 
 Though companions, they were not equals, 
 except in attractiveness to a Burgundian cross- 
 bow man ; for one was very tall, the other short, 
 and by one of those anomalies which society, 
 however primitive, speedily establishes, the long 
 one held up the little one's tail The tall one 
 wore a plain linen coif on her head, a little 
 program cloak over her shoulders, a grey kirtle, 
 und a short farthingale or petticoat of bright 
 red cloth, and feet and legs quite bare, though 
 her arms were veiled in tight linen sleeves. 
 
 The other a kirtle broadly trimmed with fur, 
 her arms in double sleeves, whereof the inner 
 of yellow satin clung to the skin ; the outer, all 
 befurred, were open at the inside of the elbow, 
 and so the arm passed through and left them 
 dangling. Velvet head-dress, huge purse at 
 
 girdle, gorgeous train, bare legs. And thus 
 they came on, the citizen's wife strutting, and 
 the maid gliding after, holding her mistress's 
 train devoutly in both hands, and bending and 
 winding her lithe body prettily enough to do it. 
 Imagine (if not pressed for time) a bantam, with 
 a guinea-hen stepping obsequious at its stately 
 heeL 
 
 This pageant made straight for the shoe- 
 maker's shop. Denys louted low ; the worship- 
 ful lady nodded graciously, but rapidly, having 
 business on hand, or rather on foot ; for in a 
 moment she poked the point of her little shoe 
 into the sleeper, and worked it round in him like 
 a gimlet, till with a long snarl he woke. The 
 incarnate shutter rising and grumbling vaguely, 
 the lady swept in and deigned him no further 
 notice. He retreated to his neighbour's shop, 
 the tailor's, and sitting on the step, protected 
 it from the impertinence of morning calls. 
 Neighbours should be neighbourly. 
 
 Denys and Gerard followed the dignity into 
 the shop, where sat the apprentice at dinner ; 
 the maid stood outside with her insteps crossed, 
 leaning against the wall, and tapping it with 
 her nails. 
 
 "Those, yonder," said the dignity briefly, 
 pointing with an imperious little white hand to 
 some yellow shoes gilded at the toe. While the 
 apprentice stood stock still, neutralised by his 
 dinner and his duty, Denys sprang at the shoes, 
 and brought them to her ; she smiled, and 
 calmly seating herself, protruded her foot, shod, 
 but hoseless, and scented. Down went Denys 
 on his knees, and drew off her shoe, and tried 
 the new ones on the white skin devoutly. Find- 
 ing she had a willing victim, she abused the oppor- 
 tunity, tried first one pair, then another, then 
 the first again, and so on, balancing and hesitat- 
 ing for about half an hour, to Gerard's disgust, 
 and Denys's weak delight. At last she was 
 fitted, and handed two pair of yellow and one 
 pair of red shoes out to her servant. Then was 
 heard a sigh. It burst from the owner of the 
 shop : he had risen from slumber, and was now 
 hovering about, like a partridge near her brood 
 in danger. "There go all my coloured shoes," 
 said he, as they disappeared in the girl's apron. 
 
 The lady departed : Gerard fitted himself 
 with a stout pair, asked the price, paid it with- 
 out a word, and gave his old ones to a beggar 
 in the street, who blessed him in the market- 
 place, and threw them furiously down a well in 
 the suburbs. The comrades left the shop, and 
 in it two melancholy men, that looked, and even 
 talked, as if they had been robbed wholesale. 
 
 " My shoon arc sore worn," said Denys, grind- 
 ing his teeth ; " but I'll go barefoot till 1 reach 
 France, ere I'll leave my money with such churls 
 as these." 
 
 The Dutchman replied calmly, "They seem 
 indifferent well sewn." 
 
 As they drew near the Rhine, they passed 
 through forest after forest, and now for the 
 first time ugly words sounded in travellers' 
 mouths, seated around stoves. " Thieves I " 
 " black gangs 1 " " cut-throats ! " &c. 
 
 The very rustics were said to have a custom 
 hereabouts of murdering the unwary traveller 
 in these gloomy woods, whose dark and devious
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 59 
 
 windings enabled those who were familiar with 
 them to do deeds of rapine and blood unde- 
 tected, or, if detected, easily to baffle pursuit. 
 
 Certain it was, that every clown they met 
 carried, whether for offence or defence, a most 
 formidable weapon; a light axe with a short 
 pike at the head, and a long slender handle of 
 ash or yew, well seasoned. These the natives 
 could all throw with singular precision, so as 
 to make the point strike an object at several 
 yards' distance, or could slay a bullock at hand 
 with a stroke of the blade. Gerard bought one 
 and practised with it. Denys quietly filed and 
 ground his bolt sharp, whistling the whilst; 
 and when they entered a gloomy wood, he 
 would unsling his crossbow and carry it ready 
 for action ; but not so much like a traveller 
 fearing an attack, as a sportsman watchful not 
 to miss a snap shot. 
 
 One day, being in a forest a few leagues from 
 Diisseldorf , as Gerard was walking like one in a 
 dream, thinking of Margaret, and scarce seeing 
 the road he trode, his companion laid a hand 
 on his shoulder, and strung his crossbow with 
 glittering eye. " Hush 1 " said he, in a low 
 whisper that startled Gerard more than thunder. 
 Gerard grasped his axe tight, and shook a little : 
 he heard a rustling in the wood hard by, and 
 at the same moment Denys sprang into the 
 wood, and his crossbow went to his shoulder, 
 even as he jumped. Twang I went the metal 
 string; and after an instant's suspense he 
 roared, "Run forward, guard the road, he is 
 hit ! he is hit ! " 
 
 Gerard darted forward, and as he ran a 
 young bear burst out of the wood right upon 
 him ; finding itself intercepted, it went upon 
 its hind legs with a snarl, and though not half 
 grown, opened formidable jaws and long claws. 
 Gerard, in a fury of excitement and agitation, 
 flung himself on it, and delivered a tremendous 
 blow on its nose with his axe, and the creature 
 staggered ; another, and it lay grovelling, with 
 Gerard hacking it. 
 
 " Hallo ! stop ! you are mad to spoil the meat." 
 
 " I took it for a robber," said Gerard, panting. 
 " I mean, I had made ready for a robber, so I 
 could not hold my hand." 
 
 "Ay, these chattering travellers have stuffed 
 your head full of thieves and assassins ; they 
 have not got a real live robber in their whole 
 nation. Nay, I'll carry the beast ; bear thou 
 my crossbow." 
 
 " We will carry it by turns then," said Gerard, 
 " for 'tis a heavy load : poor thing, how its blood 
 drips. Why did we slay it ? " 
 
 " For supper and the reward the bailie of 
 the next town shall give us." 
 
 " And for that it must die, when it had but 
 just begun to live ; and perchance it hath a 
 mother'that will miss it sore this night, and 
 loves it as ours love us ; more than mine does 
 me." 
 
 " What, know you not that his mother was 
 caught in a pitfall last month, and her skin is 
 now at the tanner's ? and his father was stuck 
 full of cloth-yard shafts t'other day, and died 
 like Julius Caesar, with his hands folded on his 
 bosom, and a dead dog in each of them ? " 
 
 But Gerard would not view it jestingly: 
 
 " Why, then," said he, " we have killed one of 
 God's creatures that was all alone in the world 
 as I am this day, in this strange land." 
 
 "You young milksop," roared Denys, "these 
 things must not be looked at so, or not another 
 bow would be drawn nor quarel fly in forest 
 nor battlefield. Why, one of your kidney con- 
 sorting with a troop of pikemen should turn 
 them to a row of milk-pails ; it is ended, to 
 Rome thou goest not alone, for never wouldst 
 thou reach the Alps in a whole skin. I take 
 thee to Remiremont, my native place, and there 
 I marry thee to my young sister, she is blooming 
 as a peach. Thou shakest thy head ? ah 1 I 
 forgot ; thou lovest elsewhere, and art a one 
 woman man, a creature to me scarce conceiv- 
 able. Well then I shall find thee, not a wife, 
 nor a leman, but a friend; some honest Bur- 
 gundian who shall go with thee as far as Lyons ; 
 and much I doubt that honest fellow will be 
 myself, into whose liquor thou hast dropped 
 sundry powders to make me love thee ; for erst 
 I endured not doves in doublet and hose. From 
 Lyons, I say, I can trust thee by ship to Italy, 
 which being by all accounts the very stronghold 
 of milksops, thou wilt there be safe : they will 
 hear thy words, and make thee their duke in a 
 twinkling." 
 
 Gerard sighed : " In sooth I love not to think 
 of this Diisseldorf, where we are to part com- 
 pany, good friend." 
 
 They walked silently, each thinking of the 
 separation at hand ; the thought checked trifling 
 conversation, and at these moments it is a relief 
 to do something, however insignificant. Gerard 
 asked Denys to lend him a bolt. " I have often 
 shot with a long bow, but never with one of 
 these ! " 
 
 " Draw thy knife and cut this one out of the 
 cub," said Denys slily. 
 
 " Nay, nay, I want a clean one." 
 
 Denys gave him three out of his quiver. 
 
 Gerard strung the bow, and levelled it at a 
 bough that had fallen into the road at some 
 distance. The power of the instrument sur- 
 prised him ; the short but thick steel bow 
 jarred him to the very heel as it went off, and 
 the swift steel shaft was invisible in its passage ; 
 only the dead leaves, with which November had 
 carpeted the narrow road, flew about on the 
 other side of the bough. 
 
 " Ye aimed a thought too high," said Denys. 
 
 " What a deadly thing ! no wonder it is driv- 
 ing out the long-bow to Martin's much dis- 
 content." 
 
 "Ay, lad," said Denys triumphantly, "it 
 gains ground every day, in spite of their laws 
 and their proclamations to keep up the yewen 
 bow, because forsooth their grandsires shot 
 with it, knowing no better. You see, Gerard, 
 war is not pastime. Men will shoot at their 
 enemies with the hittingest arm and the kill- 
 ingest, not with the longest and missingest." 
 
 " Then these new engines I hear of will put 
 both bows down; for these with a pinch of 
 black dust, and a leaden ball, and a child's 
 finger, shall slay you Mars and Goliath, and the 
 Seven Champions." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " said Denys warmly ; " pet- 
 rone nor harquebuss shall ever rmt down Sir
 
 6o 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Arbalest. Why, we can shoot ten times while 
 they are putting their charcoal and their lead 
 into their leathern smoke belchers, and then 
 kindling their matches. All that is too fum- 
 bling for the field of battle; there a soldier's 
 weapon needs be aye ready, like his heart." 
 
 Gerard did not answer, for his ear was 
 attracted by a sound behind them. It was a 
 peculiar sound, too, like something heavy, but 
 not hard, rushing softly over the dead leaves. 
 He turned round with some little curiosity. A 
 colossal creature was coming down the road at 
 about sixty paces distance. 
 
 He looked at it in a sort of calm stupor at 
 first, but the next moment he turned ashy 
 pale. 
 
 "Denys I " he cried. " Oh, God ! Denys ! " 
 
 Denys whirled round. 
 
 It was a bear as big as a cart-horse. 
 
 It was tearing along with its huge head 
 down, running on a hot scent. 
 
 The very moment he saw it Denys said in a 
 sickening whisper 
 
 " THE CUB ! " 
 
 Oh ! the concentrated horror of that one 
 word, whispered hoarsely, with dilating eyes ! 
 For in that syllable it all flashed upon them 
 both like a sudden stroke of lightning in the 
 dark the bloody trail, the murdered cub, the 
 mother upon them, and it. DEATH. 
 
 All this in a moment of time. The next, she 
 saw them. Huge as she was, she seemed to 
 double herself (it was her long hair bristling 
 with rage) : she raised her head big as a bull's, 
 her swine-shaped jaws opened wide at them, 
 her eyes turned to blood and flame, and she 
 rushed upon them, scattering the leaves about 
 her like a whirlwind as she came. 
 
 " Shoot ! " screamed Denys, but Gerard stood 
 shaking from head to foot, useless. 
 
 " Shoot, man ! ten thousand devils, shoot ! 
 too late ! Tree ! tree I " and he dropped the 
 cub, pushed Gerard across the road, and flew 
 to the first tree and climbed it, Gerard the 
 same on his side ; and as they fled, both men 
 uttered inhuman howls like savage creatures 
 grazed by death. 
 
 With all their speed one or other would have 
 been torn to fragments at the foot of his tree ; 
 but the bear stopped a moment at the cub. 
 
 Without taking her bloodshot eyes off those 
 she was hunting, she smelt it all round, and 
 found, how, her Creator only knows, that it 
 was dead, quite dead. She gave a yell such as 
 neither of the hunted ones had ever heard, nor 
 dreamed to be in nature, and flew after Denys. 
 She reared and struck at him as he climbed. 
 He was just out of reach. 
 
 Instantly she seized the tree, and with her 
 huge teeth tore a great piece out of it with a 
 crash. Then she reared apain, dug her claws 
 deep into the bark, and began to mount it 
 slowly, but as surely as a monkey. 
 
 Denys's evil star had led him to a dead tree, 
 a mere shaft, and of no very great height. He 
 climbed faster than his pursuer, and was soon 
 at the top. He looked this way and that for 
 some bough of another tree to spring to. 
 There was none : and if he jumped down, he 
 knew the bear would be upon him ere be could 
 
 recover the fall, and make short work of him. 
 Moreover, Denys was little used to turning his 
 back on danger, and his blood was rising at 
 being hunted. He turned to bay. 
 
 " My hour is come," thought he. " Let me 
 meet death like a man." He kneeled down 
 and grasped a small shoot to steady himself, 
 drew his long knife, and clenching his teeth, 
 prepared to job the huge brute as soon as it 
 should mount within reach. 
 
 Of this combat the result was not doubtful. 
 
 The monster's head and neck were scarce 
 vulnerable for bone and masses of hair. The 
 man was going to sting the bear, and the bear 
 to crack the man like a nut. 
 
 Gerard's heart was better than his nerves. 
 He saw his friend's mortal danger, and passed 
 at once from fear to blindish rage. He slipped 
 down his tree in a moment, caught up the 
 crossbow, which he had dropped in the road, 
 and running furiously up, sent a bolt into the 
 bear's body with a loud shout. The bear gave 
 a snarl of rage and pain, and turned its head 
 irresolutely. 
 
 " Keep aloof ! " cried Denys, " or you are a 
 dead man." 
 
 "I care not;" and in a moment he had 
 another bolt ready and shot it fiercely into the 
 bear, screaming, " Take that ! take that ! " 
 
 Denys poured a volley of oaths down at him. 
 " Get away, idiot ! " 
 
 He was right : the bear finding so formidable 
 and noisy a foe behind him, slipped growling 
 down the tree, rending deep furrows in it as 
 she slipped. Gerard ran back to his tree and 
 climbed it swiftly. But while his legs were 
 dangling some eight feet from the ground, the 
 bear came rearing and struck with her fore 
 paw, and out flew a piece of bloody cloth from 
 Gerard's hose. He climbed, and climbed ; and 
 presently he heard as it were in the air a voice 
 say, " Go out on the bough ! " He looked, and 
 there was a long massive branch before him 
 shooting upwards at a slight angle : he threw 
 his body across it, and by a series of convulsive 
 efforts worked up it to the end. 
 
 Then he looked round panting. 
 
 The bear was mounting the tree on the other 
 side. He heard her claws scrape, and saw her 
 bulge on both sides of the massive tree. Her 
 eye not being very quick, she reached the 
 fork and passed it, mounting the main stem. 
 Gerard drew breath more freely. The bear 
 either heard him, or found by scent she was 
 wrong : she paused ; presently she caught sight 
 of him. She eyed him steadily, then quietly 
 descended to the fork. 
 
 Slowly and cautiously she stretched out a 
 paw and tried the bough. It was a stiff oak: 
 branch, sound as iron. Instinct taught tlio 
 creature this: it crawled carefully out on the 
 bough, growling savagely as it came. 
 
 Gerard looked wildly down. He was forty 
 feet from the ground. Death below. Death 
 moving slow but sure on him in a still more 
 horrible form. His hair bristled. The sweat 
 poured from him. He sat helpless, fascinated, 
 tongue-tied. 
 
 As the fearful monster crawled prowling 
 towards him, incongruous thoughts coursed
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 61 
 
 through his mind. Margaret: the Vulgate, 
 where it speaks of the rage of a she-bear 
 robbed of her whelps Home Eternity. 
 
 The bear crawled on. And now the stupor 
 of death fell on the doomed man ; he saw the 
 open jaws and bloodshot eyes coming, but in a 
 mist. 
 
 As in a mist he heard a twang ; he glanced 
 down ; Denys, white and silent as death, was 
 shooting up at the bear. The bear snarled at 
 the twang, but crawled on. Again the cross- 
 bow twanged, and the bear snarled, and came 
 nearer. Again the crossbow twanged ; and the 
 next moment the bear was close upon Gerard, 
 where he sat, with hair standing stiff on end, 
 and eyes starting from their sockets, palsied. 
 The bear opened her jaws like a grave, and 
 hot blood spouted from them upon Gerard as 
 from a pump. The bough rocked. The wounded 
 monster was reeling ; it clung, it stuck its 
 sickles of claws deep into the wood ; it toppled, 
 its claws held firm, but its body rolled off, and 
 the sudden shock to the branch shook Gerard 
 forward on his stomach with his face upon one 
 of the bear's straining paws. At this, by a con- 
 vulsive effort, she raised her head up, up, till he 
 felt her hot fetid breath. Then huge teeth 
 snapped together loudjy close below him in the 
 air, with a last effort of baffled hate. The pon- 
 derous carcass rent the claws out of the bough, 
 then pounded the earth with a tremendous 
 thump. There was a shout of triumph below, 
 and the very next instant a cry of dismay, for 
 Gerard had swooned, and without an attempt to 
 save himself, rolled headlong from the perilous 
 height. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DKNYS caught at Gerard, and somewhat checked 
 his fall ; but it may be doubted whether this 
 alone would have saved him from breaking his 
 neck, or a limb. His best friend now was the 
 dying bear, on whose hairy carcass his head 
 and shoulders descended. Dem-s tore him off 
 her. It was needless. She panted still, and 
 her limbs quivered, but a hare was not so harm- 
 less ; and soon she breathed her last ; and the 
 judicious Denys propped Gerard up against her, 
 being soft, and fanned him. He came to by 
 degrees, but confused, and feeling the bear ail 
 around him, rolled away, yelling. 
 
 "Courage, "cried Denys, "lediable estmort." 
 
 " Is it dead ? quite dead ? " inquired Gerard 
 from behind a tree ; for his courage was feverish, 
 and the cold fit was on him just now, and had 
 been for some time. 
 
 " Behold," said Denys, and pulled the brute's 
 ear playfully, and opened her jaws and put in 
 his head, with other insulting antics, in the 
 midst of which Gerard was violently sick. 
 
 Denys laughed at him. 
 
 "What is the matter now?" said he ; "also, 
 why tumble off your perch just when we had 
 won the day 1 " 
 
 " I swooned, I trow." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 Not receiving an answer, he continued, " Greeu 
 
 girls faint as soon as look at you, but then 
 they choose time and place. What woman ever 
 fainted up a tree ? " 
 
 " She sent her nasty blood all over me. I 
 think the smell must have overpowered me. 
 Faugh ! I hate blood." 
 
 " I do believe it potently." 
 
 " See what a mess she has made me ! " 
 
 " But with her blood, not yours. I pity the 
 enemy that strives to satisfy you." 
 
 " You need not to brag, Maitre Denys ; I saw 
 you under the tree, the colour of your shirt." 
 
 " Let us distinguish," said Denys, colouring ; 
 "it is permitted to tremble for a friend." 
 
 Gerard, for answer, flung his arms round 
 Denys's neck in silence. 
 
 " Look here," whined the stout soldier, af- 
 fected by this little gush of nature and youth, 
 " was ever aught so like a woman ? I love thee, 
 little milksop go to. Good ! behold him on 
 his knees now. What new caprice is this ? " 
 
 " Oh, Denys, ought we not to return thanks 
 to Him who has saved both our lives against 
 such fearful odds ? " And Gerard kneeled, and 
 prayed aloud. And presently he found Denys 
 kneeling quiet beside him, with his hands 
 across his bosom, after the custom of his nation, 
 and a face as long as his arm. When they rose, 
 Gerard's countenance was beaming. 
 
 " Good Denys," said he, " Heaven will reward 
 thy piety." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! I did it out of politeness," said 
 the Frenchman. " It was to please thee, little 
 one. C'est dgal : 'twas well and orderly prayed, 
 and edified me to the core while it lasted. A 
 bishop had scarce handled the matter better ; 
 so now our evensong being sung, and the saints 
 enlisted with us marchons." 
 
 Ere they had taken two steps, he stopped. 
 "By the bye, the cub!" 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " cried Gerard. 
 
 "You are right. It is late. We have lost 
 time climbing trees, and tumbling off 'em, and 
 swooning, and vomiting, and praying ; and the 
 brute is heavy to carry. And now I think on't, 
 we shall have papa after it next ; these bears 
 make such a coil about an odd cub. What is 
 this ? you are wounded ! you are wounded ! " 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " He is wounded : miserable that I am ! " 
 
 "Be calm, Denys. lam not touched ; I feel 
 no pain anywhere." 
 
 "You? you only feel when another is hurt," 
 cried Denys, with great emotion ; and throwing 
 himself on his knees, he examined Gerard's leg 
 with glistening eyes. 
 
 " Quick ! quick ! before it stiffens," he cried, 
 and hurried him on. 
 
 "Who makes the coil about nothing now?" 
 inquired Gerard composedly. 
 
 Denys's reply was a very indirect one. 
 
 "Be pleased to note," said he, " that I have 
 a bad heart. You were man enough to save my 
 life, yet I must sneer at you, a novice in war. 
 Was not I a novice once myself? Then you 
 fainted from a wound, and I thought you 
 swooned for fear, and called you a milksop. 
 Briefly, I have a bad tongue and a bad heart." 
 
 " Denys ! " 
 
 "Plait-il?"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "You lie." 
 
 " You are very good to say so, little one, and 
 I am eternally obliged to you," mumbled the 
 remorseful Denys. 
 
 Ere they had walked many furlongs, the 
 muscles of the wounded leg contracted and 
 stiffened, till presently Gerard could only just 
 put his toe to the ground, and that with great 
 pain. 
 
 At last he could bear it no longer. 
 
 "Let me lie down and die," he groaned, 
 " for this is intolerable." 
 
 Denys represented that it was afternoon, and 
 the nights were now frosty; and cold and 
 hunger ill companions ; and that it would be 
 unreasonable to lose heart, a certain great per- 
 sonage being notoriously defunct. So Gerard 
 leaned upon his axe, and hobbled on ; but 
 presently he gave in, all of a sudden, and sank 
 helpless in the road. 
 
 Denys drew him aside into the wood, and 
 to his surprise gave him his crossbow and 
 bolts, enjoining him strictly to lie quiet, and 
 if any ill-looking fellows should find him out 
 and come to him, to bid them keep aloof ; and 
 should they refuse, to shoot them dead at 
 twenty paces. " Honest men keep the path ; 
 and, knaves in a wood, none but fools do 
 parley with them." With this he snatched 
 up Gerard's axe, and set off running not, as 
 Gerard expected, towards Diisseldorf, but on 
 the road they had come. 
 
 Gerard lay aching and smarting ; and to him 
 Rome, that seemed so near at starting, looked 
 far, far off, now that he was two hundred miles 
 nearer it. But soon all his thoughts turned 
 Sevenbergen-wards. How sweet it would be 
 one day to hold Margaret's hand, and tell her 
 all he had gone through for her ! The very 
 thought of it, and her, soothed him ; and in 
 the midst of pain and irritation of the nerves 
 he lay resigned, and sweetly, though faintly, 
 smiling. 
 
 He had lain thus more than two hours, when 
 .suddenly there were shouts; and the next 
 moment something struck a tree hard by, and 
 quivered in it. 
 
 He looked, it was an arrow. 
 
 He started to his feet. Several missiles 
 rattled among the boughs, and the wood echoed 
 with battle-cries. Whence they came he could 
 not tell, for noises in these huge woods are so 
 reverberated, that a stranger is always at fault 
 as to their whereabout ; but they seemed to 
 fill the whole air. Presently there was a lull ; 
 then he heard the fierce galloping of hoofs ; 
 and still louder shouts and cries arose, mingled 
 with shrieks and groans ; and above all, strange 
 and terrible sounds, like fierce claps of thunder, 
 bellowing loud, and then dying off in cracking 
 echoes ; and red tongues of flame shot out ever 
 and anon among the trees, and clouds of sul- 
 phurous smoke came drifting over his head. 
 And all was still. 
 
 Gerard was struck with awe. "What will 
 become of Denys ? " he cried. "Oh, why did yon 
 leave me ? Oh, Denys, my friend 1 my friend ! " 
 
 Just before sunset Denys returned, almost 
 sinking under a hairy bundle. It was the bear's 
 skin. 
 
 Gerard welcomed him with a burst of joy that 
 astonished him. 
 
 " I thought never to see you again, dear Denys. 
 Were you in the battle ? " 
 
 "No. What battle ?" 
 
 " The bloody battle of men, or fiends, that 
 raged in the wood a while agone ; " and with 
 this he described it to the life, and more fully 
 than I have done. 
 
 Denys patted him indulgently on the back. 
 
 " It is well," said he ; " thou art a good 
 limner ; and fever is a great spur to the ima- 
 gination. One day I lay in a cart-shed with 
 a cracked skull, and saw two hosts manoeuvre 
 and fight a good hour on eight feet square, the 
 which I did fairly describe to my comrade in 
 due order, only not so gorgeously as thou, for 
 want of book learning." 
 
 " What, then, you believe me not ? when I tell 
 you the arrows whizzed over my head, and the 
 combatants shouted, and " 
 
 " May the foul fiends fly away with me if I 
 believe a word of it." 
 
 Gerard took his arm, and quietly pointed to a 
 tree close by. 
 
 " Why, it looks like it is a broad arrow, as 
 I live ! " And he went close, and looked up 
 at it. 
 
 " It came out of the battle. I heard it, and 
 saw it." 
 
 "An English arrow." 
 
 " How know you that ? " 
 
 " Marry, by its length. The English bowmen 
 draw the bow to the ear, others only to the 
 right breast. Hence the English loose a three- 
 foot shaft, and this is one of them, perdition 
 seize them ! Well, if this is not glamour, there 
 has been a trifle of a battle. And if there has 
 been a battle in so ridiculous a place for a battle 
 as this, why then 'tis no business of mine, for 
 my Duke hath no quarrel hereabouts. So let's 
 to bed," said the professional. And with this 
 he scraped together a heap of leaves, and made 
 Gerard lie on it, his axe by his side. He then 
 lay down beside him, with one hand on his 
 arbalest, and drew the bear-skin over them, 
 hair inward. They were soon as warm as toast, 
 and fast asleep. 
 
 But long before the dawn Gerard woke his 
 comrade. 
 
 "What shall I do, Denys, I die of famine ?" 
 
 "Do? why, go to sleep again incontinent: 
 qui dort dine." 
 
 "But I tell you I am too hungry to sleep," 
 snapped Gerard. 
 
 'Let us march, then," replied Denys, with 
 paternal indulgence. 
 
 He had a brief paroxysm of yawns? ; then 
 made a small bundle of bears' ears, rolling them 
 up in a strip of the skin, cut for the purpose ; 
 and they took the road. 
 
 Gerard leaned on his axe, and propped by 
 Denys on the other side, hobbled along, not 
 without sighs. 
 
 "I hate pain," said Gerard viciously. 
 
 "Therein you show judgment," replied papa 
 smoothly. 
 
 It was a clear starlight night ; and soon the 
 moon rising revealed the end of the wood 
 at no great distance : a pleasant sight, since
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 Dusseldorf they knew was but a short league 
 further. 
 
 At the edge of the wood they came upon 
 something so mysterious that they stopped to 
 gaze at it, before going up to it. Two white 
 pillars rose in the air, distant a few paces from 
 each other ; and between them stood many 
 figures, that looked like human forms. 
 
 "I go no farther till I know what this is," 
 said Gerard, in an agitated whisper. "Are they 
 effigies of the saints, for men to pray to on the 
 road ? or live robbers waiting to shoot down 
 honest travellers ? Nay, living men they cannot 
 be, for they stand on nothing that I see. Oh ! 
 Denys, let us turn back till daybreak ; this is no 
 mortal sight." 
 
 Denys halted, and peered long and keenly. 
 ' They are men," said he, at last. Gerard was 
 for turning back all the more. 
 
 "But men that will never hurt us, nor we 
 them. Look not to their feet, for that they 
 stand on I " 
 
 " Where, then, i' the name of all the saints ? " 
 
 " Look over their heads," said Denys gravely. 
 
 Following this direction, Gerard presently 
 discerned the outline of a dark wooden beam 
 passing from pillar to pillar ; and as the pair 
 got nearer, walking now on tiptoe, one by one 
 dark snake-like cords came out in the moonlight, 
 each pendent from the beam to a dead man, and 
 tight as wire. 
 
 Now as they came under this awful monument 
 of crime and wholesale vengeance a light air 
 swept by, and several of the corpses swung, or 
 gently gyrated, and every rope creaked. Gerard 
 shuddered at this ghastly salute. So thoroughly 
 had the gibbet, with its sickening load, seized 
 and held their eyes, that it was but now they 
 perceived a fire right underneath, and a living 
 figure sitting huddled over it. His axe lay be- 
 side him, the bright blade shining red in the 
 glow. He was asleep. 
 
 Gerard started, but Denys only whispered, 
 "Courage, comrade, here is a fire." 
 
 "Ay I but there is a man at it." 
 
 " There will soon be three ; " and he began to 
 heap some wood on it that the watcher had pre- 
 pared ; during which the prudent Gerard seized 
 the man's axe, and sat down tight on it, grasp- 
 ing his own, and examining the sleeper. There 
 was nothing outwardly distinctive in the man. 
 He wore the dress of the country folk, and the 
 hat of the district, a three-cornered hat called 
 a Brunswicker, stiff enough to turn a sword cut, 
 and with a thick brass hat-band. The weight 
 of the whole thing had turned his ears entirely 
 down, like a fancy rabbit's in our century ; but 
 even this, though it spoiled him as a man, was 
 nothing remarkable. They had of late met 
 scores of these dog's-eared rustics. The pecu- 
 liarity was, this clown watching under a laden 
 gallows. What for ? 
 
 Denys, if he felt curious, would not show it ; 
 he took out two bears' ears from his bundle, and 
 running sticks through them, began to toast 
 them. "'Twill be eating coined money," said 
 he ; " for the burgomaster of Dusseldorf had 
 given us a rix-dollar for these ears, as proving 
 the death of their owners ; but better a lean 
 purse than a lere stomach." 
 
 " Unhappy man 1 " cried Gerard, " could you 
 eat food here ? " 
 
 "Where the fire is lighted there must the 
 meat roast, and where it roasts there must it 
 be eaten ; for nought travels worse than your 
 roasted meat." 
 
 " Well, eat thou, Denys, an' thou canst ! but 
 I am cold and sick ; there is no room for hunger 
 in my heart after what mine eyes have seen," 
 and he shuddered over the fire. " Oh I how 
 they creak ! and who is this man, I wonder ? 
 what an ill-favoured churl I " 
 
 Denys examined him like a connoisseur look- 
 ing at a picture, and in due course delivered 
 judgment. " I take him to be of the refuse of 
 that company, whereof these (pointing care- 
 lessly upward) were the cream, and so ran their 
 heads into danger." 
 
 "At that rate, why not stun him before 
 he wakes?" and Gerard fidgeted where he 
 sat. 
 
 Denys opened his eyes with humorous sur- 
 prise. " For one who sets up for a milksop you 
 have the readiest hand. Why should two stun 
 one ? tush I he wakes : note now what he says 
 at waking, and tell me." 
 
 These last words were hardly whispered when 
 the watcher opened his eyes. At sight of the 
 fire made up, and two strangers eyeing him 
 keenly, he stared, and there was a severe and 
 pretty successful effort to be calm ; still a per- 
 ceptible tremor ran all over him. Soon he 
 manned himself, and said gruffly, "Good mor- 
 row." But at the very moment of saying it 
 he missed his axe, and saw how Gerard was 
 sitting upon it, with his own laid ready to 
 his hand. He lost countenance again directly. 
 Denys smiled grimly at this bit of byplay. 
 
 " Good morrow ! " said Gerard quietly, keep- 
 ing his eye on him. 
 
 The watcher was now too ill at ease to be 
 silent. "You make free with my fire," said 
 he ; but he added in a somewhat faltering voice, 
 " you are welcome. " 
 
 Denys whispered Gerard. The watcher eyed 
 them askant. 
 
 " My comrade says, sith we share your fire, 
 you shall share his meat." 
 
 " So be it," said the man warmly. " I have 
 half a kid hanging on a bush hard by, I'll go 
 fetch it;" and he arose with a cheerful and 
 obliging countenance, and was retiring. 
 
 Denys caught up his crossbow, and levelled 
 it at his head. The man fell on his knees. 
 
 Denys lowered his weapon, and pointed him 
 back to his place. He rose and went back 
 slowly and unsteadily, like one disjointed ; and 
 sick at heart as the mouse, that the cat lets go 
 a little way, and then darts and replaces. 
 
 "Sit down, friend," said Denys grimly, in 
 French. 
 
 The man obeyed finger and tone, though he 
 knew not a word of French. 
 
 " Tell him the fire is not big enough for more 
 than three. He will take my meaning." 
 
 This being communicated by Gerard, the 
 man grinned ; ever since Denys spoke he had 
 seemed greatly relieved. " I wist not ye were 
 strangers," said he to Gerard. 
 
 Denys cut a piece of bear's ear, and offered
 
 CLOISTER AMD THE 
 
 it with grace to him he had just levelled cross- 
 bow at. 
 
 He took it calmly, and drew a piece of bread 
 from his wallet, and divided it with the pair. 
 Nay, more, he winked and thrust his hand into 
 the* heap of leaves he sat on (Gerard grasped his 
 axe ready to brain him) and produced a leathern 
 bottle holding full two gallons. He put it to his 
 mouth, and drank their healths, then handed it 
 to Gerard ; he passed it untouched to Denys. 
 
 " Mort de ma vie ! " cried the soldier, " it is 
 Khenish wine, and fit for the gullet of an arch- 
 bishop. Here's to thee, thou prince of good 
 fellows, wishing thee a short life and a merry 
 one ! Come, Gerard, sup ! sup I Pshaw, never 
 heed them, man ! they heed not thee. Nathe- 
 less, did I hang over such a skin of Rhenish as 
 this, and three churls sat beneath a drinking it 
 and offered me not a drop, I'd soon be down 
 among them." 
 
 " Denys ! Denys ! " 
 
 "My spirit would cut the cord, and womp 
 would come my body amongst ye, with a hand 
 on the bottle, and one eye winking, t'other 
 
 Gerard started up with a cry of horror and 
 his fingers to his ears, and was running from 
 the place, when his eye fell on the watcher's 
 axe. The tangible danger brought him back. 
 He sat down again on the axe with his fingers 
 in his ears. 
 
 " Courage, 1'ami, le diable est mort I " shouted 
 Denys gaily, and offered him a piece of bear's 
 ear, put it right under his nose as he stopped his 
 ears. Gerard turned his head away with loath- 
 ing. " Wine 1 " he gasped. " Heaven knows I 
 have much need of it, with such companions as 
 thee and " 
 
 He took a long draught of the Rhenish wine : 
 it ran glowing through his veins, and warmed 
 and strengthened his heart, but could not check 
 his tremors whenever a gust of wind came. As 
 for Denys and the other, they feasted recklessly, 
 and plied the bottle unceasingly, and drank 
 healths and caroused beneath that creaking 
 sepulchre and its ghastly tenants. 
 
 " Ask him how they came here," said Denys, 
 with his mouth full, and pointing up without 
 looking. 
 
 On this question being interpreted to the 
 watcher, he replied that treason had been their 
 end, diabolical treason and priestcraft. He 
 then, being rendered communicative by drink, 
 delivered a long prosy narrative, the purport of 
 which was as follows. These honest gentlemen 
 who now dangled here so miserably were all 
 stout men and true, and lived in the forest by 
 their wits. Their independence and thriving 
 state excited the jealousy and hatred of a large 
 portion of mankind, and many attempts were 
 made on their lives and liberties ; these the 
 Virgin and their patron saints, coupled with 
 their individual skill and courage, constantly 
 bafHed. But yester eve a party of merchants 
 came slowly on their mules from Diisseldorf. 
 The honest men saw them crawling, and let them 
 penetrate near a league into the forest, then set 
 upon them to make them disgorge a portion of 
 their ill-gotten gains. But alas 1 the merchants 
 were no merchants at all, but soldiers of more 
 than one nation, in the pay of the Archbishop 
 
 of Cologne ; haubergeons had they beneath their 
 gowns, and weapons of all sorts at hand ; nathe- 
 less, the honest men fought stoutly, and pressed 
 the traitors hard, when To ! horsemen, that had 
 been planted in ambush many hours before, 
 galloped up, and with these new diabolical 
 engines of war, shot leaden bullets, and laid 
 many an honest fellow low, and so quelled 
 the courage of others that they yielded them 
 prisoners. These being taken red-handed, the 
 victors, who with malice inconceivable had 
 brought cords knotted round their waists, did 
 speedily hang, and by their side the dead ones, 
 to make the gallanter show. " That one at the 
 end was the captain. He never felt the cord. 
 He was riddled with broad arrows and leaden 
 balls or ever they could take him : a worthy man 
 as ever cried ' Stand and deliver ! ' but a little 
 hasty, not much : stay ! I forgot ; he is dead. 
 Very hasty, and obstinate as a pig. That one 
 in the buff jerkin is the lieutenant, as good a 
 soul as ever lived : he was hanged alive. This 
 one here, I never could abide ; no (not that one ; 
 that is Conrad, my bosom friend) ; I mean this 
 one right overhead in the chicken-toed shoon ; 
 you were always carrying tales, ye thief, and 
 making mischief ; you know you were ; and, 
 sirs, I am a man that would rather live united 
 in a coppice than in a forest with backbiters 
 and tale-bearers: strangers, I drink to you." 
 And so he went down the whole string, indi- 
 cating with the neck of the bottle, like a show- 
 man with his pole, and giving a neat description 
 of each, which though pithy was invariably false ; 
 for the showman had no real eye for character, 
 and had misunderstood every one of these 
 people. 
 
 " Enough palaver ! " cried Denys. " Marchons 1 
 Give me his axe : now tell hinrhe must help you 
 along." 
 
 The man's countenance fell, but he saw in 
 Denys's eye that resistance would be dangerous ; 
 he submitted. Gerard it was who objected. He 
 said, " Y pensez-vous ? to put my hand on a 
 thief, it maketh my flesh creep." 
 
 " Childishness ! all trades must live. Besides, 
 I have my reasons. Be not you wiser than your 
 elder." 
 
 "No. Only if I am to lean on him I must 
 have my hand in my bosom, still grasping the 
 haft of my knife." 
 
 " It is a new attitude to walk in ; but please 
 thyself." 
 
 And in that strange and mixed attitude of 
 tender offices and deadly suspicion the trio did 
 walk. I wish I could draw them : I would not 
 trust to the pen. 
 
 The light of the watch-tower at Dusscldorf 
 was visible as soon as they cleared the wood, 
 and cheered Gerard. When, after an hour's 
 march, the black outline of the tower itself and 
 other buildings stood out clear to the eye, their 
 companion halted and said gloomily, " You may 
 as well slay me out of hand as take me any 
 nearer the gates of Diisseldorf town." 
 
 On this being communicated to Denys, he said 
 at once, " Let him go then, for in sooth his neck 
 will be in jeopardy if he wends much further 
 with us." Gerard acquiesced as a matter of 
 course. His horror of a criminal did not in the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ieast dispose him to active co-operation with 
 the law. But the fact is, that at this epoch 
 no private citizen in any part of Europe ever 
 meddled with criminals but in self-defence, ex- 
 cept, by the bye, in England, which, behind other 
 nations in some things, was centuries before them 
 all in this. 
 
 The man's personal liberty being restored, he 
 asked for his axe. It was given him. To the 
 friends' surprise he still lingered. Was he to 
 have nothing for coming so far out of his way 
 with them ? 
 
 " Here are two batzen, friend." 
 
 " And the wine, the good Rhenish I " 
 
 " Did you give aught for it ? " 
 
 "Ay ! the peril of my life." 
 
 " Hum ! what say you, Denys ? " 
 
 " I say it was worth its weight in gold. Here, 
 lad, here be silver groshen, one for every acorn 
 on that gallows tree ; and here is one more for 
 thee, who wilt doubtless be there in due season." 
 
 The man took the coins, but still lingered. 
 
 " Well ! what now ? " cried Gerard, who 
 thought him shamefully overpaid already. 
 " Dost seek the hide off our bones ? " 
 
 "Nay, good sirs, but you have seen to-night 
 how parlous a life is mine. Ye be true men, and 
 your prayers avail ; give me then a small trifle 
 of a prayer, an't please you ; for I know not 
 one." 
 
 Gerard's choler began to rise at the egotistical 
 rogue ; moreover, ever since his wound he had 
 felt gusts of irritability. However, he bit his 
 lip and said, " There go two words to that bar- 
 gain ; tell me first, is it true what men say of 
 you Rhenish thieves, that ye do murder inno- 
 cent and unresisting travellers as well as rob 
 them ? " 
 
 The other answered sulkily, " They you call 
 thieves are not to blame for that ; the fault lies 
 with the law." 
 
 "Gramercy! so 'tis the law's fault that ill 
 men break it ? " 
 
 " I mean not so ; but the law in this land 
 slays an honest man an' if he do but steal. 
 What follows ? he would be pitiful, but is dis- 
 couraged herefrom ; pity gains him no pity, 
 and doubles his peril : an' he but cut a purse 
 his life is forfeit ; therefore cutteth he the 
 throat to boot, to save his own neck: dead 
 men tell no tales. Pray then for the poor soul 
 who by bloody laws is driven to kill or else be 
 slaughtered ; were there less of this unreason- 
 able gibbeting on the highroad, there should 
 be less enforced cutting of throats in dark 
 woods, my masters." 
 
 "Fewer words had served," replied Gerard 
 coldly. " I asked a question, I am answered," 
 and suddenly doffing his bonnet 
 
 " ' Obsecro Deum omnipotentem, ut, 
 qua cruce jam pendent isti quindecim 
 latrones f ures et homicidae, in ea homioida 
 fur et latro tu pependeris quam citissime, 
 pro publica salute, in honorexn justi Dei 
 cui sit gloria, in aeternum, Amen.' " 
 
 " And so good day." 
 
 Tha greedy outlaw war satisfied at last- 
 
 " That is Latin," he muttered, "and more than 
 1 bargained for." So indeed it was. 
 
 And he returned to his business with a mind 
 at ease. The friends pondered in silence the 
 many events of the last few hours. 
 
 At last Gerard said thoughtfully, " That she- 
 bear saved both our lives by God's will." 
 
 " Like enough," replied Denys ; " and talking 
 of that, it was lucky we did not dawdle over our 
 supper." 
 
 " What mean you ? " 
 
 " I mean they are not all hanged ; I saw a 
 refuse of seven or eight as black as ink around 
 our fire." 
 
 "When? when?" 
 
 " Ere we had left it five minutes." 
 
 " Good heavens 1 and you said not a word." 
 
 " It would but have worried you, and had set 
 our friend a looking back, and mayhap tempted 
 him to get his skull split. All other danger was 
 over ; they could not see us, we were out of the 
 moonshine, and indeed, just turning a corner. 
 Ah ! there is the sun ; and here are the gates 
 of Dtisseldorf. Courage, 1'ami, le diable est 
 mort 1 " 
 
 " My head ! my head ! " was all poor Gerard 
 could reply. 
 
 So many shocks, emotions, perils, horrors, 
 added to the wound, his first, had tried his youth- 
 ful body and sensitive nature too severely. 
 
 It was noon of the same day. 
 
 In a bedroom of "The Silver Lion" the 
 rugged Denys sat anxious, watching his young 
 friend. 
 
 And he lay raging with fever, delirious at 
 intervals, and one word for ever on his lips. 
 
 " Margaret ! Margaret I Margaret I " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IT was the afternoon of the next day. Gerard 
 was no longer light-headed, but very irritable 
 and full of fancies ; and in one of these he 
 begged Denys to get him a lemon to suck. 
 Denys, who from a rough soldier had been 
 turned by tender friendship into a kind of 
 grandfather, got up hastily, and bidding him 
 set his mind at ease, " lemons he should have 
 in the twinkling of a quart pot," went and ran- 
 sacked the shops for them. 
 
 They were not so common in the North as 
 they are now, and he was absent a long while, 
 and Gerard getting very impatient, when at 
 last the door opened. But it was not Denys. 
 Entered softly an imposing figure ; an old 
 gentleman in a long sober gown trimmed with 
 rich fur, cherry-coloured hose, and pointed 
 shoes, with a sword by his side in a morocco 
 scabbard, a ruff round his neck not only starched 
 severely, but treacherously stiffened in furrows 
 by rebatoes, or a little hidden framework of 
 wood; and on his head a four-cornered cap 
 with a fur border; on his chin and bosom a 
 majestic white beard. Gerard was in no doubt 
 as to the vocation of his visitor, for, the sword 
 excepted, this was familiar to him as the full 
 dress of a physician. Moreover, a boy followed 
 
 o
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 at his heels with a basket, where phials, lint, 
 and surgical tools rather courted than shunned 
 observation. The old gentleman came softly 
 to the bedside, and said mildly and lotto voce, 
 " How is't with thes, my son 7 " 
 
 Gerard answered gratefully that his wound 
 gave him little pain now; but his throat was 
 parched, and his head heavy. 
 
 "A wound 1 they told me not of that. Let 
 me see it. Ay, ay, a good clean bite. The 
 mastiff had sound teeth that took this out, I 
 warrant me ;" and the good doctor's sympathy 
 seemed to mn off to the quadruped he had con- 
 jured, his jackal. 
 
 "This must be cauterised forthwith, or we 
 shall have you starting back from water, and 
 turning somersaults in bed under our hands. 
 'Tis the year for raving curs, and one hath 
 done your business ; but we will baffle him yet. 
 Urchin, go heat thine iron." 
 
 " But, sir," edged in Gerard, " 'twas no dog, 
 but a bear." 
 
 "A bear I Young man," remonstrated the 
 senior severely, "think what you say; 'tis ill 
 jesting with the man of art who brings his 
 grey hairs and long study to heal yon. A bear, 
 quotha I Had you dissected as many bears as 
 I, or the tithe, and drawn their teeth to keep 
 your hand in, you would know that no bear's 
 jaw ever made this foolish trifling wound. I 
 tell you 'twas a jdog, and since you put me to 
 it, I even deny that it was a dog of magnitude, 
 but neither more nor less than one of these little 
 furious curs that are so rife, and rnn devious, 
 biting each manly leg, and laying its wearer 
 low, but for me and my learned brethren, who 
 still stay the mischief with knife and cautery." 
 
 "Alas, sir! when said I 'twas a bear's jaw? 
 I said, ' A bear : ' it was his paw, now." 
 
 " And why didst not tell me that at once 7 " 
 
 " Because you kept telling me instead." 
 
 " Never conceal aught from your leech, young 
 man," continued the senior, who was a good 
 talker, but one of the worst listeners in Europe. 
 " Well, it is an ill business. All the horny ex- 
 crescences of animals, to wit, claws of tigers, 
 panthers, badgers, cats, bears, and the like, and 
 horn of deer, and nails of humans, especially 
 children, are imbued with direst poison. Y'had 
 better have been bitten by a cur, vfuitevtr 
 you may tay, than gored by bull or stag, or 
 scratched by bear. However, shalt have a 
 good biting cataplasm for thy leg ; meantime 
 keep we the body cool : put out thy tongue ! 
 good I fever. Let me feel thy pulse : good 1 
 fever. I ordain flebotomy, and on the instant." 
 
 " Flebotomy 1 that is blood-letting : humph ! 
 Well, no matter, if 'tis sure to cure me, for I 
 will not lie idle here." The doctor let him 
 know that flebotomy was infallible, especially 
 In this case. 
 
 " Hans, go fetch the things needful, and 
 I will entertain the patient meantime with 
 reasons." 
 
 The man of art then explained to Gerard 
 that in disease the blood becomes hot and dis- 
 tempered and more or less poisonous ; but a 
 portion of this unhealthy liquid removed, Nature 
 is fain to create a purer fluid to fill its place. 
 Bleeding, therefore, being both a cooler and a 
 
 purifier, was a specific in all diseases, for all 
 diseases were febrile, whatever empirics might 
 say. 
 
 " But think not," said he warmly, " that it 
 suffices to bleed ; any paltry barber can open a 
 vein (though not all can close it again). The 
 art is to know what vein to empty for what 
 disease. T'other day they brought me one 
 tormented with earache. I let him blood in 
 the right thigh, and away flew his earache. 
 By the bye, he has died since then. Another 
 came with the toothache. I bled him behind 
 the ear, and relieved him in a jiffy. He is also 
 since dead as it happens. I bled our bailiff 
 between the thumb and forefinger for rheuma- 
 tism. Presently he comes to me with a head- 
 ache and drumming in the ears, and holds out 
 his hand over the basin ; but I smiled at his 
 folly, and bled him in the left ankle sore against 
 his will, and made his head as light as a nut." 
 
 Diverging then from the immediate theme 
 after the manner of enthusiasts, the reverend 
 teacher proceeded thug : 
 
 " Know, young man, that two schools of art 
 contend at this moment throughout Europe. 
 The Arabian, whose ancient oracles are Avicenna, 
 E hazes, Albucazis ; and its revivers are Chauliac 
 and Lanfranc; and the Greek school, whose 
 modern champions are Bessarion, Platinus, and 
 Marsilins Ficinus, but whose pristine doctors 
 were medicine's very oracles, Phoebus, Chiron, 
 .ffiscnlapius, and his sons Podalinus and Ha- 
 chaon, Pythagoras, Democritus, Praxagoras, who 
 invented the arteries, and Dioctes, qui primut 
 urinal animum dedit. All these taught orally. 
 Then came Hippocrates, the eighteenth from 
 JSsculapius, and of him we have manuscripts ; 
 to him we owe ' the vital principle.' He also 
 invented the bandage, and tapped for water on 
 the chest ; and above all he dissected ; yet only 
 quadrupeds, for the brntal prejudices of the 
 pagan vulgar withheld the human body from 
 the knife of science. Him followed Aristotle, 
 who gave us the aorta, the largest blood-vessel 
 in the human body." 
 
 " Surely, sir, the Almighty gave us all that is 
 in our bodies, and not Aristotle, nor any Grecian 
 man," objected Gerard humbly. 
 
 " Child ! of course He gave us the thing ; but 
 Aristotle did more, he gave ns the name of the 
 thing. But young men will still be talking. 
 The next great light was Galen ; he studied at 
 Alexandria, then the home of science. He, 
 justly malcontent with quadrupeds, dissected 
 apes, as coming nearer to man, and bled like a 
 Trojan. Then came Theophilus, who gave ua 
 the nerves, the lacteal vessels, and the pia 
 mater." 
 
 This worried Gerard. " I cannot lie still and 
 hear it said that mortal man bestowed the parts 
 which Adam our father took from Him, who 
 made him of the clay, and us his sons." 
 
 " Was ever such perversity 7 " said the doctor, 
 his colour rising. " Who is the real donor of a 
 thing to man 7 he who plants it secretly in the 
 dark recesses of man's body, or the learned 
 wight who reveals it to his intelligence, and so 
 enriches his mind with the knowledge of it t 
 Comprehension is your only true possession. 
 Are you answered 7 "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " I am put to silence, sir." 
 
 "And that is better still; for garrulous 
 patients are ill to cure, especially in fever : I 
 gay, then, that Eristratus gave us the cerebral 
 nerves and the milk vessels ; nay, more, ha was 
 the inventor of lithotomy, whatever you may 
 eay. Then came another whom I forget ; you 
 do somewhat perturb me with your petty excep- 
 tions. Then came Ammonius, the author of 
 lithotrity, and here comes Hans with the basin 
 to stay your volubility. Blow thy chafer, boy, 
 and hand me the basin ; 'tis well Arabians, 
 quotha I What are they but a sect of yesterday, 
 who about the year 1000 did fall in with the 
 writings of those very Greeks, and read them 
 awry, having no concurrent light of their own ? 
 for their demigod, and camel-driver, Mahonnd, 
 impostor in science as in religion, had strictly 
 forbidden them anatomy, even of the lower 
 animals, the which he who severeth from 
 medicine, toUit tolem e mundo, as Tully quoth. 
 Nay, wonder not at my fervour, good youth ; 
 where the general weal stands in jeopardy, a 
 little warmth is civic, humane, and honourable. 
 Now there is settled of late in this town a pes- 
 tilent Arabist, a mere empiric, who, despising 
 anatomy, and scarce knowing Greek from 
 Hebrew, hath yet spirited away half my 
 patients ; and I tremble for the rest. Put 
 forth thine ankle; and thou, Hans, breathe 
 on the chafer." 
 
 Whilst matters were in this posture, in came 
 Denys with the lemons, and stood surprised. 
 " What sport is toward 1 " said he, raising his 
 brows. 
 
 Gerard coloured a little, and told him the 
 learned doctor was going to flebotomise him 
 and cauterise him ; that was alL 
 
 " Ay ! indeed ; and yon imp, what bloweth 
 he hot coals for ? " 
 
 "What should it be for," said the doctor to 
 Gerard, "but to cauterise the vein when opened 
 and the poisonous blood let free ? 'Tis the only 
 cafe way. Avicenna indeed recommends a liga- 
 ture of the vein ; but bow 'tis to be done he 
 eaith not, nor knew he himself I wot, nor any 
 of the spawn of IshmaeL For me, I have no 
 faith in such tricksy expedients ; and take this 
 with you for a safe principle: 'Whatever an 
 Arab or Arabist says is right, must be wrong.' " 
 
 " Oh, I see now what 'tis for," said Denys ; 
 " and art thou so simple as to let him put hot 
 iron to thy living flesh? didst ever keep thy 
 little finger but ten moments in a candle ? and 
 this will be as many minutes. Art not content 
 to burn in purgatory after thy death? must 
 thou needs buy a foretaste on't here ? " 
 
 "I never thought of that," said Gerard 
 gravely : " the good doctor spake not of burn- 
 ing, but of cautery ; to be sure 'tis all one, but 
 cautery sounds not so fearful as burning." 
 
 " Imbecile I That is their art ; to confound 
 a plain man with dark words, till his hissing 
 flesh lets him know their meaning. Now listen 
 to what I have seen. When a soldier bleeds 
 from a wound in battle, these leeches say, 
 ' Fever. Blood him I ' and so they burn the wick 
 at t'other end too. They bleed the bled. Now 
 at fever's heels comes desperate weakness; 
 then the man needs all his blood to live } but 
 
 these prickers and burners, having no fore- 
 thought, recking nought of what is sure to come 
 in a few hours, and seeing like brute beasts only 
 what is under their noses, have meantime robbed 
 him of the very blood his hurt had spared him 
 to battle that weakness withal ; and so he dies 
 exhausted. Hundreds have I seen so scratched 
 and pricked out of the world, Gerard, and tall 
 f ellows too ; but lo 1 if they have the luck to 
 be wounded where no doctor can be had, then 
 they live; this too have I seen. Had I ever 
 outlived that field in Brabant but for my most 
 lucky mischance, lack of chirurgery? The 
 frost chocked all my bleeding wounds, and so I 
 lived. A chirurgeon had pricked yet one more 
 hole in this my body with his lance, and drained 
 my last drop out, and my spirit with it. See- 
 ing them thus distraught in bleeding of the 
 bleeding soldier, I place no trust in them ; for 
 what slays a veteran may well lay a milk-and- 
 water bourgeois low." 
 
 "This Bounds like common sense," sighed 
 Gerard languidly, "but no need to raise your 
 voice so ; I was not born deaf, and just now I 
 hear acutely." 
 
 " Common sense 1 very common sense indeed," 
 shouted the bad listener ; " why, this is a sol- 
 dier ; a brute whose business is to kill men, 
 not cure them." He added in very tolerable 
 French, "Woe be to you, unlearned man, if 
 you come between a physician and his patient ; 
 and woe be to you, misguided youth, if you 
 listen to that man of blood." 
 
 "Much obliged," said Denys, with mock 
 politeness ; " but I am a true man, and would 
 rob no man of his name. I do somewhat in the 
 way of blood, but not worth mention in this 
 presence. For one I slay, you slay a score ; 
 and for one spoonful of blood I draw, you spill 
 a tubful. The world is still gulled by shows. 
 We soldiers vapour with long swords, and 
 even in war beget two foes for every one we 
 kill; but you smooth gownsmen, with soft 
 phrases and bare bodkins, 'tis you that thin 
 mankind." 
 
 "A sick chamber is no place for jesting," 
 cried the physician. 
 
 "No, doctor, nor for bawling," said the 
 patient peevishly. 
 
 " Come, young man," said the senior kindly, 
 " be reasonable. Cuilibet in sud arte credendum 
 est : My whole life has been given to this art. 
 I studied at Montpelier; the first school in 
 France, and by consequence in Europe. There 
 learned I Dririmancy, Scatomancy, Pathology, 
 Therapeusis, and, greater than them aU, 
 Anatomy. For there we disciples of Hippo- 
 crates and Galen had opportunities those great 
 ancients never knew. Good-bye, quadrupeds and 
 apes, and paganism, and Mohammedanism ; we 
 bought of the churchwardens, we shook the 
 gallows ; we undid the sexton's work o' dark 
 nights, penetrated with love of science and our 
 kind ; all the authorities had their orders from 
 Paris to wink ; and they winked. Gods of 
 Olympus, how they winked I The gracious 
 king assisted us : he sent us twice a year a 
 living criminal condemned to die, and said, 
 ' Deal ye with him as science aeke ; dissect 
 Mm alive, if ye think fit.' "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " By the liver of Herod and Nero's bowels, 
 he'll make me blush for the land that bore me, 
 an' if he praises it any more," shouted Denys at 
 the top of his voice. 
 
 Gerard gave a little squawk, and put his 
 fingers in his ears ; but speedily drew them out 
 and shouted angrily, and as loudly, " You great 
 roaring, blaspheming bull of Basan, hold your 
 noisy tongue 1 " 
 
 Denys summoned a contrite look. 
 
 "Tush, slight man," said the doctor, with 
 calm contempt, and vibrated a hand over him 
 as in this age men make a pointer dog down 
 charge ; then flowed majestic on. " We seldom 
 or never dissected the living criminal, except in 
 part. We mostly inoculated them with such 
 diseases as the barren time afforded, selecting 
 of course the more interesting ones." 
 
 "That means the foulest," whispered Denys 
 meekly. 
 
 " These we watched through all their stages 
 to maturity." 
 
 "Meaning the death of the poor rogue," 
 whispered Denys meekly. 
 
 " And now, my poor sufferer, who best merits 
 your confidence, this honest soldier with his 
 youth, his ignorance, and his prejudices, or a 
 greybeard laden with the gathered wisdom of 
 ages ? " 
 
 "That is," cried Denys impatiently, "will 
 you believe what a jackdaw in a long gown has 
 heard from a starling in a long gown, who 
 heard it from a jay-pie, who heard it from a 
 magpie, who heard it from a popinjay ; or will 
 you believe what I, a man with nought to gain 
 by looking awry, nor speaking false, have seen ; 
 not heard with the ears which are given us 
 to gull us, but seen with these sentinels mine 
 eyne, seen, seen ; to wit, that fevered and 
 blooded men die, that fevered men not blooded 
 live ? stay, who sent for this t>ang-sue 2 Did 
 you?" 
 
 " Not I. I thought yon had." 
 
 "Nay," explained the doctor, "the good 
 landlord told me one was ' down ' in his house ; 
 so I said to myself, ' A stranger, and in need of 
 my art,' and came incontinently." 
 
 "It was the act of a good Christian, sir." 
 
 "Of a good bloodhound," cried Denys con- 
 temptuously. " What, art thou so green as not 
 to know that all these landlords are in league 
 with certain of their fellow-citizens, who pay 
 them toll on each booty ? Whatever you pay 
 this ancient for stealing your life blood, of that 
 the landlord takes his third for betraying yon 
 to him. Nay, more, as soon as ever your blood 
 goes down the stair in that basin there, the 
 landlord will see it or smell it, and send swiftly 
 to hia undertaker and get his third out of that 
 job. For if he waited till the doctor got down- 
 stairs, the doctor would be beforehand and 
 bespeak hit undertaker, and then lie would get 
 the black thirds. Say I sooth, old Rouge et 
 Noir ? dites ! " 
 
 "Denvs, Denys, who taught you to think so 
 ill of man ? " 
 
 "Mine eyes, that are not to be gulled by 
 what men say, seeing this many a year what 
 they do, in all the lauds I travel." 
 
 The doctor with some address made use of 
 
 these last words to escape the personal question. 
 " I too have eyes as weU as thou, and go not by 
 tradition only, but by what I have seen, and 
 not only seen, but done. I have healed as many 
 men by bleeding as that interloping Arabist 
 has killed for want of it. 'Twas but t'other day 
 I healed one threatened with leprosy ; I but 
 bled him at the tip of the nose. I cured last 
 year a quartan ague : how 2 bled its forefinger. 
 Our curd lost his memory. I brought it him 
 back on the point of my lance ; I bled him 
 behind the ear. I bled a dolt of a boy, and 
 now he is the only one who can tell his right 
 hand from his left in a whole family of idiots. 
 When the plague was here years ago, no sham 
 plague, such as empyrics proclaim every six 
 years or so, but the good honest Byzantine 
 pest, I blooded an alderman freely, and cau- 
 terised the symptomatic buboes, and so pulled 
 him out of the grave; whereas our then 
 chirurgeon, a most pernicious Arabist, caught 
 it himself, and died of it, aha, calling on 
 Rhazes, Avicenna, and Mahound, who, could 
 they have come, had all perished as miserably 
 as himself." 
 
 " Oh, my poor ears," sighed Gerard. 
 
 "And am I fallen so low that one of your 
 presence and speech rejects my art, and listens 
 to a rude soldier, so far behind even his own 
 miserable trade as to bear an arbalest, a worn- 
 out invention, that German children shoot at 
 pigeons with, but German soldiers mock at 
 since ever arquebus&es came and put them 
 down ? " 
 
 "You foal-mouthed old charlatan," cried 
 Denys, " the arbalest is shouldered by taller 
 men than ever stood in Rhenish hose, and even 
 now it kills as many more than your noisy, 
 stinking arquebus, as the lancet does than all 
 our toys together. Go to I He was no fool 
 who first called you ' leeches.' Sang-sues ! va 1 " 
 
 Gerard groaned. " By the holy virgin, I wish 
 you were both at Jericho, bellowing." 
 
 "Thank you, comrade. Then I'll bark no 
 more, but at need I'll bite. If he has a lance, 
 I have a sword ; if he bleeds you, I'll bleed him. 
 The moment his lance pricks your skin, little 
 one, my sword-hilt knocks against his ribs ; I 
 have said it." 
 
 And Denys turned pale, folded his arms, and 
 looked gloomy and dangerous. 
 
 Gerard sighed wearily. " Now, as all this is 
 about me, give me leave to say a word." 
 
 " Ay I let the young man choose life or death 
 for himself." 
 
 Gerard then indirectly rebuked his noisy 
 counsellors by contrast and example. He spoke 
 with unparalleled calmness, sweetness, and gen- 
 tleness. And these were the words of Gerard 
 the son of Eli. " I doubt not you both mean 
 me well ; but you assassinate me between you. 
 Calmness and quiet are everything to me ; but 
 you are like two dogs growling over a bone. 
 
 "And in sooth, bone I should be, did this 
 uproar last long." 
 
 There was a dead silence, broken only by the 
 silvery voice of Gerard, as he lay tranquil, and 
 gazed calmly at the ceiling, and trickled into 
 words. 
 
 " First, venerable sir, I thank yon for coming
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 6g 
 
 to see me, whether from humanity, or in the 
 way of honest gain ; all trades must live. 
 
 "Your learning, reverend sir, seems great, to 
 me at least, and for your experience, your age 
 voucheth it. 
 
 "You say you have bled many, and of these 
 many, many have not died thereafter, but lived, 
 and done well. I must needs believe you." 
 
 The physician bowed ; Dcnys granted. 
 
 " Others, you say, you have bled, and they 
 are dead. I must needs believe you. 
 
 " Denys knows few things compared with you, 
 but he knows them well. He is a man not given 
 to conjecture. This I myself have noted. He 
 says he has seen the fevered and blooded for 
 the most part die ; the fevered and not blooded 
 live. I must needs believe him. 
 
 " Here, then, all is doubt. 
 
 " But thus much is certain ; if I be bled, I 
 must pay you a fee, and be burnt and excru- 
 ciated with a hot iron, who am no felon. 
 
 " Pay a certain price in money and anguish 
 for a doubtful remedy, that will I never. 
 
 "Next to money and ease, peace and quiet 
 are certain goods, above all in a sick-room ; but 
 'twould seem men cannot argue medicine with- 
 out heat and raised voices ; therefore, sir, I 
 will essay a little sleep, and Denys will go forth 
 and gaze on the females of the place, and I will 
 keep you no longer from those who can afford 
 to lay out blood and money in flebotomy and 
 cautery." 
 
 The old physician had naturally a hot temper ; 
 he had often during this battle of words mas- 
 tered it with difficulty, and now it mastered 
 him. The most dignified course was silence ; 
 he saw this, and drew himself up, and made 
 loftily for the door, followed close by his little 
 boy and big basket. 
 
 But at the door he choked, he swelled, he 
 burst. He whirled and came back open- 
 mouthed, and the little boy and big basket had 
 to whisk semicircularly not to be run down, 
 for de tninimis non curat Medicina even when 
 not in a rage. 
 
 " Ah 1 you reject my skill, you scorn my art. 
 My revenge shall be to leave you to yourself ; 
 lost idiot, take your last look at me, and at the 
 sun. Your blood be on your head 1 " And 
 away he stamped. 
 
 But on reaching the door he whirled and 
 came back ; his wicker tail twirling round after 
 him like a cat's. 
 
 " In twelve hours at furthest you will be in 
 the secondary stage of fever. Your head will 
 split. Your carotids will thump. Aha I And 
 let but a pin fall, you will jump to the ceiling. 
 Then send for me; and I'll not come." He 
 departed. But at the door-handle gathered 
 fury, wheeled and came flying, v,-ith pale, terror- 
 stricken boy and wicker tail whisking after him. 
 " Next will come CRAMPS of the STOMACH. 
 Aha! 
 
 " Then BILIOUS VOMIT. Aha ! 
 
 "Then COLD SWEAT, and DEADLY 
 STUPOR. 
 
 " Then CONFUSION OF ALL THE 
 SENSES. 
 
 " Then BLOODY VOMIT. 
 
 " And after that nothing can save you, net 
 
 even I ; and if I could I would not, and so 
 farewell ! " 
 
 Even Denys changed colour at threats so 
 fervent and precise ; but Gerard only gnashed 
 his teeth with rage at the noise, and seized his 
 hard bolster with kindling eye. 
 
 This added fuel to the fire, and brought the 
 insulted ancient back from the impassable door, 
 with his whisking train. 
 
 "And after that MADNESS ! 
 
 " And after that BLACK VOMIT I 
 
 "And then CONVULSIONS ! 
 
 "And then THAT CESSATION OF ALL 
 VITAL FUNCTIONS THE VULGAR CALL 
 ' DEATH,' for which thank your own Satanic 
 folly and insolence. Farewell." He went. He 
 came. He roared, "And think not to be buried 
 in any Christian churchyard ; for the bailiff is 
 my good friend, and I shall tell him how and 
 why yon died: felo de se I felo de te! Fare- 
 welL" 
 
 Gerard sprang to his feet on the bed by some 
 supernatural gymnastic power excitement lent 
 him, and seeing him so moved, the vindictive 
 orator came back at him fiercer than ever, to 
 launch some master-threat the world has un- 
 happily lost ; for as he came with his whisking 
 train, and shaking his fist, Gerard hurled the 
 bolster furiously in his face, and knocked him 
 down like a shot, the boy's head cracked under 
 his falling master's, and crash went the dumb- 
 stricken orator into the basket, and there sat 
 wedged in an inverted angle, crushing phial 
 after phial. The boy, being light, was strewed 
 afar, but in a squatting posture ; so that they 
 sat in a sequence, like graduated specimens, the 
 smaller howling. But soon the doctor's faca 
 filled with horror, and he uttered a far louder 
 and unearthly screech, and kicked and struggled 
 with wonderful agility for one of his age. 
 
 He was sitting on the hot coals. 
 
 They had singed the cloth and were now 
 biting the man. Struggling wildly but vainly 
 to get out of the basket, he rolled yelling over 
 with it sideways, and lo I a great hissing ; then 
 the humane Gerard ran and wrenched off the 
 tight basket not without a struggle. The doctor 
 lay on his face groaning, handsomely singed 
 with his own chafer, and slaked a moment too 
 late by his own villainous compounds, which, 
 however, being as various and even beautiful 
 in colour as they were odious in taste, had 
 strangely diversified his grey robe, and painted 
 it more gaudy than neat. 
 
 Gerard and Denys raised him up and consoled 
 him. "Courage, man, 'tis but cautery; balm 
 of Gilead, why, you recommended it but now to 
 my comrade here." 
 
 "The physician replied only by a look of con- 
 centrated spite, and went out in dead silence, 
 thrusting his stomach forth before him in the 
 drollest way. The boy followed him next 
 moment, but in that slight interval he left off 
 whining, burst into a grin, and conveyed to the 
 culprits by an unrefined gesture his accurate 
 comprehension of, and rapturous though com- 
 pressed joy at, his master's disaster.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE worthy physician went home and told his 
 housekeeper he was in agony from "a bad bum." 
 Those were the words. For in phlogistic as 
 in other things, we cauterise our neighbour's 
 digits, but burn our own fingers. His house- 
 keeper applied some old woman's remedy mild 
 as milk. He submitted like a lamb to her 
 experience : his sole object in the case of this 
 patient being cure : meantime he made out his 
 bill for broken phials, and took measures to have 
 the travellers imprisoned at once. He made 
 oath before a magistrate that they, being 
 strangers and indebted to him, meditated in- 
 stant flight from the township. 
 
 Alas I it was his unlucky day. His sincere 
 desire and honest endeavour to perjure himself 
 were baffled by a circumstance he had never 
 foreseen nor indeed thought possible. 
 
 He had spoken the truth. 
 
 And IN AN AFFIDAVIT I 
 
 The officers, on reaching " The Silver Lion," 
 found the birds were flown. 
 
 They went down to the river, and from 
 intelligence they received there, started up the 
 bank in hot pursuit. 
 
 This temporary escape the friends owed to 
 Denys's good sense and observation. After a 
 peal of laughter, that it was a cordial to hear, 
 and after venting his watchword three times, he 
 turned short grave, and told Gerard Diisseldorf 
 was no place for them. " That old fellow," said 
 he, "went off unnaturally silent for such a 
 babbler : we are strangers here ; the bailiff is hit 
 friend ; in five minutes we shall lie in a dungeon 
 for assaulting a Diisseldorf dignity ; are you 
 strong enough to hobble to the water's edge ? it 
 is hard by. Once there yon have but to lie down 
 in a boat instead of a bed; and what is the 
 odds 7" 
 
 " The odds, Denys ? untold, and all in favour 
 of the boat. I pine for Rome ; for Home is my 
 road to Sevenbergen ; and then we shall lie in 
 the boat, but ON the Rhine, the famous Rhine ; 
 the cool, refreshing Rhine. I feel its breezes 
 coming : the very sight will cure a little hop-o'- 
 my-thumb fever like mine ; away I away 1 " 
 
 Finding his excitable friend in this mood, 
 Denys settled hastily with the landlord, and 
 they hurried to the river. On inquiry they 
 found to their dismay that the public boat was 
 gone this half hour, and DO other would start 
 that day, being afternoon. By dint, however, of 
 asking a great many questions, and collecting a 
 crowd, they obtained an offer of a private boat 
 from an old man and his two sons. 
 
 This was duly ridiculed by a bystander. " The 
 current is too strong for three oars." 
 
 "Then my comrade and I will help row," 
 said the invalid. 
 
 "No need," said the old man. "Bless your 
 silly heart, he owns t'other boat." 
 
 There was a powerful breeze right astern ; the 
 boatmen set a broad sail, and rowing also, went 
 off at a spanking rate. 
 
 " Are ye better, lad, for the river breeze T " 
 
 "Much better. But indeed the doctor did 
 me good." 
 
 " The doctor I Why, you would none of his 
 cures." 
 
 " No, but I mean you will say I am nought 
 but knocking tho old fool down somehow 
 it soothed me." 
 
 "Amiable dove 1 how thy little character opens 
 more and more every day, like a rosebud. I 
 read thee all wrong at first." 
 
 "Nay, Denys, mistake me not, neither. I 
 trust I had borne with his idle threats, though 
 in sooth his voice went through my poor ears ; 
 but he was an infidel, or next door to one, and 
 such I have been taught to abhor. Did he not 
 as good as say, we owed our inward parts to 
 men with long Greek names, and not to Him, 
 whose name is but a syllable, but whose hand is 
 over all the earth ? Pagan I " 
 
 " So you knocked him down forthwith like 
 a good Christian." 
 
 " Now, Denys, you will still be jesting. Take 
 not an ill man's part. Had it been a thunder- 
 bolt from Heaven, he had met but his due ; yet 
 he took but a sorry bolster from this weak arm." 
 
 "What weak arm?" inquired Denys, with 
 twinkling eyes. "I have lived among arms, 
 and by Samson's hairy pow never saw I one 
 more like a catapult. The bolster wrapped 
 round his nose and the two ends kissed behind 
 his head, and his forehead resounded, and had 
 he been Goliath, or Julius Csesar, instead of an 
 old quacksalver, down he had gone. St. Denys 
 guard me from such feeble opposites as thou I 
 and above all from their weak arms thou 
 diabolical young hypocrite." 
 
 The river took many turns, and this some- 
 times brought the wind on their side instead 
 of right astern. Then they all moved to the 
 weather side to prevent the boat heeling over 
 too much ; all but a child of about five years 
 old, the grandson of the boatman, and his 
 darling ; this urchin had slipped on board at 
 the moment of starting, and being too light 
 to affect the boat's trim, was above, or rather 
 below, the laws of navigation. 
 
 They sailed merrily on, little conscious that 
 they were pursued by a whole posse of con- 
 stables armed with the bailiff's writ, and that 
 their pursuers were coming up with them ; for 
 if the wind was strong, so was the current. 
 
 And now Gerard suddenly remembered that 
 this was a very good way to Rome, but not to 
 Burgundy. " Oh, Denys," said he, with au 
 almost alarmed look, " this is not your road." 
 
 " I know it," said Denys quietly ; " but what 
 can I dot I cannot leave thee till the fever 
 leaves thee ; and it is on thee still, for thou art 
 both red and white by turns ; I have waf cbed 
 thee. I must e'en go on to Cologne, I doubt, 
 and then strike across." 
 
 " Thank Heaven," said Gerard joyfully. He 
 added eagerly, with a little touch of self-decep- 
 tion, " 'Twere a sin to be so near Cologne and 
 not see it. Oh, man, it is a vast and ancient 
 city, such as I have often dreamed of, but ne'er 
 had the good luck to see. Me miserable, by 
 what hard fortune do I come to it now ? Well 
 then, Denys," continued the young man less 
 warmly, " it is old enough to have been founded 
 by a Roman lady in the first century of graco.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and sacked by Attila the barbarous, and after- 
 wards sore defaced by the Norman Lothaire. 
 And it has a church for every week in the year, 
 forbye chapels and churches innumerable of 
 convents and nunneries, and above all, the 
 stupendous minster yet unfinished, and therein, 
 but in their own chapel, lie the three kings that 
 brought gifts to our Lord, Melchior gold, and 
 Caspar frankincense, and Balthazar the black 
 king, he brought myrrh ; and over their bones 
 stands the shrine the wonder of the world ; it 
 is of ever-shining brass brighter than gold, 
 studded with images fairly wrought, and inlaid 
 with exquisite devices, and brave with colours ; 
 and two broad stripes run to and fro, of jewels so 
 great, so rare, each might adorn a crown or ransom 
 its wearer at need ; and upon it stand the three 
 kings curiously counterfeited, two in solid silver, 
 richly gilt ; these be bareheaded ; but he of 
 -ffithiop ebony, and.beareth a golden crown ; and 
 in the midst our blessed Lady, in virgin silver, 
 with Christ in her arms ; and at the corners, in 
 golden branches, four goodly waxen tapers do 
 burn night and day. Holy eyes have watched 
 and renewed that light unceasingly for ages, 
 and holy eyes shall watch them in saecula. I 
 tell thee, Denys, the oldest song, the oldest 
 Flemish or German legend, found them burning, 
 and they shall light the earth to its grave. And 
 there is St. Ursel's church, a British saint's, 
 where lie her bones and all the other virgins 
 her fellows; eleven thousand were they who 
 died for the faith, being put to the sword by 
 barbarous Moors, on the twenty-third day of 
 October, two hundred and thirty-eight. Their 
 bones are piled in the vaults, and many of their 
 skulls are in the church. St. Ursel's is in a thin 
 golden case, and stands on the high altar, but 
 shown to humble Christians only on solemn 
 days." 
 
 " Eleven thousand virgins 1 " cried Denys. 
 "What babies German men must have been in 
 days of yore. Well, would all their bones might 
 turn flesh again, and their skulls sweet faces, 
 as we pass through the gates. 'Tis odds but 
 some of them are wearied of their estate by this 
 time." 
 
 "Tush, Denys I" said Gerard; "why wilt 
 thou, being good, still make thyself seem evil ? 
 If thy wishing-cap be on, pray that we may 
 meet the meanest she of all those wise virgins 
 in the next world, and to that end let us 
 reverence their holy dust in this one. And 
 then there is the church of the Maccabees, and 
 the caldron in which they and their mother 
 Solomona were boiled by a wicked king for 
 refusing to eat swine's flesh." 
 
 " Oh, peremptory king I and pig-headed Mac- 
 cabees 1 I had eaten bacon with my pork liever 
 than change places at the fire with my meat." 
 
 " What scurvy words are these 1 it was then- 
 faith." 
 
 " Nay, bridle thy choler, and tell me, are there 
 nought but churches in this thy so vaunted city ? 
 for I affect rather Sir Knight than Sir Priest." 
 
 "Ay, marry, there is an university near a 
 hundred years old ; and there is a market- 
 place, n fairer in the world, and at the four 
 sides of it houses great as palaces ; and there 
 w a stupendous aenate-hpuse all covered with 
 
 images, and at the head of them stands one 
 of stout Herman Gryn, a soldier like thyself, 
 lad." 
 
 "Ay. Tell me of him! what feat of arms 
 earned him his niche ? " 
 
 " A rare one. He slew a lion in fair combat, 
 with nought but his cloak and a short sword. 
 He thrust the cloak in the brute's mouth, and 
 cut his spine in twain, and there is the man's 
 effigy and eke the lion's to prove it. The like 
 was never done but by three more, I ween; 
 Samson was one, and Lysimachus of Macedon 
 another, and Benaiah, a captain of David's 
 host." 
 
 "Marry I three tall fellows. I would like 
 well to sup with them all to-night." 
 
 " So would not I," said Gerard drily. 
 
 " But tell me," said Denys, with some surprise, 
 " when wast thou in Cologne 1 " 
 
 " Never but in the spirit. I prattle with the 
 good monks by the way, and they tell me all 
 the notable things both old and new." 
 
 "Ay, ay, have not I seen your nose under 
 their very cowls T But when I speak of matters 
 that are out of sight, my words they are small, 
 and the thing it was big ; now thy words be as 
 big or bigger than the things ; art a good limner 
 with thy tongue ; I have said it ; and for a 
 saint, as ready with hand, or steel, or bolster 
 as any poor sinner living ; and so, shall I tell 
 thee which of all these things thou hast de- 
 scribed draws me to Cologne ? " 
 
 "Ay, Denys." 
 
 " Thou, and thou only ; no dead saint, but my 
 living friend and comrade true ; 'tis thou alone 
 draws Denys of Burgundy to Cologne." 
 
 Gerard hung his head. 
 
 At this juncture one of the younger boatmen 
 suddenly inquired what was amiss with " little 
 turnip-face ? " 
 
 His young nephew thus described had just 
 come aft grave as a judge, and burst out crying 
 in the midst without more ado. On this pheno- 
 menon, so sharply defined, he was subjected to 
 many interrogatories, some coaxingly uttered, 
 some not. Had he hurt himself 1 had he over- 
 ate himself ? was he frightened ? was he cold 7 
 was he sick ? was he an idiot ? 
 
 To all and each he uttered the same reply, 
 which English writers render thus, oh! oh ! oh ! 
 and French writers thus, hi I hi ! hi I So fixed 
 are Fiction's phonetics. 
 
 "Who can tell what ails the peevish 
 brat 1 " snarled the young boatman impatiently. 
 "Rather look this way and tell me whom be 
 these after 1 " The old man and his other son 
 looked, and saw four men walking along the east 
 bank of the river ; at the sight they left rowing 
 awhile, and gathered mysteriously in the stern, 
 whispering and casting glances alternately at 
 their passengers and the pedestrians. 
 
 The sequel may show they would have em- 
 ployed speculation better in trying to fathom the 
 turnip- face mystery : I beg pardon of my age : 
 I mean " the deep mind of dauntless infancy." 
 
 "If 'tis as I doubt," whispered one of the 
 young men, " why not give them a squeak for 
 their lives ; let us make for the west bank." 
 
 The old man objected stoutly. " What," said 
 he, " run our heads into trouble for stranger* 1
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 are ye mad ? Nay, let us rather cross to the 
 east side ; still side with the strong arm 1 that 
 is my rede. What say you, Werter 2 " 
 
 " I say, please yourselves." 
 
 What age and youth could not decide upon, a 
 puff of wind settled most impartially. Came a 
 squall, and the little vessel heeled over; the 
 men jumped to windward to trim her ; but to 
 their horror they saw in the very boat from 
 stem to stern a ditch of water rushing to lee- 
 ward, and the next moment they saw nothing, 
 but felt the Rhine, the cold and rushing Rhins. 
 
 " Turnip-face " had drawn the plug. 
 
 The officers unwound the cords from their 
 waists. 
 
 Gerard could swim like a duck ; but the best 
 swimmer, canted out of a boat capsized, must 
 sink ere he can swim. The dark water bubbled 
 loudly over his head, and then he came up 
 almost blind and deaf for a moment ; the next, 
 he saw the black boat bottom uppermost, and 
 figures clinging to it ; he shook his head like a 
 water-dog and made for it by a sort of unthink- 
 ing imitation ; but ere he reached it he heard a 
 voice behind him cry not loud but with deep 
 manly distress, ' ' Adieu, comrade, adieu ! " 
 
 He looked, and there was poor Denys sinking, 
 sinking, weighed down by his wretched arbalest. 
 His face was pale, and his eyes staring wide, 
 and turned despairingly on his dear friend. 
 Gerard uttered a wild cry of love and terror, 
 and made for him, cleaving the water madly ; 
 but the next moment Denys was under water. 
 
 The next, Gerard was after him. 
 
 The officers knotted a rope and threw the 
 end in. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 THINGS good and evil balance themselves in a 
 remarkable manner, and almost universally. 
 The steel bow attached to the arbalestrier's 
 back, and carried above bis head, had sunk 
 him. That very steel bow, owing to that very 
 position, could not escape Gerard's hands, one 
 of which grasped it, and the other went between 
 the bow and the cord, which was as good. The 
 next moment, Denys, by means of his crossbow, 
 was hoisted with so eager a jerk that half his 
 body bobbed up out of water. 
 
 "Now, grip me not I grip me not ! " cried 
 Gerard, in mortal terror of that fatal mistake. 
 
 " Pas si bete," gurgled Denys. 
 
 Seeing the sort of stuff he had to deal with, 
 Gerard was hopeful and calm directly. " On thy 
 back," said he sharply, and seizing the arbalest, 
 and taking a stroke forward, he aided the de- 
 sired movement. " Hand on my shoulder ! slap 
 the water with the other hand 1 No with a 
 downward motion ; so. Do nothing more than 
 I bid thee." Gerard had got hold of Denys's 
 long hair, and twisting it hard, caught the end 
 between his side teeth, and with the strong 
 muscles of his youthful neck easily kept np the 
 soldier's head, and struck out lustily across the 
 current. A moment he had hesitated which 
 side to make for, little knowing the awful im- 
 portance of that simple decision ; then seeing 
 
 the west bank a trifle nearest, he made towards 
 it, instead of swimming to jail like a good boy, 
 and so furnishing one a novel incident. Owing 
 to the force of the current they slanted consider- 
 ably, and when they had covered near a hundred 
 yards, Denys murmured uneasily, "How much 
 more of it ? " 
 
 " Courage," mumbled Gerard. "Whatever 
 a duck knows, a Dutchman knows ; art safe as 
 in bed." 
 
 The next moment, to their surprise, they found 
 themselves in shallow water, and so waded 
 ashore. Once on terra firma, they looked at one 
 another from head to foot as if eyes could de- 
 vour, then by one impulse flung each an arm 
 round the other's neck, and panted there with 
 hearts too full to speak. And at this sacred 
 moment life was sweet as heaven to both; 
 sweetest perhaps to the poor exiled lover, who 
 had just saved his friend. Oh, joy to whose 
 height what poet has yet soared, or ever tried 
 to soar ? To save a human life ; and that life 
 a loved one. Such moments are worth living 
 for, ay, three score years and ten. And then, 
 calmer, they took hands, and so walked along 
 the bank hand in hand like a pair of sweet- 
 hearts, scarce knowing or caring whither they 
 went. 
 
 The boat people were all safe on the late con- 
 cave, now convex craft, Herr Turnip-face, the 
 " Inverter of things," being in the middle. All 
 this fracas seemed not to have essentially de- 
 ranged his habits. At least he was greeting 
 when he shot our friends into the Rhine, and 
 greeting when they got out again. 
 
 " Shall we wait till they right the boat ? " 
 
 " No, Denys, our fare is paid ; we owe them 
 nought. Let us on, and briskly." 
 
 Denys assented, observing that they could 
 walk all the way to Cologne on this bank. 
 
 " I fear not to Cologne," was the calm reply. 
 
 " Why, whither then ? " 
 
 "To Burgundy." 
 
 " To Burgundy ? Ah, no ! that is too good to 
 be sooth." 
 
 "Sooth 'tis, and sense into the bargain. 
 What matters it to me how I go to Rome ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; you but say so to pleasure me. 
 The change is too sudden ; and think ms not 
 so ill-hearted as take you at your word. Also 
 did I not see your eyes sparkle at the won- 
 ders of Cologne? the churches, the images, 
 the relics " 
 
 " How dull art thou, Denys ; that was when 
 we were to enjoy them together. Churches I I 
 shall see plenty, go Romeward how I v/ill. The 
 bones of saints and martyrs ; alas ! the world is 
 full of them ; but a friend like thee, where on 
 earth's face shall I find another? No, I will 
 not turn thee farther from the road that leads 
 to thy dear home, and her that pines for thee. 
 Neither will I rob myself of thee by leaving 
 thee. Since I drew thee out of Rhine I love 
 thee better than I did. Thou art my pearl : I 
 fished thee ; and must keep thee. So gainsay 
 me not, or thou wilt bring back my fever ; but 
 cry courage, and lead on ; and hey for Bur- 
 gundy ! " 
 
 Denys gave a joyful caper. "Courage I va 
 pour la Bourgogne. Ob ! aoyer tranquille 1 cettw
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 73 
 
 fois il est bien de"cid<*ment mort, ce coqnin- 
 Ik." And they turned their backs on the 
 Khine. 
 
 On this decision making itself clear, across 
 the Rhine there was a commotion in the little 
 party that had been watching the discussion, 
 and the friends had not taken many steps 
 ere a voice came to them over the water. 
 "HALT1" 
 
 Gerard turned, and saw one of those four 
 holding out a badge of office and a parchment 
 slip. His heart sank ; for he was a good citizen, 
 and used to obey the voice that now bade him 
 turn again to Dusseldorf the Law's. 
 
 Denys did not share his scruples. He was a 
 Frenchman, and despised every other nation, 
 laws, inmates, and customs included. He was 
 a soldier, and took a military view of the situa- 
 tion. Superior force opposed ; river between ; 
 rear open ; why, 'twas retreat made easy. He 
 saw at a glance that the boat still drifted in 
 mid-stream, and there was no ferry nearer than 
 Dusseldorf. " I shall beat a retreat to that hill," 
 eaid he, "and then, being out of sight, quick 
 step." 
 
 They sauntered off. 
 
 " Halt, in the bailiff's name 1 " cried a voice 
 from the shore. 
 
 Denys turned round and ostentatiously 
 snapped his fingers at the bailiff, and pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 "Halt ! in the archbishop's name." 
 
 Denys snapped his fingers at his grace, and 
 proceeded. 
 
 " Halt I in the emperor's name." 
 
 Denys snapped his fingers at his majesty, and 
 proceeded. 
 
 Gerard saw this needless pantomime with 
 regret, and as soon as they had passed the brow 
 of the hill, said, " There is now but one course, 
 we must run to Burgundy instead of walking ; " 
 and he set off, and ran the best part of a league 
 without stopping. 
 
 Denys was fairly blown, and inquired what 
 on earth had become of Gerard's fever. "I 
 begin to miss it sadly," said he drily. 
 
 "I dropped it in Rhine, I trow," was the 
 reply. 
 
 Presently they came to a little village, and 
 here Denys purchased a loaf and a huge bottle 
 of Rhenish wine. "For," he said, "we must 
 sleep in some hole or corner. If we lie at an 
 inn, we shall be taken in our beds." This was 
 no more than common prudence on the old 
 soldier's part. 
 
 The official network for catching law-breakers, 
 especially plebeian ones, was very close in that 
 a ge ; though the co-operation of the public was 
 almost null, at all events upon the Continent. 
 The innkeepers were everywhere under close 
 surveillance as to their travellers, for whose 
 acts they were even in some degree respon- 
 sible, more so it would seem than for their 
 sufferings. 
 
 The friends were both glad when the sun set ; 
 and delighted, when after a long trudge under 
 the stars (for the moon, if I remember right, 
 did not rise till about three in the morning) they 
 came to a large barn belonging to a house at 
 some distance. A quantity of barley had been 
 
 lately thrashed ; for the heap of straw on one 
 side the thrashing-floor was almost as high as 
 the unthrashed corn on the other. 
 
 "Here be two royal beds," said Denys ; "which 
 shall we lie on, the mow, or the straw 1 " 
 
 " The straw for me," said Gerard. 
 
 They sat on the heap, and ate their brown 
 bread, and drank their wine, and then Denys 
 covered his friend up in straw, and heaped it 
 high above him, leaving him only a breathing- 
 hole : " Water, they say, is death to fevered men ; 
 I'll make warm water on't, anyhow." 
 
 Gerard bade him make his mind easy. " These 
 few drops from Rhine cannot chill me. I feel 
 heat enough in my body now to parch a kennel, 
 or boil a cloud if I was in one." And with this 
 epigram his consciousness went so rapidly, he 
 might really be said to " fall asleep." 
 
 Denys, who lay awake awhile, heard that 
 which made him nestle closer. Horses' hoofs 
 came ringing up from Dusseldorf, and the 
 wooden barn vibrated as they rattled past howl- 
 ing in a manner too well known and understood 
 in the fifteenth century, but as unfamiliar in 
 Europe now as a Red Indian's war-whoop. 
 
 Denys shook where he lay. 
 
 Gerard slept like a top. 
 
 It all swept by, and troop and howls died 
 away. 
 
 The stout soldier drew a long breath, whistled 
 in a whisper, closed his eyes, and slept like 
 top 2. 
 
 In the morning he sat np and put out his 
 hand to wake Gerard. It lighted on the young 
 man's forehead, and found it quite wet. Denys 
 then in his quality of nurse forbore to wake him. 
 " It is ill to check sleep or sweat in a sick man," 
 said he. " I know that far, though I ne'er minced 
 ape nor gallows-bird. " 
 
 After waiting a good hour he felt desperately 
 hungry ; so he turned, and in self-defence went 
 to sleep again. 
 
 Poor fellow, in his hard life he had been often 
 driven to this manoeuvre. At high noon he 
 was waked by Gerard moving, and found him 
 sitting up with the straw smoking round him 
 like a dunghill. Animal heat versus moisture. 
 Gerard called him "a lazy loon." He quietly 
 grinned. 
 
 They set out, and the first thing Denys did 
 was to give Gerard his arbalest, &c., and mount 
 a high tree on the road. "Coast clear to the 
 next village," said he, and on they went. 
 
 On drawing near the village Denys halted and 
 suddenly inquired of Gerard how he felt. 
 
 " What ! can you not see 1 I feel as if Rome 
 was no further than yon hamlet." 
 
 " But thy body, lad ; thy skin ? " 
 " Neither hot nor cold ; and yesterday 'twas 
 hot one while and cold another. But what I 
 cannot get rid of is this tiresome leg." 
 
 " Le grand malheur I Many of my comrades 
 have found no such difficulty." 
 
 " Ah 1 there it goes again ; itches con- 
 sumedly." 
 
 " Unhappy youth," said Denys solemnly, " the 
 sum of thy troubles is this : thy fever is gone, 
 and thy wound is healing. Sith so it is," 
 added he indulgently, " I shall tell thee a little 
 piece of news I had otherwise withheld."
 
 74 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "What is't?" asked Gerard, sparkling with 
 curiosity. 
 
 " THE HUE AND CRY IS OUT AFTER US ; 
 AND ON FLEET HORSES." 
 
 " Oh I " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 GERARD was staggered by this sudden com- 
 munication, and his colour came and went. 
 Then he clenched his teeth with ire. For men 
 of any spirit at all are like the wild boar ; he 
 will run from a superior force, owing perhaps 
 to his not being an ass ; but if you stick to his 
 heels too long, and too close, and, in short, bore 
 him, he will whirl, and come tearing at a multi- 
 tude of hunters, and perhaps bore you. Gerard 
 then set his teeth and looked battle. But the 
 next moment his countenance fell, and he said 
 plaintively, " And my axe is in Rhine." 
 
 They consulted together. Prudence bade 
 them avoid that village; hunger said, Buy food. 
 
 Hunger spoke loudest. Prudence most con- 
 vincingly. They settled to strike across the 
 fields. 
 
 They halted at a haystack and borrowed two 
 bundles of hay, and lay on them in a dry ditch 
 out of sight, but in nettles. 
 
 They sallied out in turn and came back with 
 turnips. These they munched at intervals in 
 their retreat until sunset. 
 
 Presently they crept out shivering into the 
 rain and darkness, and got into the road on the 
 other side of the village. 
 
 It was a dismal night, dark as pitch, and blow- 
 ing hard. They could neither see, nor hear, nor 
 be seen, nor heard ; and for aught I know, passed 
 like ghosts close to their foes. These they 
 almost forgot in the natural horrors of the black 
 tempestuous night, in which they seemed to 
 grope and hew their way as in black marble. 
 When the moon rose they were many a league 
 from Diisseldorf. But they still trudged on. 
 Presently they came to a huge building. 
 
 " Courage 1" cried Denys, "I think I know 
 this convent. Ay, it is. We are in the see of 
 Juliers. Cologne has no power here." 
 
 The next moment they were safe within the 
 walls. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 HEBK Gerard made acquaintance with a monk, 
 who had constructed the great dial in the prior's 
 garden, and a wheel for drawing water, and a 
 winnowing machine for the grain, &c., and had 
 ever some ingenious mechanism on hand. He 
 had made several psalteries and two dulcimers, 
 and was now attempting a set of regalles, or 
 little organ for the choir. 
 
 Now Gerard played the humble psaltery a 
 little ; but the monk touched that instrument 
 divinely, and showed him most agreeably what 
 a novice he was in music. He also illuminated 
 finely, but could not write so beautifully as 
 Gerard. Comparing their acquirements with 
 the earnestnexa and simplicity of an age in 
 
 which accomplishments implied a true natural 
 bent, Youth and Age soon became like brothers, 
 and Gerard was pressed hard to stay that night. 
 He consulted Denys, who assentedVith a rueful 
 shrug. 
 
 Gerard told his old new friend whither he 
 was going, and described their late adventures, 
 softening down the bolster. 
 
 "Alack I" said the good old man, "I have 
 been a great traveller in my day, but none 
 molested me." He then told him to avoid 
 inns ; they were always haunted by rogues and 
 roysterers, whence his soul might take harm 
 even did his body escape, and to manage 
 each day's journey so as to lie at some peace- 
 ful monastery ; then suddenly breaking off and 
 looking as sharp as a needle at Gerard, he asked 
 him how long since he had been shriven 1 
 Gerard coloured up and replied feebly 
 
 " Better than a fortnight." 
 
 " And thou an exorcist ! No wonder perils 
 have overtaken thee. Come, thou must be 
 assoiled out of hand." 
 
 "Yes, father," said Gerard, "and with all 
 mine heart ; " and was sinking down to his 
 knees, with his hands joined, but the monk 
 stopped him half fretfully 
 
 " Not to me ! not to me I not to me I I am 
 as full of the world as thou or any he that 
 lives in't. My whole soul it is in these wooden 
 pipes, and sorry leathern stops, which shall 
 perish with them whose minds are fixed on 
 such like vanities. " 
 
 "Dear father," said Gerard, "they are for 
 the use of the Church, and surely that sancti- 
 fies the pains and labour spent on them ? " 
 
 "That is just what the devil has been 
 whispering in mine ear this while," said the 
 monk, putting one hand behind his back and 
 shaking his finger half threateningly, half play- 
 fully, at Gerard. "He was even so kind and 
 thoughtful as to mind me that Solomon built 
 the Lord a house with rare hangings, and that 
 this in him was counted gracious and no sin. 
 Oh 1 he can quote Scripture rarely. But I am 
 not so simple a monk as you think, my lad," 
 cried the good father, with sudden defiance, 
 addressing not Gerard but Vacancy. "This 
 one toy finished, vigils, fasts, and prayers for 
 me; prayers standing, prayers lying on the 
 chapel floor, and prayers in a right good tub of 
 cold water." He nudged Gerard and winked 
 his eye knowingly. " Nothing he hates and 
 dreads like seeing us monks at our orisons up 
 to our chins in cold water. For corpus domat 
 aqua. Bo now go confess thy little trumpery 
 sins, pardonable in youth and secularity, and 
 leave me to mine, sweet to me as honey, and to 
 be expiated in proportion." 
 
 Gerard bowed his head, but could aot help 
 saying, " Where shall I find a confessor more 
 holy and clement ? " 
 
 "In each of these cells," replied the monk 
 simply (they were now in the corridor) ; " thera, 
 go to Brother Anselm, yonder." 
 
 Gerard followed the monk's direction, aud 
 made for a cell ; but the doors were pretty 
 close to one another, and it seems he mistook ; 
 for just as he was about to tap, he heard hia 
 old friend crying to him in an agitated whisper,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Nay ! nay ! nay ! " He turned, and there 
 was the monk at his cell-door, in a strange 
 state of anxiety, going np and down and 
 beating the air double-handed, like a bottom 
 sawyer. Gerard really thought the cell he was 
 at must be inhabited by some dangerous wild 
 beast, if not by that personage whose presence 
 in the convent had been so distinctly pro- 
 claimed. He looked back inquiringly and 
 went on to the next door. Then his old friend 
 nodded his head rapidly, bursting in a moment 
 into a comparatively blissful expression of face, 
 and shot back into his den. He took his hour- 
 glass, turned it, and went to work on his 
 regalles ; and often he looked up, and said to 
 himself, "Well-a-day, the Bands how swift 
 they run when the man is bent over earthly 
 toys." 
 
 Father Anselm was a venerable monk, with 
 an ample head, and a face all dignity and love. 
 Therefore Gerard in confessing to him, and 
 replying to his gentle though searching ques- 
 tions, could not help thinking, " Here is a head I 
 Oh dear I oh dear 1 I wonder whether you 
 will let me draw it when I have done con- 
 fessing." And so his own head got confused, 
 and he forgot a crime or two. However, he did 
 not lower the bolstering this time, nor was he 
 so uncandid as to detract from the 
 character of the bolstered. 
 
 The penance inflicted was this: he was to 
 enter the convent church, and prostrating him- 
 self, kiss the lowest step of the altar three 
 times ; then kneeling on the floor, to say three 
 paternosters and a credo. " This done, come 
 back to me on the instant." 
 
 Accordingly, his short mortification per- 
 formed, Gerard returned, and found Father 
 Anselm spreading plaster. 
 
 " After the soul the body," said he ; " know 
 that I am the chirurgeon here, for want of a 
 better. This is going on thy leg; to cool it, 
 not to burn it ; the saints forbid." 
 
 During the operation the monastic leech, 
 who had naturally been interested by the 
 Dusseldorf branch of Gerard's confession, 
 rather sided with Denys upon "bleeding." 
 "We Dominicans seldom let blood nowadays ; 
 the lay leeches say 'tis from timidity and 
 want of skill; but, in sooth, we have long 
 found that simples will cure most of the ills 
 that can be cured at alL Besides, they never 
 kill in capable hands ; and other remedies slay 
 like thunderbolts. As for the blood, the Vul- 
 gate saith expressly it is "the life of a man." 
 And in medicine or law, as in divinity, to be 
 wiser than the All-wise is to be a fool. More- 
 over, simples are mighty. The little four- 
 footed creature that kills the poisonous snake, 
 if bitten herself, finds an herb powerful enough 
 to quell that poison, though stronger and of 
 swifter operation than any mortal malady ; and | 
 we, taught by her wisdom, and our own tradi- j 
 tions, still search and try the virtues of those | 
 plants the good God hath strewed this earth ; 
 with, some to feed men's bodies, some to heal 
 thetn. Only in desperate ills we mix heavenly 
 with earthly virtue. We steep the hair or the 
 bones of some dead saint in the medicine, and , 
 thue work marvellous cures." 
 
 "Think you, father, it is along of the 
 reliques? for Peter & Floris, a learned leech 
 and no pagan, denies it stoutly." 
 
 "What knows Peter k Floris? And what 
 know 1 1 I take not on me to say we can 
 command the saints, and will they nill they, 
 can draw corporal virtue from their blest 
 remains. But I see that the patient drinking 
 thus in faith is often bettered as by a charm. 
 Doubtless faith in the recipient is for much in 
 all these cures. But so 'twas ever. A sick 
 woman, that all the Jewish leeches failed to 
 cure, did but touch Christ's garment and was 
 healed in a moment Had she not touched 
 that sacred piece of cloth she had never been 
 healed. Had she without faith not touched it 
 only, but worn it to her grave, I trow she had 
 been none the better for 't. But we do ill to 
 search these things too curiously. All we see 
 around us calls for faith. Have then a little 
 patience. We shall soon know all. Meantime, 
 I, thy confessor for the nonce, do strictly forbid 
 thee, on thy soul's health, to hearken learned 
 lay folk or things religious. Arrogance is 
 their bane; with it they shut heaven's open 
 door in their own faces. Mind, I say, learned 
 laics. Unlearned ones have often been my 
 masters in humility, and may be thine. Thy 
 wound is cared for ; in three days 'twill be but 
 a scar. And now God speed thee, and the 
 saints make thee as good and as happy as 
 thou art beautiful and gracious." Gerard 
 hoped there was no need to part yet, for he 
 was to dine in the refectory. But Father 
 Anselm told him, with a shade of regret just 
 perceptible and no more, that he did not leave 
 his cell this week, being himself in penitence ; 
 and with this he took Gerard's head delicately 
 in both hands, and kissed him on the brow, 
 and almost before the cell door had closed on 
 him, was back to his pious offices. Gerard went 
 away chilled to the heart by the isolation of 
 the monastic life, and saddened too. " Alas I " 
 he thought, " here is a kind face I must never 
 look to see again on earth ; a kind voice gone 
 from mine ear and my heart for ever. There is 
 nothing but meeting and parting in this sorrow- 
 ful world. Well-a-day 1 weU-a-day 1 " This pen- 
 sive mood was interrupted by a young monk 
 who came for him and took him to the refec- 
 tory ; there he found several monks seated at a 
 table, and Denys standing like a poker, being 
 examined as to the towns he should pass 
 through. The friars then clubbed their know- 
 ledge, and marked out the route, noting all the 
 religious houses on or near that road ; and this 
 they gave Gerard. Then supper, and after it 
 the old monk carried Gerard to his cell, and 
 they had an eager chat, and the friar inci- 
 dentally revealed the cause of his pantomime 
 in the corridor. "Ye had well-nigh fallen 
 into Brother Jerome's clutches. Yon was hi 
 celL" 
 
 " Is Father Jerome an ill man, then T " 
 
 " An ill man ! " and the friar crossed himself ; 
 " a saint, an anchorite, the very pillar of this 
 house 1 He had sent ye barefoot to Loretto. 
 Nay, I forgot, y'are bound for Italy ; the spite- 
 ful old saint upon earth, had sent ye to Canter- 
 bory or Compostella, But Jerome was born old
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and with a cowl ; Anselm and I were boys once, 
 and wicked beyond anything you can imagine " 
 (Gerard wore a somewhat incredulous look) : 
 "this keeps ns humble more or less, and 
 makes u reasonably lenient to youth and hot 
 blood." 
 
 Then, at Gerard's earnest request, one more 
 heavenly strain upon the psalterion, and so to 
 bed, the troubled spirit calmed, and the sore 
 heart soothed. 
 
 I have described in f ull this day, marked only 
 by contrast, a day that came like oil on waves 
 after so many passions and perils because it 
 must stand in this narrative as the represen- 
 tative of many such days which now succeeded 
 to it. For our travellers on their weary way 
 experienced that which most of my readers 
 will find in the longer journey of life, viz., that 
 stirring events are not evenly distributed over 
 the whole road, but come by fits and starts, 
 and as it were, in clusters. To some extent this 
 may be because they draw one another by links 
 more or less subtle. But there is more in it 
 than that. It happens so. Life is an inter- 
 mittent fever. Now all narrators, whether of 
 history or fiction, are compelled to slur these 
 barren portions of time, or else line trunks. 
 The practice, however, tends to give the un- 
 guarded reader a wrong arithmetical impression, 
 which there is a particular reason for avoiding 
 in these pages as far as possible. I invite there- 
 fore your intelligence to my aid, and ask you to 
 try and realise that, although there were no 
 more vivid adventures for a long while, one 
 day's march succeeded another ; one monastery 
 after another fed and lodged them gratis with 
 a welcome always charitable, sometimes genial ; 
 and though they met no enemy but winter and 
 rough weather, antagonists not always con- 
 temptible, yet they trudged over a much larger 
 tract of territory than that, their passage through 
 which I have described so minutely. And so 
 the pair, Gerard bronzed in the face and travel- 
 Btained from head to foot, and Denys with his 
 ehoes in tatters, stiff and footsore both of them, 
 drew near the Burgundian frontier. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 GERABD was almost as eager for this promised 
 land as Denys ; for the latter constantly chanted 
 its praises, and at every little annoyance showed 
 him " they did things better in Burgundy ; " and 
 above all played on his foible by guaranteeing 
 clean bed-clothes at the inns of that polished 
 nation. " I ask no more," the Hollander would 
 eay ; " to think that I have not lain once in a 
 naked bed since I left home I When I look at 
 their linen, instead of doffing habit and hose, 
 it is mine eyes and nose I would fain be 
 shut of." 
 
 Denys carried his love of country BO far as to 
 walk twenty leagues in shoes that had exploded, 
 rather than buy of a German churl, who would 
 throw all manner of obstacles in a customer's 
 way, his incivility, his dinner, his body. 
 
 Towards sunset they found themselves at 
 equal distances from a little town and a 
 monastery, only the latter was off the road. 
 Denys was for the inn, Gerard for the convent. 
 Denys gave way, but on condition that once in 
 Burgundy they should always stop at an inn. 
 Gerard consented to this the more readily that 
 his chart with its list of convents ended here. 
 So they turned off the road. And now Gerard 
 asked with surprise whence this sudden aversion 
 to places that had fed and lodged them gratis 
 so often. The soldier hemmed and hawed at 
 first, but at last his wrongs burst forth. It 
 carae out that this was no sudden aversion, but 
 an ancient and abiding horror, which he had 
 suppressed till now, but with infinite difficulty, 
 and out of politeness : "I saw they had put 
 powder in your drink," said he, "so I forbore 
 them. However, being the last, why not ease 
 my mind ? Know then I have been like a fish 
 out of water in all those great dungeons. You 
 straightway levant with some old shaveling, so 
 you see not my purgatory." 
 
 " Forgive me ! I have been selfish." 
 " Ay, ay, I forgive thee, little one ; 'tis not 
 thy fault : art not the first fool that has been 
 priest-rid, and monk-bit. But I'll not forgive 
 them my misery." Then, about a century before 
 Henry VIII. 's commissioners, he delivered his 
 indictment. These gloomy piles were all built 
 alike. Inns differed, but here all was monotony. 
 Great gate, little gate, so many steps and then 
 a gloomy cloister. Here the dortour, there the 
 great cold refectory, where you must sit mum- 
 chance, or at least inaudible, he who liked to 
 speak his mind out ; "and then," said he, " no- 
 body is a man here, but all are slaves, and of 
 what? of a peevish, tinkling bell, that never 
 sleeps. An 'twere a trumpet now, aye sounding 
 alarums, 'twouldn't freeze a man's heart so. 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, and you must sit to meat 
 with may be no stomach for food. Ere your 
 meat settles in your stomach, tinkle, tinkle, and 
 ye must to church wiih may be no stomach for 
 devotion ; I am not a hog at prayers, for one. 
 Tinkle, tinkle, and now you must to bed with 
 your eyes open. Well, by then you have con- 
 trived to shut them, some uneasy imp of dark- 
 ness has got to the bell-rope, and tinkle, tinkle, 
 it behoves you say a prayer in the dark, 
 whether you know one or not. If they heard 
 the sort of prayers I mutter when they break 
 my rest with their tinkle ! Well, you drop off 
 again and get about an eyeful of sleep ; lo, it ia 
 tinkle, tinkle for matins." 
 
 "And the only clapper you love is a woman's," 
 put in Gerard half contemptuously. 
 "Because there is some music in that even 
 hen it scolds," was the stout reply. "And 
 then to be always checked. If I do but put 
 my finger in the salt-cellar, straightway I hear, 
 'Have you no knife that you finger the salt? 1 
 And if I but wipe my knife on the cloth to save 
 ;ime, then 'tis, 'Wipe thy knife dirty on the 
 aread, and clean upon the cloth ! ' Oh, small of 
 soul I these little peevish pedantries fall chill 
 upon good fellowship like wee icicles a-melting 
 down from strawcn eaves." 
 
 "I hold cleanliness no pedantry," said Gerard. 
 ' Shouldst learn better manners onoe for all."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 77 
 
 "Nay; 'tis they who lack manners. They 
 stop a fellow's mouth at every word." 
 
 "Ateveryother word, you mean ; everyobscene 
 or blasphemous one." 
 
 " Exaggerator, go to I Why, at the very last 
 of these dungeons I found the poor travellers 
 sitting all chilled and mute round one shaveling, 
 like rogues awaiting their turn to be hanged ; so 
 to cheer them up, I did but cry out, ' Courage, 
 tout le monde, le dia ' " 
 
 " Connu I what befell 1 " 
 
 "Marry, this. 'Blaspheme not!' quo* the 
 bourreau. 'Plait-il,' say I. Doesn't he wheel 
 and wyte on me in a sort of Alsatian French, 
 turning all the ' P's ' into ' B's.' I had much ado 
 not to laugh in his face." 
 
 " Being thyself unable to speak ten words of 
 his language without a fault." 
 
 " Well, all the world ought to speak French. 
 What avail so many jargons except to put a 
 frontier atwixt men's hearts 1 " 
 
 " But what said he ? " 
 
 " What signifies it what a fool says ? " 
 
 " Oh, not all the words of a fool are folly, or 
 I should not listen to you." 
 
 "Well, then, he said, 'Such as begin by 
 making free with the devil's name, aye end 
 by doing it with all the names in heaven.' 
 ' Father,' said I, ' I am a soldier, and this is 
 but my consigne or watchword.' ' Oh, then, it 
 is just a custom ? ' said he. I not divining the 
 old fox, and thinking to clear myself, said, ' Ay, 
 it was.' 'Then that is ten times worse,' said 
 he. ' 'Twill bring him about your ears one of 
 these days. He still comes where he hears his 
 name often called.' Observe I no gratitude for 
 the tidings which neither his missals nor his 
 breviary had ever let him know. Then he was 
 so good as to tell me, soldiers do commonly 
 the crimes for which all other men are broke 
 on the wheel ; ' & savoir,' murder, rape, and 
 
 is't not true ? " 
 
 "True or not, it was ill manners," replied 
 Denys guardedly. " And so says this courteous 
 host of mine, ' Being the foes of mankind, why 
 make enemies of good spirits into the bargain, 
 by still shouting the names of evil ones 2 ' and 
 a lot more stuff." 
 
 "Well, but, Denys, whether you hearken his 
 rede, or slight it, wherefore blame a man for 
 raising his voice to save your soul ? " 
 
 " How can his voice save my soul, when a 
 keeps turning of his ' P's ' into ' B's ' ? " 
 
 Gerard was staggered : ere he could recover 
 at this thunderbolt of Gallicism, Denys went 
 triumphant off at a tangent, and stigmatised 
 all monks as hypocrites. " Do but look at them, 
 how they creep about and cannot eye you like 
 honest men." 
 
 "Nay," said Gerard eagerly, " that modest 
 downcast gaze is part of their discipline, 'tis 
 cuslodia oculortim." 
 
 " Cussed toads eating hoc hac horum ? No 
 such thing ; just so looks a cut-purse. Can't 
 meet a true man's eye. Doff cowl, monk, and 
 behold, a thief ; don cowl, thief, and lo, a monk. 
 Tell me not they will ever be able to look God 
 Almighty in the face, when they can't even 
 look a true man in the face down here. Ah, 
 
 here it is, black as ink 1 into the well we go, 
 comrade. Misdricorde, there goes the tinkle 
 already. 'Tis the best of tinkles though; 'tis 
 for dinner : stay, listen I I thought BO : the 
 wolf in my stomach cried ' Amen I ' " This last 
 statement he confirmed with two oaths, and 
 marched like a victorious gamecock into the 
 convent, thinking by Gerard's silence he had 
 convinced him, and not dreaming how pro- 
 foundly he had disgusted him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 IN the refectory allusion was made, at the 
 table where Gerard sat, to the sudden death of 
 the monk who had undertaken to write out fresh 
 copies of the charter of the monastery, and the 
 rule, &c. 
 
 Gerard caught this, and timidly offered his 
 services. There was a hesitation which he mis- 
 took. " Nay, not for hire, my lords, but for love, 
 and as a trifling return for many a good night's 
 lodging the brethren of your order have be- 
 stowed on me a poor wayfarer." 
 
 A monk smiled approvingly ; but hinted that 
 the late brother was an excellent penman, and 
 his work could not be continued but by a 
 master. Gerard on this drew from his wallet 
 with some trepidation a vellum deed, the back 
 of which he had cleaned and written upon by 
 way of specimen. The monk gave quite a start 
 at sight of it, and very hastily went up the hall 
 to the high table, and bending his knee so as 
 just to touch in passing the fifth step and the 
 tenth, or last, presented it to the prior with 
 comments. Instantly a dozen knowing eyes 
 were fixed on it, and a -buzz of voices was 
 heard ; and soon Gerard saw the prior point 
 more than once, and the monk came back, 
 looking as proud as Punch, with a savoury 
 crustade ryal, or game pie gravied and spiced, 
 for Gerard, and a silver grace cup full of rich 
 pimentum. This latter Gerard took, and bow- 
 ing low, first to the distant prior, then to 
 his own company, quaffed, and circulated 
 the cup. 
 
 Instantly, to his surprise, the whole table 
 hailed him as a brother: "Art convent bred, 
 deny it not ? " He acknowledged it, and gave 
 Heaven thanks for it, for otherwise he had 
 been as rude and ignorant as his brothers, 
 Sybrandt and Cornelis. "But 'tis passing 
 strange how yon could know," said he. 
 
 "You drank with the cup in both hands," 
 said two monks, speaking together. 
 
 The voices had for some time been londish 
 round a table at the bottom of the hall ; but 
 presently came a burst of mirth so obstre- 
 perous and prolonged, that the prior sent the 
 very sub -prior all down the hall to check it, 
 and inflict penance on every monk at the table. 
 And Gerard's check burned with shame ; for in 
 the heart of the unruly merriment his ear had 
 caught the word " courage 1 " and the trumpet 
 tones of Denys of Burgundy. 
 
 Soon Gerard was installed in feu Werter's 
 cell, with wax lights, and a little frame that 
 could be set at any angle, and all the materials
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 of caligraphy. The work, however, was too 
 much for one evening. Then came the ques- 
 tion, how could he ask Denys, the monk-hater, 
 to stay longer ? However, he" told him, and 
 offered to abide by his decision. He was 
 agreeably surprised when Denys said graciously, 
 " A day's rest will do neither of us harm. 
 Write thou, and I'll pass the time as I may." 
 
 Gerard's work was vastly admired ; they 
 agreed that the records of the monastery had 
 gained by poor Werter's death. The sub-prior 
 forced a rix-dollar on Gerard, and several 
 brushes and colours out of the convent stock, 
 which was very large. He resumed his march 
 warm at heart, for this was of good omen ; since 
 it was on the pen he relied to make his fortune 
 and recover his well-beloved. " Come, Denys," 
 said he good-humouredly, " see what the good 
 monks have given me ; now, do try to be fairer 
 to them ; for to be round with you, it chilled 
 my friendship for a moment to hear even you 
 call my benefactors ' hypocrites.' " 
 
 " I recant," said Denys. 
 
 " Thank you 1 thank you ! Good Denys." 
 
 " I was a scurrilous vagabond." 
 
 " Nay, nay, say not BO, neither I " 
 
 " But we soldiers are rude and hasty. I give 
 myself the lie, and I offer those I misunder- 
 stood all my esteem. 'Tis unjnst that thousands 
 should be defamed for the hypocrisy of a few." 
 
 " Now are you reasonable. You have pon- 
 dered what I said T " 
 
 " Nay, it is their own doing." 
 
 Gerard crowed a little, we all like to be 
 proved in the right ; and was aH attention 
 when Denys offered to relate how his con- 
 version was effected. 
 
 " Well then, at dinner the first day a young 
 monk beside me did open his jaws and laughed 
 right out most musically. 'Good,' said I, 'at 
 last I have fallen on a man and not a shorn ape.' 
 So, to sound him further, I slapped his broad 
 back and administered my consigne. ' Heaven 
 forbid I ' lays he. I stared. For the dog 
 looked as sad as Solomon ; a better mime saw 
 you never, even at a Mystery. ' I see war is no 
 sharpener of the wits,' said he. ' What are the 
 clergy for but to fight the foul fiend T and what 
 !M are monks for I 
 
 " The flend being dead, 
 The Wars are sped." 
 
 Tou may plough up the convents, and we poor 
 monks shall have nought to do but turn 
 soldiers, and so bring him to life again.' Then 
 there was a great laugh at my expense. ' Well, 
 you are the monk for me,' said I. 'And yon 
 are the cross bowman for me,' quo* he. 'And 
 I'll be bound you could tell us tales of the war 
 should make our hair stand on end.' ' Excnsez 1 
 the barber has put that out of the question,' 
 quoth I, and then I had the laugh. 
 
 " What wretched ribaldry I " observed Gerard 
 pensively. 
 
 The candid Denys at once admitted he had 
 ften merrier jests hatched with less cackle. 
 " 'Twas a great matter to have got rid of hypo- 
 criey. ' So,' said I, ' I can give you the chaire 
 d poule, if that may content ye.' 'That we 
 will see,' was the cry, and a signal went round." 
 
 Denys then related, bursting with glee, how 
 at bedtime he had been taken to a cell instead 
 of the great dortour, and strictly forbidden to 
 sleep; and to aid his vigil, a book had been 
 lent him of pictures representing a hundred 
 merry adventures of monks in pursuit of the 
 female laity ; and how in due course he had 
 been taken out barefooted and down to the 
 parlour, where was a supper fit for the Duke, 
 and at it twelve jolly friars, the roaringest boys 
 he had ever met in peace or war. How the 
 story, the toast, the jest, the wine-cup had gone 
 round, and some had played cards with a gor- 
 geous pack, where Saint Theresa, and Saint 
 Catherine, &c., bedizened with gold, stood for 
 the four queens ; and black, white, grey, and 
 crutched friars for the four knaves ; and had 
 staked their very rosaries, swearing like troopers 
 when they lost. And how about midnight a nly 
 monk had stolen out, but had by him and others 
 been as cannily followed Into the garden, and 
 seen to thrust his hand into the ivy and out with 
 a rope-ladder. With this he had run up on the 
 wall, which was ten feet broad, yet not BO 
 nimbly but what a russet kirtle had popped up 
 from the outer world as quick as he ; and so to 
 billing and cooing. That this situation had 
 struck him as rather feline than ecclesiastical, 
 and drawn from him the appropriate comment 
 of a " mew ! " The monks had joined the 
 mewsical chorus, and the lay visitor shrieked 
 and been sore discomforted ; but Abelard only 
 cried, " What, are ye there, ye jealous miauling 
 knaves? ye shall caterwaul to some tune to- 
 morrow night. I'll fit everv man-jack of ya 
 with a fardingale." That this brutal threat had 
 reconciled him to stay another day at Gerard'i 
 request. 
 
 Gerard groaned. 
 
 Meantime, unable to disconcert so brazen a 
 monk, and the demoiselle beginning to whimper, 
 they had danced caterwauling in a circle, then 
 bestowed a solemn benediction on the two wall- 
 flowers, and off to the parlour, where they 
 found a pair lying dead drunk, and other two 
 affectionate to tears. That they had straight- 
 way carried off the inanimate, and dragged off 
 the loving and lachrymose, kicked them &J1 
 merrily each into his cell 
 
 " And so ahnt up In measureless content" 
 
 Gerard was disgusted, and said so. 
 
 Denys chuckled, jnd proceeded to tell him how 
 the next day he and the young monks had drawn 
 the fish-ponds and secreted much pike, carp, 
 tench, and eel for their own use ; and how, in 
 the dead of night, he had been taken shoeless 
 
 EDoked ways into the chapel, a ghost-like 
 being dark, and then down some steps 
 crypt below the chapel floor, where sud- 
 denly paradise had burst on him. 
 
 " "Tis there the holy fathers retire to pray," 
 put in Gerard. 
 
 " Not always," said Denys ; " wax candles by 
 the dozen were lighted, and princely cheer; 
 fifteen soups maigre, with marvellous twangs of 
 venison, grouse, and hare in them, and twenty 
 different fishes (being Friday), cooked with won- 
 drous art, and each he between two buxom 
 lasses, and each lass between two lads with a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 cowl, all but me ; and to think I had to woo by 
 Interpreter. I doubt the knave put in three 
 words for himself and one for me ; if he didn't, 
 hang him for a fool And some of the weaker 
 vessels were novices, and not wont to hold good 
 wine ; had to be coaxed ere they would put it 
 to their white teeth ; mais elles s'y faisaient ; 
 and the story, and the jest, and the cup went 
 round (by the bye, they had flagons made to 
 simulate breviaries) ; and a monk touched the 
 cittern, and sang ditties with a voice tunable 
 as a lark in spring. The posies did turn the 
 faces of the women folk bright red at first ; 
 but ellea s'y faisaient." Here Gerard ex- 
 ploded. 
 
 " Miserable wretches I Corrupters of youth ! 
 Perverters of innocence I but for your being 
 there, Denys, who have been taught no better, 
 oh, would God the church had fallen on the 
 whole gang. Impious, abominable hypo- 
 crites I " 
 
 "Hypocrites I" cried Denys, with unfeigned 
 surprise. "Why, that is what I clept them ere 
 I knew them, and you withstood me. Nay, 
 they axe sinners; all good fellows are that; 
 but by St. Denys his helmeted skull, no hypo- 
 crites, but right jolly roaring blades." 
 
 "Denys," said Gerard solemnly, "you little 
 know the peril you ran that night. That church 
 you defiled amongst you is haunted ; I had it 
 from one of the elder monks. The dead walk 
 there ; their light feet have been heard to patter 
 o'er the stones." 
 
 " Hise"ricorde ! " whispered Denys. 
 
 " Ay, more," said Gerard, lowering his voice 
 almost to a whisper ; " celestial sounds have 
 issued from the purlieus of that very crypt you 
 turned into a tavern. Voices of the dead hold- 
 Ing unearthly communion have chilled the ear 
 of midnight, and at times, Denys, the faithful 
 In their nightly watches have even heard music 
 from dead lips ; and chords, made by no mortal 
 finger, swept by no mortal hand, have rung 
 faintly, like echoes, deep among the dead in 
 those sacred vaults." 
 
 Denys wore a look of dismay. "Ugh I if I 
 had known, mules and wain-ropes had not 
 hauled me thither; and so" (with a sigh) "I 
 had lost a merry time." 
 
 Whether further discussion might have 
 thrown any more light upon these ghostly 
 sounds, who can tell ? for up came a " bearded 
 brother" from the monastery, spurring his 
 mule, and waving a piece of vellum in his 
 hand. It was the deed between Ghysbrecht 
 and Floris Brandt. Gerard valued it deeply as 
 a remembrance of home : he turned pale at 
 first but to think he had so nearly lost it, and 
 to Denys's infinite amusement not only gave a 
 piece of money to the lay brother, but kissed 
 the mule's nose. 
 
 "I'll read you now," said Gerard, "were 
 you twice as ill written ; and to make sure 
 of never losing you" here he sat down, and 
 taking out needle and thread, sewed it with 
 feminine dexterity to his doublet, and his 
 mind, and heart, and soul were away to 
 Sevenbergen. 
 
 They reached the promised land, and Denys, 
 who was in high spirits, doffed his bonnet to all 
 
 the females, who curtsied and smiled in return ; 
 fired his consigne at most of the men ; at which 
 some stared, some grinned, some both ; and 
 finally landed his friend at one of the long- 
 promised Burgundian inns. 
 
 " It is a little one," said he, " but I know it 
 of old for a good one; 'Les Trois Poissons.' 
 But what is this writ up ? I mind not this ; " 
 and he pointed to an inscription that ran across 
 the whole building in a single line of huge 
 letters. " Oh, I see. ' Ici on loge a pied et * 
 cheval,"' said Denys, going minutely through 
 the inscription, and looking bumptious when he 
 had effected it. 
 
 Gerard did look, and the sentence in question 
 ran thus : 
 
 "ON NE LOGE CEANS A CREDIT: CE 
 BONHOMMB EST MOBT, LES MAUVAIS 
 PAIEUBS L'ONT TUE." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THEY met the landlord in the passage. 
 
 " Welcome, messieurs," said he, taking off his 
 cap, with a low bow. 
 
 " Come, we are not in Germany," said Gerard. 
 
 In the public room they found the mistress, a 
 buxom woman of forty. She curtsied to them, 
 and smiled right cordially. " Give yourself the 
 trouble/of sitting ye down, fair sir," said she to 
 Gerard, and dusted two chairs with her apron, 
 not that they needed it. 
 
 "Thank you, dame," said Gerard. "Well," 
 thought he, " this w a polite nation : the 
 trouble of sitting down 1 That will I with 
 singular patience ; and presently the labour of 
 eating, also the toil of digestion, and finally, 
 by Hercules his aid, the strain of going to bed, 
 and the struggle of sinking fast asleep. 
 
 " Why, Denys, what are you doing ? ordering 
 supper for only two I " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " What, can we sup without waiting for forty 
 more t Burgundy for ever 1 " 
 
 "Aha! Courage, camarade. Le dia " 
 
 " C'est convenu." 
 
 The salic law seemed not to have penetrated 
 to French inns. In this one at least wimple 
 and kirtle reigned supreme ; doublet* and hose 
 were few in number, and feeble in act. The 
 landlord himself wandered objectless, eternally 
 taking off his cap to folk for want of thought ; 
 and the women, as they passed him in turn, 
 thrust him quietly aside without looking at 
 him, as we remove a live twig in bustling 
 through a wood. 
 
 A maid brought in supper, and the mistress 
 followed her, empty handed. 
 
 "Fall to, my masters," said she cheerily; 
 "y'havd but one enemy here, and he lies 
 under your knife." (I shrewdly suspect thia 
 of formula.) 
 
 They fell to. The mistress drew her chair a 
 little toward the table, and provided company as 
 well as meat ; gossiped genially with them like 
 old acquaintances ; but this form gone through, 
 the busy dame was soon off and sent in her
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 daughter, a beautiful young woman of about 
 twenty, who took the vacant seat. She was not 
 quite so broad and genial as the elder, but 
 gentle and cheerful, and showed a womanly 
 tenderness for Gerard on learning the distance 
 the poor boy had come, and had to go. She 
 stayed nearly half an hour, and when she left 
 them Gerard said, " This an inn ? Why, it is 
 like home." 
 
 " Qui fit Fran$ois, il fit courtois," said Denys, 
 bursting with gratified pride. 
 
 "Courteous! nay, Christian; to welcome us 
 like home guests and old friends, us vagrants, 
 here to-day and gone to-morrow. But indeed 
 who better merits pity and kindness than the 
 worn traveller far from his folk ? Hola I here's 
 another." 
 
 The new-comer was the chambermaid, a 
 woman of about twenty-five, with a cocked 
 nose, a large laughing mouth, and a sparkling 
 black eye, and a bare arm very stout but not 
 very shapely. 
 
 The moment she came in, one of the travellers 
 passed a somewhat free jest on her ; the next 
 the whole company were roaring at his expense, 
 BO swiftly had her practised tongue done his 
 business. Even as, in a passage of arms between 
 a novice and a master of fence, foils clash 
 novice pinked. On this another, and then an- 
 other, must break a lance with her ; but Marion 
 stuck her great arms upon her haunches, and 
 held the whole room in play. This country girl 
 possessed in perfection that rude and ready 
 humour which looks mean and vulgar on paper, 
 but carries all before it spoken: not wit's rapier ; 
 its bludgeon. Nature had done much for her 
 In this way, and daily practice in an inn the 
 rest. 
 
 Yet shall she not be photographed by me, but 
 feebly indicated ; for it was just four hundred 
 years ago : the raillery was coarse, she returned 
 every stroke in kind, and though a virtuous 
 woman, said things without winking, which no 
 decent man of our day would say even among 
 men. 
 
 Gerard sat gaping with astonishment. This 
 was to him almost a new variety of " that in- 
 teresting species," homo. He whispered Denys, 
 "Now I see why you Frenchmen say 'a woman's 
 tongue is her sword : ' " just then she levelled 
 another assailant ; and the chivalrous Denys, to 
 console and support "the weaker vessel," the 
 iron kettle among the clay pots, administered 
 his consigne, " Courage, ma mie, le " &c. 
 
 She turned on him directly. " How can 
 he be dead as long as there is an archer 
 left alive?" (General laughter at her ally's 
 expense.) 
 
 " It is ' washing day,' my masters," said she, 
 with sudden gravity. 
 
 "Apres? We travellers cannot strip and go 
 bare while you wash our clothes," objected a 
 peevish old fellow by the fireside, who had kept 
 mumchance during the raillery, but crept out 
 into the sunshine of commonplaces. 
 
 " I aimed not your way, ancient man," replied 
 Marion superciliously. " But tince you atk me " 
 (here she scanned him slowly from head to 
 foot), " I trow you might take a tarn in the tub, 
 clothes and all, and no harm done " (laughter). 
 
 But what I spoke for, I thought this young 
 sire might like his beard starched." 
 
 Poor Gerard's turn had come ; his chin crop 
 was thin and silky. 
 
 The loudest of all the laughers this time was 
 the traitor Denys, whose beard was of a good 
 length, and singularly stiff and bristly ; so that 
 Shakespeare, though he never saw him, hit him 
 in the bull's eye. 
 
 " Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pan!." 
 
 A$ You Like It. 
 
 Gerard bore the Amazonian satire mighty 
 calmly. He had little personal vanity. " Nay, 
 chambriere," said he, with a smile, " mine is 
 all unworthy your pains ; take you this fair 
 growth in hand 1 " and he pointed to Denys's 
 vegetable. 
 
 " Oh, tune for that when I starch the besoms." 
 
 Whilst they were all shouting over this pal- 
 pable hit the mistress returned, and in no more 
 time than it took her to cross the threshold, did 
 our Amazon turn to a seeming Madonna meek 
 and mild. 
 
 Mistresses are wonderful subjugators. Their 
 like I think breathes not on the globe. House- 
 maids, decide 1 It was a waste of histrionic 
 ability though ; for the landlady had heard, 
 and did not at heart disapprove, the peals of 
 laughter. 
 
 "Ah, Marion, lass," said she good-humouredly, 
 " if you laid me an egg every time you cackle, 
 'Les Trois Poissons" would never lack an 
 omelet." 
 
 " Now, dame," said Gerard, " what is to 
 pay?" 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Our supper" 
 
 " Where is the hurry ? cannot yon be content 
 to pay when you go? lose the guest, find the 
 money, is the rule of ' The Three Fish.' " 
 
 "But, dame, outside 'The Three Fish' it is 
 thus written ' Ici on ne loge ' " 
 
 "Bah! Let that flea stick on the wall 
 Look hither," and she pointed to the smoky 
 ceiling, which was covered with hieroglyphics. 
 These were accounts, mlgo tcoret; intelligible 
 to this dame and her daughter, who wrote them 
 at need by simply mounting a low stool, and 
 scratching with a knife so as to show lines of 
 ceiling through the deposit of smoke. The 
 dame explained that the writing on the wall 
 was put there to frighten moneyless folk from 
 the inn altogether, or to be acted on at odd 
 times when a non-paying face should come in 
 and insist on being served." 
 
 " We can't refuse them plump, you know. 
 The law forbids us." 
 
 "And how know you mine is not such a 
 face ? " 
 
 "Out, fie ! it is the best face that has entered 
 ' The Three Fish ' this autumn." 
 
 " And mine, dame ? " said Denys ; " dost see 
 no knavery here ? " 
 
 She eyed him calmly. "Not such a good 
 one as the lad's ; nor ever will be. But it is the 
 face of a true man. For all that," added she 
 drily, " 'an I were ten years younger, I'd as lieve 
 not meet that face on a dark night too far from 
 home."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 81 
 
 Gerard stared. Denys laughed. " Why, dame, 
 I would but sip the night dew off the flower ; 
 and you needn't take ten years off, nor ten 
 days, to be worth risking a scratched face 
 for." 
 
 "There, our mistress," said Marion, who had 
 just come in, "said I not t'other day you could 
 make a fool of them still, and if you were 
 properly minded ? " 
 
 " I dare say ye did ; it sounds like some daft 
 wench's speech." 
 
 "Dame," said Gerard, "this is wonderful." 
 
 "What? Oh I no, no, that is no wonder at 
 all. Why, I have been here all my life ; and 
 reading faces is the first thing a girl picks up 
 in an inn." 
 
 Marion. " And frying eggs the second ; no, 
 telling lies ; frying eggs is the third, though." 
 
 The Mistress. " And holding her tongue the 
 last, and modesty the day after never at all." 
 
 Marian. " Alack ! Talk of my tongue. But 
 I say no more. She under whose wing I live 
 now deals the blow. I'm sped 'tis but a 
 chambermaid gone. Catch what's left on't 1 " 
 and she staggered and sank backwards on to 
 the handsomest fellow in the room, which 
 happened to be Gerard. 
 
 " Tic ! tic ! " cried he peevishly ; " there, 
 don't be stupid ! that is too heavy a jest for me. 
 See you not I am talking to the mistress ? " 
 
 Marion resumed her elasticity with a grimace, 
 made two little bounds into the middle of the 
 floor, and there turned a pirouette. "There, 
 mistress," said she, " I give in ; 'tis you that 
 reigns supreme with the men, leastways with 
 male children." 
 
 "Young man," said the mistress, "this girl 
 is not so stupid as her deportment ; in reading 
 of faces, and frying of omelets, there we are 
 great. 'Twould be hard if we failed at these 
 arts, since they are about all we do know." 
 
 "You do not quite take me, dame," said 
 Gerard. " That honesty in a face should shine 
 forth to your experienced eye, that seems 
 reasonable ; but how by looking on Denys here 
 could you learn his one little foible, his insanity, 
 his miserable mulierosity ? " Poor Gerard got 
 angrier the more he thought of it. 
 
 "His mule his what?" (crossing herself 
 with superstitious awe at the polysyllable). 
 
 " Nay, 'tis but the word I was fain to invent 
 for him." 
 
 " Invent ? What, can a child like you make 
 other words than grow in Burgundy by nature ? 
 Take heed what ye do ! why, we are overrun 
 with them already, especially bad ones. Lord, 
 these be times. I look to hear of a new thistle 
 invented next." 
 
 "But, dame, I found language too poor to 
 paint him. I was fain to invent. You know 
 Necessity is the mother of " 
 
 " Ay, ay, that is old enough, o' conscience." 
 
 " Well then, dame, mulierose that means 
 wrapped up, body and soul, in women. So 
 prithee tell me, how did you ever detect the 
 noodle's mulierosity ? " 
 
 "Alas! good youth, you make a mountain 
 of a molehill. We that are women be notice- 
 takers, and out of the tail of our eye see 
 more than most men can glaring through a 
 
 pect glass. Whiles I move to and 'fro 
 this and that, my glance is still on my 
 guests, and I did notice that this soldier's eyes 
 were never off the women folk ; my daughter, 
 or Marion, or even an old woman like me, all 
 was gold to him, and there a sat glowering ; 
 oh, you foolish, foolish man I Now you still 
 turned to the speaker, her or him, and that 
 is common sense." 
 
 Denys burst into a hoarse laugh. "You 
 never were more out. Why, this silky, smooth- 
 faced companion is a very Turk all but his 
 beard. He is what d'ye call 'em oser than ere 
 an archer in the Duke's body-guard. He is 
 more wrapped up in one single Dutch lass 
 called Margaret, than I am in the whole bundle 
 of ye, brown and fair." 
 
 Man alive, that is just the contrary," said 
 the hostess. " Yourn is the bane, and hisn tho 
 jure. Cling you still to Margaret, my dear. I 
 hope she is an honest girl." 
 
 " Dame, she is an angel." 
 
 "Ay, ay, they are all that till better ac- 
 quainted. I'd as lieve have her no more than 
 honest, and then she will serve to keep you out 
 of worse company. As for you, soldier, there 
 is trouble in store for you. Your eyes were 
 never made for the good of your soul." 
 
 Nor of his pouch either," said Marion, 
 striking in ; " and his lips, they will sip the 
 dew, as he calls it, off many a bramble 
 bush." 
 
 " Overmuch clack, Marion ; overmuch clack." 
 
 "Ods bodikins, mistress; ye didn't hire me 
 to be one o' your three fishes, did ye?" and 
 Marion sulked thirty seconds. 
 
 " Is that the way to speak to our mistress ? " 
 remonstrated the landlord, who had slipped in. 
 
 "Hold your whisht," said his wife sharply; 
 "it is not your business to check the girl, she 
 is a good servant to you." 
 
 " What, is the cock never to crow, and the 
 hens at it all day ? " 
 
 " You can crow as loud as you like, my man 
 out o' doors ; but the hen means to rule the 
 roost." 
 
 "I know a byword to that tune," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Do ye, now ? out wi't then." 
 
 " Femme vent en toute eaison, 
 Estre dame en sa malson." 
 
 "I never heard it afore; but 'tis as sooth 
 as gospel. Ay, they that set these bywords a 
 rolljng had eyes and tongues, and tongues and 
 eyes. Before all the world give me an old 
 saw." 
 
 "And me a young husband," said Marion. 
 "Now there was a chance for you all, and 
 nobody spoke. Oh I it is too late now, I've 
 changed my mind." 
 
 "All the better for Borne poor fellow," 
 suggested Denys. 
 
 And now the arrival of the young mistress, 
 or, as she was called, the little mistress, was 
 the signal for them all to draw round the fire, 
 like one happy family, travellers, host, hostess, 
 and even servants in the outer ring, and tell 
 stories till bedtime. And Gerard in his turn 
 told a tremendous one out of his repsrtory,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 a MS. collection of " Acts of the Saints," and 
 made them all shudder deliciously ; bat soon 
 after began to nod, exhausted by the effort, I 
 should say. The young mistress saw, and gave 
 Marion a look. She instantly lighted a rush, 
 and laying her hand on Gerard's shoulder, 
 invited him to follow her. She showed him 
 a room where were two nice white beds, and 
 bade him choose. "Either ia paradise," said 
 he. " I'll take this one. Do you know, I have 
 not lain in a naked bed once since I left my 
 home in Holland." 
 
 " Alack I poor soul I " said she ; " well then 
 the sooner my flax and your down (he I he !) 
 come together, the better ; so allons I " and 
 she held out her cheek as business-like as if 
 it had been her hand for a fee. 
 
 " Allons T what does that mean ? " 
 
 "It means 'good-night.' Ahem! What, 
 don't they salute the chambermaid in your 
 part 7" 
 
 " Not all in a moment." 
 
 " What, do they make a business on't ? " 
 
 " Nay, perverter of words, I mean we make 
 not so free with strange women." 
 
 "They must be strange women if they do 
 not think you strange fools, then. Here is a 
 coiL Why, all the old greasy greybeards that 
 lie at our inn do kiss us chambermaids ; faugh 1 
 and what have we poor wretches to set on 
 t'other side the compt but now and then a 
 nice young ! Alack I time flies, chamber- 
 maids can't be spared long in the nursery, so 
 howis'ttobe?" 
 
 " An't please you arrange with my comrade 
 for both. He is mulierose ; I am not." 
 
 "Nay, 'tis the curb he will want, not the 
 spur. Well ! well ! you shall to bed without 
 paying the usual toll ; and oh, but 'tis sweet 
 to fall in with a young man who can withstand 
 these ancient ill customs, and gainsay brazen 
 hussies. Shalt have thy reward." 
 
 ' ' Thank you I But what are you doing with 
 my bed f " 
 
 " Me T oh, only taking off these sheets, and 
 going to put on the pair the drunken miller slept 
 in last night." 
 
 " Oh no ! no 1 You cruel, black-hearted thing 1 
 There I there I " 
 
 " A la bonne heure ! What will not persever- 
 ance effect t But note now the frowardness of 
 a mad wench I I cared not for't a button. I am 
 dead sick of that sport this five years. But yon 
 denied me ; so then forthwith I behoved to have 
 it ; belike had gone through fire and water for't. 
 Alas, young sir, we women are kittle cattle; 
 poor perverse toads ; excuse us ; and keep us in 
 our place, savoir, at arm's length ; and so good- 
 night I " 
 
 At the door she turned and said, with a com- 
 plete change of tone and manner, " The Virgin 
 guard thy head, and the holy Evangelists watch 
 the bed where lies a poor young wanderer far 
 from home 1 Amen I " 
 
 And .the next moment he heard her run 
 'earing down the stairs, and soon a peal of 
 laughter from the salie betrayed her where- 
 abouts. 
 
 " Now that is a character," said Gerard pro- 
 foundly, tad yawned over the discovery. 
 
 In a very few minutes he was in a dry bath 
 of cold, clean linen, inexpressibly refreshing to 
 him after so long disuse ; then came a delicious 
 glow ; and then Sevenbergen. 
 
 In the morning Gerard awoke infinitely re- 
 freshed, and was for rising, but found himself 
 a close prisoner. His linen had vanished. 
 Now this was paralysis, for the night-gown 
 is a recent institution. In Gerard's century, 
 and indeed long after, men did not play fast 
 and loose with clean sheets (when they could 
 get them), but crept into them clothed with 
 their innocence, like Adam : out of bed they 
 seem to have taken most after hit eldest 
 son. 
 
 Gerard bewailed his captivity to Denys ; but 
 that instant the door opened, and in sailed 
 Marion with their linen, newly washed and 
 ironed, on her two arms, and set it down on 
 the table. 
 
 " Oh, you good girl," cried Gerard. 
 11 Alack, have you found me out at last ? " 
 " Yes, indeed. Is this another custom f " 
 "Nay, not to take them unbidden; but at 
 night we aye question travellers, are they for 
 linen washed. So I came into you, but you 
 were both sound. Then said I te the little 
 mistress, 'La! where is the sense of waking 
 wearied men, t'ask them is Charles the Great 
 dead, and would they liever carry foul linen or 
 clean, especially this one with a skin like 
 cream ? ' ' And so he has, I declare, ' said the 
 young mistress." 
 
 "That was me," remarked Denys, with the 
 air of a commentator. 
 
 "Guess once more, and you'll hit the 
 mark." 
 
 "Notice him not, Marion, he is an impudent 
 fellow; and I am sure we cannot be grateful 
 enough for your goodness, and I am sorry I ever 
 refused you anything you fancied you should 
 like." 
 
 " Oh, are ye there," said 1'espiegle. " I take 
 that to mean you would fain brush the morning 
 dew off, as your bashful companion calls it ; well 
 then, excuse me, 'tis customary, but not prudent. 
 I decline. Quits with you, lad." 
 
 " Stop 1 stop ! " cried Denys, as she was mak- 
 ing off victorious ; " I am curious to know how 
 many of ye were here last night a-f easting your 
 eyes on us twain." 
 
 " 'Twas so satisfactory a feast as we weren't 
 half a minute over't Whot why the big 
 mistress, the little mistress, Janet, and me, and 
 the whole poite eomitatut, on tiptoe. We mostly 
 make our rounds the last thin?, not to get 
 burned down ; and in prodigious numbers. 
 Somehow that maketh us bolder, especially 
 where archers lie scattered about." 
 
 "Why did not you tell met I'd have lain 
 awake." 
 
 " Beau sire, the paving goes that the good 
 and the ill are all one while their lids are 
 closed. So we said, 'Here is one who will 
 serve God best asleep. Break not his rest I ' " 
 
 "She is funny," said Gerard dictatorially. 
 
 " I must be either that or knavish." 
 
 "How so!"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Because ' The Three Fish ' pay me to be I that is on Burgundy's threshold. To yon the 
 
 funny. You will eat before you part 1 Good I 
 then I'll go see the meat be fit ror such worship- 
 ful teeth." 
 
 " Denys I " 
 
 "What is yonr will?" 
 
 " I wish that was a great boy, and going along 
 with us, to keep us cheery." 
 
 " So do not I. But I wish it was going along 
 with us as it is." 
 
 "Now Heaven forefend! A fine fool yon 
 would make of yourself." 
 
 They broke their fast, settled their score, 
 and said farewell. Then it was they found 
 Marion had not exaggerated the "custom of 
 the country." The three principal women took 
 and kissed them right heartily, and they kissed 
 the three principal women. The landlord took 
 and kissed them, and they kissed the land- 
 lord ; and the cry was, " Come back, the sooner 
 the better 1 " 
 
 " Never pass ' The Three Fish ; ' should your 
 purses be void, bring yourselves: 'le sieur credit' 
 is not dead for you." 
 And they took the road again. 
 They came to a little town, and Denys went 
 to buy shoes. The shopkeeper was in the 
 doorway, but wide awake. He received Denys 
 with a bow down to the ground. The customer 
 was soon fitted, and followed to the street, 
 and dismissed with graceful salutes from the 
 doorstep. 
 
 The friends agreed it was Elysium to deal 
 with such a shoemaker as this. " Not but what 
 my German shoes have lasted well enough," 
 taid Gerard the just. 
 
 Outside the town was a pebbled walk. 
 
 "This is to keep the burghers' feet dry, 
 ^-walking o' Sundays with their wives and 
 daughters," said Denys. 
 
 Those simple words of Denys, one stroke of 
 a careless tongue, painted "home" in Gerard's 
 heart. " Oh ! how sweet," said he. " Mercy 1 
 what is this ? A gibbet ! and ugh, two skeletons 
 thereon ! Oh, Denys, what a sorry sight to 
 woo by I " 
 
 "Nay," said Denys, "a comfortable sight; 
 for every rogue i' the air there is one the less 
 a-foot." 
 
 A little farther on they came to two pillars, 
 and between these was a huge wheel closely 
 tudded; with iron prongs, and entangled in 
 these were bones and fragments of cloth miser- 
 ably dispersed over the wheel. 
 
 Gerard hid his face in his hands. " Oh, to 
 think those -patches and bones are all that is 
 left of a man 1 of one who was what we are 
 now." 
 
 " Eicnsez I a thing that went on two legs and 
 stole ; are we no more than that ? " 
 
 "How know ye he stole? Have true men 
 never suffered death and torture too ? 
 
 "None of my kith ever found their way to 
 the gibbet, I know." 
 
 " The better their luck. Prithee, how died the 
 saints ? " 
 
 " Hard. But not in Burgundy." 
 
 Ye massacred them wholesale at Lyons, and 
 
 gibbet proves the crime, because you read not 
 story. Alas I had you stood on Calvary that 
 >loody day we sigh for to this hour, I tremble 
 ;o think you had perhaps shouted for joy at 
 ;he gibbet builded there ; for the cross was but 
 ;he Roman gallows, Father Martin says." 
 
 " The blaspheming old hound I " 
 
 " Oh, fie ! fie I a holy and a book-learned man. 
 Ay, Denys, y'had read them, that suffered 
 ihere, by the bare light of the gibbet. ' Drive 
 .n the nails 1 ' y'had cried ; ' drive in the spear I ' 
 Here be three malefactors. Three 'roue's.' Yet 
 of those little three one was the first Christian 
 saint, and another was the Saviour of the world 
 
 hich gibbeted him." 
 
 Denys assured him on his honour they man- 
 aged things better in Burgundy. He added, 
 ;oo, after profound reflection, that the "horrors 
 Gerard had alluded to had more than once 
 made him curse and swear with rage when told 
 Dy the good cure" in his native village at Easter- 
 tide ; " but they chanced in an outlandish 
 nation, and near a thousand years agone. 
 Wort de ma vie, let us hope it is not true ; or 
 at least sore exaggerated. Do but see how all 
 tales gather as they roll I " 
 
 Then he reflected again, and all in a moment 
 turned red with ire. " Do ye not blush to play 
 with your book-craft on your unlettered friend, 
 and throw dust in his eyes, evening the saints 
 with these reptiles ! " 
 
 Then suddenly he recovered his good humour. 
 
 Since your heart beats for vermin, feel for the 
 carrion crows 1 they be as good vermin as these ; 
 would ye send them to bed supperless, poor 
 pretty poppets! Why, these be their larder; 
 the pangs of hunger would gnaw them dead, 
 but for cold cut-purse hung up here and 
 there." 
 
 Gerard, who had for some time maintained 
 a dead silence, informed him the subject was 
 closed between them, and for ever. "There 
 are things," said he, "in which our hearts 
 seem wide as the poles asunder, and eke our 
 heads. But I love thee dearly all the same," he 
 added, with infinite grace and tenderness. 
 
 Towards afternoon they heard a faint wailing 
 noise on ahead ; it grew distincter as they pro- 
 ceeded. Being fast walkers they soon came up 
 with its cause : a score of pikemen, accom- 
 panied by several constables, were marching 
 along, and in advance of them was a herd of 
 animals they were driving. These creatures, 
 in number rather more than a hundred, were 
 of various ages, only very few were downright 
 old; the males were downcast and silent. It 
 was the females from whom all the outcry 
 came. In other words, the animals thus 
 driven along at the law's point were men and 
 women. 
 
 "Good Heaven!" cried Gerard, "what a 
 band "of them I But stay, surely all those 
 children cannot be thieves ; why, there are 
 some in arms. What on earth is this, Denye f " 
 Denys advised him to ask that " bourgeois " 
 with the badge. "This is Burgundy; here a 
 civil question ever draws a civil reply." 
 
 Gerard went up to the officer, and remov- 
 ing his cap, a civility which was immediately
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 returned, said, " For our Lady's sake, sir, what 
 do ye with these poor folk ? " 
 
 " Nay, what is that to yon, my lad ? " replied 
 the functionary suspiciously. 
 
 "Master, I'm a stranger, and athirst for 
 knowledge." 
 
 " That is another matter. What are we doing ? 
 ahem. Why we Dost hear, Jacques ? Here 
 is a stranger seeks to know what we are doing," 
 and the two machines were tickled that there 
 should be a man who did not know something 
 they happened to know. In all ages this has 
 tickled. However, the chuckle was brief and 
 moderated by their native courtesy, and the 
 official turned to Gerard again. " What we are 
 doing ? hum I " and now he hesitated, not from 
 any doubt as to what he was doing, but because 
 he was hunting for a single word that should 
 convey the matter. 
 
 11 Ce que nous faisons, mon gars ? Mais dam 
 NOUS TRANSVASONS." 
 
 "You decant T that should mean yon pour 
 from one vessel to another." 
 
 "Precisely." He explained that last year 
 the town of Charmes had been sore thinned by 
 a pestilence, whole houses emptied and trades 
 short of hands. Much ado to get in the rye, 
 and the flax half spoiled. So the bailiff and 
 aldermen had written to the Duke's secretary, 
 and the Duke he sent far and wide to know 
 what town was too full. " That are we," had 
 the bailie of Toul writ back. "Then send 
 four or five score of your townsfolk," was the 
 order. " Was not this to decant the full town 
 into the empty, and is not the good Duke the 
 father of his people, and will not let the duchy 
 be weakened, nor its fair towns laid waste by 
 sword nor pestilence ; but meets the one with 
 pike and arbalest (touching his cap to the 
 sergeant and Denys alternately), and t'other 
 with policy ? LONG LIVE THE DUKE 1 " 
 
 The pikemen of course were not to be outdone 
 in loyalty, so they shouted with stentorian 
 lungs, "LONG LIVE THE DUKE!" Then 
 the decanted ones, partly because loyalty was 
 a non-reasoning sentiment in those days, partly 
 perhaps because they feared some further ill 
 consequence should they alone be mute, raised 
 a feeble, tremulous shout, "Long live the 
 Duke 1 " 
 
 But at this insulted nature rebelled. Perhaps 
 indeed the sham sentiment drew out the real, 
 for on the very heels of that loyal noise a loud 
 and piercing wail burst from every woman's 
 bosom, and a deep, deep groan from every 
 man's ; oh I the air filled in a moment with 
 womanly and manly anguish. Judge what it 
 must have been when the rude pikemen halted 
 unbidden, all confused, as if a wall of sorrow 
 had started up before them. 
 
 "En avant," roared the sergeant, and they 
 marched again, but muttering and cursing. 
 
 /'Ah, the ugly sound," said the civilian, 
 wincing. " Lea malheureux ! " cried he rue- 
 fully, for where is the single man can hear 
 the sudden agony of a multitude and not be 
 moved ? " Les ingrats I They are going whence 
 they were de trop to where they will be 
 welcome ; from starvation to plenty and they 
 object. They even make dismal noises. One 
 
 would think we were thrusting them forth from 
 Burgundy." 
 
 " Come away," whispered Gerard, trembling ; 
 " come away," and the friends strode for- 
 ward. 
 
 When they passed the head of the column, 
 and saw the men walk with their eyes bent in 
 bitter gloom upon the ground, and the women, 
 some carrying, some leading little children, 
 and weeping as they went, and the poor bairns, 
 some frolicking, some weeping because "their 
 mammies" wept, Gerard tried hard to say a 
 word of comfort, but choked and could utter 
 nothing to the mourners ; but gasped, " Come 
 on, Denys, I cannot mock such sorrow with 
 little words of comfort." And now, artist-like, 
 all his aim was to get swiftly out of the grief 
 he could not soothe. He almost ran not to 
 hear these sighs and sobs. 
 
 "Why, mate," said Denys, "art the colour 
 of a lemon. Man alive, take not other folk's 
 troubles to heart 1 not one of those whining 
 milksops there but would see thee, a stranger, 
 hanged without winking." 
 
 Gerard scarce listened to him. 
 
 " Decant them ! " he groaned ; " ay, if blood 
 were no thicker than wine. Princes, ye z.re 
 wolves. Poor things I Poor things ! Ah, 
 Denys I Denys ! with looking on their grief 
 mine own comes home to me. Well-a-day I all, 
 well-a-day ! " 
 
 "Ay, now yon talk reason. That you, poor 
 lad, should be driven all the way from Holland 
 to Rome is pitiful indeed ; but these snivelling 
 curs, where is their hurt ? There is six score of 
 'em to keep one another company ; besides, they 
 are not going out of Burgundy." 
 
 "Better for them if they had never been 
 in it." 
 
 " M^chant, va ! they are but going from one 
 village to another, a mule's journey I whilst 
 thou there, no more. Courage, camarade, le 
 diable est mort." 
 
 Gerard shook his head very doubtfully, but 
 kept silence for abont a mile, and then he said 
 thoughtfully, "Ay, Dcnys, but then I am sus- 
 tained by book-learning. These are simple folk 
 that likely thought their village was the world : 
 now what is this ? more weeping. Oh ! 'tis a 
 sweet world. Humph ! A little girl that hath 
 broke her pipkin. Now may I hang on one of 
 your gibbets but I'll dry somebody's tears," 
 and he pounced savagely upon this little 
 martyr, like a kite on a chick, but with more 
 generous intentions. It was a pretty little lass 
 of about twelve ; the tears were raining down 
 her two peaches, and her palms lifted to heaven 
 in that utter, though temporary, desolation 
 which attends calamity at twelve ; and at her 
 feet the fatal cause, a broken pet, worth, say 
 the fifth of a modern farthing. 
 
 " What, hast broken thy pot, little one 7 " said 
 Gerard, acting iutensest sympathy. 
 
 " Helas ! bel pars ; as you behold ; " and the 
 hands came down from the sky and both pointed 
 at the fragments. A statuette of adversity. 
 
 " And you weep so for that ? " 
 
 "Needs I must, bel gars. My mammy will 
 massacre me. Do they not already" (with a 
 fresh burst of woe) " c-o-call me ,7 -J- Jcan-net-on
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 C-c-casse tout ? It wanted but this : that I 
 should break my poor pot. HelasI fallait-il 
 done, mere de Dieu ? " 
 
 " Courage, little love," said Gerard ; " 'tis not 
 thy heart" lies broken ; money will soon mend 
 pots. See now, here is a piece of silver, and 
 there, scarce a stone's throw off, is a potter ; 
 take the bit of silver to him, and buy another 
 pot, and the copper the potter will give thee 
 keep that to play with thy comrades." 
 
 The little mind took in all this, and smiles 
 began to struggle with the tears ; but spasms 
 are like waves, they cannot go down the very 
 moment the wind of trouble is lulled. So Denys 
 thought well to bring up his reserve of consola- 
 tion. " Courage, ma mie, le diable est mort I " 
 cried that inventive warrior gaily. Gerard 
 shrugged his shoulders at such a way of cheer- 
 ing a little girl. 
 
 " What a fins thing 
 Is a. lute with one string," 
 
 said he. 
 
 The little girl's face broke into warm sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Oh, the good news I oh, the good news I " 
 she sang out with such heartfelt joy, it went 
 off into a honeyed whine, even as our gay old 
 tunes have a pathos underneath. "So then," 
 said she, "they will no longer be able to 
 threaten us little girls with him, MAKING OUR 
 LIVES A BURDEN ! " And she bounded off 
 " to tell Nanette," she said. 
 
 There is a theory that everything has its 
 counterpart ; if true, Denys it would seem had 
 found the mind his consigne fitted. 
 
 While he was roaring with laughter at its un- 
 erpected success and Gerard's amazement, a 
 little hand pulled his jerkin and a little face 
 peeped round his waist. Curiosity was now 
 the dominant passion in that small but vivid 
 countenance. ' 
 
 " Est-ce toi qui 1'a tn6, beau soldat ? " 
 
 " Oui, ma mie," said Denys, as gruffly as ever 
 he could, rightly deeming this would smack of 
 supernatural puissance to owners of bell-like 
 trebles. "C'est mot C.a vaut une petite em- 
 brassade pas ? " 
 
 " Je crois ben. Aie 1 aie I " 
 
 " Qu'as-tn ? " 
 
 " Ca pique ! gh pique ! " 
 
 " Quel dommage ! je vais la couper." 
 
 " Nenni, ce n'est rien ; et pisque t'as tue* ce 
 me'chant. T'es fierement beau, tout d' meme, 
 toi ; t'es ben miex que ma grande sceur." 
 
 "Will you not kiss me, too, ma mie?" said 
 Gerard. 
 
 "Je ne demande par miex. Tiens, tiens, 
 tiens I c'est doulce celle-ci. Ah I que j'aimons 
 les hommes 1 Des fames, & ne m'aurait jamais 
 donne Parjan blanc, plutot g& m'aurait ri au nez. 
 C'est si peu de chose, les fames. Serviteur, 
 beaulr sires I Bon voiage ; et n'oubliez point la 
 Jeanneton ! " 
 
 " Adieu, petit coeur," said Gerard, and on they 
 marched ; but presently looking back they saw 
 the contemner of women in the middle of the 
 road, making them a reverence, and blowing 
 them kisses with little May morning face. 
 
 'Come on," cried Gerard lustily. "I shall 
 
 win to Rome yet. Holy St. Bavon, what a sun- 
 beam of innocence hath shot across our blood- 
 thirsty road ! Forget thee, little Jeanneton T 
 not likely, amidst all this slobbering, and 
 gibbeting, and decanting. Come on, thoa 
 laggard I forward 1 " 
 
 "Dost call this marching?" remonstrated 
 Denys ; " why, we shall walk o'er Christmas Day 
 and never see it." 
 
 At the next town they came to, suddenly an 
 arbalestrier ran out of a tavern after them, and 
 in a moment his beard and Denys's were like 
 two brushes struck together. It was a comrade. 
 He insisted on their coming into the tavern with 
 him, and breaking a bottle of wine. In course 
 of conversation, he told Denys there was an 
 insurrection in the Duke's Flemish provinces, 
 and soldiers were ordered thither from all parts 
 of Burgundy. " Indeed, I marvelled to see thy 
 face turned this way." 
 
 "I go to embrace my folk that I have not 
 seen these three years. Ye can quell a bit of a 
 rising without me, I trow. " 
 
 Suddenly Denys gave a start. "Dost hear, 
 Gerard ? this comrade is bound for Holland." 
 
 "What then? ah, a letter! a letter to 
 Margaret 1 but will he be so good, so kind ? " 
 
 The soldier with a torrent of blasphemy in- 
 formed him he would not only take it, but go a 
 league or two out of his way to do it. 
 
 In an instant out came inkhorn and paper 
 from Gerard's wallet ; and he wrote a long 
 letter to Margaret, and told her briefly what I 
 fear I have spun too tediously ; dwelt most on 
 the bear, and the plunge in the Rhine, and the 
 character of Denys, whom he painted to the 
 life. And with many endearing expressions 
 bade her be of good cheer ; some trouble and 
 peril there had been, but all that was over now, 
 and his only grief left was, that he could not 
 hope to have a word from her hand till he should 
 reach Rome. He ended with comforting her 
 again as hard as he could. And so absorbed 
 was he in his love and his work, that he did 
 not see all the people in the room were standing 
 peeping, to watch the nimble and true ringer 
 execute such rare penmanship. ^ 
 
 Denys, proud of his friend's skill, let him 
 alone, till presently the writer's face worked, 
 and soon the scalding tears began to run down 
 his young cheeks, one after another, on the 
 paper where he was then writing comfort, 
 comfort. Then Denys rudely repulsed the 
 curious, and asked his comrade with a faltering 
 voice whether he had the heart to let so sweet 
 a love-letter miscarry ? The other swore by the 
 face of St. Luke he would lose the forefinger of 
 his right hand sooner. 
 
 Seeing him so ready, Gerard charged him 
 also with a short, cold letter to his parents; 
 and in it he drew hastily with his pen two hands 
 grasping each other, to signify farewell. By 
 the bye, one drop of bitterness found its way 
 into his letter to Margaret. " I write to thee 
 alone, and to those who love thee. If my flesh 
 and blood care to hear news of me, they must 
 be kind to thee, and then thou mayst read my 
 letter to them ; but not else, and even then let 
 this not out of thy hand or thou lovest me not. 
 I know what I ask of thee, and why I ask it
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Thou knowest not. I am older now by many 
 years than thou art, and I was a month agone. 
 Therefore obey me in this one thing, dear heart, 
 or thou wilt make me a worse wife than I hope 
 to make thee a husband, God willing." 
 
 On second thoughts I believe there was some- 
 thing more than bitterness in this. For his 
 mind, young but intense, had been bent many 
 hours every day upon Sevenbergen and Tergon, 
 and speculated on every change of feeling 
 and circumstance that his exile might bring 
 about. 
 
 Gerard now offered money to the soldier. He 
 hesitated , but declined it. " No, no ! art comrade 
 
 of my comrade; and may" (&c.) "but 
 
 thy love for the wench touches me. I'll break 
 another bottle at thy charge an' thou wilt, and 
 so cry quits." 
 
 " Well said, comrade," cried Denys. " Hadst 
 taken money, I had invited thee to walk in the 
 courtyard and cross swords with me." 
 
 " Whereupon I had cut thy comb for thee," 
 retorted the other. 
 
 " Hadst done thy endeavour, drole, I doubt 
 not." 
 
 They drank the new bottle, shook hands, 
 adhered to custom, and parted on opposite 
 routes. 
 
 This delay,however,somewhat put out Denys's 
 calculations, and evening surprised them ere 
 they reached a little town he was making for, 
 where was a famous hotel However, they fell 
 ia with a roadside auberge, and Denys, seeing 
 a buxom girl at the door, said, " This seems a 
 decent inn," and led the way into the kitchen. 
 They ordered supper, to which no objection was 
 raised, only the landlord requested them to pay 
 for it beforehand. It was not an uncommon 
 proposal in any part of the world. Still it was 
 not universal, and Denys was nettled, and dashed 
 his hand somewhat ostentatiously into his purse 
 and pulled out a gold angel. " Count me the 
 change, and speedily," said he. " You tavern- 
 keepers are more likely to rob me than I 
 yon." 
 
 While the supper was preparing, Denys dis- 
 appeared, and was eventually found by Gerard 
 in the yard, helping Manon, his plump but not 
 bright decoy duck, to draw water, and pouring 
 extravagant compliments into her dullish ear. 
 Gerard granted and returned to table, but 
 Denys did not come in for a good quarter of 
 an hour. 
 
 " Uphill work at the end of a march, " said 
 he, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " What matters that to you ? " said Gerard 
 drily. " The mad dog bites all the world." 
 
 " Exaggerator. You know I bite but the fairer 
 half. Well, here comes supper ; that is better 
 worth biting." 
 
 During supper the girl kept constantly coming 
 In and out, and looking point-blank at them, 
 especially at Denys ; and at last in leaning over 
 him to remove a dish, dropped a word in his 
 ear ; and he replied with a nod. 
 
 As eoon as supper was cleared away, Denys 
 rose and strolled to the door, telling Gerard the 
 ullen fair had relented, and given him a little 
 rendezvous in the stable- yard. 
 
 Gerard suggested that the cow-house would 
 
 have been a more appropriate locality. " I shall 
 go to bed, then," said he, a little crossly. 
 "Where is the landlord? out at this time of 
 night! no matter. I know our room. Shall 
 you be long, pray 1 " 
 
 " Not I. I grudge leaving the fire and thee. 
 But what can I do ? There are two sorts of 
 invitations a Burgundian never declines." 
 
 Denys found a figure seated by the well. It 
 was Manon ; but instead of receiving him as he 
 thought he had a right to expect, coming by 
 invitation, all she did was to sob. He asked 
 her what ailed her 7 She sobbed. Could he do 
 anything for her 7 She sobbed. 
 
 The good-natured Denys, driven to his wits' 
 end, which was no great distance, proffered the 
 custom of the country by way of consolation. 
 She repulsed him roughly. "Is it a time for 
 fooling ? " said she, and sobbed. 
 
 " You seem to think so," said Denys, waxing 
 wroth. But the next moment he added 
 tenderly, " and I, who could never bear to see 
 beauty in distress." 
 
 " It is not for myself." 
 
 " Who then 7 your sweetheart ? " 
 
 " Oh, que nenni. My sweetheart is not on 
 earth now, and to think I have not an cu to 
 buy masses for his soul ; " and in this shallow 
 nature the grief seemed now to be all turned in 
 another direction. 
 
 "Come, come," said Denys, "shalt have 
 money to buy masses for thy dead lad ; I swear 
 it. Meantime tell me why you weep." 
 
 " For you." 
 
 " For me 7 Art mad 7 " 
 
 " No ; I am not mad. 'Tis you that were 
 mad to open your purse before him." 
 
 The mystery seemed to thicken, and Denys, 
 wearied of stirring up the mud by questions, 
 held his peace to see if it would not clear of 
 itself. Then the girl, finding herself no longer 
 questioned, seemed to go through some internal 
 combat. At last she said, doggedly and aloud, 
 " I wilL The Virgin give me courage I What 
 matters it if they kill me, since he is dead f 
 Soldier, the landlord is out." 
 
 "Oh, is he 7" 
 
 "What, do landlords leave their taverns at 
 this time of night 7 also see what a tempest ! 
 We are sheltered here, but t'other side it blows 
 a hurricane." 
 
 Denys said nothing. 
 
 " He is gone to fetch the band." 
 
 " The band I what band 7 " 
 
 "Those who will cut your throat and take 
 your gold. Wretched man to go and shako 
 gold in an innkeeper's face I " 
 
 The blow came so unexpectedly it staggered 
 even Denys, accustomed as he was to sudden 
 perils. He muttered a single word, but in it a 
 volume. 
 
 ' ' Gerard 1 " 
 
 "Gerard! What is that? Oh, 'tis thy 
 comrade's name, poor lad. Get him out 
 quick ere they come, and fly to the next 
 town." 
 
 " And thou ? " 
 
 " They will kill me." 
 
 " That shall they not. Fly with us." 
 
 "'Twill avail me nought; one of tha bn<5
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 will be Bent to kill me. They are sworn to 
 alay all who betray them." 
 
 " I'll take thee to my native place f ull thirty 
 leagues from hence, and put thee under my 
 own mother's wing, ere they shall hurt a hair 
 o' thy head. But first Gerard. Stay thou here 
 whilst I fetch him 1 " 
 
 As he was darting off, the girl seized him 
 convulsively, and with all the iron strength 
 excitement lends to women. "Stay me not! 
 for pity's sake," he cried ; " 'tis life or 
 death." 
 
 "Sh! shl" whispered the girl, shutting 
 hia mouth hard with her hand, and putting 
 her pale lips close to him, and her eyes, that 
 seemed to turn backwards, straining towards 
 ome indistinct sound. 
 
 He listened. 
 
 He heard footsteps, many footsteps, and 
 no voices. She whispered in his ear, "They 
 are come." 
 
 And trembled like a leaf. 
 
 Denys felt it was so. Travellers in that 
 number would never have come in dead 
 silence. 
 
 The feet were now at the very door. 
 
 " How many ? " said he, in a hollow whisper. 
 
 " Hush 1 " and she put her mouth to his very 
 ear. 
 
 And who, that had seen this man and woman 
 in that attitude, would have guessed what 
 freezing hearts were theirs, and what terrible 
 whispers passed between them 7 
 
 " Seven." 
 
 " How armed 7 " 
 
 " Sword and dagger ; and the giant with 
 his axe. They call him the Abbot." 
 
 " And my comrade ? " 
 
 " Nothing can save him. Better lose one life 
 than two. Fly ! " 
 
 Denys'fl blood froze at this cynical advice. 
 "Poor creature, you know not a soldier's 
 heart." 
 
 He put his head in his hands a moment, and 
 & hundred thoughts of dangers baffled whirled 
 through his brain. 
 
 " Listen, girl ! There is one chance for our 
 lives, if thou wilt but be true to us. Bun to 
 the town, to the nearest tavern, and tell the 
 first soldier there, that a soldier here is sore 
 beset, but armed, and his life to be saved if 
 they will but run. Then to the bailiff. But 
 first to the soldiers. Nay, not a word, but buss 
 me, good lass, and fly ! men's lives hang on thy 
 heels." 
 
 She kilted up her gown to run. He came 
 round to the road with her, saw her cross the 
 road cringing with fear, then glide away, then 
 turn into an erect shadow, then melt away in 
 the storm. 
 
 And now he must get to Gerard. But how 7 
 He had to run tho gauntlet of the whole band. 
 He asked himself, what was the worst thing 
 they could do 7 for he had learned in war that 
 an enemy does not what you hope he will 
 do, but what you hope he will not do. " Attack 
 me as I enter the kitchen I Then I must not 
 give them time." 
 
 Just as he drew near to the latch, a terrible 
 thought creased hi, "Suppose they had 
 
 already dealt with Gerard. Why then," thought 
 he, " nought is left but to kill, and be killed ; " 
 and he strung his bow, and walked rapidly 
 into the kitchen. There were seven hideous 
 faces seated round the fire, and the landlord 
 pouring them out neat brandy, blood's fore- 
 runner in every age. 
 
 " What ! company ! " cried Denys gaily ; 
 " one minute, my lads, and I'll be with you ; " 
 and he snatched up a lighted candle off the 
 table, opened the door that led to the stair- 
 case, and went up it hallooing, "What, 
 Gerard I whither hast thou skulked to?" 
 There was no answer. 
 
 He hallooed louder, "Gerard, where art 
 thou 7 " 
 
 After a moment, in which Denys lived an 
 hour of agony, a peevish half -inarticulate noise 
 issued from the room at the head of the little 
 stairs. Denys burst in, and there was Gerard 
 asleep. 
 
 "Thank God I" he said, in a choking voice, 
 then began to ling loud, untuneful ditties. 
 Gerard put his fingers into his ears; but 
 presently he saw in Denys's face a horror 
 that contrasted strangely with this sudden 
 merriment. 
 
 "What ails thee 7" said he, sitting up and 
 staring. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Denys, and his hand spoke 
 even more plainly than his lips. "Listen to 
 me." 
 
 Denyn then pointing significantly to the door, 
 to show Gerard sharp ears were listening hard 
 by, continued his song aloud, but under cover 
 of it threw in short muttered syllables. 
 
 " (Our lives are in peril.) 
 
 " (Thieves.) 
 
 " (Thy doublet.) 
 
 IS (Thy sword.) 
 
 "Aid. 
 
 " Coming. 
 
 " Put off time." Then aloud 
 
 "Well, now, wilt have t'other bottle? Say 
 Nay." 
 
 " No, not I." 
 
 "But I tell thee, there are half-a-dozen jolly 
 fellows. Tired." 
 
 "Ay, but I am too wearied," said Gerard. 
 " Go thou." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! " Then he went to the door and 
 called out cheerfully, "Landlord, the young 
 milksop will not rise. Give those honest fellows 
 t'other bottle. I will pay f or*t in the morning." 
 
 He heard a brutal and fierce chuckle. 
 
 Having thus by observation made sure the 
 kitchen door was shut, and the miscreants were 
 not actually listening, he examined the chamber 
 door closely, then quietly shut it, but did not 
 bolt it, and went and inspected the window. 
 
 It was too small to get out of, and yet a thick 
 bar of iron had been let in the stone to make it 
 smaller ; and just as he made this chilling dis- 
 covery, the outer door of the house was bolted 
 with a loud clang. 
 
 Denys groaned, "The beasts are in the 
 shambles." 
 
 But would the thieves attack them while thay 
 were awake 7 Probably not.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Not to throw away this their best chance, the 
 poor souls now made a series of desperate efforts 
 to converse, as if discussing ordinary matters, 
 and by this means Gerard learned all that 
 had passed, and that the girl was gone for 
 aid. 
 
 " Pray Heaven she may not lose heart by the 
 way," said Denys sorrowfully. 
 
 And Denys begged Gerard's forgiveness for 
 bringing him out of his way for this. 
 
 Gerard forgave him. 
 
 " I would fear them less, Gerard, bat for one 
 they call the Abbot. I picked him out at once. 
 Taller than you, bigger than us both put to- 
 gether. Fights with an axe. Gerard, a man 
 to lead a herd of deer to battle. I shall kill that 
 man to-night, or he will kill me. I think some- 
 how 'tis he will kill me." 
 
 " Saints forbid I Shoot him at the door ! 
 What avails his strength against your weapon?" 
 
 "] shall pick him out; but if it comes to 
 hand fighting, run swiftly under his guard, or 
 you are a dead man. I tell thee neither of us 
 may stand a blow of that axe ; thou never 
 sawest such a body of a man. " 
 
 Gerard was for bolting the door ; but Denys 
 with a sign showed him that half the door-post 
 turned outward on a hinge, and the great bolt 
 was little more than a blind. " I have forborne 
 to' bolt it," said he, " that they may think us 
 the less suspicious." 
 
 Near an hour rolled away thus. It seemed an 
 age. Tet it was but a little hour, and the 
 town was a league distant. And some of the 
 voices in the kitchen became angry and im- 
 patient. 
 
 "They will not wait much longer," said 
 Denys, " and we have no chance at all unless 
 we surprise them." 
 
 "I will do whate'er you bid," said Gerard 
 meekly. 
 
 There was a cupboard on the same side as 
 the door, but between it and the window. It 
 reached nearly to the ground, but not quite. 
 Denys opened the cupboard door and placed 
 Gerard on a chair behind it. " If they run for 
 the bed, strike at the napes of their necks I a 
 Bword cut there always kills or disables." He 
 then arranged the bolsters and their shoes in 
 the bed so as to deceive a person peeping from 
 a distance, and drew the short curtains at the 
 head. 
 
 Meantime Gerard was on his knees. Denys 
 looked round and saw him. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Denys, "above all, pray them to 
 forgive me for bringing you into this gueta- 
 pens ! " 
 
 And now they grasped hands and looked in 
 one another's eyes ; oh, such a look I Denys'i 
 hand was cold, and Gerard's warm. 
 
 They took their posts. 
 
 Denys blew out the candle. 
 
 " We must keep silence now." 
 
 But in the terrible tension of their nerves and 
 very souls they found they could hear a whisper 
 fainter than any man could catch at all outside 
 that door. They could hear each other's hearts 
 thump at times. 
 
 " Good news ! " breathed Denys, listening at 
 the door. 
 
 ' They are casting lots." 
 
 " Pray that it may be the Abbot." 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 " If he comes alone I can make sure of him." 
 
 " Denys I " 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
 " I fear I shall go mad if they do not conie 
 oon." 
 
 " Shall I feign sleep ? Shall I snore I 
 
 " Will that ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Do then, and God have mercy on us 1 " 
 
 Denys snored at intervals. 
 
 There was a sculfling of feet heard in the 
 kitchen, and then all was still. 
 
 Denys snored again, then took up his position 
 behind the door. 
 
 But he or they who had drawn the lot seemed 
 determined to run no foolish risks. Nothing 
 was attempted in a hurry. 
 
 When they were almost starved with cold, 
 and waiting for the attack, the door on the 
 stairs opened softly and closed again. Nothing 
 more. 
 
 There was another harrowing silence. 
 
 Then a single light footstep on the stair ; and 
 nothing more. 
 
 Then a light crept under the door ; and 
 nothing more. 
 
 Presently there was a gentle scratching, not 
 half so loud as a mouse's, and the false door- 
 post opened by degrees, and left a perpendicular 
 space, through which the light streamed in. 
 The door, had it been bolted, would now have 
 hung by the bare tip of the bolt, which went 
 into the real door-post, but as it was, it swung 
 gently open of itself. It opened inwards, so 
 Denys did not raise his crossbow from the 
 ground, but merely grasped his dagger. 
 
 The candle was held up, and shaded from 
 behind by a man's hand. 
 
 He was inspecting the beds from the thres- 
 hold, satisfied that his victims were both in 
 bed. 
 
 The man glided into the apartment. But at 
 the first step something in the position of the 
 cupboard and chair made him uneasy. He ven- 
 tured no further, but put the candle on the floor 
 and stooped to peer under the chair ; but as he 
 stooped an iron hand grasped his shoulder, and 
 a dagger was driven so fiercely through his neck 
 that the point came out at his gullet. There 
 was a terrible hiccough, but no cry ; and half- 
 a-dozen silent strokes followed in swift succes- 
 sion, each a death-blow, and the assassin was 
 laid noiselessly on the floor. 
 
 Denys closed the door, bolted it gently, 
 drew the post to, and even while he was doing 
 it whispered Gerard to bring a chair. It was 
 done. 
 
 " Help me set him up." 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 " Parbleu." 
 
 " What for 7 " 
 
 " Frighten them I Gain time." 
 
 Even while saying this, Denys had whipped 
 a piece of string round the dead man's neck,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HBARTff. 
 
 and tied him to the chair, and there the ghastly 
 gure sat fronting the door. 
 
 " Denys, I can do better. Saints forgive 
 me!" 
 
 "What? Be quick then, we have not many 
 moments." 
 
 And Denys got his crossbow ready, and tear- 
 ing off his straw mattress, reared it before him 
 and prepared to shoot the moment the door 
 should open, for he had no hope any more would 
 come singly when they found the first did not 
 return. 
 
 While thus employed, Gerard was busy about 
 the seated corpse, and to his amazement Denys 
 eaw a luminous glow spreading rapidly over the 
 white face. 
 
 Gerard blew out the candle ; and on this the 
 corpse's face shone still more like a glowworm's 
 head. 
 
 Denys shook in his shoes, and his teeth 
 chattered. % ' 
 
 "What, in Heaven's name, is this?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 " Hush ! 'tis but phosphorus, but 'twill 
 serve." 
 
 " Away 1 they will surprise thee." 
 
 In fact uneasy mutterings were heard below, 
 and at last a deep voice said, "What makes 
 him so long ? is the drole rifling them ? " 
 
 It was their comrade they suspected then, 
 not the enemy. Soon a step came softly but 
 rapidly np the stairs ; the door was gently 
 tried. 
 
 When this resisted, which was clearly not 
 expected, the sham post was very cautiously 
 moved, and an eye no doubt peeped through 
 the aperture ; for there was a howl of dismay, 
 and the man was heard to stumble back and 
 burst into the kitchen, where a Babel of voices 
 rose directly on his return. 
 
 Gerard ran to the dead thief and began to 
 work on him again. 
 
 " Back, madman ! " whispered Denys. 
 
 " Nay, nay. I know these ignorant brutes ; 
 they will not venture here awhile. I can make 
 him ten times more fearful." 
 
 " At least close that opening I Let them not 
 see you at your devilish work." 
 
 Gerard closed the sham post, and in half a 
 minute his brush made the dead head a sight 
 to strike any man with dismay. He put his 
 art to a strange use, and one unparalleled per- 
 haps in the history of mankind. He illuminated' 
 his dead enemy's face to frighten his living foe : 
 the staring eyeballs he made globes of fire; 
 the teeth he left white, for so they were more 
 terrible by the contrast ; but the palate and 
 tongue he tipped with fire, and made one lurid 
 cavern of the red depths the chapfallen jaw 
 revealed ; and on the brow he wrote in burning 
 letters, " ILa fHort." And while he was doing 
 it the stout Denys was quaking, and fearing 
 the vengeance of Heaven ; for one man's courage 
 is not another's ; and the band of miscreants 
 below were quarrelling and disputing loudly, 
 and now without disguise. 
 
 The steps that led down to the kitchen were 
 fifteen, but they were nearly perpendicular : 
 there was therefore in point of fact no distance 
 
 between the besiegers and besieged, and the 
 latter now caught almost every word. At last 
 one was heard to cry out, " I tell ye the devil 
 has got him and branded him with hell-fire. 
 I am more like to leave this cursed house 
 than go again into a room that is full of 
 fiends I " 
 
 " Art drunk ? or mad ? or a coward ? " said 
 another. 
 
 " Call me a coward, I'll give thee my dagger's 
 point, and send thee where Pierre sits o' fire 
 for ever." 
 
 "Come, no quarrelling when work is afoot," 
 roared a tremendous diapason, " or I'll brain ye 
 both with my fist, and send ye where we shall 
 all go soon or late." 
 
 " The Abbot," whispered Denys gravely. 
 
 He felt the voice he had just heard could 
 belong to no man but the colossus he had seen 
 in passing through the kitchen. It made the 
 place vibrate. The quarrelling continued some 
 time, and then there was a dead silence. 
 
 " Look out, Gerard." 
 Ay. What will they do next ? " 
 e shall soon know." 
 
 'Ay. 
 'We 
 
 " Shall I wait for you, or cut down the first 
 that opens the door ? " 
 
 "Wait for me, lest we strike the same 
 and waste a blow. Alas! we cannot afford 
 that." 
 
 Dead silence. 
 
 Sudden came into the room a thing that made 
 them start and their hearts quiver. 
 
 And what was it ? A moonbeam. 
 
 Even so can this machine, the body, by the 
 soul's action, be strung up to start and quiver. 
 The sudden ray shot keen and pure into that 
 shamble. 
 
 Its calm, cold, silvery soul traversed the 
 apartment in a stream of no great volume, for 
 the window was narrow. 
 
 After the first tremor Gerard whispered, 
 " Courage, Denys 1 God's eye is on us t'even 
 here." And he fell upon his knees with his 
 face turned towards the window. 
 
 Ay, it was like a holy eye opening suddenly 
 on human crime and human passions. Many 
 a scene of blood and crime that pure cold eye 
 has rested on, but on few more ghastly than 
 this, where two men, with a lighted corpse 
 i between them, waited panting, to kill and be 
 killed. Nor did the moonlight deaden that 
 horrible corpse-light. If anything it added to 
 its ghastliness ; for the body sat at the edge 
 of the moonbeam, which cut sharp across the 
 shoulder and the ear, and seemed blue and 
 ghastly and unnatural by the side of that lurid 
 glow in which the face and eyes and teeth 
 shone horribly. But Denys dared not look that 
 way. 
 
 The moon drew a broad stripe of light across 
 the door, and on that his eyes were glued. 
 Presently he whispered, " Gerard I " 
 
 Gerard looked and raised his sword. 
 
 Acutely as they had listened, they had heard 
 of late no sound on the stair. Yet there on 
 the door-post, at the edge of tha stream o*
 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 moonlight, were the tips of the fingers of a 
 hand. 
 The nails glistened. 
 
 Presently they began to crawl and crawl 
 down towards the bolt, but with infinite slow- 
 ness and caution. In so doing they crept into 
 the moonlight. The actual motion was im- 
 perceptible, but slowly, slowly the fingers came 
 out whiter and whiter, but the hand between 
 the main knuckles and the wrist remained dark. 
 Denys slowly raised his crossbow. 
 
 He levelled it. He took a long steady aim. 
 
 Gerard palpitated. At last the crossbow 
 twanged. The hand was instantly nailed, with 
 a stern jar, to the quivering door-post. There 
 was a scream of anguish. "Cut," whispered 
 Denys eagerly, and Gerard's uplifted sword 
 descended and severed the wrist with two 
 swift blows. A body sank down moaning 
 outside. 
 
 The hand remained inside, Immovable, with 
 blood trickling from it down the wall. The 
 fierce bolt, slightly barbed, had gone through it 
 and deep into the real door-post. 
 
 " Two," said Denys, with terrible cynicism. 
 
 He strung his crossbow, and kneeled behind 
 his cover again. 
 
 " The next will be the Abbot." 
 
 The wounded man moved, and presently 
 crawled down to his companions on the stairs, 
 and the kitchen door was shut. 
 
 There nothing was heard now but low mutter- 
 ing. The last incident had revealed the mortal 
 character of the weapons used by the besieged. 
 
 " I begin to think the Abbot's stomach is not 
 so great as his body," said Denys. 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
 when the following events happened all in a 
 couple of seconds. The kitchen door was 
 opened roughly, a heavy but active man darted 
 op the stairs without any manner of disguise, 
 and a single ponderous blow sent the door not 
 only off its hinges, but right across the room 
 on to Denys's fortification, which it struck so 
 rudely as nearly to lay him flat. And in the 
 doorway stood a colossus with a glittering 
 axe. 
 
 He saw the dead man with the moon's blue 
 light on half his face, and the red light on the 
 other half and inside his chapfallen jaws : he 
 tared, his arms fell, his knees knocked to- 
 gether, and he crouched with terror. 
 
 " LA MORT 1 " he cried, in tones of terror, 
 and turned and fled. In which act Denys/ 
 started np and shot him through both jaws. 
 He sprang with one bound Into the kitchen, 
 and there leaned on his axe, spitting blood and 
 teeth and curses. 
 
 Denys strung his bow and put his hand Into 
 his breast. 
 
 He drew It out dismayed. 
 
 " My last bolt is gone," he groaned. 
 
 " But we have our swords, and you have slain 
 the giant." 
 
 " No, Gerard," said Denys gravely, " I have 
 not. And the worst is, I have wounded him. 
 Fool ! to shoot at a retreating lion. He had 
 ecver faced thy handiwork again, but for my 
 meddling." 
 
 " Ha I to your guard 1 I hear them open the 
 door. " 
 
 Then Denys, depressed by the one error he 
 had committed in all this fearful night, felt con- 
 vinced his last hour had come. He drew his 
 sword, but like one doomed. But what is this ? 
 a red light flickers on the ceiling. Gerard flew 
 to the window and looked out. There were 
 men with torches, and breastplates gleaming 
 red. " We are saved 1 Armed men I " And he 
 dashed his sword through the window shouting 
 " Quick 1 quick I we are sore pressed." 
 
 " Back 1 " yelled Denys ; " they come ! strike 
 none but him ! " 
 
 That very moment the Abbot and two men 
 with naked weapons rushed into the room. 
 Even as they came, the outer door was ham- 
 mered fiercely, and the Abbot's comrades hear- 
 ing it, and seeing the torchlight, turned and 
 fled. Not so the terrible Abbot: wild with 
 rage and pain, he spurned his dead comrade, 
 chair and all, across the room, then as the 
 men faced him on each side with kindling 
 eyeballs, he waved his tremendous axe like a 
 feather right and left, and cleared a space, 
 then lifted it to hew them both in pieces. 
 
 His antagonists were inferior in strength, 
 but not in swiftness and daring, and above all 
 they had settled how to attack him. The 
 moment he reared his axe, they flew at him 
 like cats, and both together. If he struck a 
 full blow with his weapon he would most likely 
 kill one, but the other would certainly kill 
 him : he saw this, and intelligent as well as 
 powerful, he thrust the handle fiercely in 
 Denys's face, and turning, jobbed with the 
 steel at Gerard. Denys went staggering back 
 covered with blood. Gerard had rushed in 
 like lightning, and just as the aie turned to 
 descend on him, drove his sword BO fiercely 
 through the giant's body, that the very hilt 
 sounded on his ribs like the blow of a pugilist, 
 and Denys, staggering back to help his friend, 
 saw a steel point come out of the Abbot 
 behind. 
 
 The stricken giant bellowed like a bull, 
 dropped his axe, and clutching Gerard's throat 
 tremendously, shook him like a child. Then 
 Denys with a fierce snarl drove his sword into 
 tbe pant's back. " Stand firm now ! " and he 
 pushed the cold steel through and through tha 
 giant and out at his breast. 
 
 Thus horribly spitted on both sides, the Abbot 
 gave a violent shudder, and his heels hammered 
 the frrcund convulsively. His lips, fast turn- 
 ing: blue, opened wide and deep, and he cried, 
 " LA MORT ! LA MORT ! LA MORT 1 1 " the 
 first time in a roar of despair, and then twice 
 in a horror-stricken whisper, never to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Just then the street door was forced. 
 
 Suddenly the Abbot's arms whirled like wind- 
 mills, and his hugo body wrenched wildly and 
 carried them to the doorway, twisting their 
 wrists and nearly throwing them off their legs. 
 
 "He'll win clear yet," cried Denys; "out 
 steel 1 and In again ! " 
 
 They tore out their smoking swords, but era 
 they could stab again, the Abbot leaped full 
 five feet high, and fell with a tremendous crash
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTS. 
 
 against the door below, carrying it away with 
 him like a sheet of paper, and through the 
 aperture the glare of torches burst on the awe- 
 struck faces above, half blinding them. 
 
 The thieves at the first alarm had made for 
 the back door, but driven thence by a strong 
 guard ran back to the kitchen, just in time to 
 gee the lock forced out of the socket, and half- 
 a-dozen mailed archers burst in upon them. 
 Cn these in pure despair they drew their 
 swords. 
 
 But ere a blow was struck on either side, the 
 staircase door behind them was battered into 
 their midst with one ponderous blow, and with 
 it the Abbot's body came flying, hurled as they 
 thought by no mortal hand, and rolled on the 
 floor spouting blood from back and bosom in 
 two furious jets, and quivered, but breathed no 
 more. 
 
 The thieves, smitten with dismay, f ell on then- 
 knees directly, and the archers bound them, 
 while, above, the rescued ones still stood like 
 statues rooted to the spot, their dripping swords 
 extended in the red torchlight, expecting their 
 indomitable enemy to leap back on them as 
 wonderfully as he had gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " WHERE be the true men ? " 
 
 " Here be we, God bless yon all ! God bless 
 yoa I " 
 
 There was a rush to the stairs, and half-a- 
 dozen hard but friendly hands were held out 
 and grasped them warmly. " Y'have saved our 
 lives, lads," cried Denys; "y'have saved our 
 lives this night." 
 
 A wild sight met the eyes of the rescued 
 pair. The room flaring with torches, the glit- 
 tering breastplates of the archers, their bronzed 
 faces, the white cheeks of the bound thieves, 
 and the bleeding giant, whose dead body these 
 hard men left lying there in its own gore. 
 
 Gerard went round the archers and took them 
 each by the hand with glistening eyes, and on 
 this they all kissed him ; and this time he 
 kissed them In return. Then he said to one 
 handsome archer of his own age, "Prithee, 
 good soldier, have an eye to me. A strange 
 drowsiness overcomes me. Let no one cut my 
 throat while I sleep for pity's sake." 
 
 The archer promised with a laugh, for he 
 thought Gerard was jesting; and the latter 
 went off into a deep sleep almost immediately. 
 
 Denys was surprised at this, but did not 
 interfere, for it suited his immediate purpose. 
 A couple of archers were inspecting the Abbot's 
 body, turning it half over with their feet, and 
 inquiring, "Which of the two had flung this 
 enormous rogue down from an upper storey 
 like that; they would fain have the trick of 
 his arm." 
 
 Denys at first pished and pshawed, but dared 
 not play the braggart, for he said to himself, 
 "That young vagabond will break in and say 
 'tTTin tho finger of Heaven, and no mortal arm, 
 
 or some such stuff, and make me look like a 
 fool." But now, seeing Gerard unconscious, 
 he suddenly gave this required information. 
 
 "Well, then, you see, comrades, I had run 
 my sword through this one up to the hilt, and 
 one or two more of 'em came buzzing about me, 
 so it behoved me have my sword or die ; so I 
 just put my foot against his stomach, gave a 
 tug with my hand and a spring with my foot, 
 and sent him flying to kingdom come! He 
 died in the air, and his carrion rolled in amongst 
 yon without ceremony ; made you jump, I war- 
 rant me. But pikestaves and pillage ! what 
 avails prattling of these trifles once they are 
 gone by ? buvons, camarades, buvons." 
 
 The archers remarked that it was easy to say 
 " buvons " where no liquor was, but not so easy 
 to do it 
 
 " Nay, I'll soon find you liquor. My nose hath 
 a natural alacrity at scenting out the wine. 
 You follow me, and I my nose ; bring a torch 1 " 
 And they left the room, and finding a short 
 flight of stone steps, descended them and entered 
 a large, low, damp cellar. 
 
 It smelt close and dank, and the walls were 
 encrusted here and there with what seemed 
 cobwebs, but proved to be saltpetre that had 
 oozed out of the damp stones, and crystal- 
 lised. 
 
 " Oh ! the fine mouldy smell," said Denys ; 
 " in such places still lurks the good wine ; 
 advance thy torch. Diable ! what is that in the 
 corner ? A pile of rags ? No ; 'tis a man." 
 
 They gathered round with the torch, and lo I 
 a figure crouched on a heap in the corner, pale 
 as ashes, and shivering. 
 
 " Why, it is the landlord," said Denys. 
 
 " Get up, thou craven heart 1 " shouted one 
 of the archers. 
 
 " Why, man, the thieves are bound, and we 
 are dry that bound them. Up 1 and show us 
 thy wine, for no bottles see I here." 
 
 "What, be the rascals bound?" stammered 
 the pale landlord ; "good news. W w wine? 
 that will I, honest sirs." 
 
 And he rose with unsure joints and offered to 
 lead the way to the wine cellar. But Denys 
 interposed. " You are all in the dark, comrades. 
 He is in league with the thieves." 
 
 " Alack, good soldier, me in league with the 
 accursed robbers ! Is that reasonable ? " 
 
 " The girl said so, any way." 
 
 "The girl I What girl? Ah! Curse her, 
 traitress ! " 
 
 "Well," interposed the other archer, "the 
 girl is not here, but gone on to the bailiff. So 
 let the burghers settle whether this craven be 
 guilty or no, for we caught him not in the act, 
 and let him draw us our wine." 
 
 " One moment," said Denys shrewdly. " Why 
 cursed he the girl ? If he be a true man, he 
 should bless her, as we do." 
 
 " Alas, sir I " said the landlord, " I have but 
 my good name to live by, and I cursed her to 
 you, because you said she had belied me." 
 
 " Humph ! I trow thou art a thief, and where 
 is the thief that cannot lie with a smooth face ? 
 Therefore hold him, comrades ; a prisoner can 
 draw wine an* if his hands be not bound." 
 
 Th landlord offered no objection, but on the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 contrary said he would with pleasure show them 
 where his little stock of wine was, but hoped 
 they would pay for what they should drink, for 
 his rent was due this two months. 
 
 The archers smiled grimly at his simplicity, as 
 they thought it : one of them laid a hand quietly 
 but firmly on his shoulder, the other led on with 
 the torch. 
 
 They had reached the threshold when Denys 
 cried " Halt 1 " 
 
 " What is't ? " 
 
 " Here be bottles in this corner; advance thy 
 light." 
 
 The torch-bearer went towards him. He had 
 just taken off his scabbard and was probing the 
 heap the landlord had just been crouched 
 upon. 
 
 " Nay, nay," cried the landlord, " the wine is 
 in the next cellar. There is nothing there." 
 
 " Nothing is mighty hard, then," said Denys, 
 and drew out something with his hand from the 
 heap. 
 
 It proved to be only a bone. 
 
 Denys threw it on the floor ; it rattled. 
 
 "There is nought there but the bones of the 
 house," said the landlord. 
 
 " Just now 'twas nothing. Now that we have 
 found something, 'tis nothing but bones. Here's 
 another. Humph I look at this one, comrade ; 
 and you come too and look at it, and bring yon 
 smooth knave along." 
 
 The archer with the torch, whose name was 
 Philippe, held the bone to the light and turned 
 it round and round. 
 
 "Weil? "said Denys. 
 
 " Well, if this was a field of battle, I should 
 say 'twas the shankbone of a man ; no more, no 
 less. But 'tisn't a battlefield, nor a church- 
 yard ; 'tis an inn." 
 
 " True, mate ; but yon knave's ashy face is as 
 good a light to me as a field of battle. I read 
 the bone by it. Bring yon face nearer, I say. 
 When the chine is amissing, and the house dog 
 can't look at you without his tail creeping 
 between his legs, who was the thief? Good 
 brothers mine, my mind it doth misgive me. 
 The deeper I thrust, the more there be. Mayhap 
 if these bones could tell their tale they would 
 make true men's flesh creep that heard it." 
 
 " Alas ! young man, what hideous fancies are 
 these I The bones are bones of beeves, and 
 sheep, and kids, and not, as you think, of 
 men and women. Holy saints preserve us ! " 
 
 "Hold thy peace! thy words are air. Thou 
 liast not got burghers by the ear, that know not 
 a veal knuckle from their grandsire's ribs, but 
 soldiers men that have gone to look for their 
 dear comrades, and found their bones picked as 
 clean by the crows as these I doubt have been 
 by thee and thy mates. Men and women, saidst 
 thou? And prithee, when spake I a word of 
 women's bones ? Wouldst make a child suspect 
 thee. Field of battle, comrade I Was not this 
 house a field of battle half an hour agone ? Drag 
 him close to me ; let me read his face: now then, 
 what is this, thou knave ? " and he thrust a small 
 object suddenly in his face. 
 
 " Alas 1 I know not." 
 
 " Well, I would not swear neither ; but it is 
 too like the thumb bone of a man's hand : mates, 
 
 my flesh it creeps. Churchyard I how know I 
 this is not one ? " 
 
 And he now drew his sword out of the scabbard 
 and began to rake the heap of earth and broken 
 crockery and bones out on the floor. 
 
 The landlord assured him he but wasted his 
 time. " We poor innkeepers are sinners," said 
 he ; " we give short measure and baptize the 
 wine : we are fain to do these things, the laws 
 are so unjust to us ; but we are not assassins. 
 How could we afford to kill our customers ? 
 May Heaven's lightning strike me dead if there 
 be any bones there but such as have been used 
 for meat. 'Tis the kitchen wench flings them 
 here ; I swear by God's holy mother, by holy 
 Paul, by holy Dominic, and Denys my patron 
 saint ah!" 
 
 Denys held out a bone under his eye in 
 dead silence. It was a bone no man, however 
 ignorant, however lying, could confound with 
 those of sheep or oxen. The sight of it 
 shut the lying lips, and palsied the heartless 
 heart. 
 
 The landlord's hair rose visibly on his head 
 like spikes, and his knees gave way as if his 
 limbs had been struck from under him. But 
 the archers dragged him fiercely up, and kept 
 him erect under the torch, staring fascinated at 
 the dead skull which, white as the living cheek 
 opposed, but no whiter, glared back again at 
 its murderer, whose pale lip now opened and 
 opened, but could utter no sound. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Denys solemnly, and trembling 
 now with rage, " look on the sockets out of 
 which thou hast picked the eyes, and let them 
 blast thine eyes, that crows shall pick out ere 
 this week shall end. Now, hold thou that while 
 I search on. Hold it, I say, or here I rob the 
 
 gallows " and he threatened the quaking 
 
 wretch with his naked sword, till with a 
 groan he took the skull and held !, almost 
 fainting. 
 
 Oh 1 that every murderer, and contriver of 
 murder, could see him, sick, and staggering with 
 terror, and with his hah- on end, holding the 
 cold skull, and feeling that his own head would 
 soon be like it. And soon the heap was scat- 
 tered, and alas ! not one nor two, but many 
 skulls were brought to light, the culprit moaning 
 at each discovery. 
 
 Suddenly Denys uttered a strange cry of 
 distress to come from so bold and hard a man, 
 and held up to the torch a mass of human hair. 
 It was long, glossy, and golden. A woman's 
 beautiful hair. At the sight of it the archers 
 instinctively shook the craven wretch in their 
 hands, and he whined. 
 
 "I have a little sister with hair just so fair 
 and shining as this," gulped Denys. " Jesu ! if 
 it should be hers ! There, quick, take my sword 
 and dagger, and keep them from my hand, lest 
 I strike him dead and wrong the gibbet. And 
 thou, poor innocent victim, on whose head this 
 most lovely hair did grow, hear me swear thus, 
 on bended knee, never to leave this man till I 
 see him broken to pieces on the wheel even for 
 thy sake." 
 
 He rose from his knee. " Ay, had he as many 
 lives as here be hairs, I'd have them all, by God," 
 and he put the hah- into his bosom. Then in a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 93 
 
 sudden fury seised the landlord fiercely by the 
 neck, and forced him to his knees, and foot on 
 head ground his face savagely among the bones 
 of his victims, where they lay thickest ; and the 
 assassin first yelled, then whined and whim- 
 pered, just as a dog first yells, then whines, when 
 his nose is so forced into some leveret or other 
 innocent he has killed. 
 
 " Now lend me. thy bowstring, Philippe I " 
 He passed it through the eyes of a skull alter- 
 nately, and hung the ghastly relic of mortality 
 and crime round the man's neck, then pulled 
 him up and kicked him industriously into the 
 kitchen, where one of the aldermen of the 
 burgh had arrived with constables, and was 
 even now taking an archer's deposition. 
 
 The grave burgher was much startled at 
 sight of the landlord driven in bleeding from a 
 dozen scratches inflicted by the bones of his 
 own victims, and carrying his horrible collar. 
 But Denys came panting after, and in a few 
 fiery words soon made all clear.. 
 
 "Bind him like the rest," said the alderman 
 sternly. " I count him the blackest of them 
 all." 
 
 While his hands were being bound, the poor 
 wretch begged piteously that " the ekull might 
 be taken from him." 
 
 " Humph 1" said the alderman. "Certes I 
 had not ordered such a thing to be put on 
 mortal man ; yet being there, I will not lift 
 voice nor finger to doff it. Methinks it fits 
 thee truly, thou bloody dog. "Tis thy ensign, 
 and hangs well above a heart so foul as thine." 
 
 He then inquired of Denys if he thought 
 they had secured the whole gang, or but a 
 part. 
 
 "Your worship," said Denys, "there are but 
 seven of them, and this landlord. One we slew 
 upstairs, one we trundled down dead, the rest 
 are bound before you." 
 
 "Good I go fetch the dead one from up- 
 stairs, and lay him beside him I caused to be 
 removed." 
 
 Here a voice like a guinea-fowl's broke 
 peevishly in. "Now, now, now, where is the 
 hand? that is what I want to see." The 
 speaker was a little pettifogging clerk. 
 
 "You will find it above, nailed to the door- 
 post by a crossbow bolt." 
 
 " Good 1 " said the clerk. . He whispered his 
 master, "What a goodly show will the 'pieces 
 de conviction ' make ! " and with this he wrote 
 them down, enumerating them in separate 
 squeaks as he penned them. Skulls Bones 
 A woman's hair A thief's hand i axe 2 
 carcasses i crossbow bolt. This done, he 
 itched to search the cellar himself ; there 
 might be other invaluable morsels of evidence, 
 an ear, or even an earring. The alderman 
 assenting, he caught up a torch and was 
 hurrying thither, when an accident stopped 
 him, and indeed carried him a step or two in 
 the opposite direction. 
 
 The constables had gone up the stair in 
 single file. 
 
 But the head constable no sooner saw the 
 phosphorescent corpse seated by the bedside, 
 than he stood stupefied ; and next he began to 
 shake like one in an ague, and terror gaining 
 
 on him more and more, he uttered a sort of 
 howl and recoiled swiftly. Forgetting the 
 steps in his recoil, he tumbled over backward 
 on his nearest companion ; but he, shaken by 
 the shout of dismay, and catching a glimpse of 
 something horrid, was already staggering back, 
 and in no condition to sustain the head con- 
 stable, who, like most head constables, was a 
 ponderous man. The two carried away the 
 third, and the three the fourth, and they 
 streamed into the kitchen, and settled on the 
 floor, overlapping each other like a sequence 
 laid out on a card-table. The clerk coming 
 hastily with his torch ran an involuntary tilt 
 against the fourth man, who, sharing the 
 momentum of the mass, knocked him instantly 
 on his back, the ace of that fair quint ; and 
 tucre he lay kicking and waving his torch, 
 apparently in triumph, but really in convul- 
 sion, sense and wind being driven out together 
 by the concussion. 
 
 "What is to do now, in Heaven's riame?" 
 cried the alderman, starting up with consider- 
 able alarm. But Denys explained, and offered 
 to accompany his worship. "So be it," said 
 the latter. His men picked themselves ruefully 
 up, and the alderman put himself at their head 
 and examined the premises above and below. 
 As for the prisoners, their interrogatory was 
 postponed till they could be confronted with 
 the servant. 
 
 Before dawn, the thieves, alive and dead, 
 and all the relics and evidences of crime and 
 retribution, were swept away into the law's 
 net, and the inn was silent and almost deserted. 
 There remained but one constable, and Denys 
 and Gerard, the latter still sleeping heavily. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 GERARD awoke, and found Denys watching him 
 with some anxiety. 
 
 "It is you for sleeping! Why, 'tis high 
 noon." 
 
 " It was a blessed sleep," said Gerard ; " me- 
 thinks Heaven sent it me. It hath put as it 
 were a veil between me and that awful night. 
 To think that you and I sit here alive and well. 
 How terrible a dream I seem to have had 1 " 
 
 " Ay, lad, that is the wise way to look at these 
 things when once they are past ; why, they are 
 dreams, shadows. Break thy fast, and then 
 thou wilt think no more on't. Moreover, I 
 promised to bring thee on to the town by noon, 
 and take thee to his worship." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " He would put questions to thee ; by the 
 same when he was for waking thee to that end, 
 but I withstood him earnestly, and vowed to 
 bring thee to him in the morning." 
 
 " Thou shalt not break troth for me." 
 
 Gerard then sopped some rye bread in red 
 wine and ate it to break his fast, then went 
 with Denys over the scene of combat, and 
 came back shuddering, and finally took the 
 road with his friend, and kept peering through 
 the hedges, and expecting sudden attacks ua-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 reasonably, till they reached the little town. 
 Denys took him to " The White Hart." 
 
 "No fear of cut-throats here," said he, "I 
 know the landlord this many a year. He is a 
 burgess, and looks to be bailiff. "lis here I 
 was making for yestreen. Bat wo lost time, 
 and night o'ertook us and " 
 
 "And you saw a woman at the door, and 
 would be wiser than la Jeanneton ; she told us 
 they were nought." 
 
 " Why, what saved our lives if not a woman ? 
 ay, and risked her own to do it." 
 
 " That is true, Denys ; and though women are 
 nothing to me, I long to thank this poor girl, 
 and reward her, ay, though I share every doit in 
 nay purse with her. Do not you I " 
 
 Parblen." 
 
 " Where shall we find her 1 " 
 
 "Mayhap the alderman will tell us. We 
 must go to him first." 
 
 The alderman received them with a most 
 singular and inexplicable expression of counte- 
 nance. However, after a moment's reflection 
 he wore a grim smile, and finally proceeded to 
 put interrogatories to Gerard, and took down 
 she answers. This done, he told them that they 
 must stay in the town till the thieves were 
 tried, and be at hand to give evidence, on peril 
 of fine and imprisonment. They looked very 
 blank at this. 
 
 " However," said he, " 'twill not be long, the 
 culprits having been taken red-handed." He 
 added, "and you know, in any case you could 
 not leave the place this week." 
 
 Denys stared at this remark, and Gerard 
 smiled at what he thought the simplicity of the 
 old gentleman in dreaming that a provincial 
 town of Burgundy had attraction to detain him 
 from Rome and Margaret. 
 
 He now went to that which was nearest both 
 their hearts. "Your worship," said he, "we 
 cannot find our benefactress in the town." 
 
 " Nay, but who is your, benefactress ? " 
 
 " Who T why the good girl that came to you 
 by night and saved our lives at peril of her 
 own. Oh, sir, our hearts burn within us to 
 thank and bless her ; where is she ? " 
 
 " Oh, the is in prison." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " IN prison, sir ; good lack, for what misdeed ! " 
 " Well, she is a witness, and may be a neces- 
 sary one." 
 
 "Why, Measire Bailiff," put in Denys, "you 
 lay not all your witnesses by the heels, I trow." 
 The alderman, pleased at being called bailiff, 
 became communicative. "In a case of blood 
 we detain all testimony that is like to give us 
 leg bail and so defeat justice, and that is why 
 we still keep the women folk ; for a man at odd 
 times bides a week in one mind, but a woman, 
 if she do her duty to the realm o* Friday, she 
 hall undo it afore Sunday, or try. Could 
 you see yon wench now, you should find her 
 a- blubbering at having betrayed five males to 
 the gallows. Had they been females, we might 
 
 have trusted to a subpoena, for they despise 
 one another ; and there they show some sense 1 
 But now I think on't, there were other reasons 
 for laying this one by the heels. Hand me 
 those depositions, young sir." And he put on 
 his glasses. "Ay! she was implicated; sho 
 was one of the band." 
 
 A loud disclaimer burst from Denys and 
 Gerard at once. 
 
 " No need to deave me," said the alderman. 
 "Here 'tis in black and white. 'Jean Hardy 
 (that is one of the thieves), being questioned, 
 confessed that ' humph ! Ay, here 'tis. ' And 
 that the girl Manon was the decoy, and her 
 sweetheart was Georges Vipont, one of tha 
 band, and hanged last month; and that she 
 had been deject ever since, and had openly 
 blamed the band for bis death, saying if they 
 had not been rank cowards, he had never been 
 taken, and it is his opinion she did but betray 
 them out of very spite, and ' " 
 
 "His opinion," cried Gerard indignantly; 
 "what signifies the opinion of a cut-throat, 
 burning to be revenged on her who has delivered 
 him to justice ! And an' you go to that, what 
 avails his testimony ? Is a thief never a liar I 
 Is he not aye a liar ? and here a motive to lie I 
 Revenge I why, 'tis the strongest of all the pas- 
 sions. And oh, sir, what madness to question 
 a detected felon and listen to him lying away 
 an honest life as if he were a true man swear- 
 ing in open day, with his true hand on the 
 Gospel laid I " 
 
 "Young man," said the alderman, "restrain 
 thy heat in presence of authority! I find by 
 your tongue you are a stranger. Enow then 
 that in this land we question all the world. 
 We are not so weak as to hope to get at the 
 truth by shutting either our left ear or our 
 right." 
 
 "And so you would listen to Satan belying 
 the saints ! " 
 
 " Ta I ta I The law meddles but with men 
 and women, and these cannot utter a story all 
 lies, let them try ever so. Wherefore we shut 
 not the barn-door (as the saying is) against any 
 man's grain. Only having taken it in, we do 
 winnow and sift it And who told you I had 
 swallowed the thiefs story whole like fair 
 water! Not so. I did but credit so much 
 on't as was borne out by better proof." 
 
 "Better proof?" and Gerard looked blank. 
 "Why, who but the thieves would breathe a 
 word against her T " 
 
 "Marry, herself." 
 
 "Herself, sir! what, did you question her 
 too ? " 
 
 " I tell you we question all the world. Here 
 is her deposition ; can you read ? Read it your- 
 self, then." 
 
 Gerard looked at Denys, and read him 
 
 MANON'S DEPOSITION. 
 
 " I am a native of Epinal I left my native 
 place two years ago because I was unfortunate ; 
 I could not like the man they bade me. So my 
 father beat me. I ran away from my father. 
 I went to service. I left service because the 
 mistress was jealous of me. The reason thor
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 95 
 
 gave for turning me off was, because I was 
 saucy. Last year I stood in the market-place 
 to be hired with other girls. The landlord of 
 ' The Fair Star ' hired me. I was eleven months 
 with him. A young man courted me. I loved 
 him. I found out that travellers came and 
 never went away again. I told my lover. He 
 bade me hold my peace. He threatened me. 
 I found my lover was one of a band of thieves. 
 When travellers were to be robbed, the landlord 
 went out and told the band to come. Then I 
 wept and prayed for the travellers' souls. I 
 never told. A month ago my lover died. 
 
 "The soldier put me in mind of my lover. 
 He was bearded like him I had lost I cannot 
 tell whether I should have interfered if he had 
 had no beard. I am sorry I told now. " 
 
 The paper almost dropped from Gerard's 
 hands. Now for the first time he saw that 
 Manon's life was in mortal danger. He knew 
 the dogged law, and the dogged men that 
 executed it. He threw himself suddenly on 
 his knees at the alderman's feet. "Oh, sir I 
 think of the difference between those cruel men 
 and this poor weak woman 1 Could you have 
 the heart to send her to the same death with 
 them ; could yon have the heart to condemn us 
 to look on and see her slaughtered, who, but 
 that she risked her life for ours, had not now 
 been in jeopardy ? Alas, sir 1 show me and my 
 comrade some pity, if you have none for her, 
 poor souL Denys and I be true men, and you 
 will rend our hearts if you kill that poor simple 
 girL What can we do ? What is left for us 
 to do then but cut our throats at her gallows' 
 foot ? " 
 
 The alderman was tough, but mortal ; the 
 prayers and agitation of Gerard first astounded, 
 then touched him. He showed it in a curious 
 way. He became peevish and fretful. " There, 
 get up, do," said he. "I doubt whether any- 
 body would say as many words for me. What 
 ho, Daniel I go fetch the town clerk." And on 
 that functionary entering from an adjoining 
 room, " Here is a foolish lad fretting about yon 
 girL Can we stretch a point? say we admit 
 her to bear witness, and question her favour- 
 ably." 
 
 The town clerk was one of your "impossi- 
 bility " men. 
 
 " Nay, sir, we cannot do that ; she was not 
 concerned in this business. Had she been 
 accessory, we might have offered her a pardon 
 to bear witness." 
 
 Gerard burst in, "But she did better. In- 
 stead of being accessory, she stayed the crime, 
 and she proffered herself as witness by running 
 hither with the tale." 
 
 "Tush, young man, 'tis a matter of law." 
 The alderman and the clerk then had a long 
 discussion, the one maintaining, the other 
 denying, that she stood as fair in law as if 
 she had been accessory to the attempt on our 
 travellers' lives ; and this was lucky for Manon ; 
 for the alderman, irritated by tha clerk reite- 
 rating that he could not do this, and could not 
 that, and could not do t'other, said "he would 
 how him he could do anything he chose." And 
 he had Manon out, and upon the landlord of 
 " Tbo White Hart " being her bondsman, and 
 
 Denys depositing five gold pieces with him, and 
 the girl promising, not without some coaxing 
 from Denys, to attend as a witness, he liberated 
 her, but eased his conscience by telling her in 
 his own terms his reason for this leniency. 
 
 " The town had to buy a new rope for every- 
 body hanged, and present it to the bourreau, or 
 else compound with him in money ; and she 
 was not in his opinion worth this municipal 
 expense, whereas decided characters like her 
 late confederates were." And so Denys and 
 Gerard carried her off, Gerard dancing round 
 her for joy, Denys keeping up her heart by 
 assuring her of the demise of a troublesome 
 personage, and she weeping inauspiciously. 
 However, on the road to "The White Hart" 
 the public found her out, and having heard the 
 whole story from the archers, who naturally told 
 it warmly in her favour, followed her hurrahing 
 and encouraging her, till finding herself backed 
 by numbers she plucked up heart. The land- 
 lord too saw at a glance that her presence in 
 the inn would draw custom, and received her 
 politely, and assigned her an upper chamber : 
 here she buried herself, and being alone, rained 
 tears again. 
 
 Poor little mind, it was like a ripple, up and 
 down, down and up, up and down. Bidding 
 the landlord be very kind to her, and keep her 
 a prisoner without letting her feel it, the friends 
 went out ; and lo I as they stepped into the 
 street they saw two processions coming towards 
 them from opposite sides. " One was a large one, 
 attended with noise and howls and those in- 
 describable cries by which rude natures reveal 
 at odd times that relationship to the beasts of 
 the field and forest, which at other times we 
 succeed in hiding. The other, very thinly 
 attended by a few nuns and friars, came slow 
 and silent. 
 
 The prisoners going to exposure in the market- 
 place. The gathered bones of the victims 
 coming to the churchyard. 
 
 And the two met in the narrow street nearly 
 at the inn door, and could not pass each other 
 for a long time, and the bier that bore the 
 relics of mortality got wedged against the cart 
 that carried the men who had made those 
 bones what they were, and in a few hours must 
 die for it themselves. The mob had not the 
 quick intelligence to be at once struck with this 
 stern meeting ; but at last a woman cried, " Look 
 at your work, ye dogs 1 " and the crowd took it 
 like wildfire, and there was a horrible yell, and 
 the culprits groaned and tried to hide their 
 heads upon their bosoms, but could not, their 
 hands being tied. And there they stood, images 
 of pale hollow-eyed despair, and oh, how they 
 looked on the bier, and envied those whom they 
 had sent before them on the dark road they 
 were going upon themselves I And the two 
 men who were the cause of both processions 
 stood and looked gravely on, and even Manon, 
 hearing the disturbance, crept to the window, 
 and hiding her face, peeped trembling through 
 her fingers, as women will. 
 
 This strange meeting parted Denys and 
 Gerard. The former yielded to curiosity and 
 revenge, the latter doffed his bonnet, and 
 piously followed the poor remnicj of thorn
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 whose fate had so nearly been his own. For 
 some time he was the one lay mourner; but 
 when they had reached the suburbs, a long way 
 from the greater attraction that was filling the 
 market-place, more than one artisan threw down 
 his tools, and more than one shopman left his 
 shop, and touched with pity or a sense of our 
 common humanity, and perhaps decided some- 
 what by the example of Gerard, followed the 
 bones bareheaded, and saw them deposited with 
 the prayers of the Church in hallowed ground. 
 
 After the funeral rites Gerard stepped respect- 
 fully up to the curd, and offered to buy a mass 
 for their souls. 
 
 Gerard, son of Catherine, always looked at 
 two sides of a penny, and he tried to purchase 
 this mass a trifle under the usual terms, on 
 account of the pitiable circumstances. But 
 the good cure" gently but adroitly parried his 
 ingenuity, and blandly screwed him up to the 
 market price. 
 
 In the course of the business they discovered 
 a similarity of sentiments. Piety and worldly 
 prudence are not very rare companions ; still it 
 is unusual to carry both so far as these two men 
 did. Their collision in the prayer market led to 
 mutual esteem, as when knight encountered 
 knight worthy of his steel. Moreover, the good 
 cure 1 loved a bit of gossip, and finding his 
 customer was one of those who had fought the 
 thieves at Domfront, would have him into his 
 parlour and hear the whole from his own 
 lips. And his heart warmed to Gerard, and he 
 said, "God was good to thee. I thank Him 
 for't with all my soul. Thou art a good lad." 
 He added drily, " Shouldst have told me this 
 tale in the churchyard. I doubt I had given 
 thee the mass for love. However," said he (the 
 thermometer suddenly falling), " 'tis ill luck to 
 go back upon a bargain. But I'll broach a 
 bottle of my old Medoc for thee ; and few be 
 the guests I would do that for." The curd 
 went to his cupboard, and while he groped for 
 the choice bottle, he muttered to himself, "At 
 their old tricks again 1 " 
 
 "Plait-il?" said Gerard. 
 
 " I said nought. Ay, here 'tis." 
 
 " Nay, your reverence ; you surely spoke : you 
 said, ' At their old tricks again 1 ' " 
 
 " Said I so in sooth?" and his reverence smiled. 
 He then proceeded to broach the wine, and 
 filled a cup for each. Then he put a log of 
 wood on the fire, for stoves were none in Bur- 
 gundy. " And so I said ' At their old tricks ! ' 
 did I ? Come, sip the good wine, and whilst it 
 lasts, story for story, I care not if I tell you a 
 little tale." 
 
 Gerard's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Thou lovest a story ? " 
 
 "As my life." 
 
 "Nay, but raise not thine expectations too 
 high, neither. 'Tis but a foolish trifle compared 
 with thine adventures." 
 
 THE CUBfi'S TALK. 
 
 "Once upon a time, then, in the kingdom of 
 France, and in the duchy of Burgundy, and not 
 a day's journey from trie town where now we 
 dt a-eipping of old Medoc, there lived a care". 
 
 I say he lived, but barely. The parish was 
 small, the parishioners greedy, and never gave 
 their curd a doit more than he could compel 
 The nearer they brought him to a disembodied 
 spirit by meagre diet, the holier should be his 
 prayers in their behalf. I know not if this was 
 their creed, but their practice gave it colour. 
 
 " At last he pickled a rod for them. 
 
 " One day the richest farmer in the place had 
 twins to baptize. The curd was had to the 
 christening dinner as usual ; but ere he would 
 baptize the children, he demanded, not the 
 christening fees only, but the burial fees. 
 ' Saints defend us, parson,' cried the mother ; 
 ' talk not of burying I I did never see children 
 liker to live.' ' Nor I,' said the curd, ' the praise 
 be to God. Natheless, they are sure to die, 
 being sons of Adam, as well as of thee, dame. 
 But die when they will, 'twill cost them nothing, 
 the burial fees being paid and entered in this 
 book.' ' For all that 'twill cost them something,' 
 quoth the miller, the greatest wag in the place, 
 and as big a knave as any ; for which was the 
 biggest God knoweth, but no mortal man, not 
 even the hangman. ' Miller, I tell thee nay,' 
 quo' the curd. ' Parson, I tell you ay,' quo' the 
 miller. ' 'Twill cost them their "lives. ' At which 
 millstone conceit was a great laugh ; and in 
 the general mirth the fees were paid and the 
 Christians made. 
 
 " But when the next parishioner's child, and 
 the next after, and all, had to pay each his 
 burial fee, or lose his place in heaven, discon- 
 tent did secretly rankle in the parish. Well, 
 one fine day they met in secret, and sent a 
 churchwarden with a complaint to the bishop, 
 and a thunderbolt fell on the poor curd. Came 
 to him at dinner-time a summons to the epis- 
 copal palace, to bring the parish books and 
 answer certain charges. Then the curd guessed 
 where the shoe pinched. He left his food on 
 the board, for small his appetite now, and took 
 the parish books and went quaking. 
 
 " The bishop entertained him with a frown, 
 and exposed the plaint. ' Monseigneur,' said 
 the curd right humbly, ' doth the parish allege 
 many things against me, or this one only ? ' 
 ' In sooth, but this one, 1 said the bishop, and 
 softened a little. ' First, monseigneur, I acknow- 
 ledge the fact.' ' 'Tis well,' quoth the bishop ; 
 ' that saves time and trouble. Now to your ex- 
 cuse, if excuse there be.' ' Monseigneur, I have 
 been curd of that parish seven years, and fifty 
 children have I baptized, and buried not five. 
 At first I used to say, "Heaven be praised, the 
 air of this village is main healthy ; " but on 
 searching the register book I found 'twas always 
 so, and on probing the matter, it came out that 
 of those born at Domfront, all, but here and 
 there one, did go and get hanged at Aix. But 
 this was to defraud not their curd only, but the 
 entire Church of her dues, since "pendards" 
 pay no funeral fees, being buried in ah*. There- 
 upon, knowing by sad experience their greed, 
 and how they grudge the Church every sou, I 
 [aid a trap to keep them from hanging; for 
 greed against greed, there be of them that will 
 die in their beds like true men ere the Church 
 shall gain those funeral fees for nought.' Then 
 the bishop laughed till the team ran down, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 questioned the churchwarden, and he was fain 
 to confess that too many of the parish did come 
 to that unlucky end at Air. ' Then,' said the 
 bishop, ' I do approve the act, for myself and 
 my successors ; and so be it ever, till they 
 mend their manners and die in their beds.' 
 And the next day came the ringleaders crest- 
 fallen to the cure, and said, ' Parson, ye were 
 ever good to us, barring this untoward matter : 
 prithee let there be no ill blood anent so trivial 
 a thing.' And the cure" said, 'My children, I 
 were unworthy to be your pastor could I not 
 forgive a wrong; go in peace, and get me as 
 many children as may be, that by the double 
 fees the cure" you love may miss starvation.' 
 
 "And the bishop often told the story, and 
 it kept his memory of the curd alive, and at 
 last he shifted him to a decent parish, where 
 he can offer a glass of old Medoc to such as 
 are worthy of it. There name it is not 
 legion." 
 
 A light broke in upon Gerard; his counte- 
 nance showed it. 
 
 "Ay!" said his host, "I am that cur<$ : so 
 now thou canst guess why I said 'At their 
 old tricks.' My life on't they have wheedled 
 my successor into remitting those funeral fees. 
 You are well out of that parish. And so 
 am I." 
 
 The curb's little niece burst in, "Uncle, 
 the weighing laJ a stranger 1" And burst 
 out. 
 
 The cure" rose directly, but would not part 
 with Gerard. 
 
 "Wet thy beard once more, and come 
 with me." 
 
 In the church porch they found the sexton 
 with a huge pair of scales, and weights of all 
 sizes. Several humble persons were standing 
 by, and soon a woman stepped forward with 
 a sickly child and said, "Be it heavy, be it 
 light, I vow, in rye meal of the best, whate'er 
 this child shall weigh, and the same will duly 
 pay to Holy Church, an' if he shall cast his 
 trouble. Pray, good people, for this child, and 
 for me his mother hither come in dole and 
 care 1 " 
 
 The child was weighed, and yelled as if the 
 scale had been the font. 
 
 " Courage I dame," cried Gerard. " This is a 
 good sign. There is plenty of life here to battle 
 its trouble." 
 
 " Now, blest be the tongue that tells me so," 
 aid the poor woman. She hushed her ponder- 
 ling against her bosom, and stood aloof watch- 
 ing, whilst another woman brought her child to 
 scale. 
 
 But presently a loud, dictatorial voice 
 was heard, "Way there, make way for the 
 seigneur 1 " 
 
 The small folk parted on both sides like 
 waves ploughed by a lordly galley, and in 
 marched in gorgeous attire, his cap adorned 
 by a feather with a topaz at its root, his jerkin 
 richly furred, satin doublet, red hose, shoes 
 like skates, diamond-hilted sword in velvet 
 scabbard, and hawk on his wrist, "the lord 
 of the manor." He flung himself into the 
 scales as if he was lord of the zodiac as 
 well as the manor : whereat the hawk 
 
 balanced and flapped ; but stuck ; then 
 winked. 
 
 While the sexton heaved in the great weights, 
 the cure" told Gerard, " My lord had been sick 
 unto death, and vowed his weight in bread 
 and cheese to the poor, the Church taking her 
 tenth." 
 
 " Permit me, my lord ; if your lordship 
 continues to press with your lordship's staff 
 on the other scale, you will disturb the 
 balance." 
 
 His lordship grinned and removed his staff, 
 and leaned on it. The cure" politely but firmly 
 objected to that too. 
 
 "Mille diablesl what am I to do with it, 
 then ? " cried the other. 
 
 " Deign to hold it out so, my lord, wide of 
 both scales." 
 
 When my lord did this, and so fell into 
 the trap he had laid for Holy Church, the 
 good cure" whispered to Gerard, " Cretensis 
 incidit in Cretensem ! " which I take to mean, 
 "Diamond cut diamond." He then said with 
 an obsequious air, "If that your lordship 
 grudges Heaven full weight, you might set 
 the hawk on your lacquey, and so save a 
 pound." 
 
 "Gramercy for thy rede, curd," cried the 
 great man reproachfully. " Shall I for one 
 sorry pound grudge my poor fowl the benefit 
 of Holy Church ? I'd as lieve the devil should 
 have me and all my house as her, any day i" 
 the year." 
 
 " Sweet is affection," whispered the cure\ 
 
 "Between a bird and a brute," whispered 
 Gerard. 
 
 "Tush!" and the cur^ looked terrified. 
 
 The seigneur's weight was booked, and 
 Heaven I trust and believe did not weigh 
 his gratitude in the balance of the sanc- 
 tuary. 
 
 For my unlearned rea.Ier is not to suppose 
 there was anything the least eccentric in the 
 man, or his gratitude to the Giver of health 
 and all good gifts. Men look forward to 
 death, and back upon past sickness with 
 different eyes. Item, when men drive a 
 bargain, they strive to get the sunny side of 
 it ; it matters not one straw whether it is 
 with man or Heaven they are bargaining. In 
 this respect we are the same now, at bottom, 
 as we were four hundred years ago : only in 
 those days we did it a grain or two more 
 naively, and that naivete" shone out more 
 palpably, because, in that rude age, body 
 prevailing over mind, all sentiments took 
 material forms. Man repented with scourges, 
 prayed by bead, bribed the saints with wax 
 tapers, put fish into the body to sanctify the 
 soul, sojourned in cold water for empire 
 over the emotions, and thanked God for re- 
 turning health in i cwt. 2 stone 7 Ib. 3 oz. i 
 dwt. of bread and cheese. 
 
 Whilst I have been preaching, who preach 
 BO rarely and so ill, the good curd has been 
 soliciting the lord of the manor to step into 
 the church, and give order what shall be done 
 with his great-great-grandfather. 
 
 "Oda bodikirjsl what, have you dog him 
 up?"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Nay, my lord, he never was buried." 
 
 " What, the old diet was true after all I " 
 
 "So true that the workmen this very day 
 found a skeleton erect in the pillar they are 
 repairing. I had sent to my lord at once, but I 
 knew he would be here." 
 
 "It is he! 'Tis he!" said his descendant, 
 quickening his pace. "Let us go see the old 
 boy. This youth is a stranger, I think." 
 
 Gerard bowed. 
 
 " Know then that my great-great-grandfather 
 held his head high, and being on the point 
 of death, revolted against lying under the aisle 
 with his forbears for mean folk to pass over. 
 So, as the tradition goes, he swore his son 
 (my great-grandfather), to bury him erect in 
 one of the pillars of the church" (here they 
 entered the porch). "For," quoth he, 'NO 
 BASE MAN SHALL PASS OVER MY 
 STOMACH.' Peste I " and even while speak- 
 ing, his lordship parried adroitly with his stick 
 a skull that came hopping at him, bowled by a 
 boy in the middle of the aisle, who took to 
 his heels yelling with fear the moment he saw 
 what he had done. His lordship hurled the 
 skull furiously after him as he ran, at which 
 the cure" gave a shout of dismay and put forth 
 his arm to hinder him, but was too late. 
 
 The cure* groaned aloud. And as if this had 
 evoked spirits of mischief, up started a whole 
 pack of children from some ambuscade, and 
 unseen, but heard loud enough, clattered out 
 of the church like a covey rising in a thick 
 wood. 
 
 "Oh! these pernicious brats," cried the 
 cure". "The workmen cannot go to their 
 nonernete but the church is rife with them. 
 Pray Heaven they have not found his late 
 lordship ; nay, I mind, I hid his lordship under 
 a workman's jerkin, and saints defend us ! 
 the jerkin has been moved." 
 
 The poor curd's worst misgivings were rea- 
 lised: the rising generation of plebeians had 
 played the mischief with the haughty old noble. 
 "The little ones had jockeyed for the bones 
 oh," and pocketed such of them as seemed 
 adapted for certain primitive games then in 
 vogue amongst them. 
 
 " I'll excommunicate them," roared the 
 curate, " and all their race." 
 
 " Never heed," said the scapegrace lord, 
 and stroked his hawk; "there is enough of 
 him to swear by. Put him back! put him 
 back ! " 
 
 "Surely, my lord, 'tis your will his bones be 
 laid hi hallowed earth, and masses said for his 
 poor prideful soul T " 
 
 The noble stroked his hawk. 
 
 "Are ye there, Master Cure?" said he. 
 "Nay, the business is too old: he is out of 
 purgatory by this time, up or down. I shall 
 not draw my purse-strings for him. Every dog 
 his day. Adieu, messires, adieu, ancestor ; " 
 and he sauntered off whistling to his hawk and 
 caressing it 
 
 Hu reverence looked ruefully after him. 
 
 "Cretensis incidit in Cretensem," said he 
 sorrowfully. " I thought I bad him safe for 
 a dozen masses. Tet I blame him not, but 
 that young ne'er-do-weel which did trundle 
 
 his ancestor's skuil at us: for who could 
 venerate his great-great-grandsire and play 
 football with his head? Well it behoves us 
 to be better Christians than he is." So they 
 gathered the bones reverently, and the cnr< 
 locked them up, and forbade the workmen, 
 who now entered the church, to close up the 
 pillar, till he should recover by threats of the 
 Church's wrath every atom of my lord. And 
 he showed Gerard a famous shrine in the 
 church. Before it were the usual gifts of 
 tapers, &c. There was also a wax image of 
 a falcon, most curiously moulded and coloured 
 to the life, eyes and all. Gerard's eye fell 
 at once on this, and he expressed the live- 
 liest admiration. The core assented. Then 
 Gerard asked, " Could the saint have loved 
 hawking ? " 
 
 The cure" laughed at his simplicity. "Nay, 
 'tis but a statuary hawk. When they have a 
 bird of gentle breed they cannot train, they 
 make his image, and send it to this shrine with 
 a present, and pray the saint to work upon the 
 stubborn mind of the original, and make it 
 ductile as wax ; that is the notion, and methinks 
 a reasonable one, too." 
 
 Gerard assented. " But alack, reverend sir, 
 were I a saint, methinks I should side with the 
 innocent dove, rather than with the cruel hawk 
 that rends her." 
 
 "By St. Denys you are right," said tire cure'. 
 " But, que voulez-vous ? the saints are debonair, 
 and have been flesh themselves, and know man'B 
 frailtyand absurdity. 'Tis theBishop of Avignon 
 sent this one." 
 
 " What 1 do bishops hawk in this country ? " 
 
 " One and ail. Every noble person hawks, 
 and lives with hawk on wrist. Why, my lord 
 abbot hard by, and his lordship that has just 
 parted from us, had a two years' feud as to 
 where they should put their hawks down on 
 that very altar there. Each claimed the right 
 hand of the altar for his bird." 
 
 "What desecration I " 
 
 " Nay 1 nay I thou knowest we make them 
 doff both glove and hawk to take the blessed 
 eucharist. Their jewelled gloves will they give 
 to a 1 servant or simple Christian to hold ; but 
 their beloved hawks they will put down on no 
 place less than the altar." 
 
 Gerard inquired how the battle of the hawks 
 ended. 
 
 " Why, the abbot he yielded, as the Church 
 yields to laymen. He searched ancient books, 
 and found that the left hand was the more 
 honourable, being in truth the right hand, 
 since the altar is east, but looks westward. So 
 he gave my lord the toi-disant right hand, and 
 contented himself with the real right hand, 
 and even so may the Church still outwit the 
 lay nobles and their arrogance, saving your 
 presence." 
 
 "Nay, sir, I honour the Church. I am 
 convent bred, and ewe all I have and am to 
 Holy Church." 
 
 " Ah, that accounts for my sudden liking to 
 thee. Art a gracious youth. Come and see me 
 whenever thou wilt." 
 
 Gerard took this as a hint that he might 
 go now. It jumped witb bis own wish, for
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 he was curious to hear what Denys had seen 
 and done all this time. He made his reverence 
 and walked out of the church ; but was no 
 sooner clear of it than he set off to run 
 with all his might; and tearing round a 
 corner, ran into a large stomach, whose owner 
 clutched him, to keep himself steady under the 
 shock ; but did not release his hold on regain- 
 ing his equilibrium. 
 
 " Let go, man," said Gerard. 
 
 " Not so. You are my prisoner." 
 
 " Prisoner ? " 
 
 " Ay." 
 
 " What for, in Heaven's name ? " 
 
 " What for ? Why, sorcery." 
 
 "SORCERY?" ' 
 
 " Sorcery." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE culprits were condemned to stand pinioned 
 in the market-place for two hours, that should 
 any persons recognise them or any of them as 
 guilty of other crimes, they might depose to 
 that effect at the trial. 
 
 They stood, however, the whole period, and 
 no one advanced anything fresh against them. 
 This was the less remarkable that they were 
 night birds, vampires who preyed in the dark on 
 weary travellers, mostly strangers. 
 
 But just as they were being taken down, a 
 fearful scream was heard in the crowd, and a 
 woman pointed at one of them, with eyes almost 
 starting from their sockets ; but ere she could 
 speak she fainted away. 
 
 Then men and women crowded round her, 
 partly to aid her, partly from curiosity. 
 When she began to recover they fell to con- 
 jectures. 
 
 " 'Twas at him she pointed." 
 
 " Nay, 'twas at this one." 
 
 "Nay, nay," said another, "'twas at yon 
 hangdog with the hair hung round his 
 neck." 
 
 All further conjecture was cut short. The 
 poor creature no sooner recovered her senses 
 than she flew at the landlord like a lioness. 
 " My child ! Man 1 man 1 Give me back my 
 child." And she seized the glossy golden hair 
 that the officers had hung round his neck, and 
 tore it from his neck, and covered it with kisses ; 
 then, her poor confused mind clearing, she saw 
 even by this token that her lost girl was dead, 
 and sank suddenly down shrieking and sobbing 
 BO over the poor hair, that the crowd rushed 
 on the assassin with one savage growl. His 
 life had ended then and speedily, for in those 
 days all carried death at their girdles. But 
 Denys drew his sword directly, and shouting 
 " A moi, camarades I " kept the mob at bay. 
 "Who lays a finger on him dies." Other 
 archers backed him, and with some difficulty 
 they kept him uninjured, while Denys appealed 
 to those who shouted for his blood. 
 
 " What sort of vengeance is this T would yon 
 be so mad as rob the wheel, and give the vermin 
 an ma? death ? " 
 
 The mob was kept passive by the archers' 
 steel rather than by Denys's words, and growled 
 at intervals with flashing eyes. The municipal 
 officers seeing this, collected round, and with the 
 archers made a guard, and prudently carried 
 the accused back to gaol. 
 
 The mob hooted them and the prisoner! 
 indiscriminately. Denys saw the latter safely 
 lodged, then made for " The White Hart," where 
 he expected to find Gerard. 
 
 On the way he saw two girls working at a 
 first-floor window. He saluted them. They 
 smiled. He entered into conversation. Their 
 manners were easy, their complexion high. 
 
 He invited them to a repast at ' ' The White 
 Hart." They objected. He acquiesced in their 
 refusal. They consented. And in this charming 
 society he forgot all about poor Gerard, who 
 meantime was carried oft to gaol ; but on the 
 way suddenly stopped, having now somewhat 
 recovered has presence of mind, and demanded 
 to know by whose authority he was arrested. 
 "By the vice-bailie's," said the constable. 
 
 "The vice- bailie! Alas! what have I, a 
 stranger, done to offend a vice-bailie? For 
 this charge of sorcery must be a blind. No 
 sorcerer am I ; but a poor true lad far from 
 his home." 
 
 This vague shift disgusted the officer. " Show 
 him the capias, Jacques," said he. 
 
 Jacques held out the writ in both hand* 
 about a yard and a half from Gerard's eye ; 
 and at the same moment the large constable 
 suddenly pinned him; both officers were on 
 tenter-hooks lest the prisoner should grab the 
 document, to which they attached a supersti- 
 tious importance. 
 
 But the poor prisoner had no such thought. 
 Query whether he would have touched it 
 with the tongs. He just craned out his neck 
 and read it, and to his infinite surprise found 
 the vice-bailiff who had signed the writ was 
 the friendly alderman. He took courage and 
 assured his captor there was some error. But 
 finding he made no impression, demanded to 
 be taken before the alderman. 
 
 " What say yon to that, Jacques ? " 
 
 " Impossible. We have no orders to take 
 him before his worship. Read the writ I " 
 
 "Nay, but good kind fellows, what harm 
 can it be ? I will give ye each an ^cu. " 
 
 " Jacques, what say yon to that ? " 
 
 " Humph I I say we have no orders not to 
 take him to his worship. Read the writ I " 
 
 " Then say we take him to prison round by 
 his worship." 
 
 It was agreed. They got the money; and 
 bade Gerard observe they were doing him a 
 favour. He saw they wanted a little gratitude 
 as well as much silver. He tried to satisfy thit 
 cupidity, but it stuck in his throat. Feigning 
 was not his forte. 
 
 He entered the alderman's presence with his 
 heart in his mouth, and begged with faltering 
 voice to know what he had done to offend 
 since he left that very room with Manon and 
 Denys. 
 
 "Nought that I know of," said the alder- 
 man. 
 
 On the writ beine shown him, he told Gerard
 
 100 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THP HEARTH. 
 
 he had signed it at daybreak. "I get old, and 
 my memory faileth me ; a discussing of the 
 girl I quite forgot your own offence ; but I 
 remember now. All is well You are he I 
 committed for sorcery. Stay! ere you go to 
 gaol, you shall hear what your accuser says ; 
 run and fetch him, you." 
 
 The man could not find the accuser all at 
 once. So the alderman, getting impatient, 
 told Gerard the main charge was that he had 
 set a dead body a burning with diabolical fire, 
 that flamed, but did not consume. "And if 
 'tis true, young man, I'm sorry for thee, for 
 thou wilt assuredly burn with fire of good 
 pine logs in the market-place of Neufchas- 
 teau." 
 
 " Oh, sir, for pity's sake let me have speech 
 with his reverence the cure"." 
 
 The alderman advised Gerard against it. 
 "The Church was harder upon sorcerers than 
 was the corporation." 
 
 "But, sir, I am innocent," said Gerard, 
 between snarling and whining. 
 
 " Oh, if you think you are innocent officer, 
 go with him to the curd ; but see he 'scape you 
 not. Innocent, quotha ? " 
 
 They found the curd in his doublet repair- 
 ing a wheelbarrow. Gerard told him all, and 
 appealed piteously to him. "Just for using a 
 little phosphorus in self-defence against cut- 
 throats they are going to hang." 
 
 It was lucky for our magician that he had 
 already told his tale in full to the curd, for thus 
 that shrewd personage had hold of the stick 
 at the right end. The corporation held it by 
 the ferule. His reverence looked exceedingly 
 grave and said, " I must question you privately 
 on this untoward business." He took him into 
 a private room and bade the officer stand out- 
 side and guard the door, and be ready to come 
 if called. The big constable stood outside the 
 door, quaking, and expecting to see the room 
 fly away and leave a stink of brimstone. In- 
 stantly they were alone the cure unlocked his 
 countenance and was himself again. 
 
 "Show me the trick on't," said he, all 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I cannot, sir, unless the room be darkened." 
 
 The cure" speedily closed out the light with a 
 wooden shutter. " Now then." 
 
 " But on what shall I put it 7 " said Gerard. 
 "Here is no dead face. 'Twas that made it 
 look BO dire" The curd groped about the 
 room. " Good ; here is an image ; 'tis my 
 patron saint." 
 
 41 Heaven forbid 1 That were profanation." 
 
 " Pshaw ! 'twill rub off, will't not ? " 
 
 " Ay, but it goes against me to take such 
 liberty with a saint," objected the sorcerer. 
 
 41 Fiddlestick ! " said the divine. 
 
 41 To be sure my putting it on his holiness 
 will show your reverence it is no Satanic art." 
 
 44 Mayhap 'twas for that I did propose it," 
 said the curd subtly. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Gerard fired the eyes and 
 nostrils of the image and made the curd 
 jump. Then lighted up the hair in patches ; 
 and set the whole face shining like a glow- 
 worm's. 
 
 4< By'r Lady," ihouted the core\ " 'tin itrange, 
 
 and small my wonder that they took you for a 
 magician, seeing a dead face thus fired. Now 
 come thy ways with me ! " 
 
 He put on his grey gown and great hat, and 
 in a few minutes they found themselves in 
 presence of the alderman. By his side, poison- 
 ing his mind, stood the accuser, a singular 
 figure in red hose and red shoes, a black gown 
 with blue bands, and a cocked hat. 
 
 After saluting the alderman, the curd turned 
 to this personage and said good-humouredly, 
 " So, Mangis, at thy work again, babbling away 
 honest men's lives ! Come, your worship, this 
 is the old tale ; two of a trade can ne'er agree. 
 Here is Mangis, who professes sorcery, and 
 would sell himself to Satan to-night, but that 
 Satan is not so weak as buy what he can have 
 gratis, this Mangis, who would be a sorcerer, 
 but is only a quacksalver, accuses of magic a 
 true lad, who did but use in self-defence a 
 secret of chemistry well-known to me and to 
 all churchmen." 
 
 " But he is no churchman, to dabble in such 
 mysteries," objected the alderman. 
 
 " He is more churchman than layman, being 
 convent bred, and in the lesser orders," said 
 the ready curd. "Therefore, sorcerer, with- 
 draw thy plaint without more words ! " 
 
 44 That will I not, your reverence," replied 
 Mangis stoutly. 4 ' A sorcerer I am, but a white 
 one, not a black one. I make no pact with 
 Satan, but on the contrary still battle him with 
 lawful and necessary arts. I ne'er profane the 
 sacraments, as do the black sorcerers, nor turn 
 myself into a cat and go sucking infants' blood, 
 nor e'en their breath, nor set dead men o' fire. 
 I but tell the peasants when their cattle and 
 their hens are possessed, and at what time of 
 the moon to plant rye, and what days in each 
 month are lucky for wooing of women and 
 selling of bullocks and so forth : above all, it 
 is my art and my trade to detect the black 
 magicians, as I did that whole tribe of them 
 who were burnt at Dol but last year." 
 
 "Ay, Mangis. And what is the upshot of 
 that famous fire thy tongue did kindle ? " 
 
 " Why, their ashes were cast to the wind." 
 
 " Ay ; but the true end of thy comedy is 
 this. The parliament of Dijon hath since sifted 
 the matter, and found they were no sorcerers, 
 but good and peaceful citizens ; and but last 
 week did order masses to be said for their souls, 
 and expiatory farces and mysteries to be played 
 for them in seven towns of Burgundy ; all which 
 will not of those cinders make men and women 
 again. Now 'tis our custom in this land, when 
 we have slain the innocent by hearkening false 
 knaves like thee, not to blame our credulous 
 ears, but the false tongue that gulled them. 
 Wherefore bethink thee that, at a word from 
 me to my lord bishop, thon wilt smell burning 
 pine nearer than e'er knave smelt it and lived, 
 and wilt travel on a smoky cloud to him whose 
 heart thou bearest (for the word devil in the 
 Latin it meaneth 'false accuser'), and whose 
 livery thou wearest." 
 
 And the curd pointed at- Mangis with hia 
 staff. 
 
 41 That is true i'fegs," said the alderman, "for 
 red and black be the fool fiendyi colour*."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 By this time the white sorcerer's cheek was 
 as colourless as his dress was fiery. Indeed the 
 contrast amounted to pictorial He stammered 
 out, " I respect Holy Church and her will ; he 
 shall fire the churchyard, and all in it, for me : 
 I do withdraw the plaint." 
 
 "Then withdraw thyself," said the vice- 
 bailiff. 
 
 The moment he was gone the cure' took the 
 conversational tone, and told the alderman 
 courteously that the accused had received 
 the chemical substance from Holy Church, 
 and had restored it her, by giving it all to 
 him. 
 
 " Then 'tis in good hands," was the reply ; 
 " young man, you are free. Let me have your 
 reverence's prayers. " 
 
 "Doubt it not I Humph! Vice-bailie, the 
 town owes me four silver franks, this three 
 months and more." 
 
 "They shall be paid, curs', ay, ere the week 
 be out." 
 
 On this good understanding Church and 
 State parted. As soon as he was in the 
 street Gerard caught the priest's hand, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! Oh, your reverence. You have 
 saved me from the fiery stake. What can I say, 
 what do ? what " 
 
 " Nought, foolish lad. Bounty rewards itself. 
 Natheless Humph ! I wish I had done't with- 
 out leasing. It iU becomes my function to utter 
 falsehoods." 
 
 " Falsehood, sir ? " Gerard was mystified. 
 
 " Didst not hear me say thou hadst given 
 rne that same phosphorus? 'Twill cost me a 
 fortnight's penance, that light word." The cure* 
 sighed, and his eye twinkled cunningly. 
 
 "Nay, nay," cried Gerard eagerly. "Now 
 Heaven forbid 1 That was no falsehood, father : 
 well you knew the phosphorus was yours, is 
 yours." And he thrust the bottle into the curb's 
 hand. " But alas, 'tis too poor a gift : will you 
 not take from my purse somewhat for Holy 
 Church ? " and now he held out his purse with 
 glistening eyes. 
 
 " Nay," said the other brusquely, and put his 
 hands quickly behind him ; " not a doit. Fie 1 
 fie 1 art pauper et exul. Come thou rather each 
 day at noon and take thy diet with me ; for my 
 heart warms to thec;" and he went off very 
 abruptly with his hands behind him. 
 
 They itched. 
 
 But they itched in vain. 
 
 Where there's a heart there's a Rubicon, 
 
 Gerard went hastily to the inn to relieve 
 Denys of the anxiety so long and mysterious an 
 absence must have caused him. He found him 
 seated at his ease, playing dice with two young 
 ladies whose manners were unreserved, and 
 complexion high. 
 
 Gerard was hurt. ' "N'oubliez point la Jean- 
 neton ! " said he, colouring up. 
 
 "What of her?" said Denys, gaily rattling the 
 dice. 
 
 "She said, ' Le peu que sont les femmes.' " 
 
 "Oh, did she? And what say you to that, 
 mesdemoiselles T " 
 
 "We say that none run womea down, but 
 
 such as are too old, or too ill-favoured, or too 
 witless to please them." 
 
 " Witless, quotha ? Wise men have not folly 
 enough to please them, nor madness enough 
 to desire to please them," said Gerard loftily ; 
 " but 'tis to my comrade I speak, not to you, you 
 brazen toads, that make so free with a man at 
 first sight." 
 
 " Preach away, comrade. Fling a byword or 
 two at our heads. Know, girls, that he is a 
 very Solomon for bywords. Methinks he was 
 brought up by hand on 'em." 
 
 "Be thy friendship a byword!" retorted 
 Gerard. " The friendship that melts to nought 
 at sight of a farthingale." 
 
 " Malheureux I " cried Denys, " I speak but 
 pellets, and thou answerest daggers." 
 
 " Would I could," was the reply. "Adieu." 
 
 "What a little savage 1" said one of the 
 girls. 
 
 Gerard opened the door and put in his head, 
 "I have thought of a byword," said he spite- 
 fully 
 
 1 Qul haute femmes et dec 
 II mourra en pauvretez.' 
 
 There." And having delivered this thunder- 
 bolt of antique wisdom, he slammed the door 
 viciously ere any of them could retort. 
 
 And now, being somewhat exhausted by his 
 anxieties, he went to the bar for a morsel of 
 bread and a cup of wine. The landlord would 
 sell nothing less than a pint bottle. Well then 
 he would have a bottle ; but when he came to 
 compare the contents of the bottle with its size, 
 great was the discrepancy : on this he examined 
 the bottle keenly, and found that the glass wai 
 thin where the bottle tapered, but towards the 
 bottom unnaturally thick. He pointed this out 
 at once. 
 
 The landlord answered superciliously that he 
 did not make bottles ; and was nowise account- 
 able for their shape. 
 
 "That we will see presently," said Gerard. 
 11 1 will take this thy pint to the vice-bailiff." 
 
 "Nay, nay, for Heaven's sake," cried the 
 landlord, changing his tone at once. "I love 
 to content my customers. If by chance this 
 pint be short, we will charge it and its fellow 
 three sous, instead of two sous each." 
 
 " So be it. But much I admire that you, the 
 host of so fair an inn, should practise thus. 
 The wine, too, smacketh strongly of spring 
 water." 
 
 " Young sir," said the landlord, " we cut no 
 travellers' throats at this inn, as they do at 
 most. However, you know all about that. 
 ' The White Hart ' is no lion, nor bear. What- 
 ever masterful robbery is done here, is done 
 upon the poor host. How then could he live 
 at all if he dealt not a little crooked with the 
 few who pay ? " 
 
 Gerard objected to this system root and 
 branch. Honest trade was small profits, 
 quick returns ; and neither to cheat nor be 
 cheated. 
 
 The landlord sighed at this picture. "So 
 might one keep an inn in Heaven, but not in 
 Burgundy. When foot soldiers going to the 
 wars are quartered on me, hew can I but lose
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 by their custom? Two sous per day is their 
 pay, and they eat two sons' worth, and drink 
 into the bargain. The pardoners are my good 
 friends, but palmers and pilgrims, what think 
 you I gain by them t Marry, a loss. Minstrels 
 and jongleurs draw custom and BO claim to 
 pay no score, except for liquor. By the secular 
 monks I neither gain nor lose, but the Hack 
 and grey friars have made vow of poverty, but 
 not of famine ; eat like wolves and give the 
 poor host nought but their prayers ; and may- 
 hap not them : how can he tell ? In my father's 
 day we had the weddings ; but now the great 
 gentry let their houses and their plates, their 
 mugs and their spoons, to any honest couple 
 that want to wed, and thither the very 
 mechanics go with their brides and bridal 
 train. They come not to us : indeed we could 
 not find seats and vessels for such a crowd as 
 eat and drink and dance the week out at the 
 homeliest wedding now. In my father's day 
 the great gentry sold wine by the barrel only ; 
 but now they have leave to cry it, and sell it by 
 the galopin, in the very market-place. How 
 can we vie with them? They grow it. We 
 buy it of the grower. The coroner's quests we 
 have still, and these would bring goodly profit, 
 but the meat is aye gone ere the mouths be 
 ML" 
 
 " You should make better provision," sug- 
 gested his hearer. 
 
 " The law will not let us. We are forbidden 
 to go into the market for the first hour. So, 
 when we arrive, the burghers Lave bought all 
 but the refuse. Besides, the law forbids us to 
 buy more than three bushels of meal at a time : 
 yet market day comes but once a week. As for 
 the butchers, they will not kill for us unless we 
 bribe them." 
 
 "Courage!" said Gerard kindly, "the shoe 
 pinches every trader somewhere." 
 
 " Ay ; but not as it pinches us. Our shoe is 
 trode all o' one side as well as pinches us lame. 
 A savoir, if we pay not the merchants we buy 
 meal, meat, and wine of, they can cast us into 
 prison and keep us there till we pay or die. 
 But we cannot cast into prison those who buy 
 those very victuals of us. A traveller's horse we 
 may keep for his debt ; but where, in Heaven's 
 name T In our own stable, eating his head off 
 at our cost. Nay, we may keep the traveller him - 
 elf ; but where ? In gaol ? Nay, in our own 
 good house, and there must we lodge and feed 
 him gratis. And so fling good silver after bad ? 
 Uerci ! no : let him go with a wanion. Our 
 honesteat customers are the thieves. Would to 
 Heaven there were more of them. They look 
 not too close into the shape of the canakin, nor 
 into the host's reckoning : with them and with 
 their purses 'tis lightly come, and lightly go. 
 Also they spend freely, not knowing but each 
 carouse may be their last. But the thief -taken, 
 instead of profiting by this fair example, are for 
 ever robbing the poor host. When noble or 
 honest travellers descend at our door, come the 
 Provost's men pretending to suspect them, and 
 demanding to search them and their papers. 
 To save which offence the host must bleed wine 
 and meat. Then come the excise to examine 
 all your weight* and measures. You must stop 
 
 their mouths with meat and wine. Town excise. 
 Royal excise. Parliament excise. A swarm of 
 them, and all with a wolf in their stomachs and 
 a sponge in their gullets. Monks, friars, pil- 
 grims, palmers, soldiers, excisemen, provost- 
 marshals and men, and mere bad debtors, how 
 can 'The White Hart' butt against all these? 
 Cutting no throats in self-defence as do your 
 'Swans' and 'Roses' and 'Boar's Heads' and 
 ' Red Lions ' and ' Eagles,' your ' Moons,' ' Stars,' 
 and ' Moors,' how can ' The White Hart' give a 
 pint of wine for a pint ? And everything risen 
 so. Why, lad, not a pound of bread I sell but 
 costs me three good copper deniers, twelve to 
 the sou ; and each pint of wine, bought by the 
 tun, costs me four deniers ; every sack of char- 
 coal two sons, and gone in a day. A pair of 
 partridges five sous. What think you of that ? 
 Heard one ever the like ? five sous for two little 
 beasts all bone and feather ? A pair of pigeons, 
 thirty deniers. 'Tis ruination 1 1 1 For we may 
 not raise our pricen with the market. Oh no. 
 I tell thee the shoe is trode all o' one side as 
 well as pinches too water into our eyn. We 
 may charge nought for mustard, pepper, ealt, or 
 firewood. Think you we get them for nought ? 
 Candle it is a sou the pound. Salt five sous 
 the stone, pepper four sous the pound, mus- 
 tard twenty deniers the pint ; and raw meat, 
 dwindleth it on the spit with no cost to me 
 but loss of weight? Why, what think you I 
 pay my cook ? But you shall never guess. A 
 HUNDRED SODS A YEAR, AS I AM A 
 LIVING SINNER. 
 
 " And my waiter thirty sous, besides his per- 
 quisites. He is a hantle richer than I am. 
 And then to be insulted as well as pillaged. 
 Last Sunday I went to church. It is a place I 
 trouble not often. Didn't the cure" lash the 
 hotel -keepers ? I grant you he hit all the trades, 
 except the one that is a byword for looseness, 
 and pride, and sloth, to wit, the clergy. But, 
 mind yon, he stripeit the other lay estates with 
 a feather, but us hotel-keepers with a neat's 
 pizzle : godless for this, godless for that, and 
 most godless of all for opening our doors during 
 mass. Why, the law forces us to open at all 
 hours to travellers from another town, stopping, 
 halting, or passing : those be the words. They 
 can fine us before the bailiff if we refuse them, 
 mass or no mass ; and say a townsman should 
 creep in with the true travellers, are we to 
 blame? They all vow they are tired way. 
 farers; and can I ken every face hi a great 
 town like this ? So if we respect the law our 
 poor souls are to suffer; and if we respect it 
 not, our poor lank purses must bleed at two 
 holes, fine and loss of custom." 
 
 A man speaking of himself, in general, is " a 
 babbling brook ; " of his wrongs, " a shining 
 river." 
 
 " Labltur et labetnr In omne volubllU wvum." 
 
 So luckily for my readers, though not for ail 
 concerned, this injured orator was arrested in 
 mid career. Another man bnrst in upon his 
 wrongs with all the advantage of a recent 
 wrong a wrong red hot. It was Denys 
 cursing and swearing and crying that ho 
 was robbed.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 103 
 
 " Did those hussies pass this way ? who are 
 they ? where do they bide 1 They have ta'en j 
 my purae and fifteen golden pieces : raise the 
 hue and cry 1 ah I traitresses I vipers I These 
 inns are all guetapens." 
 
 "There now," cried the landlord to Gerard. 
 
 Gerard implored him to be calm, and say 
 how it had befallen. 
 
 " First one went out on some pretence : then 
 after a while the other went to fetch her back, 
 and neither returning, I clapped hand to purse 
 and found it empty : the ungrateful creatures, 
 I was letting them win it in a gallop; but 
 loaded dice were not quick enough ; they must 
 claw it all in a lump." 
 
 Gerard was for going at once to the alderman 
 and setting 1 the officers to find them. 
 
 "Not I," said Denys. "I hate the law. 
 No ; as it came so let it go." 
 
 Gerard would not give it up so. 
 
 At a hint from the landlord he forced Denys 
 along with him to the provost-marshal. That 
 dignitary shook his head. " We have no clue 
 to occasional thieves, that work honestly at 
 their needles, till some gull comes and tempts 
 them with an easy booty, and then they pluck 
 him." 
 
 "Come away," cried Denys furiously. "I 
 knew what use a bourgeois would be to me at 
 & pinch ; " and he marched off in a rage. 
 
 " They are clear of the town ere this," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Speak no more on't if you prize my friend- 
 ship. I have five pieces with the bailiff, and 
 ten I left with Marion, luckily : or these trai- 
 tresses had feathered their nest with my last 
 plume. What dost gape for so ? Nay, I do ill 
 to vent my choler on thee: I'll tell thee all. 
 Art wiser than I. What saidst thou at the 
 door? No matter. Well then, I did offer 
 marriage to that Marion." 
 
 Gerard was dumbfoundered. 
 
 " What T You offered her what ? " 
 
 "Marriage. Is that such a mighty strange 
 thing to offer a wench ! " 
 
 " 'Tis a strange thing to offer to a strange girl 
 in passing." 
 
 " Nay, I am not such a sot as you opine. I 
 saw the corn in all that chaff. I knew I could 
 not get her by fair means, so I was fain to try 
 fool. ' Mademoiselle,' said I, ' marriage is not 
 one of my habits, but struck by your qualities 
 I make an exception : deign to bestow this 
 hand on me.' " 
 
 " And she bestowed it on thine ear." 
 
 "Not BO. On the contrary she Art a dis- 
 respectful young monkey. Know that here, not 
 being Holland or any other barbarous state, 
 courtesy begets courtesy. Says she, a colouring 
 like a rose, 'Soldier, you are too late. He is 
 not a patch on you for looks ; but then he has 
 loved me a long time.' 
 
 "'He? who?' 
 
 " ' T'other.' 
 
 '"What other?' 
 
 " ' Why, he that was not too late.' Oh, that 
 is the way they all speak, the loves, the she- 
 wolves. Their little minds go in leaps. Think 
 you they marshal their words in order of battle ? 
 Their tongues are in too gr<-r*.t a harry, Says 
 
 she, ' I love him not ; not to say love him ; bat 
 he does me, and dearly; and for that reason 
 I'd sooner die than cause him grief, I would.'" 
 Now I believe she did love him." 
 Who doubts that ? Why, she said so, round 
 about, as they always say these things, and 
 with nay ' for ' ay.' ' I hope you will be happy 
 together,' said I. 
 
 " Well, one thing led to another, and at last, 
 as she could not give me her hand, she gave 
 me a piece of advice, and that was to leave part 
 of my money with the young mistress. Then, 
 when bad company had cleaned me out, I should 
 have some to travel back with, said she. I said 
 
 would better her advice, and leave it with 
 her. Her face got red. Says she, ' Think what 
 you do. Chambermaids have an ill name for 
 honesty.' 'Oh, the devil is not so black as he 
 is painted,' said I. 'Ill risk it;' and I left 
 fifteen gold pieces with her." 
 
 Gerard sighed. "I wish you may ever see 
 them again. It is wondrous in what esteem 
 you do hold this sex, to trust so to the first 
 comer. For my part I know little about them ; 
 I never saw but one I could love as well as I 
 love thee. But the ancients must surely know ; 
 and they held women cheap. 'Levius quid 
 fcsmina,' said they, which is but la Jeanneton's 
 tune in Latin, 'Le peu que sont les femmes.' 
 Also do but see how the greybeards of our own 
 day speak of them, being no longer blinded by 
 desire : this alderman, to wit." 
 
 " Oh, novice of novices," cried Denys, " not 
 to have seen why that old fool rails so on the 
 poor things ! One day, out of the millions of 
 women he blackens, one did prefer some other 
 man to him : for which solitary piece of bad 
 taste, and ten to one 'twas good taste, he doth 
 bespatter creation's fairer half, thereby proving 
 what ? Le peu que sont les hommes." 
 
 "I see women have a shrewd champion in 
 thee," said Gerard, with a smile. But the next 
 moment inquired gravely why he had not told 
 him all this before. 
 
 Denys grinned. "Had the girl said 'Ay,' 
 why then I had told thee straight. But 'tis a 
 rule with us soldiers never to publish our de- 
 feats ; 'tis much if after each check we claim 
 not a victory." 
 
 "Now that is true," said Gerard. "Young 
 as I am, I have seen this ; that after every great 
 battle the generals on both sides go to the 
 nearest church, and sing each a Te Deum for 
 the victory; methinks a Te Martem, or Te 
 Bellonam, or Te Mercurium, Mercury being the 
 god of lies, were more fitting." 
 
 "Pas si bete," said Denys approvingly. 
 " Hast a good eye : canst see a steeple by day- 
 light. So now tell me how thou hast fared in 
 this town all day." 
 
 "Come," said Gerard, "'tis well thou hast 
 asked me ; for else I had never told thee." He 
 then related in full how he had been arrested, 
 and by what a providential circumstance he had 
 escaped long imprisonment or speedy conflagra- 
 tion. 
 
 His narrative produced an effect he little 
 expected or desired. "I am a traitor," cried 
 Denys. "I left thee in a strange place to 
 fight thine own battles, while I shook the dice
 
 104 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 with those jades. Now take thou this sword 
 and pass it through my body forthwith." 
 
 " What for, in Heaven's name ? " inquired 
 Gerard. 
 
 "For an example," roared Denys. "For a 
 warning to all false loons that profes* friend- 
 ship and disgrace it." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Gerard. " Yes. Not 
 a bad notion. Where will you have it ? " 
 
 " Here, through my heart ; that is, where 
 other men have a heart, but I none, or a Satanic 
 false one." 
 
 Gerard made a motion to run him through, 
 and flung his arms round his neck instead. " I 
 know no way to thy heart but this, thou great 
 silly thing." 
 
 Denys uttered an exclamation, then hugged 
 him warmly; and quite overcome by this 
 sudden turn of youthful affection and native 
 grace, gulped out in a broken voice, "Railest 
 on women and art like them with thy 
 pretty ways. Thy mother's milk is in thee 
 etilL Satan would love thee, or le bon Dieu 
 would kick him out of hell for shaming it. 
 Give me thy hand 1 Give me thy hand I May " 
 (a tremendous oath) "if I let thee out of my 
 sight till Italy." 
 
 And so the stanch friends were more than 
 reconciled after their short tiff. 
 
 The next day the thieves were tried. The 
 pieces de conviction were reduced in number, 
 to the great chagrin of the little clerk, by the 
 interment of the bones. But there was still a 
 pretty show. A thief's hand struck off fla- 
 grante delicto, a murdered woman's hair, the 
 Abbot's axe, and other tools of crime. The 
 skulls, &c., were sworn to by the constables 
 who had found them. Evidence was lax in 
 that age and place. They all confessed but 
 the landlord. And Hanon was called to bring 
 the crime home to him. Her evidence was 
 conclusive. He made a vain attempt to shake 
 her credibility by drawing from her that her 
 own sweetheart had been one of the gang, and 
 that she had held her tongue so long as he was 
 alive. The public prosecutor came to the aid 
 of his witness, and elicited that a knife had 
 been held to her throat, and her own sweet- 
 heart sworn with solemn oaths to kill her 
 should she betray them, and that this terrible 
 threat, and not the mere fear of death, had 
 glued her lips. 
 
 The other thieves were condemned to be 
 hanged, and the landlord to be broken on the 
 wheeL He uttered a piercing cry when his 
 entence was pronounced. 
 
 As for poor Manon, she became the subject 
 of universal criticism. Nor did opinion any 
 longer run dead in her favour ; it divided into 
 two broad currents. And strange to relate, 
 the majority of her own sex took her part, and 
 the males were but equally divided ; which 
 hardly happens once in a hundred years. 
 Perhaps some lady will explain the pheno- 
 menon. As for me, I am a little shy of ex- 
 plaining things I don't understand. It has 
 become so common. Meantime, had she been 
 a lover of notoriety, she would have been 
 happy, for the town talked of nothing but her. 
 The poor girl, however, had but ona wi*h ; to 
 
 escape the crowd that followed her, and hide 
 her head somewhere where she could cry over 
 her "pendard," whom all these proceedings 
 brought vividly back to her affectionate re- 
 membrance. Before he was hanged he had 
 threatened her life; but she was not one of 
 your fastidious girls, who love their male 
 divinities any the less for beating them, 
 kicking them, or killing them, but rather the 
 better, provided these attentions are inter- 
 spersed with occasional caresses ; so it would 
 have been odd indeed had she taken offence 
 at a mere threat of that sort. He had never 
 threatened her with a rival. She sobbed 
 single-mindedly. 
 
 Meantime the inn was filled with thirsters 
 for a sight of her, who feasted and drank, to 
 pass away the time till she should deign to 
 appear. When she had been sobbing some 
 time, there was a tap at her door, and the land- 
 lord entered with a proposal. " Nay, weep not, 
 good lass, your fortune it is made an' you like. 
 Say the word, and you are chambermaid of 
 The White Hart.' " 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Manon, with a fresh burst of 
 grief. " Never more will I be a servant in an 
 inn. I'll go to my mother." 
 
 The landlord consoled and coaxed her ; and 
 she became calmer, but none the less deter- 
 mined against his proposal. 
 
 The landlord left her. But ere long he re- 
 turned and made her another proposal. Would 
 she be his wife, and landlady of " The White 
 Hart ? " 
 
 " You do ill to mock me," said she sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 "Nay, sweetheart. I mock thee not. I am 
 too old for sorry jests. Say you the word, and 
 yon are my partner for better for worse." 
 
 She looked at him, and saw he was in 
 earnest ; on this she suddenly rained hard to 
 the memory of " le pendard ; " the tears came 
 in a torrent, being the last ; and she gave her 
 hand to the landlord of " The White Hart," and 
 broke a gold crown with him in sign of plighted 
 troth. 
 
 " We will keep it dark till the house is quiet," 
 said the landlord. 
 
 "Ay," said she ; " but meantime prithee give 
 me linen to hem, or work to do, for the time 
 hangs on me like lead." 
 
 Her betrothed's eye brightened at this house- 
 wifely request, and he brought her up two 
 dozen flagons of various sizes to clean and 
 polish. 
 
 She gathered complacency as she reflected 
 that by a strange turn of fortune all this bright 
 pewter was to be hers. 
 
 And this mighty furbishing up of pewter 
 reminds me that justice requires me to do a 
 stroke of the same work. 
 
 Well then, the deposition, read out in the 
 alderman's room as Manon's, was not so exact 
 as such things ought to be. The alderman had 
 condensed her evidence. Now there are in 
 every great nation about three persons capable 
 of condensing evidence without falsifying it ; 
 but this alderman was not one of that small 
 band. In the first part of the deposition he 
 left out as unimportant these words, "My
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 105 
 
 mother advised me to keep out of his way till 
 his wrath should cool." 
 
 Between the words "jealous of me" and 
 "the reason" Manon had said, "My master 
 was aye at my heels: so I told my mistress, 
 and said I would rather go than be cause of 
 mischief." This the alderman suppressed as 
 mere babble : whereas it was a worthy trait. 
 He also let slip the word "afterwards" in the 
 next sentence. Manon had said the reason 
 they gave afterwards, i.e., "when I was no 
 longer there to contradict them." And so on 
 all through the deposition. 
 
 Sometimes the deponent Buffered as many 
 a one does nowadays, in the newspaper and 
 other reports, by the mere suppression of the 
 question. For instance, this is what actually 
 was said : 
 
 The Alderman. "Come now, should you 
 have interfered if this soldier had had no 
 beard ? " 
 
 Manon. " How can I tell what I should have 
 done ? " 
 
 Now this was merely a sensible answer to a 
 monstrous question no magistrate had a right 
 to put. But under the condensing process, 
 behold her saddled with a volunteer statement 
 of a very damaging character. 
 
 Finally she had said, " I am sorry I told, if I 
 am to be hanged for it." 
 
 This the old boy condensed ut tupra, p. 95, 
 anticipating as far as possible the tuneful 
 Sinclair.* 
 
 Whilst Manon and I were cleaning, she her 
 coming, I my parting, pewter, the landlord 
 went downstairs, and falling in with our friends 
 drew them aside into the bar. 
 
 He then addressed Denys with considerable 
 solemnity. "We are old acquaintances, and 
 you want not for sagacity : now advise me in 
 a strait. My custom is somewhat declining : 
 this girl Manon is the talk of the town ; see 
 how full the inn is to-night. She doth refuse 
 to be my chambermaid. I have half a mind to 
 marry her. What think you ? shall I say the 
 word ? " 
 
 Denys in reply merely opened his eyes wide 
 with amazement. 
 
 The landlord turned to Gerard with a half- 
 inquiring look. 
 
 " Nay, sir," said Gerard ; " I am too young to 
 advise my seniors and betters." 
 
 " No matter. Let us hear your thought." 
 
 "Well, sir, it was said of a good wife by the 
 ancients, 'bene quae latuit, bene vixit,' that is, 
 she is the best wife that is least talked of ; but 
 here ' male quae patuit ' were as near the mark. 
 Therefore, an' you bear the lass good-will, 
 why not club purses with Denys and me and 
 convey her safe home with a dowry? Then 
 
 . * Sinclair was a ginger ; and complained to the 
 manager that in the operatic play of Rob Roy he had 
 a multitude of mere words to utter between the songs. 
 " Cut, my boy, cut ! " said the manager. On this vox et 
 p. n. cut Scott, and doubtless many of his cuts would not 
 have discredited the condensers of evidence. But only 
 one of his master-strokes has reached posterity. His 
 melodious organs had been taxed with this sentence : 
 " Rashleigh is my cousin ; but, for what reason I cannot 
 divine, he is my bitterest enemy." This he condensed 
 and delivered thus: "Rashleigh la my cousin, but for 
 what reaion I cannot divine." 
 
 mayhap some rustical person in her own place 
 may be brought to wife her." 
 
 " Why so many words ? " said Denys. " This 
 old fox is not* the ass he affects to be." 
 
 " Oh I that is your advice, is it ? " said the 
 landlord testily. "Well then we shall soon 
 know who is the fool, you or me, for I have 
 spoken to her as it happens ; and what is 
 more, she has said Ay, and she is polishing 
 the flagons at this moment." 
 
 " Oho 1 " said Denys drily, " 'twas an ambus- 
 cade. Well, in that case, my advice is, run 
 for the notary, tie the noose, and let us three 
 drink the bride's health, till we see six sots 
 a-tippling." 
 
 " And shall. Ay, now you utter sense. " 
 
 In ten minutes a civil marriage was effected 
 upstairs before a notary and his clerk and our 
 two friends. 
 
 In ten minutes more the white hind, dead 
 sick of seclusion, had taken her place within 
 the bar, and was serving out liquids, and 
 bustling, and her colour rising a little. 
 
 In six minutes more she soundly rated a 
 careless servant-girl for carrying a nipperkin of 
 wine awry and spilling good liquor. 
 
 During the evening she received across the 
 bar eight offers of marriage, some of them from 
 respectable burghers. Now the landlord and our 
 two friends had in perfect innocence ensconced 
 themselves behind a screen, to drink at their 
 ease the new couple's health. The above 
 comedy was thrown in for their entertainment 
 by bounteous fate. They heard the proposals 
 madeone after another, and uninventive Manon'a 
 invariable answer" Serviteur ; you are a day 
 after the fair." The landlord chuckled and 
 looked good-natured superiority at both his late 
 advisers, with their traditional notions that 
 men shun a woman " quae patuit," i.e. t who haa 
 become the town talk. 
 
 But Denys scarce noticed the spouse's triumph 
 over him, he was so occupied with his own over 
 Gerard. At each municipal tender of undying 
 affection, he turned almost purple with the 
 effort it cost him not to roar with glee ; and 
 driving his elbow into the deep-meditating 
 and much-puzzled pupil of antiquity, whispered, 
 " Le peu que sont les homines." 
 
 The next morning Gerard was eager to start, 
 but Denys was under a vow to see the murderers 
 of the golden -haired girl executed. 
 
 Gerard respected his vow, but avoided his 
 example. 
 
 He went to bid the curs' farewell instead, and 
 sought and received his blessing. About noon 
 the travellers got clear of the town. Just out- 
 side the south gate they passed the gallows ; it 
 had eight tenants : the skeleton of Manon's 
 late wept, and now being fast forgotten, lover, 
 and the bodies of those who had so nearly 
 taken our travellers' lives. A hand was nailed 
 to the beam. And hard by on a huge wheel 
 was clawed the dead landlord, with every bone 
 in his body broken to pieces. 
 
 Gerard averted his head and hurried by. 
 Denys lingered, and crowed over his dead foes. 
 " Times are changed, my lads, since we two sat 
 shaking in the cold awaiting you seven to com* 
 and cut our throats."
 
 is* 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Fie, Denys I Death squares all reckonings. 
 Prithee pass on without another word, if you 
 prize my respect a groat." 
 
 To this earnest remonstrance Denys yielded. 
 He even said thoughtfully, "You have been 
 better brought np than I." 
 
 About three in the afternoon they reached a . 
 little town with the people buzzing in knots, j 
 The wolves, starved by the cold, had entered, ' 
 and eaten two grown-up persons overnight, 
 in the main street : BO some were blaming the 
 eaten "None but fools or knaves are about 
 after nightfall ; " others the law for not pro- 
 tecting the town, and others the corporation 
 fdr not enforcing what laws there were. 
 
 " Bah ! this is nothing to us," said Denys, 
 and was for resuming their march. 
 
 " Ay, but 'tis," remonstrated Gerard. 
 
 " What, are we the pair they ate 1 " 
 
 " No ; but we may be the next pair." 
 
 " Ay, neighbour," said an ancient man, " 'tis 
 the town's fault for not obeying the ducal 
 ordinance, which bids every shopkeeper light 
 a lamp o'er his door at sunset, and burn it 
 till sunrise." 
 
 On this Denys asked him somewhat 
 derisively, "What made him fancy rush dips 
 would scare away empty wolves? Why, 
 mutton fat is all their joy." 
 
 '"Tis not the fat, vain man, but the light. 
 All ill things hate light ; especially wolves and 
 the imps that lurk, I ween, under their fur. 
 Example; Paris city stands in a wood like, 
 and the wolves do howl around it all night: 
 yet of late years wolves come but little in the 
 streets. For why, in that burgh the watch- 
 men do thunder at each door that is dark, and 
 make the weary wight rise and light. 'Tis 
 my son tells me. He is a great voyager, my 
 son Nicholas." 
 
 In further explanation he assured them that 
 previously to that ordinance no city had been 
 worse infested with wolves than Paris ; a troop 
 had boldly assaulted the town in 1420, and in 
 1438 they had eaten fourteen persons in a 
 single month between Montmartre and the 
 gate St. Antoine, and that not a winter month 
 even, but September; and as for the dead, 
 which nightly lay in the streets slain in mid- 
 night brawls, or assassinated, the wolves had 
 used to devour them, and to grub np the fresh 
 graves in the churchyards and tear out the 
 bodies. 
 
 Here a thoughtful citizen suggested that 
 probably the wolves had been bridled of late 
 In Paris, not by candle-lights, but owing to 
 the English having been driven out of the 
 kingdom of France, "For those English be 
 very wolves themselves for fierceness and 
 greediness. What marvel then that under 
 their rule our neighbours of France should 
 be wolf-eaten?" This logic was too suited 
 to the time and place not to be received 
 with acclamation. But the old man stood 
 his ground. "I grant ye those islanders 
 are wolves; but two-legged ones, and little 
 apt to favour their four-footed cousins. One 
 greedy thing loveth it another? I trow not. 
 By the same token, and this too I have from 
 my boy Nicole, Sir Wolf dare not show his 
 
 nose in London city ; though 'tis smaller than 
 Paris, and thick woods hard by the north wall, 
 and therein great store of deer, and wild boars 
 rife as flies at midsummer." 
 
 "Sir," said Gerard, "you seem conversant 
 with wild beasts, prithee advise my comrade 
 here and me : we would not waste time on 
 the road, an' if we may go forward to the next 
 town with reasonable safety." 
 
 "Young man, I trow 'twere an idle risk. 
 It lacks but an hour of dusk, and you must 
 pass nigh a wood where lurk some thousands of 
 these half-starved vermin, rank cowards single ; 
 but in great bands bold as lions. Wherefore 
 I rede you sojourn here the night ; and journey 
 on betimes. By the dawn the vermin will be 
 tired out with roaring and rampaging ; and 
 mayhap will have filled their lank bellies with 
 flesh of my good neighbours here, the un- 
 teachable fools." 
 
 Gerard hoped not ; and asked could he 
 recommend them to a good inn. 
 
 " Humph I there is ' The Tete d'Or.' My 
 granddaughter keeps it. She is a mijaure'e, 
 but not so knavish as most hotel-keepers, and 
 her house indifferent clean." 
 
 " Hey, for The Tete d'Or,' " struck in Denys, 
 decided by his ineradicable foible. 
 
 On the way to it, Gerard inquired of his 
 companion what a " mijaure'e " was ? 
 
 Denys laughed at his ignorance. " Not know 
 what a mi jaure"e is ? why, all the world knows that. 
 It is neither more nor less than a mijaure'e." 
 
 As they entered " The Tete d'Or," they met 
 a young lady richly dressed, with the velvet 
 chaperon on her head, which was confined by 
 law to the nobility. They nnbonneted and 
 louted low, and she curtsied, but fixed her 
 eye on vacancy the while, which had a curious 
 rather than a genial effect. However, nobility 
 was not so unassuming in those days as it is 
 now. So they were little surprised. But the 
 next minute supper was served, and lo ! in 
 came this princess and carved the goose. 
 
 "Holy St. Bavon," cried Gerard. '"Twas 
 the landlady all the while." 
 
 A young woman cursed with nice white 
 teeth and lovely hands: for these beauties 
 being misallied to homely features, had turned 
 her head. She was a feeble carver, carving 
 not for the sake of others but herself, >., to 
 display her bands. When not carving she 
 was eternally either taking a pin out of her 
 head or her body, or else putting a pin into 
 her head or her body. To display her teeth, 
 she laughed indifferently at gay or grave ; and 
 from ear to ear. And she "sat at ease " with 
 her mouth ajar. 
 
 Now there is an animal in creation of no 
 great general merit ; but it has tho eye of a 
 hawk for affectation. It is called " a boy." 
 And Gerard was but a boy still in some things ; 
 swift to see, and to loath, affectation. So 
 Denys sat casting sheep's eyes, and Gerard 
 daggers, at one comedian. 
 
 Presently, in the midst of her minauderles, 
 she gave a loud shriek and bounded out of her 
 chair like bare from form, and ran backwards 
 out of the room uttering little screams, and 
 holding her farthingale tight down to her
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ankles with both hands. And as she scuttled 
 out of the door a mouse scuttled back to the 
 wainscot in a state of equal, and perhaps more 
 reasonable, terror. The guests, who had risen 
 in anxiety at the principal yell, now stood 
 irresolute awhile, then sat down laughing. 
 The tender Denys, to whom a woman's 
 cowardice, being a sexual trait, seemed a 
 lovely and pleasant thing, said he would go 
 comfort her and bring her back. 
 
 "Nay I nayl nay I for pity's sake let her 
 bide," cried Gerard earnestly. "Oh, blessed 
 mouse 1 sure some saint sent thee to our aid.'" 
 
 Now at his right hand sat a sturdy middle- 
 aged burgher, whose conduct up to date had 
 been cynical. He had never budged nor even 
 rested his knife at all this fracas. He now 
 turned on Gerard and inquired haughtily 
 whether he really thought that " grimaciere " 
 was afraid of a mouse. 
 
 " Ay ; she screamed hearty." 
 
 " Where is the coquette that cannot scream 
 to the life ? These she tavern-keepers do still 
 ape the nobles. Some princess or duchess hath 
 Iain here a night, that was honestly afeard of 
 a mouse, having been brought up to it. And 
 this ape hath seen her, and said, ' I will start at 
 a mouse, and make a coil.' She has no more 
 right to start at a mouse than to wear that fur 
 on her bosom, and that velvet on her monkey's 
 head. I am of the town, young man, and have 
 known the mijauree all her life, and I mind 
 when she was no more afeard of a mouse than 
 she is of a man." He added that she was fast 
 emptying the inn with these "singeries," 
 " All the world is so sick of her hands, that her 
 very kinsfolk will not venture themselves anigh 
 them." He concluded with something like a 
 BJgh, "'The Tete d'Or' was a thriving hos- 
 telry under my old chum her good father; 
 but she is digging its grave tooth and 
 nail." 
 
 " Tooth and nail ? good I a right merry 
 conceit and a true," said Gerard. But the 
 right merry conceit was an inadvertence as 
 pure as snow, and the stout burgher went to 
 his grave and never knew what he had done : 
 for just then attention was attracted by Denys 
 returning pompously. He inspected the apart- 
 ment minutely, and with a high official air : 
 he also looked solemnly under the table ; and 
 during the whole inquisition a white hand 
 was placed conspicuously on the edge of the 
 open door, and a tremulous voice inquired 
 behind it whether the horrid thing was quite 
 gone. 
 
 '" The enemy has retreated, bag and baggage," 
 said Denys ; and handed in the trembling fair, 
 who, sitting down, apologised to her guests for 
 her foolish fears, with so much earnestness, 
 grace, and seeming self-contempt, that, but 
 for a sour grin on his neighbour's face, Gerard 
 would have been taken in as all the other 
 strangers were. Dinner ended, the young 
 landlady begged an Augustine friar at her 
 right hand to say grace. He delivered a 
 longish one. The moment he began, she 
 clapped her white hands piously together, 
 and helA them up joined for mortals to 
 admire ; 'tis an excellent pose for taper white 
 
 fingers ; and cast her eyes upward towards 
 heaven, and felt as thankful to it as a 
 magpie does while cutting off with your 
 thimble. 
 
 After supper the two friends went to the 
 street-door and eyed the market-place. The 
 mistress joined them, and pointed out the 
 town-hall, the borough jail, St. Catherine'* 
 church, &c. This was courteous, to say the 
 least. But the true cause soon revealed itself ; 
 the fair hand was poked right under their 
 eyes every time an object was indicated ; and 
 Gerard eyed it like a basilisk, and longed for 
 a bunch of nettles. The sun set, and tha 
 travellers, few in number, drew round tha 
 great roaring fire, and omitting to go on the 
 spit, were frozen behind though roasted in 
 front. For if the German stoves were op- 
 pressively hot, the French salles dt monger 
 were bitterly cold, and above all stormy. In 
 Germany men sat bareheaded round the stove, 
 and took off their upper clothes, but in Bur- 
 gundy they kept on their hats, and put on 
 their warmest furs to sit round the great open 
 chimney-places, at which the external air 
 rushed furiously from door and ill-fitting 
 window. However, it seems their medieval 
 backs were broad enough to bear it : for they 
 made themselves not only comfortable but 
 merry, and broke harmless jests over each 
 other in turn. For instance, Denys's new 
 shoes, though not in direct communication, 
 had this day exploded with twin-like sympathy 
 and unanimity. "Where do you buy your 
 shoon, soldier i " asked one. 
 
 Denys looked askant at Gerard, and not 
 liking the theme, shook it off. "I gather 
 'em off the trees by the roadside," said he 
 surlily. 
 
 " Then you gathered these too ripe," said the 
 hostess, who was only a fool externally. 
 
 " Ay, rotten ripe," observed another, inspect- 
 ing them. 
 
 Gerard said nothing, but pointed the circular 
 satire by pantomime. He slily put out both 
 his feet, one after another, under Denys's eye, 
 with their German shoes, on which a hundred 
 leagues of travel had produced no effect. They 
 seemed hewn out of a rock. 
 
 At this, " I'll twist the smooth varlet's neck 
 that sold me mine," shouted Denys, in huge 
 wrath, and confirmed the threat with singular 
 oaths peculiar to the mediaeval military. The 
 landlady put her fingers in her ears, thereby 
 exhibiting the hand in a fresh attitude. " Tell 
 me when he has done his orisons, somebody," 
 said she mincingly. And after that they fell 
 to telling stories. 
 
 Gerard, when his turn came, told the adven- 
 ture of Denys and Gerard at the inn in Dom- 
 front, and so well, that the hearers were rapt 
 into sweet oblivion of the very existence of 
 mijaure'e and hands. But this made her very 
 uneasy, and she had recourse to her grand 
 coup. This misdirected genius had for a 
 twelvemonth past practised yawning, and could 
 do it now at any moment so naturally as to 
 set all creation gaping, could all creation have 
 seen her. By this means she got in all her 
 charms. For first sha showed her teeth, then,
 
 tog 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 out of good breeding, you know, closed her 
 mouth with three taper fingers. So the 
 moment Gerard's story got too interesting and 
 absorbing, she turned to and made yawns, and 
 " croii sur la bouche." 
 
 This was all very fine; but Gerard was an 
 artist, and artists are chilled by gaping audi- 
 tors. He bore up against the yawns a long 
 time ; but finding they came from a bottom- 
 less reservoir, lost both heart and temper, and 
 suddenly rising in mid narrative, said, "But 
 I weary our hostess, and I am tired myself : 
 BO good night 1 " whipped a candle off the 
 dresser, whispered Denys, "I cannot stand 
 her," and marched to bed in a moment. 
 
 The mijaure'e coloured and bit her lips. 
 She had not intended her byplay for Gerard's 
 eye ; and she saw in a moment she had been 
 rude, and silly, and publicly rebuked. She 
 sat with cheek on fire, and a little natural 
 water in her eyes, and looked ten times 
 comclier and more womanly and interesting 
 than she had done all day. * The desertion of 
 the best narrator broke up the party, and the 
 unassuming Denys approached the meditative 
 mijaur^e, and invited her, in the most flattering 
 terms, to gamble with him. She started from 
 her reverie, looked him down into the earth's 
 centre with chilling dignity, and consented, 
 for she remembered all in a moment what a 
 show of hands gambling admitted. 
 
 The soldier and the mijaure'e rattled the 
 dice. In which sport she was so taken up 
 with her hands, that she forgot to cheat, 
 and Denys won an "e"cu au soleil" of her. 
 She fumbled slowly with her purse, partly 
 because her sex do not burn to pay debts 
 of honour, partly to admire the play of her 
 little knuckles peeping between their soft 
 white cushions. Denys proposed a compromise. 
 " Three silver franks I win of you, fair hostess. 
 Give me now three kisses of this white hand, 
 and we'll e'en cry quits." 
 
 "You are malapert," said the lady, with a 
 toss of her head ; " besides, they are so dirty. 
 See I they are like ink I " and to convince him 
 she put them out to him and turned them up 
 and down. They were no dirtier than cream 
 fresh from the cow. And she knew it : she was 
 eternally washing and scenting them. 
 
 Denys read the objection like the observant 
 warrior he was, seized them and mumbled 
 them. 
 
 Finding him so appreciative of her charm, 
 she said timidly, " Will you do me a kindness, 
 good soldier ? " 
 
 "A thousand, fair hostess, an' you will." 
 
 " Nay, I ask but one. "Tis to tell thy comrade 
 I was right sorry to lose his most thrilling story, 
 and I hope he will tell me the rest to-morrow 
 morning. Meantime I shall not sleep for think- 
 ing on't Wilt tell him that to pleasure 
 me?" 
 
 "Ay, I'll tell the young savage. But he is 
 not worthy of your condescension, sweet hostess. 
 He would rather be aside a man than a woman 
 any day." 
 
 "So would ahem. He is right: the young 
 women of the day are not worthy of him, ' un 
 tas des mijaure'es.' He has a good, honest, and 
 
 right comely face. Any way, I would not guest 
 of mine should think me unmannerly, not for all 
 the world. Wilt keep faith with me and tell 
 him ? " 
 
 "On this fair hand I swear it; and thus I 
 seal the pledge." 
 
 " There ; no need to melt the wax, though. 
 Now go to bed. And tell him ere you 
 sleep." 
 
 The perverse toad (I thank thee, Marion, for 
 teaching me that word) was inclined to bestow 
 her slight affections upon Gerard. Not that 
 she was inflammable ; far less so than many 
 that passed for prudes in the town. But Gerard 
 possessed a triple attraction that has ensnared 
 coquettes in all ages. i. He was very hand- 
 some. 2. He did not admire her the least. 
 3. He had given her a good slap in the 
 face. 
 
 Denys woke Gerard and gave the message. 
 Gerard was not enchanted. " Dost wake a 
 tired man to tell him that? Am I to be 
 pestered with 'mijaure'es' by night as well as 
 day ? " 
 
 "But I tell thee, novice, thou hast conquered 
 her : trust to my experience : her voice sank 
 to melodious whispers ; and the cunning jade 
 did in a manner bribe me to carry thee her 
 challenge to Love's lists 1 for so I read her 
 message." 
 
 Denys then, assuming the senior and the man 
 of the world, told Gerard the time was come to 
 show him how a soldier understood friendship 
 and camaraderie. Italy was now out of the 
 question. Fate had provided better ; and the 
 blind jade Fortune had smiled on merit for 
 once. " The Head of Gold " had been a pros- 
 perous inn, would be again with a man at its 
 head. A good general laid far-sighted plans ; 
 but was always ready to abandon them, should 
 some brilliant advantage offer, and to reap the 
 full harvest of the unforeseen ; 'twas chiefly by 
 this trait great leaders defeated little ones, for 
 these latter could do nothing not cut and dried 
 beforehand. 
 
 "Sorry friendship that would rnarry me to a 
 mijaureV interposed Gerard, yawning. 
 
 " Comrade, be reasonable ; 'tis not the friskiest 
 sheep that falls down the cliff. All creatures 
 must have their fling soon, or late ; and why 
 not a woman? What more frivolous than a 
 kitten ? what graver than a cat ? " 
 
 "Hast a good eye for nature, Denys," said 
 Gerard, " that I proclaim." 
 
 "A better for thine interest, boy. Trust 
 then to me; these little doves they are my 
 study day and night ; happy the man whose 
 wife taketh her fling before wedlock, and who 
 trippeth up the altar-steps instead of down 'em. 
 Marriage it always changeth them for better or 
 else for worse. Why, Gerard, she is honest when 
 all is done ; and he is no man, nor half a man, 
 that cannot mould any honest lass like a bit of 
 warm wax, and she aye aside him at bed and 
 board. I tell thee in one month thou wilt make 
 of this coquette the matron the moet sober in 
 the town, and of all its wives the one most 
 docile and submissive. Why, she is half tamed 
 already. Nine in ten meek and mild ones had 
 gently hated thee like poison all their lives, for
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 log 
 
 wounding of their hidden pride. But she for an 
 affront proffers affection. By Joshua his bugle 
 a generous lass, and void of petty malice. When 
 thou wast gone she sat a-thinking and spoke not. 
 A sure sign of love in one of her sex ; for of all 
 things else they speak ere they think. Also her 
 voice did sink exceeding low in discoursing of 
 thee, and murmured sweetly ; another infallible 
 sign. The bolt hath struck and rankles in her ; 
 oh, be joyful ! Art silent ? I see ; 'tis settled. 
 I shall go alone to Remiremont, alone and sad. 
 But, pillage and poleaxes 1 what care I for that, 
 since my dear comrade will stay here, landlord 
 of ' The Tete d'Or,' and safe from all the storms 
 of life? Wilt think of me, Gerard, now and 
 then by thy warm fire, of me camped on some 
 windy heath, or lying in wet trenches, or 
 wounded on the field and far from comfort? 
 Nay" (and this he said in a manner truly 
 noble), ' ' not comfortless. For cold, or wet, or 
 bleeding, 'twill still warm my heart to lie on 
 my back and think that I have placed my dear 
 friend and comrade true in 'The Tele d'Or,' 
 far from a soldier's ills." 
 
 " I let you run on, dear Denys," said Gerard 
 softly, " because at each word you show me the 
 treasure of a good heart. But now bethink 
 thee, my troth is plighted there where my heart 
 it clingeth. You so leal, would you make me 
 disloyal?" 
 
 " Perdition seize me, but I forgot that," said 
 Denys. 
 
 "No more then, but hie thee to bed, good 
 Denys. Next to Margaret I love thee best on 
 earth, and value thy * creur d'or ' far more than 
 a dozen of these ' Tetes d'Or.' So prithee call 
 me at the first blush of rosy- fingered morn, 
 and let's away ere the woman with the hands 
 be stirring." 
 
 They rose with the dawn, and broke their fast 
 by the kitchen fire. 
 
 Denys inquired of the girl whether the mis- 
 tress was about. 
 
 " Nay ; but she hath risen from her bed : by 
 the same token I am carrying her this to clean 
 her withal ; " and she filled a mug with boiling 
 water, and took it upstairs. 
 
 "Behold," said Gerard, "the very elements 
 must be warmed to suit her skin ; what had the 
 saints said, which still chose the coldest pool ? 
 Away, ere she come down and catch us." 
 
 They paid the score, and left "The Tete 
 d'Or," while its mistress was washing her 
 hands. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 OUTSIDE the town they found the snow fresh 
 trampled by innumerable wolves every foot of 
 the road. 
 
 "We did well to take the old man's advice, 
 Denys." 
 
 " Ay did we. For now I think on't, I did hear 
 them last night a scurrying under our window, 
 and howling and whining for man's flesh in yon 
 market-place. But no fat burgher did pity the 
 poor vagabonds and drop out o' window." 
 
 Gerard smiled, but with an air of abstrac- 
 tion. 
 And they plodded on in silence. 
 
 " What dost meditate so profoundly T " 
 
 " Thy goodness." 
 
 Denys was anything but pleased at thisanswer. 
 Amongst his oddities you may have observed 
 that he could stand a great deal of real imper- 
 tinence ; he was BO good-humoured. But would 
 fire up now and then where not even the shadow 
 of a ground for anger existed. 
 
 "A civil question merits a civil reply," said 
 he very drily. 
 
 " Alas, I meant no other," said Gerard. 
 
 " Then why pretend you were thinking of 
 my goodness, when you know I have 110 good- 
 ness under my skin ? " 
 
 "Had another said this, I had answered, 
 ' Thou liest." But to thee I say, ' Hast no eye 
 for men's qualities, but only for women's.' 
 And once more I do defy thy unreasonable 
 choler, and say I was thinking on thy goodness 
 of overnight Wouldst have wedded me to 
 1 The Tete d'Or,' or rather to the ' tete de veau 
 dore"e,' and left thyself solitary." 
 
 " Oh, are ye there, lad ? " said Denys, recover- 
 ing his good-humour in a moment. "Well, 
 but to speak sooth, I meant that not for good- 
 ness ; but for friendship and true fellowship, 
 no more. And let me tell you, my young 
 master, my conscience it pricketh me even now 
 for letting you turn your back thus on fortune 
 and peaceful days. A truer friend than I had 
 ta'en and somewhat hamstrung thee. Then 
 hadst thou been fain to lie smarting at 'The 
 Tete d'Or ' a month or so ; yon skittish lass 
 had nursed thee tenderly, and all had been 
 well Blade I had in hand to do't, but re- 
 membering how thou hatest pain, though it be 
 but a scratch, my craven heart it failed me at 
 the pinch." And Denys wore a look of humble 
 apology for his lack of virtuous resolution when 
 the path of duty lay so clear. 
 
 Gerard raised his eyebrows with astonish- 
 ment at this monstrous but thoroughly charac- 
 teristic revelation; however, this new and 
 delicate point of friendship was never dis- 
 cussed, viz., whether one ought in all love to 
 cut the tendon Achilles of one's friend. For 
 an incident interposed. 
 
 " Here cometh one in our rear a riding on his 
 neighbour's mule," shouted Denys. 
 
 Gerard turned round. " And how know ye 
 'tis not his own, pray ? " 
 
 " Oh, blind 1 Because he rides it with no 
 discretion." 
 
 And in truth the man came galloping like a 
 fury. But what astonished the friends most 
 was that on reaching them the rustic rider's 
 eyes opened saucer-like, and he drew the rein 
 so suddenly and powerfully, that the mule 
 stuck out her fore-legs, and went sliding be- 
 tween the pedestrians like a four-legged table 
 on castors. 
 
 " I trow ye are from ' The Tete d'Or ? ' " They 
 assented. " Which of ye is the younger ? " 
 
 "He that was born the later," said Denys, 
 winking at his companion. 
 
 " Gramercy for the news."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Come, divine then I " 
 
 " And ahalL Thy beard is ripe, thy fellow's 
 U green ; he shall be the younger ; here, 
 youngster." And he held him out a paper 
 packet. " Ye left this at The Tete d'Or,' and 
 our mistress sends it ye." 
 
 " Nay, good fellow, methinks I left nought." 
 And Gerard felt his pouch, &c. 
 
 "Would ye make our burgess a liar," said 
 the rustic reproachfully ; " and shall I have no 
 pourboiret" (still more reproachfully); "and 
 came ventre a terre." 
 
 "Nay, thou shalt have pourboire," and he 
 gave him a small coin. 
 
 "A la bonne heure," cried the clown, and 
 his features beamed with disproportionate joy. 
 " The Virgin go with ye ; come up, Jenny I " 
 and back he went " stomach to earth," as his 
 nation is pleased to call it. 
 
 Gerard undid the packet ; it was about six 
 inches square, and inside it he found another 
 packet, which contained a packet, and so on. 
 At the fourth he hurled the whole thing into 
 the snow. Denys took it out and rebuked his 
 petulance. He excused himself on the ground 
 of hating affectation. 
 
 Denyo attested, " ' The great toe of the little 
 daughter of Herodias ' there was no affectation 
 here, but only woman's good wit. Doubtless 
 the wraps contained something which out of 
 delicacy, or her sex's lovely cunning, she would 
 not her hind should see her bestow on a young 
 man ; thy garter, to wit." 
 
 " I wear none." 
 
 " Her own then ; or a lock of her hair. What 
 i* this I A piece of raw silk fresh from the 
 worm. Well, of all the love tokens 1 " 
 
 " Now who but thee ever dreamed that she 
 is so naught as send me love tokens 1 I saw no 
 harm in her barring her hands." 
 
 "Stay, here is something hard lurking in 
 this soft nest. Come forth, I say, little nest- 
 ling \ Saints and pikestaves 1 look at this ! " 
 
 It was a gold ring, with a great amethyst 
 glowing and sparkling, full coloured, but pure 
 aa crystal 
 
 " How lovely 1 " said Gerard innocently. 
 
 " And here is something writ ; read it thon 1 
 I read not so glib as some, when I know not the 
 matter beforehand." 
 
 Gerard took the paper. "'Tis a posy, and 
 fairly enough writ." He read the lines, blush- 
 ing like a girl. They were very naive, and may 
 be thus Englished : 
 
 " Youth, with thee my heart ! flcdde, 
 Come back to the ' golden Hedde I ' 
 Wilt not? yet this token keepe 
 Of hir wM d '.fib. thy goelng weep*. 
 Oyf the world prove harsh and cold, 
 Come back to ' the Hedde of gold.' " 
 
 * The little dove I " purred Denys. 
 
 " The great owl I To go and risk her good 
 name thus. However, thank Heaven she has 
 played this prank with an honest lad that will 
 ne'er expose her folly. But oh, the perverse- 
 ness I Could she not bestow her nauseonsness 
 on thee ? " Denys sighed and shrugged. " On 
 thee that art as ripe for folly as herself ? " 
 
 Deny* confessed that his young friend had 
 
 harped his very thought. 'Twas passing strange 
 to him that a damsel with eyes in her head 
 should pass by a man, and bestow her affections 
 on a boy. Still he could not but recognise in 
 this the bounty of Nature. Boys were human 
 beings after all, and but for this occasional 
 caprice of women, their lot would be too 
 terrible; they would be out of the sun alto- 
 gether, blighted, and never come to anything ; 
 since only the fair could make a man out of 
 such unpromising materials as a boy. Gerard 
 interrupted this flattering discourse to beg the 
 warrior-philosopher's acceptance of the lady's 
 ring. He refused it flatly, and insisted on Gerard 
 going back to " The Tete d'Or " at once, ring 
 and all, like a man, and not letting a poor girl 
 hold out her arms to him in vain. 
 
 " Her hands, you mean." 
 
 Her hand, with The Tete d'Or ' in it." 
 
 Failing in this, he was for putting the ring 
 on his friend's finger. Gerard declined, "I 
 wear a ring already." 
 
 " What, that sorry gimcrack ? why, 'tis pewter, 
 or tin at best ; and this virgin gold, forbye the 
 jewel." 
 
 " Ay, but 'twas Margaret gave me this one ; 
 and I value it above rubies. I'll neither part 
 with it nor give it a rival," and he kissed the 
 base metal, and bade it fear nought 
 
 " I see the owl hath sent her ring to a goose," 
 said Denys sorrowfully. However, he prevailed 
 on Gerard to fasten it inside his bonnet. To 
 this, indeed, the lad consented very readily. 
 For sovereign qualities were universally ascribed 
 to certain jewels ; and the amethyst ranked 
 high among these precious talismans. 
 
 When this was disposed of, Gerard earnestly 
 requested his friend to let the matter drop, 
 since speaking of the other sex to him made 
 him pine so for Margaret, and almost unmanned 
 him with the thought that each step was taking 
 him farther from her. " I am no general lover, 
 Denys. There is room in my heart for one 
 sweetheart, and for one friend. I am far from 
 my dear mistress ; and my friend, a few leagues 
 more, and I must lose him too. Oh, let me 
 drink thy friendship pure while I may, and 
 not dilute with any of these stupid females." 
 
 "And shalt, honey-pot, and shalt," said 
 Denys kindly. "But as to my leaving thee at 
 Remiremont, reckon thou not on that t For " 
 (three consecutive oaths) "if I do. Nay, I shall 
 propose to thee to stay forty-eight hours there, 
 while I kiss my mother and sisters, and the 
 females generally, and on go you and I together 
 to the sea." 
 
 " Denys 1 Denys 1 " 
 
 " Denys not me 1 'Tis settled. Gainsay me 
 not 1 or I'll go with thee to Rome. Why not ? 
 his Holiness the Pope hath ever some little 
 merry pleasant war toward, and a Burgundian 
 soldier is still welcome in his ranks." 
 
 On this Gerard opened his heart. "Denys, 
 ere I fell in with thee, I used often to halt on 
 the road, unable to go farther, my puny heart 
 so pulled me back ; and then, after a short 
 prayer to the saints for aid, would I rise and 
 drag my most unwilling body onward. But 
 since I joined company with thee, great is 
 my courage. I have found the saying of the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ancients true, that better is a bright comrade 
 on the weary road than a horse-litter; and, 
 dear brother, when I do think of what we have 
 done and suffered together ! Savedst my life 
 from the bear, and from yet more savage thieves ; 
 and even poor I did make shift to draw thee out 
 of Rhine, and somehow loved thee double from 
 that hour. How many ties tender and strong 
 between us I Had I my will, I'd never, never, 
 never, never part with my Denys on this side 
 the grave. Well-a-day i God His will be done." 
 
 " No, my will shall be done this time," shouted 
 Denys. "Le bon Dieu has bigger fish to fry 
 than you or me. Ill go with thee to Rome. 
 There is my hand on it." 
 
 " Think what you say ! 'Tis impossible. 'Tis 
 too selfish of me." 
 
 "I tell thee, 'tis settled. No power can 
 change me. At Remiremont I borrow ten 
 pieces of my uncle, and on we go ; 'tis fixed ; 
 irrevocable as fate." 
 
 They shook hands over it. Then Gerard said 
 nothing, for his heart was too full ; but he ran 
 twice round his companion as he walked, then 
 danced backwards in front of him, and finally 
 took his hand, and so on they went hand in 
 hand like sweethearts, till a company of mounted 
 soldiers, about fifty in number, rose to sight on 
 the brow of a hilL 
 
 "See the banner of Burgundy," said Denys 
 joyfully ; " I shall look out for a comrade 
 among these." 
 
 " How gorgeous is the standard in the sun," 
 said Gerard ; " and how brave are the leaders 
 with velvet and feathers, and steel breastplates 
 like glassy mirrors I " 
 
 When they came near enough to distinguish 
 faces, Denys uttered an exclamation : " Why, 
 'tis the Bastard of Burgundy, as I live. Nay, 
 then ; there is fighting a-foot since he is out ; 
 a gallant leader, Gerard, rates his life no higher 
 than a private soldier's, and a soldier's no 
 higher than a tomtit's ; and that is the cap- 
 tain for me." 
 
 " And see, Denys, the very mules with their 
 great brass frontlets and trappings seem proud to 
 carry them ; no wonder men'itch to be soldiers ; " 
 and in the midst of this innocent admiration 
 the troop came up with them. 
 
 " Halt 1 " cried a stentorian voice. The 
 troop halted. The Bastard of Burgundy bent 
 his brow gloomily on Denys : " How now, 
 arbalestrier, how comes it thy face is turned 
 southward, when every good hand and heart is 
 hurrying northward ? " 
 
 Denys replied respectfully that he was going 
 on leave, after some years of service, to see his 
 kindred at Remiremont. 
 
 "Good. But this is not the time for't ; the 
 duchy is disturbed. Ho ! bring that dead sol- 
 dier's mule to the front ; and thou mount her 
 and forward with us to Flanders." 
 
 " So please your highness," said Denys firmly, 
 " that may not be. My home is close at hand. 
 I have not seen it these three years ; and above 
 all, I have this poor youth in charge, whom I 
 may not, cannot leave, till I see him shipped 
 for Rome." 
 
 " Dost bandy words with me 7 " said the chief, 
 with amazement, turning fast to wrath. " Art 
 
 weary o' thy life? Let go the youth's hand, 
 and into the saddle without more idle words." 
 
 Denys made no reply ; but he held Gerard's 
 hand the tighter, and looked defiance. 
 
 At this the Bastard roared, "Jarnac, dis- 
 mount six of thy archers, and shoot me thi 
 vvhite-livered cur dead where he stands for an 
 example." 
 
 The young Count de Jarnac, second in com- 
 mand, gave the order, and the men dismounted 
 to execute it. 
 
 " Strip him naked," said the Bastard, in the 
 cold tone of military business, "and put his 
 arms and accoutrements on the spare mule. 
 We'll maybe find some clown worthier to wear 
 them." 
 
 Denys groaned aloud, "Am I to be shamed 
 as well as slain ? " 
 
 " Oh, nay ! nay ! nay I " cried Gerard, awaking 
 from the stupor into which this thunderbolt of 
 tyranny had thrown him. "He shall go with 
 you on the instant. I'd liever part with him 
 for ever than see a hair of his dear head harmed. 
 Oh, sir, oh, my lord, give a poor boy but a 
 minute to bid his only friend farewell I he 
 will go with you. I swear he shall go with 
 you." 
 
 The stern leader nodded a cold contemptuous 
 assent. "Thou, Jarnac, stay with them, and 
 bring him on alive or dead. Forward ! " And 
 he resumed his march, followed by all the band 
 but the young Count and six archers, one of 
 whom held the spare mule. 
 
 Denys and Gerard gazed at one another 
 haggardly. Oh, what a look I 
 
 And after this mute interchange of anguish, 
 they spoke hurriedly, for the moments were 
 flying by. 
 
 " Thou goest to Holland : thou knowest 
 where she bides. Tell her all. She will be 
 kind to thee for my sake." 
 
 " Oh, sorry tale that I shall carry her I For 
 God's sake, go back to 'The Tete d'Or.' I am 
 mad." 
 
 " Hush I Let me think : have I nought to 
 say to thee, Denys ? my head 1 my head ! " 
 
 " Ah I I have it. Make for the Rhine, Gerard I 
 Strasbourg. 'Tis but a step. And down the 
 current to Rotterdam. Margaret is there : I go 
 thither. I'll tell her thou art coming. We shall 
 all be together." 
 
 " My lads, haste ye, or you will get us into 
 trouble," said the Count firmly, but not harshly 
 now. 
 
 " Oh, sir, one moment I one little moment I " 
 panted Gerard. 
 
 " Cursed be the land I was born in ! cursed 
 be the race of man I and he that made them 
 what they are I " screamed Denys. 
 
 "Hush, Denys, hush! blaspheme not I Oh, 
 God forgive him, he wots not what he says. 
 Be patient, Denys, be patient : though we 
 meet no more on earth, let us meet in a better 
 world, where no blasphemer may enter. To my 
 heart, lost friend ; for what are words now ? " 
 He held out his arms, and they locked ona 
 another in a close embrace. They kissed on 
 another again and again, speechless, and the 
 tears rained down their cheeks. And the Count 
 Jarnac looked on amazed, but the rougher
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 soldiers, to whom comrade was a sacred name, 
 looked on with some pity in their hard faces. 
 Then at a signal from Jarnac, with kind force 
 and words of rude consolation, they almost lifted 
 Denys on to the mule ; and putting him in the 
 middle of them, spurred after their leader. 
 And Gerard ran wildly after (for the lane 
 turned), to see the very last of him ; and the 
 last glimpse he caught, Denys was rocking to 
 and fro on his mule, and tearing his hair out. 
 But at this sight something rose in Gerard's 
 throat so high, so high, he could run no more 
 nor breathe, but gasped, and leaned against 
 the snow-clad hedge, seizing it, and choking 
 piteously. 
 
 The thorns ran into his hand. 
 
 After a bitter straggle he got his breath 
 again ; and now began to see his own mis- 
 fortune. Yet not all at once to realise it, so 
 sudden and numbing was the stroke. He 
 staggered on, but scarce feeling or caring 
 whither he was going ; and every now and then 
 he stopped, and his arms fell and his head sank 
 on his chest, and he stood motionless : then 
 he said to himself, " Can this thing be ? This 
 must be a dream. 'Tis scarce five minutes 
 since we were so happy, walking handed, 
 faring to Rome together, and we admired them 
 and their gay banners and helmets oh, hearts 
 of hell 1 " 
 
 All nature seemed to stare now as lonely as 
 himself. Not a creature in sight. No colour 
 but white. He, the ghost of his former self, 
 wandered alone among the ghosts of trees, and 
 fields, and hedges. Desolate I desolate 1 deso- 
 late I All was desolate. 
 
 He knelt and gathered a little snow. " Nay, 
 I dream not ; for this it snow : cold as the 
 world's heart. It is bloody, too : what may 
 that mean ? Fool I 'tis from thy hand. I mind 
 not the wound. Ay, I see : thorns. Welcome ! 
 kindly foes : I felt ye not, ye ran not into my 
 heart. Ye are not cruel like men." 
 
 He had risen, and was dragging his leaden 
 limbs along, when he heard horses' feet and 
 gay voices behind him. He turned with a joy- 
 ful but wild hope that the soldiers had relented 
 and were bringing Denys back. But no, it was 
 a gay cavalcade. A gentleman of rank and his 
 favourites in velvet and furs and feathers ; and 
 four or five armed retainers in buff jerkins. 
 
 They swept gaily by. 
 
 Gerard never looked at them after they were 
 gone by: certain gay shadows had come and 
 passed ; that was all. He was like one in a 
 dream. But he was rudely wakened ; sud- 
 denly a voice in front of him cried harshly, 
 " Stand and deliver I " and there were three of 
 the gentleman's servants in front of him. They 
 had ridden back to rob him. 
 
 "How, ye false knaves," said he, quite 
 calmly ; "would ye shame your noble master ? 
 He will hang ye to the nearest tree ; " and with 
 these words he drew his sword doggedly, and 
 set his back to the hedge. 
 
 One of the men instantly levelled his petronel 
 at him. 
 
 Bat another, less sanguinary, interposed. " Be 
 
 not so hasty 1 And be not thou so mad I Look 
 yonder ! " 
 
 Gerard looked, and scarce a hundred yards 
 off the noble,man and his friends had halted, 
 and sat on their horses, looking at the lawless 
 act, too proud to do their own dirty work, but 
 not too proud to reap the fruit, and watch lest 
 their agents should rob them of another man's 
 money. 
 
 The milder servant then, a good-natured 
 fellow, showed Gerard resistance was vain ; 
 reminded him common thieves often took the 
 life as well as the purse, and assured him it 
 cost a mint to be a gentleman ; his master had 
 lost money at play overnight, and was going to 
 visit his leman, and so must take money where 
 he saw it 
 
 "Therefore, good youth, consider that we 
 rob not for ourselves, and deliver us that fat 
 purse at thy girdle without more ado, nor put 
 us to the pain of slitting thy throat and taking 
 it all the same." 
 
 "This knave is right," said Gerard calmly, 
 aloud but to himself. " I ought not to fling 
 away my life; Margaret would be so sorry. 
 Take then the poor man's purse to the rich 
 man's pouch ; and with it this ; tell him, I pray 
 the Holy Trinity each coin in it may burn his 
 hand, and freeze his heart, and blast his soul 
 for ever. Begone and leave me to my sorrow 1 " 
 He flung them the purse. 
 
 They rode away muttering; for his words 
 pricked them a little, a very little ; and he 
 staggered on, penniless now as well as friend- 
 less, till he came to the edge of a wood. Then, 
 though his heart could hardly feel this second 
 blow, his judgment did ; and he began to ask 
 himself what was the use going further ? He 
 sat down on the hard road, and ran his nails 
 into his hair, and tried to think for the best 
 a task all the more difficult that a strange 
 drowsiness was stealing over him. Rome he 
 could never reach without money. Denys had 
 said, " Go to Strasbourg, and down the Rhine 
 home." He would obey Denys. But how get 
 to Strasbourg without money ? 
 
 Then suddenly seemed to ring in his ears 
 
 " Gyf the world prove harsh and cold, 
 Come back to the hedde of gold." 
 
 " And if I do I must go as her servant ; I 
 who am Margaret's. I am a-weary, a-weary. 
 I will sleep, and dream all is as it was. Ah 
 me, how happy were we an hour agone, we 
 little knew how happy. There is a house : the 
 owner well to do. What if I told him my 
 wrong, and prayed his aid to retrieve my purse, 
 and so to Rhine ? Fool I is he not a man, like 
 the rest ? He would scorn me and trample mo 
 lower. Denys cursed the race of men. That 
 will I never ; but oh, I 'gin to loathe and dread 
 them. Nay, here will I lie till sunset: then 
 darkling creep into this rich man's barn, and 
 take by stealth a draught of milk or a handful 
 o' grain, to keep body arid soul together. God, 
 who hath seen the rich rob me, will perad- 
 venture forgive me. They say 'tis ill sleeping 
 on the snow. Death steals on such sleepers 
 with muffled feet and honey breath. But what 
 can I ? I am a-weary, a-weary. Shall this be
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 113 
 
 the wood where lie the wolves yon old man 
 Bpoke of ? I must e'en trust them : they are 
 not men ; and I am so a-weary." 
 
 He crawled to the roadside, and stretched 
 out Ms limbs on the snow, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Ah, tear not thine hair BO ! teareth my heart 
 to see thee." 
 
 "Mai garet. Never see me more. Poor 
 Mar gi ret." 
 
 And the too tender heart was stilL 
 And the constant lover, and friend of antique 
 mould, lay silent on the snow ; in peril from the 
 weather, in peril from wild beasts, in peril from 
 hunger, friendless and penniless, in a strange 
 land, and not half way to Rome. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 RUDE travel is enticing to us English. And so 
 are its records ; even though the adventurer be 
 no pilgrim of love. And antique friendship has 
 at least the interest of a fossil. Still, as the 
 true centre of this story is in Holland, it is full 
 time to return thither, and to those ordinary 
 personages and incidents whereof life has been 
 mainly composed in all ages. 
 
 Jorian Ketel came to Peter's house to claim 
 Margaret's promise ; but Margaret was ill in 
 bed, and Peter, on hearing his errand, affronted 
 him and warned him off the premises, and one 
 or two that stood by were for ducking him ; for 
 both father and daughter were favourites, and 
 the whole story was in every mouth, and the 
 Sevenbergens in that state of hot, undiscrimi- 
 nating irritation which accompanies popular 
 sympathy. 
 
 So Jorian Ketel went off in dudgeon, and 
 repented him of his good deed. This sort of 
 penitence is not rare, and has the merit of being 
 sincere. Dierich Brower, who was discovered 
 at "The Three Kings," making a chatterbox 
 drunk in order to worm out of him the where- 
 abouts of Martin Wittenhaagen, was actually 
 taken and Hung into a horse-pond, and threat- 
 ened with worse usage, should he ever show his 
 face in the burgh again ; and finally, muni- 
 cipal jealousy being roused, the burgomaster 
 of Sevenbergen sent a formal missive to the 
 burgomaster of Tergou, reminding him he had 
 overstepped the law, and requesting him to 
 apply to the authorities of Sevenbergen on 
 any future occasion when he might have a 
 complaint, real or imaginary, against any of its 
 townsfolk. 
 
 The wily Ghysbrecht, suppressing his rage at 
 this remonstrance, sent back a civil message to 
 say that the person he had followed to Seven- 
 bergen was a Tergovan, one Gerard, and that 
 he had stolen the town records : that Gerard 
 having escaped into foreign parts, and probably 
 taken the documents with him, the whole matter 
 was at an end. 
 
 Thus he made a virtue of necessity. But in 
 reality hii calmness was but a veil :" baffled at 
 
 Sevenbergen, he turned his views elsewhere ; 
 he set his emissaries to learn from the family at 
 Tergou whither Gerard had fled, and " to his 
 infinite surprise" they did not know. This 
 added to his uneasiness. It made him fear 
 Gerard was only lurking in the neighbourhood : 
 he would make a certain discovery, and would 
 come back and take a terrible revenge. From 
 this time Dierich and others that were about 
 him noticed a change for the worse in Ghys- 
 brecht Van Swieten. He became a moody, 
 irritable man. A dread lay on him. His eyes 
 cast furtive glances, like one who expects a 
 blow, and knows not from what quarter it is to 
 come. Making others wretched had not made 
 him happy. It seldom does. 
 
 The little family at Tergou, which, but for 
 his violent interference, might in time have 
 cemented its difference without banishing spem 
 gregis to a distant land, wore still the same 
 outward features, but within was no longer the 
 simple happy family this tale opened with. 
 Little Kate knew the share Cornelis and Sy- 
 brandt had in banishing Gerard, and though, 
 for fear of making more mischief still, she 
 never told her mother, yet there were tunes 
 she shuddered at the bare sight of them, 
 and blushed at their hypocritical regrets. 
 Catherine, with a woman's vigilance, noticed 
 this, and with a woman's subtlety said nothing, 
 but quietly pondered it, and went on watching 
 for more. The black sheep themselves, in their 
 efforts to partake in the general gloom and 
 sorrow, succeeded so far as to impose upon their 
 father and Giles ; but the demure satisfaction 
 that lay at their bottom could not escape these 
 feminine eyes 
 
 " That, noting all, seem'd nought to note." 
 
 Thus mistrust and suspicion sat at the table, 
 poor substitutes for Gerard's intelligent face, 
 that had brightened the whole circle, unob- 
 served till it was gone. As for the old hosier, 
 his pride had been wounded by his son's dis- 
 obedience, and so he bore stiffly up, and did 
 his best never to mention Gerard's name ; but 
 underneath his Spartan cloak, Nature might be 
 seen tugging at his heart-strings. One anxiety 
 he never affected to conceal.. " If I but knew 
 where the boy is, and that his life and health 
 are in no danger, small would be my care," 
 would he say ; and then a deep sigh would 
 follow. I cannot help thinking that if Gerard 
 had opened the door just then, and walked in, 
 there would have been many tears and embraces 
 for him, and few reproaches, or none. 
 
 One thing took the old couple quite by sur- 
 prise publicity. Ere Gerard had been gone 
 a week, his adventures were in every mouth ; 
 and to make matters worse, the popular sym- 
 pathy declared itself warmly on the side of the 
 lovers, and against Gerard's cruel parents, and 
 that old busybody the burgomaster, " who must 
 put his nose into a business thai aowise con- 
 cerned him." 
 
 11 Mother," eaid Kate, " it is all over the town 
 that Margaret is down with a fever a burning 
 fever ; her father fears her sadly."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 4 ' Margaret ? what Margaret T " inquired Cathe- 
 rine, with a treacherous assumption of calmness 
 and indifference. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! whom should I mean ? Why, 
 Gerard's Margaret." 
 
 " Gerard's Margaret," screamed Catherine ; 
 " how dare you say such a word to me ? And J 
 rede you never mention that hussy's name in 
 this house, that she has laid bare. She is the 
 ruin of my poor boy, the flower of all my flock. 
 She is the cause that he is not a holy priest in 
 the midst of us, but is roaming the^world, and I 
 a desolate broken-hearted mother. There, do 
 not cry, my girl, I do ill to speak harsh to you. 
 But oh, Kate I you know not what passes in a 
 mother's heart. I bear up before yon all ; it 
 behoves me swallow my fears; but at night I 
 see him in my dreams, and still some trouble or 
 other near him : sometimes he is torn by wild 
 beasts ; other times he is in the hands of robbers, 
 and their cruel knives uplifted to strike his poor 
 pale face, that one should think would move a 
 stone. Oh I when I remember that, while I sit 
 here in comfort, perhaps my poor boy lies dead 
 in some savage place, and all along of that girl : 
 there, her very name is ratsbane to me. I 
 tremble all over when I hear it." 
 
 "I'll not say anything, nor do anything to 
 grieve you worse, mother," said Kate tenderly ; 
 but she sighed. 
 
 She whose name was so fiercely interdicted 
 In this house was much spoken of, and even 
 pitied elsewhere. All Sevenbergen was sorry 
 for her, and the young men and maidens cast 
 many a pitying glance, as they passed, at the 
 little window where the beauty of the village 
 lay " dying for love." In this familiar phrase 
 they underrated her spirit and unselfishness. 
 Gerard was not dead, and she was too loyal 
 herself to doubt his constancy. Her father was 
 dear to her and helpless ; and but for bodily 
 weakness, all her love for Gerard would not 
 have kept her from doing her duties, though 
 she might have gone about them with drooping 
 head and heavy heart. But physical and mental 
 excitement had brought on an attack of fever so 
 violent, that nothing but youth and constitution 
 saved her. The malady left her at last, but in 
 that terrible state of bodily weakness in which 
 the patient feels life a burden. 
 
 Then it is that love and friendship by the 
 bedside are mortal angels with comfort in their 
 voices, and healing in their palms. 
 
 But this poor girl had to come back to life 
 and vigour how she could. Many days she lay 
 alone, and the heavy hours rolled like leaden 
 waves over her. In her enfeebled state existence 
 eemed a burden, and life a thing gone by. She 
 could not try her best to get well. Gerard was 
 gone. She had not him to get well for. Often 
 nhe lay for hours quite still, with the tears 
 welling gently out of her eyes. 
 
 One day, waking from an uneasy slumber, she 
 found two women in her room. One was a 
 errant, the other by the deep fur on her collar 
 and sleeves was a person of consideration : a 
 narrow band of silvery hair, being spared by her 
 coiffure, showed her to be past the age when 
 women of sense conceal their years. The looks 
 nt both wero Wnd and friendly. Margaret tried 
 
 to raise herself in the bed, but the old lady 
 placed a hand very gently on her. 
 
 "Lie still, sweetheart ; we come not here to 
 put you about, but to comfort you, God willing. 
 Now cheer up a bit, and tell us, first, who think 
 you we are ? " 
 
 "Nay, madam, I know you, though I never 
 saw you before: you are the demoiselle Van 
 Eyck, and this is Reicht Heynes. Gerard has 
 oft spoken of you, and of your goodnes? to him. 
 Madam, he has no friend like you tear him 
 now," and at this thought she lay back, and the 
 tears welled out of her eyes in a moment. 
 
 The good-natured Reicht Heynes began to 
 cry for company ; but her mistress scolded her. 
 " Well, you are a pretty one for a sick-room," 
 said she ; and she put out a world of innocent 
 art to cheer the patient, and not without some 
 little success. An old woman, that has seen 
 life and all its troubles, is a sovereign blessing 
 by a sorrowful young woman's side. She knows 
 what to say, and what to avoid. She knows 
 how to soothe her and interest her. Ere she 
 had been there an hour, she had Margaret's 
 head lying on her shoulder instead of on the 
 pillow, and Margaret's soft eyes dwelling on her 
 with gentle gratitude. 
 
 " Ah I this is hair," said the old lady, running 
 her fingers through it. " Come and look at it, 
 Reicht I " 
 
 Reicht came and handled it, and praised it 
 unaffectedly. The poor girl that owned it was 
 not quite out of the reach of flattery; owing 
 doubtless to not being dead. 
 
 "In sooth, madam, I did use to think it 
 hideous ; but ht praised it, and ever since then 
 I have been almost vain of it, saints forgive me. 
 You know how foolish those are that love." 
 
 ' They are greater fools that don't," said the 
 old lady sharply. 
 
 Margaret opened her lovely eyes, and looked 
 at her for her meaning. 
 
 This was only the first of many visits. In 
 fact either Margaret Van Eyck or Reicht came 
 nearly every day until their patient was con- 
 valescent ; and she improved rapidly under 
 their hands. Reicht attributed this principally 
 to certain nourishing dishes she prepared in 
 Peter's kitchen ; but Margaret herself thought 
 more of the kind words and eyes that kept 
 telling her she had friends to live for. 
 
 Martin Wittenhaagen went straight to Rot- 
 terdam, to take the bull by the horns. The 
 bull was a biped, with a crown for horns. It 
 was Philip the Good, duke of this, earl of 
 that, lord of the other. Arrived at Rotterdam, 
 Martin found the court was at Ghent. To 
 Ghent he went, and sought an audience, but 
 was put off and baffled by lackeys and pages. 
 So he threw himself in his sovereign's way out 
 bunting, and contrary to all court precedents, 
 commenced the conversation by roaring lustily 
 for mercy. 
 
 "Why, where is the peril, man?" said the 
 Duke, looking all round and laughing. 
 
 "Grace for an old soldier hunted down by 
 burghers ! " 
 
 Now kings differ In character like other folk ; 
 but there IB one trait they unvo IB common ;
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 they are mightily inclined to be affable to 
 men of very low estate. These do not vie with 
 them in anything whatever, so jealousy cannot 
 creep in ; and they amuse them by their blunt- 
 ness and novelty, and refresh the poor things 
 with a touch of nature a rarity in courts. So 
 Philip the Good reined in his horse and gave 
 Martin almost a tSte-A-tete, and Martin re- 
 minded him of a certain battlefield where he 
 had received an arrow intended for his sove- 
 reign. The Duke remembered the incident 
 perfectly, and was graciously pleased to take 
 a cheerful view of it. He could afford to, not 
 having been the one hit. Then Martin told 
 bis majesty of Gerard's first capture hi the 
 church, his imprisonment in the tower, and the 
 manoeuvre by which they got him out, and all 
 the details of the hunt ; and whether he told 
 it better than I have, or the Duke had not heard 
 eo many good stories as you have, certain it is 
 that sovereign got so wrapt up in it, that, when 
 a number of courtiers came galloping up and 
 interrupted Martin, he swore like a coster- 
 monger, and threatened, only half in jest, to 
 cut off the nest head that should come between 
 him and a good story ; and when Martin had 
 done, he cried out 
 
 " St. Luke ! what sport goeth on in this mine 
 earldom, ay ! in my own woods, and I see it 
 not. You base fellows have all the luck." 
 And he was indignant at the partiality of 
 Fortune. "Lo you now I this was a man- 
 hunt," said he. " / never had the luck to be 
 at a man-hunt." 
 
 " My luck was none so great," replied Martin 
 bluntly ; " I was on the wrong side of the dogs' 
 noses." 
 
 " Ah I BO you were ; I forgot that." And 
 royalty was more reconciled to its lot. " What 
 would you then f " 
 
 "A free pardon, your highness, for myself 
 and Gerard." 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " For prison-breaking." 
 
 "Go to; the bird will fly from the cage. 
 'Tis instinct. Besides, coop a young man up for 
 loving a young woman ? These burgomasters 
 must be void of common sense. What else ? " 
 
 " For striking down the burgomaster." 
 
 " Oh, the hunted boar will turn to bay. 'Tis 
 his right ; and I hold him less than man that 
 grudges it him. What else ? " 
 
 " For killing of the bloodhounds." 
 
 The Duke's countenance fell. 
 
 '"Twas their life or mine," aaid Martin 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Ay I but I can't have my bloodhounds, my 
 beautiful bloodhounds, sacrificed to " 
 
 " No, no, no I They were not your dogs." 
 
 " Whose dogs, then J " 
 
 " The ranger's." 
 
 " Oh. Well, I am very sorry for him, but as 
 I was saying, I can't have my old soldiers 
 sacrificed to his bloodhounds. Thou shalt have 
 thy free pardon." 
 
 "And poor Gerard." 
 
 " And poor Gerard too, for thy sake. And 
 more, tell thou this burgomaster his doings 
 mislike mo : this is to set up for a king, not a 
 burgomaster. I'll have no kings in Holland but 
 
 one. Bid him be more humble ; or by St. Jnde 
 I'll hang him before his own door, as I hanged 
 the burgomaster of what's the name, some towr 
 or other in Flanders it was ; no, 'twas some- 
 where in Brabant no matter I hanged him, I 
 remember that much for oppressing poor folk." 
 
 The Duke then beckoned his chancellor, a 
 pursy old fellow that rode like a sack, and bade 
 him write out a free pardon for Martin and one 
 Gerard. 
 
 This precious document was drawn up in 
 form, and signed next day, and Martin has- 
 tened home with it. 
 
 Margaret had left her bed some days, and 
 was sitting pale and pensive by the fireside, 
 when he burst in, waving the parchment, and 
 crying, " A free pardon, girl, for Gerard as well 
 as me ! Send for him back when you will ; all 
 the burgomasters on earth daren't lay a finger 
 on him." 
 
 She flushed all over with joy, and her hands 
 trembled with eagerness as she took the parch- 
 ment and devoured it with her eyes, and kissed 
 it again and again, and flung her arms round 
 Martin's neck, and kissed him. When she was 
 calmer, she told him Heaven had raised her 
 up a friend in the dame Van Eyck. "And I 
 would fain consult her on this good news ; but 
 I have not strength to walk so far." 
 
 " What need to walk ? There is my mule." 
 
 " Your mule, Martin ? " 
 
 The old soldier or professional pillager 
 laughed, and confessed he had got so used to 
 her, that he forgot at times Ghysbrecht had a 
 prior claim. To-morrow he would turn her 
 into the burgomaster's yard, but to-night she 
 should carry Margaret to Tergou. 
 
 It was nearly dusk; so Margaret ventured, 
 and about seven in the evening she astonished 
 and gladdened her new but ardent friend, by 
 arriving at her house with unwonted roses on 
 her cheeks, and Gerard's pardon in her bosom. 
 
 CHAPTER Kit, 
 
 SOME are old in heart at forty, some are young 
 at eighty. Margaret Van Eyck's heart was 
 an evergreen. She loved her young namesake 
 with youthful ardour. Nor was this new senti- 
 ment a mere caprice ; she was quick at read- 
 ing character, and saw in Margaret Brandt that 
 which in one of her own sex goes far with 
 an intelligent woman genuineness. But be- 
 sides her own sterling qualities, Margaret had 
 from the first a potent ally in the old artist's 
 bosom. 
 
 Human nature. 
 
 Strange as it may appear to the unobservant, 
 our hearts warm more readily to those we 
 have benefited than to our benefactors. Some 
 of the Greek philosophers noticed this ; but 
 the British Homer has stamped it in immortal 
 lines: 
 
 " I heard, and thought how side by side 
 We two had stemmed the battle's tide 
 In many a well-debated field, 
 Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 I thought on Darien's desert* pale, 
 Where Death bestrides the evening gala, 
 How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
 And fencelesu faced the deadly dew. 
 I thought on Quariana's clitf, 
 Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 
 Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 
 Exhausted Mortham to the shore : 
 And when hia side an arrow found, 
 I sucked the Indian's venom'd wound. 
 These thoughts like torrents rushed along 
 To sweep away my purpose strong." 
 
 Observe I this assassin's hand is stayed by 
 memory, not of benefits received, but benefits 
 conferred. 
 
 Now Margaret Van Eyck had been wonder- 
 fully kind to Margaret Brandt; had broken 
 through her own habits to go and see her ; 
 had nursed her, and soothed her, and petted 
 her, and cured her more than all the medicine 
 in the world. So her heart opened to the 
 recipient of her goodness, and she loved her 
 now far more tenderly than she had ever loved 
 Gerard, though, in truth, it was purely out 
 of regard for Gerard she had visited her in 
 the first instance. 
 
 When, therefore, she saw the roses on 
 Margaret's cheek, and read the bit of parch- 
 ment that had brought them there, she gave 
 up her own views without a murmur. 
 
 "Sweetheart," said she, "I did desire he 
 should stay in Italy five or six years, and 
 come back rich, and above all, an artist. But 
 your happiness is before all, and I see you 
 cannot live without him, so we must have him 
 home as fast as may be." 
 
 "Ah, madam 1 you see my very thoughts." 
 And the young woman hung her head a 
 noment and blushed. "But how to let him 
 know, madam? That passes my skilL He is 
 gone to Italy ; but what part that I know 
 not. Stay ! he named the cities he should 
 visit. Florence was one, and Rome. But 
 then " 
 
 Finally, being a sensible girl, she divined 
 that a letter, addressed, "My Gerard Italy 
 might chance to miscarry, and she looked 
 Imploringly at her friend for counsel. 
 
 "You are come to the right place, and at 
 the right time," said the old lady. "Here 
 was this Hans Memling with me to-day; he 
 is going to Italy, girl, no later than next week, 
 'to improve his hand," he says. Not before 
 'twas needed, I do assure yon." 
 
 " But how is he to find my Gerard ? " 
 
 " Why, he knows your Gerard, child. They 
 have supped here more than once, and were 
 like hand and glove. Now, as his business is 
 the same as Gerard's " 
 
 " What ! he is a painter then ? " 
 
 " He passes for one. He will visit the same 
 places as Gerard, and soon or late he must 
 fall in with him. Wherefore, get you a long 
 letter written, and copy out this pardon into 
 it, and I'll answer for the messenger. In sii 
 months at farthest Gerard shall get it; anc 
 when he shall get it, Ihen will he kiss it, 
 and put it in his bosom, and come flying 
 home. What are you smiling at? Anc 
 now what makes your cheeks so red T Ant 
 whit yon are smothering me for, I canno 
 
 hink. Yesl happy days are coming to cay 
 ittle pearL" 
 
 Meantime, Martin sat in the kitchen, with 
 he black-jack before him and Reicht Heynes 
 spinning beside him ; and wow 1 but she 
 pumped him that night. 
 
 This Hans Memling was an old pupil of Jan 
 Van Eyck and his sister. He was a painter 
 notwithstanding Margaret's sneer, and a good 
 soul enough, with one fault. He loved the 
 "nipperkin, canakin, and the brown bowl" 
 more than they deserve. This singular pen- 
 chant kept him from amassing fortune, and 
 was the cause that he often came to Mar- 
 garet Van Eyck for a, meal, and sometimes 
 for a groat. But this" gave her a claim on 
 him, and she knew he would not trifle with 
 any commission she should entrust to him. 
 
 The letter was duly written and left with 
 Margaret Van Eyck ; and the following week, 
 sure enough, Hans Memling returned from 
 Flanders. Margaret Van Eyck gave him the 
 letter, and a piece of gold towards his tra- 
 velling expenses. He seemed in a hurry to 
 be off. 
 
 "All the better," said the old artist; "he 
 will be the sooner in Italy." 
 
 But as there are horses who burn and rage 
 to start, and after the first yard or two want 
 the whip, so all this hurry cooled into inac- 
 tion when Hans got as far as the principal 
 hostelry of Tergou, and saw two of his boon 
 companions sitting in the bay window. H 
 went in for a parting glass with them; but 
 when he offered to pay, they would not hear 
 of it. No; he was going a long journey; 
 they would treat him ; everybody must treat 
 him, the landlord and alL 
 
 It resulted from this treatment that his 
 tongue got as loose as if the wine had been 
 oil ; and he confided to the convivial crew 
 that he was going to show the Italians how 
 to paint : next he sang his exploits in battle, 
 for he had handled a pike ; and his amorous 
 successes with females, not present to oppose 
 their version of the incidents. In short, 
 " plenus rimarum erat : hue illuc diffluebat ; " 
 and among the miscellaneous matters that 
 oozed out, he must blab that he was entrusted 
 with a letter to a townsman of theirs, one 
 Gerard, a good fellow. He added, "You ari 
 all good fellows ; " and to impress his eulogy, 
 slapped Sybrandt on the back so heartily, as 
 to drive the breath out of his body. 
 
 Sybrandt got round the table to avoid this 
 muscular approval ; but listened to every word, 
 and learned for the first time that Gerard was 
 gone to Italy. However, to make sure, he 
 affected to doubt it. 
 
 " My brother Gerard is never in Italy." 
 
 "Ye lie, ye cur," roared Hans, taking in- 
 stantly the irascible turn, and not being clear 
 enough to see that he, who now sat opposite 
 him, was the same he had praised, and hit, 
 when beside him. " If he is ten times your 
 brother, he is in Italy. What call ye this 1 
 There, read me that superscription ! " and he 
 flung down a letter on the table. 
 
 Sybrandt took it up, and examined it 2ra v ely ;
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 but eventually laid it down, with the remark, 
 that he could not read. However, one of 'the 
 company, by some immense fortuity, could 
 read ; and proud of so rare an accomplishment, 
 took it, and read it out : " To Gerard Eliassoen, 
 of Tergou. These by the hand of the trusty 
 Hans Memling, with all speed." 
 
 '"Tis excellently well writ," said the reader, 
 examining every letter. 
 
 " Ay I " said Hans bombastically, " and small 
 wonder : 'tis writ by a famous hand ; by 
 Margaret, sister of Jan Van Eyck. Blessed 
 and honoured be his memory I She is an old 
 friend of mine, is Margaret Van Eyck." 
 
 Miscellaneous Hans then diverged into forty 
 topics. 
 
 Sybrandt stole out of the company, and went 
 in search of Cornelis. 
 
 They put their heads together over the 
 news : Italy was an immense distance off. If 
 they could only keep him there ? 
 
 " Keep him there ? Nothing would keep him 
 long from his Margaret." 
 
 " Curse her I " said Sybrandt. " Why didn't 
 she die when she was about it ? " 
 
 " She die ? She would outlive the pest to vex 
 us." And Cornelis was wroth at her selfishness 
 hi not dying, to oblige. 
 
 These two black sheep kept putting their 
 heads together, and tainting each other worse 
 and worse, till at last their corrupt hearts 
 conceived a plan for keeping Gerard in Italy 
 all his life, and so securing his share of their 
 father's substance. 
 
 But when they had planned it they were no 
 nearer the execution : for that required talent : 
 so iniquity came to a standstill. But presently, 
 as if Satan had come between the two heads, 
 and whispered into the right ear of one and 
 the left of the other simultaneously, they both 
 bnrst out 
 
 " THE BURGOMASTEK 1 " 
 
 They went to Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, and 
 he received them at once : for the man who is 
 under the torture of suspense catches eagerly 
 at knowledge. Certainty is often painful, but 
 seldom, like suspense, intolerable. 
 
 "You have news of Gerard?" said he 
 eagerly. 
 
 Then they told about the letter and Hans 
 Memling. He listened with restless eye. ' ' Who 
 writ the letter ! " 
 
 "Margaret Van Eyck," was the reply; for 
 they naturally thought the contents were by 
 the same hand as the superscription. 
 
 " Are ye sure ? " And he went to a drawer 
 and drew out a paper written by Margaret Van 
 Eyck while treating with the burgh for her 
 house. " Was it writ like this ? " 
 
 " Yes. 'Tis the same writing," said Sybrandt 
 boldly. 
 
 " Good. And now what would ye of me ? " 
 said Ghysbrecht, with beating heart, but a 
 carelessness so well feigned that it staggered 
 them. They fumbled with their bonnets, and 
 stammered and spoke a word or two, then 
 hesitated and beat about the bush, and let out 
 by degrees that they wanted a letter written, 
 to say something that might keep Gerard in 
 
 Italy; and this letter they proposed to sub- 
 stitute in Hans Memling's wallet for the one 
 he carried. While these fumbled with their 
 bonnets and their iniquity, and vacillated 
 between respect for a burgomaster, and suspi- 
 cion that this one was as great rogue as them- 
 selves, and somehow or other, on their side 
 against Gerard, pros and cons were coursing 
 one another to and fro in the keen old man's 
 spirit. Vengeance said let Gerard come back 
 and feel the weight of the law. Prudence said 
 keep him a thousand miles off. But then 
 Prudence said also, why do dirty work on a 
 doubtful chance? Why put it in the power 
 of these two rogues to tarnish your name? 
 Finally, his strong persuasion that Gerard was 
 in possession of a secret by means of which he 
 could wound him to the quick, coupled with 
 his caution, found words thus : " It is my duty 
 to aid the citizens that cannot write. But for 
 their matter I will not be responsible. Tell 
 me, then, what I shall write." 
 
 "Something about this Margaret." 
 
 "Ay, ay I that she is false, that she is 
 married to another, I'll go bail." 
 
 "Nay, burgomaster, nay 1 not for all the 
 world 1 " cried Sybrandt ; " Gerard would not 
 believe it, or but half, and then he would 
 come back to see. No; say that she is 
 dead." 
 
 " Dead I what, at her age ? will he credit 
 that?" 
 
 "Sooner than the other. Why she wai 
 nearly dead : so it is not to say a downright 
 lie, after all." 
 
 "Humph! And you think that will keep 
 him in Italy ? " 
 
 "We are sure of it, are we not, Cornelis ? " 
 
 "Ay," said Cornelis, "our Gerard will never 
 leave Italy now he is there. It was always 
 his dream to get there. He would come back 
 for his Margaret, but not for us. What cares 
 he for us? He despises his own family; 
 always did." 
 
 "This would be a bitter pill to him," said 
 the old hypocrite. " It will be for his good in 
 the end," replied the young one. 
 
 " What avails Famine wedding Thirst ? " said 
 Cornelis. 
 
 " And the grief you are preparing for him so 
 coolly?" Ghysbrecht spoke sarcastically, but 
 tasted his own vengeance all the time. 
 
 " Oh, a lie is not like a blow with a curtal 
 axe. It hacks no flesh, and breaks no bones." 
 
 "A curtal axe?" said Sybrandt; "no, nor 
 even like a stroke with a cudgel." And he shot 
 a sly envenomed glance at the burgomaster's 
 broken nose. 
 
 Ghysbrecht's face darkened with ire when 
 this adder's tongue struck his wound. But it 
 told, as intended: the old man bristled with 
 hate. 
 
 "Well," said he, "tell me what to write for 
 you, and I must write it ; but take notice, 
 you bear the blame if aught turns amiss. Not 
 the hand which writes, but the tongue which 
 dictates, doth the deed." 
 
 The brothers assented warmly, sneering 
 within. Ghysbrecht then drew his inkhorn 
 towards him, and laid the specimen of Margaret
 
 ix8 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Van Eyck's writing before him, and made some 
 inquiries as to the size and shape of the letter, 
 when an unlooked-for interruption occurred; 
 Jorian Ketel burst hastily into the room, and 
 looked vexed at not finding him alone. 
 
 "Thou seest I have matter on hand, good 
 fellow." 
 
 " Ay ; but this is grave. I bring good news ; 
 but 'tis not for every ear." 
 
 The burgomaster rose, and drew Jorian aside 
 into the embrasure of his deep window, and 
 then the brothers heard them converse in low 
 but eager tones. It ended by Ghysbrecht 
 sending Jorian out to saddle his mule. He 
 then addressed the black sheep with a sudden 
 coldness that amazed them 
 
 " I prize the peace of households ; but this is 
 not a thing to be done in a hurry : we will see 
 about it, we will see." 
 
 "But, burgomaster, the man will be gone. 
 It will be too late." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "At the hostelry, drinking." 
 
 "Well, keep him drinking! We will see, 
 we will see." And he sent them off discom- 
 fited. 
 
 To explain all this we must retrograde a step. 
 This very morning, then, Margaret Brandt had 
 met Jorian Ketel near her own door. He 
 passed her with a scowl. This struck her, and 
 she remembered hi, 
 
 " Stay," said she. " Yes I it is the good man 
 who saved him. Oh I why have you not been 
 near me since I And why have you not come 
 for the parchments? Was it not true about 
 the hundred crowns 7 " 
 
 Jorian gave a snort; but, seeing her face 
 that looked so candid, began to think there 
 might be some mistake. He told her he had 
 come, and how he had been received. 
 
 " Alas ! " said she, " I knew nought of this. 
 I lay at Death's door." She then invited him 
 to follow her, and took him into the garden 
 and showed bim the spot where the parch- 
 ments were buried. " Martin was for taking 
 them up, but I would not let him. He put 
 them there; and I said none should move 
 them but you, who had earned them so well of 
 him and me." 
 
 "Give me a spade I" cried Jorian eagerly. 
 " But stay 1 No ; he is a suspicious man. You 
 are sure they are there still ? " 
 
 "I will openly take the blame if human 
 hand hath touched them." 
 
 "Then keep them but two hours more, I 
 prithee, good Margaret," said Jorian, and 
 ran off to the Stadthouse of Tergou a joyful 
 
 The burgomaster jogged along towards 
 8venbergen, with Jorian striding beside 
 him, giving him assurance that in an hour's 
 time the missing parchments would be in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Ah, master 1 " said he, " lucky for us it 
 wasn't a thief that took them." 
 
 "Not a thief? not a thief? what call you 
 him, then ? " 
 
 "Well, saving your presence, I call him a 
 
 jackdaw. This is jackdaw's work, if ever there 
 was ; ' take the thing you are least in need of, 
 and hide it ' that's a jackdaw. I should know, ' 
 added Jorian oracularly, "for I was brought 
 up along with a chough. He and I were born 
 the same year, but he cut his teeth long before 
 me, and wow ! but my life was a burden for 
 years all along of him. If you had but a hole 
 in your hose no bigger than a groat, in went 
 his beak like a gimlet ; and for stealing, Gerard 
 all over. What he wanted least, and any poor 
 Christian in the house wanted most, that went 
 first. Mother was a notable woman, so if she 
 did but look round, away flew her thimble. 
 Father lived by cordwaining, so about sunrise 
 Jack went diligently off with his awl, his wax, 
 and his twine. After that, make your bread 
 hew you could ! One day I heard my mother 
 tell him to his face he was enough to cor- 
 rupt half-a-dozen other children ; and he onlv 
 cocked his eye at her, and next minute away 
 with the nurseling's shoe off his very foot. 
 Now this Gerard is tarred with the same stick. 
 The parchments are no more use to him 
 than a thimble or an awl to Jack. He took 
 'em out of pure mischief and hid them, and 
 you would never have found them but for 
 me." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said Ghysbrecht, 
 " and I have vexed myself more than need." 
 
 When they came to Peter's gate he felt 
 uneasy. 
 
 " I wish it had been anywhere but here." 
 
 Jorian reassured him. 
 
 "The girl is honest and friendly," said he. 
 "She had nothing to do with taking them, I'll 
 be sworn;" and he led him into the garden. 
 " There, master, if a face is to be believed, here 
 they lie ; and see, the mould it loose. " 
 
 He ran for a spade which was stuck up in 
 the ground at some distance, and soon went to 
 work and uncovered a parchment. Ghysbrecht 
 saw it, and thrust him aside and went down on 
 his knees and tore it out of the hole. His 
 hands trembled and his face shone. He threw 
 out parchment after parchment, and Jorian 
 dusted them and cleaned them and shook them. 
 Now, when Ghysbrecht had thrown out a great 
 many, his face began to darken and lengthen, 
 and when he came to the last, he put his 
 hands to his temples and seemed to be all 
 amazed. 
 
 " What mystery lies here ? " he gasped. " Are 
 fiends mocking me ? Dig deeper 1 There must 
 be another." 
 
 Jorian drove the spade in and threw out 
 quantities of hard mould. In vain. And even 
 while he dug, his master's mood had changed. 
 
 " Treason 1 treachery 1 " he cried. " You 
 knew of this." 
 
 " Knew what, master, in Heaven's name ? " 
 
 "Caitiff, you knew there was another one 
 worth all these twice told." 
 
 "Tis false," cried Jorian, made suspicious 
 by the other's suspicion. "'Tis a trick to 
 rob me of my hundred crowns. Oh I I know 
 you, burgomaster." And Jorian was ready to 
 whimper. 
 
 A mellow voice fell on them both like oil 
 upon the waves. "No, good man, it is not
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 119 
 
 false, nor yet is it quite true : there was another 
 parchment." 
 
 " There, there, there ! Where is it ? " 
 
 "But," continued Margaret calmly, "it was 
 not a town record (so you have gained your 
 hundred crowns, good man) ; it was but a 
 private deed between the burgomaster here 
 and my grandfather Klor " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " 
 
 " is Brandt." 
 
 " Where is it, girl 1 that is all we want to 
 know." 
 
 " Have patience, and I shall tell you. Gerard 
 read the title of it, and he said, 'This is as 
 much yours as the burgomaster's,' and he put 
 it apart, to read it with me at his leisure." 
 
 " It is in the house, then ? " said the burgo- 
 master, recovering his calmness. 
 
 " No, sir," said Margaret gravely, "it is not" 
 Then, in a voice that faltered suddenly, " Yon 
 hunted my poor Gerard so hard and so 
 close that you gave him no time to think 
 of aught but his life and his grief. The 
 parchment was in his bosom, and he hath ta'en 
 it with him." 
 
 "Whither, whither!" 
 
 " Ask me no more, sir. What right is yours 
 to question me thus! It was for your sake, 
 good man, I put force upon my heart, and 
 came out here, and bore to speak at all to 
 this hard old man. For, when I think of the 
 misery he has brought on him and me, the 
 sight of him is more than I can bear ; " and 
 she gave an involuntary shudder, and went 
 slowly in, with her hand to her head, crying 
 bitterly. 
 
 Remorse for the past, and dread of the 
 future the slow, but, as he now felt, the 
 inevitable future avarice, and fear, all tugged 
 in one short moment at Ghysbrecht's tough 
 heart. He hung his head, and his arms fell 
 listless by his sides. A coarse chuckle made 
 him start round, and there stood Martin 
 Wittenhaagen leaning on his bow, and sneer- 
 ing from ear to ear. At sight of the man 
 and his grinning face, Ghysbrecht's worst 
 passions awoke. 
 
 " Ho ! attach him, seize him, traitor and 
 thief ! " cried he. " Dog, thou shalt pay for 
 all." 
 
 Martin, without a word, calmly thrust the 
 Duke's pardon under Ghysbrecht's nose. He 
 looked, and had not a word to say. Martin 
 followed up his advantage. 
 
 "The Duke and I are soldiers. He won't 
 let you greasy burghers trample on an old 
 comrada He bade me carry you a message 
 too." 
 
 " The Duke send a message to me T " 
 
 "Ay I I told him of your masterful doings, 
 of your imprisoning Gerard for loving a girl ; 
 and says he, 'Tell him this is to be a king, 
 not a burgomaster. I'll have no kings in 
 Holland but one. Bid him be more humble, or 
 I'll hang him at his own door"' (Ghysbrecht 
 trembled: he thought the Duke capable of 
 the deed) " ' as I hanged the burgomaster of 
 Thingembob.' The Duke could not mind which 
 of you he had hong, or in what part such 
 trifles stick not in a soldier's memory; but 
 
 he was sure he had hanged one of you for 
 grinding poor folk, 'and I'm the man to hang 
 another,' quoth the good Duke." 
 
 These repeated insults from so mean a man, 
 coupled with his invulnerability, shielded as 
 he was by the Duke, drove the choleric old 
 man into a fit of impotent fury : he shook 
 his fist at the soldier, and tried to threaten 
 him, but could not speak for the rage and 
 mortification that choked him : then he gave 
 a sort of screech, and coiled himself up in 
 eye and form like a rattlesnake about to 
 strike ; and spat furiously upon Martin's 
 doublet. 
 
 The thick-skinned soldier treated this ebul- 
 lition with genuine contempt. " Here's a 
 venomous old toad I he knows a kick from 
 this foot would send him to his last home; 
 and he wants me to cheat the gallows. But 
 I have slain too many men in fair fight to 
 lift limb against anything less than a man; 
 and this I count no man. What is it, in 
 Heaven's name? an old goat's-skin bag full 
 o' rotten bones." 
 
 " My mule 1 my mule 1 " screamed Ghys- 
 brecht. 
 
 Jorian helped the old man up trembling in 
 every joint. Once in the saddle, he seemed 
 to gather in a moment unnatural vigour; and 
 the figure that went flying to Tergou was 
 truly weird-like and terrible : so old and 
 wizened the face ; so white and reverend 
 the streaming hair; so baleful the eye; so 
 fierce the fury which shook the bent frame 
 that went spurring like mad ; while the 
 quavering voice yelled, " I'll make their hearts 
 ache. I'll make their hearts ache. I'll make 
 their hearts ache. I'll make their hearts ache. 
 All of them. All I all I all ! " 
 
 The black sheep sat disconsolate amidst 
 the convivial crew, and eyed Hans Mending's 
 wallet. For more ease he had taken it off, 
 and flung it on the table. How readily they 
 could have slipped out that letter and put 
 in another. For the first time in their lives 
 they were sorry they had not learned to write, 
 like their brother. 
 
 And now Hans began to talk of going, and 
 the brothers agreed in a whisper to abandon 
 their project for the time. They had scarcely 
 resolved this, when Dierich Brower stood 
 suddenly In the doorway, and gave them a 
 wink. 
 
 They went out to him. "Come to the 
 burgomaster with all speed," said he. 
 
 They fotmd Ghysbrecht seated at a table, 
 pale and agitated. Before him lay Margaret 
 Van Eyck's handwriting. "I have written 
 what you desired," said he. "Now for the 
 superscription. What were the words? did 
 ye see ? " 
 
 " We cannot read," said Cornells. 
 
 "Then is all this labour lost," cried Ghys- 
 brecht angrily. " Dolts 1 " 
 
 "Nay, but," said Sybrandt, "I heard the 
 words read, and I have not lost them. They 
 were, 'To Gerard Eliassoen, these by the 
 hand of the trusty Hans Memlir.g with all 
 Bpeod.'"
 
 120 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "Tis well. Now, how was the letter 
 folded T how big was it ? " 
 
 " Longer than that one, and not so long as 
 this." 
 
 " 'Tis well. Where is he 1 " 
 
 "At the hostelry." 
 
 " Come, then, take you this groat, and 
 treat him. Then ask to see the letter, and 
 put this in place of it. Come to me with 
 the other letter." 
 
 The brothers assented, took the letter, and 
 went to the hostelry. 
 
 They had not been gone a minute, when 
 Dierich Brower issued from the Stadthonse, 
 and followed them. He had his orders not 
 to let them out of his sight till the true 
 letter was in his master's hands. He watched 
 outside the hostelry. 
 
 He had not long to wait. They came out 
 almost immediately, with downcast looks. 
 Dierich made up to them. 
 
 "Too latel" they cried; "too late! He is 
 gone." 
 
 " Gone T How long T " 
 
 " Scarce five minutes. Cursed chance 1 " 
 
 "You must go back to the burgomaster at 
 once," said Dierich Brower. 
 
 " To what end ? " 
 
 " No matter ; come 1 " and he hurried them 
 to the Stadthouse. 
 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten was not the man 
 to accept a defeat. "Well," said he, on hear- 
 ing the ill news, "suppose he is gone. Is he 
 mounted ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Then what hinders you to come up with 
 him ? " 
 
 " But what avails coming up with him ? 
 There are no hostelries on the road he is 
 gone." 
 
 "Fools!" said Ghysbrecht, "is there no 
 way of emptying a man's pockets but liquor 
 and sleight of hand ? " 
 
 A meaning look, that passed between 
 Ghysbrecht and Dierich, aided the brothers' 
 comprehension. They changed colour, and 
 lost all zeal for the buisness. 
 
 " No I no ! we don't hate our brother. We 
 won't get ourselves hanged to spite him," 
 said Sybrandt; "that would be a fool's 
 trick." 
 
 "Hanged!" cried Ghysbrecht. "Am I 
 not the burgomaster? How can ye be 
 hanged ? I see how 'tis : ye fear to tackle 
 one man, being two : hearts of hare, that ye 
 are I Oh I why cannot I be young again 7 I'd 
 do it single-handed." 
 
 The old man now threw off all disguise, 
 and showed them his heart was in this deed. 
 He then flattered and besought, and jeered 
 them alternately ; but he found no eloquence 
 could move them to an action, however dis- 
 honourable, which was attended with danger. 
 At last he opened a drawer, and showed them 
 a pile of silver coins. 
 
 "Change but those letters for me," he said, 
 "and each of you shall thrust one hand into 
 this drawer, and take away as many of them 
 as you can hold." 
 
 The effect was magical. Their eyes glittered 
 
 with desire. Their whole bodies seemed to 
 swell, and rise into male energy. 
 
 " Swear it, then," said Sybrandt. 
 
 " I swear it." 
 
 " No ; on the crucifix." 
 
 Ghysbrecht swore upon the crucifix. 
 
 The next minute the brothers were on the 
 road, in pursuit of Hans Memling. They 
 came in sight of him about two leagues from 
 Tergou, but though they knew he had no 
 weapon but his staff, they were too prudent 
 to venture on him in daylight; so they fell 
 back. 
 
 But being now three leagues and more 
 from the town, and on a grassy road sun 
 down, moon not yet up honest Hans suddenly 
 found himself attacked before and behind at 
 once by men with uplifted knives, who cried 
 in loud though somewhat shaky voices, " Stand 
 and deliver ! " 
 
 The attack was so sudden, and so well 
 planned, that Hans was dismayed. " Slay ma 
 not, good fellows," he cried ; " I am but a 
 poor man, and ye shall have my all." 
 
 "So be it then. Live! but empty thy 
 wallet." 
 
 "There is nought in my wallet, good 
 friends, but one letter." 
 
 " That we shall see," said Sybrandt, who was 
 the one in front "Well, it is a letter." 
 
 "Take it not from me, I pray you. 'Tis 
 worth nought, and the good dame would fret 
 that writ it." 
 
 "There," said Sybrandt, "take back thy 
 letter ; and now empty thy pouch. Come ! 
 tarry not ! " 
 
 But by this time Hans had recovered his 
 confusion; and from a certain flutter in 
 Sybrandt, and hard breathing of Cornells, 
 aided by an indescribable consciousness, felt 
 sure the pair he had to deal with were no 
 heroes. He pretended to fumble for his 
 money : then suddenly thrust his staff fiercely 
 into Sybrandt's face, and drove him staggering, 
 and lent Cornelia a back-handed slash on the 
 ear that sent him twirling like a weathercock 
 in March ; then whirled his weapon over his 
 head and danced about the road like a figure 
 on springs, shouting " Come on, ye thieving 
 loons I Come on ! " 
 
 It was a plain invitation ; yet they misunder- 
 stood it so utterly as to take to their heels, 
 with Hans after them, he shouting "Stop 
 thieves ! " and they howling with fear and 
 pain as they ran. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 DENYS, placed in the middle of his com- 
 panions, lest he should be so mad as attempt 
 escape, was carried off in an agony of grief 
 and remorse. For his sake Gerard had 
 abandoned the German route to Rome ; and 
 what was his reward ? left all alone in the 
 centre of Burgundy. This was the thought 
 which maddened Denys most, and made him
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 iax 
 
 now rave at heaven and earth, now fall into 
 a gloomy silence so savage and sinister that 
 it was deemed prudent to disarm him. They 
 caught up their leader just outside the town, 
 and the whole cavalcade drew np and baited 
 at " The Tfite d'Or." 
 
 The young landlady, though much occupied 
 with the Count, and still more with the Bastard, 
 caught sight of Denys, and asked him some- 
 what anxiously what had become of his young 
 companion ? 
 
 Denys, with a burst of grief, told her all, 
 and prayed her to send after Gerard. "Now 
 he is parted from me, he will maybe listen to 
 my rede," said he; "poor wretch, he loves 
 not solitude." 
 
 The landlady gave a toss of her head. " I 
 trow I have been somewhat over-kind already," 
 said she, and turned rather red. 
 
 " You will not ? " 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 "Then," and he poured a volley of curses 
 and abuse upon her. 
 
 She turned her back upon him, and went 
 off whimpering, and saying she was not used 
 to be cursed at; and ordered her hind to 
 saddle two mules. 
 
 Denys went north with his troop, mute and 
 drooping over his saddle, and quite unknown 
 to him, that veracious young lady made an 
 equestrian toilet in only forty minutes, she 
 being really in a hurry, and spurred away 
 with her servant in the opposite direction. 
 
 At dark, after a long march, the Bastard 
 and his men reached " The White Hart ; " 
 their arrival caused a prodigious bustle, and it 
 was some time before Manon discovered her 
 old friend among so many. When she did, 
 she showed it only by heightened colour. She 
 did not claim the acquaintance. The poor 
 soul was already beginning to scorn 
 
 "The base degrees by which she did ascend." 
 
 Denys saw but could not smile. The inn 
 reminded him too much of Gerard. 
 
 Ere the night closed the wind changed. She 
 looked into the room and beckoned him with 
 her finger. He rose sulkily, and his guards 
 with him. 
 
 "Nay, I would speak a word to thee in 
 private." 
 
 She drew him to a corner of the room, 
 and there asked him under her breath would 
 he do her a kindness. 
 
 He answered out loud, " No, he would not ; 
 he was not in the vein to do kindnesses to 
 man or woman. If he did a kindness it 
 should be to a dog ; and not that if he could 
 help it." 
 
 "Alas, good archer, I did you one eftsoons, 
 you and your pretty comrade," said Manon 
 humbly. 
 
 " You did, dame, you did ; well then, for his 
 sake what is't to do ? " 
 
 "Thou knowest my story. I had been un- 
 fortunate. Now I am worshipful. But a 
 woman did cast him in my teeth this day. 
 Aad so 'twill be ever while he hangs there. 
 
 I would have him ta'en down ; weli-a- 
 day ! " 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 "And none dare I ask but thee. Wilt 
 do't ? " 
 
 " Not I, even were I not a prisoner." 
 
 On this stern refusal the tender Manon 
 sighed, and clasped her palms together de- 
 spondently. Denys told her she need not fret. 
 There were soldiers of a lower stamp who 
 would not make two bites of such a cherry. 
 It was a mere matter of money ; if she 
 could find two angels, he would find two 
 soldiers to do the dirty work of " The White 
 Hart." 
 
 This was not very palatable. However, 
 reflecting that soldiers were birds of passage, 
 drinking here to-night, knocked on the head 
 there to-morrow, she said softly, "Send them 
 out to me. But prithee, tell them that 'tis 
 for one that is my friend ; let them not think 
 'tis for me. I should sink into the earth ; 
 times are changed." 
 
 Denys found warriors glad to win an angel 
 apiece so easily. He sent them out, and in- 
 stantly dismissing the subject with contempt, 
 sat brooding on his lost friend. 
 
 Manon and the warriors soon came to a 
 general understanding. But what were they 
 to do with the body when taken down ? She 
 murmured, "The river is nigh the the 
 place." 
 
 " Fling him in, eh ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; be not so cruel 1 Could ye 
 not put him gently in with somewhat 
 weighty ? " 
 
 She must have been thinking on the subject 
 in detail ; for she was not one to whom ideas 
 came quickly. 
 
 All was speedily agreed, except the time of 
 payment. The mail-clad itched for it, and 
 sought it in advance. Manon demurred to 
 that. 
 
 What, did she doubt their word 7 then let 
 her come along with them, or watch them at a 
 distance. 
 
 "Me?" said Manon, with horror. "I would 
 liever die than see it done." 
 
 " Which yet you would have done." 
 
 "Ay, for sore is my need. Times are 
 changed." 
 
 She had already forgotten her precept to 
 Denys. 
 
 An hour later the disagreeable relic of cater- 
 pillar existence ceased to canker the worshipful 
 matron's public life, and the grim eyes of the 
 past to cast malignant glances down into a 
 white hind's clover field. 
 
 Total She made the landlord an average 
 wife, and a prime house-dog, and outlived 
 everybody. 
 
 Her troops, when they returned from execut- 
 ing with mediaeval naivete" the precept, "Oil 
 wi' the auld love," received a shock. They 
 found the market-place black with groups ; it 
 had been empty an hour ago. Conscience 
 mote them. This came of meddling with the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 dead. However, the bolder of the two, en- 
 couraged by the darkness, stole forward alone, 
 and slily mingled with a group; he soon re- 
 turned to his companion, saying, in a tone of 
 reproach not strictly reasonable 
 " Ye born fool, it is only a miracle." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 LETTERS of fire on the church wall had just 
 inquired, with an appearance of genuine curio- 
 sity, why there was no mass for the Duke in 
 this time of trouble. The supernatural expos- 
 tulation had been seen by many, and had 
 gradually faded, leaving the spectators glued 
 there gaping. 
 
 The upshot was, that the corporation, not 
 choosing to be behind the angelic powers in 
 loyalty to a temporal sovereign, invested freely 
 in masses. By this an old friend of ours, the 
 cure, profited in hard cash ; for which he had 
 a very pretty taste. But for this 1 would not 
 of course have detained you over BO trite an 
 occurrence as a miracle. 
 
 Denys begged for his arms. " Why disgrace 
 him as well as break his heart ? " 
 
 " Then swear on the cross of thy sword not 
 to leave the Bastard's service until the sedition 
 hall be put down." 
 
 He yielded to necessity, and delivered three 
 volleys of oaths, and recovered his arms and 
 liberty. 
 
 The troops halted at " The Three Fish," and 
 Marion at sight of him cried out 
 
 " I'm out of luck ; who would have thought 
 to see you again ? " 
 
 Then seeing he was sad, and rather hurt than 
 amused at this blunt jest, she asked him what 
 was amiss I He told her. She took a bright 
 view of the case. Gerard was too handsome 
 and well-behaved to come to harm. The 
 women top would always bo on his side. 
 Moreover, it was clear that things must either 
 go well or ill with him. In the former case 
 he would strike in with some good company 
 going to Rome ; in the latter he would return 
 home, perhaps be there before his friend ; 
 "for you have a trifle of fighting to do in 
 Flanders by all accounts." She then brought 
 him his gold pieces, and steadily refused to 
 accept one, though he urged her again and 
 again. 
 
 Denys was somewhat convinced by her argu- 
 ment, because she concurred with his own 
 wishes, and was also cheered a little by finding 
 her so honest. It made him think a little 
 better of that world in which his poor little 
 fritnd was walking alone. 
 
 Foot soldiers in small bodies down to twos 
 and threes were already on the road, making 
 lazily towards Flanders, many of them penni- 
 less, but passed from town to town By the 
 bailiffs, with orders for food and lodging on the 
 innkeepers. 
 
 Anthony of Burgundy overtook numbers of 
 these, and gathered them under his standard, 
 so that he entered Flanders at the head of 
 six hundred men. On crossing the frontier 
 he was met by his brother Baldwyn, with 
 men, arms, and provisions; he organised his 
 whole force and marched on in battle array 
 through several towns, not only without im- 
 pediment, but with great acclamations. This 
 loyalty called forth comments not altogether 
 gracious. 
 
 "This rebellion of ours is a bite," growled 
 a soldier called Simon, who had elected him- 
 self Denys's comrade. 
 
 Denys said nothing, but made a little vow 
 to St. Mars to shoot this Anthony of Burgundy 
 dead, should the rebellion, that had cost him 
 Gerard, prove no rebellion. 
 
 That afternoon they came in sight of a 
 strongly fortified town ; and a whisper went 
 through the little army that this was a dis- 
 affected place. 
 
 But when they came in sight, the great 
 gate stood open, and the towers that flanked 
 it on each side were manned with a single 
 sentinel apiece. So the advancing force some- 
 what broke their array and marched care- 
 lessly. 
 
 When they were within a f urloug, the draw- 
 bridge across the moat rose slowly and creak- 
 ing till it stood vertical against the fort, and 
 the very moment it settled into this warlike 
 attitude, down rattled the portcullis at the 
 gate, and the towers and curtains bristled with 
 lances and crossbows. 
 
 A stern hum ran through the Bastard's front 
 rank and spread to the rear. 
 
 "Halt!" cried he. The word went down 
 the line, and they halted. "Herald to the 
 gate 1 " 
 
 A pursuivant spurred out of the ranks, and 
 halting twenty yards from the gate, raised 
 his bugle with his herald's Hag hanging down 
 round it, and blew a summons. A tall figure 
 in brazen armour appeared over the gate. A 
 few fiery words passed between him and the 
 herald, which were not audible, but their im- 
 port clear, for the herald blew a single keea 
 and threatening note at the walls, and came 
 galloping back with war in his face. The 
 Bastard moved out of the line to meet him, 
 and their heads had not been together two 
 seconds ere he turned in his saddle and 
 shouted, "Pioneers, to the van I" and in a 
 moment hedges were levelled, and the force 
 took the field and encamped just out of shot 
 from the walls ; and away went mounted 
 officers flying south, east, and west, to tho 
 friendly towns, for catapults, palisades, man- 
 telets, raw hides, tar-barrels, carpenters, pro- 
 visions, and all the materials for a siege. 
 
 The bright perspective mightily cheered one 
 drooping soldier. At the first clang of the 
 portcullis his eyes brightened and his temple 
 flushed ; and when the herald came back with 
 battle in his eye he saw it in a moment, and for 
 the first time this many days cried, "Courage, 
 tout le monde, le diable est mort." 
 
 If that great warrior heard, how he must have 
 grinned 1
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE besiegers encamped a furlong from the 
 walls, and made roads ; kept their pikemen in 
 camp ready for an assault when practicable ; 
 and sent forward their sappers, pioneers, cata- 
 pultiers, and crossbowmen. These opened a 
 siege by filling the moat, and mining, or 
 breaching the wall, &c. And as much of their 
 work had to be done under close fire of arrows, 
 quarels, bolts, stones, and little rocks, the 
 above artists "had need of a hundred eyes," 
 and acted in concert with a vigilance, and an 
 amount of individual intelligence, daring, and 
 skill, that made a siege very interesting, and 
 even amusing : to lookers on. 
 
 The first thing they did was to advance their 
 carpenters behind rolling mantelets, to erect a 
 stockade high and strong on the very edge of 
 the moat. Some lives were lost at this, but 
 not many ; for a strong force of crossbowmen, 
 including Denys, rolled their mantelets up and 
 shot over the workmen's heads at every be- 
 sieged who showed his nose, and at every 
 loop-hole, arrow-slit, or other aperture, which 
 commanded the particular spot the carpenters 
 happened to be upon. Covered by their con- 
 densed fire, these soon raised a high palisade 
 between them and the ordinary missiles from 
 the pierced masonry. 
 
 But the besieged expected this, and ran out 
 at night their hoards or wooden penthouses 
 on the top of the curtains. The curtains were 
 built with square holes near the top to receive 
 the beams that supported these structures, the 
 true defence of mediaeval forts, from which the 
 besieged delivered their missiles with far more 
 freedom and variety of range than they could 
 shoot through the oblique but immovable loop- 
 holes of the curtain, or even through the 
 sloping crenelets of the higher towers. On 
 this the besiegers brought up mangonels, and 
 set them hurling huge stones at these wood- 
 works and battering them to pieces. Con- 
 temporaneously they built a triangular wooden 
 tower as high as the curtain, and kept it ready 
 for use, and just out of shot. 
 
 This was a terrible sight to the besieged. 
 These wooden towers had taken many a town. 
 They began to mine underneath that part of 
 the moat the tower stood ; frowning at ; and 
 made other preparations to give it a warm 
 reception. The besiegers also mined, but at 
 another part, their object being to get under 
 the square barbican and throw it down. All 
 this time Denys was behind his mantelet with 
 another arbalestrier, protecting the workmen 
 and making some excellent shots. These ended 
 by earning him the esteem of an unseen archer, 
 who every now and then sent a winged compli- 
 ment quivering into his mantelet. One came 
 and stuck within an inch of the narrow slit 
 through which Denys was squinting at the 
 moment. 
 
 "Peste," cried he, "you shoot well, my 
 friend. Come forth and receive my con- 
 gratulations ! Shall merit such as thine 
 hide its head? Comrade, it is one of those 
 
 cursed Englishmen, with his half ell shaft. 
 I'll not die till I've had a shot at London 
 wall" 
 
 On the Bide of the besieged was a figure that 
 soon attracted great notice by promenading 
 under fire. It was a tall knight, clad in 
 complete brass, and carrying a light but pro- 
 digiously long lance, with which he directed 
 the movements of the besieged. And when 
 any disaster befell the besiegers, this tall 
 knight and his long lance were pretty sure to 
 be concerned in it. 
 
 My young reader will say, "Why did not 
 Denys shoot him ? " 
 
 Denys did shoot him ; every day of his life ; 
 other arbalestriers shot him ; archers shot him. 
 Everybody shot him. He was there to be shot, 
 apparently. But the abomination was, he did 
 not mind being shot. Nay, worse, he got at 
 last so demoralised as not to seem to know 
 when he was shot. He walked his battlements 
 under fire, as some stout skipper paces his 
 deck in a suit of Flushing, calmly oblivious 
 of the April drops that fall on his woollen 
 armour. At last the besiegers got spiteful, 
 and would not waste any more good steel on 
 him ; but cursed him and his impervious coat 
 of mail. 
 
 He took these missiles like the rest. 
 
 Gunpowder has spoiled war. War was always 
 detrimental to the solid interests of mankind. 
 But in old times it was good for something : it 
 painted well, sang divinely, furnished Iliads. 
 But invisible butchery, under a pall of smoke a 
 furlong thick, who is any the better for that I 
 Poet with his note-book may repeat, "Suave 
 etiam belli certamina magna tueri ; " but the 
 sentiment is hollow and savours of cuckoo. 
 You can't tueri anything but a horrid row. He 
 didn't say, "Suave etiam ingentem caliginem 
 tueri per campos instructam." 
 
 They managed better in the Middle Ages. 
 
 This siege was a small affair ; but, such as 
 it was, a writer or minstrel could see it, and 
 turn an honest penny by singing it; so far 
 then the sport was reasonable, and served an 
 end. 
 
 It was a bright day/ clear, but not quite 
 frosty. The efforts of the besieging force were 
 concentrated against a space of about two 
 hundred and fifty yards, containing two cur- 
 tains and two towers, one of which was the 
 square barbican, the other had a pointed roof 
 that was built to overlap, resting on a stone 
 machicolade, and by this means a row of 
 dangerous crenelets between the roof and the 
 masonry grinned down at the nearer assailants, 
 and looked not very unlike the grinders of a 
 modern frigate with each port nearly closed. 
 The curtains were overlapped with penthouses 
 somewhat shattered by the mangonels, tr^- 
 buchets, and other slinging engines of the 
 besiegers. On the besiegers' edge of the moat 
 was what seemed at first sight a gigantic 
 arsenal, longer than it was broad, peopled by 
 human ants, and full of busy, honest industry, 
 and displaying all the various mechanical 
 science of the "age in full operation. Hem 
 the lever at work, there the winch and pulley,
 
 124 
 
 THS CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 here the balance, there the capstan. Every- 
 where heaps of stones, and piles of fascines, 
 mantelets, and rows of fire-barrels. Mantelets 
 rolling, the hammer tapping all day, horses 
 and carts in endless succession rattling up with 
 materials. Only, on looking closer into the hive 
 of industry, you might observe that arrows 
 were constantly flying to and fro, that the 
 cranes did not tenderly deposit their masses 
 of stone, but flung them with an indifference 
 to property, though on scientific principles, 
 and that among the tubs full of arrows, and 
 the tar-barrels and the beams, the fagots, and 
 other utensils, here and there a workman or 
 a soldier lay flatter than is usual in limited 
 naps, and something more or less feathered 
 stuck in them, and blood, and other essentials, 
 oozed out. 
 
 At the edge of the moat opposite the wooden 
 tower, a strong penthouse, which they called 
 "a cat," might be seen stealing towards the 
 curtain, and gradually filling up the moat 
 with fascines and rubbish, which the workmen 
 flung out at its mouth. It was advanced by 
 two sets of ropes passing round pulleys, 
 and each worked by a windlass at some 
 distance from the cat. The knight burnt the 
 first cat by flinging blazing tar-barrels on it. 
 So the besiegers made the roof of this one 
 very steep, and covered it with raw hides, and 
 the tar-barrels could not harm it. Then the 
 knight made signs with his spear, and a little 
 tre"buchet behind the walls began dropping 
 stones just clear of the wall into the moat, 
 and at last they got the range, and a stone 
 went clean through the roof of the cat, and 
 made an ugly hole. 
 
 Baldwyn of Burgundy saw this, and losing 
 his temper, ordered the great catapult that 
 was battering the wood-work of the curtain 
 opposite it to be turned and levelled slantwise 
 at this invulnerable knight. Denys and his 
 Englishman went to dinner. These two worthies 
 being eternally on the watch for one another 
 had made a sort of distant acquaintance, and 
 conversed by signs, especially on a topic that 
 in peace or war maintains the same import- 
 ance. Sometimes Denys would put a piece 
 of bread on the top of his mantelet, and then 
 the archer would hang something of the kind 
 out by a string ; or the order of invitation 
 would be reversed. Anyway, they always 
 managed to dine together. 
 
 And now the engineers proceeded to the 
 unusual step of slinging fifty-pound stones at 
 an individual. 
 
 This catapult was a scientific, simple, and 
 beautiful engine, and very effective in vertical 
 fire at the short ranges of the period. 
 
 Imagine a fir-tree cut down, and set to turn 
 round a horizontal axis on lofty uprights, but 
 not in equilibrio ; three-fourtha of the tree 
 being on the hither side. At the shorter 
 and thicker end of the tree was fastened a 
 weight of half a ton. This butt end just 
 before the discharge pointed towards the 
 enemy. By means of a powerful winch the 
 long tapering portion of the tree was forced 
 down to the very ground, and fastened by a 
 bolt ; and th stone placed in a sling attached 
 
 to the tree's nose. But this process of course 
 raised the butt end with its huge weight high 
 in the air, and kept it there struggling in vain 
 to come down. The bolt was now drawn ; 
 Gravity, an institution which flourished even 
 then, resumed its sway, the short end swung 
 furiously down, the long end went as furiously 
 round up, and at its highest elevation flung 
 the huge stone out of the sling with a tre- 
 mendous jerk. In this case the huge mass so 
 flung missed the knight, but came down near 
 him on the penthouse, and went through it 
 like paper, making an awful gap in roof and 
 floor. Through the latter fell out two inani- 
 mate objects, the stone itself and the mangled 
 body of a besieger it had struck. They fell 
 down the high curtain side, down, down, and 
 struck almost together the sullen waters of 
 the moat, which closed bubbling on them, and 
 kept both the stone and the bone two hundred 
 years, till cannon mocked those oft perturbed 
 waters, and civilisation dried them. 
 
 "Aha! a good shot," cried Baldwyn of 
 Burgundy. 
 
 The tall knight retired. The besiegers hooted 
 him. 
 
 He reappeared on the platform of the 
 barbican, his helmet being just visible above 
 the parapet. He seemed very busy, and soon 
 an enormous Turkish catapult made its ap- 
 pearance on the platform, and aided by the 
 elevation at which it was planted, flung a 
 twenty-pound stone two hundred and forty 
 yards in the air; it bounded after that, anil 
 knocked some dirt into the Lord Anthony's 
 eye, and made him swear. The next stone 
 struck a horse that was bringing up a sheaf of 
 arrows in a cart, bowled the horse over dead 
 like a rabbit, and spilt the cart. It was then 
 turned at the besiegers' wooden tower, sup- 
 posed to be out of shot. Sir Turk slung stonea 
 cut with sharp edges on purpose, and struck 
 it repeatedly, and broke it in several places. 
 The besiegers turned two of their slinging 
 engines on this monster, and kept constantly 
 slinging smaller stones on to the platform of 
 the barbican, and killed two of the engineers. 
 But the Turk disdained to retort. He flung 
 a forty-pound stone on to the besiegers' great 
 catapult, and hitting it in the neighbourhood 
 of the axis, knocked the whole structure to 
 pieces, and sent the engineers skipping and 
 yelling. 
 
 In the afternoon, as Simon was running back 
 to his mantelet from a palisade where he had 
 been shooting at the besieged, Denys, peeping 
 through his slit, saw the poor fellow suddenly 
 stare and hold out his arms, then roll on his 
 face, and a feathered arrow protruded from his 
 back. The archer showed himself a moment 
 to enjoy his skill. It was the Englishman. 
 Denys, already prepared, shot his bolt, and the 
 murderous archer staggered away wounded. 
 But poor Simon never moved. His wars were 
 over. 
 
 " I am unlucky in my comrades," said 
 Denys. 
 
 The next morning an unwelcome sight 
 greeted the besieged. The cat was covered 
 with mattresses and raw hiciea, and fact filling
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TUB HEARTH. 
 
 125 
 
 up the moat. The kiiight stoned it, but in 
 vain ; flung burning tar-barrels on it, but in 
 vain. Then with his own hands he let down 
 by a rope a bag of burning sulphur and pitch, 
 and stunk them out. But Baldwyn, armed 
 like a lobster, ran, and bounding on the roof, 
 cut the string, and the work went on. Then 
 the knight sent fresh engineers into the mine, 
 and undermined the place and underpinned it 
 with beams, and covered the beams thickly 
 with grease and tar. 
 
 At break of day the moat was filled, and the 
 wooden tower began to move on its wheels 
 towards a part of the curtain on which two 
 catapults were already playing to breach the 
 hoards, and clear the way. There was some- 
 thing awful and magical in its approach with- 
 out visible agency, for it was driven by in- 
 ternal rollers worked by leverage. 
 
 On the top was a platform, where stood the 
 first assailing party protected in front by the 
 drawbridge of the turret, which stood vertical 
 till lowered on to the wall ; but better pro- 
 tected by full suits of armour. The besieged 
 slung at the tower, and struck it often, but 
 in vain. It was well defended with mattresses 
 and hides, and presently was at the edge of 
 the moat. The knight bade fire the mine 
 underneath it. 
 
 Then the Turkish engine flung a stone of half 
 a hundredweight right amongst the knights, 
 and carried two away with it off the tower on 
 to the plain. One lay and writhed : the other 
 neither moved nor spake. 
 
 And now the besieging catapults flung 
 blazing tar-barrels, and fired the hoards on 
 both sides, and the assailants ran up the 
 ladders behind the tower, and lowered the 
 drawbridge on to the battered curtain, while 
 the catapults in concert flung tar-barrels and 
 fired the adjoining works to dislodge the de- 
 fenders. 
 
 The armed men on the platform sprang 
 on the bridge, led by Baldwyn. The in- 
 vulnerable knight and his men-at-arms met 
 them, and a fearful combat ensued, in which 
 many a figure was seen to fall headlong down 
 off the narrow bridge. But fresh besiegers 
 kept swarming up behind the tower, and the 
 besieged were driven off the bridge. 
 
 Another minute, and the town was taken; 
 but so well had the firing of the mine been 
 timed, that just at this instant the under- 
 pinners gave way, and the tower suddenly 
 sank away from the walls, tearing the draw- 
 bridge clear and pouring the soldiers off it 
 against the masonry and on to the dry 
 moat. 
 
 The besieged uttered a fierce shout, and in 
 a moment surrounded Baldwyn and his fel- 
 lows ; but strange so say, offered them quarter. 
 While a party disarmed and disposed of these, 
 others fired the turret in fifty places with a 
 sort of hand grenades. At this work who so 
 busy as the tall knight. He put fire-bags on 
 bis long spear, and thrust them into the 
 doomed structure late BO terrible. To do 
 this he was obliged to stand on a projecting 
 beam of the shattered hoard, holding on by 
 the band of a pikemac to steady himseli 
 
 This provoked Denys ; he ran out from his 
 mantelet, hoping to escape notice in the con- 
 fusion, and levelling his crossbow missed the 
 knight clean, but sent his bolt into the brain 
 of the pikeman, and the tall knight fell-heavily 
 from the wall, lance and all. 
 
 Denys gazed wonderstruck ; and in that 
 unlucky moment, suddenly he felt his arm 
 hot, then cold, and there was an English arrow 
 skewering it 
 
 This episode was unnoticed in a much 
 greater matter. The knight, his armour 
 glittering in the morning sun, fell headlong, 
 but turning as he neared the water, struck it 
 with a slap that sounded a mile off. 
 
 None ever thought to see him again. But 
 he fell at the edge of the fascines on which the 
 turret stood all cocked on one side, and his 
 spear stuck into them under water, and by a 
 mighty effort he got to the side, but could not 
 get out. Anthony sent a dozen knights with 
 a white flag to take him prisoner. He sub- 
 mitted like a lamb, but said nothing. 
 
 He was taken to Anthony's tent. 
 
 That worthy laughed at first at the sight of 
 his muddy armour. But presently, frowning, 
 said, " I marvel, sir, that so good a knight as 
 you should know his devoir so ill as turn rebel, 
 and give us all this trouble." 
 
 "I am nun nun nun nun nun no 
 knight." 
 
 " What then I " 
 
 "A hosier." 
 
 "A what t Then thy armour shall be 
 stripped off, and thou shalt be tied to a stake 
 in front of the works, and riddled with arrows 
 for a warning to traitors." 
 
 " N n n n no ! duda duda duda 
 duda don't do that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Tuta tuta tuta townsfolk will h h 
 h hang t'other buba buba buba buba 
 bastard." 
 
 "What, whom!" 
 
 " Your bub bub bub brother Baldwyn." 
 
 " What, have you knaves ta'en him I " 
 
 The warlike hosier nodded. 
 
 " Hang the fool ! " said Anthony peevishly. 
 
 The warlike hosier watched his eye, and 
 doffing his helmet, took out of the lining an 
 intercepted letter from the Duke, bidding the 
 said Anthony come to court immediately, as he 
 was to represent the court of Burgundy af the 
 court of England ; was to go over and receive 
 the English king's sister, and conduct her to 
 her bridegroom, the Earl of Charolois. The 
 mission was one very soothing to Anthony's 
 pride, and also to his love of pleasure. For 
 Edward the Fourth held the gayest and most 
 luxurious court in Europe. The sly hosier saw 
 he longed to be off, and said, "Well gega 
 gega gega gega give ye a thousand angel* 
 to raise the siege." 
 
 " And Baldwyn ? " 
 
 "I'll gega gega gega gega go and send 
 him with the money." 
 
 It was now dinner-time ; and a flag of true* 
 being hoisted on both sides, the sham knight 
 and the true one dined together and came to 
 friendly understanding.
 
 126 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " But what is your grievance, my good 
 friend ? " 
 " Tuta tuta tuta tuta too much tares." 
 
 Denys, on finding the arrow in his right arm, 
 turned his back, which was protected by a long 
 shield, and walked sulkily into camp. He was 
 met by the Comte de Jarnac, who had seen his 
 brilliant shot, and finding him wounded into 
 the bargain, gave him a handful of broad 
 pieces. 
 
 " Hast got the better of thy grief, arbales- 
 trier, methinks." 
 
 "My grief, yes; but not my love. As soon 
 as ever I have put down this rebellion, I go 
 to Holland, and there I shall meet with 
 him." 
 
 This event was nearer than Denys thought. 
 He was relieved from service next day, and 
 though his wound was no trifle, set out with a 
 stout heart to rejoin his friend in Holland. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A CHANGE came over Margaret Brandt. She 
 went about her household duties like one in a 
 dream. If Peter did but speak a little quickly 
 to her, she started and fixed two terrified eyes 
 on him. She went less often to her friend 
 Margaret Van Eyck, and was ill at her ease 
 when there. Instead of meeting her warm 
 old friend's caresses, she used to receive them 
 passive and trembling, and sometimes almost 
 shrink from them. But the most extraordinary 
 thing was, she never would go outside her own 
 house in daylight. When she went to Tergou 
 it was after dusk, and she returned before day- 
 break. She would not even go to matins. At 
 last Peter, unobservant as he was, noticed it, 
 and asked her the reason. 
 " The folk all look at me no." 
 
 One day, Margaret Van Eyck asked her what 
 was the matter. A scared look and a flood of 
 tears were all the reply; the old lady expos- 
 tulated^gently. 
 
 "What, sweetheart, afraid to confide your 
 sorrows to me ? " 
 
 " I have no sorrows, madam, but of my own 
 making. I am kinder treated than I deserve ; 
 especially in this house." 
 
 " Then why not come oftener, my dear T " 
 
 " I come oftener than I deserve ; " and she 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 "There, Reicht is bawling for you," said 
 Margaret Van Eyck ; " go, child 1 what on 
 earth can it be ? " 
 
 Turning possibilities over In her mind, she 
 thought Margaret must be mortified at the 
 contempt with which she was treated by 
 Gerard's family. 
 
 "I will take them to task for it, at least 
 uch of them as are women ; " and the very 
 next day the put on her hood and cloak, 
 
 and followed by Reicht, went to the hosier's 
 house. 
 
 Catherine received her with much respect, 
 and thanked her with tears for her kindness 
 to Gerard. But when, encouraged by this, her 
 visitor diverged to Margaret Brandt, Catherine's 
 eyes dried, and her lips turned to half the size, 
 and she looked as only obstinate, ignorant 
 women can look. 
 
 When they put on this cast of features, you 
 might as well attempt to soften or convince a 
 brick wall. Margaret Van Eyck tried, but all 
 in vain. So then, not being herself used to be 
 thwarted, she got provoked, and at last went 
 out hastily with an abrupt and mutilated 
 curtsey, which Catherine returned with an air 
 rather of defiance than obeisance. 
 
 Outside the door Margaret Van Eyck found 
 Reicht conversing with a pale girl on crutches. 
 Margaret Van Eyck was pushing by them 
 with heightened colour, and a scornful toss 
 intended for the whole family, when suddenly 
 a little delicate hand glided timidly into hers, 
 and looking round she saw two dove-like eyes, 
 with the water in them, that sought hen 
 gratefully and at the same time imploringly. 
 The old lady read this wonderful look, complex 
 as it was, and down went her choler. She 
 stopped and kissed Kate's brow. 
 
 " I see," said she. " Mind, then, I leave It 
 to you." 
 
 Returned home, she said " I have been to a 
 house to-day, where I have seen a very common 
 thing and a very uncommon thing ; I have seen 
 a stupid, obstinate woman, and I have seen 
 an angel in the flesh, with a face if I had it 
 here I'd take down my brushes once more and 
 try and paint it." 
 
 Little Kate did not belie the pood opinion so 
 hastily formed of her. She waited a better 
 opportunity, and told her mother what she had 
 learned from Reicht Heynes, that Margaret had 
 shed her very blood for Gerard in the wood. 
 
 " See, mother, how she loves him." 
 
 " Who would not love him ? " 
 
 " Oh, mother, think of it I Poor thing." 
 
 "Ay, wench. She has her own trouble, no 
 doubt, as well as we ours. I can't abide the 
 sight of blood, let alone my own." 
 
 This was a point gained ; but when Kate 
 tried to follow it up she was stopped short. 
 
 About a month after this a soldier of the 
 Dalgetty tribe, returning from service in Bur- 
 gundy, brought a letter one evening to the 
 hosier's house. He was away on business; 
 but the rest of the family sat at supper. The 
 soldier laid the letter on the table by Catherine, 
 and refusing all guerdon for bringing it, went 
 off to Sevenbergen. 
 
 The letter was unfolded and spread out ; and 
 curiously enough, though not one of them could 
 read, they could all tell it was Gerard's band- 
 writing. 
 
 "And your father must be away," cried 
 Catherine. " Are ye not ashamed of yourselves I 
 not on6 that can read your brother's letter." 
 
 But although the words were to them what 
 hieroglyphics are to us, there was something 
 in the letter they could read. There is an art 
 can speak without words ; unfettered by thfl
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 penman's limits, it can steal through the eve 
 into the heart and brain, alike of the learned 
 and unlearned ; and it can cross a frontier or 
 a sea, yet lose nothing. It is at the mercy 
 of no translator; for it writes an universal 
 language. 
 Whea, therefore, they saw this, 
 
 which Gerard had drawn with his pencil 
 between the two short paragraphs, of which 
 his letter consisted, they read it, and it went 
 straight to their hearts. 
 
 Gerard was bidding them farewell. 
 
 As they gazed on that simple sketch, in 
 every turn and line of which they recognised 
 
 his manner, Gerard seemed present, and 
 bidding them farewell. 
 
 The women wept over it till they could 
 see it no longer. 
 
 Giles said, " Poor Gerard I " in a lower voice 
 than seemed to belong to him. 
 
 Even Cornelia and Sybrandt felt a momen- 
 tary remorse, and sat silent and gloomy. 
 
 But how to get the words read to them. 
 They were loth to show their ignorance and 
 their emotion to a stranger. 
 
 " The Dame Van Eyck 1 " said Kate timidly. 
 
 "And so I will, Kate. She has a good 
 heart. She loves Gerard, too. She will be 
 glad to hear of him. I was short with her 
 when she came here; but I will make my 
 submission, and then she will tell me what 
 my poor child says to me." 
 
 She was soon at Margaret Van Ecyk's 
 house. Reicht took her into a room, and 
 said, " Bide a minute ; she is at her orisons." 
 
 There was a young woman in the room 
 seated pensively by the stove ; but she rose 
 and courteously made way for the visitor. 
 
 " Thank you, young lady ; the winter nights 
 are cold, and your stove is a treat." Catherine 
 then, while warming her hands, inspected 
 her companion furtively from head to foot, 
 both inclusive. The young person wore an 
 ordinary wimple, but her gown was trimmed 
 with fur, which was, in those days, almost a 
 sign of superior rank or wealth. But what 
 most struck Catherine was the candour and 
 modesty of the face. She felt sure of sym- 
 pathy from so good a countenance, and began 
 to gossip. 
 
 "Now, what think you brings me here, 
 young lady ? It is a letter I a letter from my 
 poor boy that is far away in some savage 
 part or other. And I take shame to say that 
 none of us can read it. I wonder whether 
 you can read 1 " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can ye, now I It is much to your credit, 
 my dear. I dare say she won't be long ; but 
 every minute is an hour to a poor longing 
 mother." 
 
 " I will read it to you." 
 
 " Bless yon, my dear ; bless yon I " 
 
 In her unfeigned eagerness she never noticed 
 the suppressed eagerness with which the hand 
 was slowly put out to take the letter. She 
 did not see the tremor with which the fingers 
 closed on it. 
 
 " Come, then, read it to me, prithee. I am 
 wearying for it." 
 
 "The first words are, 'To my honoured 
 parents.' " 
 
 " Ay t and he always did honour us, poor 
 souL" 
 
 " ' God and the saints have you in His holy 
 keeping, and bless you by night and by day. 
 Your one harsh deed is forgotten ; your year,' 
 of love remembered.' " 
 
 Catherine laid her hand on her bosom, 
 and sank back in her chair with one long 
 sob. 
 
 "Then comes this, madam. It doth speak 
 for itself ; ' a long farewell.' " 
 
 " Ay, go on ; bless you, girl ; you give me 
 sorry comfort. Still 'tis comfort." 
 
 " ' To my brothers Cornells and Sybrandt 
 Be content ; you will see me no more I ' " 
 
 " What does that mean 1 Ah 1 " 
 
 " ' To my sister Kate. Little angel of my 
 father's house. Be kind to her ' Ah 1 " 
 
 "That is Margaret Brandt, my dear his 
 sweetheart, poor soul, I've not been kind 
 to her, my dear. Forgive me, Gerard 1 " 
 
 " ' for poor Gerard's sake : since grief to 
 
 her is death to me ' Ah 1 " And nature, 
 
 resenting the poor girl's struggle for unnatural 
 composure, suddenly gave way, and she sank 
 from her chair and lay insensible, with the 
 letter in her hand, and her head on Catherine's 
 knees. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 EXPEBIKNCED women are not frightened when 
 a woman faints, nor do they hastily attribute 
 it to anything but physical causes, which 
 they have often seen produce it. Catherine 
 bustled about; laid the girl down with hex
 
 123 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 head on the floor quite flat, opened the 
 window, and unloosed her dress as she lay. 
 Not till she had done all this did she step 
 to the door and say, rather loudly 
 
 "Come here, if you please." 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck and Reicht came, and 
 found Margaret lying quite flat, and Catherine 
 beating her hands. 
 
 "Oh, my poor girl I What have you done 
 to her 1 " 
 
 " Me ? " said Catherine angrily. 
 
 " What has happened, then'? " 
 
 " Nothing, madam ; nothing more than is 
 natural in her situation." 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck coloured with ire. 
 
 " You do well to speak so coolly," said she, 
 " you that are the cause of her situation." 
 
 "That I am not," said Catherine bluntly, 
 " nor any woman born." 
 
 "What I was it not you and your husband 
 that kept them apart ? and now he has gone to 
 Italy all alone. Situation indeed I You have 
 broken her heart amongst you." 
 
 "Why, madam? Who is it then? in Heaven's 
 name I To hear you, one would think this was 
 my Gerard's lass. But that can't be. This fur 
 never cost less than five crowns the ell ; besides, 
 this young gentlewoman is a wife, or ought 
 to be." 
 
 " Of course she ought. And who is the cause 
 she is none ? Who came between them at the 
 very altar ? " 
 
 "God forgive them, whoever it was," said 
 Catherine gravely; "me it was not, nor my 
 man." 
 
 "Well," said the other, a little softened, 
 " now you have seen her, perhaps you will not 
 be quite so bitter against her, madam. She is 
 coming to, thank Heaven." 
 
 " Me bitter against her ? " said Catherine ; 
 " no, that is all over. Poor soul I trouble be- 
 hind her and trouble afore her; and to think 
 of my setting her, of all living women, to read 
 Gerard's letter to me. Ay, and that was what 
 made her go off, I'll be sworn. She is coming 
 to. What, sweetheart ! be not af eard, none 
 are here but friends." 
 
 They seated her in an easy chair. As the 
 colour was creeping back to her face and lips, 
 Catherine drew Margaret Van Eyck aside. 
 
 " Is she staying with you, if you please ? " 
 
 " No, madam." 
 
 " I wouldn't let her go back to Sevenbergen 
 to-night, then." 
 
 "That is as she pleases. She still refuses to 
 bide the night." 
 
 "Ay, but you are older than she is; you 
 can make her. There, she is beginning to 
 notice." 
 
 Catherine then put her mouth to Margaret 
 Van Eyck's ear for half a moment ; it did not 
 seem time enough to whisper a word, far less a 
 sentence. But on some topics females can flash 
 communication to female like lightning, or 
 thought itself. 
 
 The old lady started, and whispered back 
 
 " It's false ! it is a calumny ! it is monstrous 1 
 Look at her face. It is blasphemy to accuse 
 euch a face." 
 
 " Tut 1 tut ! tut ! " said the other ; " yon might 
 
 as well say this is not my hand. I ought to 
 know ; and I tell ye it is so." 
 
 Then, much to Margaret Van Eyck's surprise, 
 she went up to the girl, and taking her round 
 the neck, kissed her warmly. 
 
 "I suffered for Gerard, and you shed your 
 blood for him I do hear : his own words show 
 me I have been to blame, the very words you 
 have read to me. Ay, Gerard, my child, I have 
 held aloof from her ; but I'll make it up to her 
 once I begin. You are my daughter from this 
 hour." 
 
 Another warm embrace sealed this hasty 
 compact, and the woman of impulse was gone. 
 
 Margaret lay back in her chair, and a feeble 
 smile stole over her face. Gerard's mother had 
 kissed her and called her daughter; but the 
 next moment she saw her old friend looking at 
 her with a vexed air. 
 
 " I wonder you let that woman kiss you." 
 
 " His mother 1 " murmured Margaret, half 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Mother, or no mother, you would not 1st her 
 touch you if you knew what she whispered in 
 my ear about you." 
 
 " About me ? " said Margaret faintly. 
 
 "Ay, about you, whom she never saw till 
 to-night." The old lady was proceeding, with 
 some hesitation and choice of language, to 
 make Margaret share her indignation, when 
 an unlooked-for interruption closed her lips. 
 
 The young woman slid from her chair to her 
 knees, and began to pray piteously to her for 
 pardon. From the words and the manner of 
 her penitence a bystander would have gathered 
 she had inflicted some cruel wrong, some in- 
 tolerable insult, upon her venerable friend. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 THE little party at the hosier's house sat at 
 table discussing the recent event, when their 
 mother returned, and casting a piercing glance 
 all round the little circle, laid the letter flat on 
 the table. She repeated every word of it by 
 memory, following the lines with her finger, to 
 cheat herself and hearers into the notion that 
 she could read the words, or nearly. Then, 
 suddenly lifting her head, she cast another 
 keen look on Cornelis and Sybrandt ; their 
 eyes fell. 
 
 On this the storm that had long been brewing 
 burst on their heads. 
 
 Catherine seemed to swell like an angry hen 
 ruflling her feathers, and out of her mouth came 
 a Rhone and Sa6ne of wisdom and twaddle, of 
 great and mean invective, such as no male that 
 ever was born could utter in one current ; and 
 not many women. 
 
 The following is a fair though a small sample 
 of her words : only they were uttered all in one 
 breath : 
 
 " I have long had my doubts that you blew the 
 flame betwixt Gerard and your father, and set 
 that old rogue, Ghysbrecht, on. And now, here 
 are Gerard's own written words to prove it. Yon
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 129 
 
 have driven your own flesh and blood into a far 
 land, and robbed the mother that bore you of 
 her darling, the pride of her eye, the joy of her 
 heart. But you are all of a piece from end to 
 end. When you were all boys together, my 
 others were a comfort ; but you were a curse : 
 mischievous and sly ; and took a woman half 
 a day to keep your clothes whole: for why? 
 work wears cloth, but play cuts it. With the 
 beard comes prudence ; but none came to you : 
 still the last to go to bed, and the last to leave 
 it ; and why ? because honesty goes to bed 
 early, and industry rises betimes ; where there 
 are two lie-abeds in a house there are a pair of 
 ne'er-do-weels. Often I've sat and looked at 
 your ways, and wondered where ye came from : 
 ye don't take after your father, and ye are no 
 more like me than a wasp is to an ant ; sure 
 ye were changed in the cradle, or the cuckoo 
 dropped ye on my floor: for ye have not our 
 hands, nor our hearts : of all my blood, none but 
 you ever jeered them that God afflicted; but 
 often when my back was turned I've heard you 
 mock at Giles, because he is not so big as some ; 
 and at my lily Kate, because she is not so strong 
 as a Flanders mare. After that rob a church an' 
 you will ! for you can be no worse in His eyes 
 that made both Kate and Giles, and in mine that 
 suffered for them, poor darlings, as I did for 
 you, you paltry, unfeeling, treasonable curs I 
 No, I will not hush, my daughter, they have 
 filled the cup too full. It takes a deal to 
 turn a mother's heart against the sons she has 
 nursed upon her knees ; and many is the time 
 I have winked and wouldn't see too much, and 
 bitten my tongue, lest their father should 
 know them as I do ; he would have put them 
 to the door that moment. But now they have 
 filled the cup too full. And where got ye 
 all this money ? For this last month you 
 have been rolling in it. You never wrought 
 for it. I wish I may never hear from other 
 mouths how ye got it. It is since that night 
 you were out so late, and your head came back 
 BO swelled, Cornelis. Sloth and greed are ill- 
 mated, my masters. Lovers of money must 
 sweat or steal. Well, if you robbed any poor 
 soul sf it, it was some woman, I'll go bail ; for 
 a man would drive you with his naked hand. 
 No matter, it is good for one thing. It has 
 shown me how you will guide our gear if ever it 
 comes to be yourn. I have watched you, my 
 lads, this while. You have spent a groat to-day 
 between you. And I spend scarce a groat a week, 
 and keep you all, good and bad. No 1 give up 
 waiting for the shoes that will maybe walk be- 
 hind your coffin ; for this shop and this house 
 shall never be yourn. Gerard is our heir ; poor 
 Gerard, whom you have banished and done your 
 best to kill ; after that never call me mother again 1 
 But you have made him tenfold dearer to me. 
 My poor lost boy ! I shall soon see him again ; 
 shall hold him in my arms, and set him on my 
 knees. Ay, you may stare ! You are too crafty, 
 and yet not crafty enow. You cut the stalk 
 away ; but yon left the seed the seed that shall 
 outgrow you, and outlive you. Margaret Brandt 
 is quick, and it is Gerard's, and what is Gerard's 
 is mine ; and I have prayed the saints it may 
 be a boy; and it will it mnet. Kate, when 
 
 I found it was so, my bowels yearned over 
 her child unborn as if it had been my own. 
 He is our heir. He will outlive us. You 
 will not ; for a bad heart in a carcass is like 
 the worm in a nut, soon brings the body to 
 dust. So, Kate, take down Gerard's bib and 
 tucker that are in the drawer you wot of, and 
 one of these days we will carry them to Seven- 
 bergen. We will borrow Peter Buyskens' cart, 
 and go comfort Gerard's wife under her burden. 
 She is his wife. Who is Ghysbrecht Van 
 Swieten ? Can he come between a couple 
 and the altar, and sunder those that God and 
 the priest make one? She is my daughter, 
 and I am as proud of her as I am of you, 
 Kate, almost ; and as for you, keep out of my 
 way awhile, for you are like the black dog in 
 my eyes." 
 
 Cornelis and Sybrandt took the hint and 
 slunk out, aching with remorse, and impeni- 
 tence, and hate. They avoided her eye as 
 much as ever they could ; and for many days 
 she never spoke a word, good, bad, or indif- 
 ferent, to either of them. Liberavcrat animun 
 suum. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 CATHEEINK was a good housewife who seldom 
 left home for a day, and then one thing or 
 another always went amiss. She was keenly 
 conscious of this, and watching for a slack 
 tide in things domestic, put off her visit to 
 Sevenbergen from day to day, and one after- 
 noon that it really could have been managed, 
 Peter Buyskens' mule was out of the way. 
 
 At last, one day Eli asked her before all the 
 family, whether it was true she had thought 
 of visiting Margaret Brandt. 
 
 "Ay, my man." 
 
 " Then I do forbid you." 
 
 " Oh, do you 1 " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then there is no more to be said, I suppose," 
 said she, colouring. 
 
 " Not a word," replied Eli sternly. 
 
 When she was alone with her daughter she 
 was very severe, not upon Eli, but upon her- 
 self. 
 
 " Behoved me rather go thither like a cat 
 at a robin. But this was me all over. I am 
 like a silly hen that can lay no egg without 
 cackling, and convening all the house to rob 
 her on't. Next time you and I are after aught 
 the least amiss, let's do't in Heaven's name 
 then and there, and not take time to think 
 about it, far less talk; so then, if they take 
 us to task we can say, alack we knew nought ; 
 we thought no ill; now, who'd ever? and so 
 forth. For two pins I'd go thither in all their 
 teeth." 
 
 Defiance so wild and picturesque staggered 
 Kate. 
 
 "Nay, mother, with patience father will 
 come round." 
 
 11 And so will Michaelmas ; but when ? and I 
 was so bent on you seeing the girL Then we
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 could have put our heads together about her. 
 Say what they will, there is no judging body 
 or beast but by the eye. And were I to have 
 fifty more sons I'd ne'er thwart one of them's 
 fancy, till such time as I had clapped my eyes 
 upon her and seen Quicksands ; say you, I 
 should have thought of that before condemning 
 Gerard his fancy ; but there, life is a school, 
 and the lesson ne'er done; we put down one 
 fault and take up t'other, and so go blunder- 
 ing here, and blundering there, till we blunder 
 into our graves, and there's an end of us. " 
 
 " Mother," said Kate timidly. 
 
 " Well, what is a-coming now T no good news 
 though, by the look of you. What on earth 
 can make the poor wench so scared t " 
 
 " An avowal she hath to make," faltered Kate 
 faintly. 
 
 " Now, there is a noble word for ye," said 
 Catherine proudly. " Our Gerard taught thee 
 that, I'll go bail. Come then, out with thy 
 vowel." 
 
 " Well then, sooth to say, I have seen her." 
 
 " And spoken with her to boot." 
 
 " And never told me ? After this marvels are 
 dirt." 
 
 "Mother, yon were BO hot against her. I 
 waited till I could tell you without angering 
 you worse." 
 
 " Ay," said Catherine, half sadly, half bitterly, 
 "like mother, like daughter; cowardice it is 
 our bane. The others I whiles buffet, or how 
 would the house fare ? but did you, Kate, ever 
 have harsh word or look from your poor mother, 
 
 that yon Nay, I will not have ye cry, girl ; 
 
 ten to one ye had your reason ; so rise up, 
 brave heart, and tell me all, better late than 
 ne'er; and first and foremost when ever, and 
 how ever, wond you to Sevenbergen wi' your 
 poor crutches, and I not know 7 " 
 
 " I never was there in my life ; and, mammy 
 dear, to say that I ne'er wished to see her that 
 I will not, but I ne'er went nor sought to see 
 her." 
 
 "There now," said Catherine disputatively, 
 " said I not 'twas all unlike my girl to seek her 
 unbeknown to me! Come now, for I'm all 
 agog." 
 
 " Then thus 'twas. It came to my ears, no 
 matter how, and prithee, good mother, on my 
 knees ne'er ask me how, that Gerard was a 
 prisoner in the Stadthouse tower." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " By father's behest as 'twas pretended." 
 
 Catherine uttered a sigh that was almost a 
 moan. 
 
 "Blacker than I thought," she muttered 
 faintly. 
 
 " Giles and I went out at night to bid him be 
 of good cheer. And there at the tower foot 
 was a brave lass, quite strange to me I vow, on 
 the same errand." 
 
 " Lookee there now, Kate." 
 
 "At first we did properly frighten one another, 
 through the place his bad name, and our poor 
 heads being so full o' divels, and we whitened 
 ft bit in moonshine. But next moment, quo' I, 
 'You are Margaret.' ' And you are Kate,' quo' 
 she. Think on't I " 
 
 "Did one ever! 'Twas Gerard! He will 
 have been talking backards and forrards of 
 thee to her, and her to thee." 
 
 In return for this, Kate bestowed on Catherine 
 one of the prettiest presents in nature the 
 composite kiss, i.e., she imprinted on her cheek 
 a single kiss, which said 
 
 1. Quite correct. 
 
 2. Good, clever mother, for guessing so right 
 and quick. 
 
 3. How sweet for us twain to be of one mind 
 again after never having been otherwise. 
 
 4. Etc. 
 
 " Now then, speak thy mind, child, Gerard is 
 not here. Alas, what am I saying 7 would to 
 Heaven he were." 
 
 "Well then, mother, she is comely, and 
 wrongs her picture but little." 
 
 "Eh, dear; hark to young f oik 1 I am for 
 good acts, not good looks. Loves she my boy 
 as he did ought to be loved 7 " 
 
 " Sevenbergen is farther from the Stadthouse 
 than we are," said Kate thoughtfully ; "yet she 
 was there afore me." 
 
 Catherine nodded intelligence. 
 
 "Nay, more, she had got him out ere I 
 came. Ay, down from the captive's tower." 
 
 Catherine shook her head incredulously. 
 " The highest tower for miles I It is not 
 feasible." 
 
 "'Tis sooth though. She and an old man 
 she brought found means and wit to send him 
 up a rope. There 'twas dangling from his 
 prison, and our Giles went up it. When first 
 I saw it hang, I said, ' This is glamour.' But 
 when the frank lass's arms came round me, and 
 her bosom did beat on mine, and her cheeks 
 wet, then said I, ' 'Tis not glamour : 'tis love.' 
 For she is not like me, but lusty and able ; 
 and, dear heart, even I, poor frail creature, do 
 feel sometimes as I could move the world for 
 them I love : I love you, mother. And she 
 loves Gerard." 
 
 " God bless her fort 1 God bless her ! " 
 
 "But " 
 
 " But what, lamb 7 " 
 
 "Her love, is it for very certain honest! 
 'Tis most strange ; but that very thing, which 
 hath warmed your heart, hath somewhat cooled 
 mine towards her ; poor soul. She is no wife, 
 you know, mother, when all is done." 
 
 "Humph I They have stood at th' altar 
 together/' 
 
 " Ay, but they went as they came, maid and 
 bachelor." 
 
 " The parson, saith he so 7 " 
 
 " Nay, for that I know not." 
 
 "Then I'll take no man's word but his ia 
 such a tangled skein." 
 
 After some reflection she added 
 
 "Natheless art right, girl; I'll to Seven- 
 bergen alone. A wife I am but not a slave. 
 We are all in the dark here. And she holds 
 the clue. I must question her, and no one 
 by ; least of all you. I'll not take my iily to a 
 house wi' a spot, no, not to a palace o' gold 
 and silver." 
 
 The more Catherine pondered this conversa- 
 tion, the more she felt drawn towards Margaret, 
 and moreover "she was all agog" with curio-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 eity, a potent passion with us all, and nearly 
 omnipotent with those who, like Catherine, do 
 not slake it with reading. At last, one fine 
 day, after dinner, she whispered to Kate, 
 " Keep the house from going to pieces, an' ye 
 can;" and donned her best kirtle and hood, 
 and her scarlet clocked hose and her new 
 shoes, and trudged briskly off to Sevenbergen, 
 troubling no man's mule. 
 
 When she got there she inquired where 
 Margaret Brandt lived. 
 
 The first person she asked shook his head, 
 and said 
 
 " The name is strange to me." 
 
 She went a little farther and asked a girl 
 of about fifteen who was standing at a 
 door. 
 
 "Father," said the girl, speaking into the 
 house, "here is another after that magician's 
 daughter." 
 
 The man came out and told Catherine Peter 
 Brandt's cottage was just outside the town 
 on the east side. 
 
 " You may see the chimney hence ; " and 
 he pointed it out to her. "But you will not 
 find them there, nother father nor daughter ; 
 they have left the town this week, bless 
 you." 
 
 " Say not so, good man, and me walken all 
 the way from Tergou." 
 
 " From Tergou 7 then you must ha' met the 
 goldier." 
 
 "What soldier 7 ay, I did meet a soldier." 
 
 "Well, then, yon soldier was here seeking 
 that selfsame Margaret." 
 
 11 Ay, and warn't a mad with us because she 
 was gone?" put in the girl. "His long 
 beard and her cheek are no strangers, I 
 warrant." 
 
 " Say no more than ye know," said Catherine 
 sharply. " You are young to take to slandering 
 your elders. Stay I tell me more about this 
 soldier, good man." 
 
 " Nay, I know no more than that he came 
 hither seeking Margaret Brandt, and I told 
 him she and her father had made a moonlight 
 flit on't this day sennight, and that some 
 thought the devil had flown away with them, 
 being magicians. 'And,' says he, 'the devil 
 fly away with thee for thy ill news ; ' that was 
 my thanks. ' But I doubt 'tis a lie,' said he. 
 'An' you think so,' said I, 'go and see.' 'I 
 will,' said he, and burst out wi' a hantle o' 
 gibberish my wife thinks 'twas curses ; and 
 hied him to the cottage. Presently back a 
 comes, and sings t'other tune. 'You were 
 right and I was wrong,' says he, and shoves a 
 silver coin in my hand. Show it the wife, 
 some of ye ; then she'll believe me ; I have 
 been called a liar once to-day." 
 
 "It needs not," said Catherine, inspecting 
 the coin all the same. 
 
 " And he seemed quiet and sad like, didn't 
 he now, wench 7 " 
 
 "That a did," said the young woman 
 warmly ; "and, dame, he was just as pretty a 
 man as ever I clapped eyes on. Cheeks like a 
 rose, and shining beard, and eyes in his head 
 like sloes." 
 " I saw he wa* well bearded," said Catherine ; 
 
 but, for the rest, at my age I scan them 
 not as when I was young and foolish. But 
 tie seemed right civil : doffed his bonnet to 
 me as I had been a queen, and I did drop 
 him my best reverence, for manners beget 
 manners. But little I wist he had been her 
 
 Light o' love, and most likely the Who 
 
 bakes for this town 7 " 
 
 The man, not being acquainted with her, 
 opened his eyes at this transition, swift and 
 smooth. 
 
 Well, dame, there be two; John Bush 
 and Eric Donaldson, they both bide in this 
 street." 
 
 "Then, God be with yon, good people," 
 said she, and proceeded ; but her sprightly 
 foot came flat on the ground now, and no 
 longer struck it with little jerks and cocking 
 heel 
 
 She asked the bakers whether Peter Brandt 
 had gone away in their debt. 
 
 Bush said they were not customers. 
 
 Donaldson said, "Not a stiver : his daughter 
 had come round and paid him the very night 
 they went. Didn't believe they owed a copper 
 in the town." 
 
 So Catherine got all the information of that 
 kind she wanted with very little trouble. 
 
 "Can you tell me what sort this Margaret 
 was 7 " said she, as she turned to go. 
 
 "Well, somewhat too reserved for my taste. 
 I like a chatty customer when I'm not too 
 busy. But she bore a high character for 
 being a good daughter." 
 
 *"Tis no small praise. A well-looking lass, 
 I am told 7 " 
 
 " Why, whence come you, wyfe ? " 
 
 " From Tergou." 
 
 " Oh, ay. Well you shall judge : the lads 
 clept her ' the beauty of Sevenbergen ; ' the 
 lasses did scout it merrily, and terribly 
 pulled her to pieces, and found so many 
 faults no two could agree where the fault 
 lay." 
 
 "That is enough," said Catherine. "I see, 
 the bakers are no fools in Sevenbergen, 
 and the young women no shallower than in 
 other burghs." 
 
 She bought a manchet of bread, partly out 
 of sympathy and justice (she kept a shop), 
 partly to show her household how much better 
 bread she gave them daily ; and returned to 
 Tergou dejected. 
 
 Kate met her outside the town with beaming 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well, Kate, lass, it is a happy thing I 
 went; I am heartbroken. Gerard has been 
 sore abused. The child is none of ourn, nor 
 the mother from this hour." 
 
 " Alas, mother, I fathom not your meaning." 
 
 "Ask me no more, girl, but never mention 
 her name to me again. That is all." 
 
 Kate acquiesced with a humble sigh, and 
 they went home together. 
 
 They found a soldier seated tranquilly by 
 their fire. The moment they entered the door 
 he rose, and saluted them civilly. They stood 
 and looked at him; Kate with some little 
 surprise, but Catherine with a great deal, and 
 with rising indignation.
 
 13* 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIIL 
 
 "WHAT makes you here I" was Catherine's 
 greeting. 
 
 " I came to seek after Margaret." 
 
 " Well, we know no such person.-" 
 
 "Say not so, dame; sure you know her by 
 name, Margaret Brandt." 
 
 "We have heard of her for that matter 
 to our cost." 
 
 " Come, dame, prithee tell me at least where 
 she bides." 
 
 "I know not where she bides, and care 
 not" 
 
 Denys felt sure this was a deliberate untruth. 
 He bit his lip. 
 
 " Well, I looked to find myself in an enemy's 
 country at this Tergou ; but maybe if ye knew 
 all ye would not be so dour." 
 
 ""l do know all," replied Catherine bitterly. 
 ' ' This morn I knew nought." 
 
 Then suddenly setting her arms akimbo she 
 told him with a raised voice and flashing eyes 
 she wondered at his cheek sitting down by 
 that hearth of all hearths in the world. 
 
 " May Satan fly away with your hearth to 
 the lake of fire and brimstone," shouted Denys, 
 who could speak Flemish fluently. "Your 
 own servant bade me sit there till you came, 
 else I had ne'er troubled your hearth. My 
 malison on it, and on the churlish roof-tree 
 that greets an unoffending stranger this way," 
 and he strode scowling to the door. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! " ejaculated Catherine, frightened, 
 and also a little conscience -stricken ; and the 
 virago sat suddenly down and burst into 
 tears. Her daughter followed suit quietly, 
 but without loss of time. 
 
 A shrewd writer, now unhappily lost to us, 
 has somewhere the following dialogue : 
 
 She. " I feel all a woman's weakness. " 
 
 lie. " Then yon are invincible." 
 
 Denys, by anticipation, confirmed that 
 valuable statement ; he stood at the door 
 looking ruefully at the havoc his thunderbolt 
 of eloquence had made. 
 
 " Nay, wife," said he, " weep not neither 
 for a soldier's hasty word. I mean not all 
 I said. Why, your house is your own, and 
 what right in it have I ? There now, I'll go." 
 
 "What is to do I" said a grave manly 
 voice. 
 
 It was Eli ; he had come in from the shop. 
 
 " Here is a ruffian been a-scolding of your 
 women folk and making them cry," explained 
 Denys. 
 
 " Little Kate, what is't T for ruffians do not 
 used to call themselves ruffians," said Eli the 
 sensible. 
 
 Ere she could explain, "Hold your tongue, 
 girl," said Catherine; "Muriel bade him sat 
 down, and I knew not that, and wyted on 
 him ; and he was going and leaving his malison 
 on us. root and branch. I was never so be- 
 cursed in all my days, oh I oh I oh ! " 
 
 "Yon were both somewhat to blame; both 
 you and he," said Eli calmly. "However, 
 what the servant says the master should still 
 
 stand to. We keep not open house, but yet 
 we are not poor enough to grudge a seat 
 at our hearth in a cold day to a wayfarer 
 with an honest face, and as, I think, a 
 wounded man. So, end all malice, and sit 
 ye down 1 " 
 
 " Wounded I" cried mother and daughter in 
 a breath. 
 
 " Think you a soldier slings his arm for 
 sport ? " 
 
 "Nay, 'tis but an arrow," said Denys 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "But an arrow?'* said Kate, with con- 
 centrated horror. "Where were our eyes, 
 mother I " 
 
 " Nay, in good sooth, a trifle. Which, how- 
 ever, I will pray mesdames to accept as an 
 excuse for my vivacity. "Tis these little 
 foolish trifling wounds that fret a man, worthy 
 sir. Why, look ye now, sweeter temper than 
 our Gerard never breathed, yet, when the bear 
 did but strike a piece no bigger than a crown 
 out of his calf, he turned so hot and choleric 
 y'had said he was no son of yours, but got by 
 the good knight Sir John Pepper on his wife 
 dame Mustard ; who is this ? a dwarf ? your 
 servant, Master Giles." 
 
 "Your servant, soldier," roared the new- 
 comer. Denys started. He had not counted 
 on exchanging greetings with a petard. 
 
 Denys's words had surprised his hosts, but 
 hardly more than their deportment now did 
 him. They all three came creeping up to 
 where he sat, and looked down into him with 
 their lips parted, as if he had been some 
 strange phenomenon. 
 
 And growing agitation succeeded to amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Now hush ! " said Eli, " let none speak but 
 L Young man," said he solemnly, "in God's 
 name who are you, that know us though we 
 know you not, and that shake our hearts 
 speaking to us of the absent our poor 
 rebellious son : whom Heaven forgive and 
 bless 1 " 
 
 "What, master," said Denys, lowering his 
 voice, "hath he not writ to yon ? hath he not 
 told you of me, Denys of Burgundy 2 " 
 
 "He hath writ, but three lines, and named 
 not Denys of Burgundy, nor any stranger." 
 
 "Ay, I mind the long letter was to his 
 sweetheart, this Margaret, and she has de- 
 camped, plague take her, and how I am to 
 find her Heaven knows." 
 
 "What, she is not your sweetheart then ! * 
 
 " Who, dame ? an't please you." 
 
 " Why, Margaret Brandt." 
 
 "How can my comrade's sweetheart be 
 mine ? I know her not from Noah's niece ; how 
 should I ? I never saw her." 
 
 " Whist with this idle chat, Kate," said Eli 
 impatiently, "and let the young man answer 
 me. How came you to know Gerard, our son 7 
 Prithee now think on a parent's cares, and 
 answer me straightforward, like a soldier as 
 thou art." 
 
 " And shall. I was paid off at Flushing, and 
 started for Burgundy. On the German frontier 
 I lay at the same inn with Gerard. I fancied 
 him. I said, 'Be my comrade.' He was loth
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 133 
 
 at first ; consented presently. Many a weary 
 league we trode together. Never were truer 
 comrades : never will be while earth shall last. 
 First I left my route a bit to be with him : then 
 he his to be with me. We talked of Seven- 
 bergen and Tergou a thousand times ; and of 
 all in this house. We had our troubles on the 
 road; but battling them together made them 
 light. I saved his life from a bear ; he mine in 
 the Rhine : for he swims like a duck and I 
 like a hod o' bricks ; and one another's lives at 
 an inn in Burgundy, where we two held a room 
 for a good hour against seven cut-throats, and 
 crippled one and slew two ; and your son did 
 his devoir like a man, and met the stoutest 
 champion I ever countered, and spitted him 
 like a sucking-pig. Else I had not been here. 
 But just when all was fair, and I was to see 
 him safe aboard ship for Rome, if not to Rome 
 
 itself, met us that son of a the Lord 
 
 Anthony of Burgundy, and his men, making 
 for Flanders, then in insurrection, tore us by 
 force apart, took me where I got some broad 
 pieces in hand, and a broad arrow in my 
 shoulder, and left my poor Gerard lonesome. 
 At that sad parting, soldier though I be, these 
 eyes did rain salt scalding tears, and so did his, 
 poor soul. His last word to me was, 'Go, 
 comfort Margaret ! ' so here I be. Mine to 
 him was, ' Think no more of Rome. Make for 
 Rhine, and down stream home.' Now say, 
 for you know best, did I advise him well or 
 ill?" 
 
 "Soldier, take my hand," said Eli. "God 
 bless theel God bless thee!" and his lip 
 quivered. 
 
 It was all his reply, but more eloquent than 
 many words. 
 
 Catherine did not answer at all, but she 
 darted from the room and bade Muriel bring 
 the best that was in the house, and returned 
 with wood in both arms, and heaped the fire, 
 and took out a snow-white cloth from the 
 press, and was going in a great hurry to lay 
 it for Gerard's friend, when suddenly she sat 
 down and all the power ebbed rapidly out of 
 her body. 
 
 "Father!" cried Kate, whose eye was as 
 quick as her affection. 
 
 Denys started up ; but Eli waved him back 
 and flung a little water sharply in his wife's 
 face. This did her instant good. 
 
 She gasped, " So sudden. My poor boy ! " 
 
 Eli whispered Denys, "Take no notice 1 she 
 thinks of him night and day." 
 
 They pretended not to observe her, and she 
 shook it off, and bustled and laid the cloth 
 with her own hands ; but as she smoothed it, 
 her hands trembled and a tear or two stole 
 down her cheeks. 
 
 They could not make enough of Denys. 
 They stuffed him, and crammed him ; and then 
 gathered round him and kept filling his glass 
 in turn, while by that genial blaze of fire and 
 ruby wine and eager eyes he told all that I 
 have related, and a vast number of minor 
 details, which an artist, however minnte, 
 omits. 
 
 But how different the effect on my readers 
 and on this small circle. To them the interest 
 
 was already made before the first word came 
 from his lips. It was all about Gerard, and he, 
 who sat there telling it them, was warm from 
 Gerard and an actor with him in all these 
 
 The flesh and blood around that fire quivered 
 for their severed member, hearing its struggles 
 and perils. 
 
 I shall ask my readers to recall to memory 
 all they can of Gerard's journey with Denys, 
 and in their mind's eye to see those very 
 matters told by his comrade to an exile's 
 father, all stoic outside, all father within, 
 and to two poor women, an exile's mother and 
 a sister, who were all love and pity and tender 
 anxiety both outside and in. Now would you 
 mind closing this book for a minute and 
 making an effort to realise all this? It will 
 save us so much repetition. 
 
 Then you will not be surprised when I tell 
 you that after a while Giles came softly and 
 curled himself up before the fire, and lay 
 gazing at the speaker with a reverence almost 
 canine; and that, when the rough soldier 
 had unconsciously but thoroughly betrayed his 
 better qualities, and above all his rare affection 
 for Gerard, Kate, though timorous as a bird, 
 stole her little hand into the warrior's huge 
 brown palm, where it lay an instant like a tea- 
 spoonful of cream spilt on a platter, then 
 nipped the ball of his thumb and served for 
 a Kardiometer. In other words, Fate is just 
 even to rival storytellers, and balances matters. 
 Denys had to pay a tax to his audience which 
 I have not. Whenever Gerard was in too 
 much danger, the female faces became so 
 white, and their poor little throats gurgled so, 
 he was obliged in common humanity to spoil his 
 recital. Suspense is the soul of narrative, and 
 thus dealt Rough-and-Tender of Burgundy with 
 his best suspenses. 
 
 "Now, dame, take not on till ye hear the 
 end ; ma'amselle, let not your cheek blanch so ; 
 courage 1 it looks ugly ; but you shall hear 
 how we wond through. Had he miscarried, 
 and I at hand, would I be alive 1" 
 
 And I called Kate's little hand a Kardio- 
 meter, or heart-measurer, because it graduated 
 emotion and pinched by scale. At its best it 
 was by no means a high-pressure engine. But 
 all is relative. Denys soon learned the tender 
 gamut ; and when to water the suspense, and 
 extract the thrill as far as possible. On one 
 occasion only he cannily indemnified his nar- 
 rative for this drawback. Falling personally 
 into the Rhine, and sinking, he got pinched, 
 he Denys, to his surprise and satisfaction. 
 "Oho I" thought he, and on the principle of 
 the anatomists, " experimentum in corpore vili," 
 kept himself a quarter of an hour under water ; 
 under pressure all the time. And even when 
 Gerard had got hold of him, he was loth to 
 leave the river, so, less conscientious than I 
 was, swam with Gerard to the east bank first, 
 and was about to land, but detected the officers 
 and their intent, chaffed them a little space, 
 treading water, then turned and swam wearily 
 all across, and at last was obliged to get out, 
 for very ehame, or else acknowledge himself a
 
 134 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 pike ; BO permitted himself to land, exhausted, 
 and the pressure relaxed, 
 
 It was eleven o'clock, an unheard-of honr, 
 but they took no note of time this night ; 
 and Denys had still much to tell them, when 
 the door was opened quietly, and in stole 
 Cornelia and Sybrandt looking hang -dog. 
 They had this night been drinking the very 
 lart drop of their mysterious funds. 
 
 Catherine feared her husband would rebuke 
 them before Denys ; but he only looked sadly 
 at them, and motioned them to sit down 
 quietly. 
 
 Denys it was who seemed discomposed. He 
 knitted his brows and eyed them thought- 
 fully and rather gloomily. Then turned to 
 Catherine. 
 
 " What say you, dame T the rest to-morrow ; 
 for I am somewhat weary, and it waxes 
 late." 
 
 " So be it," said Eli. 
 
 But when Denys rose to go to his inn, he 
 was instantly stopped by Catherine. 
 
 "And think yon to lie from this house? 
 Gerard's room has been got ready for yon hours 
 agone ; the sheets I'll not say much for, seeing 
 I spun the flax and wove the web." 
 
 " Then would I lie in them blindfold," was 
 the gallant reply. " Ah, dame, our poor Gerard 
 was the one for fine linen. He could hardly 
 forgive the honest Germans their coarse flax, 
 and whene'er my traitors of countrymen did 
 amiss, a would excuse them, saying, 'Well, 
 well ; bonnes toiles sont en Bourgogne : ' that 
 means, 'there be good lenten cloths in Bur- 
 gundy.' But indeed he beat all for bywords 
 and cleanliness." 
 
 " Oh, Eli I Eli ! doth not our son come back 
 to us at each word T " 
 
 "Ay. Buss me, my poor Kate. You and 
 I know all that passeth in each other's 
 hearts this night. None other can, but 
 God." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 DKNTS took an opportunity next day and told 
 mother and daughter the rest, excusing him- 
 self characteristically for not letting Cornelis 
 and Sybrandt hear of it 
 
 "It is not for me to blacken them; they 
 come of a good stock. But Gerard looks 
 on them as no friends of his in this matter ; 
 and I'm Gerard's comrade; and it is a rule 
 with us soldiers not to tell the enemy aught 
 but lies." 
 
 Catherine sighed, but made no answer. 
 
 The adventures he related cost them a 
 tumult of agitation and grief, and sore they 
 wept at the parting of the friends, which 
 even now Denys could not tell without falter- 
 ing. But at last all merged in the joyful 
 hope and expectation of Gerard's speedy 
 return. In this Deny* confidently shared ; 
 but reminded them that was no reason why 
 be hould ne^Ject his friend's wishes and last 
 
 words. In fact, should Gerard return next 
 week, and no Margaret to be found, what 
 sort of figure should he cut ? 
 
 Catherine had never felt so kindly towards 
 the truant Margaret as now; and she was 
 fully as anxious to find her, and be kind 
 to her before Gerard's return, as Denys was ; 
 but she could not agree with him that any. 
 thing was to be gained by leaving this neigh- 
 bourhood to search for her. 
 
 "She must have told somebody whither 
 he was going. It is not as though they 
 were dishonest folk flying the country ; they 
 owe not a stiver in Sevenbergen; and dear 
 heart, Denys, you can't hunt all Holland for 
 her." 
 
 'Can I notT" said Denys grimly. "That 
 we shall see." 
 
 He added, after some reflection, that they 
 must divide their forces ; she stay here with 
 eyes and ears wide open, and he ransack 
 every town in Holland for her, if need be. 
 But she will not be many leagues from 
 here. They be three. Three fly not so fast, 
 nor far, as one." 
 
 " That is sense," said Catherine. 
 
 But she insisted on his going first to the 
 demoiselle Van Eyck. 
 
 " She and our Margaret were bosom friends. 
 She knows where the girl is gone, if she will 
 but tell us." 
 
 Denys was for going to her that instant, 
 so Catherine, in a turn of the hand, made 
 herself one shade neater, and took him with 
 her. 
 
 She was received graciously by the old lady 
 sitting in a richly furnished room ; and opened 
 her business. The tapestry dropped out of 
 Margaret Van Eyck*8 hands. "Gone? Gone 
 from Sevenbergen and not told me ; the thank- 
 less girl" 
 
 This turn greatly surprised the visitors. 
 "What, yon knew not? when was she here 
 last?" 
 
 "Maybe ten days agone. I had ta'en out 
 my brushes, after so many years, to paint 
 her portrait. I did not do it, though ; for 
 reason*." 
 
 Catherine remarked it was "a most strange 
 thing she should go away bag and baggage 
 like this, without with your leave or by your 
 leave, why, or wherefore. Was ever anght so 
 untoward ; just when all our hearts are warm 
 to her ; and here is Gerard's mate come from 
 the ends of the earth with comfort for her 
 from Gerard, and can't find her, and Gerard 
 himself expected. What to do I know not. 
 But sure she is not parted like this without a 
 reason. Can ye not give us the clue, my good 
 demoiselle ? Prithee now." 
 
 " I have it not to give," said the elder lady, 
 rather peevishly. 
 
 "Then I can," said Reicht Heynes, showing 
 herself in the doorway, with colour somewhat 
 heightened. 
 
 " So you have been hearkening all the time, 
 eh?" 
 
 " What are my ears for, mistress 7 " 
 
 "True. Well, throw us the litrbt of thy 
 wisdom on this dark matter."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 135 
 
 "There is no darkness that I see," said 
 Reicht. "And the clue, why, an' ye call't a 
 two-plye twine, and the ends on't in this room 
 e'en now, ye'll not be> far out. Oh, mistress, I 
 wonder at you sitting there pretending." 
 
 " Marry, come up 1 " and the mistress's cheek 
 was now nearly as red as the servant's. "So 
 'twas I drove the foolish girl away." 
 
 "You did your share, mistress. What sort 
 of greeting gave you her last time she came? 
 Think you she could miss to notice it, and she 
 all friendless ? And you said, ' I have altered 
 my mind about painting of you,' says you, a 
 turning up your nose at her." 
 
 "I did not turn up my nose. It Is not 
 shaped like yours for looking heavenward." 
 
 " Oh, all our nosen can follow our heartys 
 bent, for that matter. Poor soul She did 
 come into the kitchen to me. ' I am not to be 
 painted now,' said she, and the tears in her 
 eyes. She said no more. But I knew well 
 what she did mean. I had seen ye." 
 
 "Well," said Margaret Van Eyck, "I do 
 confess so much, and I make you the judge, 
 madam. Know that these young girls can do 
 nothing of their own heads, but are most apt at 
 mimicking aught their sweethearts do. Now 
 your Gerard is reasonably handy at many 
 things, and among the rest at the illuminator's 
 craft. And Margaret she is his pupil, and a 
 patient one : what marvel ? having a woman's 
 eye for colour, and eke a lover to ape. 'Tis a 
 trick I despise at heart : for by it the great art 
 of colour, which should be royal, aspiring, and 
 free, becomes a poor slave to the petty crafts 
 of writing and printing, and is fettered, im- 
 prisoned, and made little, body and soul, to 
 match the littleness of books, and go to church 
 in a rich fool's pocket. Natheless affection 
 rules us all, and when the poor wench would 
 bring me her thorn leaves, and lilies, and ivy, 
 and dewberries, and ladybirds, and butterfly 
 grubs, and all the scum of Nature stuck fast 
 in gold-leaf like wasps in a honey-pot, and 
 withal her diurnal book, showing she had 
 pored an hundred, or an hundred and fifty, or 
 two hundred hours over each singular page, 
 certes I was wroth that an immortal soul, and 
 many hours of labour, and much manual skill, 
 should be flung away on Nature's trash, leaves, 
 insects, grubs, and on barren letters; but, 
 having bowels, I did perforce restrain, and as 
 it were, dam my better feelings, and looked 
 kindly at the work to see how it might be 
 bettered ; and said I, ' Sith Heaven for our sins 
 hath doomed us to spend time, and soul, and 
 colour on great letters and little beetles, omit- 
 ting such small fry as saints and heroes, their 
 acts and passions, why not present the scum 
 naturally?' I told her 'the grapes I saw, 
 walking abroad, did hang i' the air, not stick in 
 a wall ; and even these insects,' quo' I, ' and 
 Nature her slime in general, pass not their 
 nosious lives wedged miserably in metal prisons 
 like flies in honey-pots and glue-pots, but do 
 crawl or hover at large, infesting air.' 'Ah I 
 my dear friend,' says she, ' I see now whither 
 you drive; but this ground is gold; whereon 
 we may not ehade.' ' Who says so 7 ' quoth I. 
 'All teachers of this craft,' says she; and (to 
 
 make an end o' me at once, I trow) 'Gerard 
 himself I ' ' That for Gerard himself,' quoth I, 
 4 and all the gang ; gi'e me a brush 1 ' 
 
 "Then chose I, to shade her fruit and rep- 
 tiles, a colour false in nature, but true rela- 
 tively to that monstrous ground of glaring 
 gold ; and in five minutes out came a bunch of 
 raspberries, stalk and all, and a'most flew in 
 your mouth ; likewise a butterfly grub she had 
 so truly presented as might turn the stoutest 
 stomach. My lady she flings her arms round 
 my neck, and says she, ' Oh I ' " 
 
 " Did she now 1 " 
 
 " The little love I " observed Denys, succeed- 
 ing at last in wedging in a word. 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck stared at him ; and then 
 smiled. She went on to tell them how from 
 step to step she had been led on to promise to 
 resume the art she had laid aside with a sigh 
 when her brothers died, and to paint the 
 Madonna once more with Margaret for model. 
 Incidentally she even revealed how girls are 
 turned into saints. "Thy hair is adorable," 
 aid I. "Why, 'tis red," quo' she. "Ay," 
 quoth I, "but what a red I how brown I how 
 glossy! most hair is not worth a straw to us 
 painters ; thine the artist's very hue. But thy 
 violet eyes, which smack of earth, being now 
 languid for lack of one Gerard, now. full of 
 fire in hopes of the same Gerard, these will I 
 lift to heaven in fixed and holy meditation, and 
 thy nose, which doth already somewhat aspire 
 that way (though not so piously as Reicht's), 
 will I debase a trifle, and somewhat enfeeble 
 thy chin." 
 
 "Enfeeble her chin? Alack! what may 
 that mean? Ye go beyond me, mistress." 
 
 " 'Tis a resolute chin. Not a jot too resolute 
 for this wicked world ; but when ye come to a 
 Madonna ? No thank you." 
 
 " Well I never. A resolute chin." 
 
 Denyt. " The darling I " 
 
 "And now cornea the rub. When you told 
 me she was the way she is, it gave me a 
 shock ; I dropped my brushes. Was I going to 
 turn a girl, that couldn't keep her lover at a 
 distance, into the Virgin Mary, at my time of 
 life ? I love the poor ninny stilL But I adore 
 our blessed Lady. Say you, 'a painter must 
 not be peevish in such matters ' ? Well, most 
 painters are men ; and men are fine fellows. 
 They can do aught. Their saints and virgins 
 are neither more nor less than their lemans, 
 saving your presence. But know that for this 
 very reason half their craft is lost on me, which 
 find beneath their angels' white wings the very 
 trollops I have seen flaunting it on the streets, 
 bejewelled like Paynim idols, and put on like 
 the queens in a pack o' cards. And I am not a 
 fine fellow, but only a woman, and my painting 
 is but one half craft, .and t'other half devotion. 
 So now you may read me. Twas foolish, maybe, 
 but I could not help it ; yet am I sorry." And 
 the old lady ended despondently a discourse 
 which she had commenced in a mighty defiant 
 tone. 
 
 " Well, you know, dame," observed Catherine, 
 " you must think it would go to the poor girl'i 
 heart, and she so fond of ye ? " 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck only sighed.
 
 I 3 6 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The Frisian girl, after biting her lipa Im- 
 patiently a little while, turned upon Catherine. 
 "Why, dame, think you 'twas for that alone 
 Margaret and Peter hath left Sevenbergen? 
 Nay." 
 
 For what else, then T H 
 
 " What else ? Why, because Gerard's people 
 slight her so crueL Who would bide among 
 hard-hearted folk that ha' driven her lad f 
 Italy, and now he is gone, relent not, but 
 face it out, and ne'er come anigh her that is 
 left ? " 
 
 " Reicht, I was going." 
 
 " Oh, ay, going, and going, and going. Te 
 should ha' said less or else done more. But 
 with your words yon did uplift her heart and 
 let it down wi' your deeds. ' They have never 
 been,' said the poor thing to me, with such a 
 sigh. Ay, here is one can feel for her: for I 
 too am far from my friends, and often, when 
 first I came to Holland, I did used to take a 
 hearty cry all to myself. But ten times liever 
 would I be Reicht Heynes with nought but the 
 leagues atween me and all my kith, than be as 
 she is i' the midst of them that ought to warm 
 to her, and yet to fare as lonesome as I." 
 
 "Alack, Reicht, I did go but yestreen, and 
 had gone before, but one plaguy thing or 
 t'other did still come and hinder me." 
 
 "Mistress, did aught hinder ye to eat your 
 dinner any one of those days? I trow not. 
 And had your heart been as good towards your 
 own flesh and blood, as 'twas towards your 
 tlesher's meat, nought had prevailed to keep 
 yon from her that sat lonely, a watching the 
 road for you and comfort, wi' your child's child 
 a beating 'neath her bosom." 
 
 Here this rude young woman was interrupted 
 by an incident not uncommon in a domestic's 
 bright existence. The Van Eyck had been 
 nettled by the attack on her, but with due tact 
 had gone into ambush. She now sprang out 
 of it 
 
 "Since you disrespect my guests, seek 
 another place I " 
 
 "With all my heart," said Reicht stoutly. 
 
 "Nay, mistress," put in the good-natured 
 Catherine. "True folk will still speak out. 
 Her tongue is a stinger." 
 
 Here the water came Into the speaker's eyes 
 by way of confirmation. 
 
 " But better she said it than thought it So 
 now 't won't rankle in her. And part with 
 her for me, that shall ye not Beshrew the 
 wench, she kens she is a good servant, and 
 takes advantage. We poor wretches which 
 keep house must still pay 'em tax for value. I 
 had a good servant once, when I was a young 
 'ornan. Eh dear, how she did grind me down 
 into the dust. In the end, by Heaven's mercy, 
 she married the baker, and I was my own 
 woman again. 'So,' said I, 'no more good 
 servants shall come hither, a hectoring o' me.' 
 I just get a fool and learn her ; and whenever 
 she knowetb her right hand from her left, she 
 sauceth me : then ont I bundle her neck and 
 crop, and take another dunce in her place. 
 Dear heart, 'tis wearisome, teaching a string of 
 foola by ones ; but there I am mistress : " here 
 she forgot that she was defending Reicht, and 
 
 turning rather spitefully upon her, added, "and 
 you be mistress here, I trow." 
 
 "No more than that stool," said the Van 
 Eyck loftily. " She is neither mistress nor 
 servant; but Gone. She is dismissed the 
 house, and there's an end of her. What, did ye 
 not hear me turn the saucy baggage off ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay. We all heard ye," said Reicht, 
 with vast indifference. 
 
 " Then hear me I " said Denys solemnly. 
 
 They all went round like things on wheels, 
 and fastened their eyes on him. 
 
 " Ay, let us hear what the man says," urged 
 the hostess. " Men are fine fellows, with their 
 great hoarse voices." 
 
 "Mistress Reicht," aid Denys, with great 
 dignity and ceremony, indeed so great as to 
 verge on the absurd, " you are turned off. If 
 on a slight acquaintance I might advise, I'd 
 say, since you are a servant no more, be a 
 mistress, a queen." 
 
 "Easier said than done," replied Reicht 
 bluntly. 
 
 " Not a jot. You see here one who is a man, 
 though but half an arbalestrier, owing to that 
 devilish Englishman's arrow, in whose carcass 
 I have, however, left a like token, which is a 
 comfort. I have twenty gold pieces" (he 
 showed them) "and a stout arm. In another 
 week or so I shall have twain. Marriage is 
 not a habit of mine ; but I capitulate to so 
 many virtues. You are beautiful, good-hearted, 
 and outspoken, and above all, you take the 
 part of my she-comrade. Be then an arbales- 
 triesse I " 
 
 "And what the dickens is that?" inquired 
 Reicht. 
 
 "I mean, be the wife, mistress, and queen 
 of Denys of Burgundy here present I " 
 
 A dead silence fell on all. 
 
 It did not last long, though ; and was followed 
 by a burst of unreasonable indignation. 
 
 Catherine. " Well, did you ever t " 
 
 Margaret. " Never in all my born days." 
 
 Catherine. " Before our very faces." 
 
 Margaret. "Of all the absurdity, and In- 
 science of this ridiculous sex " 
 
 Here Denys observed somewhat drily, that 
 the female to whom he had addressed himself 
 was mute ; and the others, on whose eloquence 
 there was no immediate demand, were fluent : 
 on this the voices stopped, and the eyes turned 
 pivot-like upon Reicht. 
 
 She took a sly glance from under her lashes 
 at her military assailant, and said, " I mean 
 to take a good look at any man ere I leap into 
 his arms." 
 
 Denys drew himself up majestically. " Then 
 look your fill, and leap away.". 
 
 This proposal led to a new and most un- 
 expected result. A long white finger was 
 extended by the Van Eyck in a line with the 
 speaker's eye, and an agitated voice bade him 
 stand, in the name of all the saints. 
 
 "You are beautiful, so," cried she. "You 
 are inspired with folly. What matters that T 
 you are inspired. I must take off your head." 
 
 And hi a moment she was at work with her 
 pencil. 
 
 " Come out, hussy," she screamed to Reicht ;
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "more in front of him, and keep the fool 
 inspired and beautiful. Oh, why had I not 
 this maniac for my good centurion ? They 
 went and brought me a brute with a low fore- 
 head and a shapeless beard." 
 
 Catherine stood and looked with utter 
 amazement at this pantomime, and secretly 
 resolved that her venerable hostess had been 
 a disguised lunatic all this time, and was now 
 busy throwing off the mask. As for Reicht, 
 she waa unhappy and cross. She had left her 
 caldron in a precarious state, and made no 
 scruple to say so, and that duties so grave as 
 hers left her no " time to waste a playing the 
 statee and the fool all at one time." Her 
 mistress in reply reminded her that it was 
 possible to be rude and rebellious to one's poor, 
 old, affectionate, desolate mistress, without being 
 utterly heartless and savage; and a trampler 
 on arts. 
 
 On this Reicht stopped, and pouted, and 
 looked like a little basilisk at the inspired 
 model who caused her woe. He retorted with 
 unshaken admiration. The situation was at 
 last dissolved by the artist's wrist becoming 
 cramped from disuse ; this was not, how- 
 ever until she had made a rough but noble 
 sketch. 
 
 " I can work no more at present," said she 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 " Then, now, mistress, I may go and mind my 
 pot ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, go to your pot ! And get into it, 
 do ; you will find your soul in it : BO then you 
 will all be together." 
 
 " Well, but, Reicht," gaid Catherine, laughing, 
 " she turned you off." 
 
 " Boo, boo, boo I " said Reicht contemptuously. 
 " When she wants to get rid of me, let her turn 
 herself off and die. I am sure she is old enough 
 for't. But take your time, mistress ; if you are 
 in no hurry, no more am L When that day 
 doth come, 'twill take a man to dry my eyes ; 
 and if you should be in the same mind then, 
 soldier, you can say so ; and if you are not, 
 why, 'twin be all one to Reicht Heynes." 
 
 And the plain speaker went her way. But 
 her words did not fall to the ground. Neither 
 of her female hearers could disguise from her- 
 self that this blunt girl, solitary herself, had 
 probably read Margaret Brandt aright, and that 
 she had gone away from Sevenbergen broken- 
 hearted. 
 
 Catherine and Denys bade the Van Eyck 
 adieu, and that same afternoon Denys set out 
 on a wild goose chase. His plan, like all great 
 things, was simple. He should go to a hundred 
 towns and villages, and ask in each after an old 
 physician with a fair daughter, and an old long- 
 bow soldier. He should inquire of the burgo- 
 masters about all new-comers, and should go 
 to the fountains and watch the women and 
 girls as they came with their pitchers for 
 water. 
 
 And away he went, and was months and 
 months on the tramp, and could not find her. 
 
 Happily, this chivalrous feat of friendship 
 was in some degree its own reward. 
 
 Those who sit at home blindfolded by self- 
 conceit, and think camel or man out of the 
 
 depths of their inner consciousness, alias their 
 ignorance, will tell you that in the intervals of 
 war and danger, peace and tranquil life acquire 
 their true value and satisfy the heroic mind. 
 But those who look before they babble or 
 scribble will see and say that men who risk 
 their lives habitually thirst for exciting plea- 
 sures between the acts of danger, and not for 
 innocent tranquillity. 
 
 To this Denys was no exception. His whole 
 military life had been half Sparta, half Capua. 
 And he was too good a soldier and too good a 
 libertine to have ever mixed either habit with 
 the other. But now for the first time he found 
 himself mixed ; at peace and yet on duty ; for 
 he took this latter view of his wild goose chase, 
 luckily. So all these months he was a demi- 
 Spartan ; sober, prudent, vigilant, indomitable ; 
 and happy, though constantly disappointed, as 
 might have been expected. He flu-ted gigan- 
 tically on the road ; but wasted no time about 
 it. Nor in these his wanderings did he tell a 
 single female that "marriage was not one of 
 his habits, &c." 
 
 And so we leave him on the tramp, " Pilgrim 
 of Friendship," as his poor comrade wan of 
 Love. 
 
 CHAPTER L, 
 
 THE good-hearted Catherine was not happy. 
 Not that she reproached herself very deeply 
 for not having gone quickly enough to Seven- 
 bergen, whither she was not bound to go at all 
 except on the score of having excited false 
 hopes in Margaret. But she was in dismay 
 when she reflected that Gerard must reach 
 home in another month at farthest, more likely 
 in a week. And how should she tell him she 
 had not even kept an eye upon his betrothed f 
 Then there was the uncertainty as to the girl's 
 fate ; and this uncertainty sometimes took a 
 sickening form.- 
 
 " Oh, Kate," she groaned, " if she should have 
 gone and made herself away 1 " 
 
 " Mother, she would never be so wicked." 
 
 " Ah, my lass, you know not what hasty fools 
 young lasses be, that have no mothers to keep 
 'em straight. They will fling themselves into 
 the water for a man that the next man they 
 meet would ha' cured "em of in a week. I have 
 known 'em to jump in like brass one moment 
 and scream for help in the next. Couldn't know 
 their own minds ye see even about such a trifle 
 as yon. And then there's times when their 
 bodies ail like no other living creatures ever I 
 could hear of, and that strings up their feelings 
 so, the patience, that belongs to them at other 
 times beyond all living souls barring an ass, 
 seems all to jump out of 'em at one turn, and 
 into the water they go. Therefore, I say that 
 men are monsters," 
 
 " Mother I " 
 
 " Monsters, and no less, to go making such 
 heaps o' canals just to tempt the poor women 
 in. They kngw we shall not cut our throats,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hating the eight of blood and rating our skins a 
 hantle higher nor our lives ; and as for hanging, 
 while she is a fixing of the nail and a making of 
 the noose she has time t' alter her mind. But a 
 jump into a canal is no more than into bed ; and 
 the water it does all the lave, will ye, nill ye. 
 Why, look at me, the mother o' nine, wasn't I 
 agog to make a hole in our canal for the 
 nonce f" 
 
 " Nay, mother, I'll never believe it of you." 
 
 " Ye may, though. 'Twas in the first year of 
 our keeping house together. Ell hadn't found 
 out my weak stitches then, nor I his ; so we 
 made a rent pulling contrariwise ; had a quar- 
 rel So then I ran crying, to tell some gabbling 
 fool like myself what I had no business to tell 
 out o* doors except to the saints, and there was 
 one of our precious canals in the way ; do they 
 take us for teal! Oh, how tempting it did 
 look! Says I to myself, 'Sith he has let me 
 go out of his door quarrelled, he shall see me 
 drowned next, and then he will change his key. 
 He will blubber a good one, and I shall look 
 down from heaven' (I forgot I should be in 
 f other part), ' and see him take on, and oh, but 
 that will be sweet ! ' and I was all a tiptoe and 
 going in, only Just then I thought I wouldn't. 
 I had got a new gown a making, for one thing, 
 and hard upon finished. Bo I went home instead, 
 and what was Ell's first word, 'Let yon flea 
 stick i' the wall, my lass,' says he, ' Not a word 
 of all I said f anger thee was sooth, but this, 
 "I love thee." ' These were his very words ; I 
 minded 'em, being the first quarrel. So I flung 
 my arms about his neck and sobbed a bit, and 
 thought o' the canal ; and he was no colder to 
 me than I to him, being a man and a young 
 one ; and so then that was better than lying in 
 the water ; and spoiling my wedding kirtle and 
 my fine new shoon old John Bush made 'era, 
 that was nncle to him keeps the shop now. 
 And what was my grief to hers T " 
 
 Little Kate hoped that Margaret loved her 
 father too much to think of leaving him so 
 at his age. 
 
 "He is father and mother and all to her, 
 you know." 
 
 " Nay, Kate, they do forget all these things 
 in a moment o' despair when the very sky 
 seems black above them. I place more faith 
 in him that is unborn, than on him that 
 is ripe for the grave, to keep her out o* 
 mischief. For certes it do go sore against 
 ns to die when there's a little innocent a 
 pulling at our hearts to let 'nn live, and feeding 
 at onr very veins." 
 
 "Well, then, keep up a good heart, mother." 
 She added, that very likely all these fears 
 were exaggerated. She ended by solemnly 
 entreating her mother at all events not to 
 persist in naming the sex of Margaret's Infant. 
 It was so unlucky, all the gossips told her; 
 "dear heart, as if there were not as many 
 girls born as boys." 
 
 This reflection, though not unreasonable, was 
 met with clamour. 
 
 " Have you the cruelty to threaten me with 
 a girl ! ! T I want no more girls, while I have 
 yon. What use would a lass be to me? Can 
 I set her on my knee and see my Gerard 
 
 again as I can a boy! I tell thee 'tis all 
 settled." 
 
 " How may that be ? " 
 
 "In my mind. And if I am to be dis- 
 appointed i' the end, 'tisn't for yon to dis- 
 appoint me beforehand, telling me it is not 
 to be a child, but only a girl." 
 
 All these anxieties, and if I may be per- 
 mitted, without disrespect to the dead, to 
 add, all this twaddle, that accompanied them, 
 were shortly suspended by an incident that 
 struck nearer home : made Tergou furiously 
 jealous of Catherine, and Catherine weep. 
 And if my reader is fond of wasting his 
 time, as some novel readers are, he cannot 
 do it more effectually than by guessing what 
 could produce results so incongruous. 
 
 Marched up to Eli's door a pageant brave 
 to the eye of sense, and to the vulgar judg- 
 ment noble, but to the philosophic, pitiable 
 more or less. 
 
 It looked one animal, a centaur; but on 
 severe analysis proved two. The human half 
 was sadly bedizened with those two metals, 
 to clothe his carcass with which and line his 
 pouch, man has now and then disposed of 
 his soul: still the horse was the vainer brute 
 of the two; he was far worse beflounced, 
 bebonneted, and bemantled, than any fair 
 lady rcgnante erinolind. For the man, under 
 the colour of a warming-pan, retained Nature's 
 outline. But it was tubaudi equum! Scarce 
 a pennyweight of honest horse-flesh to be 
 seen. 
 
 Our crinoline spares the noble parts of 
 women, and makes but the baser parts gigan- 
 tic (why this preference ?) ; but this poor 
 animal from stem to stern was swamped in 
 finery. His ears were hid in great sheaths 
 of white linen tipped with silver and blue. 
 His body swaddled in stiff gorgeous cloths 
 descending to the ground, except just in 
 front, where they left him room to mince. 
 His tail, though dear to memory, no doubt, 
 was lost to sight, being tucked in heaven 
 knows how. Only his eyes shone out like 
 goggles, through two holes pierced in the 
 wall of haberdashery, and his little front hoofs 
 peeped in and out like rats. 
 
 Yet did this compound, gorgeous and irra- 
 tional, represent power; absolute power: it 
 came straight from a tournament at the 
 Duke's court, which being on a progress, lay 
 last night at a neighbouring town to execute 
 the behests of royalty. 
 
 " What ho I " cried the upper half, and on 
 Ell emerging, with his wife behind him, 
 saluted them. "Peace be with yon, good 
 people. Rejoice I I am come for your dwarf." 
 
 Eli looked amazed, and said nothing. But 
 Catherine screamed over his shoulder, "You 
 have mistook your road, good man ; here 
 abides no dwarf." 
 
 "Nay, wife, he means onr Giles, who is 
 somewhat email of stature : why gainsay what 
 gainsayed may not be 7 " 
 
 "Ay I" cried the pageant, "that Is he, and 
 dlscourseth like the big tabor."
 
 THS CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 139 
 
 "His breast Is sound for that matter," said 
 Catherine sharply. 
 
 "And prompt with his fists though at long 
 odds." 
 
 "Else how would the poor thing keep his 
 head in such a world as this ? " 
 
 "Tis well said, dame. Art as ready with 
 thy weapon as 'he ; art his mother, likely. 
 So bring him forth, and that presently. See, 
 they lead a stunted mule for him. The Duke 
 hath need of him, sore need; we are clean 
 out o' dwarven, and tiger-cats, which may 
 not be, whiles earth them yieldeth. Our last 
 hop o' my thumb tumbled down the well 
 t' other day." 
 
 "And think yon I'll let my darling go to 
 such an ill-guided house as yon, where the 
 reckless trollops of servants close not the well 
 mouth, but leave it open to trap innocents, 
 like wolven ? " 
 
 The representative of autocracy lost patience 
 at this unwonted opposition, and with stern 
 look and voice bade her bethink her whether 
 it was the better of the two; "to have your 
 abortion at court fed like a bishop and put 
 on like a prince, or to have all your heads 
 stricken off and borne on poles, with the 
 bellman crying, 'Behold the heads of hardy 
 rebels, which having by good luck a mis- 
 begotten son, did traitorously grudge him to 
 the Duke, who is the true father of all his 
 folk, little or mickle 2 "' 
 
 "Nay," said Eli sadly, "miscall us not. 
 We be true folk, and neither rebels nor 
 traitors. But 'tis sudden, and the poor lad 
 is our true flesh and blood, and hath of 
 late given proof of more sense than hereto- 
 fore." 
 
 "Avails not threatening our lives," whim- 
 pered Catherine; "we grudge him not to the 
 Duke ; but in sooth he cannot go ; his linen 
 is all in holes. So there is an end." 
 
 But the male mind resisted this crusher. 
 
 "Think you the Duke will not find linen, 
 and cloth of gold to boot? None so brave, 
 none so affected, at court, as our monsters, 
 big or wee." 
 
 How long the dispute might have lasted, 
 before the iron arguments of despotism 
 achieved the inevitable victory, I know not; 
 but it was cut short by a party whom neither 
 disputant had deigned to consult. 
 
 The bone of contention walked out of the 
 house, and sided with monarchy. 
 
 " If my folk are mad, I am not," he roared. 
 " I'll go with you, and on the instant." 
 
 At this Catherine set up a piteous cry. She 
 saw another of her brood escaping from under 
 her wing into some unknown element, 
 
 Giles was not quite insensible to her distress, 
 so simple yet so eloquent. He said 
 
 " Nay, take not on, mother I Why, 'tis a 
 godsend. And I am sick of this, ever since 
 Gerard left it." 
 
 "Ah, cruel Giles! Should ye not rather 
 say she is bereaved of Gerard : the more need 
 of you to stay aside her and comfort her." 
 
 " Oh ! I am not going to Rome. Not such a 
 fool. I shall never be farther than Rotterdam ; 
 and I'll often come and see yon ; and if I like 
 
 not the place, who shall keep me there ! Not 
 all the dukes in Christendom." 
 
 "Good sense lies in little bulk," said the 
 emissary approvingly. "Therefore, Master 
 Giles, buss the old folk, and thank them for 
 misbegetting of thee; and hoi you bring 
 hither his mule." 
 
 One of his retinue brought up the dwarf 
 mule. Giles refused it with scorn. And on 
 being asked the reason, said it was not just. 
 
 " What 1 would ye throw all into one scale T 
 Put muckle to muckle, and little to wee? 
 Besides, I hate and scorn small things. I'll 
 go on the highest horse here, or not at all." 
 
 The pursuivant eyed him attentively a 
 moment He then adopted a courteous 
 manner. 
 
 " I shall study your will in all things 
 reasonable. (Dismount, Eric, yours is the 
 highest horse.) And if you would halt in 
 the town an hour or so, while yon bid them 
 farewell, say but the word, and your pleasure 
 shall be my delight." 
 
 Giles reflected. 
 
 "Master," said he, "if we wait a month, 
 'twill be still the same : my mother is a good 
 soul, but her body is bigger than her spirit. 
 We shall not part without a tear or two, and 
 the quicker 'tis done the fewer ; so bring yon 
 horse to me." 
 
 Catherine threw her apron over her face and 
 sobbed. 
 
 The high horse was brought, and Giles 
 was for swarming up his tail, like a rope; 
 but one of the servants cried out hastily, 
 "Forbear, for he kicketh." 
 
 "Ill kick him," said Giles. "Bring him 
 close beneath this window, and I'll learn you 
 all how to mount a horse which kicketh, and 
 will not be clomb by the tail, the staircase 
 of a horse." 
 
 And he dashed into the house, and almost 
 immediately reappeared at an upper window, 
 with a rope in his hand. He fastened an 
 end somehow, and holding the other, de- 
 scended as swift and smooth as an oiled 
 thunderbolt in a groove, and lighted astride 
 his high horse as unperceived by that animal 
 as a fly settling on him. 
 
 The official lifted his hands to heaven in 
 mawkish admiration. 
 
 "I have gotten a pearl," thought he, "and 
 wow but this will be a good day's work 
 for me." 
 
 "Come, father, come, mother, buss me, and 
 bless me, and off I go." 
 
 Eli gave him his blessing, and bade him be 
 honest and true, and a credit to his folk. 
 Catherine could not speak, but clung to him 
 with many sobs and embraces ; and even 
 through the mist of tears her eye detected in 
 a moment a little rent in his sleeve he had 
 made getting out of window, and she whipped 
 out her needle and mended it then and 
 there, and her tears fell on his arm the 
 while, unheeded except by those unfleshly 
 eyes, with which they say the very air is 
 thronged. 
 
 And so the dwarf mounted the high horse, 
 i and rode away complacent, with the old hand
 
 140 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 laying the court butter on his back with a 
 trowel 
 
 Little recked Perpusillus of two poor Billy 
 females that sat by the bereaved hearth, 
 rocking themselves, and weeping, and dis- 
 cussing all his virtues, and how his mind had 
 opened lately, and blind aa two beetles to 
 his faults, who rode away from them, jocund 
 and bold. 
 
 Ingentes animos angusto pectore 
 
 Arrived at court he speedily became a 
 great favourite. 
 
 One strange propensity of his electrified 
 the palace ; but on account of his small size, 
 and for variety's sake, and as a monster, he 
 was indulged on it In a word, he was let 
 speak the truth. 
 
 It is an unpopular thing. 
 
 He made it an intolerable oca. 
 
 Bawled it. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 MARGARET BBANDT had always held herself 
 apart from Sevenbergen, and her reserve 
 had passed for pride ; this had come to her 
 ears, and she knew many hearts were swelling 
 with jealousy and malevolence. How would 
 they triumph over her when her condition 
 could no longer be concealed ! This thought 
 gnawed her night and day. For some time 
 it had made her bury herself in the house, 
 and shun daylight even on those rare occasions 
 when she went abroad. 
 
 Not that in her secret heart and conscience 
 she mistook her moral situation, as my un- 
 learned readers have done perhaps. Though 
 not acquainted with the nice distinctions 
 of the contemporary law, she knew that 
 betrothal was a marriage contract, and could 
 no more be legally broken on either side than 
 any other compact written and witnessed; 
 and that marriage with another party than 
 the betrothed had been formerly annulled 
 both by Church and State ; and that betrothed 
 couples often came together without any 
 further ceremony, and their children were 
 legitimate. 
 
 But what weighed down her simple 
 mediaeval mind was this : that very contract 
 of betrothal was not forthcoming. Instead 
 of her keeping it, Gerard had got it, and 
 Gerard was far, far away. She hated and 
 despised herself for the miserable oversight 
 which had placed her at the mercy of false 
 opinion. 
 
 For though she had never heard of Horace's 
 famous couplet, Serjniua irritant, &c., she was 
 Horatian by the plain, hard.positiveintelligence, 
 which, strange to say, characterises the judg- 
 ment of her sex, when feeling happens not to 
 blind it altogether. She gauged the under- 
 standing of the world to a T. Her marriage 
 lines being out of sight, and in Italy, would 
 Mver prevail to balance her visible pregnancy, 
 
 and the sight of her child when born. What 
 sort of a tale was this to stop slanderous tongues ? 
 11 1 have got my marriage lines, but I cannot 
 show them you." What woman would believe 
 her ? or even pretend to believe her ? And as 
 she was in reality one of the most modest girls 
 in Holland, it was women's good opinion she 
 wanted, not men's. 
 
 Even barefaced slander attacks her sex at a 
 great advantage ; but here was slander with a 
 face of truth. "The strong-minded woman " had 
 not yet been invented ; and Margaret, though 
 by nature and by having been early made mis- 
 tress of a family, she was resolute in some 
 respects, was weak as water in others, and 
 weakest of all in this. Like all the elite of her 
 sex, she was a poor little leaf, trembling at 
 each gust of the world's opinion, true or false. 
 Much misery may be contained in few words. 
 I doubt if pages of description from any man's 
 pen could make any human creature, except 
 virtuous women (and these need no such aid), 
 realise the anguish of a virtuous woman fore- 
 seeing herself paraded as a frail one. 
 
 Had she been frail at heart, she might 
 have brazened it out. But she had not that 
 advantage. She was really pure as snow, and 
 saw the pitch coming nearer her and nearer. 
 The poor girl sat listless hours at a time, and 
 moaned with inner anguish. And often, when 
 her father was talking to her, and she giving 
 mechanical replies, suddenly her cheek would 
 burn like fire, and the old man would wonder 
 what he had said to discompose her. Nothing. 
 His words were less than air to her. It was 
 the ever-present dread sent the colour of shame 
 into her burning cheek, no matter what she 
 seemed to be talking and thinking about. But 
 both shame and fear rose to a climax when 
 she came back that night from Margaret Van 
 Eyck's. 
 
 Her condition was discovered, and by persons 
 of her own sex. The old artist, secluded like 
 herself, might not betray her ; but Catherine, 
 a gossip in the centre of a family, and a thick 
 neighbourhood ? One spark of hope remained. 
 Catherine had spoken kindly, even lovingly. 
 The situation admitted no half course. Gerard's 
 mother thus roused must either be her best 
 friend or worst enemy. She waited then in 
 racking anxiety to hear more. No word 
 came. She gave up hope. Catherine was 
 not going to be her friend. Then she would 
 expose her, since she had no strong and 
 kindly feeling to balance the natural love of 
 babbling. 
 
 Then it was the wish to fly from this neigh- 
 bourhood began to grow and gnaw upon her, 
 till it became a wild and passionate desire. 
 But how persuade her father to this? Old 
 people cling to places. He was very old and 
 infirm to change his abode. There was no 
 course but to make him her confidant ; better 
 so than to run away from him ; and she felt 
 that would be the alternative. And now be- 
 tween her uncontrollable desire to fly and hide, 
 and her invincible aversion to speak out to a 
 man, even to her father, she vibrated in a 
 suspense full of lively torture. And presently 
 betwixt these two came in one day the fatal
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 thought, " end all I " Things foolishly worded 
 are not always foolish ; one of poor Catherine's 
 bugbears, these numerous canals, did sorely 
 tempt this poor fluctuating girL She stood on 
 the bank one afternoon, and eyed the calm deep 
 water. It seemed an image of repose, and she 
 was so harassed. No more trouble. No more 
 fear of shame. If Gerard had not loved her, I 
 doubt she had ended there. 
 
 As it was, she kneeled by the water side, and 
 prayed fervently to God to keep such wicked 
 thoughts from her. 
 
 " Oh ! selfish wretch," said she, " to leave 
 thy father. Oh, wicked wretch, to kill thy 
 child, and make thy poor Gerard lose all his 
 pain and peril undertaken for thy sight. I 
 will tell father all, ay, ere this sun shall 
 eet." 
 
 And she went home with eager haste, lest 
 her good resolution should ooze out ere she got 
 there. 
 
 Now, in matters domestic the learned Peter 
 was simple as a child, and Margaret, from the 
 age of sixteen, had governed the house gently 
 but absolutely. It was therefore a strange 
 thing in this house, the faltering, irresolute 
 way in which its young but despotic mistress 
 addressed that person, who in a domestic sense 
 was less important than Martin Wittenhaagen, 
 or even than the little girl who came in the 
 morning and for a pittance washed the vessels, 
 &c., and went home at night. 
 
 " Father, I would speak to thee." 
 
 " Speak on, girl." 
 
 " Wilt listen to me ? And and not and 
 try to excuse my faults 7 " 
 
 "We have all our faults, Margaret, thou no 
 more than the rest of us ; but fewer, unless 
 parental feeling blinds me." 
 
 " Alas, no, father : I am a poor foolish girl, 
 that would fain do well, but have done ill, most 
 ill, most unwisely ; and now must bear the 
 shame. But, father, I love you, with all my 
 faults, and will not you forgive my folly, and 
 still love your motherless girl ? " 
 
 " That ye may count on," said Peter cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 "Oh, well, smile not. For then how can I 
 speak and make you sad? " 
 
 " Why, what is the matter T " 
 
 " Father, disgrace is coming on this house : it 
 is at the door. And I the culprit. Oh, father, 
 turn your head away. I I father, I have let 
 Gerard take away my marriage lines." 
 
 " Is that all 7 'Twas an oversight." 
 
 " 'Twas the deed of a mad woman. But woe 
 is me ! that is not the worst." 
 
 Peter interrupted her. 
 
 " The youth is honest, and loves you dear. 
 You are young. What is a year or two to you ? 
 Gerard will assuredly come back and keep 
 troth." 
 
 "And meantime know you what Is coming T" 
 
 "Not I, except that I shall be gone first for 
 one." 
 
 " Worse than that. There Is worse pain than 
 death. Nay, for pity's sake turn away your 
 head, father." 
 
 " Foolish wench I" muttered Peter, but turned 
 his head. 
 
 She trembled violently, and with her cheeks 
 on fire began to falter out 
 
 " I did look on Gerard as my husband we 
 being betrothed and he was in so sore danger, 
 and I thought I had killed him, and I oh, 
 if you were but my mother I might find 
 courage: you would question me. But you 
 say not a word." 
 
 " Why, Margaret, what is all this coil about 7 
 and why are thy cheeks crimson, speaking to 
 no stranger, but to thy old father 7 " 
 
 "Why are my cheeks on fire? Because 
 because father, kill me ; send me to heaven I 
 Did Martin shoot me with his arrow I And 
 then the gossips will come and tell you why 
 I blush so this day. And then, when I am 
 dead, I hope you will love your girl again 
 for her mother's sake." 
 
 " Give me thy hand, mistress," said Peter, a 
 little sternly. 
 
 She put it out to him trembling. He took 
 it gently and began with some anxiety in his 
 face to feel her pulse. 
 
 " Alas, nay ! " said she. " "Tis my soul that 
 burns, not my body, with fever. I cannot, 
 will not, bide in Sevenbergen." And she wrung 
 her hands impatiently. 
 
 "Be calm now," said the old man soothingly, 
 " nor torment thyself for nought. Not bide in 
 Sevenbergen 7 What need to bide a day, as it 
 vexes thee, and puts thee in a fever : for fevered 
 thou art, deny it not." 
 
 " What I " cried Margaret, " would you yield 
 to go hence, and and ask no reason but my 
 longing to be gone ? " and suddenly throwing 
 herself on her knees beside him, in a fervour 
 of supplication she clutched his sleeve, and 
 then his arm, and then his shoulder, while 
 imploring him to quit this place, and not 
 ask her why. " Alas I what needs it ? You 
 will soon see it. And I could never say it. 
 I would liever die." 
 
 " Foolish child, who seeks thy girlish secrets T 
 Is it I, whose life hath been spent in searching 
 Nature's 7 And for leaving Sevenbergen, what 
 is there to keep me in it, thee unwilling ? Is 
 there respect for me here, or gratitude ? Am 
 I not yclept quacksalver by those that come 
 not near me, and wizard by those I heal? 
 And give they not the guerdon and the 
 honour they deny me to the empirics that 
 slaughter them? Besides, what is't to me 
 where we sojourn? Choose thou that, as did 
 thy mother before thee." 
 
 Margaret embraced him tenderly, and wept 
 upon his shoulder. 
 
 She was respited. 
 
 Yet as she wept, respited, she almost 
 wished she had had the courage to tell 
 him. 
 
 After a while nothing would content him 
 but her taking a medicament he went and 
 brought her. She took it submissively, to 
 please him. It was the least she could do. 
 It was a composing draught, and though 
 administered under an error, and a common 
 one, did her more good than harm : she 
 awoke calmed by a long sleep, and that 
 very day began her preparations. 
 
 Next week they went to Rotterdam, bag
 
 14* 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and baggage, and lodged above a tailor's 
 shop in the Brcde-Kirk Straet. 
 
 Only one person in Tergou knew whither 
 they were gone. 
 
 The Burgomaster. 
 
 He locked the information in his own 
 breast. 
 
 The use he made of it ere long, my reader 
 will not easily divine: for he did not divine 
 it himself. 
 
 Bat time will show. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 AMONG strangers Margaret Brandt was com- 
 paratively happy. And soon a new and 
 unexpected cause of content arose. A civic 
 dignitary being ill, and fanciful in proportion, 
 went from doctor to doctor; and having 
 arrived at Death's door, sent for Peter. 
 Peter found him bled and purged to nothing. 
 He flung a battalion of bottles out of window, 
 and left it open; beat np yolks of eggs in 
 neat Schiedam, and administered it in small 
 doses : followed this np by meat stewed in 
 red wine and water, shredding into both mild 
 febrifugal herbs, that did no harm. Finally, 
 his patient got about again, looking some- 
 thing between a man and a pillow-case, and 
 being a voluble dignitary, spread Peter's fame 
 in every street; and that artist, who had 
 long merited a reputation in vain, made 
 one rapidly by luck. Things looked bright. 
 The old man's pride was cheered at last, and 
 his purse began to fill He spent much of 
 his gain, however, in sovereign herbs and 
 choice drugs, and would have so invested 
 them all, bat Margaret white-mailed a part. 
 The victory came too late. Its happy excite- 
 ment was fatal 
 
 One evening, in bidding her good-night, his 
 voice seemed rather inarticulate. 
 
 The next morning he was found speechless, 
 and only just sensible. 
 
 Margaret, who had been for years her 
 father's attentive pupil, saw at once that he 
 had had a paralytic stroke. But not trusting 
 to herself, she ran for a doctor. One of 
 those who, obstructed by Peter, had not 
 killed the civic dignitary, came, and cheer- 
 folly confirmed her views. He was for 
 bleeding the patient. She declined. "He 
 was always against blooding," said she, 
 "specially the old." Peter lived, but was 
 never the same man again. His memory 
 became much affected, and of course he was 
 not to be trusted to prescribe; and several 
 patients had come, and one or two, that 
 were bent on being cured by the new doctor 
 and no other, awaited his convalescence. 
 Misery stared her in the face. She resolved 
 to go for advice and comfort to her cousin 
 William Johnson, from whom she had hitherto 
 kept aloof out of pride and poverty. She 
 found him and his servant sitting in the same 
 
 room, and neither of them the better for 
 liquor. Mastering all signs of surprise, she 
 gave her greetings, and presently told him 
 she had come to talk on a family matter, and 
 with this glanced quietly at the servant by 
 way of bint. The woman took it, but not 
 as expected. 
 
 Oh, you can speak before me, can she not, 
 my old man ? " 
 
 At this familiarity Margaret turned very red, 
 and said 
 
 "I cry you mercy, mistress. I knew not 
 my cousin had fallen into the custom of this 
 town. Well, I must take a fitter opportunity ; " 
 and she rose to go. 
 
 " I wot not what ye mean by custom o' the 
 town," said the woman, bounding up. "But 
 this I know : 'tis the part of a faithful servant 
 to keep her master from being preyed on by 
 his beggarly kin." 
 
 Margaret retorted : " Ye are too modest, 
 mistress. Ye are no servant. Your speech 
 betrays you. 'Tis not till the ape hath 
 mounted the tree that she shows her tail so 
 plain. Nay, there sits the servant ; God help 
 him! And while so it is, fear not thou his 
 kin will ever be so poor in spirit as come 
 where the likes of you can tiout their 
 dole." 
 
 And casting one look of mute reproach at 
 her cousin for being so little of a man as to 
 sit passive and silent all this time, she turned 
 and went haughtily out ; nor would she shed 
 a single tear till she got home and thought 
 of it. And now here were two men to be 
 lodged and fed by one pregnant girl ; and 
 another mouth coming into the world. 
 
 But this last, though the most helpless of all, 
 was their best friend. 
 
 Nature was strong In Margaret Brandt; 
 that same nature which makes the brutes, 
 the birds, and the insects, so cunning at 
 providing food and shelter for their progeny 
 yet to come. 
 
 Stimulated by nature she sat and brooded, 
 and brooded, and thought, and thought, how 
 to be beforehand with destitution. Ay, though 
 she had still five gold pieces left, she saw 
 starvation coming with inevitable foot. 
 
 Her sex, when, deviating from custom, it 
 thinks with male intensity, thinks just aa 
 much to the purpose as we do. She rose, 
 bade Martin move Peter to another room, 
 made her own very neat and clean, polished 
 the glass globe, and suspended it from the 
 ceiling, dusted the crocodile and nailed him 
 to the outside wall; and after duly instruct- 
 ing Martin, set him to play the lounging sentinel 
 about the street door, and tell the crocodile- 
 bitten that a great, and aged, and learned 
 alchymist abode there, who in his moments 
 of recreation would sometimes amuse himself 
 by curing mortal diseases. 
 
 Patients soon came, and were received by 
 Margaret, and demanded to see the leech. 
 "That might not be. He was deep in his 
 studies, searching for the grand elixir, and 
 not princes could have speech of him. They 
 must tell her their symptoms, and return 
 in two hours." And oh 1 mysterious powers !
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 when they did return, the drug or draught 
 was always ready for them. Sometimes, when 
 it was a worshipful patient, she would care- 
 fully scan his face, and feeling both pulse 
 and skin, as well as hearing his story, would 
 go softly with it to Peter's room; and there 
 think and ask herself how her father, whose 
 system she had long quietly observed, would 
 have treated the case. Then she would write 
 an illegible scrawl with a cabalistic letter, 
 and bring it down reverentially, and show it 
 the patient, and " Could he read that 7 " Then 
 it would be either, "I am no reader," or, 
 with admiration, "Nay, mistress, nought can 
 I make on't." 
 
 "Ay, but I can. 'Tin sovereign. Look on 
 thyself as cured 1 " If she had the materials 
 by her, and she was too good an economist 
 not to favour somewhat those medicines she 
 had in her own stock, she would sometimes 
 let the patient see her compound it, often and 
 anxiously consulting the sacred prescription 
 lest great Science should suffer in her hands. 
 And so she would send them away relieved 
 of cash, but with their pockets full of medicine, 
 and minds full of faith, and humbugged to 
 their hearts' content. Popvlus wit, decipi. And 
 when they were gone, she would take down 
 two little boxes Gerard had made her; and 
 on one of these she had written To-day, and 
 on the other To-morrow, and put the smaller 
 coins into " To-day," and the larger into " To- 
 morrow," along with such of her gold pieces 
 as had survived the journey from Sevenbergen, 
 and the expenses of housekeeping in a strange 
 place. And so she met current expenses, 
 and laid by for the rainy day she saw coming, 
 and mixed drugs with simples, and vice with 
 virtue. 
 
 On thia last score her conscience pricked 
 her sore, and after each day's comedy, she 
 knelt down and prayed God to forgive her 
 "for the sake of her child." But lo and 
 behold, cure after cure wag reported to herj 
 so then her conscience began to harden. 
 Martin Wittenhaagen had of late been a dead 
 weight on her hands. Like most men who 
 have endured great hardships, he had stiffened 
 rather suddenly. But though less supple, 
 he was as strong as ever, and at his own 
 pace could have carried the doctor herself 
 round Rotterdam city. He carried her slops 
 instead. 
 
 In this new business he showed the qualities 
 of a soldier: unreasoning obedience, punctu- 
 ality, accuracy, despatch, and drunkenness. 
 
 He fell among "good fellows;" the black- 
 guards plied him with Schiedam ; he babbled, 
 he bragged. 
 
 Doctor Margaret had risen very high in his 
 estimation. All this brandishing of a crocodile 
 for a standard, and setting a dotard in am- 
 bush, and getting rid of slops, and taking 
 good money in exchange, struck him not as 
 Science but something far superior, Strategy. 
 And he boasted in his cups and before a 
 mixed company how "me and my General 
 we are a biting of the burghers." 
 
 When this revelation had had time to leaven 
 the city, his General, Doctor Margaret, re- 
 
 ceived a call from the constables : they took 
 her, trembling and begging subordinate 
 machines to forgive her, before the burgo- 
 master ; and by his side stood real physicians, 
 a terrible row, in long robes and square caps, 
 accusing her of practising unlawfully on the 
 bodies of the Duke's lieges. At first she 
 was too frightened to say a word. Novice 
 like, the very name of " Law " paralysed her. 
 But being questioned closely, but not so 
 harshly as if she had been ugly, she told the 
 truth; she had long been her father's pupil, 
 and had but followed his system, and she had 
 cured many; "and it is not for myself in 
 very deed, sirs, but I have two poor helpless 
 honest men at home upon my hands, and 
 how else can I keep them? Ah, good sirs, 
 let a poor girl make her bread honestly; ye 
 hinder them not to make it idly and shame- 
 fully; and oh, sirs, ye are husbands, ye are 
 fathers; ye cannot but see I have reason to 
 work and provide as best I may;" and ere 
 this woman's appeal had left her lips, she 
 would have given the world to recall it, and 
 stood with one hand upon her heart and one 
 before her face, hiding it, but not the tears 
 that trickled underneath it. All which went 
 to the wrong address. Perhaps a female 
 bailiff might have yielded to such arguments, 
 and bade her practise medicine, and break 
 law, till such time as her child should be 
 weaned, and no longer. 
 
 " What have we to do with that," said the 
 burgomaster, "save and except that if thou 
 wilt pledge thyself to break the law no more, 
 I will remit the imprisonment, and exact but 
 the fine?" 
 
 On this Doctor Margaret clasped her hands 
 together, and vowed most penitently never, 
 never, never to cure body or beast again ; and 
 being dismissed with the constables to pay 
 the fine, she turned at the door, and curtsied, 
 poor soul, and thanked the gentlemen for 
 their forbearance. 
 
 And to pay the fine the " To-morrow box " 
 must be opened on the instant ; and with 
 excess of caution she had gone and nailed 
 it up, that no slight temptation might prevail 
 to open it. And now she could not draw the 
 nails, and the constables grew impatient, 
 and doubted its contents, and said, "Let us 
 break it for you." But she would not let 
 them. 
 
 "Ye will break it worse than I shall." 
 And she took a hammer, and struck too 
 faintly, and lost all strength for a minute, 
 and wept hysterically ; and at last she broke 
 it, and a little cry broke from her when it 
 broke; and she paid the fine, and it took all 
 her unlawful gains and two gold pieces to 
 boot ; and when the men were gone, she drew 
 the broken pieces of the box, and what 
 little money they had left her, all together 
 on the table, and her arms went round them, 
 and her rich hair escaped, and fell down 
 all loose, and she bowed her forehead on the 
 wreck, and sobbed, "My love's box it is 
 broken, and my heart withal;" and so re- 
 mained. 
 
 And Martin Wittenhaagen came in, and she
 
 144 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 could not lift her head, but sighed out to 
 him what had befallen her, ending, " My 
 love his box is broken, and BO mine heart ia 
 broken." 
 
 And Martin was not so sad as wroth. Some 
 traitor had betrayed him. What stony heart 
 had told and brought her to this pass T Who- 
 ever it was should feel his arrow's point. The 
 curious attitude in which he must deliver the 
 shaft never occurred to him. 
 
 " Idle chat ! idle chat 1 " moaned Margaret, 
 without lifting her brow from the table. "When 
 you hare slain all the gossips in this town, can 
 we eat them! Tell me how to keep you all, 
 or prithee hold thy peace, and let the saints 
 get leave to whisper me." Martin held his 
 tongue, and cast uneasy glances at his defeated 
 General 
 
 Towards evening she rose, and washed her 
 face and did up her hair, and doggedly bade 
 Martin take down the crocodile, and put out a 
 basket instead. 
 
 " I can get up linen better than they seem to 
 do it in this street," said she, "and you must 
 carry it in the basket." 
 
 "That will I for thy sake," said the soldier. 
 
 " Good Martin t forgive me that I spake 
 hrewishly to thee," 
 
 Even while they were talking came a male 
 for advice. Margaret told it the mayor had 
 interfered and forbidden her to sell drugs. 
 " But," said she, " I will gladly Iron and starch 
 your linen for yon, and I will come and fetch 
 it from your house." 
 
 "Are ye mad, young woman?" said the 
 male. "I come for a leech, and ye proffer 
 me a washerwoman;" and it went out in 
 dudgeon. 
 
 " There is a stupid creature," said Margaret 
 adly. 
 
 Presently came a female to tell the symptoms 
 of her sick child. Margaret stopped it. 
 
 " We are forbidden by the bailiff to sell drugs. 
 But I will gladly wash, iron, and starch your 
 linen for you and I will come and fetch it 
 from your house." 
 
 "Oh, ay," said the female. "Well, I have 
 some smocks and ruffs foul Come for them ; 
 and when you are there, you can look at the 
 boy ; " and it told her where it lived, and when 
 Its husband would be out; yet it was rather 
 fond of its husband than not. 
 
 An introduction is an introduction. And 
 two or three patients out of all those who 
 came and were denied medicine made Doctor 
 Marparet their washerwoman. 
 
 " Now, Martin, yon must help. Ill no more 
 cats than can slay mice." 
 
 " Oh I I mean not the starching and ironing 
 that takes a woman and a handy one. But the 
 bare washing ; a man can surely contrive that 
 Why, a mule has wit enough in's head to do't 
 with his hoofs, an' ye could drive him into the 
 tub. Come, off doublet, and try." 
 
 " I am your man," said the brave old soldier, 
 tripping for the unwonted toil "I'll risk 
 my arm in soapsuds, an' yon will risk your 
 Klory." 
 
 "My what I" 
 
 "Your glory and honour as a washer- 
 woman," 
 
 " Gramercy I if you are man enough to bring 
 me half-washed linen t' iron, I am woman 
 enough to fling't back i' the suds." 
 
 And so the brave girl and the brave soldier 
 worked with a will, and kept the wolf from the 
 door. More they could not do. Margaret had 
 repaired the "To-morrow box," and as she 
 leaned over the glue, her tears mixed with it, 
 and she cemented her exiled lover's box with 
 them, at which a smile is allowable, but an 
 intelligent smile tipped with pity, please, 
 and not the empty guffaw of the nineteenth 
 century jackass, burlesquing Bibles, and making 
 fun of all things except fun. But when 
 mended it stood unreplenished. They kept 
 the weekly rent paid, and the pot boiling, but 
 no more. 
 
 And now came a concatenation. Recom- 
 mended from one to another, Margaret washed 
 for the mayor. And bringing home the clean 
 linen one day she heard in the kitchen that 
 his worship's only daughter was stricken with 
 disease, and not like to live. Poor Margaret 
 could not help cross-questioning, and a female 
 servant gave her such of the symptoms as she 
 had observed. But they were too general 
 However, one gossip would add one fact, and 
 another another. And Margaret pondered 
 them all. 
 
 At last one day she met the mayor himself. 
 He recognised her directly. "Why, you are 
 the unlicensed doctor." 
 
 "I was," said she, "but now I'm your 
 worship's washerwoman." 
 
 The dignitary coloured, and said that was 
 rather a come down. 
 
 "Nay, I bear no malice; for your worship 
 might have been harder. Rather would I do 
 you a good turn. Sir, you have a sick daughter. 
 Let me see her. " 
 
 The mayor shook his head. "That cannot 
 be. The law I do enforce on others I may not 
 break myself." 
 
 Margaret opened her eyes. "Alack, sir, 
 I seek no guerdon now for curing folk ; why, 
 I am a washerwoman. I trow one may heal 
 all the world, an' if one will but let the 
 world starve one in return." 
 
 That is no more than just," said the 
 mayor : he added, " an' ye make no trade 
 on't, there is no offence." 
 
 " Then let me see her." 
 
 " What avails it ? The learnedst leeches in 
 Rotterdam have all seen her, and bettered her 
 nought. Her ill is inscrutable. One skilled 
 wight saith spleen ; another, liver ; another, 
 blood ; another, stomach ; and another, that 
 she is possessed ; and in very truth, she seems 
 to have a demon ; shunneth all company ; 
 pineth alone ; eateth no more victuals than 
 might diet a sparrow. Speaketh seldom, nor 
 hearkens them that speak, and weareth thinner 
 and paler and nearer and nearer the crave, 
 well-a-day." 
 
 "Sir," said Margaret, "an* if yon take 
 your velvet doublet to half-a-dozen of 
 in Rotterdam, and speer is this fine cr
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 I4S 
 
 sorry velvet, and worth how much the ell, 
 those six traders will eye it and feel it, and 
 all be in one story to a letter. And why? 
 Because they know their trade. And your 
 leeches are all in different stories. Why ? 
 Because they know not their trade. I have 
 heard my father say each is enamoured of 
 some one evil, and seeth it with his bat's eyn 
 in every patient. Had they stayed at home, and 
 ne'er seen your daughter, they had answered 
 all the same, spleen, blood, otomach, longs, 
 liver, lunacy, or as they call it possession. Let 
 me see her. We are of a sex, and that is 
 much." 
 
 And when he still hesitated, "Saints of 
 heaven ! " cried she, giving way to the irrita- 
 bility of a breeding woman, "is this how men 
 love their own flesh and blood? Her mother 
 had ta'en me in her arms ere this, and carried 
 me to the sick room." And two violet eyes 
 flashed fire. 
 
 " Come with me," said the mayor hastily. 
 
 "Mistress, I have brought thee a new 
 doctor." 
 
 The person addressed, a pale young girl of 
 eighteen, gave a contemptuous wrench of her 
 shoulder, and turned more decidedly to the 
 fire she was sitting over. 
 
 Margaret came softly and sat beside her. 
 " But 'tis one that will not torment you." 
 
 " A woman ! " exclaimed the young lady, 
 with surprise and some contempt. 
 
 " Tell her your symptoms." 
 
 " What for ? you will be no wiser." 
 
 " You will be none the worse." 
 
 "Well, I have no stomach for food, and 
 no heart for anything. Now cure me, and 
 go." 
 
 " Patience awhile ! Your food, IB it tasteless 
 like in your mouth ? " 
 
 " Ay. How knew you that ? " 
 
 " Nay, I knew it not till yon did tell me. I 
 trow you would be better for a little good 
 company." 
 
 "I trow not. What is their silly chat to 
 me?" 
 
 Here Margaret requested the father to leave 
 them alone ; and in his absence put some 
 practical questions. Then she reflected. 
 
 "When you wake i' the morning yon find 
 yourself quiver, as one may say ? " 
 
 " Nay. Ay. How knew you that ? " 
 
 " Shall I dose you, or shall I but tease you 
 a bit with my ' silly chat ' ? " 
 
 "Which you will." 
 
 "Then I will tell you a story. 'Tia about 
 two true lovers." 
 
 " I hate to hear of lovers," said the girl ; 
 " nevertheless canst tell me, 'twill bo less 
 nauseous than your physic maybe." 
 
 Margaret then told her a love story. The 
 maiden was a girl called Ursel, and the youth 
 one Conrad ; she an old physician's daughter, 
 he the son of a hosier at Tergou. She told 
 their adventures, their troubles, their sad 
 condition. She told it from the female point 
 of view, and in a sweet and winning and 
 earnest voice, that by degrees soon laid hold of 
 this sullen heart, and held it breathless; and 
 
 when she broke it off her patient was much 
 disappointed. 
 
 "Nay, nay, I must hear the end. I will 
 hear it." 
 
 "Ye cannot, for I know it not; none 
 knoweth that but God." 
 
 " Ah, your Ursel was a jewel of worth," said 
 the girl earnestly. " Would she were here." 
 
 " Instead of her that is here ? " 
 
 " I say not that ; " and she blushed a little. 
 
 "You do but think it." 
 
 "Thought is free. Whether or no, an' she 
 were here, I'd give her a buss, poor thing," 
 
 " Then give it me, for I am she." 
 
 "Nay, nay, that I'll be sworn y* are not." 
 
 " Say not so ; in very truth I am she. And 
 prithee, sweet mistress, go not from your 
 word, but give me the buss ye promised me, 
 and with a good heart, for oh, my own heart 
 lies heavy : heavy as thine, sweet mistress." 
 
 The young gentlewoman rose and put her 
 arms round Margaret's neck and kissed her. 
 "I am woe for you," she sighed. "You are 
 a good soul ; you have done me good a 
 little." (A gulp came in her throat.) "Come 
 again ! come often 1 " 
 
 Margaret did come again, and talked with 
 her, and gently, but keenly watched what 
 topics interested her, and found there was but 
 one. Then she said to the mayor, " I know 
 your daughter's trouble, and 'tis curable." 
 
 "Whatis't? the blood 2" 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The stomach I " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The liver 1 " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The foul fiend ! M 
 i "Nay." 
 
 "What then i" 
 
 " Love." 
 
 "Love? stuff, impossible! She IB but a 
 child ; she never stirs abroad unguarded. She 
 never hath from a child." 
 
 "All the better ; then we shall not have far 
 to look for him." 
 
 " I trow not. I shall but command her to 
 tell me the caitiff's name, that hath by magic 
 arts ensnared her young affections." 
 
 " Oh, how foolish be the wise 1 " said Mar- 
 garet ; " what, would ye go and put her on 
 her guard ? Nay, let us work by art first ; 
 and if that fails, then 'twill still be time 
 for violence and folly." 
 
 Margaret then with some difficulty prevailed 
 on the mayor to take advantage of its being 
 Saturday, and pay all his people their salaries 
 in his daughter's presence and hers. 
 
 It was done : some fifteen people entered 
 the room, and received their pay with a kind 
 word from their employer. Then Margaret, 
 who had sat close to the patient all the time, 
 rose and went out. The mayor followed 
 her. 
 
 " Sir, how call you yon black-haired lad ? " 
 
 " That is Ulrich, my clerk." 
 
 " Well then, 'tis he." 
 
 " Now Heaven forbid ! a lad I took out of 
 the streets." 
 
 " Well, but your worship is an understanding
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TKB HEARTH, 
 
 man. Ton took him not tip without some merit 
 of bis t " 
 
 "Merit! not a jot I I liked the look* of 
 the brat, that was all." 
 
 "Was that no merit! He pleased the 
 father's eye. And now he hath pleased the 
 daughter's. That has oft been seen since 
 Adam." 
 
 ' How know ye 'tis he ! " 
 
 "I held her hand, and with my finger did 
 lightly touch her wrist ; and when the others 
 came and went, 'twas as if dogs and cats had 
 fared in and out. But at this Ulrich's coming 
 her pulse did leap, and her eye shine; ana 
 when he went, she did sink back and sigh; 
 and 'twas to be seen the sun had gone out of 
 the room for her. Nay, burgomaster, look 
 not on me so scared : no witch or magician I, 
 bat a poor girl that hath been docile, and so 
 bettered herself by a great neglected leech's 
 art and learning. I tell ye all this hath been 
 done before, thousands of years ere we were 
 born. Now bide thon there till I come to 
 thee, and prithee, prithee, spoil not good 
 work wi' meddling." She then went back 
 and asked her patient for a lock of her 
 hair. 
 
 "Take it," said she, more listlessly than 
 ever. 
 
 "Why, 'tis a lass of marble. How long do 
 you count to be like that, mistress T " 
 
 " Till I am in my grave, sweet Peggy." 
 
 "Who knows! maybe in ten minutes you 
 will be altogether as hot." 
 
 She ran into the shop, but speedily returned 
 to the mayor and said 
 
 "Good news I He fancies her and more 
 than a little. Now how is't to be ! Will you 
 marry your child, or bury her, for there is 
 no third way, for shame and love they do 
 rend her virgin heart to death." 
 
 The dignitary decided for the more cheerful 
 rite, but not without a struggle ; and with its 
 marks on his face he accompanied Margaret 
 to his daughter. But as men are seldom in 
 a hurry to drink their wormwood, he stood 
 silent Bo Doctor Margaret said cheerfully, 
 "Mistress, your lock is gone; I have sold 
 it," 
 
 "And who was so mad as to buy such a 
 thing ! " inquired the young lady scornfully. 
 
 "Oh, a black-haired laddie wi' white teeth. 
 They call him Ulrich." 
 
 The pale face reddened directly brow 
 and all. 
 
 "Says he, 'Oh, sweet mistress, give it 
 me.' I had told them all whose 'twas. 
 Nay,' said I, 'selling is my livelihood, not 
 giving.' So be offered me this, he offered 
 me that, but nought less would I take than 
 his next quarter's wages." 
 
 "Cruel," murmured the girl, scarce audibly. 
 
 " Why, you are in one tale with your father. 
 Bays be to me when I told him, 'Oh, an' he 
 loves her hair so well, 'tis odd but he loves 
 the rest of her. Well,' quoth he, "tii an 
 honest lad, and a shall have her, gien she 
 will but leave her sulks and consent' So, 
 what say ye, mistress, will you be married to 
 Ulricb. or buried I' the kirkyard I " 
 
 "Father! father I" 
 
 " 'Tis so, girl, speak thy mind." 
 
 " I will obey my father in all things," 
 stammered the poor girl, trying hard to 
 maintain the advantageous position in which 
 Margaret had placed her. But nature, and 
 the joy and surprise, were too strong even 
 for a virgin's bashful cunning. She cast an 
 eloquent look on them both, and sank at her 
 father's knees, and begged his pardon, with 
 many sobs for having doubted his tenderness. 
 
 He raised her in his arms, and took her, 
 radiant through her tears with joy, and 
 returning life, and filial love, to his breast ; 
 and the pair passed a truly sacred moment, 
 and the dignitary was as happy as he thought 
 to be miserable: so hard is it for mortals to 
 foresee. And they looked round for Margaret, 
 but she had stolen away softly. 
 
 The young girl searched the house for 
 her. 
 
 "Where is she hid I Where on earth is 
 she!" 
 
 Where was she! why, in her own house, 
 dressing meat for her two old children, and 
 crying bitterly the while at the living picture 
 of happiness she had just created. 
 
 " Well-a-day, the odds between her lot and 
 mine; well-a-dayl" 
 
 Next time she met the dignitary he hemm'd 
 and hawed, and remarked what a pity it was 
 the law forbade him to pay her who had 
 cured his daughter. 
 
 "However, when all is done, 'twas not 
 art, 'twas but woman's wit." 
 
 " Nought but that, burgomaster," said Mar- 
 garet bitterly. "Pay the men of art for not 
 curing her: all the guerdon I seek, that 
 cured her, is this : go not and give your foul 
 linen away from me by way of thanks.'" 
 
 " Why should I ! " inquired he. 
 
 "Marry, because there be fools about ye 
 will tell ye she that hath wit to cure dark 
 diseases, cannot have wit to take dirt out 
 o' rags ; BO pledge me your faith." 
 
 The dignitary promised pompously, and felt 
 all the patron. 
 
 Something must be done to fill "To-mor- 
 row's" box. She hawked her initial letters 
 and her illuminated vellums all about the 
 town. Printing bad by this time dealt 
 caligraphy in black and white a terrible 
 blow in Holland and Germany. But some 
 copies of the printed books were usually 
 illuminated and lettered. The printers offered 
 Margaret prices for work in these two 
 kinds. 
 
 " 111 think on't," said she. 
 
 She took down her diurnal book, and 
 calculated that the price of an hour's work 
 on those arts would be about one-fifth what 
 she got for an hour at the tub and mangle. 
 
 "I'll starve first," said she; "what, pay a 
 craft and a mystery five times less than a 
 handicraft I " 
 
 Martin, carrying the dry clothes-basket, got 
 treated, and drunk. This time he babbled 
 her whole story. The girls got hold of it and 
 gibed her at the fountain,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 All she had gone through was light to her, 
 compared with the pins and bodkins her own 
 sex drove into her heart, whenever she came 
 near the merry crew with her pitcher, and 
 that waa every day. Each sex has its form 
 of cruelty ; man's is more brutal and terrible ; 
 but shallow women, that have neither read 
 nor suffered, have an unmuscular barbarity 
 of their own (where no feeling of sex steps 
 in to overpower it). 
 
 This defect, intellectual perhaps rather 
 than moral, has been mitigated in our day by 
 books, especially by able works of fiction ; for 
 there are two roads to that highest effort of 
 intelligence, Pity Experience of sorrows, and 
 Imagination, by which alone we realise the 
 grief we never felt. 
 
 In the fifteenth century girls with pitchers 
 had but one Experience; and at sixteen 
 years of age or so, that road had scarce 
 been trodden. These girls persisted that 
 Margaret was deserted by her lover. And to 
 be deserted was a crime. [They had not 
 been deserted yet.] Not a word against the 
 Gerard they had created out of their own 
 heads. For his imaginary crime they fell 
 foul of the supposed victim. Sometimes 
 they affronted her to her face. Oftener they 
 talked at her backwards and forwards with 
 a subtle skill, and a perseverance which, 
 "oh, that they had bestowed on the arts," 
 as poor Aguecheek says. 
 
 Now Margaret was brave, and a coward; 
 brave to battle difficulties and ill fortune; 
 brave to shed her own blood for those she 
 loved. Fortitude she had. But she had no 
 true fighting courage. 
 
 She was a powerful young woman, rather 
 tall, full, and symmetrical ; yet had one of 
 those slips of girls slapped her face, the poor 
 fool's hands would have dropped powerless, 
 or gone to her own eyes instead of her 
 adversary's. Nor was she even a match for 
 so many tongues ; and besides, what could 
 she say? She knew nothing of these girls, 
 except that somehow they had found out her 
 sorrows, and hated her; only she thought to 
 herself they must be very happy, or they 
 would not be so hard on her. 
 
 So she took their taunts in silence ; and 
 all her struggle was not to let them see their 
 power to make her writhe within. 
 
 Here came in her fortitude ; and she received 
 their blows with well-feigned, icy hauteur. 
 They slapped a statue. 
 
 But one day, when her spirits were weak, as 
 happens at times to females in her condition, a 
 dozen assailants followed suit BO admirably, 
 that her whole sex seemed to the dispirited 
 one to be against her, and she lost heart, and 
 the tears began to run silently at each fresh 
 stab. 
 
 On this their tritmph knew no bounds, and 
 they followed her half way home casting 
 barbed speeches. 
 
 After that exposure of weakness the statue 
 oould be assumed no more. So then she would 
 stand timidly aloof out of tongue-shot, till her 
 young tyrants' pitchers were all filled, and they 
 gone ; and then creep up with hern. And one 
 
 day she waited so long that the fount had 
 ceased to How. So the next day she was 
 obliged to face the phalanx, or her house go 
 dry. 
 
 She drew near slowly, but with the less 
 tremor, that she saw a man at the well talking 
 to them. He would distract their attention, 
 and besides, they would keep their foul 
 tongues quiet if only to blind the male to 
 their real character. 
 
 This conjecture, though shrewd, was erro- 
 neous. They could not all flirt with that 
 one man; so the outsiders indemnified them- 
 selves by talking at her the very moment she 
 came up. 
 
 "Any news from foreign parts, Jacque- 
 line?" 
 
 "None for me, Martha. My lad goes no 
 farther from me than the town wall." 
 
 " I can't say as much," says a third. 
 
 "But if he goes t' Italy I have got another 
 ready to take the fool's place," 
 
 "He'll not go thither, lass. They go not 
 so far till they are sick of us that bide in 
 Holland." 
 
 Surprise and indignation, and the presence 
 of a man, gave Margaret a moment's fighting 
 courage. 
 
 "Oh, flout me not, and show your ill 
 nature before the very soldier. In Heaven's 
 name, what ill did I ever to ye ? what harsh 
 word cast back, for all you have flung on me, a 
 desolate stranger in your cruel town, that ye 
 flout me for my bereavement and my poor lad's 
 most unwilling banishment? Hearts of flesh 
 would surely pity us both, for that ye cast in 
 my teeth these many days, ye brows of brass, 
 ye bosoms of stone." 
 
 They stared at this novelty, resistance ; and 
 ere .they could recover and make mincemeat 
 of her, she put her pitcher quietly down, and 
 threw her coarse apron over her head, and 
 stood there grieving, her short-lived spirit 
 oozing fast. 
 
 "Hallo!" cried the soldier, "why, what 
 is your ill?" 
 
 She made no reply. But a little girl, 
 who had long secretly hated the big ones, 
 squeaked out 
 
 " They did flout her, they are aye flouting 
 her ; she may not come nigh the fountain for 
 fear o* them, and 'tis a black shame." 
 
 " Who spoke to her ? Not I for one." 
 
 "Nor I. I would not bemean myself so 
 far." 
 
 The man laughed heartily at this display of 
 dignity. "Come, wife," said he, "never lower 
 thy flag to such light skirmishers as these. 
 Hast a tongue i* thy head as well as they." 
 
 "Alack, good soldier, I was not bred to 
 bandy foul terms." 
 
 "Well, but hast a better arm than these. 
 Why not take 'em by two across thy knee, and 
 skelp 'em till they cry Meculpee ? " 
 
 " Nay, I would not hurt their bodies for all 
 their cruel hearts." 
 
 "Then ye must e'en laugh at them, wife. 
 What ! a woman grown, and not see why 
 mesdames give tongue? You are a buxom 
 wife; they are a bundle of thread-paper*.
 
 148 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 You are fair and fresh ; they have all the 
 Dutch rim under their bright eyes, that 
 comes of dwelling in eternal swamps. There 
 lies your crime. Come, gie me thy pitcher, 
 and if they flout me, shalt see me scrub 
 'em all wi' my beard till they squeak holy 
 mother." 
 
 The pitcher was soon filled, and the 
 soldier put it in Margaret's hand. She mur- 
 mured 
 
 "Thank you kindly, brave Boldier." He 
 patted her on the shoulder. 
 
 " Come, courage, brave wife ; the divell is 
 dead 1 " 
 
 She let the heavy pitcher fall on his foot 
 directly. He cursed horribly, and hopped in 
 a circle, saying 
 
 "No, the Thief's alive and has broken my 
 great toe." 
 
 The apron came down, and there was a 
 lovely face all flushed with emotion, and two 
 beaming eyes in front of him, and two hands 
 held out clasped. 
 
 "Nay, nay, 'tis nought," said he good- 
 humonredly, mistaking. 
 
 "Denys?" 
 
 " Well ? But Hallo I How know you my 
 name is " 
 
 " Denys of Burgundy ! " 
 
 " Why, ods bodikins I I know yon not, and 
 you know me." 
 
 "By Gerard's letter. Crossbow I beard! 
 handsome I The divell is dead." 
 
 "Sword of Goliah! this must be she. Red 
 hair, violet eyes, lovely face. But I took ye 
 for a married wife, seeing ye " 
 
 " Tell me my name," said she quickly. 
 
 " Margaret Brandt." 
 
 "Gerard! Where is he 7 Is he in life? 
 Is he well! Is he coming T Is he come? 
 Why is be not here? Where have ye left 
 him? Oh, tell me! prithee, prithee, prithee, 
 tell me!" 
 
 " Ay, ay, but not here. Oh, ye are all curio- 
 sity now, mesdames, eh? Lass, I have been 
 three months a-foot travelling all Holland to 
 find ye, and here you are. Oh, be joyful 1 " 
 and he flung his cap in the air, and seizing 
 both her hands kissed them ardently. "Ah, 
 my pretty she-comrade, I have found thee 
 at last. I knew I should. Shall be flouted 
 no more. I'll twist your necks at the first 
 word, ye little trollops. And I have got 
 fifteen gold angels left for thee, and our 
 Gerard will soon be here. Shalt wet thy 
 purple eyes no more." 
 
 But the fair eyes were wet even now, looking 
 kindly and gratefully at the friend that had 
 dropped among her foes as if from heaven ; 
 Gerard's comrade. 
 
 "Prithee come home with me, good, kind 
 Denys. I cannot speak of him before these." 
 
 They went off together, followed by a 
 chonw. 
 
 " She has gotten a man. She has gotten a 
 man at last Hoo ! hoo ! hoo ! " 
 
 Margaret quickened her steps; but Denys 
 took down his crossbow and pretended to 
 hoot them all dead: they fled quadrivious, 
 hrieking. 
 
 OHAPTEB MIL 
 
 THE reader already knows how much these 
 two had to tell one another. It was a sweet 
 yet bitter day for Margaret, since it brought 
 her a true friend, and ill news : for now first 
 she learned that Gerard was all alone in that 
 strange land. She could not think with 
 Denys that he would come home ; indeed 
 he would have arrived before this. 
 
 Denys was a balm. He called her his 
 she-comrade, and was always cheering her 
 up with his formula and hilarities, and she 
 petted him and made much of him, and feebly 
 hectored it over him as well as over Martin, 
 and would not let him eat a single meal out 
 of her house, and forbade him to use naughty 
 words. 
 
 "It spoils yon, Denys. Good hick, to hear 
 such ngly words come forth so comely a 
 head : forbear, or I shall be angry : so be 
 civil" 
 
 Whereupon Denys was upon his good be- 
 haviour, and ludicrous the struggle between 
 his native politeness and his acquired 
 ruffianism. And as it never rains but it 
 pours, other persons now solicited Margaret's 
 friendship. 
 
 She had written to Margaret Van Eyck a 
 humble letter telling her she knew she was 
 no longer the favourite she had been, and 
 would keep her distance ; but could not 
 forget her benefactress's past kindness. She 
 then told her briefly how many ways she 
 had battled for a living, and in conclusion, 
 begged earnestly that her residence might 
 not be betrayed, "least of all to his people. 
 I do hate them, they drove him from me. 
 And even when he was gone, their hearts 
 turned not to me as they would an' if they 
 had repented their cruelty to him." 
 
 The Van Eyck was perplexed. At last 
 she made a confidante of Reicht. The secret 
 ran through Reicht, as through a cylinder, 
 to Catherine. 
 
 "Ay, and is she turned that bitter against 
 us ? " said that good woman. " She stole our 
 son from us, and now she hates us for not 
 running into her arms. Natheless it is a 
 blessing she is alive and no farther away 
 than Rotterdam." 
 
 The English princess, now Countess 
 Charolois, made a stately progress through 
 the northern states of the duchy, accompanied 
 by her stepdaughter the young heiress of 
 Burgundy, Marie de Bourgogne. Then the 
 old duke, the most magnificent prince in 
 Europe, put out his splendour. Troops of 
 dazzling knights, and bevies of fair ladies 
 gorgeously attired, attended the two prin- 
 cesses; and minstrels, jongleurs, or story- 
 tellers, bards, musicians, actors, tumblers 
 followed in the train ; and there was fencing, 
 dancing, and joy in every town they shone 
 on. Giles, a court favourite, sent a timely 
 message to Tergou, inviting all his people to 
 meet the pageant at Rotterdam.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 149 
 
 They agreed to take a holiday for once in 
 a way, and setting their married daughter 
 to keep the shop, came to Rotterdam. But 
 to two of them, not the great folk, but little 
 Giles, was the main attraction. 
 
 They had been in Rotterdam some days, 
 when Denys met Catherine accidentally in 
 the street, and after a warm greeting on both 
 sides, bade her rejoice, for he had found 
 the she-comrade, and crowed; but Catherine 
 cooled him by showing him how much earlier 
 he would have found her by staying quietly 
 at Tergou, than by vagabondising it all over 
 Holland, "And being found, what the better 
 are we 7 her heart is set dead against us 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, let thafc flea stick ; come you with me 
 to her house." 
 
 No, she would not go where she was sure 
 of an ill welcome. 
 
 " Them that come unbidden sit unseated." 
 
 No, let Denys be mediator, and bring the 
 parties to a good understanding. He under- 
 took the office at once, and with great pomp 
 and confidence. He trotted off to Margaret 
 and said 
 
 "She-comrade, I met this day & friend of 
 thine." 
 
 "Thou didst look into the Rotter then, 
 and see thyself." 
 
 "Nay, 'twas a female, and one that 
 seeks thy regard; 'twas Catherine, Gerard's 
 mother." 
 
 "Oh, was it?" said Margaret; "then you 
 may tell her she comes too late. There was 
 a time I longed and longed for her; but she 
 held aloof in my hour of most need, so now 
 we will be as we ha' been." 
 
 Denys tried to shake this resolution. He 
 coaxed her, but she was bitter and sullen, 
 and not to be coaxed. Then he scolded 
 her well ; then, at that she went into hys- 
 terics. 
 
 He was frightened at this result of his 
 eloquence, and being off his guard, allowed 
 himself to be entrapped into a solemn promise 
 never to recur to the subject. He went back 
 to Catherine crestfallen, and told her. She 
 fired up and told the family how his overtures 
 had been received. Then they fired up ; it 
 became a feud and burned fiercer every day. 
 Little Kate alone made some excuses for 
 Margaret. 
 
 The very next day another visitor came to 
 Margaret, and found the military enslaved 
 and degraded, Martin up to bis elbows in 
 soapsuds, and Denys ironing very clumsily, 
 and Margaret plaiting ruffs, but with a 
 mistress's eye on her raw levies. To these 
 there entered an old man, venerable at first 
 sight, but on nearer view keen and wizened. 
 
 " Ah," cried Margaret. Then swiftly turned 
 her back on him and hid her face with 
 invincible repugnance. " Oh, that man I that 
 man ! " 
 
 " Nay, fear me not," said Ghysbrecht ; " I 
 come on a friend's errand. I bring ye a letter 
 from foreign parts." 
 
 "Mock me not, old man," and she turned 
 lowly round. 
 
 "Nay, see;" and he held out an enormous 
 letter. 
 
 Margaret darted on it, and held it with 
 trembling hands and glistening eyes. It was 
 Gerard's handwriting. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, sir, bless you for this. 
 I forgive you all the ill yon ever wrought 
 me." 
 
 And she pressed the letter to her bosom with 
 one hand, and glided swiftly from the room 
 with it. 
 
 As she did not come back, Ghysbrecht 
 went away, but not without a scowl at Martin. 
 Margaret was hours alone with her letter. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 WHEN she came down again she was a 
 changed woman. Her eyes were wet, but 
 calm, and all her bitterness and excitement 
 charmed away. 
 
 "Denys," said she softly, "I have got my 
 orders. I am to read my lover's letter to his 
 folk." 
 
 " Ye will never do that I " 
 
 "Ay wiU I." 
 
 " I see there is something in the letter haa 
 softened ye towards them." 
 
 "Not a jot, Denys, not a jot. But an' I 
 hated them like poison I would not disobey 
 my love. Denys, 'tis so sweet to obey, and 
 sweetest of all to obey one who is far, far 
 away, and cannot enforce my duty, but must 
 trust my love for my obedience. Ah, Gerard, 
 my darling, at hand I might have slighted 
 thy commands, misliking thy folk as I have 
 cause to do ; but now, didst bid me go 
 into the raging sea and read thy sweet 
 letter to the sharks, there I'd go. Therefore, 
 Denys, tell his mother I have got a letter, 
 and if she and hers would hear it, I am their 
 servant ; let them say their hour, and I'll seat 
 them as best I can, and welcome them as best 
 I may." 
 
 Denys went off to Catherine with this good 
 news. He found the family at dinner, and told 
 them there was a long letter from Gerard. 
 Then in the midst of the joy this caused, he 
 said 
 
 "And her heart is softened, and she will 
 read it to you herself ; you are to choose your 
 own time." 
 
 "What, does she think there are none can 
 read but her?" asked Catherine. "Let her 
 send the letter and we will read it." 
 
 "Nay, but, mother," objected little Kate; 
 " mayhap she cannot bear to part it from her 
 hand"; she loves him dearly." 
 
 "What, thinks she we shall steal it ? " 
 
 Cornells suggested that she would fain 
 wedge herself into the family by means of 
 this letter. 
 
 Denys cast a look of scorn on the speaker. 
 "There spoke a bad heart," said he. "L
 
 ISO 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 camarade bates yon all like poison. Oh, mis- 
 take me not, dame ; I defend her not, bat BO 
 'tis ; yet maugre her spleen at a word from 
 Gerard she proffers to read you bis letter with 
 her own pretty mouth, and hath a voice like 
 honey sore 'tis a fair proffer." 
 
 '"Tis BO, mine honest soldier," said the 
 father of the family, "and merits a civil reply, 
 therefore hold your whisht ye that be women, 
 and I shall answer her. Tell her I, his father, 
 Betting aside all past grndges, do for this grace 
 thank her, and would she have double thanks, 
 let her send my son's letter by thy faithful 
 hand, the which will I read to his flesh and 
 blood, and will then to her so surely and 
 faithfully return, as I am Eli a Dierich a 
 William a Luke, free burgher of Tergou, like 
 my forbears, and like them, a man of my 
 word." 
 
 "Ay, and a man who is better than his 
 word," cried Catherine; "the only one I ever 
 did foregather." 
 
 " Hold thy peace, wife." 
 
 " Art a man of sense, Eli, a dirk, a chose, a 
 cho-e,"* shouted Denys. "The she-comrade 
 will be right glad to obey Gerard and yet not 
 face you all, whom she hates as wormwood, 
 saving your presence. Bless ye, the world 
 hath changed, she is all submission to-day: 
 1 Obedience is honey,' quoth she ; and in 
 Booth 'tis a sweetmeat she cannot but savour, 
 eating so little on't, for what with her fair 
 face, and her mellow tongue; and what wi' 
 flying in fits and terrifying us that be sol- 
 diers to death, an' we thwart her; and what 
 wi' chiding us one while, and petting us 
 like lambs t' other, she hath made two of the 
 crawlingest slaves ever you saw out of two 
 honest swashbucklers. I be the ironing ruffian, 
 f other washes." 
 
 " What next t " 
 
 " What next T why, whenever the brat Is In 
 the world I shall rock cradle, and t'other 
 knave will wash tucker and bib. So, then, 
 111 go fetch the letter on the instant. Ye 
 will let me bide and hear it read, will ye 
 not T " 
 
 "Else our hearts were black as coal," said 
 Catherine. 
 
 So Denys went for the letter. He came back 
 crestfallen. 
 
 "She will not let It out of her hand 
 neither to me nor you, nor any he or she 
 that lives." 
 
 " I knew she would not," iaid Cornells. 
 
 " Whisht 1 whisht I" said Eli, "and let 
 Denys tell his story." 
 
 " ' Nay,' said I. but be ruled by me.' Not 
 I,' quoth she. Well, but,' quoth I, ' that same 
 honey Obedience ye spake of.' 'You are a 
 fool,' says she ; ' obedience to Gerard is sweet, 
 but obedience to any other body, who ever 
 mid that was sweet?' 
 
 " At last she seemed to soften a bit, and did 
 give me a written paper for you, mademoiselle. 
 Here 'tis." 
 
 " For me T " said little Kate, colouring. 
 
 " Give that here I " said Eli, and he scanned 
 
 the writing, and said almost in a whisper, 
 " These be words from the letter. Hearken < 
 
 '"And, sweetheart, an' if these lines should 
 travel safe to thee, make thou trial of my 
 people's hearts withal. Maybe they are some- 
 what turned towards me, being far away. If 
 'tis so, they will show it to thee, since now to 
 me they may not. Read, then, this letter 1 
 But I do strictly forbid thee to let it from thy 
 hand; and if they still hold aloof from thee, 
 why, then say nought, but let them think me 
 dead. Obey me in this; for, if thou dost 
 disrespect my judgment and my will in this, 
 thou lovest me not,' " 
 
 There was a silence, and Gerard's words 
 copied by Margaret were handed round and 
 inspected. 
 
 "Well," said Catherine, "that Is another 
 matter. But methinks 'tis for her to come to 
 us, not we to her." 
 
 "Alas, mother! what odds does that 
 make ? " 
 
 "Much," said Eli. "Tell her we are over 
 many to come to her, and bid her hither, the 
 sooner the better." 
 
 When Denys was gone, Eli owned it was a 
 bitter pill to him. 
 
 "When that lass shall cross my threshold, 
 all the mischief and misery she hath made 
 here will seem to come in adoors in one 
 heap. But what could I do, wife? We 
 mutt hear the news of Gerard. I saw that in 
 thine eyes, and felt it In my own heart. 
 And she is backed by our undutiful but still 
 beloved son, and so is she stronger than we, 
 and brings our noses down to the grindstone, 
 the sly, cruel jade. But never heed. We will 
 hear the letter ; and then let her go unblessed, 
 as she came unwelcome." 
 
 "Make your mind easy," said Catherine. 
 "She will not come at ail." And a tone of 
 regret was visible. 
 
 Shortly after Richart, who had been hourly 
 expected, arrived from Amsterdam grave and 
 dignified In his burgher's robe and gold chain, 
 ruff, and furred cap, and was received not 
 with affection only, but respect; for he had 
 risen a step higher than his parents, and such 
 steps were marked in mediaeval society almost 
 as visibly as those in their staircases. 
 
 Admitted in due course to the family 
 council, he showed plainly, though not dis- 
 courteously, that his pride was deeply wounded 
 by their having deigned to treat with Margaret 
 Brandt. 
 
 "I see the temptation," said he. "But 
 which of us hath not at times to wish one 
 way and do another 7 " 
 
 This threw a considerable chill over the old 
 people. 
 
 So little Kate put in a word. 
 
 "Vex not thyself, dear Richart. Mother 
 says she will not come." 
 
 "All the better, sweetheart. I fear me, If 
 he do, I shall hie me back to Amsterdam." 
 
 Here Denys popped his head In at the door, 
 and said 
 
 "She will be here at three on the great 
 di&L" 
 
 They all looked at one another In silence.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 "NAT, Richart," said Catherine at last, "for 
 Heaven's sake let not this one sorry wench set 
 us all by the ears: hath she not made ill 
 blood enough already ? " 
 
 " In very deed she hath. Fear me not, good 
 n >ther. Let her come and read the letter 
 of the poor boy she hath by devilish arts be- 
 witched and then let her go. Give me your 
 words to show her no countenance beyond 
 decent and constrained civility : less we may 
 not, being in our own house; and I will say 
 no more." 
 
 On this understanding they awaited the foe. 
 She, for her part, prepared for the interview in 
 a spirit little less hostile. 
 
 When Denys brought word they would not 
 come to her, but would receive her, her lip 
 curled, and she bade him observe how in them 
 every feeling, however small, was larger than 
 the love for Gerard. 
 
 "Well," said she, "I have not that excuse; 
 so why mimic the pretty burgher's pride, the 
 pride of all unlettered folk? I will go to 
 them for Gerard's sake. Oh, how I loathe 
 them I " 
 
 Thus poor good-natured Denys was bring- 
 ing into one hous the materials of an ex- 
 plosion. 
 
 Margaret made her toilet in the same spirit 
 that a knight of her day dressed for battle 
 he to parry blows, and she to parry glances 
 glances of contempt at her poverty, or of irony 
 at her extravagance. Her kirtle was of 
 English cloth, dark blue, and her farthingale 
 and hose of the same material, but a glossy 
 roan, or claret colour. Not an inch of preten- 
 tious fur about her, but plain snowy linen 
 wristbands, and curiously plaited linen from the 
 bosom of the kirtle up to the commencement 
 of the throat ; it did not encircle her throat, 
 but framed it, being square, not round. Her 
 front hair still peeped in two waves much after 
 the fashion which Mary Queen of Scots revived 
 a century later ; but instead of the silver net, 
 which would have ill become her present con- 
 dition, the rest of her head was covered with a 
 very small tight-fitting hood of dark blue cloth, 
 hemmed with silver. Her shoes were red ; but 
 the roan petticoat and hose prepared the spec- 
 tator's mind for the shock, and they set off 
 the arched instep and shapely foot. 
 
 Beauty knew its business then as now. 
 
 And with all this she kept her enemies 
 waiting, though it was three by the diaL 
 
 At last she started, attended by her he- 
 comrade. And when they were half-way, she 
 stopped and said thoughtfully, " Denys 1 " 
 
 " Well, she-general ? " 
 
 " I must go home " (piteously). 
 
 " What, have ye left somewhat behind f " 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "My courage. Oh! oh! oh!" 
 
 " Nay, nay, be brave, she-general. I shall be 
 with you," 
 
 ' Ay, but wilt keep close to me when I be 
 there 1 " 
 
 Denys promised, and she resumed her march, 
 but gingerly. 
 
 Meantime they were all assembled, and 
 waiting for her with a strange mixture of 
 feelings. 
 
 Mortification, curiosity, panting affection, 
 aversion to her who came to gratify those 
 feelings, yet another curiosity to see what she 
 was like, and what there was in her to bewitch 
 Gerard and make so much mischief. 
 
 At last Denys came alone, and whispered, 
 
 The she-comrade is without." 
 
 " Fetch her in," said Eli. " Now whisht, all 
 of ye. None speak to her but I." 
 
 They all turned their eyes to the door in 
 dead silence. 
 
 A little muttering was heard outside ; Denys's 
 rough organ and a woman's soft and mellow 
 voice. 
 
 Presently that stopped; and then the door 
 opened slowly, and Margaret Brandt, dressed 
 as I have described, and somewhat pale, but 
 calm and lovely, stood on the threshold, looking 
 straight before her. 
 
 They all rose but Kate, and remained mute 
 and staring. 
 
 "Be seated, mistress," said Eli gravely, and 
 motioned to a seat that had been set apart for 
 her. 
 
 She Inclined her head, and crossed the 
 apartment ; and in so doing her condition was 
 very visible, not only in her shape, but in her 
 languor. 
 
 Cornells and Bybrandt hated her for it. 
 Richart thought it spoiled her beauty. 
 
 It softened the women somewhat. 
 
 She took her letter out of her bosom, and 
 kissed it as if she had been alone ; then dis- 
 posed herself to read it, with the air of one 
 who knew she was there for that single 
 purpose. 
 
 But as she began, she noticed they had 
 seated her all by herself like a leper. She 
 looked at Denys, and putting her hand down 
 by her side, made him a swift furtive motion to 
 come by her. 
 
 He went with an obedient start as if she 
 had cried " March I " and stood at her shoulder 
 like a sentinel; but this zealous manner of 
 doing it revealed to the company that he 
 had been ordered thither ; and at that she 
 coloured. 
 
 And now she began to read her Gerard, their 
 Gerard, to their eager ears, in a mellow, but 
 clear voice, so soft, so earnest, so thrilling, her 
 very soul seemed to cling about each precious 
 sound. It was a voice as of a woman's bosom 
 set speaking by Heaven itself. 
 
 " I do nothing doubt, my Margaret, that long 
 ere this shall meet thy beloved eyes, Denys, my 
 most dear friend, will have sought thee out, 
 and told thee the manner of our unlocked for 
 and most tearful parting. Therefore I will e'en 
 begin at that most doleful day. What befell 
 him after, poor faithful soul, fain, fain would I 
 hear, but may not. But I pray for him day and 
 night next after thee, dearest. Friend more 
 stanch and loving had not David in Jonathan,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 than I in him. Be good to him, for poor 
 Gerard's sake." 
 
 At these words, which came quite unex- 
 pectedly to him, Denys leaned his head on 
 Margaret's high chair, and groanod aloud. 
 
 She turned quickly as she sat, and found 
 his hand, and pressed it. 
 
 And so the sweetheart and the friend held 
 hands while the sweetheart read. 
 
 "I went forward all dizzied, like one in an 
 ill dream ; and presently a gentleman came 
 up with his servants, all on horseback, and 
 had like to have rid o'er me. And he drew 
 rein at the brow of the hill, and sent his 
 armed men back to rob me. They robbed 
 me civilly enough ; and took my purse and the 
 last copper, and rid gaily away. I wandered 
 stupid on, a friendless pauper." 
 
 There was a general sigh, followed by an 
 oath from Denys. 
 
 " Presently a strange dimness came o'er me ; 
 I lay down to sleep on the snow. 'Twas ill 
 done, and with store of wolves bard by. Had 
 I loved thee as thou dost deserve, I had shown 
 more manhood. But oh, sweet love, the drowsi- 
 ness that did crawl o'er me desolate, and be- 
 numb me, was more than nature. And so I 
 slept ; and but that God was better to us, than 
 I to thee or to myself, from that sleep I ne'er 
 had waked ; so all do say. I had slept an hour 
 or two, as I suppose, but no more, when a hand 
 did shake me rudely. I awoke to my troubles. 
 And there stood a servant girl in her holiday 
 suit 'Are ya mad,' quoth she, in seeming 
 choler, 'to sleep in snow, and under wolves' 
 nosen ! Art weary o' life, and not long weaned ? 
 Come, now,' said she, more kindly, ' get up like 
 a good lad;' so I did rise up. 'Are ye rich, 
 or are ye poor 7* But I stared at her as one 
 amazed, 'Why, 'tis easy of reply,' quoth she. 
 'Are ye rich, or are ye poor ? ' Then I gave a 
 great, loud cry ; that she did start back. ' Am 
 I rich, or am I poor? Had ye asked me an 
 hour agone, I had said I am rich. But now I 
 am so poor as sure earth beareth on her bosom 
 none poorer. An hour agone I was rich in a 
 friend, rich in money, rich in hope and spirits 
 of youth ; but now the Bastard of Burgundy 
 hath taken my friend, and another gentleman 
 my purse ; and I can neither go forward to 
 Rome nor back to her I left in Holland. I am 
 poorest of the poor.' ' Alack ! ' said the wench. 
 ' Natheless, an r ye had been rich ye might ha 1 
 lain down again in the snow for any use I had 
 for ye ; and then I trow ye had soon fared out 
 o' this world as bare as ye came into 't. But, 
 being poor, you are our man : so come wi' me.' 
 Then I went because she bade me, and because 
 I recked not now whither I went. And she 
 took me to a fine house hard by, and into a 
 coble dining-hall hung with black ; and there 
 was set a table with many dishes, and but one 
 plate and one chair. Fall to ! ' said she, in 
 a whisper. What, alone ! ' said I. ' Alone ? 
 And which of us, think ye, would eat out of the 
 same dish with ye ? Are we robbers o' the 
 dead!' Then she speered where I was born. 
 At Tergou,' said I. Says she, 'And when a 
 gentleman dies in that country, serve they not 
 the dead man's dinner up as usual, till he be in 
 
 the ground, and set some poor man down to 
 it!' I told her, nay. 'She blushed for us 
 then. Here they were better Christians.' So I 
 behoved to sit down. But small was my heart 
 for meat Then this kind lass sat by me and 
 poured me out wine ; and tasting it, it cut me 
 to the heart Denys was not there to drink with 
 me. He doth BO love good wine, and women 
 good, bad, or indifferent. The rich, strong 
 wine curled round my sick heart ; and that day 
 first I did seem to glimpse why folk in trouble 
 run to drink so. She made me eat of every 
 dish. ' 'Twas unlucky to pass one. Nought 
 was here but her master's daily dinner.' 'He 
 had a good stomach, then,' said I. ' Ay, lad, 
 and a good heart. Leastways, so we all say 
 now he is dead ; but, being alive, no word on't 
 e'er heard I.' So I did eat as a bird, nibbling 
 of every dish. And she hearing me sigh, and 
 seeing me like to choke at the food, took pity 
 and bade me be of good cheer. I should sup 
 and lie there that night. And she went to the 
 hind, and he gave me a right good bed ; and I 
 told him all, and asked him would the law give 
 me back my purse. ' Law ! ' quoth he ; ' law 
 there was none for the poor in Burgundy. Why, 
 'twas the cousin of the Lady of the Manor, he 
 that had robbed me. He knew the wild spark. 
 The matter must be judged before the lady ; and 
 she was quite young, and far more like to hang 
 me for slandering her cousin, and a gentleman, 
 and a handsome man, than to make him give me 
 back my own. Inside the liberties of a town a 
 poor man might now and then see the face of 
 justice; but out among the grand seigneurs 
 and dames never.' So I said, ' I'll sit down 
 robbed rather than seek justice and find 
 gallows.' They were all most kind to me 
 next day; and the girl proffered me money 
 from her small wage to help me towards 
 Rhine." 
 
 " Oh, then, he is coming home I he is com- 
 ing home!" shouted Denys, interrupting the 
 reader. 
 
 She shook her head gently at him, by way of 
 reproof. 
 
 "I beg pardon, all the company," said he 
 stiffly. 
 
 " 'Twas a sore temptation ; but beincc a 
 servant, my stomach rose against it. 'Nay, 
 nay,' said I. She told me I was wrong. 
 "Twas pride out o' place; poor folk should 
 help one another; or who on earth would?' 
 I said if I could do aught in return 'twere 
 well ; but for a free gift, nay : I was over- 
 much beholden already. Should I write a 
 letter for her! 'Nay, he is in the house at 
 present,' said she. 'Should I draw her 
 picture, and so earn my money? 'What, 
 can ye?' said she. I told her I could try; 
 and her habit would well become a picture. 
 So she was agog to be limned, and give it 
 her lad. And I set her to stand in a good 
 light, and soon made sketches two, whereof 
 I send thee one, coloured at odd hours. The 
 other I did most hastily, and with little con- 
 science daub, for which may Heaven forgive 
 me; but time was short. They, poor things, 
 knew no better, and were most proud and 
 joyous; and both kissing me after their
 
 TH2 CLOISTER AND TUB HEARTH. 
 
 153 
 
 country fashion, 'twas the hind that was her 
 sweetheart, they did bid me God-speed ; and 
 I towards Rhine." 
 
 Margaret paused here, and gave Denys the 
 coloured drawing to hand round. It was 
 eagerly examined by the females on account 
 of the costume, which differed in some re- 
 spects from that of a Dutch domestic: the 
 hair was in a tight linen bag, a yellow half 
 kerchief crossed her head from ear to ear, 
 but threw out a rectangular point that de- 
 scended the centre of her forehead, and it 
 met in two more points over her bosom. She 
 wore a red kirtle with long sleeves, kilted 
 very high In front, and showing a green 
 farthingale and a great red leather purse 
 hanging down over it; red stockings, yellow 
 leathern shoes, ahead of her age ; for they 
 were low-quartered and square-toed, secured 
 by a strap buckling over the instep, which 
 was not uncommon, and was perhaps the 
 rude germ of the diamond buckle to coma 
 
 Margaret continued : 
 
 " But oh 1 how I missed my Denys at every 
 step ! often I sat down on the road and groaned. 
 And in the afternoon it chanced that I did so 
 set me down where two roads met, and with 
 heavy head in hand, and heavy heart, did think 
 of thee, my poor sweetheart, and of my lost 
 friend, and of the little house at Tergou, where 
 they all loved me once ; though now it is turned 
 to hate." 
 
 Catherine. "Alas I that he will think so." 
 
 Eli, " Whisht, wife ! " 
 
 "And I did sigh loud, and often. And me 
 sighing so, one came carolling like a bird adown 
 t'other -road. 'Ay, chirp and chirp,' cried I 
 bitterly. 'Thou hast not lost sweetheart, and 
 friend, thy father's hearth, thy mother's smile, 
 and every penny in the world.' And at last he 
 did so carol, and carol, I jumped up in ire to 
 get away from his most jarring mirth. But 
 ere I fled from it, I looked down the path to 
 see what could make a man so lighthearted in 
 this weary world ; and lo I the songster was a 
 humpbacked cripple, with a bloody bandage 
 o'er his eye, and both legs gone at the 
 
 " He ! he ! he ! he I he ! " went Bybrandt, 
 laughing and cackling. 
 
 Margaret's eyes flashed: she began to fold 
 the letter up. 
 
 " Nay, lass," said Eli, " heed him not ! Thou 
 unmannerly cur, offer't but again and I put 
 thee to the door." 
 
 "Why, what was there to gibe at, Bybrandt?" 
 remonstrated Catharine more mildly. " Is not 
 our Kate afflicted? and is she not the most 
 content of us all, and singeth like a merle at 
 times between her pains ? But I am as bad as 
 thou ; prithee read on, lass, and stop our gabble 
 wi' somewhat worth the hearkening." 
 
 " 'Then,' said I, ' may this thing be ?' And 
 I took myself to task. 'Gerard, son of Eli, 
 dost thou well to bemoan thy lot, that hast 
 youth and health ; and here comes the wreck 
 of nature on crutches, praising God's goodness 
 with singing like a mavis ? ' " 
 
 Catherine. " There yon see." 
 
 Eli. "Whisht, dame, whisht I" 
 
 " And whenever he saw me, he left carolling 
 and presently hobbled up and chanted, 'Charity, 
 for love of Heaven, sweet master, charity,' with 
 a whine as piteous as wind at keyhole. ' Alack, 
 poor soul,' said I, ' charity is in my heart, but 
 not my purse; I am poor as thou. 1 Then he 
 believed me none, and to melt me undid hia 
 sleeve, and showed a sore wound on his arm, 
 and said he, 'Poor cripple though I be, I am 
 like to lose this eye to boot, look else.' I saw 
 and groaned for him, and to excuse myself let 
 him wot how I had been robbed of my last 
 copper. Thereat he left whining all in b 
 moment, and said, in a big manly voice, 
 'Then I'll e'en take a rest. Here, youngster, 
 pull thou this strap : nay, fear not ! ' I pulled, 
 and down came a stout pair of legs out of his 
 back ; and half his hump had melted away, 
 and the wound in his eye no deeper than the 
 bandage." 
 
 "Oh!" ejaculated Margaret's hearers In a 
 body. 
 
 "Whereat, seeing me astounded, he laughed 
 in my face, and told me I was not worth gull- 
 ing, and offered me his protection. ' My face 
 was prophetic,' he said. ' Of what ? ' said I. 
 1 Marry,' said he, ' that its owner will starve in 
 this thievish land.' Travel teaches e'en the 
 young wisdom. Time was I had turned and 
 fled this impostor as a pestilence; but now I 
 listened patiently to pick up crumbs of counsel 
 And well I did : for nature and his adventurous 
 life had crammed the poor knave with shrewd- 
 ness and knowledge of the homelier sort a 
 child was I beside him. When he had turned 
 me inside out, said he, ' Didst well to leave 
 France and make for Germany ; but think not 
 of Holland again. Nay, on to Augsburg and 
 Nurnberg, the Paradise of craftsmen: thence 
 to Venice, an' thou wilt. But thou wilt never 
 bide in Italy nor any other land, having once 
 tasted the great German cities. Why, there is 
 but one honest country in Europe, and that is 
 Germany; and since thou art honest, and since 
 I am a vagabone, Germany was made for us 
 twain.' I bade him make that good: how 
 might one country fit true men and knaves I 
 'Why, thou novice,' said he, 'because in an 
 honest land are fewer knaves to bite the honest 
 man, and many honest men for the knave to 
 bite. I was in luck, being honest, to have 
 fallen in with a friendly sharp. Be my pal,' 
 said he ;' I go to Nurnberg ; we will reach it 
 with full pouches. I'll learn ye the cul de 
 bois, and the eul de jatte, and how to maund, 
 and chaunt, and patter, and to raise swellings, 
 and paint sores and ulcers on thy body would 
 take in the divelL' I told him, shivering, I'd 
 liever die than shame myself and my folk 
 so." 
 
 Eli. " Good lad ! good lad I " 
 
 "Why, what shame was it for such as I to 
 turn beggar ? Beggary was an ancient and 
 most honourable mystery. What did holy 
 monks, and bishops, and kings, when they 
 would win Heaven's smile ? why, wash the feet 
 of beggars, those favourites of the saints. 
 1 The saints were no fools, ' he told me. Then 
 he did put out his foot. 'Look at that, that 
 was washed by the greateit ting alive, LOOM
 
 154 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 of France, the last Holy Thursday that was. 
 And the next day, Friday, clapped in the 
 Btocks by the warden of a petty hamlet.' Bo 
 I told him my foot should walk between such 
 high honour and such low disgrace, on the 
 safe path of honesty, please God. Well then, 
 since I had not spirit to beg, he would indulge 
 my perversity. I should work under him, he 
 be the head, I the fingers. And with that he 
 set himself up like a judge, on a heap of dust 
 by the road's side, and questioned me strictly 
 what I could do. I began to say I was strong 
 and willing. ' Bah I ' said he, ' so is an ox. 
 Bay, what canst do that Sir Oz cannot I ' I 
 could write ; I had won a prize for it. ' Canst 
 write as fast as the printers I' quo' he, jeer- 
 Ing. 'What else I' I could paint. 'That 
 was better.' I was like to tear my hair to 
 hear him say so, and me going to Rome 
 to write. I could twang the psaltery a bit. 
 "That was well. Could I tell stories?' Ay, 
 by the score. ' Then,' said he, ' I hire you 
 from this moment.' 'What to do!' said I. 
 Nought crooked, Sir Candour,' says he. 'I 
 will feed thee all the way and find thee 
 work; and take half thine earnings, no more.' 
 'Agreed,' said I, and gave my hand on it. 
 Now, servant,' said he, 'we will dine. But ye 
 need not stand behind my chair, for two 
 reasons first, I ha' got no chair; and next, 
 good fellowship likes me better than state.' 
 And out of his wallet he brought flesh, fowl, 
 and pastry, a good dozen of spices lapped in 
 flax paper, and wine fit for a king. Ne'er 
 feasted I better than out of this beggar's 
 wallet, now my master. When we had well 
 eaten I was for going on. 'But,' said he, 
 servants should not drive their masters too 
 hard, especially after feeding, for then the 
 body is for repose, and the mind turns to con- 
 templation;' and he lay on his back gazing 
 calmly at the sky, and presently wondered 
 whether there were any beggars up there. I 
 told him I knew but of one, called Lazarus. 
 1 Could he do the eui de jattc better than I T ' 
 aid he, and looked quite jealous like. I 
 told him nay ; Lazarus was honest, though a 
 beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs fal'n from 
 a rich man's table, and the dogs licked his 
 ores. Servant,' quo' he, ' I spy a foul fault 
 in thee. Thou liest without discretion: now 
 the end of lying being to gull, this is no better 
 than fumbling with the divell's tail I pray 
 Heaven thou mayest prove to paint better than 
 thou cnttest whids, or I am done out of a 
 dinner. No beggar eats crumbs, but only the 
 fat of the land ; and dogs lick not a beggar* 
 ores, being made with spearwort, or ratsbane, 
 or biting acids, from all which dogs, and even 
 pigs, abhor. My cores are made after my 
 proper receipt; but no dog would lick e'en 
 them twice. I have made a scurvy bargain : 
 art a cozening knave, I doubt, as well as a 
 nincompoop.' I deigned no reply to this 
 bundle of liea, which did accuse heavenly truth 
 of falsehood for not being in a tale with him. 
 He rose and we took the road ; and presently 
 we came to a place where were two little way- 
 side inns, scarce a furlong apart ' Halt,' said 
 my master. Their armories are ore faded- 
 
 all the better. Go thou in ; shun the master ; 
 board the wife; and flatter her inn sky high, 
 all but the armories, and offer to colour them 
 dirt cheap.' So I went in and told the wife I 
 was a painter, and would revive her armories 
 cheap; but she sent me away with a rebuff. 
 I to my master. He groaned. 'Ye are all 
 fingers and no tongue,' said he ; ' I have made 
 a scurvy bargain. Come and hear me patter 
 and flatter.' Between the two inns was a high 
 hedge. He goes behind it a minute and comes 
 out a decent tradesman. We went on to the 
 other inn, and then I heard him praise it so 
 fulsome as the very wife did blush, 'But,' 
 says he, ' there is one little, little fault ; your 
 armories are dull and faded. Say but the 
 word, and for a silver franc my apprentice 
 here, the cuuningest e'er I had, shall make 
 them bright as ever.' Whilst she hesitated, 
 the rogue told her he had done it to a little inn 
 hard by, and now the inn's face was like the 
 starry firmament. ' D'ye hear that, my man 7 ' 
 cries she, ' " The Three Frogs " have been and 
 painted up their armories ; shall " The Four 
 Hedgehogs" be outshone by them 7' So I 
 painted, and my master stood by like a lord, 
 advising me how to do, and winking to me 
 to heed him none, and I got a silver franc. 
 And he took me back to 'The Three Frogs,' 
 and on the way put me on a beard and dis- 
 guised me, and flattered 'The Three Frogs,' 
 and told them how he had adorned ' The Four 
 Hedgehogs,' and into the net jumped the three 
 poor simple frogs, and I earned another silver 
 franc. Then we went on and he found his 
 crutches, and sent me forward, and showed 
 his eicatricet tFcmprwit, as he called them, 
 and all his infirmities, at 'The Four Hedge- 
 hogs, ' and got both food and money. ' Come, 
 share and share,' quoth he : so I gave him one 
 franc. ' I have made a good bargain,' said he. 
 'Art a master limner, but takest too much 
 time.' So I let him know that in matters of 
 honest craft things could not be done quick 
 and well. 'Then do them quick,' quoth he. 
 And he told me my name was Bon Bee; and 
 I might call him Cul de Jatte, because that 
 was his lay at our first meeting. And at the 
 next town my master, Cul de Jatte, bought me 
 a psaltery, and sat himself up again by the 
 roadside in state like him that erst judged 
 Marsyas and Apollo, piping for vain glory. 
 So I played a strain. 'Indifferent well, har- 
 monious Bon Bee,' said he haughtily. 'Now 
 tune thy pipes.' So I did sing a sweet strain 
 the good monks taught me ; and singing it 
 reminded poor Bon Bee, Gerard erst, of his 
 young days and home, and brought the water 
 to my een. But looking up, my master's 
 visage was as the face of a little boy whipt 
 oundly, or sipping foulest medicine. ' Zounds, 
 top that belly-ache blether,' quoth he, 'that 
 will ne'er wile a stiver out o' peasants' purses ; 
 'twill but sour the nurses' milk, and gar the 
 kine jump into rivers to be out of earshot on't. 
 What, false knave, did I buy thee a fine new 
 psaltery to be minded o' my latter end withal f 
 Hearken I these be the eongs that glad the 
 heart, and fill the minstrel's purse.' And he 
 sung so blasphemous a stave, and eke so
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 obscene, as I drew away from him a space 
 that the lightning might not spoil the new 
 psaltery. However, none came, being winter, 
 and then I said, ' Master, the Lord is deljonair. 
 Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had been thy 
 last, thou foul-mouthed wretch.' 
 
 '"Why, Bon Bee, what ia to do!' quoth 
 he. 'I have made an ill bargain. Oh, per- 
 verse heart, that turneth from doctrine.' So 
 I bade him keep his breath to cool his broth, 
 ne'er would I shame my folk with singing 
 ribald songs. 'Then,' says he sulkily, 'the 
 first fire we light by the wayside, clap then 
 on the music box ! so 'twill make oux pot 
 boil for the nonce ; but with your 
 
 Good people, let ru peak and pine, 
 Cat tristful mugs, and miaul and whine 
 Thorough our nosen chaunta dirlne 
 
 never, never, never. Ye might as well go 
 through Lorraine crying, Mulleygrubs, Mulley- 
 grubs, who'll buy my Mulleygrubs ! ' So we 
 fared on, bad friends. But I took a thought, 
 and prayed him hum me one of bis naughty 
 ditties again. Then he brightened, and broke 
 forth into ribaldry like a nightingale. Finger 
 in ears stuffed I. ' No words ; naught but 
 the bare melody.' For oh, Margaret, note 
 the sly malice of the Evil One I Still to the 
 scurviest matter he weddeth the tunablest 
 ditties." 
 
 Catherine. " That is true as Holy Writ." 
 
 Svbrandt, " How know you that, mother ? " 
 
 Cornells. "He I he! he!" 
 
 Eli. "Whisht, ye uneasy wights, and let 
 me hear the boy. He is wiser than ye ; wiser 
 than his years." 
 
 '"What tomfoolery ia this,' said he; yet he 
 yielded to me, and soon I garnered three of 
 bis melodies; but I would not let Cul de 
 Jatte wot the thing I meditated. Show not 
 fools nor bairns unfinished work,' saith the 
 byword. And by this time 'twas night, and 
 a little town at hand, where we went each 
 to his inn; for my master would not yield 
 to put off his rags and other sores till morn- 
 ing ; nor I to enter an inn with a tatter- 
 demalion. So we were to meet on the road 
 at peep of day. And indeed, we still lodged 
 apart, meeting at morn and parting at eve, 
 outside each town we lay at. And waking 
 at midnight and cogitating, good thoughts 
 cams down to me, and sudden my heart 
 was enlightened. I called to mind that my 
 Margaret had withstood the taking of the 
 burgomaster's purse. *'Tis theft,' said you; 
 'disguise it how ye will.' But I must be 
 wiser than my betters ; and now that which 
 I had as good as stolen, others had stolen 
 from me. As it came so it was gone. Then 
 I said, ' Heaven is not cruel, but just ; ' and 
 I vowed a vow, to repay our burgomaster 
 every shilling an* I could. And I went forth 
 in the morning sad, but hopeful. I felt 
 lighter for the purse being gone. My master 
 was at the gate becrutched. I told him 
 I'd liever have seen him in another disguise. 
 'Beggars must not be choosers,' said he. 
 However, soon he bade me nntruss him, for 
 he felt sadly. His head swam. I told him 
 
 forcefully to deform nature thus could 
 be wholesome. He answered none ; but looked 
 scared, and hand on head. By-and-by he 
 gave a groan, and rolled on the ground 
 like a ball, and writhed sore. I was scared, 
 and wist not what to do, but went to lift 
 him; but his trouble rose higher and higher, 
 he gnashed his teeth fearfully, and the foam 
 did fly from his lips ; and presently his body 
 bended itself like a bow, and jerked and bounded 
 many times into the air. I exorcised him; 
 it but made him worse. There was water in a 
 ditch hard by, not very clear; but the poor 
 creature struggling between life and death, 
 I filled my hat withal, and came flying to 
 souse him. Then my lord laughed in my face. 
 'Come, Bon Bee, by thy white gills, I have 
 not forgotten my trade.' I stood with watery 
 hat in hand, glaring. 'Could this be feign- 
 ing?' 'What else?' said he. 'Why, a real 
 fit is the sorriest thing; but a stroke with a 
 feather compared with mine. Art still betters 
 nature.' 'But look, e'en now blood trickleth 
 from your nose,' said L ' Ay, ay, pricked my 
 nostrils with a straw.' ' But ye foamed at 
 the lips.' 'Oh, a little soap makes a mickle 
 foam.' And he drew out a morsel like a 
 bean from his mouth. 'Thank thy stars, 
 Bon Bee,' says he, 'for leading thee to a 
 worthy master. Each day his lesson. To- 
 morrow we will study the eul de tois and 
 other branches. To-day, own me prince of 
 demoniacs, and indeed of all good fellows.' 
 Then, being puffed up, he forgot yesterday's 
 grudge, and discoursed me freely of beggars ; 
 and gave me, who eftsoons thought a beggar 
 was a beggar, and there an end, the names 
 and qualities of full thirty sorts of masterful 
 and crafty mendicants in France and Ger- 
 many and England ; his three provinces ; 
 for so the poor, proud knave yclept those 
 kingdoms three; wherein bis throne it was 
 the stocks I ween. And outside the next 
 village one had gone to dinner, and left his 
 wheelbarrow. So says he, ' I'll tie myself 
 in a knot, and shalt wheel me through ; and 
 what with my crippledom and thy piety, 
 a-wheeling of thy poor old dad, we'll bleed 
 the bumpkins of a dacha-saltee.' I did refuse. 
 I would work for him; but no hand would 
 have in begging. 'And wheeling an "asker" 
 in a barrow, is not that work?' said he; 
 'then fling yon muckle stone in to boot : stay, 
 111 soil it a bit, and swear it is a chip of the 
 holy sepulchre ; and you wheeled us both from 
 Jerusalem.' Said I, 'Wheeling a pair o' lies, 
 one stony, one fleshy, may be work, and hard 
 work, but honest work 'tis not. 'Tis fumbling 
 with his tail you wot of. And,' saH I, ' master, 
 next time you go to tempt me to knavery, 
 speak not to me of my poor old dad.' Said 
 I, ' You have minded me of my real father's 
 face, the truest man in Holland. He and I 
 are ill friends now, worse luck. But though 
 I offend him, shame him I never wilL' Dear 
 Margaret, with this knave saying, 'your poor 
 old dad,' it had gone to my heart like a 
 knife. "Tis well,' said my master gloomily; 
 'I have made a bad bargain.' Presently he 
 halts, and eyes a tree by the wayside. 'Go
 
 156 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 pell me what Is writ on yon tree.' So I 
 went, and there was nought but a long 
 square drawn in outline. I told him BO. ' So 
 much for thy monkish lore,' quoth he. A 
 little farther, and he sent me to read a wall. 
 There was nought but a circle scratched on 
 the stone with a point of nail or knife, and 
 in the circle two dots. I said so. Then 
 said he, 'Bon Bee, that square was a warn- 
 ing. Some good Truand left it, that came 
 through this village faring west ; that means 
 "dangerous." The circle with the two dots 
 was writ by another of our brotherhood ; and 
 it signifies as how the writer, soit Rollin 
 Trapa, soit Triboulet, soit Catin Cul de Bois, 
 or what not, was becked for asking here, and 
 lay two months in Starabin.' Then he broke 
 forth. 'Talk of your little snivelling books 
 that go in pouch. Three books have I, 
 France, England, and Germany; and they 
 are writ ail over in one tongue, that my 
 brethren of all countries understand ; and 
 that is what I call learning. So sith here 
 they whip sores, and imprison infirmities, 
 I to my tiring room.' And he popped behind 
 the hedge, and came back worshipful. We 
 passed through the village, and I sat me 
 down on the stocks, and even as the barber's 
 apprentice whets his razor on a block, so did 
 I llesh my psaltery on this village, fearing 
 great cities. I tuned it, and coursed up and 
 down the wires nimbly with my two wooden 
 strikers; and then chanted loud and clear, 
 aa I had heard the minstrels of the country, 
 
 4 Qui veut ouir qui veut Savoir,' 
 
 ome trash, I mind not what. And soon 
 the villagers, male and female, thronged about 
 me ; thereat I left singing, and recited them 
 to the psaltery a short but right merry tale 
 out of 'The Lives of the Saints,' which it is 
 my handbook of pleasant figments ; and this 
 ended, instantly struck up and whistled one 
 of Cul de Jatte's devil's ditties, and played 
 it on the psaltery to boot. Thou knowest 
 Heaven hath bestowed on me a rare whistle, 
 both for compass and tune. And with me 
 whistling bright and full this sprightly air 
 and making the wires slow when the tune 
 did gallop, and tripping when the tune did 
 amble, or I did stop and shake on one note 
 like a lark i' the air, they were like to eat 
 me ; but looking round, lo I my master had 
 given way to his itch, and there was his hat 
 on the ground, and copper pouring in. I 
 deemed it cruel to whistle the bread out of 
 poverty's pouch ; so broke off and away yet 
 conld not get clear so swift, but both'men 
 and women did slobber me sore, and smelled 
 all of garlic. There, master,' said I, ' I call 
 that cleaving the divell in twain and keepine 
 his white half/ Said he, 'Bon Bee, I nav! 
 made a good bargain.' Then he bade me 
 tar where I was while he went to the 
 Holy Land. I tayed, and he leaped the 
 churchyard dike, and the sexton was diejrine 
 grave, and my master chaffered with him 
 and came back with a knuckle bone. But 
 why be clept a churchyard Holy Land, that 
 
 I learned not then, but after dinner. I was 
 colouring the armories of a little inn ; and 
 he sat by me most peaceable, a cutting, and 
 filing, and polishing bones, sedately ; so I 
 speered was not honest work sweet? 'As 
 rain water,' said he, mocking. 'What was 
 he a making ? ' 'A pair of bones to play on 
 with thee ; and with the refuse a St. Anthony's 
 thumb and a St. Martin's little finger, for 
 the devout.' The vagabone ! And now, 
 sweet Margaret, thou seest our manner of 
 life faring Rhineward. I with the two arts 
 I had least prized or counted on for bread 
 was welcome everywhere; too poor now to 
 fear robbers, yet able to keep both master 
 and man on the road. For at night I often 
 made a portraiture of the innkeeper or his 
 dame, and so went richer from an inn ; the 
 which it is the lot of few. But my master 
 despised this even way of life. ' I love ups 
 and downs,' said he. And certes he lacked 
 then 1 not. One day he would gather more 
 than I in three; another, to hear his tale, 
 it had rained kicks all day in lieu of 'saltees,' 
 and that is pennies. Yet even then at heart 
 he despised me for a poor mechanical soul, 
 and scorned my arts, extolling his own, the 
 art of feigning. 
 
 " Natheless, at odd times was he ill at his 
 ease. Going through the town of Aix, we 
 came upon a beggar walking, fast by one hand 
 to a cart-tail, and the hangman a lashing his 
 bare bloody back. He, stout knave, so whipt, 
 did not a jot relent ; but I did wince at every 
 stroke ; and my master hung his head. 
 
 " ' Soon or late, Bon Bee,' quoth he. ' Soon 
 or late.' I, seeing his haggard face, knew 
 what he meaned. And at a town whose name 
 hath slipped me, but 'twas on a fair river, as 
 we came to the foot of the bridge he halted, 
 and shuddered. ' Why, what is the coil ? ' said 
 I. 'Oh, blind,' said he, 'they are justifying 
 there.' So nought would serve him but take a 
 boat, and cross the river by water. But 'twas 
 out of the frying-pan, as the word goeth. For 
 the boatmen had scarce told us the matter, and 
 that it was a man and a woman for stealing 
 glazed windows out of housen, and that the 
 man was hanged at daybreak, and the quean to 
 be drowned, when, lo 1 they did fling her off 
 the bridge, and fell in the water not far froia 
 us. And oh! Margaret, the deadly splash! 
 It ringeth in mine ears even now. But worso 
 was coming ; for, though tied, she came up, 
 and cried ' Help I help I ' and I, forgetting all, 
 and hearing a woman's voice cry 'Help!/ was 
 for leaping in to save her; and had surely 
 done it, but the boatmen and Cul de Jatte 
 clung round me, and in a moment the bour- 
 reau a man, that waited in a boat, came and 
 entangled his hooked pole in her long hair, and 
 so thrust her down and ended her. Oh 1 if the 
 saints answered so our cries for help! And 
 poor Cul de Jatte groaned ; and I sat sobbing, 
 and beat my breast, and cried, ' Of what hath 
 God made men's hearts ? ' " 
 
 The reader stopped, and the tears trickled 
 down her cheeks. Gerard crying in Lorraine, 
 made her cry at Rotterdam. The leagues were 
 no more to her heart than the breadth of a room.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 157 
 
 Eli, softened by many touches in the letter, 
 and by the reader's womanly graces, said 
 kindly enough, " Take thy time, lass. And 
 methinks some of ye might find her a creepie 
 to rest her foot, and she so near her own 
 trouble." 
 
 " I'd do more for her than that an' I durst," 
 said Catherine. "Here, Cornells," and she 
 held out her little wooden stool, and that 
 worthy, who hated Margaret worse than ever, 
 had to take the creepie and put it carefully 
 under her foot. 
 
 "You are very kind, dame," she faltered. 
 " I will read on ; 'tis all I can do for you in 
 turn. 
 
 "Thus seeing my master ashy and sore 
 shaken, I deemed this horrible tragic act 
 came timeously to warn him, so I strove sore 
 to turn him from his ill ways, discoursing of 
 sinners and their lethal end. ' Too late 1 ' said 
 he, ' too late I ' and gnashed his teeth. Then I 
 told him ' too late' was the divell's favourite 
 whisper in repentant ears. Said I 
 
 The Lord Is debonair, 
 Let sinners nought despair.' 
 
 1 Too late ! ' said he, and gnashed his teeth, 
 and writhed his face, as though vipers were 
 biting his inward parts. But, dear heart, his 
 was a mind like running water. Ere we 
 cleared the town he was carolling; and 
 outside the gate hung the other culprit, from 
 the bough of a little tree, and scarce a yard 
 above the ground. And that stayed my 
 vagabone's music. But ere we had gone 
 another furlong, he feigned to have dropped 
 his rosary, and ran back, with no good 
 intent, as you shall hear. I strolled on very 
 slowly, and often halting, and presently he 
 came stumping up on one leg, and that 
 bandaged. I asked him bow he could con- 
 trive that, for 'twas masterly done. 'Oh, 
 that was his mystery. Would I know that, 
 I must join the brotherhood.' And presently 
 we did pass a narrow lane, and at the 
 mouth on't espied a written stone, telling 
 beggars by a word like a wee pitchfork to 
 go that way. 'Tis yon farmhouse,' said he: 
 'bide thou at hand.' And he went to the 
 house, and came back with money, food, and 
 wine. 'This lad did the business,' said he, 
 slapping his one leg proudly. Then he undid 
 the bandage, and with prideful face showed 
 me a hole in his calf you could have put 
 your neef in. Had I been strange to his 
 tricks, here was a leg had drawn my last 
 penny. Presently another farmhouse by the 
 road. He made for it. I stood, and asked 
 myself, should I run away and leave him, 
 not to be shamed in my own despite by 
 him 1 But while I doubted, there was a 
 great noise, and my master well cudgelled 
 by the farmer and his men, came towards 
 me hobbling and holloaing, for the peasants 
 had laid on heartily. But more trouble 
 was at his heels. Some mischievous wight 
 loosed a dog as big as & jackass colt, and 
 came roaring after him, and downed him 
 momently. I, deeming the poor rogue's death 
 
 certain, and him least fit to die, drew my 
 sword and ran shouting. But ere I could 
 come near, the muckle dog had torn away his 
 bad leg, and ran growling to his lair with 
 it ; and Cul de Jatte slipped his knot, and 
 came running like a lapwing, with his hair 
 on end, and so striking with both crutches 
 before and behind at unreal dogs as 'twas 
 like a windmill crazed. He fled adown the 
 road. I followed leisurely, and found him at 
 dinner. ' Curse the quiens,' said he. And 
 not a word all dinner time but 'Curse 
 the quiens ! ' 
 
 " I said, I must know who they were, before 
 I would curse them. 
 
 '"Quiens? why, that was dogs. And I 
 knew not even that much ? He had made 
 a bad bargain. Well, well,' said he, 'to- 
 morrow we shall be in Germany. There the 
 folk are music bitten, and they molest not 
 beggars, unless they fake to boot, and then 
 they drown us out of hand that moment, 
 curse 'em I ' We came to Strasbourg. And 
 I looked down Rhine with longing heart. 
 The stream how swift! It seemed running 
 to clip Sevenbergen to its soft bosom. With 
 but a piece of timber and an oar I might 
 drift at my ease to thee, sleeping yet gliding 
 still 'Twas a sore temptation. But the fear 
 of an ill welcome from my folk, and of the 
 neighbours' sneers, and the hope of coming 
 back to thee victorious, not, as now I must, 
 defeated and shamed, and thee with me, it 
 did withhold me ; and so, with many sighs, 
 and often turning of the head to look on 
 beloved Rhine, I turned sorrowful face and 
 heavy heart towards Augsburg." 
 
 " Alas, dame, alas I Good master Eli, for- 
 give me ! But I ne'er can wiu over this 
 part all at one time. It taketh my breath 
 away. Well-a-day! Why did he not listen 
 to his heart? Had he not gone through 
 peril enow, sorrow enow ? Well - a - day I 
 well-a-day ! " 
 
 The letter dropped from her hand, and she 
 drooped like a wounded lily. 
 
 Then there was a clatter on the floor, and it 
 was little Kate going on her crutches, with 
 flushed face, and eyes full of pity, to console 
 her. 
 
 "Water, mother," she cried. "I am afeard 
 she shall swoon." 
 
 " Nay, nay, fear me not," said Margaret 
 feebly. "I will not be so troublesome. Thy 
 good-will it maketh me stouter hearted, sweet 
 mistress Kate. For, if thou carest how I fare, 
 sure Heaven is not against me." 
 
 Catherine. " D'ye hear that, my man ? " 
 
 Eli. "Ay, wife, I hear ; and mark to boot." 
 
 Little Kate went back to her place, and 
 Margaret read on. 
 
 "The Germans are fonder of armorials than 
 the French. So I found work every day. 
 And whiles I wrought, my master would 
 leave me, and doff his raiment and don 
 his rags, and other infirmities, and cozen 
 the world, which he did clepe it 'pluck- 
 ing of the goose : ' this done, would meet 
 me and demand half my earnings ; and with 
 restless piercing eye ask me would I be
 
 158 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 so base as cheat my poor master by making 
 three parts in lieu of two, till I threatened to 
 lend him a cuff to boot in requital of his sus- 
 picion ; and thenceforth took his due, with 
 feigned confidence in my good faith, the 
 which his dancing eye belied. Early in 
 Germany we had a quarrel. I had seen him 
 buy a skull of a jailer's wife, and mighty 
 zealous a polishing it. Thought I, 'How can 
 he carry yon memento, and not repent, seeing 
 where ends his way T ' Presently I did catch 
 him selling it to a woman for the head of St 
 Barnabas, with a tale had cozened an Ebrew. 
 So I snatched it out of their hands, and 
 trundled it into the ditch. 'How, thou 
 impious knave,' said I, ' wouldst sell for a saint 
 the skull of some dead thief, thy brother ! ' He 
 slunk away. But shallow she did crawl after 
 the skull, and with apron reverently dust it for 
 Barnabas, and it Barabbas ; and so home with 
 it. Said I, 'Non vult anser velli, sed populus 
 Tult decipL 1 " 
 
 Catherine. " Oh, the goodly Latin I 
 
 Eli. " What meaneth it t" 
 
 Catherine. " Nay, I know not ; but' tis Latin ; 
 10 not that enow! He was the flower of the 
 flock." 
 
 "Then I to him, 'Take now thy psaltery, 
 and part we here, for art a walking prison, a 
 walking helL' But lo ! my master fell on his 
 knees, and begged me for pity's sake not to 
 turn him off. ' What would become of him ? 
 H e did so love honesty.' Thou love honesty I ' 
 said L 'Ay,' said he, 'not to enact it; the 
 saints forbid. But to look on. 'Tis so fair a 
 thing to look on. Alas, good Bon Bee,' said 
 he; 'hadst starved peradventure but for me. 
 Kick not down thy ladder ! Call ye that just ? 
 Nay, calm thy choler! Have pity on me! 
 I must have a pal ; and how could I bear one 
 like myself after one so simple as thou? He 
 might cut my throat for the money that is 
 hid in my belt. 'Tis not much ; 'tis not much. 
 With thee I walk at mine ease ; with a sharp 
 I dare not go before in a narrow way. Alas ! 
 forgive me. Now I know where in thy bonnet 
 lurks the bee, I will ware his sting ; I will but 
 pluck the secular goose.' 'So be it,' said I. 
 ' And example was contagious : he should be 
 a true man by then we reached Nurnberg. 
 Twas a long way to Nurnberg.' Seeing him 
 FO humble, I said, 'Well, doff rags, and make 
 thyself decent ; 'twill help me forget what 
 thoo art.' And he did so ; and we sat down to 
 our nonemete. Presently came by a reverend 
 palmer with hat stuck round with cockle shells 
 from Holy Land, and great rosary of beads 
 like eggs of teal, and sandals for shoes. 
 And he leaned aweary on his long staff, and 
 offered us a shell apiece. My master would 
 none. Bat I, to tet him a better example, 
 took one, and for it gave the poor pilgrim 
 two batzen, and had his blessing. And he 
 waa scarce gone, when we heard savage 
 cries, and came a sorry sight, one leading a 
 wild woman in a chain, all rags and howling 
 like a wolf. And when they came nigh us, 
 she fell to tearing her rags to threads. The 
 man sought an alms of us, and told na 
 
 his hard case. 'Twas his wife stark raving 
 mad ; and he could not work in the fields, 
 and leave her in his house to fire it, nor 
 cure her could he without the Saintys' help, 
 and bad vowed six pounds of wax to St. 
 Anthony to heal her, and so was fain beg of 
 charitable folk for the money. And now she 
 espied us, and flew at me with her long 
 nails, and I was cold with fear, so devilish 
 showed her face and rolling eyes and nails 
 like birdys' talons. But he with the chain 
 checked her sudden, and with his whip did 
 cruelly lash her for it, that I cried, 'For- 
 bear ! forbear ! She knoweth not what she 
 doth;' and gave him a batz. And being 
 gone, said I, 'Master, of those twain I know 
 not which is the more pitiable.' And he 
 laughed in my face. 'Behold thy justice, 
 Bon Bee/ said he. 'Thou railest on thy 
 poor, good, within -an -ace -of -honest master, 
 and bestowest alms on a " vopper." ' ' Vopper,' 
 said I, 'what is a vopper?' 'Why, a trull 
 that feigns madness. That was one of us, 
 that sham maniac, and wow but she did it 
 clumsily. I blushed for her and thee. Also 
 gavest two batzen for a shell from Holy 
 Land, that came no farther than Normandy. 
 I have culled them myself on that coast by 
 scores, and sold them to pilgrims true and 
 pilgrims false, to gull flats like thee withal.' 
 ' What ! ' said I ; ' that reverend man ? ' ' One 
 of us 1 ' cried Cul de Jatte ; ' one of us ! 
 In France we call them " coqnillarts," but 
 here " calmierers." Railest on me for selling 
 a false relic now and then, and wastest thy 
 earnings on such as sell not else. I tell 
 thee, Bon Bee,' said he, 'there is not one 
 true relic on earth's face. The Saints died 
 a thousand years agone, and their bones 
 mixed with the dust; but the trade in relics, 
 it is of yesterday; and there are forty thou- 
 sand tramps in Europe live by it; selling 
 relics of forty or fifty bodies ; oh, thread- 
 bare lie 1 And of the true Cross enow to 
 build Cologne Minster. Why, then, may not 
 poor Cul de Jatte turn his penny with the 
 crowd? Art but a scurvy tyrannical servant 
 to let thy poor master from his share of 
 the swag with your whoreson pilgrims, 
 palmers and friars, black, grey, and crutched ; 
 for all these are of our brotherhood, and of 
 our art, only masters they, and we but poor 
 apprentices, in guild.' For his tongue was 
 an.ell and a half. 
 
 '"A truce to thy irreverend sophistries," said 
 I, 'and say what company is this a coming.' 
 Bohemians,' cried he. 'Ay, ay, this shall 
 be the rest of the band.' "With that came 
 along so motley a crew as never your eyes 
 beheld, dear Margaret. Marched at their 
 head one with a banner on a steel-pointed 
 lance, and girded with a great long sword, 
 and in velvet doublet and leathern jerkin, 
 the which stuffs ne'er saw I wedded afore 
 on mortal flesh, and a gay feather in his 
 lordly cap, and a couple of dead fowls at 
 his back, the which, an' the spark had come 
 by honestly, I am much mistook. Him fol- 
 lowed wives and babes on two lean horses, 
 whose flanks still rattled like parchment drum,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 '59 
 
 being beaten by kettles and caldrons. Next 
 an armed man a-riding of a horse, which drew 
 a cart full of females and children ; and in it, 
 sitting backwards, a lusty lazy knave, lance in 
 hand, with his luxurious feet raised on a holy 
 water-pail, that lay along, and therein a cat, 
 new kittened, sat glowing o'er her brood, and 
 sparks for eyes. And the cart-horse cavalier 
 had on his shoulders a round bundle, and 
 thereon did perch a cock and crowed with 
 zeal, poor ruffler, proud of his brave feathers 
 as the rest, and haply with more reason, being 
 his own. And on an ass another wife and 
 newborn child ; and one poor qnean a-foot 
 scarce dragged herself along, so near her time 
 was she, yet held two little ones by the hand, 
 and helplessly helped them on the road. And 
 the little folk were just a farce; some rode 
 sticks, with horses' heads, between their legs, 
 which pranced and caracoled, and soon wearied 
 the riders so sore, they stood stock still and 
 wept, which cavaliers were presently taken 
 into cart and cuffed. And one, more grave, 
 lost in a man's hat and feather, walked in 
 Egyptian darkness, handed by a girl ; another 
 had the great saucepan on his back, and a 
 tremendous three-footed clay-pot sat on his 
 head and shoulders, swallowing him so as he 
 too went darkling led by his sweetheart three 
 foot high. When they were gone by, and we 
 had both laughed lustily, said I, 'Natheless, 
 master, my bowels they yearn for one of that 
 tawdry band, even for the poor wife so near 
 the down-lying, scarce able to drag herself, 
 yet still, poor eoul, helping the weaker on 
 the way.'" 
 
 Catherine. "Nay, nay," Margaret. Why, 
 wench, pluck np heart. Certes thou art no 
 Bohemian." 
 
 fate. "Nay, mother, 'tis not that, I trow, 
 but her father. And, dear heart, why take 
 notice to put her to the blush ? " 
 
 Siehart, "So I say." 
 
 "And he derided me. 'Why, that Is a 
 " biltreger," ' eaid he, 'and you waste your 
 bowels on a pillow, or so forth.' I told him 
 he lied. 'Time would show,' said he, 'wait 
 till they camp.' And rising after meat and 
 meditation, and travelling forward, we fonnd 
 them camped between two great trees on a 
 common by the wayside ; and they had lighted 
 a great fire, and on it was their caldron ; and 
 one of the trees slanting o'er the fire, a kid 
 hung down by a chain from the tree-fork to 
 the fire, and in the fork was wedged an 
 r.rchin turning still the chain to keep the 
 meat from burning, and a gay spark with a 
 feather in his cap cut up a sheep ; and another 
 had spitted a leg of it on a wooden stake ; and 
 a woman ended chanticleer's pride with wring- 
 lag of his neck. And under the other tree 
 four rufilers played at cards and quarrelled, 
 and no word sans oath ; and of these lewd 
 gamblers one had cockles in his hat and was 
 my reverend pilgrim. And a female, young 
 and comely, and dressed like a butterfly, sat 
 and mended a heap of dirty rags. And Cul 
 de Jatte said, 'Yon is the "vopper,"' and I 
 
 looked incredulous and looked again, and it 
 was so, and at her feet sat he that had so 
 late lashed her; but I ween he had wist 
 where to strike, or woe betide him; and she 
 did now oppress him sore, and made him 
 thread her very needle, the which he did 
 with all humility ; so was their comedy turned 
 seamy side without ; and Cul de Jatte told 
 me 'twas still so with ' voppers ' and their men 
 in camp ; they would don their bravery though 
 but for an hour, and with their tinsel, empire, 
 and the man durst not the least gainsay the 
 'vopper,' or she would turn him off at these 
 times, as I my master, and take another 
 tyrant more submissive. And my master 
 chuckled over me. Natheless we soon espied 
 a wife set with her back against the tree, and 
 her hair down, and her face white, and by 
 her side a wench held up to her eye a new- 
 born babe, with words of cheer, and the rough 
 fellow, her husband, did bring her hot wine 
 in a cup, and bade her take courage. And 
 just o'er the place she sat, they had pinned 
 from bough to bough of those neighbouring 
 trees two shawls, and blankets two, together, 
 to keep the drizzle off her. And so had 
 another poor little rogue come into the 
 world; and by her own particular folk 
 tended gipsywise, but of the roasters, and 
 boilers, and voppers, and gamblers, no more 
 noticed, no, not for a single moment, than 
 sheep which droppeth her lamb in a field, 
 by travellers npon the way. Then said I, 
 'What of thy foul suspicions, master? over- 
 knavery blinds the eye as well as over* 
 simplicity.' And he laughed and said, 
 'Triumph, Bon Bee, triumph. The chances 
 were nine in ten against thee.' Then I did 
 pity her, to be in a crowd at such a time ; 
 but he rebuked me. 'I should pity rather 
 your queens and royal duchesses, which by 
 law are condemned to groan in a crowd of 
 nobles and courtiers, and do writhe with 
 shame as well as sorrow, being come of 
 decent mothers, whereas these gipsy women 
 have no more shame under their skins than 
 a wolf ruth, or a hare valour. And, Bon 
 Bee,' quoth he, 'I espy in thee a lamentable 
 fault. Wastest thy bowels. Wilt have none 
 left for thy poor good master which doeth 
 thy will by night and day. Then we came 
 forward; and he talked with the men in 
 some strange Hebrew cant whereof no word 
 knew I ; and the poor knaves bade us 
 welcome and denied us nought. With them, 
 and all they had, 'twas lightly come and 
 lightly go; and when we left them, my 
 master said to me, 'This is thy first lesson, 
 but to-night we shall lie at Hansburgh. 
 Come with me to the "rotboss" there, and 
 I'll show thee all our folk and their lays, 
 and especially "the lossners," "the dutzers," 
 "the schleppers," "the gickisses," "the 
 schwanf elders," whom in England we call 
 "shivering Jemmies," "the siintvegers," "the 
 schwiegers," "the joners," "the sessel- 
 degers," "the gennscherers," in France 
 "marcandiers or rifodes," "the veranerins," 
 "the stabnlers," with a few foreigners lik 
 ourselves, such as "pietres," " francmitoux,"
 
 160 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "pollssons," ''malingreax," "traters," "rufflers,'| 
 "whipjalks," " dommerars," " glymmerare,' 
 "jarkmen," "patricos," "swadders," "autem 
 morts," "walking morts'" 'Enow,' cried I, 
 stopping him, 'art as gleesome as the Evil 
 One a counting of his imps. I'll jot down 
 In my tablet all these caitiffs and their 
 accursed names : for knowledge is knowledge. 
 But go among them, alive or dead, that 
 will I not with my good will Moreover, 
 said I, 'what need! since I have a com- 
 panion in thee who is all the knaves on 
 earth in one ! ' and thought to abash him ; 
 but his face shone with pride, and hand 
 on breast he did bow low to me. 'If thy 
 wit be scant, good Bon Bee, thy manners are 
 a charm. I have made a good bargain.' So 
 he to the 'rotboss,' and I to a decent 
 inn, and sketched the landlord's daughter 
 by candle-light, and started at morn batzen 
 three the richer, but could not find my master, 
 so loitered slowly on, and presently met him 
 coming west for me, and cursing the quiens. 
 Why so? Because he could blind the culls 
 but not the quiens. At last I prevailed on 
 him to leave cursing and canting, and tell 
 me his adventure. Said he, ' I sat outside the 
 gate of yon monastery, full of sores, which I 
 showed the passers-by. Oh, Bon Bee, beauti- 
 f uller sores you never saw ; and it rained 
 coppers in my hat. Presently the monks came 
 home from some procession, and the convent 
 dops ran out to meet them, curse the quiena I ' 
 'What, did they fall on thee and bite thee, 
 poor soul?' 'Worse, worse, dear Bon Bee. 
 Had they bitten me I had earned silver. But 
 the great idiots, being, as I think, puppies, or 
 little better, fell on me where I sat, downed 
 me, and fell a licking my sores among them. 
 As thou, false knave, didst swear the whelps 
 in heaven licked the sores of Lazybones, a 
 beggar of old.' 'Nay, nay,' said I, 'I said no 
 socb thing. But tell me, since they bit thee 
 not, but sportfully licked thee, what harm? 1 
 ' What harm, noodle ; why, the sores came off.' 
 ' How could that be ! ' ' How could aught else 
 be T and them just fresh put on. Did I think 
 he was so weak as bite holes in his flesh 
 with ratsbane T Nay, he was an artist, a 
 painter like his servant, and had put on sores 
 made of pig's blood, rye meal, and glue. So 
 when the folk saw my sores go on tongues of 
 puppies, they laughed, and I saw cord or sack 
 before me. So np I jumped, and shouted, " A 
 miracle! a miracle I The very dogs of this 
 holy convent be holy, and have cured me. 
 Good fathers," cried I, "whose day is this?" 
 44 8t Isidore's." said one. "St. Isidore," cried 
 I, in a sort of rapture. ' Why, St. Isidore is 
 my patron saint: so that accounts." And the 
 simple folk swallowed my miracle as those 
 accursed quiens my wounds. But the 
 monks took me Inside and shut the gate, and 
 put their beads together ; but I have a quick 
 ear, and one did say, " Caret miracnlo monas- 
 terium," which is Greek patter I trow, least- 
 ways it is no beggar's cant Finally they bade 
 the lay brethren give me a hiding, and take 
 me out a back way and put me on the road, 
 and threatened me did I come back to the 
 
 town to hand me to the magistrate and have 
 me drowned for a plain impostor. " Profit now 
 by the Church's grace," said they, " and mend 
 thy ways." So forward, Bon Bee, for my life 
 Is not sure nigh hand this town.' As we went 
 he worked his shoulders, 'Wow but the brethren 
 laid on. And what means yon piece of monk's 
 cant, I wonder?' So I told him the words 
 meant ' the monastery is in want of a miracle,' 
 but the application thereof was dark to me. 
 ' Dark,' cried he, ' dark as noon. Why, it means 
 they are going to work the miracle, my miracle, 
 and gather all the grain I sowed. Therefore 
 these blows on their benefactor's shoulders; 
 therefore is he that wrought their scurvy 
 miracle driven forth with stripes and threats. 
 Oh, cozening knaves I ' Said I, ' Becomes you 
 to complain of guile.' 'Alas, Bon Bee,' said 
 he, ' I but outwit the simple, but these monks 
 would pluck Lucifer of his wing feathers.' And 
 went a league bemoaning himself that he was 
 not convent-bred like his servant 'He would 
 put it to more profit ; ' and railing on quiens. 
 And as for those monks, there was one Above.' 
 Certes,' said I, 'there is one Above. What 
 then?' 'Who will call those shavelings to 
 compt, one day,' quoth he. 'And all deceit- 
 ful men,' said I. At one that afternoon I got 
 armories to paint : so my master took the 
 yellow jaundice and went begging through 
 the town, and with his oily tongue, and 
 saffron-water face, did fill his hat. Now in 
 all the towns are certain licensed beggars, 
 and one of these was an old favourite with 
 the townsfolk : had his station at St. Martin's 
 porch, the greatest church : a blind man : 
 they called him blind Hans. He saw my 
 master drawing coppers on the other side 
 the street, and knew him by his tricks for an 
 impostor, so sent and warned the constables, 
 and I met my master in the constables' hands, 
 and going to his trial in the town hall. I 
 followed and many more ; and he was none 
 abashed, neither by the pomp of justice, nor 
 memory of his misdeeds, but demanded his 
 accuser like a trumpet. And blind Hans's 
 boy came forward, but was sifted narrowly 
 by my master, and stammered and faltered, 
 and owned he had seen nothing, but only 
 carried blind Hans's tale to the chief con- 
 stable. ' This Is but hearsay,' said my master. 
 Lo ye now, here standeth Misfortune back- 
 bit by Envy. But stand thou forth, blind 
 Envy, and vent thine own lie.' And blind 
 Hans behoved to stand forth, sore against 
 his will. Him did my master so press with 
 questions, and so pinch and torture, asking 
 him again and again, how, being blind, he 
 could see all that befell, and some that befell 
 not, across a way ; and why, an' he could not 
 see, he came there holding up his perjured 
 hand, and maligning the misfortnnate, that 
 at last he groaned aloud and would utter 
 no word more. And an alderman said, 'In 
 sooth, Hans, ye are to blame ; hast cast more 
 dirt of suspicion on thyself than on him.' But 
 the burgomaster, a wondrous fat man, and 
 methinks of his fat some had gotten into his 
 head, checked him, and said, ' Nay, Hans we 
 know this many yeara, and be he blind or
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 161 
 
 not, he hath passed for blind so long, 'tis all 
 one. Back to thy porch, good Hans, and let 
 the strange varlet leave the town inconti- 
 nent on pain of whipping.' Then my master 
 winked to me ; but there rose a civic officer 
 in his gown of state and golden chain, a 
 Dignity with us lightly prized, and even 
 shunned of some, but in Germany and France 
 much courted, save by condemned malefactors, 
 to wit the hangman ; and says he, ' An't please 
 you, first let us see why he weareth his hair 
 so thick and low.' And his man went and 
 lifted Cul de Jatte's hair, and lo, the tipper 
 gristle of both ears was gone. 'How is this, 
 knave 2' quoth the burgomaster. My master 
 said carelessly, he minded not precisely: his 
 had been a life of misfortunes and losses. 
 ' When a poor soul has lost the use of his leg, 
 noble sirs, these more trivial woes rest lightly 
 hi his memory." 
 
 "When he found this would not serve his 
 turn, he named two famous battles, in each 
 of which he had lost half an ear, a fighting 
 like a true man against traitors and rebels. 
 But the hangman showed them the two 
 cuts were made at one time, and by mea- 
 surement. "Tis no bungling soldier's work, 
 my masters,' said he, "'tis ourn." Then the 
 burgomaster gave judgment : ' The present 
 charge is not proven against thee; but, an" 
 thou beest not guilty now, thou hast been at 
 other times, witness thine ears. Wherefore 
 I send thee to prison for one month, and 
 to give a florin towards the new hall of the 
 guilds now a building, and to be whipt out 
 of the town, and pay the hangman's fee for 
 the same.' 
 
 "And all the aldermen approved, and my 
 master was haled to prison with one look of 
 anguish. It did strike my bosom. I tried to 
 get speech of him, but the jailer denied me. 
 But lingering near the jail I heard a whistle, 
 and there was Cul de Jatte at a narrow 
 window twenty feet from earth. I went 
 under, and he asked me what made I there? 
 I told him I was loath to go forward and 
 not bid him farewell He seemed quite 
 amazed; but soon his suspicious soul got 
 the better. That was not all mine errand. 
 I told him not all; the psaltery: 'Well, 
 what of that ? ' 'Twas not mine, but his ; I 
 would pay him the price of it. 'Then throw 
 me a rix dollar,' said he. I counted out my 
 coins, and they came to a rix dollar and two 
 batzen. I threw him up his money in three 
 throws, and when he had got it all he said, 
 softly, ' Bon Bee.' ' Master,' said I. Then the 
 poor rogue was greatly moved. 'I thought 
 ye had been mocking me,' said he; 'oh, Bon 
 Bee, Bon Bee, if I had found the world like 
 thee at starting I had put my wit to better 
 use, and I had not lain here.' Then he whim- 
 pered out, 'I gave not quite a rix dollar for 
 the jingler;' and threw me back that he had 
 gone to cheat me of ; honest for once, and 
 over late; and so, with many sighs, bade me 
 Godspeed. 
 
 "Thus did my master, after often baffling 
 men's justice, fall by their injustice; for 
 hia lost ears proved not his guilt only, but 
 
 of that guilt the bitter punishment : so the 
 account was even ; yet they for his chas- 
 tisement did chastise him. Natheless he 
 was a parlous rogue. Yet he holp to make 
 a man of me. Thanks to his good wit I 
 went forward richer far with my psaltery 
 and brush, than with yon as good as 
 stolen purse ; for that must have run dry 
 in time, like a big trough, but these a little 
 fountain." 
 
 Richart. " How pregnant his reflections be ; 
 and but a curly pated lad when last I saw 
 him. Asking your pardon, mistress. Prithee 
 read on." 
 
 " One day I walked alone, and sooth to say, 
 lighthearted, for mine honest Denys sweetened 
 the air on the way ; but poor Cul de Jatte 
 poisoned it. The next day, passing a grand 
 house, out came on prancing steeds a gentle- 
 man in brave attire and two servants ; they 
 overtook me. The gentleman bade me halt. I 
 laughed in my sleeve ; for a few batzen were 
 all my store. He bade me doff my doublet and 
 jerkin. Then I chuckled no more. 'Bethink 
 you, my lord,' said I, ' 'tis winter. How may a 
 poor fellow go bare and live ? ' So he told me 
 I shot mine arrow wide of his thought, and off 
 with his own gay jerkin, richly furred, and 
 doublet to match, and held them forth to me. 
 Then a servant let me know it was a penance. 
 ' His lordship had had the ill luck to slay his 
 cousin in their cups.' Down to my shoes he 
 changed with me ; and set me on his horse like 
 a popinjay, and fared by my side in my worn 
 weeds, with my psaltery on his back. And 
 said he, 'Now, good youth, thou art Count 
 Detstein ; and I, late count, thy Servant Play 
 thy part well, and help me save my blood- 
 stained soul 1 Be haughty and choleric, as any 
 noble ; and I will be as humble as I may.' I 
 said I would do my best to play the noble. 
 But what should I call him ? He bade me call 
 him nought but Servant. That would mortify 
 him most, he wist. We rode on a long way 
 in silence; for I was meditating this strange 
 chance, that from a beggar's servant had made 
 me master to a count, and also cudgelling my 
 brains how best I might play the master, with- 
 out being run through the body all at one time 
 like his cousin. For I mistrusted sore my 
 spark's humility ; your German nobles being, 
 to my knowledge, proud as Lucifer, and 
 choleric as fire. As for the servants, they did 
 slily grin to one another to see their master so 
 humbled " 
 
 "Ah! what is that!" 
 
 A lump, as of lead, had just bounced against 
 the door, and the latch was fumbled with un- 
 successfully. Another bounce, and the door 
 swung inwards with Giles arrayed in cloth of 
 gold sticking to it like a wasp. He landed 
 on the floor, and was embraced ; but on 
 learning what was going on, trumpeted that 
 he would much liever hear of Gerard than 
 
 Sybrandt pointed to a diminutive chair. 
 
 Giles showed his sense of this civility by 
 tearing the said Sybrandt out of a very big 
 one, and there ensconced himself gorgeous 
 and glowing, Svbrandt had to wedge himself
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Into the one, which was too email for the 
 magnificent dwarfs soul, and Margaret re- 
 turned. 
 
 Bat a* this part of the letter was 
 occupied with notices of places, all which 
 my reader probably knows, and if not, can 
 find handled at large in a dozen well-known 
 books, from Monster to Murray, I skip the 
 topography, and hasten to that part where it 
 occurred to him to throw his letter into a 
 journal The personal narrative that inter- 
 vened may be thus condensed. 
 
 He spoke but little at first to his new 
 companions, but listened to pick up their 
 characters. Neither his noble Servant nor hit 
 servants could read or write; and aa he 
 often made entries in his tablets, he im- 
 pressed them with some awe. One of his 
 entries was, "Le peu que sont les homines." 
 For he found the surly innkeepers licked the 
 very ground before him now; nor did a soul 
 suspect the hosier's son in the count's 
 feathers, nor the count in the minstrel's 
 weeds. 
 
 This seems to have surprised him; for 
 he enlarged on it with the naivete" and 
 pomposity of youth. At one place, being 
 humbly requested to present the inn with his 
 armorial bearings, he consented loftily; but 
 painted them himself, to mine host's wonder, 
 who thought he lowered himself by handling 
 brush. The true count stood grinning by, 
 and held the paint-pot, while the sham count 
 painted a shield with three red herrings 
 rampant under a sort of Maltese cross made 
 with two ell-measures. At first hia plebeian 
 servants were insolent But this coming to 
 the notice of his noble one, he forgot what 
 be was doing penance for, and drew his 
 sword to cut off their ears, heads included. 
 But Gerard interposed and saved them, and 
 rebuked the count severely. And finally they 
 all understood one another, and the superior 
 mind obtained its natural influence. He 
 played the barbarous noble of that day 
 vilely. For his heart would not let him be 
 either tyrannical or cold. Here were three 
 human beings. He tried to make them all 
 happier than he was; held them ravkhed 
 with stories and songs, and set Herr Peni- 
 tent and Co. dancing with his whistle and 
 psaltery. For his own convenience he made 
 them ride and tie, and thus pushed rapidly 
 , travelling generally fifteen 
 
 DLABY. 
 
 " This first of January I observed a young 
 man of the country to meet a strange 
 maiden, and kissed his hand, and then held 
 it out to her. She took It with a smile, and 
 lo ! acquaintance made ; and babbled like old 
 friends. Greeting so pretty and delicate I 
 ne'er did see. Yet were they both of the 
 baser sort. 80 the next lass I saw a coming 
 I said to my servant lord, 'For futher pen- 
 ance bow thy pride; go meet yon base-born 
 ffirl; Use thy homicidal hand, and give it 
 
 her, and hold her in discourse as best ye 
 may.' And my noble Servant said humbly, 
 'I shall obey my lord. And we drew rein 
 and watched while he went forward, kissed 
 his hand and held it out to her. Forthwith 
 she took it smiling, and was most affable 
 with him, and he with her. Presently came 
 up a band of her companions. So this time 
 I bade him doff his bonnet to them, aa 
 though they were empresses ; and he did so. 
 And lol the lasses drew up as stiff as hedge- 
 stakes, and moved not nor spake." 
 
 Denyt. "Aiel aie! aiet Pardon, the com- 
 pany." 
 
 "This surprised me none; for so they did 
 discountenance poor Denys. And that whole 
 day I wore in experimenting these German 
 lasses ; and 'twas still the same. An' ye doff 
 bonnet to them they stiffen into statues; 
 distance for distance. But accost them with 
 honest freedom, and with that customary, 
 and though rustical, most gracious proffer, of 
 the kissed hand, and they withhold neither 
 their hands in turn nor their acquaintance 
 in an honest way. Seeing which I vexed 
 myself that Denys was not with us to prattle 
 with them; he is so fond of women." ("Are 
 you fond of women, Denys ? ") And the reader 
 opened two great violet eyes upon him with 
 gentle surprise. 
 
 Denyt. "Ahem! he says so, she-comrade. 
 By Hannibal's helmet, 'tis their fault, not mine. 
 They vritt have such soft voices, and white 
 skins, and sunny hair, and dark blue eyes, 
 and " 
 
 Margaret. (Reading suddenly.) "Which 
 their affability I put to profit thus. I asked 
 them how they made shift to grow roses in 
 yule ! For know, dear Margaret, that through- 
 out Germany the baser sort of lasses wear 
 for head-dress nought but a 'crantz,' or 
 wreath of roses, encircling their bare hair, aa 
 laurel Caesar's; and though of the worshipful 
 scorned, yet is braver, I wist, to your eye and 
 mine which painters be, though sorry ones, 
 than the gorgeous, uncouth, mechanical head- 
 gear of the time, and adorns, not hides her 
 hair, that goodly ornament fitted to her head 
 by craft divine. So the good lasses, being 
 questioned close, did let me know, the rose- 
 buds are cut in summer and laid then in great 
 clay-pots, thus ordered : first bay salt, then 
 a row of buds, and over that row bay salt 
 sprinkled; then another row of buds placed 
 crosswise ; for they say it is death to the buds 
 to touch one another; and so on, buds and 
 salt in layers. Then each pot is covered and 
 soldered tight, and kept in cool cellar. And 
 on Saturday night the master of the house, 
 or mistress, if master be none, opens a pot, 
 and doles the rosebuds out to every female 
 in the house, high or low, withouten grudge j 
 then solders it up again. And such as of 
 these buds would full-blown roses make, put 
 them in warm water a little space, or else in 
 the stove, and then with tiny brush and soft, 
 wetted in Rhenish wine, do coax them till 
 they ope their folds. And some perfume 
 them with rose-water. For, alack, their smell 
 it is fled witb the summer; and only their
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 163 
 
 fair boayes lie withouten soul, in tomb of 
 clay, awaiting resurrection. 
 
 "And some with the roses and buds mix 
 nutmegs gilded, but not by my good will ; for 
 gold, brave in itself, cheek by jowl with roses, 
 is but yellow earth. And it does the eye's 
 heart good to see these fair heads of hair 
 come, blooming with roses, over snowy roads, 
 and by snow-capt hedges, setting winter's 
 beauty by the side of summer's glory. For 
 what so fair as winter's lilies, snow yclept, 
 and what so brave as roses I And shouldst 
 have had a picture here, but for their super- 
 stition. Leaned a lass in Sunday garb, cross 
 ankled, against her cottage corner, whose 
 low roof was snow-clad, and with her crantz 
 did seem a summer flower sprouting from 
 winter's bosom. I drew rein, and out pencil 
 and brush to limn her for thee. But 
 the simpleton, fearing the evil eye, or 
 glamour, claps both hands to her face and 
 lies panic-stricken. But indeed, they are 
 not more superstitious than the Seven- 
 bergen folk, which take thy father for a 
 magician. 
 
 "Yet softly, sith at this moment I profit 
 by this darkness of their minds ; for, at 
 first, sitting down to write this diary, I 
 could frame nor thought nor word, so 
 harried and deaved was I with noise of 
 mechanical persons, and hoarse laughter 
 at dull jests of one of these parti-coloured 
 fools,' which are so rife in Germany. 
 But oh, sorry wit, that is driven to the 
 poor resource of pointed ear-caps, and a 
 green and yellow body. True wit, methinks, 
 is of the mind. We met in Burgundy an 
 honest wench, though over free for my 
 palate, a chambermaid, had made havoc 
 of all these zanies, droll by brute force. 
 Oh, Digressorl Well then, I to be rid 
 of roaring rusticalls, and mindless jests, put 
 my finger in a glass and drew on the table 
 a great watery circle ; whereat the rusti- 
 calls did look askant, like venison at a cat; 
 and in that circle a smaller circle. The 
 rusticalls held their peace ; and besides 
 these circles cabalistical, I laid down on 
 the table solemnly yon parchment deed I 
 had out of your house. The rusticalls 
 held their breath. Then did I look as 
 glum as might be, and muttered slowly 
 thus 'Videamus quam diu tu fictus morio 
 vosque veri stnlti audebitis in hac aulS 
 morari, strepitantes ita et olentes ut dnlcis- 
 siinse nequeam miser scribere.' They shook 
 like aspens, and stole away on tiptoe one 
 by one at first, then In a rush and jost- 
 ling, and left me alone; and most scared 
 of all was the fool : never earned jester 
 fairer his ass's ears. So rubbed I their 
 foible, who first rubbed mine ; for of all 
 a traveller's foes I dread those giants twain, 
 Sir Noise, and eke Sir Stench. The saints 
 and martyrs forgive my peevishness. Thus 
 I write to thee in balmy peace, and tell 
 thee trivial things scarce worthy ink, also 
 how I love thee, which there was no need 
 to tell, for well thou knowest it. And 
 oh, dear Margaret, looking on their roses, 
 
 which grew in summer, but blow in winter, 
 I see the picture of our true affection ; born 
 it was in smiles and bliss, but soon adversity 
 beset us sore with many a bitter blast. Yet 
 our love hath lost no leaf, thank God, but 
 blossoms full and fair as ever, proof against 
 frowns, and jibes, and prison, and banish- 
 ment, as those sweet German flowers a 
 blooming in winter's snow. 
 
 "/anuary 2. My servant, the count, find- 
 ing me curious, took me to the stables 
 of the prince that rules this part. In the 
 first court was a horse-bath, adorned with 
 twenty-two pillars, graven with the prince's 
 arms; and also the horse-leech's shop, so 
 furnished as a rich apothecary might envy. 
 The stable is a fair quadrangle, whereof 
 three sides filled with horses of all nations. 
 Before each horse's nose was a glazed 
 window, with a green curtain to be drawn 
 at pleasure, and at his tail a thick wooden 
 pillar with a brazen shield, whence by 
 turning of a pipe he is watered, and serves 
 too for a cupboard to keep his comb and 
 rubbing clothes. Each rack was iron, and 
 each manger shining copper, and each nag 
 covered with a scarlet mantle, and above 
 him his bridle and saddle hung, ready to 
 gallop forth in a minute ; and not less than 
 two hundred horses, whereof twelve score 
 of foreign breed. And we returned to our 
 inn full of admiration, and the two varlets 
 said sorrowfully, 'Why were we born with 
 two legs?' And one of the grooms that 
 was civil and had of me trinkgeld, stood 
 now at his cottage-door and asked us in. 
 There we found his wife and children of 
 all. ages, from five to eighteen, and had 
 but one room to bide and sleep in, a thing 
 pestiferous and most uncivil. Then I asked 
 my Servant, knew he this prince? Ay, 
 did he, and had often drunk with him in 
 a marble chamber above the stable, where, 
 for table, was a curious and artificial rock, 
 and the drinking vessels hang on its 
 pinnacles, and at the hottest of the 
 engagement a statue of a horseman in 
 bronze came forth bearing a bowl of liquor, 
 and he that sat nearest behoved to drain 
 it. "Tis well,' said I : 'now for thy penance, 
 whisper thou in yon prince's ear, that God 
 hath given him his people freely, and not 
 sought a price for them as for horses. And 
 pray him look inside the huts at his horse- 
 palace door, and bethink himself is it well 
 to house his horses, and stable his folk.' 
 Said he, "Twill give sore offence.' 'But,' 
 said I, 'ye must do it discreetly and choose 
 your time.' So he promised. And riding 
 on we heard plaintive cries. 'Alas,' said I, 
 'some sore mischance hath befallen some 
 poor soul : what may it be ? ' And we rode 
 up, and lo ! it was a wedding feast, and 
 the guests were plying the business of 
 drinking sad and silent, but ever and anon 
 cried loud and dolefully, ' Seyte frolich I 
 Be merry.' 
 
 "January 3. Yesterday between Number^
 
 i6 4 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and Augsburg we parted company. I gave 
 my lord, late Servant, back his brave clothes 
 for mine, but his horse he made me keep, 
 and five gold pieces, and said he was still 
 my debtor, bis penance it had been slight 
 along of me, but profitable. But his best 
 word was this: 'I see 'tis more noble to be 
 loved than feared.' 
 
 " And then he did so praise me as I blushed 
 to put on paper ; yet, poor fool, would fain tbou 
 couldst hear his words, but from some other 
 pen than mine. And the servants did heartily 
 grasp my hand, and wish me good luck. 
 And riding apace, yet could I not reach 
 Augsburg till the gates were closed ; but it 
 mattered little, for this Augsburg it is an 
 enchanted city. For a small coin one took 
 me a long way round to a famous postern 
 called der Einlasse. Here stood two guar- 
 dians, like statues. To them I gave my 
 name and business. They nodded me leave 
 to knock; I knocked; and the iron gate 
 opened with a great noise and hollow rattling 
 or a chain, but no hand seen nor chain ; and 
 he who drew the hidden chain sits a butt's 
 length from the gate ; and I rode in, and the 
 gate closed with a clang after me. 
 
 " I found myself in a great building with a 
 bridge at my feet. This I rode over and 
 presently came to a porter's lodge, where one 
 asked me again my name and business, then 
 rang a bell, and a great portcullis that barred 
 the way began to rise, drawn by a wheel 
 overhead, and no hand seen. Behind the 
 portcullis was a thick oaken door studded 
 with steel It opened without hand, and I 
 rode into a hall as dark as pitch. 
 
 "Trembling there a while, a door opened 
 and showed me a smaller hall lighted. I 
 rode into it: a tin goblet came down from 
 the ceiling by a little chain: I put two 
 batten into it, and it went up again. Being 
 gone, another thick door creaked and opened, 
 and I rid through. It closed on me with a 
 tremendous clang, and behold me in Augsburg 
 
 "I lay at an inn called 'The Three Moors," 
 over an hundred years old; and this morn- 
 Ing, according to my way of viewing towns 
 to learn their compass and shape, I mounted 
 the highest tower I could find, and setting 
 my dial at my foot surveyed the beautiful 
 city: whole streets of palaces and churches 
 tiled with copper burnished like gold; and 
 the house fronts gaily painted and all glazed, 
 and the glass so clean and burnished as 'tis 
 most resplendent and rare; and I, now first 
 eeing a great city, did crow with delight, 
 and like cock on his ladder, and at the tower 
 foot was taken into custody for a spy ; for 
 whilst I watched the city the watchman had 
 watched me. 
 
 "The burgomaster received me courteously 
 and heard my itory; then rebuked he the 
 officers. 'Could ye not question him your- 
 selves, or read in his face T This is to make 
 our city stink in strangers' report.' Then he 
 told me my curiosity was of a commendable 
 sort; and seeing I was a craftsman and 
 inquisitive, bade his clerk take me among 
 
 the guilds. God bless the city where the very 
 burgomaster is cut of Solomon's cloth 1 
 
 "January 5. Dear Margaret, it is a noble 
 city, and a kind mother to arts. Here they 
 cut in wood and ivory, that 'tis like spider's 
 work, and paint on glass, and sing angelical 
 harmonies. Writing of books is quite gone 
 by; here be six printers. Yet was I offered 
 a bountiful wage to write fairly a merchant's 
 accounts, one Fugger, a grand and wealthy 
 trader, and hath store of ships, yet his father 
 was but a poor weaver. But here in com- 
 merce, her very garden, men swell like 
 mushrooms. And he bought my horse of 
 me, and abated me not a jot, which way 
 of dealing is not known in Holland. But 
 oh, Margaret, the workmen of all the guilds 
 are so kind and brotherly to one another, 
 and to me. 
 
 "Here, methinks, I have found the true 
 German mind, loyal, frank, and kindly, 
 somewhat choleric withal, but nought re- 
 vengeful. Each mechanic wears a sword. 
 The very weavers at the loom sit girded 
 with their weapons, and all Germans on too 
 slight occasion draw them and fight ; but no 
 treachery : challenge first, then draw, and 
 with the edge only, mostly the face, not with 
 Sir Point ; for if in these combats one thrust 
 at his adversary and hurt him, 'tis called ein 
 schelemstucke, a heinous act, both men and 
 women turn their backs on him ; and even 
 the judges punish thrusts bitterly, but pass 
 over cuts. Hence in Germany be good store 
 of scarred faces, three in five at least, and in 
 France scarce more than one in three. 
 
 "But in arts mechanical no citizens may 
 compare with these. Fountains in every 
 street that play to heaven, and in the gardens 
 seeming trees, which being approached, one 
 standing afar touches a spring, and every 
 twig shoots water, and souses the guests to 
 their host's much delectation. Big culverins 
 of war they cast with no more ado than our 
 folk horse-shoes, and have done this four- 
 score years. All stuffs they weave, and linen 
 fine as ours at home, or nearly, which else- 
 where in Europe vainly shall ye seek. 
 
 " Sir Printing Press sore foe to poor Gerard, 
 but to other humans beneficial plieth by 
 night and day, and casteth goodly words 
 like sower afield ; while I, poor fool, can but 
 sow them as I saw women in France sow rye, 
 dribbling it in the furrow grain by grain. 
 And of their strange mechanical skill take 
 two examples. 
 
 " For ending of exemplary rogues they have 
 a figure like a woman, seven feet high, and 
 called Jung Frau ; but lo, a spring is touched, 
 she seizeth the poor wretch with iron arms, 
 and opening herself, hales him inside her, 
 and there pierces him through and through 
 ~ith two score lances. 
 
 "Secondly, in all great houses the spit is 
 turned not by a scrubby boy, but by smoke. 
 Ay, mayst well admire, and judge me a 
 lying knave. These cunning Germans do set 
 in the chimney a little windmill, and the 
 smoke struggling to wend past, turns it, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 165 
 
 from the mill a wire runs through the wall 
 and turns the spit on wheels ; beholding 
 which I doffed my bonnet to the men of 
 Augsburg, for who but these had ere de- 
 vised to bind ye so dark and subtle a knave 
 as Sir Smoke, and set him to roast Dame 
 Pullet f 
 
 "This day, January 8, with three crafts- 
 men of the town, I painted pack of cards. 
 They were for a senator, in a hurry. I the 
 diamonds. My queen came forth with eyes 
 like spring violets, hair a golden brown, and 
 witching smile. My fellow-craftsmen saw her, 
 and put their arms round my neck and hailed 
 me master. Oh, noble Germans I No jealousy 
 of a brother- workman : no sour looks at a 
 stranger ; and would have me spend Sunday 
 with them after matins; and the merchant 
 paid me so richly as I was ashamed to take 
 the guerdon ; and I to my inn, and tried to 
 paint the queen of diamonds for poor Gerard ; 
 but no, she would not come like again. Luck 
 will not be bespoke. Oh, happy rich man 
 that hath got her ! Fie I fie 1 Happy Gerard 
 that shall have herself one day, and keep 
 house with her at Augsburg. 
 
 "January 8. With my fellows, and one Veit 
 Btoss, a wood-carver, and one Hafnagel, of 
 the goldsmiths' guild, and their wives and 
 lasses, to Hafnagel's cousin, a senator of this 
 free city, and his stupendous wine-vessel. It 
 is ribbed like a ship, and hath been eighteen 
 months in hand, and finished but now, and 
 holds a hundred and fifty hogsheads, and 
 standeth not, but lieth ; yet even so ye get 
 not on his back, withouten ladders two, of 
 thirty steps. And we sat about the miraculous 
 mass, and drank Rhenish from it, drawn by a 
 little artificial pump, and the lasses pinned 
 their crantzes to it, and we danced round 
 it, and the senator danced on its back, but 
 with drinking of so many garausses, lost his 
 footing and fell off, glass in hand, and broke 
 an arm and a leg in the midst of us. So 
 scnrvily ended our drinking bout for this 
 time. 
 
 "January 10. This day started for Venice 
 with a company of merchants, and among 
 them him who had desired me for his scri- 
 vener; and so we are now agreed, I to write 
 at night the letters he shall diet, and other 
 matters, he to feed and lodge me on the road. 
 We be many and armed, and soldiers with 
 as to boot, so fear not the thieves which men 
 say lie on the borders of Italy. But an' if I 
 find the printing press at Venice I trow I shall 
 not go unto Rome, for man may not vie with 
 iron. 
 
 "Imprimit una dies quantum non scribitur 
 anno. And, dearest, something tells me you 
 and I shall end our days at Augsburg, 
 whence going, I shall leave it all I can my 
 blessing. 
 
 " January 12. My master affecteth me much, 
 and now maketh me sit with him in his horse- 
 litter. A grave good man, of all respected, 
 but sad for loss of a dear daughter, and loveth 
 
 my psaltery : not giddy-paced ditties, but holy 
 harmonies such as Cul de Jatte made wry 
 mouths at. So many men, so many minds. 
 But cooped in horse-litter and at night writing 
 his letters, my journal halteth. 
 
 "January 14. When not attending on my 
 good merchant, I consort with such of our 
 company as are Italians, for 'tis to Italy I 
 wend, and I am ill seen in Italian tongue. A 
 courteous and a subtle people, at meat delicate 
 feeders and cleanly : love not to put their left 
 hand in the dish. They say Venice is the 
 garden of Lombardy, Lombardy the garden of 
 Italy, Italy of the world. 
 
 "January 16. Strong ways and steep, and 
 the mountain girls so girded up, as from their 
 armpits to their waist is but a handful. Of all 
 the garbs I yet have seen, the most unlovely. 
 
 " January 18. In the midst of life we are in 
 death. Oh I dear Margaret, I thought I had 
 lost thee. Here I lie in pain and dole, and 
 shall write thee that, which read you it in a 
 romance ye should cry, ' Most improbable ! ' 
 And so still wondering that I am alive to write 
 it, and thanking for it God and the saints, this 
 is what befell thy Gerard. 
 
 " Yestreen I wearied of being shut up in 
 litter, and of the mule's slow pace, and so went 
 forward ; and being, I know not why, strangely 
 full of spirit and hope, as I have heard befall 
 some men when on trouble's brink, seemed to 
 tread on air, and soon distanced them all. 
 Presently I came to two roads, and took the 
 larger ; I should have taken the smaller. 
 After travelling a good half -hour, I found my 
 error, and returned ; and deeming my company 
 had long passed by, pushed bravely on, but I 
 could not overtake them ; and small wonder, 
 as you shall hear. Then I was anxious, and 
 ran, but bare was the road of those I sought ; 
 and night came down, and the wild beasts 
 afoot, and I bemoaned my folly; also I was 
 hungered. The moon rose clear and bright 
 exceedingly, and presently a little way off the 
 road I saw a tall windmill. 'Come,' said I, 
 ' mayhap the miller will take ruth on me.' 
 
 " Near the mill was a haystack, and scattered 
 about were store of little barrels ; but lo ! they 
 were not flour-barrels, but tar-barrels, one or 
 two, and the rest of spirits, Brant vein and 
 Schiedam ; I knew them momently, having 
 seen the like in Holland. 
 
 'I knocked at the mill door, but none 
 answered. I lifted the latch, and the door 
 opened inwards. I went in, and gladly, for 
 the night was fine but cold, and a rime on the 
 trees, which were a kind of lofty sycamores. 
 There was a stove, but black ; I lighted it with 
 some of the hay and wood, for there was a 
 great pile of wood outside, and I know not 
 how, I went to sleep. Not long had I slept, 
 I trow, when hearing a noise, I awoke; and 
 there were a dozen men around me, with wild 
 faces, and long black hair, and black sparkling 
 eyes." 
 
 Catherine. "Oh, my poor boy! those black' 
 haired ones do still scare me to look on."
 
 166 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "I made my excuses in each Italian as I 
 knew, and eking out by signs. They grinned. 
 1 1 bad lost my company.' They grinned. ' 
 was an hungered. 1 Still they grinned, and 
 spoke to one another in a tongue I knew not. 
 At last one gave me a piece of bread and a tin 
 mug of wine, as I thought, but it was spirits 
 neat I made a wry face and asked for water : 
 then these wild men laughed a horrible laugh. 
 I thought to fly, but looking towards the door, 
 it was bolted with two enormous bolts of iron, 
 and now first, as I ate my bread, I saw it was 
 all guarded too, and ribbed with iron. My 
 blood curdled within me, and yet I could not 
 tell thee why ; but hadst thou seen the faces, 
 wild, stupid, and ruthless. 
 
 11 1 mumbled my bread, not to let them see I 
 feared them ; but oh, it cost me to swallow it 
 and keep it in me. Then it whirled in my 
 brain, was there no way to escape! Said I, 
 'They will not let me forth by the door; 
 these be smugglers or robbers.' So I feigned 
 drowsiness, and taking out two batzen said, 
 
 Good men, for our Lady's grace let me lie on 
 
 bed and sleep, for I am faint with travel.' 
 They nodded and grinned their horrible grin, 
 and bade one light a lanthorn and lead me. 
 
 "He took me np a winding staircase, up, 
 up, and I saw no windows, but the wooden 
 walls were pierced like a barbican tower, and 
 methinks for the same purpose, and through 
 these slits I got glimpses of the sky, and 
 thought, ' Shall I e'er see thee again T ' He 
 took me to the very top of the mill, and there 
 was a room with a heap of straw in one corner 
 and many empty barrels, and by the wall a 
 truckle bed. He pointed to it, and went down- 
 stairs heavily, taking the light, for in this room 
 was a great window, and the moon came in 
 bright 
 
 "I looked out to see, and lo, it was so 
 high that even the mill sails at their highest 
 came not up to my window by some feet, but 
 turned very slow and stately underneath, for 
 wind there was scarce a breath ; and the trees 
 seemed silver filagree made by angel craftsmen. 
 My hope of flight was gone. 
 
 "But now, those wild faces being out of 
 light, I smiled at my fears : what an* if 
 they were ill men, would it profit them to 
 hurt met Natheless, for caution against 
 surprise, I would put the bed against the 
 door. I went to move it, but could not. It 
 was free at the head, but at the foot fast 
 clamped with iron to the floor. So I flung 
 my psaltery on the bed, but for myself made 
 
 layer of straw at the door, so as none 
 could open on me unawares. And I laid my 
 word ready to my hand. And said my 
 prayers for thee and me, and turned to 
 sleep. 
 
 "Below they drank and made merry. And 
 hearing this gave me confidence. Said I, 
 'Out of sight, out of mind. Another hour 
 and the good Schiedam will make them 
 forget that I am here.' And so I composed 
 myself to sleep. And for some time could 
 not for the boisterous mirth below. At last 
 I dropped off. How long I slept I knew not ; 
 tat I woke with a start : the noise had ceased 
 
 below, and the sudden silence woke me. And 
 scarce was I awake, when sudden the truckle 
 bed was gone with a loud clang all but the 
 feet, and the floor yawned, and I heard my 
 psaltery fall and break to atoms, deep, deep, 
 below the very floor of the mill. It had 
 fallen into a well. And BO had I done, lying 
 where it lay." 
 
 Margaret shuddered and put her face in 
 her hands. But speedily resumed. 
 
 "I lay stupefied at first. Then horror fell 
 on me and I rose, but stood rooted there, 
 shaking from head to foot. At last I found 
 myself looking 'down into that fearsome gap, 
 and my very hair did bristle as I peered 
 And then, I remember, I turned quite calm, 
 and made up my mind to die sword in hand. 
 For I saw no man must know this their 
 bloody secret and live. And I said, 'Poor 
 Margaret ! ' And I took out of my bosom, 
 where they lie ever, our marriage lines, and 
 kissed them again and again. And I pinned 
 them to my shirt again, that they might lie 
 in one grave with me, if die I must. And I 
 thought 'All our love and hopes to end 
 
 Eli. "Whisht all I Their marriage lines! 
 Give her time I But no word. I can bear no 
 chat. My poor lad 1" 
 
 During the long pause that ensued Catherine 
 leaned forward and passed something adroitly 
 from her own lap under her daughter's apron 
 who sat next her. 
 
 "Presently thinking, all in a whirl, of all 
 that ever passed between us, and taking leave 
 of all those pleasant hours, I called to mind 
 how one day at Sevenbergen thou tanghest 
 me to make a rope of straw. Mindest 
 thou I The moment memory brought that 
 happy day back to me, I cried out very loud : 
 'Margaret gives me a chance for life even 
 here.' 
 
 " I woke from my lethargy. I seized on the 
 straw and twisted it eagerly, as thou didst 
 teach me, but my fingers trembled and de- 
 layed the task. Whiles I wrought I heard 
 a door open below. That was a terrible 
 moment. Even as I twisted my rope 1 got 
 to the window and looked down at the great 
 arms of the mill coming slowly up, then 
 passing, then turning less slowly down, as 
 it seemed ; and I thought, ' They go not as 
 when there is wind : yet, slow or fast, what 
 man rid ever on such steed as these, and lived. 
 Yet,' said I, 'better trust to them and God 
 than to ill men.' And I prayed to Him whom 
 even the wind obeyeth. 
 
 "Dear Margaret, I fastened my rope, and 
 let myself gently down, and fixed my eye 
 on that huge arm of the mill, which then 
 was creeping up to me, and went to spring 
 on to it. But my heart failed me at the 
 pinch. And methought it was not near enow. 
 And it passed calm and awful by. I watched 
 for another ; they were three. And after a 
 little while one crept up slower than the rest 
 methought. And I with my foot thrust myself 
 in good time somewhat out from the wall, 
 and crying aloud 'Margaret I' did grip with
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 167 
 
 all my soul the wood-work of the sail, and 
 that moment was swimming in the air." 
 
 Giles. " Well done ! well done ! " 
 
 " Motion I felt little ; but the stars seemed 
 to go round the sky, and then the grass 
 came up to me nearer and nearer, and when 
 the hoary grass was quite close I was sent 
 rolling along it as if hurled from a catapult, 
 and got up breathless, and every point and 
 tie about me broken. I rose, but fell down 
 again in agony. I had but one leg I could 
 stand on." 
 
 Catherine. "Eh! dear! his leg is broke, 
 my boy's leg is broke." 
 
 "And e'en as I lay groaning, I heard a 
 sound like thunder. It was the assassins 
 running up the stairs. The crazy old mill 
 shook under them. They must have found 
 I had not fallen into their bloody trap, and 
 were running to despatch me. 
 
 "Margaret, I felt no fear, for I had now no 
 hope. I could neither run nor hide; so wild 
 the place, so bright the moon. I struggled 
 up all agony and revenge, more like some 
 wounded wild beast than your Gerard. Lean- 
 Ing on my sword hilt I hobbled round; and 
 awift as lightning, or vengeance, I heaped 
 a great pile of their hay and wood at the 
 mill door; then drove my dagger into a 
 barrel of their smuggled spirits, and flung 
 it on ; then out with my tinder and lighted 
 the pile. 'This will bring true men round 
 my dead body,' said I. 'Aha!' I cried, 
 1 think you I'll die alone, cowards, assassins ! 
 reckless fiends ! ' and at each word on went 
 a barrel pierced. 
 
 "But oh, Margaret! the fire fed by the 
 spirits surprised me : it shot up and singed 
 my very hair, it went roaring up the side 
 of" the mill, swift as falls the lightning ; and 
 I yelled and laughed in my torture and de- 
 spair, and pierced more barrels and the very 
 tar-barrels, and flung them on. The fire 
 roared like a lion for Its prey, and voices 
 answered it inside from the top of the mill, 
 and the feet came thundering down, and I 
 stood as near that awful fire aa I could, 
 with uplifted sword to slay and be slain. 
 The bolt was drawn. A tar-barrel caught 
 fire. The door was opened. What followed? 
 Not the men came put, but the fire rushed 
 in at them like a living death, and the first 
 I thought to fight with was blackened and 
 crumpled on the floor like a leaf. One fear- 
 some yell, and dumb for ever. The feet 
 ran up again, but fewer. I heard them hack 
 with their swords a little way up at the 
 mill's wooden sides; but they had no time 
 to hew their way out : the fire and reek were 
 at their heels, and the smoke burst out at 
 every loophole, and oozed blue in the moon- 
 light through each crevice. I hobbled back, 
 racked with pain and fury. There were white 
 faces up at my window. They saw me. 
 They cursed me. I cursed them back and 
 Bhook my naked sword : ' Come down the 
 road I came/ I cried. 'But ye must come 
 one by one, and as ye come, ye die upon 
 
 this steeL' Some cursed at that, but others 
 wailed. For I had them all at deadly vantage. 
 And doubtless, with my smoke-grimed face 
 and fiendish rage, I looked a demon. 
 
 "And now there was a steady roar inside 
 the mill. The flame was going up it as 
 furnace up its chimney. The mill caught 
 fire. Fire glimmered through it. Tongues 
 of flame darted through each loophole and 
 shot sparks and fiery flakes Into the night. 
 One of the assassins leaped on to the sail, 
 as I had done. In his hurry he missed his 
 grasp and fell at my feet, and bounded from 
 the hard ground like a ball, and never 
 spoke, nor moved again. And the rest 
 screamed like women, and with their despair 
 came back to me both ruth for them and 
 hope of life for myself. And the fire gnawed 
 through the mill in placen, and shot forth 
 showers of great flat sparks like flakes of 
 fiery snow ; and the sails caught fire one 
 after another; and I became a man again 
 and staggered away terror-stricken, leaning 
 on my sword, from the sight of my revenge, 
 and with great bodily pain crawled back to 
 the road. And, dear Margaret, the rimy 
 trees were now all like pyramids of golden 
 filagree, and lace, cobweb fine, in the red 
 firelight. Oh ! most beautiful 1 And a poor 
 wretch got entangled In the burning sails, 
 and whirled round screaming, and lost hold 
 at the wrong time, and hurled like stone 
 from mangonel high into the air; then a 
 dull thump; it was his carcass striking the 
 earth. The next moment there was a loud 
 crash. 
 
 "The mill fell in on its destroyer, and a 
 million great sparks flew up, and the sails 
 fell over the burning wreck, and at that a 
 million more sparks flew up, and the ground 
 was strewn with burning wood and men. I 
 prayed God forgive me, and kneeling with 
 my back to that fiery shambles, I saw lights 
 on the road ; a welcome sight. It was a 
 company coming towards me, and scarce two 
 furlongs off. I hobbled towards them. Ere 
 I had gone far I heard a swift step behind 
 me. I turned. One had escaped ; how 
 escaped, who can divine I His sword shone 
 in the moonlight. I feared him. Me- 
 thought the ghosts of all those dead sat 
 on that glittering glaive. I put my other 
 foot to the ground, maugre the anguish, and 
 fled towards the torches, moaning with pain, 
 and shouting for aid. But what could I do? 
 He gained on me. Behooved me turn and 
 fight 
 
 "Denys had taught me sword play In 
 sport. I wheeled, our swords clashed. His 
 clothes they smelled all singed. I cut 
 swiftly upward with supple hand, and his 
 dangled bleeding at the wrist, and his sword 
 fell; it tinkled on the ground. I raised my 
 sword to hew him should he stoop for't. 
 He stood and cursed me. He drew his 
 dagger with his left ; I opposed my point and 
 dared him with my eye to close. A great 
 shout arose behind me from true men's 
 throats. He started. He spat at me in 
 his rage, then gnashed his teeth and fled
 
 1 68 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 blaspheming. I turned and saw torches 
 close at hand. Lo, they fell to dancing up 
 and down methought, and the next moment 
 all was dark. I had ah!" 
 
 Catherine. " Here, help ! water I Stand aloof, 
 you that be men ! " 
 
 Margaret had fainted away. 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 WHEN she recovered, her head was on 
 Catherine's arm, and the honest half of the 
 family she had invaded like a foe stood 
 round her uttering rough homely words of 
 encouragement, especially Giles, who roared 
 at her that she was not to take on like 
 that. 
 
 "Gerard was alive and well, or he could 
 not have writ this letter, the biggest man- 
 kind had seen as yet, and," as he thought, 
 "the beantifullest, and most moving, and 
 smallest writ." 
 
 "Ay, good Master Giles," sighed Margaret 
 feebly, " he vat alive. But how know I 
 what hath since befallen him? Oh, why 
 left he Holland to go among strangers fierce 
 as lions? And why did I not drive him 
 from me sooner than part him from his own 
 flesh and blood ? Forgive me, you that are 
 his mother I" 
 
 And she gently removed Catherine's arm, 
 and made a feeble attempt to slide off the 
 chair on to her knees, which, after a brief 
 struggle with superior force, ended in her 
 finding herself on Catherine's bosom. 
 
 Then Margaret held out the letter to Eli, 
 and said faintly but sweetly, "I will trust 
 it from my hand now. In sooth, I am little 
 fit to read any more and and loth to 
 leave my comfort;" and she wreathed her 
 other arm round Catherine's neck. 
 
 "Read thou, Richart," said Eli: "thine 
 eyes be ycunger than mine." 
 
 Richart took the letter. "Well," said he, 
 
 "such writing saw I never. A writeth with 
 
 a needle's point; and clear to boot. Why is 
 
 he not in my counting-house at Amsterdam 
 
 f vagabonding it out yonder 1" 
 
 "When I came to myself I was seated in 
 the litter, and my good merchant holding of 
 my hand. I babbled I know not what, and 
 then shuddered awhile in silence. He put 
 a horn of wine to my lips." 
 
 L'athe, -int. " Bless him 1 bless him ! " 
 
 Eli. " Whisht 1" 
 
 "And I told him what had befallen. He 
 would see my leg. It was sprained sore, 
 and swelled at the ankle; and all my points 
 were broken, as I could scarce keep np my 
 hose, and I said 
 
 "'Sir, I shali be but a burden to you, I 
 doubt, and can make you no harmony now ; 
 my poor psaltery it is broken ; ' and I did 
 grieve over my broken mueic, companion of 
 o many wearr leagues. 
 
 "But he patted me on the cheek, and 
 bade me not fret ; also he did put up my 
 leg on a pillow, and tended me like a kind 
 father. 
 
 "January 14. I sit all day in the litter, 
 for we are pushing forward with haste, and 
 at night the good, kind merchant sendeth 
 me to bed, and will not let me work. 
 Strange! whene'er I fall in with men like 
 fiends, then the next moment God still 
 sendeth me some good man or woman, lest I 
 should turn away from human kind. 
 
 " Oh, Margaret 1 how strangely mixed they 
 be, and how old I am by what I was three 
 months agone. And lol if good Master 
 Fugger hath not been and bought me a 
 psaltery." 
 
 Catherine. "Eli, my man, an' yon merchant 
 comes our way let us buy a hundred ells of 
 cloth of him, and not higgle." 
 
 Eli. "That will I, take your oath on't I " 
 
 While Richart prepared to read, Kate 
 looked at her mother, and with a faint 
 blush drew out the piece of work from 
 under her apron, and sewed with head 
 depressed a little more than necessary. On 
 this her mother drew a piece of work out 
 of her pocket, and sewed too,* while Richart 
 read. Both the specimens these sweet sur- 
 reptitious creatures now first exposed to 
 observation were babies' caps, and more 
 than half finished, which told a tale. 
 Horror I they were like little monks' cowls 
 in shape and delicacy. 
 
 "January 12. Laid up in the litter, and as 
 good as blind, but halting to bait, Lombardy 
 plains burst on me. Oh, Margaret! a land 
 flowing with milk and honey ; all sloping 
 plains, goodly rivers, jocund meadows, de- 
 lectable orchards, and blooming gardens ; 
 and though winter, looks warmer than 
 poor beloved Holland at midsummer, and 
 makes the wanderer's face to shine, and 
 his heart to leap for joy to see earth BO 
 kind and smiling. Here be vines, cedars, 
 olives, and cattle plenty, but three goats 
 to a sheep. The draught oxen wear white 
 linen on their necks, and standing by dark 
 green olive-trees each one is a picture ; and 
 the folk, especially women, wear delicate 
 strawen hats with flowers and leaves fairly 
 imitated in silk, with silver mixed. 
 
 "This day we crossed a river prettily in a 
 chained ferry-boat. On either bank was a 
 windlass, and a single man by turning of 
 it drew our whole company to his shore, 
 whereat I did admire, being a stranger. 
 Passed over with us some country folk. 
 And an old woman looking at a young 
 wench, she did hide her face with her hand, 
 and held her crucifix out like knight his bword 
 in tourney, dreading the evil eye, 
 
 "January 15. Safe at Venice. A place 
 whose strange and passing beauty is well 
 known to thee by report of our mariners. 
 Dost mind too bow Peter would oft fill 
 our ears withal, w handed beneath tho
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 169 
 
 table, and he still discoursing of this sea- 
 enthroned and peerless city, in shape a 
 bow, and its great canal and palaces on 
 piles, and its watery ways plied by scores 
 of gilded boats; and that market-place of 
 nations, orbis, non urbis, forum, St. Mark 
 his place? And his statue with the peerless 
 jewels in his eyes, and the lion at his gate? 
 But I, lying at my window in pain, may see 
 none of these beauties as yet, but only a 
 street, fairly paved, which is dull, and houses 
 with oiled paper and linen, in lieu of glass, 
 which is rude; and the passers-by, their 
 habits and their gestures, wherein they are 
 superfluous. Therefore, not to miss my daily 
 comfort of whispering to thee, I will e'en 
 turn mine eyes inward, and bind my sheaves 
 of wisdom reaped by travel. For I love thee 
 so, that no treasure pleases me not shared 
 with thee; and what treasure so good and 
 enduring as knowledge? 
 
 "This then have I, Sir Footsore, learned, 
 that each nation hath its proper wisdom, 
 and its proper folly ; and methinks, could a 
 great king, or duke, tramp like me, and see 
 with his own eyes, he might pick the 
 flowers, and eschew the weeds of nations, 
 and go home and set his own folk on 
 Wisdom's hilL The Germans in the north 
 were churlish, but frank and honest; in the 
 south, kindly and honest too. Their general 
 blot is drunkenness, the which they carry 
 even to mislike and contempt of sober men. 
 They say commonly, ' Kanstn niecht sauffen 
 end fressen so kanstu kienem hern wol 
 dienen.' In England, the vulgar sort drink 
 as deep, but the worshipful hold ezcess in 
 this a reproach, and drink a health or two 
 for courtesy, not gluttony, and still sugar 
 the wine. In their cups the Germans use 
 little mirth, or discourse, but ply the business 
 sadly, crying, ' Seyte frolich I ' The best of 
 their drunken sport is ' Kurlemurlehuff,' a 
 way of drinking with touching deftly of the 
 glass, the beard, the table, in due turn, 
 intermixed with whistlings and snappings 
 of the finger so curiously ordered as 'tis a 
 labour of Hercules, but to the beholder right 
 pleasant and mirthful. Their topers, by ad- 
 vice of German leeches, sleep with pebbles 
 in their mouths. For, as of a boiling pot 
 the lid must be set ajar, so with these 
 fleshly wine-pots, to vent the heat of their 
 inward parts : spite of which many die 
 suddenly from drink ; but 'tis a matter of 
 religion to slur it, and gloze it, and charge 
 ome innocent disease therewith. 
 
 "Yet 'tis more a custom than very nature, 
 for their women come among the tipplers, 
 and do but stand a moment, and as it were, 
 kiss the wine-cup; and are indeed most 
 temperate in eating and drinking, and of 
 all women, modest and virtuous, and true 
 spouses and friends to their mates ; far 
 before our Holland lasses, that being maids, 
 put the question to the men, and being 
 wived, do lord it over them. 
 
 "Why, there is a wife in Tergou, not far 
 from our door. One came to the house and 
 ought her man. Says she, 'You'll not find 
 
 him : he asked my leave to go abroad this 
 afternoon, and I did give it him.'" 
 
 Catherine. " 'Tis sooth I 'tis sooth ! 'Twas 
 Beck Hulse, Jonah's wife. This comes of a 
 woman wedding a boy." 
 
 "In the south where wine is, the gentry 
 drink themselves bare; but not in the 
 north : for with beer a noble shall sooner 
 burst his body than melt his lands. They 
 are quarrelsome, but 'tis the liquor, not the 
 mind ; for they are none revengeful. And 
 when they have made a bad bargain drunk, 
 they stand to it sober. They keep their 
 windows bright ; and judge a man by his 
 clothes. Whatever fruit or grain or herb 
 grows by the roadside, gather and eat. The 
 owner seeing you shall say, 'Art welcome, 
 honest man.' But an' ye pluck a wayside grape, 
 your very life is in jeopardy. 'Tis eating of 
 that Heaven gave to be drunken. 
 
 "The French are much fairer spoken, and 
 not nigh so true-hearted. Sweet words 
 cost them nought. They call it payer en 
 blanche." 
 
 Denys. "Les coquins 1 ha! ha!" 
 
 "Natheless, courtesy is in their hearts, ay, 
 in their very blood. They say commonly, 
 'Give yourself the trouble of sitting down.' 
 And such straws of speech show how blows 
 the wind. Also at a public show, if you 
 would leave your seat, yet not lose it, tie 
 but your napkin round the bench, and no 
 French man or woman will sit here ; but 
 rather keep the place for you." 
 
 Catherine. " Gramercy ! that is manners. 
 France for me ! " 
 
 Denys rose and placed his hand gracefully 
 to his breastplate. 
 
 "Natheless, they say things in sport which 
 are not courteous, but shocking. 'Le diable 
 t'emporte I ' ' Allez au diable ! ' and so forth. 
 But I trow they mean not such dreadful 
 wishes : custom belike. Moderate in drink- 
 ing, and mix water with their wine, and 
 sing and dance over their cups, and are then 
 enchanting company. They are curious not 
 to drink in another man's cup. 
 
 "In war the English gain the better of 
 them in the field; but the French are their 
 masters in attack and defence of cities ; 
 witness Orleans, where they besieged their 
 besiegers, and hashed them sore with their 
 double and treble culverines; and many 
 other sieges in this our century. More than 
 all nations they flatter their women, and 
 despise them. No She may be their sovereign 
 ruler. Also they often hang their female 
 malefactors, instead of drowning them de- 
 cently, as other nations use. The furni- 
 ture in their inns is walnut, in Germany 
 only deal. French windows are ill. The 
 lower half is of wood, and opens ; the upper 
 half is of glass, but fixed; so that the 
 servant cannot come at it to clean it. The 
 German windows are all glass, and movable, 
 and shine far and near like diamonds. In 
 France many mean houses are not glazed at 
 all. Once I saw a Frenchman pass a church 
 without unbonneting. This I ne'er witnessed 
 in Holland, Germany, or Italy. At many
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 inns they show the traveller his sheets, to 
 give him assurance they are clean, and warm 
 them at the fire before him; a laudable 
 custom. They receive him kindly and like 
 a guest ; they mostly cheat him, and whiles 
 cut his throat. They plead in excuse hard 
 and tyrannous laws. And true it is their 
 law thrusteth its nose into every platter 
 and its finger into every pie. In France 
 worshipful men wear their hats and their 
 furs indoors, and go abroad lighter dad. In 
 Germany they don hat and furred cloak to 
 go abroad; but sit bareheaded and light 
 clad round the stove. 
 
 "The French intermix not the men and 
 women folk in assemblies, as we Hollanders 
 use. Round their preachers the women sit 
 on their heels hi rows, and the men stand 
 behind them. Their harvests are rye, and 
 flax, and wine. Three mules shall you see 
 to one horse, and whole flocks of sheep as 
 black as coal. 
 
 "In Germany the snails be red. I lie not. 
 The French buy minstrelsy, but breed jests, 
 and make their own mirth. The Germans 
 foster their set fools, with ear-caps, which 
 move them to laughter by simulating mad- 
 ness; a calamity that asks pity, not laughter. 
 In this particular I deem that lighter nation 
 wiser than the graver German. What sayest 
 thou ? Alas 1 canst not answer me now. 
 
 "In Germany the petty laws are wondrous 
 wise and just Those against criminals, bloody. 
 In France bloodier still; and executed a 
 trifle more cruelly there. Here the wheel is 
 common, and the fiery stake ; and under this 
 king they drown men by the score in Paris 
 river, Seine yclept But the English are as 
 peremptory in hanging and drowning for a 
 light fault; so travellers report Finally, a 
 true-hearted Frenchman, when ye chance on 
 one, is a man as near perfect as earth 
 affords ; and such a man is my Denys, spite 
 of his foul mouth." 
 
 Dfnyi. "My foul mouth! Is that so writ, 
 Master Ricbart ? " 
 
 Richart. " Ay, in sooth ; see else." 
 
 Dcnyt (inspecting the letter gravely). "I read 
 not the letter so." 
 
 Rir-hart. " How then ? " 
 
 2fcny. "Humph! ahem! why just the con- 
 trary." He added : " 'Tis kittle work perusing 
 of these black scratches men are agreed to take 
 for words. And I trow 'tis still by guess you 
 clsrks do go, worthy sir. My foul mouth? 
 This is the first time e'er I heard on't Eh 
 mosdames ? " 
 
 But the females did not seize the oppor- 
 tunity he gave them, and burst into a loud 
 and general disclaimer. Margaret blushed 
 and said nothing ; the other two bent silently 
 over their work with something very like a 
 ly smiie. Denys inspected their countenances 
 long and carefully. And the perusal was BO 
 aatisfactory, that he turned with a tone of 
 Injured, but patient innocence, and bade 
 Richart read on. 
 
 "The Italians are a polished and subtle 
 people. They judge a man, not by his habits, 
 but his speech and gesture. Here Sir Chough 
 
 may by no means pass for falcon gentle, as 
 did I in Germany, pranked in my noble 
 servant's feathers. Wisest of all nations in 
 their singular temperance of food and drink. 
 Most foolish of all to search strangers coming 
 into their borders, and stay them from bring- 
 ing much money in. They should rather 
 invite it, and like other nations, let the 
 traveller from taking of it out Also here in 
 Venice the dames turn their black hair yellow 
 by the sun and art, to be wiser than Him 
 who made them. Ye enter no Italian town 
 without a bill of health, though now is no 
 plague in Europe. This peevishness is for 
 extortion's sake. The innkeepers cringe and 
 fawn, and cheat, and in country places, 
 murder yon. Yet will they give you clean 
 sheets by paying therefor. Delicate in eating, 
 and abhor from putting their hand in the 
 plate; sooner they will apply a crust or what 
 not They do even tell of a cardinal at 
 Rome, which armeth his guest's left hand 
 with a little bifurcal dagger to hold the 
 meat, while his knife cutteth it. But me- 
 thinks this, too, is to be wiser than Him, who 
 made the hand so supple and prehensile." 
 
 Eli. " I am of your mind, my lad." 
 
 "They are sore troubled with the Itch. 
 And ointment for it, wnguento per la rogna, 
 is cried at every corner of Venice. From 
 this my window I saw an urchin sell it to 
 three several dames in silken trains, and to 
 two velvet knights." 
 
 Catherine, "Italy, my lass, I rede ye wash 
 your body i' the tub o' Sundays ; and then ye 
 can put your hand i' the plate o' Thursday 
 withouten offence." 
 
 "Their bread is lovely white. Their meats 
 they spoil with sprinkling cheese over them ; 
 oh, perversity I Their salt is black ; without a 
 lie. In commerce these Venetians are masters 
 of the earth and sea; and govern their terri- 
 tories wisely. Only one flaw I find ; the same 
 I once heard a learned friar cast up against 
 Plato his republic: to wit, that here women 
 are encouraged to venal frailty, and do pay 
 a tax to the State, which, not content with 
 silk and spice, and other rich and honest 
 freights, good store, must trade in sin. Twenty 
 thousand of these Jezabels there be in Venice 
 and Candia, and about, pampered and honoured 
 for bringing strangers to the city, and many 
 live in princely palaces of their own. But 
 herein methinks the politic signers of Venice 
 forget what King David saith, 'Except the 
 Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh 
 but In vain.' Also, in religion, they hang 
 their cloth according to the wind, siding now 
 with the Pope, now with the Turk ; but aye 
 with the god of traders, mammon hight. 
 Shall flower so cankered bloom to the world's 
 end? 
 
 " But since I speak of flowers, this none 
 may deny them, that they are most cunning 
 In making roses and gilliflowers to blow un- 
 seasonably. In summer they nip certain of 
 the budding roses and water them not. Then 
 In winter they dig round these discouraged 
 plants, and put hi cloves ; and so with great 
 art rear sweet-scented roses, and bring them
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 to market La January. And did first learn 
 thii art of a cow. Buds she grazed in summer, 
 and they sprouted at yule. 
 
 "Women have sat in the doctors' chairs at 
 their colleges. Bat she that eat in St. Peter's 
 was a German. Italy too, for artful fountains 
 and figures that more by water and enact 
 Ufa And next for fountains is Augsburg, 
 where they harness the foul knave Smoke to 
 good Sir Spit, and he turneth stout Master 
 Boast. But lest any one place should vaunt, 
 two towns there be in Europe, which, scorn- 
 ing giddy fountains, bring water tame in 
 pipes to every burgher's door, and he filleth 
 his vessels with but turning of a cock. One 
 is London, so watered this many a year by 
 pipes of a league from Paddington, a neigh- 
 bouring city; and the other is the fair town 
 of Lubeck. Also the fierce English are re- 
 ported to me wise in that they will not 
 share their land and flocks with wolves ; but 
 have fairly driven those marauders into their 
 mountains. But neither in France, nor Ger- 
 many, nor Italy, is a wayfarer's life safe from 
 the vagabones after sundown. 
 
 "I can hear of no glazed house in all 
 Venice ; but only oiled linen and paper ; and 
 behind these barbarian eyelets, a wooden 
 jalosy. Their name for a cowardly assassin is 
 'a brave man,' and for an harlot, 'a cour- 
 teous person,' which is as much as to say 
 that a woman's worst vice, and a man's 
 worst vice, are virtues. But I pray God for 
 little Holland that there an assassin may 
 be yclept an assassin, and an harlot an 
 harlot, till domesday; and then gloze foul 
 faults with silken names who can 1 " 
 
 Eli (with a sigh). "He should have been 
 a priest, saving your presence, my poor 
 lass." 
 
 "Go to, peevish writer; art tied smarting 
 by the leg, and may not gee the beauties of 
 Venice. So thy pen kicketh all around like a 
 wicked mule. 
 
 "January 1 6. Sweetheart, I must be brief, 
 and tell thee but a part of that I have 
 seen, for this day my journal ends. To- 
 night it sails for thee, and I, unhappy, not 
 with it, but to-morrow, in another ship, to 
 Rome. 
 
 "Dear Margaret, I took a hand litter, 
 and was carried to St. Mark his church. 
 Outside it, towards the market-place, is a 
 noble gallery, and above it four famous 
 horses, cut in brass by the ancient Romans, 
 and seem all moving, and at the very 
 next step must needs leap down on the 
 beholder. About the church are six hun- 
 dred pillars of marble, porphyry, and ophites. 
 Inside is a treasure greater than either at 
 St. Denys, or Loretto, or Toledo. Here a 
 jewelled pitcher given the seigniory by a 
 Persian king, also the ducal cap blazing 
 with jewels, and on its crown a diamond 
 and a chrysolite, each as big as an almond; 
 two golden crowns and twelve golden stom- 
 achers studded with jewels, from Constan- 
 tinople ; Item, a monstrous sapphire ; item, 
 great diamond given by a French king ; 
 
 item, a prodigious carbuncle; item, three 
 unicorns' horns. But what are these com- 
 pared with the sacred relics 1 
 
 "Dear Margaret, I stood and aaw the 
 brazen chest that holds the body of St. 
 Mark the Evangelist. I saw with these eyes 
 and handled his ring, and his gospel written 
 with his own hand, and all my travels 
 seemed light; for who am I that I should 
 see such things I Dear Margaret, his sacred 
 body was first brought from Alexandria by 
 merchants in 810, and then not prized aa 
 now; for between 829, when this church was 
 builded, and 1094, the very place where it 
 lay was forgotten. Then holy priests fasted 
 and prayed many days seeking for light, and 
 lol the Evangelist's body brake at midnight 
 through the marble and stood before them. 
 They fell to the earth; but in the morning 
 found the crevice the sacred body had burst 
 through, and peering through it saw him lie. 
 Then they took and laid him in his chest 
 beneath the altar, and carefully put back 
 the stone with its miraculous crevice, which 
 crevice I saw, and shall gape for a monu- 
 ment while the world lasts. 
 
 "After that they showed me the Virgin's 
 chair, it is of stone; also her picture, 
 painted by St. Luke, very dark, and the 
 features now scarce visible. This picture, in 
 time of drought, they carry in procession, and 
 brings the rain. I wish I had not seen it. 
 Item, two pieces of marble spotted with 
 John the Baptist's blood ; item, a piece of 
 the true cross, and of the pillar to which 
 Christ was tied; item, the rock struck by 
 Moses, and wet to this hour; also a stone 
 Christ sat on, preaching at Tyre; but some 
 say it is the one the patriarch Jacob laid his 
 head on, and I hold with them, by reason 
 our Lord never preached at Tyre. 
 
 "Going hence, they showed me the state 
 nursery for the children of those aphrodisian 
 dames, their favourites. Here in the outer 
 wall was a broad niche, and if they bring 
 them so little as they can squeeze them 
 through it alive, the bairn falls into a net 
 inside, and the state takes charge of it, but 
 if too big, their mothers must even take 
 them home again, with whom abiding 'tis 
 like to be malt eorvi mali ovum. 
 
 "Coming out of the church we met them 
 carrying in a corpse, with the feet and face 
 bare. This I then first learned is Venetian 
 custom, and sure no other town will ever 
 rob them of it, nor of this that follows. 
 On a great porphyry slab hi the piazza were 
 three ghastly heads rotting and tainting the 
 air, and in their hot summers like to take 
 vengeance with breeding of a plague. These 
 were traitors to the state, and a heavy price 
 two thousand ducats being put on each 
 head, their friends had slain them and 
 brought all three to the slab, and so sold 
 blood of others and their own faith. No 
 state buys heads so many, nor pays half 10 
 high a price for that sorry merchandise. 
 
 " But what I most admired was to see over 
 against the Duke's palace a fair gallows in 
 alabaster, reared expresi to hang him, and
 
 17* 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 DO other, for the least treason to the state ; 
 and there it stands in his eye whispering 
 him memento mori. 
 
 "I pondered, and owned these signers my 
 master*, who will let no man, not even their 
 sovereign, be above the common weal. 
 
 "Hard by, on a wall, the workmen were 
 just finishing, by order of the seigniory, the 
 stone effigy of a tragical and enormous act 
 enacted last year, yet on the wall looks 
 Innocent. Here two gentle folks whisper 
 together, and there other twain, their swords 
 by their side. Four brethren were they, 
 which did on either side conspire to poison 
 the other two, and so halve their land in lien 
 of quartering it; and at a mutual banquet 
 these twain drugged the wine, and those 
 twain envenomed a marchpane, to such 
 good purpose that the same afternoon lay 
 four 'brave men' around one table grovel- 
 ling in mortal agony, and cursing of one 
 another and themselves, and so concluded 
 miserably, and the land, for which they had 
 lost their immortal souls, went into another 
 family. And why not I it could not go into 
 a worse. 
 
 "But oh, sovereign wisdom of by words 1 
 how true they put the finger on each 
 nation's, or particular's, fault. 
 
 Quand lUlie sera sans poison 
 Et France aan* trahiaon 
 Et 1'Angleterre tans guerre, 
 Lon icra le monde ian Urre." 
 
 Richart explained this to Catherine, then 
 proceeded: "And after this they took me 
 to the quay, and presently I espied among 
 the masts one garlanded with amaranth 
 flowers. 'Take me thither,' said I, and I let 
 my guide know the custom of our Dutch 
 skippers to hoist flowers to the masthead 
 when they are courting a maid. Oft had 1 
 coffed at this saying. 'So then hia wooing 
 is the earth's concern. 1 But now, so far from 
 the totter, that bunch at a masthead 
 made my heart leap with assurance of a 
 countryman. They carried me, and oh, 
 Margaret 1 on the stern of that Dutch hoy 
 was writ in muckle letters 
 
 RICHART KUASSOEN, AMSTERDAM. 
 
 Put me down,' I said; 'for our Lady's sake 
 put me down.' 
 
 "I at on the bank and looked, scarce 
 believing my eyes, and looked, and presently 
 fell to crying, tiU I could see the words no 
 more. Ah me, how they went to my heart 
 those bare letters in a foreign land. 
 
 "Dear Richart! good, kind brother Richart I 
 often I have sat on his knee and rid on his 
 back. Kisses many ha has given me, unkind 
 word from him had I never. And there was 
 his name on his own ship, and his face and 
 all his grave, but good and gentle ways, 
 came back to me, and I sobbed vehement'y 
 and cried aloud, 'Why, why is not brother 
 Richart here, and not his name only t ' 
 
 .ii 1 . T^ 8 !* ? utc , h ' for my heart waa t 00 
 full to hold their foreign tongues, and " 
 
 Eli. "Well, Richart, go on, lad, prithee go 
 on. Is this a place to halt at ? " 
 
 Richart. "Father, with my duty to you, it 
 is easy to say go on, but think ye I am not 
 flesh and blood I The poor boy's simple 
 grief and brotherly love coming so sudden 
 on me, they go through my heart and I 
 cannot go on ; sink me if I can even see the 
 words, 'tis writ so fine." 
 
 Dtnyt. "Courage, good Master Richart I 
 Take your time. Here are more eyne wet 
 than yours. Ah, little comrade I would God 
 thou wert here, and I at Venice for thee." 
 
 Richart. " Poor little curly-headed lad, what 
 had he done that we have driven him so 
 far?" 
 
 "That is what I would fain know," said 
 Catherine drily, then fell to weeping and 
 rocking herself, with her apron over her 
 head. 
 
 "Kind dame, good friends," said Margaret 
 trembling, "let me tell you how the letter 
 ends. The skipper hearing our Gerard speak 
 his grief in Dutch, accosted him, and spake 
 comfortably to him ; and after a while our 
 Gerard found breath to say he was worthy 
 Master Richart's brother. Thereat was the 
 good skipper all agog to serve him." 
 
 Ricluirt. "Sol so 1 skipper 1 Master Richart 
 aforesaid will be at thy wedding and bring's 
 purse to boot." 
 
 Margaret. "Sir, he told Gerard of his con- 
 sort that was to sail that very night for 
 Rotterdam ; and dear Gerard had to go home 
 and finish his letter and bring it to the ship. 
 And the rest, it is but his poor dear words 
 of love to me, the which, an't please yon, I 
 think shame to hear them read aloud, and 
 ends with the lines I sent to Mistress Kate, 
 and tfiey would sound so harsh now and un- 
 grateful." 
 
 The pleading tone, as much as the words, 
 prevailed, and Richart said he would read no 
 more aloud, but run his eye over it for his 
 own brotherly satisfaction. She blushed and 
 looked uneasy, but made no reply. 
 
 "Eli," said Catherine, still sobbing a little, 
 "tell me, for our Lady's sake, how our poor 
 boy is to live at that nasty Rome. He is 
 gone there to write, but here be his own 
 words to prove writing avails nought : a had 
 died o 1 hunger by the way but for paint- 
 brush and psaltery. Well a-day 1 " 
 
 "Well," said Eli, "he has got brush and 
 music still Besides, so many men so many 
 minds. Writing, thof it had no sale in other 
 parts, may be merchandise at Rome." 
 
 "Father," said little Kate, "have I your 
 good leave to put in my word 'twiit mother 
 and you ? " 
 
 " And welcome, little heart." 
 
 "Then, seems to me, painting and music, 
 close at hand, be stronger than writing, but 
 being distant, nought to compare; for see 
 what glamour written paper hath done here 
 aut now. Our Gerard, writing at Venice, 
 aath verily put his hand into this room at 
 Rotterdam, and turned all our hearts. Ay, 
 dear dear Gerard, methinks th/ spirit hath 
 rid hither on these thy paper wings; and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 173 
 
 oh ! dear father, why not do as we should 
 do were he here in the body 1 " 
 
 " Kate," said Eli, " fear not ; Kichart and I 
 will give him glamour for glamour. We will 
 write him a letter, and send it to Rome by 
 a sure hand with money, and bid him home 
 on the instant." 
 
 Cornelis and Sybrandt exchanged a gloomy 
 look. 
 
 "Ah, good father 1 And meantime ? " 
 
 " Well, meantime 2 " 
 
 "Dear father, dear mother, what can we 
 do to pleasure the absent, but be kind to 
 his poor lass ; and her own trouble afore 
 her ? " 
 
 "'Tis welll" said Eli; "but I am older 
 than thou." 
 
 Then he turned gravely to Margaret 
 
 "Wilt answer me a question, my pretty 
 mistress ? " 
 
 " If I may, sir," faltered Margaret. 
 
 "What are these marriage lines Gerard 
 speaks of in the letter I" 
 
 "Our marriage lines, sir. His and mine. 
 Know you not that we are betrothed 2 " 
 
 " Before witnesses 2 " 
 
 "Ay, sure. My poor father and Martin 
 Wittenhaagen." 
 
 "This is the first I ever heard of it. How 
 came they in his hands I They should be in 
 yours." 
 
 " Alas, sir, the more is my grief ; but I 
 ne'er doubted him ; and he said it was a 
 comfort to him to have them in his bosom." 
 
 " Y'are a very foolish lass." 
 
 "Indeed I was, sir. But trouble teaches 
 the simple." 
 
 " 'Tis a good answer. Well, foolish or no, 
 y'are honest. I had shown ye more respect 
 at first, but I thought y'had been his leman, 
 and that is the truth." 
 
 " God forbid, sir 1 Denys, methinks 'tis time 
 for us to go. Give me my letter, sir ! " 
 
 " Bide ye 1 bide ye I be not so hot for a 
 word I Natheless, wife, methinks her red 
 cheek becomes her." 
 
 "Better than it did you to give it her, my 
 man." 
 
 "Softly, wife, softly. I am not counted an 
 unjust man thof I be somewhat slow." 
 
 Here Richart broke in. 
 
 "Why, mistress, did ye shed your blood for 
 our Gerard ? " 
 
 " Not I, sir. But maybe I would." 
 
 "Nay, nay. But he says you did. Speak 
 sooth now ! " 
 
 " Alas I I know not what ye mean. I 
 rede ye believe not all that my poor lad says 
 of me. Love makes him blind." 
 
 "Traitress!" cried Denys. "Let not her 
 throw dust in thine eyes, Master Richart. 
 Old Martin tells me ye need not make 
 signals to me, she-comrade ; I am as blind 
 as love. Martin tells me she cut her arm, 
 and let her blood flow, and smeared her 
 heels when Gerard was hunted by the blood- 
 hounds, to turn the scent from her lad." 
 
 " Well, and if I did, 'twas my own, and 
 spilled for the good of my own," said 
 Margaret defiantly. 
 
 But Catherine suddenly clasping her, she 
 began to cry at having found a bosom to 
 cry on, of one who would have also shed 
 her blood for Gerard in danger. 
 
 Eli rose from his chair. 
 
 "Wife," said he solemnly, "yon will set 
 another chair at our table for every meal : 
 also another plate and knife. They will be 
 for Margaret and Peter. She will come 
 when she likes, and stay away when she 
 pleases. None may take her place at my 
 left hand. Such as can welcome her are 
 welcome to me. Such as cannot, I force 
 them not to bide with me. The world is 
 wide and free. Within my walla I am 
 master, and my son's betrothed is welcome." 
 
 Catherine bustled out to prepare supper. 
 Eli and Richart sat down and concocted a 
 letter to bring Gerard home. Richart pro- 
 mised it should go by sea to Rome that very 
 week. Sybrandt and Cornelis exchanged a 
 gloomy wink, and stole out. Margaret, 
 seeing Giles deep in meditation, for the 
 dwarf's intelligence had taken giant strides, 
 asked him to bring her the letter. 
 
 " You have heard but half, good Master 
 Giles," said she. "Shall I read you the 
 rest ? " 
 
 "I shall be much beholden to you," shouted 
 the courtier. 
 
 She gave him her stool : curiosity bowed 
 his pride to sit on it; and Margaret mur- 
 mured the first part of the letter into his 
 ear very low, not to disturb Eli and Richart. 
 And to do this, she leaned forward and put 
 her lovely face cheek by jowl with Giles's 
 hideous one : a strange contrast, and worth 
 a painter's while to try and represent. And 
 in this attitude Catherine found her, and all 
 the mother warmed towards her, and she 
 exchanged an eloquent glance with little 
 Kate. 
 
 The latter smiled, and sewed, with drooping 
 lashes. 
 
 " Get him home on the instant," roared 
 Giles. "I'll make a man of him. I can do 
 aught with the Duke." 
 
 "Hear the boy!" said Catherine, half 
 comically, half proudly. 
 
 " We hear him," said Richart ; " a mostly 
 makes himself heard when a do speak." 
 
 Sybrandt. "Which will get to him first!" 
 Carndit (gloomily). "Who can tell 2" 
 
 CHAPTER LVIL 
 
 ABOUT two months before this scene in Eli's 
 home, the natives of a little maritime place 
 between Naples and Rome might be seen 
 flocking to the sea beach, with eyes cast 
 seaward at a ship, that laboured against a 
 stiff gale blowing dead on the shore. 
 At times she seemed likely to weather the
 
 174 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 danger, and then the spectators congratulated 
 her aloud : at others the wind and sea drove 
 her visibly nearer, and the lookers-on were 
 not without a secret satisfaction they would 
 not have owned even to themselves. 
 
 Son <iul veiart qnemqumm et Jncund volnptai 
 8d quibui lpa malls careai qui cernere uave est 
 
 And the poor ship, though not scientifically 
 built for sailing, was admirably constructed 
 for going ashore, with her extravagant poop 
 that caught the wind, and her lines like a 
 cocked hat reversed. To those on the beach 
 that battered labouring frame of wood seemed 
 alive, and struggling against death with a 
 panting heart. But could they have been 
 transferred to her deck they would have seen 
 she had not one beating heart but many, 
 and not one nature but a score were coming 
 out clear in that fearful hour. 
 
 The mariners stumbled wildly about the 
 deck, handling the ropes aa each thought fit, 
 and cursing and praying alternately. 
 
 The passengers were huddled together 
 round the mast, some sitting, some kneeling, 
 some lying prostrate, and grasping the bul- 
 warks as the vessel rolled and pitched in the 
 mighty waves. One comely young man, whose 
 ashy cheek, but compressed lips, showed how 
 hard terror was battling in him with self- 
 respect, stood a little apart, holding tight by 
 a shroud, and wincing at each sea. It was 
 the ill-fated Gerard. 
 
 Meantime prayers and vows rose from the 
 trembling throng amid-ships, and to hear 
 them, it seemed there were almost as many 
 gods about as men and women. The sailors, 
 indeed, relied on a single goddess. They 
 varied her titles only, calling on her as 
 "Queen of Heaven," "Star of the Sea," 
 " Mistress of the World," " Haven of Safety." 
 But among the landsmen Polytheism raged. 
 Even those who by some strange chance hit 
 on the same divinity did not hit on the same 
 edition of that divinity. 
 
 An English merchant vowed a heap of gold 
 to our lady of Walsingham. But a Genoese 
 merchant vowed a silver collar of four pounds 
 to oar lady of Loretto; and a Tuscan noble 
 promised ten pounds of wax lights to our 
 lady of Ravenna; and with a similar rage 
 for diversity they pledged themselves, not on 
 the true Cross, hot on the true Cross in this, 
 that, or the other modern city. 
 
 Suddenly a more powerful gust than usual 
 catcUng the sail at a disadvantage, the rotten 
 shrouds gave way, and the sail was torn out 
 with a loud crack, and went down the wind 
 smaller and smaller, blacker and blacker, and 
 fluttered into the sea, half a mile oft, like a 
 sheet of paper, and ere the helmsman could 
 put the ship's head before the wind, a wave 
 caught her on the quarter and drenched the 
 poor wretches to the bone, and gave them a 
 foretaste of chill death. Then one vowed 
 aloud to turn Carthusian monk, if St. Thomas 
 would save him. Another would go a pilgrim 
 to Compostella, bareheaded, barefooted, with 
 nothing but a coat of mail on his naked ekin, 
 
 if St. James would save him. Others invoked 
 Thomas, Dominic, Denys, and above all, 
 Catherine of Sienna, 
 
 Two petty Neapolitan traders stood 
 shivering. 
 
 One shouted at the top of his voice 
 
 "I vow to St. Christopher at Paris a 
 waxen image of his own weight, if I win 
 safe to land." 
 
 On this the other nudged him, and said 
 
 " Brother, brother, take heed what yon vow. 
 Why, if you sell all you have in the world 
 by public auction, 'twill not buy his weight 
 in wax." 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you fool." said the 
 vociferator. 
 
 Then in a whisper 
 
 "Think ye I am in earnest! Let me but 
 win safe to land, I'll not give him a rush 
 dip." 
 
 Others lay flat and prayed to the sea. 
 
 " Oh, most merciful sea 1 oh, sea most gene- 
 rous I oh, bountiful sea! oh, beautiful sea! be 
 gentle, be kind, preserve us in this hour of 
 peril." 
 
 And others wailed and moaned in mere 
 animal terror each time the ill-fated ship 
 rolled or pitched more terribly than usual; 
 and she was now a mere plaything in the 
 arms of the tremendous waves. 
 
 A Roman woman of the humbler class sat 
 with her child at her half-bared breast, 
 silent amid that wailing throng : her cheek 
 ashy pale ; her eye calm ; and her lips moved 
 at times in silent prayer, but she neither 
 wept, nor lamented, nor bargained with the 
 gods. Whenever the ship seemed really gone 
 under their feet, and bearded men squeaked, 
 she kissed her child; but that was all And 
 so she sat patient, and suckled him in death's 
 jaws; for why should he lose any joy she 
 could give him; moribundof Ay, there I do 
 believe, sat Antiquity among those mediaevala. 
 Sixteen hundred years had not tainted the 
 old Roman blood in her veins; and the in- 
 stinct of a race she had perhaps scarce 
 heard of taught her to die with decent 
 dignity. 
 
 A gigantic friar stood on the poop with 
 feet apart, like the Colossus of Rhodes, not 
 so much defying, aa ignoring, the peril that 
 surrounded him. He recited verses from the 
 Canticles with a loud unwavering voice ; and 
 invited the passengers to confess to him. 
 Some did so on their knees, and he heard 
 them, and laid his hands on them, and 
 absolved them as if he had been in a snug 
 sacristy, instead of a perishing ship. Gerard 
 got nearer and nearer to him, by the instinct 
 that takes the wavering to the side of the 
 impregnable. And in truth, the courage of 
 heroes facing fleshly odds might have paled 
 by the side of that gigantic friar, and his 
 still more gigantic composure. Thus, even 
 here, two were found who maintained the 
 dignity of our race : a woman, tender, yet 
 heroic, and a monk steeled by religion against 
 mortal fears. 
 
 And now, the sail being gone, the sailors 
 cat down the useless mast a foot above tha
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 board, and it fell with its remaining hamper 
 over the chip's side. This seemed to relieve 
 her a little. 
 
 But now the hull, no longer impelled by 
 canvas, could not keep ahead of the sea. It 
 struck her again and again on the poop, and 
 the tremendous blows seemed given by a 
 rocky mountain, not by a liquid. 
 
 The captain left the helm and came amid- 
 
 ships pale as death. 
 "Lighten her," he 
 
 cried. "Fling all over- 
 board, or we shall founder ere we strike, 
 and lose the one little chance we have of 
 life." 
 
 While the sailors were executing thif order, 
 the captain, pale himself, and surrounded 
 by pale faces that demanded to know their 
 fate, was talking as unlike an English skipper 
 in like peril as can well be imagined. 
 
 "Friends," said he, "last night when all 
 was fair, too fair, alas 1 there came a globe 
 of fire close to the ship. When a pair of 
 them come it is good luck, and nought can 
 drown her that voyage. We mariners call 
 these fiery globes Castor and Pollux. But 
 if Castor come without Pollux, or Pollux 
 without Castor, she is doomed. Therefore, 
 like good Christians, prepare to die." 
 
 These words were received with a loud 
 wail. 
 
 To a trembling inquiry how long they had 
 to prepare, the captain replied 
 
 "She may, or may not, last half an hour; 
 over that, impossible ; she leaks like a sieve ; 
 bustle, men, lighten her." 
 
 The poor passengers seized on everything 
 that was on deck and flung it overboarcL 
 Presently they laid hold of a heavy sack ; an 
 old man was lying on it, sea sick. They 
 lugged it from under him. It rattled. Two 
 of them drew it to the side ; up started the 
 owner, and with an unearthly shriek, pounced 
 on it. 
 
 "Holy Moses! what would you dot 'Tis 
 my all ; 'tis the whole fruits of my journey ; 
 silver candlesticks, silver plates, brooches, 
 hanaps " 
 
 "Let go, thou hoary villain," cried the 
 others; "shall all our lives be lost for thy 
 ill-gotten gear ? " 
 
 "Fling him in with it," cried one; "'tis 
 this Ebrew we Christian men are drowned 
 for." 
 
 Numbers soon wrenched it from him, and 
 heaved it over the side. It splashed into 
 the waves. Then its owner uttered one cry 
 of anguish, and stood glaring, his white hair 
 streaming in the wind, and was going to leap 
 after it, and would, had it floated. But it 
 sank, and was gone for ever ; and he staggered 
 to and fro, tearing his hair, and cursed them 
 and the ship, and the sea, and all the powers 
 of heaven and hell alike. 
 
 And now the captain cried out 
 
 "See, there is a church in eight. Steer 
 for that church, mate, and you, friends, pray 
 to the saint, whoe'er he be." 
 
 So they steered for the church and prayed 
 to the unknown god it was named after. A 
 tremendous sea pooped them, broke the rudder, 
 
 and jammed it immovable, and flooded the 
 deck. 
 
 Then wild with superstitious terror somo 
 of them came round Gerard, "Here is the 
 cause of all," they cried. "He has never in- 
 voked a single saint. He is a heathen ; here is 
 a pagan aboard." 
 
 "Alas, good friends, say not so," said 
 Gerard, his teeth chattering with cold and 
 fear. "Bather call these heathens, that lie 
 a praying to the sea. Friends, I do honour 
 the Baints but I dare -not pray to them 
 now there is no time (oh 1) what avail 
 me Dominic, and Thomas, and Catherine I 
 Nearer God's throne than these St. Peter 
 sitteth; and if I pray to him, it's odd, but 
 I shall be drowned ere he has time to plead 
 my cause with God. Oh I oh I oh ! I must 
 need go straight to Him that made the sea, 
 and the saints, and me. Our Father, which 
 art in heaven, save these poor souls and me 
 that cry for the bare life! Oh, sweet Jesus, 
 pitiful Jesus, that didst walk Genezaret when 
 Peter sank, and wept for Lazarus dead when 
 the apostles' eyes were dry, oh, save poor 
 Gerard for dear Margaret's sake ! " 
 
 At this moment the sailors were seen pre- 
 paring to desert the sinking ship in the little 
 boat, which even at that epoch every ship 
 carried ; then there was a rush of egotists ; 
 and thirty souls crowded into it Remained 
 behind three who were bewildered, and two 
 who were paralysed, with terror. The para- 
 lysed sat like heaps of wet rags, the bewil- 
 dered ones ran to and fro, and saw the 
 thirty egotists put off, but made no attempt 
 to join them: only kept running to and fro, 
 and wringing their hands. 
 
 Besides these there was one on his knees, 
 praying over the wooden statue of the Virgin 
 Mary, as large as life, which the sailors had 
 reverently detached from the mast. It washed 
 about the deck, as the water came slushing 
 in from the sea, and pouring out at the 
 scuppers ; and this poor soul kept following 
 it on his knees, with his hands clasped at 
 it, and the water playing with it. And there 
 was the Jew palsied, but not by fear. He 
 was no longer capable of so petty a passion. 
 He sat cross-legged, bemoaning his bag, and 
 whenever the spray lashed him, shook his 
 fist at where it came from, and cursed the 
 Nazarenes, and their gods, and their devils, 
 and their ships, and their waters, to all 
 eternity. 
 
 And the gigantic Dominican, baring shriven 
 the whole ship, stood calmly communing 
 with his own spirit. And the Roman woman 
 sat pale and patient, only drawing her child 
 closer to her bosom as death came nearer. 
 
 Gerard saw this, and it awakened bis 
 manhood. 
 
 " See I see ! " he said, " they have ta'en the 
 boat and left the poor woman and her child 
 to perish." 
 
 His heart soon set his wit working. 
 
 " Wife, I'll save thee yet, please God. " 
 
 And he ran to find a cask or a plank to 
 float her. There was none. 
 
 Then his eye fell on the wooden image of
 
 176 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the Virgin, He caught it up in his arms, 
 and heedless of a wail that issued from 
 its worshipper like a child robbed of its toy, 
 ran aft with it. 
 
 "Come, wife," he cried. "I'll lash thee 
 and the child to this. 'Tie sore worm eaten, 
 but 'twill serve." 
 
 She turned her great dark eye on him and 
 aid a single word 
 
 "Thyself ! I" 
 
 But with wonderful magnanimity and tender- 
 BCSS. 
 
 "I am a man, and have no child to take 
 care of." 
 
 "Ah I" said she, and his words seemed to 
 animate her face with a desire to live. He 
 lashed the image to her side. Then with 
 the hope of life she lost something of her 
 heroic calm ; not much : her body trembled 
 a little, but not her eye. 
 
 The ship was now so low in the water that 
 by using an oar as a lever he could slide her 
 into the waves. 
 
 "Come," said he, "while yet there is 
 time." 
 
 She turned her great Roman eyes, wet 
 now, upon him. 
 
 " Poor youth ! God forgive me ! My child I " 
 
 And he launched her on the surge, and 
 with his oar kept her from being battered 
 against the ship. 
 
 A heavy hand fell on him ; a deep sonorous 
 voice sounded in his ear : " 'Tis well. Now 
 come with me." 
 
 It was the gigantic friar. 
 
 Gerard turned, and the friar took two 
 strides, and laid hold of the broken mast. 
 Gerard did the same, obeying him instinc- 
 tively. Between them, after a prodigious 
 effort, they hoisted up the remainder of the 
 mast, and carried it off. 
 
 " Fling it in," said the friar, "and follow it" 
 
 They flung it in; but one of the bewil- 
 dered passengers had run after them, and 
 jumped first and got on one end. Gerard 
 seized the other, the friar the middle. 
 
 It was a terrible situation. The mast rose 
 and plunged with each wave like a kicking 
 horse, and the spray flogged their faces mer- 
 cilessly, and blinded them : to help knock 
 them off. 
 
 Presently was heard a long grating noise 
 ahead. The ship had struck, and soon after, 
 he being stationary now, they were hurled 
 against ner with tremendous force. Their 
 companion's head struck against the upper 
 part of the broken rudder with a horrible 
 crack, and was smashed like a cocoa-nut by 
 a ledge-liammer. He sunk directly, leaving 
 no trace but a red stain on the water, and 
 a white clot on the jagged rudder, and a 
 death cry ringing in their ears, as they 
 drifted clear under the lee of the black 
 hull The friar uttered a short Latin prayer 
 for the safety of his soul, and took his place 
 composedly. They rolled along fare* lavarmo ; 
 one moment they saw nothing, and seemed 
 down in a mere basin of watery hills: the 
 next they caught glimpses of the shore 
 peckled bright with people, who kept 
 
 throwing up their arms with wild Italian 
 gestures to encourage them, and the black 
 boat driving bottom upwards, and between 
 it and them the woman rising and falling 
 like themselves. She had come across a 
 paddle, and was holding her child tight 
 with her left arm, and paddling gallantly 
 with her right. 
 
 When they had tumbled along thus a long 
 time, suddenly the friar said quietly 
 
 'I touched the ground." 
 
 'Impossible, father," said Gerard; "we are 
 more than a hundred yards from shore. 
 Prithee, prithee, leave not our faithful mast." 
 
 "My son," said the friar, "you speak 
 prudently. But know that I have business 
 of Holy Church on hand, and may not waste 
 time floating when I can walk, in her 
 service. There, I felt it with my toes again ; 
 see the benefit of wearing sandals, and not 
 shoon. Again ; and sandy. Thy stature is less 
 than mine: keep to the mast I I walk." 
 
 He left the mast accordingly, and ex- 
 tending his powerful arms, rushed through 
 the water. Gerard soon followed him. At 
 each overpowering wave the monk stood 
 like a tower, and closing his mouth, threw 
 his head back to encounter it, and was 
 entirely lost under it awhile : then emerged 
 and ploughed lustily on. At last they came 
 close to the shore ; but the suction outward 
 baffled all their attempts to land. Then the 
 natives sent stout fishermen into the sea, 
 holding by long spears in a triple chain; 
 and so dragged them ashore. 
 
 The friar shook himself, bestowed a short 
 paternal benediction on the natives, and 
 went on to Rome, with eyes bent on earth 
 according to his rule, and without pausing. 
 He did not even cast a glance back upon 
 that sea, which had so nearly engulfed him, 
 but had no power to harm him, without hi 
 Master's leave. 
 
 While he stalks on alone to Rome without 
 looking back, I who am not in the service of 
 Holy Church, stop a moment to say that the 
 reader and I were within six inches of this 
 giant once before ; but we escaped him that 
 time. Now I fear we are in for him. Gerard 
 grasped every hand upon the beach. They 
 brought him to an enormous fire, and with 
 a delicacy he would hardly have encountered 
 in the north, left him to dry himself alone: 
 on this he took out of his bosom a parchment, 
 and a paper, and dried them carefully. When 
 this was done to his mind, and not till then, he 
 consented to put on a fisherman's dress and 
 leave his own by the fire, and went down to 
 the beach. What he saw may be briefly 
 related. 
 
 The captain stuck by the ship, not so much 
 from gallantry, as from a conviction that it 
 was idle to resist Castor or Pollux, which- 
 ever it was that had come for him in a ball 
 of fire. 
 
 Nevertheless the sea broke up the ship and 
 swept the poop, captain and all, clear of 
 the rest, and took him safe ashore. Gerard 
 had a principal hand in pulline him out of 
 the water.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 177 
 
 The disconsolate Hebrew landed on another 
 fragment, and on touching earth, offered a 
 reward for his bag, which excited little 
 sympathy, but some amusement. Two more 
 were saved on pieces of the wreck. The 
 thirty egotists came ashore, but one at a 
 time, and dead ; one breathed stilL Him the 
 natives, with excellent intentions, took to a 
 hot fire. So then he too retired from this 
 shifting scene. 
 
 As Gerard stood by the sea, watching, with 
 horror and curiosity mixed, his late com- 
 panions washed ashore, a hand was laid 
 lightly on his shoulder. He turned. It was 
 the Roman matron, burning with womanly 
 gratitude. She took his hand gently, and 
 raising it slowly to her lips, kissed it ; but so 
 nobly, she seemed to be conferring an honour 
 on one deserving hand. Then with face all 
 beaming and moist eyes, she held her child up 
 and made him kiss his preserver. 
 
 Gerard kissed the child more than once. He 
 was fond of children. But he said nothing. 
 He was much moved ; for she did not speak at 
 all, except with her eyes, and glowing cheeks, 
 and noble antique gesture, so large and stately. 
 Perhaps she was right. Gratitude is not a 
 thing of words. It was an ancient Roman 
 matron thanking a modern from her heart of 
 hearts. 
 
 Next day towards afternoon, Gerard twice 
 as old as last year, thrice as learned in human 
 ways, a boy no more, but a man who had shed 
 blood in self-defence, and grazed the grave 
 by land and sea reached the Eternal City; 
 post tot naufrayia tutui. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIIL 
 
 GERARD took a modest lodging on the west 
 bank of the Tiber, and every day went forth 
 in search of work, taking a specimen round to 
 every shop he could hear of that executed such 
 commissions. 
 
 They received him coldly. 
 
 "We make our letter somewhat thinner 
 than this," said one. 
 
 " How dark your ink is," said another. 
 
 But the main cry was, " What avails this 7 
 Scant is the Latin writ here now. Can ye not 
 write Greek ? " 
 
 " Ay, but not nigh so well as Latin." 
 
 "Then you shall never make your bread at 
 Rome." 
 
 Gerard borrowed a beautiful Greek manu- 
 script at a high price, and went home with 
 a sad hole in his purse, but none in his 
 courage. 
 
 In a fortnight he had made vast progress 
 with the Greek character ; so then, to lose no 
 time, he used to work at it till noon, and hunt 
 customers the rest of the day. 
 
 When he carried round a better Greek 
 specimen than any they possessed, the traders 
 Informed him that Greek and Latin were alike 
 
 unsaleable ; the city was thronged with works 
 from all Europe. He should have come last 
 
 sar, 
 
 Gerard bought a psaltery. 
 
 His landlady, pleased with his looks and 
 manners, used often to speak a kind word ia 
 passing. 
 
 One day she made him dine with her, and 
 somewhat to his surprise asked him what had 
 dashed his spirits. He told her. She gave 
 him her reading of the matter. 
 
 'Those sly traders," she would be bound, 
 " had writers in their pay, for whose work they 
 received a noble price, and paid a sorry one. 
 So no wonder they blow cold on you. Me- 
 thinks yon write too well. How know I that ! 
 say you. Marry marry, because you lock not 
 your door, like the churl Pietro, and women 
 will be curious. Ay, ay, you write too well for 
 them." 
 
 Gerard asked an explanation. 
 
 "Why," said she, "your good work might 
 put out the eyes of that they are selling." 
 
 Gerard sighed. 
 
 " Alas I dame, you read folk on the ill side, 
 and you so kind and frank yourself." 
 
 "My dear little heart, these Romans are a 
 subtle race. Me ? I am a Siennese, thanks to 
 the Virgin." 
 
 "My mistake was leaving Augsburg," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 "Augsburg?" said she haughtily: "is that 
 a place to even to Rome I I never heard of it, 
 for my part." 
 
 She then assured him that he should make 
 his fortune in spite of the booksellers. 
 
 " Seeing thee a stranger, they lie to thee 
 without sense or discretion. Why, all the 
 world knows that our great folk are bitten 
 with the writing spider this many years, and 
 pour out their money like water, and turn good 
 land and houses into writ sheepskins to keep 
 in a chest or a cupboard. God help them, and 
 send them safe through this fury, as He hath 
 through a heap of others ; and in sooth hath 
 been somewhat less cutting and stabbing 
 among rival factions, and vindictive eating 
 of their opppsites' livers, minced and fried, 
 since Scribbling came in. Why, I can tell you 
 two. There is his eminence Cardinal Bassarion, 
 and his holiness the Pope himself. There be 
 a pair could keep a score such as thee a 
 writing night and day. But I'll speak to 
 Teresa ; she hears the gossip of the court." 
 
 The next day she told him she had seen 
 Teresa, and had heard of five more signers 
 who were bitten with the writing spider. 
 Gerard took down their names, and bought 
 parchment, and busied himself for some days 
 in preparing specimens. He left one, with his 
 name and address, at each of these signers' 
 doors, and hopefully awaited the result. 
 
 There was none. 
 
 Day after day passed and left him heartsick. 
 
 And strange to say this was just the time 
 when Margaret was fighting so hard against 
 odds to feed her male dependants at Rotter- 
 dam, and arrested for curing without a licence 
 instead of killing with one. 
 
 Gerard saw ruin staring him in the face,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 He spent the afternoons picking up canzonets 
 wad mastering them. He laid in playing cards 
 to colour, and struck off a meal per day. 
 
 This last stroke of genius got him into fresh 
 trouble. 
 
 In these "camere locande" the landlady 
 dressed all the meals, though the lodgers 
 bought the provisions. So Gerard's hostess 
 peedily detected him, and asked him if he 
 was not ashamed himself : by which brusque 
 opening, having made him blush and look 
 cared, she pacified herself all in a moment, 
 and appealed to his good sense whether 
 Adversity was a thing to be overcome on .an 
 empty stomach. 
 
 " Patienza, my lad ! times will mend ; mean- 
 time I will feed you for the love of heaven." 
 (Italian for " gratis.") 
 
 "Nay, hostess," said Gerard, "my purse is 
 not vet quite void, and it would add to my 
 trouble an' if true folk should lose their due 
 by me." 
 
 "Why, you are as mad as your neighbour 
 Pietro, with his one bad picture." 
 
 " Why, how know you 'tis a bad picture I " 
 
 "Because nobody will buy it. There is 
 one that hath no gift. He will have to don 
 casque and glaive, and carry his panel for a 
 shield." 
 
 Gerard pricked up his ears at this : so 
 he told him more. Pietro had come from 
 Florence with money in his purse, and an 
 unfinished picture ; had taken her one un- 
 furnished room, opposite Gerard's, and fur- 
 nished it neatly. When his picture was 
 finished, he received visitors and had offers 
 for it: these, though in her opinion liberal 
 ones, he had refused so disdainfully as to 
 make enemies of his customers. Since then 
 be had often taken it out with him to try 
 and sell, but had always brought it back ; 
 and the last month, she had seen one 
 movable after another go out of his room, 
 and now he wore but one suit, and lay at 
 night on a great chest. She had found this 
 out only by peeping through the keyhole, for 
 he locked the door most vigilantly whenever 
 he went out. 
 
 " Is he afraid we shall steal his chest, or 
 his picture, that no soul in all Rome is weak 
 enough to buy T " 
 
 "Nay, sweet hostess; see you not 'tis his 
 poverty he would screen from viewt" 
 
 " And the more fool he I Are all our hearts 
 as ill as hist A might give us a trial first 
 anyway." 
 
 " How you speak of him. Why, bis case is 
 mine ; and your countryman to boot." 
 
 "Oh, we Sicnnese love strangers. His case 
 yours 1 Nay, 'tis just the contrary. You are 
 the comelient youth ever lodged in this 
 house ; hair like gold : he is a dark, sour- 
 visaged loon. Besides, yon know how to 
 take a woman on her better side; but not 
 he. Natheless, I wish iie would not starve to 
 death in my bouse, to get me a bad name. 
 Anyway, one starveling is enough in any house. 
 Ton are far from home, and it is for me, 
 which am the mistress here, to number 
 your meals for me and the Dutch wife, 
 
 your mother, that is far away: we two 
 women shall settle that matter. Mind them 
 thine own business, being a man, and leave 
 cooking and the like to ns, that are in the 
 world for little else that I see but to roast 
 fowls, and suckle men at starting, and sweep 
 their grown-up cobwebs." 
 
 "Dear kind dame, in sooth you do often 
 put me in mind of my mother that is far 
 away." 
 
 " All the better ; I'll put yon more in 
 mind of her before I have done with yon." 
 
 And the honest soul beamed with pleasure. 
 
 Gerard not being an egotist, nor blinded 
 by female partialities, saw his own grief in 
 poor proud Pietro; and the more he thought 
 of it. the more he resolved to share his 
 humble means with that unlucky artist; 
 Pietro's sympathy would repay him. He 
 tried to waylay him; but without success. 
 
 One day he heard a groaning in the 
 room. He knocked at the door, but re- 
 ceived no answer. He knocked again. A 
 snrly voice bade him enter. 
 
 He obeyed somewhat timidly, and entered 
 a garret furnished with a chair, a picture, 
 face to wall, an iron basin, an easel, and a 
 long chest, on which was coiled a haggard 
 young man with a wonderfully bright eye. 
 Anything more like a coiled cobra ripe fox 
 striking the first comer was never seen. 
 
 "Good Signor Pietro," said Gerard, "for- 
 give me that, weary of my own solitude, I 
 intrude on yours ; but I am your nighest 
 neighbour in this house, and methinks your 
 brother in fortune. I am an artist too." 
 
 "You are a painter? Welcome, signer. 
 Sit down on my bed." 
 
 And Pietro jumped off and waved him 
 into the vacant throne with a magnificent 
 demonstration of courtesy. 
 
 Gerard bowed, and smiled ; but hesitated a 
 little. " I may not call myself a painter. I 
 am a writer, a caligraph. I copy Greek and 
 Latin manuscripts, when I can get them to 
 copy." 
 
 "And you call that an artist!" 
 
 "Without offence to your superior merit, 
 Signor Pietro." 
 
 "No offence, stranger, none. Only, me- 
 seemeth an artist is one who thinks, and 
 paints his thought. Now a caligraph but 
 draws in black and white the thoughts of 
 another." 
 
 "'Tis well distinguished, signor. But then, 
 a writer can write the thoughts of the great 
 ancients, and matters of pure reason, such 
 as no man may paint : ay, and the thoughts 
 of God, which angels could not paint. But 
 let that pass. I am a painter as well ; but m 
 sorry one." 
 
 "The better thy luck. They will buy thy 
 work in Rome." 
 
 "But seeking to commend myself to one 
 of thy eminence, I thought it well rather to 
 call myself a capable writer, than a scurvy 
 painter." 
 
 At this moment a step was heard on the 
 stair. 
 
 "Ah! 'tis the good dame," cried Gerard.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 '79 
 
 " What ho I hostess, I am here la conversa- 
 tion with Signor Pietro. I dare saj he will 
 let me have my humble dinner here." 
 
 The Italian bowed gravely. 
 
 The landlady brought in Gerard's dinner 
 smoking and savoury. She put the dish 
 down on the bed with a face divested of 
 all expression, and went. 
 
 Gerard fell to. But ere he had eaten 
 many mouthfuls, he stopped, and said 
 
 " I am an ill-mannered churl, Signor Pietro. 
 I ne'er eat to my mind when I eat alone. 
 For our Lady's sake put a spoon into this 
 ragout with me ; 'tis not unsavoury, I promise 
 you." 
 
 Pietro fixed his glittering eye on him. 
 
 "What, good youth, thou a stranger, and 
 offerest me thy dinner ? " 
 
 "Why, eee, there is more than one can 
 eat." 
 
 "Well,, I accept," said Pietro; and took 
 the dish with some appearance of calmness, 
 and flung the contents out of window. 
 
 Then he turned, trembling with mortification 
 and ire, and iaid 
 
 "Let that teach thee to offer alms to an 
 artist thou knowest not, master writer." 
 
 Gerard's face flushed with anger, and it 
 cost him a bitter struggle not to box this 
 high-souled creature's ears. And then to go 
 and destroy good food 1 His mother's milk 
 curdled in his veins with horror at such im- 
 piety. Finally, pity at Pietro's petulance and 
 egotism, and a touch of respect for poverty- 
 struck pride, prevailed. 
 
 However, he said coldly, " Likely what 
 thou hast done might pass in a novel of thy 
 countryman, Signor Boccaccio ; but 'twas not 
 honest." 
 
 "Make that good 1" said the painter 
 sullenly. 
 
 " I offered thee half my dinner ; no more. 
 But thou hast ta'en it all. Hadst a right to 
 throw away thy share, but not mine. Pride 
 is well, but justice is better." 
 
 Pietro stared, then reflected. 
 
 " 'Tis well. I took thee for a fool, so trans- 
 parent was thine artifice. Forgive me ! And 
 prithee leave me ! Thou seest how 'tis with 
 me. The world hath soured me. I hate 
 mankind. I was not always so. Once more 
 excuse that my discourtesy, and fare thee 
 well." 
 
 Gerard sighed, and made for the door. 
 
 But suddenly a thought struck him. 
 
 "Signor Pietro," said he, "we Dutchmen 
 are hard bargainers. We are the lads 'een 
 eij scheeren,' that is 'to shave an egg.' There- 
 fore, I, for my lost dinner, do claim to feast 
 mine eyes on your picture, whose face is 
 toward the wall." 
 
 "Nay, nay," said the painter hastily, "ask 
 me not that ; I have already misconducted 
 myself enough towards thee. I would not 
 bed thy blood." 
 
 " Saints forbid ! My blood ! " 
 
 "Stranger," said Pietro sullenly, "irritated 
 by repeated insults to my picture, which is 
 my child, my heart, I did in a moment of 
 rage make a solemn vow to drive my dagger 
 
 into the next one that should flout it, and 
 the labour and love that I have given fco it." 
 
 "What, are all to be slain that will not 
 praise this picture 2 " and he looked at its 
 back with curiosity. 
 
 " Nay, nay ; if you would but look at it, 
 and hold your parrot tongues. But you will 
 be talking. So I have turned it to the wall 
 for ever. Would I were dead, and buried in 
 it for my coffin 1" 
 
 Gerard reflected. 
 
 "I accept the conditions. Show me the 
 picture! I can but hold my peace." 
 
 Pietro went and turned its face, and put 
 it in the best light the room afforded, and 
 coiled himself again on his chest, with his 
 eye, and stiletto, glittering. 
 
 The picture represented the Virgin and 
 Christ, flying through the air in a sort of 
 cloud of shadowy cherubic faces; underneath 
 was a landscape, forty or fifty miles in extent, 
 and a purple sky above. 
 
 Gerard stood and looked at it in silence. 
 Then he stepped close, and looked. Then he 
 retired as far off as he could, and looked; 
 but said not a word. 
 
 When he had been at this game half an 
 hour, Pietro cried out querulously and some- 
 what inconsistently 
 
 "Well, have you not a word to say about 
 It!" 
 
 Gerard started. 
 
 "I cry your mercy; I forgot there were 
 three of us here. Ay, I have much to say." 
 And he drew his sword. 
 
 " Alas I alas 1 " cried Pietro, jumping in 
 terror from his lair. " What wouldst thou 1 " 
 
 "Marry, defend myself against thy bodkin, 
 signer; and at due odds, being, as aforesaid, 
 a Dutchman. Therefore, hold aloof, while I 
 deliver judgment, or I will pin thee to the 
 wall like a cockchafer." 
 
 "Ohl is that all," said Pietro, greatly re- 
 lieved. " I feared you were going to stab 
 my poor picture with your sword, stabbed 
 already by so many foul tongues." 
 
 Gerard " pursued criticism under diffi- 
 culties." Put himself in a position of de- 
 fence, with his sword's point covering Pietro, 
 and one eye glancing aside at the picture. 
 
 " First, signer, I would have you know 
 that, in the mixing of certain colours, and 
 in the preparation of your oil, you Italians 
 are far behind us Flemings. But let that 
 flea stick. For as small as I am, I can show 
 you certain secrets of the Van Eycks, that 
 you will put to marvellous profit in your 
 next picture. Meantime I see in this one 
 the great qualities of your nation. Verily, 
 ye are solis filii. If we have colour, you 
 have imagination. Mother of Heaven ! an* he 
 hath not flung his immortal soul upon the 
 panel One thing I go by is this; it makes 
 other pictures I once admired seem drossy, 
 earth-born things. The drapery here is some- 
 what short and stiff. Why not let it float 
 freely, the figures being in air and motion ? " 
 
 "I will! I will!" cried Pietro eagerly. "I 
 will do anything for those who will but sea 
 what I have done."
 
 I8o 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Humph ! This landscape it enlightens 
 me. Henceforth I scorn those little huddled 
 landscapes that did erst content me. Here 
 is nature's very face: a spacious plain, each 
 distance marked, and every tree, house, figure, 
 field, and river smaller and less plain, by 
 exquisite gradation, till vision itself melts 
 into distance. Oh, beautiful! And the 
 cunning rogue hath hung his celestial figure 
 in air out of the way of his little world 
 below. Here, floating saints beneath heaven's 
 purple canopy. There, far down, earth and 
 her busy hives. And they let you take this 
 painted "poetry, this blooming hymn, through 
 the streets of Rome and bring it home un- 
 sold. But I tell thee in Ghent or Bruges, 
 or even in Rotterdam, they would tear it out 
 of thy hands. But it is a common saying 
 that a stranger's eye sees clearest. Courage, 
 Pictro Vanucci I I reverence thee, and though 
 myself a scurvy painter, do forgive thee for 
 being a great one. Forgive thee? I thank 
 God for thee and such rare men as thou art ; 
 and bow the knee to thee in just homage. 
 Thy picture is immortal, and thon, that hast 
 but a chest to sit on, art a king in thy most 
 royal art. Viva, il maestro I Viva 1 " 
 
 At this unexpected burst the painter, with 
 all the abandon of his nation, flung himself 
 on Gerard's neck. 
 
 "They said it was a maniac's dream," he 
 sobbed. 
 
 " Maniacs themselves 1 no, idiots 1 " shouted 
 Gerard. 
 
 "Generous stranger I I will hate men no 
 more since the world hath such as thee. I 
 was a viper to fling thy poor dinner away ; 
 a wretch, a monster." 
 
 "Well, monster, wilt be gentle now, and 
 up with me ? " 
 
 " Ah I that I will Whither goest thou ? " 
 
 "To order supper on the instant. We will 
 have the picture for third man." 
 
 "I will invite it whiles tbou art gone. My 
 poor picture, child of my heart." 
 
 "An, master, 'twill look on many a supper 
 after the worms have eaten you and me." 
 
 " I hope so," said Pietro. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 ABOUT a week after this the two friends sat 
 working together, but not in the tame spirit. 
 Pietro dashed fitfully at his, and did wonders 
 in a few minutes, and then did nothing, 
 except abuse it; then presently resumed it 
 in a fury, to lay it down with a groan. 
 Through all which kept calmly working, 
 calmly smiling, the canny Dutchman. 
 
 To be plain, Gerard, who never had a 
 friend he did not master, had put his 
 Onagra in harness. The friends were paint- 
 ing playing cards to boil the pot 
 
 When done, the indignant master took np 
 his picture to make his daily tour in search 
 of a customer, 
 
 Gerard begged him to take the cards as 
 well, and try and sell them. He looked all 
 the rattle-snake, but eventually embraced 
 Gerard in the Italian fashion, and took 
 them, after first drying the last-finished ones 
 in the sun, which was now powerful in that 
 happy clime. 
 
 Gerard, left alone, executed a Greek letter 
 or two, and then mended a little rent in his 
 hose. His landlady found him thus em- 
 ployed, and inquired ironically whether there 
 were no women in the house. 
 
 "When you have done that," said she, 
 " come and talk to Teresa, my friend I spoke 
 to thee of, that hath a husband not good for 
 much, which brags his acquaintance with the 
 great" 
 
 Gerard went down, and who should Teresa 
 be but the Roman matron. 
 
 " Ah, madama," said he, " is it you ? The 
 good dame told me not that And the little 
 fair-haired boy, is he well? is he none the 
 worse for his voyage in that strange boat 2 " 
 
 " He is well," said the matron. 
 
 " Why, what are you two talking about ? " 
 said the landlady, staring at them both in 
 turn ; " and why tremble you so, Teresa 
 mia?" 
 
 "He saved my child's life," said Teresa, 
 making an effort to compose herself. 
 
 " What I my lodger ? and he never told me 
 a word of that. Art not ashamed to look 
 me in the face ? " 
 
 "Alas! speak not harshly to him," said 
 the matron. She then turned to her friend 
 and poured out a glowing description of 
 Gerard's conduct, during which Gerard stood 
 blushing like a girl, and scarce recognising 
 his own performance, gratitude painted it so 
 fair. 
 
 "And to think thou shouldst ask me to 
 serve thy lodger, of whom I knew nought 
 but that he had thy good word, oh, Fiam- 
 mina ; and that was enough for me. Dear 
 youth, in serving thee I serve myself." 
 
 Then ensued an eager description, by the 
 two women, of what had been done, and 
 what should be done, to penetrate the thick 
 wall of fees, commissions, and chicanery, 
 which stood between the patrons of art and 
 an unknown artist in the Eternal City. 
 
 Teresa smiled sadly at Gerard's simplicity 
 in leaving specimens of his skill at the doors 
 of the great 
 
 " What I " said she, " without promising 
 the servants a share without even feeing 
 them, to let the signers see thy merchan- 
 dise ! As well have flung it into Tiber." 
 
 "Well-a-day!" sighed Gerard. "Then how 
 is an artist to find a patron 1 for artists are 
 poor, not rich." 
 
 "By going to some city nobler and not 
 so greedy as this," said Teresa. "La corte 
 Romana non vuoP pecora senza lana." 
 
 She fell into thought, and said she would 
 come again to-morrow. 
 
 The landlady felicitated Gerard. 
 
 "Teresa has got something in her head," 
 said she. 
 
 Teresa was scarce gone when Pietro re-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 181 
 
 turned with hia picture, looking black as 
 thunder. Gerard exchanged a glance with 
 the landlady, and followed him upstairs to 
 console him. 
 
 "What, have they let thee bring home thy 
 masterpiece ? " 
 " As heretofore." 
 
 " More fools they, then." 
 
 " That is not the worst." 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ! " 
 
 " They have bought the cards," yelled 
 Pietro, and hammered the air furiously right 
 and left. 
 
 "All the better," said Gerard cheerfully. 
 
 "They flew at me for them. They were 
 enraptured with them. They tried to conceal 
 their longing for them, but could not. I saw, 
 I feigned, I pillaged ; curse the boobies." 
 
 And he flung down a dozen small silver 
 coins on the floor and jumped on them, and 
 danced on them with basilisk eyes, and then 
 kicked them assiduously, and sent them spin- 
 ning and flying, and running all abroad. 
 Down went Gerard on his knees, and fol- 
 lowed the maltreated innocents directly, and 
 transferred them tenderly to his purse. 
 
 "Shouldst rather smile at their ignorance, 
 and put it to profit," said he. 
 
 "And so I will," said Pietro, with concen- 
 trated indignation. "The brutes! We will 
 paint a pack a day ; we will set the whole 
 city gambling and ruining itself, while we 
 live like princes on its vices and stupidity. 
 There was one of the queens, though, I had 
 fain have kept back. 'Twas you limned her, 
 brother. She had lovely red-brown hair and 
 sapphire eyes, and above all, soul." 
 
 "Pietro," said Gerard softly, "I painted 
 that one from my heart." 
 
 The quick-witted Italian nodded, and his 
 eyes twinkled. 
 
 " You love her so well, yet leave her." 
 
 "Pietro, it is because I love her so dear 
 that I have wandered all this weary road." 
 
 This interesting colloquy was interrupted by 
 the landlady crying from below 
 
 " Come down, you are wanted." 
 
 He went down, and there was Teresa again. 
 
 " Come with me, Ser Gerard." 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 GEHAKD walked silently beside Teresa, 
 wondering in hia own mind, after the 
 manner of artists, what she was going to do 
 with him ; instead of asking her. So at last 
 she told him of her own accord. A friend 
 had informed her of a working goldsmith's 
 wife who wanted a writer. 
 
 " Her shop is hard by ; you will not have 
 far to go." 
 
 Accordingly they soon arrived at the gold- 
 mith's wife. 
 
 " Madama," said Teresa, " Leonora tells 
 me you want a writer : I have brought you 
 
 a beautiful one; he saved my child at sea. 
 Prithee look on him with favour." 
 
 The goldsmith's wife complied in one 
 sense. She fixed her eyes on Gerard's comely 
 face, and could hardly take them off again. 
 But her reply was unsatisfactory. 
 
 "Nay, I have no use for a writer. Ah I 
 I mind now, it is my gossip, Cltelia, the 
 sausage-maker, wants one ; she told me, and 
 I told Leonora." 
 
 Teresa made a courteous speech and with* 
 drew. 
 
 Claalia lived at some distance, and when 
 they reached her house she was out. Teresa 
 said calmly, " I will await her return," and 
 sat so still, and dignified, and statuesque, that 
 Gerard was beginning furtively to draw her, 
 when Claelia returned. 
 
 "Madama, I hear from the goldsmith's 
 wife, the excellent Olympia, that you need a 
 writer" (here she took Gerard by the hand 
 and led him forward) ; " I have brought you 
 a beautiful one ; he saved my child from 
 the cruel waves. For our Lady's sake look 
 with favour on him." 
 
 "My good dame, my fair Ser," said Claelia, 
 " I have no use for a writer ; but now you 
 remind me, it was my friend Appia Claudia 
 asked me for one but the other day. She 
 is a tailor, lives in the Via Lepida." 
 
 Teresa retired calmly. 
 
 " Madama," said Gerard, " this is likely to 
 be a tedious business for you." 
 
 Teresa opened her eyes. 
 
 "What was ever done without a little 
 patience!" She added mildly, "We will 
 knock at every door at Rome but you shall 
 have justice." 
 
 "But, madama, 1 think we are dogged. 
 I noticed a man that follows us, sometimes 
 afar, sometimes close." 
 
 "I have seen it," said Teresa coldly; but 
 her cheek coloured faintly. "It is my poor 
 Lodovico." 
 
 She stopped and turned, and beckoned 
 with her finger. 
 
 A figure approached them somewhat un- 
 willingly. 
 
 When he came up, she gazed him full in. 
 the face, and he looked sheepish. 
 
 "Lodovico mio," said she, "know this 
 young Ser, of whom I have so often spoken 
 to thee. Know him and love him, for he it 
 was who saved thy wife and child." 
 
 At these last words Lodovico, who had 
 been bowing and grinning artificially, sud- 
 denly changed to an expression of heartfelt 
 gratitude, and embraced Gerard warmly. 
 
 Yet somehow there was something in the 
 man's original manner, and his having fol- 
 lowed his wife by stealth, that made Gerard 
 uncomfortable under this caress. However, he 
 said 
 
 1 We shall have your company, Ser Lodo- 
 vico ? " 
 
 No, signer," replied Lodovico, "I go 
 not on that side Tiber." 
 
 Addio, then," said Teresa significantly. 
 ; When shall yon return home, Teresa 
 mia!"
 
 1 82 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "When I have don* mine errand, Lodo- 
 Tico." 
 
 They pursued their way in silence. Teresa 
 now wore a Bad and almost gloomy air. 
 
 To be brief, Appia Claudia was merciful, 
 and did not send them over Tiber again, but 
 only a hundred yards down the street to 
 Lncretia, who kept the glove shop; she it 
 was wanted a writer; but what for, Appia 
 Claudia could not conceive. Lucretia was a 
 merry little dame, who received them heartily 
 enough, and told them she wanted no writer, 
 kept all her accounts in her head. 
 
 " It was for my confessor, Father Colonna ; 
 he is mad after them." 
 
 " I have heard of his excellency," said 
 Teresa. 
 
 " Who has not t " 
 
 "But, good dame, he is a friar; he has 
 made vow of poverty. I cannot let the 
 young man write and not be paid. He 
 saved my child at sea." 
 
 "Did be now?" And Lucretia cast an 
 approving look on Gerard. "Well, make 
 your mind easy ; a Colonna never wants for 
 money. The good father has only to pay 
 the word, and the princes of his race will 
 pour a thousand crowns into his lap. And 
 such a confessor, dame! the best in Rome. 
 His bead is leagues and leagues away all 
 the while; he never heeds what you are 
 saying. Why, I think no more of confessing 
 my sins to him than of telling them to that 
 wall Once, to try him, I confessed, along 
 with the rest, as how I had killed my 
 lodger's little girl and baked her in a pie. 
 Well, when my voice left off confessing, he 
 started out of his dream, and says he, a 
 mustering op a gloom, 'My erring sister, 
 ay three Paternosters and three Ave Marias 
 kneeling, and eat no butter nor eggs next 
 Wednesday, and pax vobiscum ! ' and off a 
 went with his hands behind him, looking 
 as if there was no such thing as me in the 
 world." 
 
 Teresa waited patiently, then calmly 
 brought this discursive lady back to the 
 point 
 
 "Would she be so kind as go with this 
 good youth to the friar and speak for him ? " 
 
 " Alack ! how can I leave my shop T And 
 what need f His door is aye open to writers, 
 and painters, and scholars, and all such 
 cattle. Why, one day he would not receive 
 the Duke d'Urbino, because a learned Greek 
 was closeted with him, and the friar's head 
 and his so close together over a dusty 
 parchment just come in from Greece, as 
 yon could put one cowl over the pair. His 
 wench Onesta told me. She mostly looks in 
 here for a chat when she goes an errand." 
 
 "This is the man for thee, my friend," 
 said Teresa. 
 
 "All you have to do," contined Lucretia, 
 "is to go to his lodgings (my boy shall 
 show them yon), and tell Onesta you come 
 from me, and yon are a writer, and she 
 will take yon up to him. If you put a 
 piece of silver in the wench's hand, 'twill 
 do you no harm: that stands to reason." 
 
 " I have silver," said Teresa warmly. 
 
 "But stay," said Lucretia, "mind one 
 thing. What the young man saith he can 
 do, that he must be able to do, or let 
 him shun the good friar like poison. He 
 is a very wild beast against all bunglers. 
 Why, 'twas but t'other day, one brought him 
 an ill-carved crucifix. Says he, 'Is this how 
 yon present "Salvator Mundi!" who died 
 for you in mortal agony; and you go and 
 grudge him careful work. This slovenly 
 gimcrack, a crucifix? But that it it a cruci- 
 fix of some sort, and I am a holy man, I'd 
 dust your jacket with your crucifix," says he. 
 Onesta heard every word through the key- 
 hole ; so mind." 
 
 "Have no fears, madama," said Teresa 
 loftily. "I will answer for his ability; he 
 saved my child." 
 
 Gerard was not subtle enough to appreciate 
 this conclusion; and was so far from sharing 
 Teresa's confidence that he begged a respite. 
 He would rather not go to the friar to-day: 
 would not to-morrow do as well ? 
 
 " Here is a coward for ye," said Lucretia. 
 
 "No, he is not a coward," said Teresa, 
 firing up ; " he is modest." 
 
 "I am afraid of this high-born, fastidious 
 friar," said Gerard. " Consider, he has seen 
 the handiwork of all the writers in Italy, 
 dear dame Teresa ; if you would but let me 
 prepare a better piece of work than yet I 
 have done, and then to-morrow I will face 
 him with it." 
 
 " I consent," said Teresa. 
 
 They walked home together. 
 
 Not far from his own lodging was a shop 
 that sold vellum. There was a beautiful 
 white skin in the window. Gerard looked 
 at it wistfully; but he knew he could not 
 pay for it; so he went on rather hastily. 
 However, he soon made up his mind where 
 to get vellum, and parting with Teresa at 
 his own door, ran hastily upstairs, and took 
 the bond he had brought all the way from 
 Sevenbergen, and hud it with a sigh on the 
 table. He then prepared with his chemicals 
 to erase the old writing; but as this was 
 his last chance of reading it, he now over- 
 came his deadly repugnance to bad writing, 
 and proceeded to decipher the deed in spite 
 of its detestable contractions. It appeared by 
 this deed that Ghysbrecht Van Swieten was 
 to advance some money to Floris Brandt on 
 a piece of land, and was to repay himself out 
 of the rent. 
 
 On this Gerard felt it would be Imprudent 
 and improper to destroy the deed. On the 
 contrary, he vowed to decipher every word, 
 at his leisure. He went downstairs, deter- 
 mined to buy a small piece of vellum with 
 his half of the card-money. 
 
 At the bottom of the stairs he found the 
 landlady and Teresa talking. At sight of him 
 the former cried 
 
 "Here he is. Too are caught, donna mia. 
 See what she has bought you 7 " 
 
 And whipped out from under her apron 
 the very skin of vellum Gerard had longed 
 for.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "Why, dame! why, donna Teresa!" And 
 he was speechless with pleasure and astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Dear donna Teresa, there if not a skin 
 in all Rome like it. However came yon to 
 hit on this one ? 'Tis glamour." 
 
 "Alas, dear boy, did not thine eye rest on 
 it with desire? and didst thou not sigh in 
 turning away from it! And was it for 
 Teresa to let thee want the thing after 
 that ? " !* 
 
 " What sagacity ! what goodness, madama 1 
 Oh, dame, I never thought I should possess 
 this. What did you pay for it ? " 
 
 "I forget. Addio, Fiammina. Addio, ;8er 
 Gerard. Be happy, be prosperous, as you 
 are good." And the Roman matron glided 
 away while Gerard was hesitating, and think- 
 ing how to offer to pay so stately a creature 
 for her purchase. 
 
 The next day In the afternoon he went 
 to Lucretia, and her boy took him to Fra 
 Colonna's lodgings. He announced his busi- 
 ness, and feed Onesta, and she took him up 
 to the friar. Gerard entered with a beating 
 heart. The room, a large one, was strewed 
 and heaped with objects of art, antiquity, 
 and learning, lying about in rich profusion, 
 and confusion. Manuscripts, pictures, carv- 
 ings in wood and ivory, musical instruments ; 
 and in this glorious chaos sat the friar, poring 
 Intently over an Arabian manuscript. 
 
 He looked up a little peevishly at the 
 Interruption. Onesta whispered in his ear. 
 
 " Very well," said he. " Let him be seated. 
 Stay ; young man, show me how you write 7 " 
 And he threw Gerard a piece of paper, and 
 pointed to an inkhorn. 
 
 "So please you, reverend father," said 
 Gerard, " my hand it trembleth too much 
 at this moment; but last night I wrote a 
 vellum page of Greek, and the Latin version 
 by its side, to show the various character." 
 
 " Show it me ? " 
 
 Gerard brought the work to him in fear 
 and trembling; then stood, heart-sick, await- 
 ing his verdict. 
 
 When it came it staggered him. For the 
 verdict was, a Dominican falling on his 
 neck. 
 
 CHAPTER LXL 
 
 HAPPY the man who has two chain-cables : 
 Merit, and Women. 
 
 Oh, that I, like Gerard, had a chatne da 
 dame* to pull up by. 
 
 I would be prose lanreat, or professor of 
 the spasmodic, or something, in no tune. 
 En attendant, I will sketch the Fra Colonna. 
 
 The true revivers of ancient learning and 
 philosophy were two writers of fiction 
 Petrarch and Boccaccio. 
 
 Their labours were not crowned with great, 
 public, and immediate success ; but they sowed 
 
 the good seed; and It never perished, but 
 quickened in the soil, awaiting sunshine. 
 
 From their day Italy was never without a 
 native scholar or two, versed in Greek; and 
 each learned Greek who landed there was 
 received fraternally. The fourteenth century, 
 ere its close, saw the birth of Poggio, Valla, 
 and tho elder Guarino; and early in the 
 fifteenth Florence under Cosmo de Medici 
 was a nest of Platonists. These, headed by 
 Gemistus Pletho, a born Greek, began about 
 A.D. 1440 to write down Aristotle. For few 
 minds are big enough to be just to great A 
 without being unjust to capital B. 
 
 Theodore Gaza defended that great man 
 with moderation ; George of Trebizond with 
 acerbity, and retorted on Plato. Then Car- 
 dinal jBessarion, another born Greek, resisted 
 the said George, and his idol, in a tract 
 "Adversus calumniatorem Platonis." 
 
 Pugnacity, whether wise or not, Is a form 
 of vitality. Born without controversial bile 
 in so zealous an epoch, Francesco Colonna, 
 a young nobleman of Florence, lived for the 
 arts. At twenty he turned Dominican friar. 
 His object was quiet study. He retired from 
 idle company, and faction fights, the hum- 
 ming and the stinging of the human hive, to 
 St. Dominic and the Nine Muses. 
 
 An eager student of languages, pictures, 
 statues, chronology, coins, and monumental 
 inscriptions. These last loosened his faith 
 in popular histories. 
 
 He travelled many years In the East, and 
 returned laden with spoils : master of several 
 choice MSS., and versed hi Greek and Latin, 
 Hebrew and Syriac. He found his country 
 had not stood still. Other lettered princes 
 besides Cosmo had sprung up. Alfonso King 
 of Naples, Nicolas d'Este, Lionel d'Este, Ac. 
 Above all, his old friend Thomas of Sarzana 
 had been made pope, and had lent a mighty 
 impulse to letters; had accumulated 5000 
 MSS. in the library of the Vatican, and had 
 set Poggio to translate Diodorus Siculus and 
 Xenophon's Oyropsedia, Laurentius Valla to 
 translate Herodotus and Thncydides, Theodore 
 Gaza, Theophrastus ; George of Trebizond, Eu- 
 sebius, and certain treatises of Plato, &c. &c. 
 
 The monk found Plato and Aristotle under 
 armistice, but Poggio and Valla at logger- 
 heads over verbs and nouns, and on fire with 
 odium pkilologicurn. All this was heaven ; 
 and he settled down in his native land, his 
 life a rosy dream. None so happy as the 
 versatile, provided they have not their bread 
 to make by it. And Fra Colonna was Versa- 
 tility. He knew seven or eight languages, 
 and a little mathematics; could write a bit, 
 paint a bit, model a bit, sing a bit, strum a 
 bit ; and could relish superior excellence in 
 all these branches. For this last trait he 
 
 icrved to be as happy as he was. For, 
 gauge the Intellects of your acquaintances, 
 and you will find but few whose minds are 
 neither deaf, nor blind, nor dead to some 
 great art or science 
 
 " And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out" 
 And eucb of (hem as ara conceited as well
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 as stupid shall even parade instead of blushing 
 for the holes in their intellects. 
 
 A zealot in art, the friar was a sceptic In 
 religion. 
 
 In every age there are a few men who 
 hold the opinions of another age, past or 
 future. Being a lump of simplicity, his 
 scepticism was as naif as his enthusiasm. 
 He affected to look on the religious cere- 
 monies of his day as his models, the heathen 
 philosophers, regarded the worship of gods 
 and departed heroes : mummeries good for 
 the populace. But here his mind drew 
 unconsciously a droll distinction. Whatever 
 Christian ceremony his learning taught him 
 was of purely pagan origin, that he respected, 
 out of respect for antiquity; though had he, 
 with his turn of mind, been a pagan and its 
 contemporary, he would have scorned it from 
 his philosophic heights. 
 
 Fra Colonna was charmed with his new 
 artist, and having the run of half the palaces 
 in Rome, sounded his praises so, that he was 
 soon called upon to resign him. He told 
 Gerard what great princes wanted him. 
 
 "But I am so happy with you, father," 
 objected Gerard. 
 
 "Fiddlestick about being happy with me," 
 aid Fra Colonna ; " yon must not be happy ; 
 yon must be a man of the world ; the grand 
 lesson I impress on the young is, be a man 
 of the world. Now these Montesini can pay 
 you three times as much as I can, and they 
 shall too by Jupiter." 
 
 And the friar clapped a terrific price on 
 Gerard's pen. It was acceded to without a 
 murmur. Much higher prices were going for 
 copying than anthorthip ever obtained for 
 centuries nnder the printing press. 
 
 Gerard had three hundred crowns for Aris- 
 totle's treatise on rhetoric. 
 
 The great are mighty sweet upon all their 
 pets, while the fancy lasts; and in the rage 
 for Greek MSS. the handsome writer soon be- 
 came a pet, and nobles of both sexes caressed 
 him like a lap dog. 
 
 It would have turned a vain fellow's head ; 
 but the canny Dutchman saw the steel hand 
 beneath the velvet glove, and did not pre- 
 sume. Nevertheless it was a proud day for 
 him when be found himself seated with Fra 
 Colonna at the table of his present employer, 
 Cardinal Bexsarion. They were about a mile 
 from the top of that table ; but never mind, 
 there they were; and Gerard had the ad- 
 vantage of seeing roast pheasants dished up 
 with all their feathers as if they had just 
 flown out of a coppice instead of off the spit : 
 also chickens cooked in bottles, and tender 
 as peaches. But the grand novelty was the 
 napkins, surpassingly fine, and folded into 
 cocked hats, and birds' wings, and fans, 4c., 
 instead of lying flat. This electrified Gerard ; 
 though my readers have seen the dazzling 
 phenomenon without tumbling backwards 
 chair and all. 
 
 After dinner the tables were split in pieces, 
 and carried away, and lo, under each was 
 another table spread with sweetmeats. The 
 tignoras and signorinas fell upon them and 
 
 gormandised ; but the signers eyed them with 
 reasonable suspicion. 
 
 "But, dear father," objected Gerard, "I 
 see not the bifurcal daggers, with which 
 men say his excellency armeth the left hand 
 of a man." 
 
 "Nay, 'tis the Cardinal Orsini which hath 
 invented yon peevish instrument for his 
 guests to fumble their meat withal. One, 
 being in haste, did skewer his tongue to 
 his palate with it, I hear; O tempora, O 
 mores I The ancients, reclining godlike at 
 their feasts, how had they spurned such 
 pedantries." 
 
 As soon as the ladies had disported them- 
 selves among the sugar-plums, the tables 
 were suddenly removed, and the guests sat 
 in a row against the wall. Then came in, 
 ducking and scraping, two ecclesiastics with 
 lutes, and kneeled at the cardinal's feet and 
 there sang the service of the day ; then retired 
 with a deep obeisance : in answer to which 
 the cardinal fingered his skull cap as our 
 late Iron Duke his hat: the company dis- 
 persed, and Gerard had dined with a cardinal 
 and one that had thrice just missed being 
 
 But greater honour was in store. 
 
 One day the cardinal sent for him, and 
 after praising the beauty of his work took 
 him in his coach to the Vatican ; and up a 
 private stair to a luxurious little room, with 
 a great oriel window. Here were inkstands, 
 sloping frames for writing on, and all the 
 instruments of art. The cardinal whispered 
 a courtier, and presently the Pope's private 
 secretary appeared with a glorious grimy old 
 MS. of Plutarch's Lives. And soon Gerard 
 was seated alone copying it, awestruck, yet 
 half delighted at the thought that his holi- 
 ness would handle his work and read it. 
 
 The papal inkstands were all glorious ex- 
 ternally; but within the ink was vile. But 
 Gerard carried ever good ink, home-made, 
 in a dirty little inkhorn : he prayed on his 
 knees for a firm and skilful hand, and set 
 to work. 
 
 One side of his room was nearly occupied 
 by a massive curtain divided in the centre ; 
 but its ample folds overlapped. After a while 
 Gerard felt drawn to peep through that curtain. 
 He resisted the impulse. It returned. It 
 overpowered him. He left Plutarch ; stole 
 across the matted floor ; took the folds of the 
 curtain, and gently gathered them up with 
 his fingers, and putting his nose through the 
 chink ran it against a cold steel halbert. 
 Two soldiers, armed cap-a-pie, were holding 
 their glittering weapons crossed in a triangle. 
 Gerard drew swiftly back ; but in that instant 
 he heard the soft murmur of voices, and saw 
 a group of persons cringing before some hidden 
 figure. 
 
 He never repeated his attempt to pry 
 through the guarded curtain ; but often eyed 
 it. Every hour or so an ecclesiastic peeped 
 in, eyed him, chilled him, and exit All this 
 was gloomy, and mechanical. But the next 
 day a gentleman, richly armed, bounced in, 
 and glared at him.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 18$ 
 
 " What is toward here ? " said he. 
 Gerard told him he was writing out Plutarch, 
 with the help of the saints. The spark said 
 he did not know the signer in question. 
 Gerard explained the circumstances of time 
 and space that had deprived the Signor 
 Plutarch of the advantage of the spark's 
 conversation. 
 
 "Oh! one of those old dead Greeks they 
 keep such a coil about." 
 
 "Ay, signer, one of them, who, being dead, 
 yet live." 
 
 "I understand you not, young man," said 
 the noble, with all the dignity of ignorance. 
 "What did the old fellow write! Love 
 stories?" and his eyes sparkled: "merry 
 tales, like Boccaccio." 
 
 " Nay, lives of heroes and sages." 
 " Soldiers and popes ? " 
 " Soldiers and princes." 
 " Wilt read me of them some day ! " 
 "And willingly, signer. But what would 
 they say who employ me, were I to break 
 off work 2 " 
 
 "Oh, never heed that; know you not who 
 I am ? I am Jacques Bonaventura, nephew 
 to his holiness the Pope, and captain of his 
 guards. And I came here to look after my 
 fellows. I trow they have turned them out 
 of their room for you." 
 
 Signor Bonaventura then hurried away. 
 This lively companion, however, having acquired 
 a habit of running into that little room, and 
 finding Gerard good company, often looked 
 in on him, and chattered ephemeralities while 
 Gerard wrote the immortal lives. 
 
 One day he came a changed and moody 
 man, and threw himself into a chair, crying 
 " Ah, traitress ! traitress I " 
 Gerard inquired what was his ill T 
 " Traitress I traitress I " was the reply. 
 Whereupon Gerard wrote Plutarch. Then 
 says Bonaventura 
 
 " I am melancholy ; and for our Lady's sake 
 read me a story out of Ser Plutarcho, to 
 soothe my bile : in all that Greek is there 
 nought about lovers betrayed ? " 
 
 Gerard read him the life of. Alexander. He 
 got excited, marched about the room, and 
 embracing the reader, vowed to shun "soft 
 delights," that bed of nettles, and follow 
 glory. 
 
 Who so happy now as Gerard? His art 
 was honoured, and fabulous prices paid for 
 it ; in a year or two he should return by sea 
 to Holland, with good store of money, and 
 set up with his beloved Margaret in Bruges, 
 or Antwerp, or dear Augsburg, and end their 
 days in peace, and love, and healthy, happy 
 labour. His heart never strayed an instant 
 from her. 
 
 In his prosperity he did not forget poor 
 Pietro. He took the Fra Colonna to see his 
 picture. The friar inspected it severely and 
 closely, fell on the artist's neck, and carried 
 the picture to one of the Colonnas, who gave 
 a noble price for it. 
 
 Pietro descended to the first floor ; and 
 
 lived like a gentleman. 
 
 But Gerard remained in his garret. To 
 
 increase his expenses would have been to 
 >ostpone his return to Margaret. Luxury had 
 10 charms for the single-hearted one, when 
 opposed to love. 
 
 Jacques Bonaventura made him acquainted 
 with other gay young fellows. They loved 
 lim, and sought to entice him into vice, and 
 other expenses. But he begged humbly to 
 )e excused. So he escaped that temptation. 
 But a greater was behind. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 FRA COLONNA had the run of the Pope's 
 ibrary, and sometimes left off work at the 
 same hour and walked the city with Gerard, 
 on which occasions the happy artist saw all 
 things en beau, and was wrapped up in the 
 grandeur of Rome and its churches, palaces, 
 and ruins. 
 
 The friar granted the ruins, but threw cold 
 water on the rest. 
 
 This place Rome? It is but the tomb of 
 mighty Rome." He showed Gerard that 
 twenty or thirty feet of the old triumphal 
 arches were underground, and that the modern 
 streets ran over ancient palaces, and over the 
 tops of columns ; and coupling this with the 
 comparatively narrow limits of the modern 
 city, and the gigantic vestiges of antiquity 
 that peeped aboveground here and there, he 
 uttered a somewhat remarkable simile. " I 
 tell thee this village they call Rome is but as 
 one of those swallows' nests ye shall see built 
 on the eaves of a decayed abbey. " 
 
 " Old Rome must indeed have been fail 
 then," said Gerard. 
 
 " Judge for yourself, my son ; you see the 
 great sewer, the work of the Romans in their 
 very childhood, and shall outlast Vesuvius. 
 You see the fragments of the Temple of 
 Peace. How would you look could you see 
 also the Capitol with its five-and-twenty 
 temples ? Do but note this Monte Savello : 
 what is it, an' it please you, but the ruins of 
 the ancient theatre of Marcellus? and as 
 for Testacio, one of the highest hills in 
 modern Rome, it is but an ancient dust 
 heap ; the women of old Rome flung their 
 broken pots and pans there, and lo a 
 mountain. 
 
 1 Ex pede Herculem ; ex uugue leonem.' " 
 
 Gerard listened respectfully, but when the 
 holy friar proceeded by analogy to imply 
 that the moral superiority of the heathen 
 Romans was proportionably grand, he resisted 
 stoutly. 
 
 " Has then the world lost by Christ His 
 coming ? " said he ; but blushed, for he felt 
 himself reproaching his benefactor. 
 
 " Saints forbid ! " said the friar. " 'Twere 
 heresy to say so." 
 
 And having made this direct concession, 
 he proceeded gradually to evade it by subtle
 
 186 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 circumlocution, and reached the forbidden 
 door by the spiral back staircase. In the 
 midst of all which thej came to a church 
 with a knot of persons in the porch. A 
 demon was being exorcised within. Now Fra 
 Colonna had a way of uttering a curious sort 
 of little moan, when things Zeno or Epicurus 
 would not have swallowed were presented 
 to him as facts. This moan conveyed to 
 such as had often heard it not only strong 
 dissent, but pity for human credulity, ignor- 
 ance, and error, especially of course when it 
 blinded men to the merits of Pagandom. 
 
 The friar moaned, and said, "Then come 
 away." 
 
 "Nay, father, prithee! prithee 1 I ne'er 
 saw a divell cast out." 
 
 The friar accompanied Gerard into the 
 church, but had a good shrug first. There 
 they found the demoniac forced down on 
 his knees before the altar with a scarf tied 
 round his neck, by which the officiating priest 
 held him like a dog in a chain. 
 
 Not many persons were present, for fame 
 had put forth that the last demon cast out 
 in that church went no farther than into 
 one of the company: "as a cony ferreted 
 out of one burrow runs to the next." 
 
 When Gerard and the friar came up, the 
 priest seemed to think there were now spec- 
 tators enough ; and began. 
 
 He faced the demoniac, breviary in hand, 
 and first set himself to learn the individual's 
 name with whom he had to deal. 
 
 "Come out, Ashtaroth. Oho! it is not 
 yon then. Come out, Belial. Come out, 
 Tatzi. Come out, Eza. No ; he trembles not. 
 Come out, Azymoth. Come out, Feriander. 
 Come out, Foletho. Come out, Astyma. 
 Come out, NebuL Aba! what, have I found 
 yet 'tis thou, thou reptile; at thine old 
 tricks. Let us pray ! 
 
 "Oh, Lord, we pray thee to drive the foul 
 fiend Nebul out of this thy creature: out of 
 his hair, and his eyes, out of his nose, out of 
 his mouth, out of his ears, out of his gums, 
 oat of his teeth, out of his shoulders, out 
 of his arms, legs, loins, stomach, bowels, 
 thighs, knees, calves, feet, ankles, finger-nails, 
 toe-nails, and soul. Amen." 
 
 The priest then rose from his knees, and 
 turning to the company, said, with quiet 
 geniality 
 
 "Gentles, we have here as obstinate a 
 divell as you may see in a summer day." 
 
 Then, facing the patient, he spoke to him 
 with great rigour, sometimes addressing the 
 man and sometimes the fiend, and they 
 answered him in turn through the same 
 mouth, now saying that they hated those 
 holy names the priest kept uttering, and 
 now complaining they did feel so bad in 
 their inside. 
 
 It was the priest who first confounded the 
 victim and the culprit in idea, by pitching 
 hito the former, cuffing him soundly, kicking 
 him, and spitting repeatedly in his face. 
 Then he took a candle and lighted it, and 
 turned it down, and burned it till it burned 
 his fingers; when he dropped it double 
 
 quick. Then took the custodial ; and showed 
 the patient the Corpus Domini within. Then 
 burned another candle as before, but more 
 cautiously : then spoke civilly to the demoniac 
 in his human character, dismissed him, and 
 received the compliments of the company. 
 
 "Good father," said Gerard, "how you 
 have their names by heart. Our northern 
 priests have no such exquisite knowledge of 
 the hellish squadrons." 
 
 "Ay, young man, here we know all their 
 names, and eke their ways, the reptiles. This 
 Nebul is a bitter hard one to hunt out." 
 
 He then told the company in the most 
 affable way several of his experiences ; con- 
 cluding with his feat of yesterday, when he 
 drove a great hulking fiend out of a woman 
 by her mouth, leaving behind him certain 
 nails, and pins, and a tuft of his own hair, and 
 cried out in a voice of anguish 
 
 " 'Tis not thon that conquers me. See that 
 stone on the window sill. Know that the 
 angel Gabriel coming down to earth once 
 lighted on that stone : 'tis that has done my 
 business." 
 
 The friar moaned. 
 
 " And you believed him 7 " 
 
 " Certes ! who but an infidel had discredited 
 a revelation so precise 1 " 
 
 "What, (believe the father of Jlea? That 
 is pushing credulity beyond the age." 
 
 " Oh, a liar does not always lie." 
 
 "Ay doth he whenever he tells an impro- 
 bable story to begin, and shows you a holy 
 relic; arms you against the Satanic host. 
 Fiends (if any) be not so simple. Shouldst 
 have answered him out of antiquity 
 
 'Tlmeo Danaos et dona ferentoa. 
 
 Some blackguard chopped his wife's head off 
 on that stone, young man ; you take my word 
 for it." 
 
 And the friar hurried Gerard away. 
 
 "Alack, father, I fear you abashed the good 
 priest." 
 
 "Ay, by Pollux," said the friar, with a 
 chuckle ; " I blistered him with a single touch 
 of ' Socratic interrogation.' What modern can 
 parry the weapons of antiquity 2 " 
 
 One afternoon, when Gerard had finished 
 his day's work, a fine lackey came and de- 
 manded his attendance at the Palace Cesarini. 
 He went, and was ushered into a noble apart- 
 ment; there was a girl seated in it, working 
 on a tapestry. She rose and left the room, 
 and said she would let her mistress know. 
 
 A good hour did Gerard cool bis heels in 
 that great room, and at last he began to 
 fret. 
 
 "These nobles think nothing of a poor 
 fellow's time." 
 
 However, just as he was making up his 
 mind to slip out, and go about his business, 
 the door opened, and a superb beauty entered 
 the room, followed by two maids. It was 
 the young princess of the house of Cesarini. 
 She came in talking rather loudly and haughtily
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 18? 
 
 to her dependants, but at sight of Gerard 
 lowered her voice to a very feminine tone, 
 and said 
 
 " Are you the writer, messer ! " 
 
 " I am, signora." 
 
 " 'Tis well." 
 
 She then seated herself; Gerard and her 
 maids remained standing. 
 
 " What is your name, good youth I " 
 
 "Gerard, signora." 
 
 " Gerard 7 body of Bacchus I is that the 
 name of a human creature ? " 
 
 "It is a Dutch name, signora. I was born 
 at Tergou, in Holland." 
 
 "A harsh name, girls, for so well-favoured 
 a youth ; what say you 7 " 
 
 The maids assented warmly. 
 
 "What did I send for him for?" inquired 
 the lady, with lofty languor. "Ah, I re- 
 member. Be seated, Ber Gerardo, and write 
 me a letter to Ercole Orsini, my lover; at 
 least he says so." 
 
 Gerard seated himself, took out paper and 
 ink, and looked up to the princess for in- 
 structions. 
 
 She, seated on a much higher chair, almost 
 a throne, looked down at him with eyes 
 equally inquiring. 
 
 " Well, Gerardo." 
 
 " I am ready, your excellence." 
 
 "Write, then." 
 
 " I but await the words." 
 
 "And who, think you, is to provide tJum?" 
 
 "Who but your grace, whose letter it is 
 to be?" 
 
 " Gramercy ! what, you writers, find you not 
 the words? What avails your art without 
 the words? I doubt you are an impostor, 
 Gerardo." 
 
 "Nay, signora, I am none. I might make 
 shift to put your highness's speech into gram- 
 mar, as well as writing. But I cannot inter- 
 pret your silence. Therefore speak what is in 
 your heart, and I will empaper it before your 
 eyes." 
 
 "But there is nothing in my heart. And 
 sometimes I think I have got no heart." 
 
 "What is in your mind, then 2 " 
 
 " But there is nothing in my mind ; nor my 
 head neither." 
 
 " Then why write at all 7 " 
 
 "Why, indeed? That is the first word of 
 eense either you or I have spoken, Gerardo. 
 Pestilence seize him 1 why writeth he not first I 
 then I could say nay to this, and ay to that, 
 withouten headache. Also is it a lady's part, 
 to say the first word ? " 
 
 " No, signora : the last." 
 
 "It is well spoken, Gerardo. Ha I ha I 
 Shalt have a gold piece for thy wit. Give 
 me my purse ! " 
 
 And she paid him for the article on the 
 nail A la moyen dge. Money never yet chilled 
 zeal. Gerard, after getting a gold piece so 
 cheap, felt bound to pull her out of her diffi- 
 culty, if the wit of man might achieve it. 
 
 " Signorina," said he, "these things are only 
 hard because folk attempt too much, are arti- 
 ficial and labour phrases. Do but figure to 
 yourself the signer you love " 
 
 'I love him not." 
 
 " Well, then, the signer you love not seated 
 at this table, and diet to me just what you 
 would say to him." 
 
 "Well, if he sat there, I should say, 'Go 
 away.' " 
 
 Gerard, who was flourishing his pen by way 
 of preparation, laid it down with a groan. 
 
 "And when he was gone," said Floretta, 
 " your highness would say, ' Come back.' " 
 
 "Like enough, wench. Now silence, all, 
 and let me think. He pestered me to write, 
 and I promised ; so mine honour is engaged. 
 What lie shall I tell the Gerardo to tell the 
 fool?" and she turned her head away from 
 them and fell into deep thought, with her 
 noble chin resting on her white hand, half 
 clenched. 
 
 She was so lovely and statuesque, and looked 
 so inspired with thoughts celestial, as she sat 
 thus, impregnating herself with mendacity, 
 that Gerard forgot all, except art, and pro- 
 ceeded eagerly to transfer that exquisite profile 
 to paper. 
 
 He had very nearly finished when the fair 
 statue turned brusquely roand and looked at 
 him. 
 
 " Nay, signora," said he, a little peevishly ; 
 "for Heaven's sake change not your pos- 
 ture 'twas perfect. See, you are nearly 
 finished." 
 
 All eyes were Instantly on the work, and all 
 tongues active. 
 
 "How like! and done in a minute: nay, 
 methinks her highness's chin is not quite 
 so " 
 
 " Oh, a touch will make that right." 
 
 "What a pity 'tis not coloured. I'm all 
 for colours. Hang black and white ! And her 
 highness hath such a lovely skin. Take away 
 her skin, and half her beauty is lost." 
 
 " Peace. Can you colour, Ser Gerardo ! " 
 
 " Ay, signorina. I am a poor hand at oils ; 
 there shines my friend Pietro; but in this 
 small way I can tint you to the life, if you 
 have time to waste on such vanity." 
 
 "Call yon this vanity? And for time, it 
 hangs on me like lead. Send for your colours 
 now quick, this moment for love of all the 
 saints." 
 
 "Nay, eignorina, I must prepare them. I 
 could come at the same time to-morrow." 
 
 "So be it. And you, Floretta, see that he 
 be admitted at all hours. Alack ! Leave my 
 head I leave my head I " 
 
 " Forgive me, signora ; I thought to prepare 
 it at home to receive the colours. But I will 
 leave it. And now let us despatch the letter." 
 
 "What letter?" 
 
 "To the Signer Orsini." 
 
 " And shall I waste my time on such vanity 
 as writing letters and to that empty crea- 
 ture, to whom I am as indifferent as the 
 moon! Nay, not indifferent, for I have just 
 discovered my real sentiments. I hate him 
 and despise him. Girls, I here forbid you 
 once for all to mention that signer's name 
 to me again ; else I'll whip you till the blood 
 comes. You know how I can lay on whe& 
 I'm roused."
 
 1 88 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "We do. We do." 
 
 " Then provoke me not to it ;" and her eye 
 flashed daggers, and she turned to Gerard all 
 Instantaneous honey. "Addio, il Gerar-do." 
 And Gerard bowed himself oat of this relvet 
 tiger's den. 
 
 He came next day and coloured her; and 
 next he was set to make a portrait of her on 
 a large scale; and then a full-length figure; 
 and he was obliged to set apart two hours 
 in the afternoon for drawing and painting this 
 princess, whose beauty and vanity were pro- 
 digious, and candidates for a portrait of her 
 numerous. Here the thriving Gerard found 
 a new and fruitful source of income. 
 
 Margaret seemed nearer and nearer. 
 
 It was Holy Thursday. No work this day. 
 Fra Colonna and Gerard sat in a window 
 and saw the religious processions. Their 
 number and pious ardour thrilled Gerard 
 with the devotion that now seemed to ani- 
 mate the whole people, lately bent on earthly 
 
 Presently the Pope came pacing majesti- 
 cally at the head of his cardinals, in a red 
 hat, white cloak, a capuchin of red velvet, 
 and riding a lovely white Neapolitan barb, 
 caparisoned with red velvet fringed and tas- 
 selled with gold ; a hundred horsemen, armed 
 cap-a-pie, rode behind him with their lances 
 erected, the butt-end resting on the man's 
 thigh. The cardinals went uncovered, all 
 but one, de Medicis, who rode close to the 
 Pope and conversed with him as with an 
 equal. At every fifteen steps the Pope stopped 
 a single moment, and gave the people his 
 blessing, then on again. 
 
 Gerard and the friar now came down, and 
 threading some by-streets reached the por- 
 tico of one of the seven churches. It was 
 hung with black, and soon the Pope and 
 cardinals, who had entered the church by 
 another door, issued forth, and stood with 
 torches on the steps, separated by barriers 
 from the people ; then a canon read a Latin 
 Bull, excommunicating several persons by 
 name, especially such princes as were keep- 
 ing the Church out of any of her temporal 
 possessions. 
 
 At this awful ceremony Gerard trembled, 
 and so did the people. But two of the 
 cardinals spoiled the effect by laughing un- 
 reservedly the whole time. 
 
 When this was ended, the black cloth was 
 removed, and revealed a gay panoply; and 
 the Pope blessed the people, and ended by 
 throwing his torch among them : so did two 
 cardinals. Instantly there was a scramble 
 for the torches: they were fought for, and 
 torn in pieces by the candidates, so devoutly 
 that small fragments were gained at the price 
 of black eyes, bloody noses, and burnt fingers ; 
 in which bottling his holiness and suite with- 
 drew in peace. 
 
 And now there was a cry, and the crowd 
 rushed to a square where was a large, open 
 stage: several priests were upon it praying. 
 They rose, and with great ceremony donned 
 red gloves. Then one of their number kneeled, 
 
 and with signs of the lowest reverence drew 
 forth from a shrine a square frame, like that 
 of a mirror, and inside was as it were the 
 impression of a face. 
 
 It was the Vera icon, or true impression 
 of our Saviour's face, taken at the very 
 moment of His most mortal agony for us. 
 Received as it was without a grain of 
 doubt, imagine how it moved every Christian 
 heart. 
 
 The people threw themselves on their faces 
 when the priest raised it on high ; and cries 
 of pity were in every mouth, and tears in 
 almost every eye. After a while the people 
 rose, and then the priest went round the 
 platform, showing it for a single moment 
 to the nearest ; and at each sight loud cries 
 of pity and devotion burst forth. 
 
 Soon after this the friends fell in with a 
 procession of Flagellants, flogging their bare 
 shoulders till the blood ran streaming down ; 
 but without a sign of pain in their faces, 
 and many of them laughing and jesting as 
 they lashed. The bystanders out of pity 
 offered them wine; they took it, but few 
 drank it ; they generally used it to free the 
 tails of the cat, which were hard with 
 clotted blood, and make the next stroke 
 more effective. Most of them were boys, 
 and a young woman took pity on one fair 
 urchin. 
 
 " Alas I dear child," said she, " why wound 
 thy white skin so T " 
 
 " Basta," said he, laughing, " 'tis for your 
 sins I do it, not for mine." 
 
 " Hear you that ? " said the friar. " Show 
 me the whip that can whip the vanity out 
 of man's heart 1 The young monkey; how 
 knoweth he that stranger is a sinner more 
 than he ? " 
 
 "Father," said Gerard, "surely this is 
 not to our Lord's mind. He was so 
 pitiful" 
 
 "Our Lord?" said the friar, crossing him- 
 self. "What has He to do with this? This 
 was a custom in Rome six hundred years 
 before He was born. The boys used to go 
 through the streets, at the Lupercalia, flog- 
 ging themselves. And the married women 
 used to shove in, and try and get a blow 
 from the monkeys' scourges ; for these blows 
 conferred fruitf nlness in those days. A 
 foolish trick this flagellation; but interest- 
 ing to the bystander; reminds him of the 
 grand old heathen. We are so prone to forget 
 all we owe them." 
 
 Next they got into one of the seven 
 churches, and saw the Pope give the mass. 
 The ceremony was imposing, but again spoiled 
 by the inconsistent conduct of the cardinals 
 and other prelates, who sat about the altar 
 with their hats on, chattering all through the 
 mass like a flock of geese. 
 
 The eucharist in both kinds was tasted 
 by an ofOcial before the Pope would venture 
 on it; and this surprised Gerard beyond 
 measure. 
 
 "Who is that base man! and what doth he 
 there 1 " 
 
 "Oh, thnt is the Proguste, and he tastes
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 189 
 
 the cucharist by way of precaution. This is 
 the country for poison ; and none fall oftener 
 by it than the poor Popes." 
 
 " Alas I so I have heard ; but after the 
 miraculous change of the bread and wine 
 to Christ His body and blood, poison can- 
 not remain ; gone is the bread with all 
 Its properties and accidents ; gone ia the 
 wine." 
 
 11 So says Faith ; but experience tells another 
 tale. Scores have died in Italy poisoned in 
 the host." 
 
 "And I tell you, father, that were both 
 bread and wine charged with direst poison 
 before his holiness had consecrated them, yet 
 after consecration I would take them both 
 withouten fear." 
 
 " So would I, but for the fine arts." 
 
 " What mean you 1 " 
 
 "Marry, that I would be as ready to leave 
 the world as thou, were it not for those 
 arts, which beautify existence here below, 
 and make it dear to men of sense and educa- 
 tion. No ; so long as the Nine Muses strew 
 my path with roses of learning and art, me 
 may Apollo inspire with wisdom and caution, 
 that knowing the wiles of my countrymen, 
 I may eat poison neither at God's altar nor 
 at a friend's table, since, wherever I eat it 
 or drink it, it will assuredly cut short my 
 mortal thread ; and I am writing a book 
 heart and soul in it ' The Dream of 
 Polifilo,' the man of many arts. So name 
 not poison to me till that is finished and 
 copied." 
 
 And now the great bells of St. John Lateran's 
 were rung with a clash at short intervals, and 
 the people hurried thither to see the heads of 
 St. Peter and St. Paul. 
 
 Gerard and the friar got a good place in 
 the church, and there was a great curtain, 
 and after long and breathless expectation 
 of the people, this curtain was drawn by 
 jerks, and at a height of about thirty feet 
 were two human heads with bearded faces, 
 that seemed alive. They were shown no 
 longer than the time to say an Ave Maria, 
 and then the curtain drawn. But they were 
 shown in this fashion three times. St. 
 Peter's complexion was pale, bis face oval, 
 his beard grey and forked ; his head crowned 
 with a papal mitre. St. Paul was dark 
 skinned, with a thick, square beard ; his face 
 also and head were more square and massive, 
 and full of resolution. 
 
 Gerard was awe-struck. The friar approved 
 after his fashion. 
 
 " This exhibition of the 'imagines,' or waxen 
 effigies of heroes and demigods, is a venerable 
 custom, and inciteth the vulgar to virtue by 
 great and visible examples. " 
 
 "Waxen images? What, are they not 
 the apostles themselves, embalmed, or the 
 like?" 
 
 The friar moaned. 
 
 " They did not exist in the year 800. The 
 great old Roman families always produced 
 at their funerals a series of these 'imagines,' 
 thereby tying past and present history to- 
 gether, and showing the populace the features 
 
 of far-famed worthies. I can conreive nothing 
 more thrilling or instructive. But then the 
 effigies were portraits made during life or 
 at the hour of death. These of St. Paul 
 and St. Peter are moulded out of pure 
 fancy." 
 
 " Ah ! say not so, father." 
 
 "But the worst is, this humour of showing 
 them up on a shelf, and half in the dark, and 
 by snatches, and with the poor mountebank 
 trick of a drawn curtain. 
 
 1 Quodcunque ostendis mthl sic Incredulna odL' 
 
 Enough ; the men of this day are not the 
 men of old. Let us have done with these 
 new-fangled mummeries, and go among the 
 Pope's books ; there we shall find the wisdom 
 we shall vainly hunt in the streets of modern 
 Rome." 
 
 And this idea having once taken root, the 
 good friar plunged and tore through the 
 crowd, and looked neither to the right hand 
 nor to the left, till he had escaped the glories 
 of the holy week, which had brought fifty 
 thousand strangers to Rome; and had got 
 nice and quiet among the dead in the library 
 of the Vatican. 
 
 Presently, going into Gerard's room, he 
 found a hot dispute afoot between him and 
 Jacques Bonaventura. That spark had come 
 in, all steel from head to toe ; doffed helmet, 
 puffed, and railed most scornfully on a ridicu- 
 lous ceremony, at which he and his soldiers 
 had been compelled to attend the Pope; to 
 wit the blessing of the beasts of burden. 
 
 Gerard said it was not ridiculous ; nothing 
 a Pope did could be ridiculous. 
 
 The argument grew warm, and the friar 
 stood grimly neuter, waiting like the stork 
 that ate the frog and the mouse at the close 
 of their combat, to grind them both between 
 the jaws of antiquity : when lo, the curtain 
 was gently drawn, and there stood a vener- 
 able old man in a purple skull cap, with a 
 beard like white floss silk, looking at them 
 with a kind though feeble smile. 
 
 "Happy youth," said he, "that can heat 
 itself over such matters." 
 
 They all fell on their knees. It was the 
 Pope. 
 
 "Nay, rise, my children," said he, almost 
 peevishly. " I came not into this corner to 
 be in state. How goes Plutarch ? " 
 
 Gerard brought his work, and kneeling on 
 one knee presented it to his holiness, who 
 had seated himself, the others standing. 
 
 His holiness inspected it with interest. 
 
 " 'Tis excellently writ," said he. 
 
 Gerard's heart beat with delight. 
 
 "Ah! this Plutarch, he had a wondrous 
 art, Francesco. How each character Btandeth 
 out alive on his page : how full of nature 
 each, yet how unlike his fellow 1 " 
 
 Jacque* onavcntura. " Give me the signer 
 Boccaccio." 
 
 Hit Holinets. " An excellent narrator, capi- 
 tano, and writeth exquisite Italian. But in 
 spirit a thought too monotonous. Monks 
 and nuns were never all unchaste : one or 
 two such stories were right pleasant mid
 
 190 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 diverting ; but five score paint his time falsely, 
 and sadden the heart of snch as love man- 
 kind Moreover, he hath no skill at characters. 
 Now this Greek is supreme in that great art : 
 he carveth them with pen ; and turning his 
 page, eee into how real and great a world 
 we enter of war, and policy, and business, 
 and love in its own place: for with him, as 
 in the great world, men are not all running 
 after a wench. With this great open field 
 compare me not the narrow garden of 
 Boccaccio, and his little mill-round of dis- 
 honest pleasures." 
 
 " Your holiness, they say, hath not disdained 
 to write a novel" 
 
 " My holiness hath done more foolish things 
 than one, whereof it repents too late. When 
 I wrote novels I little thought to be head of 
 the Church." 
 
 " I search in vain for a copy of it to add to 
 my poor library." 
 
 "It is well Then the strict orders I gave 
 four years ago to destroy every copy in Italy 
 have been well discharged. However, for 
 your comfort, on my being made Pope, some 
 fool turned it into French: so that you may 
 read it, at the price of exile." 
 
 " Reduced to this strait we throw ourselves 
 on your holiness's generosity. Vouchsafe to 
 give us your infallible judgment on it I " 
 
 " Gently, gently, good Francesco. A Pope's 
 novels are not matters of faith. I can but give 
 you my sincere impression. Well then the 
 work hi question bad, as far as I remember, 
 all the vices of Boccaccio, without his choice 
 Italian." 
 
 Pra Colonna. "Tour holiness is known for 
 lighting JKneas Silvias as other men never 
 slighted him. I did him injustice to make 
 you his Judge. Perhaps your holiness will 
 decide more justly between these two boys 
 about blessing the beasts." 
 
 The Pope demurred. In speaking of Plu- 
 tarch he had brightened up for a moment, 
 and his eye had even flashed ; but his general 
 manner was as unlike what youthful females 
 expect in a Pope as you can conceive. I can 
 only describe it in French. Le gentilhomme 
 Hat*. A high-bred, and highly cultivated 
 gentleman, who had done, and said, and 
 seen, and known everything, and whose body 
 was nearly worn out. But double languor 
 -eraed to seize him at the father's pro- 
 posal. 
 
 "My poor Francesco," said he, "bethink 
 thee that I have had a life of contro- 
 versy, and am sick on't ; sick as death. 
 Plutarch drew me to this calm retreat: not 
 divinity." 
 
 "Nay, but, your holiness, for moderating 
 of strife between two hot young bloods. 
 
 1 Mourapux 02 tipr/voTrouH.' " 
 
 "And know yon nature so ill, as to think 
 either of these high-mettled youths will reck 
 what a poor old Pope saith T " 
 
 " Oh I your holiness," broke in Gerard, blush- 
 Ing and gasping, "sure, here is one who will 
 treasure your words all his life as words from 
 
 RMV> " 
 
 In that case," said the Pope, " I am fairly 
 caught. As Francesco here would say 
 4 owe trrtf 8<mt tffr' aviip eXevflepot.' 
 
 I came to taste that eloquent heathen, dear 
 to me e'en as to thee, thou paynim monk; 
 and I must talk divinity, or something next 
 door to it. But the youth hath a good and 
 a winning face, and writeth Greek like an 
 angel. Well then, my children, to compre- 
 hend the ways of the Church, we should 
 still rise a little above the earth, since the 
 Church is between heaven and earth, and in- 
 terprets betwixt them. 
 
 " The question is then, not how vulgar men 
 feel, but how the common Creator of man and 
 beast doth feel, towards the lower animals. 
 This, if we are too proud to search for it in 
 the lessons of the Church, the next best thine 
 is to go to the most ancient history of men and 
 animals." 
 
 Colonna. "Herodotus." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; in this matter Herodotus is bnt 
 a mushroom. Finely were we sped for ancient 
 history, if we depended on your Greeks, who 
 did but write on the last leaf of that great 
 book, Antiquity." 
 
 The friar groaned. Here was a Pope uttering 
 heresy against his demigods. 
 
 " 'Tis the Vulgate I speak of. A history that 
 handles matters three thousand years before 
 him pedants call ' the Father of History. ' " 
 
 Colonna, " Oh 1 the Vulgate f I cry your 
 holiness mercy. How you frightened me. J 
 quite forgot the Vulgate." 
 
 " Forgot it ? art sure thou ever readst it, 
 Francesco mio ? " 
 
 "Not quite, your holiness. 'Tis a pleasure 
 I have long promised myself, the first vacant 
 moment. Hitherto these grand old heathen 
 have left me small time for recreation." 
 
 Hit Holineu. "First then yon will find in 
 Genesis that God, having created the animals, 
 drew a holy pleasure, undefinable by us, from 
 contemplating of their beauty. Was it won- 
 derful ? See their myriad forms ; their lovely 
 hair and eyes, their grace, and of some the 
 power and majesty : the colour of others, 
 brighter than roses, or rubies. And when, for 
 man's sin, not their own, they were destroyed, 
 yet were two of each kind spared. 
 
 "And when the ark and its trembling 
 inmates tumbled solitary on the world of 
 water, then, saith the word, 'God remembered 
 Noah, and the cattle that were with him in 
 the ark.' 
 
 "Thereafter God did write His rainbow in 
 the sky as a bond that earth should be flooded 
 no more ; and between whom the bond ? be- 
 tween God and man ? nay, between God and 
 man, and every living creature of att flesh ; or 
 my memory fails me with age. In Exodus 
 God commanded that the cattle should share 
 the sweet blessing of the one day's rest. 
 Moreover He forbade to muzzle the ox that 
 trod out the com. 'Nay, let the poor over- 
 wrought soul snatch a mouthful as he goes 
 his toilsome round: the bulk of the grain 
 shall still be for man.' Ye will object per- 
 chance that St. Paul, commenting this, saith
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 191 
 
 rudely, 'Doth God care for oxent' Verily, 
 bad I been Peter, Instead of the humblest of 
 his successors, I had answered him. 'Drop 
 thy theatrical poets, Paul, and read the Scrip- 
 tures : then shalt thou know whether God 
 careth only for men and sparrows, or for all 
 His creatures. Oh, Paul,' had I made bold to 
 ay, 'think not to learn God by looking into 
 Paul's heart, nor any heart of man, but study 
 that which He hath revealed concerning Him- 
 self.' 
 
 "Thrice He forbade the Jewg to boil the 
 kid In his mother's milk; not that this is 
 cruelty, but want of thought and gentle senti- 
 ments, and to paves the way for downright 
 cruelty. A prophet riding on an ass did meet 
 an angel. Which of these two, Paulo judice, 
 had seen the heavenly spirit I marry, the 
 prophet. But it was not BO. The man, his 
 vision cloyed with sin, saw nought. The 
 poor despised creature saw all. Nor is this 
 recorded as miraculous. Poor proud things, 
 we overrate ourselves. The angel had slain 
 the prophet and spared the ass, but for that 
 creature's clearer vision of essences divine. 
 He said so, methinks. But in sooth I read 
 it many years agone. Why did God spare re- 
 pentant Nineveh? Because in that city were 
 sixty thousand children, betidet much cattle. 
 
 " Profane history and vulgar experience add 
 their mite of witness. The cruel to animals 
 end in cruelty to man ; and strange and 
 violent deaths, marked with retribution's 
 bloody finger, have in all ages fallen from 
 heaven on such as wantonly harm innocent 
 beasts. This I myself have seen. All this 
 duly weighed, and seeing that, despite this 
 Francesco's friends, the Stoics, who in their 
 vanity say the creatures all subsist for man's 
 comfort, there be snakes and scorpions which 
 kill 'Dominurn terrse" with a nip, mosquitoes 
 which eat him piecemeal, and tigers and 
 sharks which crack him like an almond, we 
 do well to be grateful to these true, faithful, 
 patient fourfooted friends, which, in lieu of 
 powdering us, put forth their strength to 
 relieve our toils, and do feed us like mothers 
 from their gentle dugs. 
 
 "Methinks then the Church Is never more 
 divine than in this benediction of our four- 
 footed friends, which has revolted yon great 
 theological authority, the captain of the 
 Pope's guards ; since here she inculcates 
 humility and gratitude, and rises towards the 
 level of the mind divine, and interprets God 
 to man, God the Creator, parent, and friend 
 of man and beast. 
 
 " But all this, young gentles, yon will please 
 to receive, not aa delivered by the Pope ex 
 eathedrd, but uttered carelessly, in a free 
 hour, by an aged clergyman. On that score 
 you will perhaps do well to entertain it with 
 some little consideration. For old age must 
 eurely bring a man somewhat, in return for 
 his digestion (his 'dura puerorum ilia,' eh, 
 Francesco T), which it carries away." 
 
 Such was the purport of the Pope's dis- 
 course ; but the manner high bred, languid, 
 kindly, and free from all tone of dictation. 
 He seemed to be gently probing the matter 
 
 in concert with his hearers, not playing Sir 
 Oracle. At the bottom of all which was 
 doubtless a slight touch of humbug, but thg 
 humbug that embellishes life ; and all sense 
 of it was lost in the subtle Italian grace of 
 the thing. 
 
 " I seem to hear the oracle of Delphi," said 
 Fra Colonna enthusiastically. 
 
 "I call that good sense," shouted Jacques 
 Bonaventura. 
 
 " Oh, captain, good sense I " laid Gerard, 
 with a deep and tender reproach. 
 
 The Pope smiled on Gerard. 
 
 " Cavil not at words ; that was an unheard 
 of concession from a rival theologian." 
 
 He then asked for all Gerard's work, and 
 took it away in his hand. But before going, 
 he gently pulled Fra Colonna' s ear, and asked 
 him whether he remembered when they were 
 school-fellows together, and robbed the Virgin 
 by the roadside of the money dropped into 
 her box. 
 
 "You took a flat stick and applied bird- 
 lime to the top, and drew the money out 
 through the chink, you rogue," said his holi- 
 ness severely. 
 
 " To every signer his own honour," replied 
 Fra Coloana. "It was your holiness's good 
 wit invented the manoeuvre. I was but the 
 humble instrument." 
 
 " It Is well. Doubtless you know 'twas 
 sacrilege." 
 
 " Of the first water ; but I did it in such 
 good company, it troubles me not." 
 
 " Humph I I have not even that poor 
 consolation. What did we spend it in, dost 
 mind I" 
 
 " Can your holiness ask 1 why, sugar- 
 plums." 
 
 " What, all on't ? " 
 
 " Every doit." 
 
 "These are delightful reminiscences, my 
 Francesco. Alas I I am getting old. I shall 
 not be here long. And I am sorry for it, for 
 thy sake. They will go and burn thee when 
 I am gone. Art far more a heretic than Huss, 
 whom I saw burned with these eyes ; and oh, 
 he died like a martyr." 
 
 " Ay, your holiness ; but I believe in the 
 Pope ; and Huss did not" 
 
 " Fox I They will not bum thee ; wood 
 is too dear. Adieu, old playmate ; adieu, 
 young gentlemen ; an old man's blessing be 
 on you." 
 
 That afternoon the Pope's secretary brought 
 Gerard a little bag : in it were several gold 
 pieces. 
 
 He added them to his store. 
 
 Margaret seemed nearer and nearer. 
 
 For some time past, too, it appeared as if 
 the fairies had watched over him. Baskets 
 of choice provisions and fruits were brought 
 to his door by porters, who knew not who 
 had employed them, or affected ignorance ; 
 and one day came a jewel in a letter, but no 
 words. 
 
 At this point the suspicions of his landlady 
 broke out. " This is none of thy patrons, silly 
 boy ; this is some lady that hath fallen in love 
 with thy sweet face. Marry, I blame her not."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIIL 
 
 THK Princess Clrelia ordered a full-length 
 portrait of herself. Gerard advised her to 
 employ his friend Pietro VanuccL 
 
 But she declined. 
 
 '"Twill be time to put a slight on the 
 Gerardo, when his work discontents me." 
 
 Then Gerard, who knew he was an excellent 
 draughtsman, but not so good a colourist, 
 begged her to stand to him as a Roman 
 statue. He showed her how closely he could 
 mimic marble on paper. She consented at 
 first ; but demurred when this enthusiast 
 explained to her that she must wear the 
 tunic, toga, and sandals of the ancients. 
 
 "Why, I had as lieve be presented in my 
 mock," said she, with mediaeval frankness. 
 
 " Alack 1 signorina," said Gerard, " you 
 have surely never noted the ancient habit ; 
 so free, so ample, so simple, yet so noble; 
 and most becoming your highness, to whom 
 Heaven hath given the Roman features, and 
 eke a shapely arm and hand, hid in modern 
 guise." 
 
 "What, can you flatter, like the rest, 
 Gerardo I Well, give me time to think on't. 
 Come o' Saturday, and then I will say ay or 
 nay." 
 
 The respite thus gained was passed in 
 making the tunic and toga, &a, and trying 
 them on in her chamber, to see whether they 
 suited her style of beauty well enough to 
 compensate their being a thousand years out 
 of date. 
 
 Gerard, hurrying along to this interview, 
 was suddenly arrested, and rooted to earth 
 at a shop window. 
 
 His quick eye had discerned in that window 
 a copy of Lactantius lying open. 
 
 " That is fairly writ, anyway," thought he. 
 
 He eyed it a moment more with all his 
 eyes. 
 
 It was not written at all It was printed. 
 
 Gerard groaned. 
 
 " I am sped ; mine enemy is at the door. 
 The press is in Rome." 
 
 He went into the shop, and affecting non- 
 chalance, inquired how long the printing- 
 press had been in Rome. The man said he 
 believed there was no such thing in the 
 city. 
 
 " Oh, the Lactantius ; that was printed on 
 the top of the Apennines." 
 
 " What, did the printing-press fall down 
 there out o* the moon ! " 
 
 " Nay, messer," paid the trader, laughing ; 
 "it shot up there out of Germany. Bee the 
 title-page !** 
 
 Gerard took the Lactantius eagerly, and 
 mw the following : 
 
 Opert et impensis Sweynhoim et Pannarti 
 
 Alumnorum Joanuis Fust. 
 Imprcssum Subiacis. A.l. 1465. 
 
 "Will ye bay, mcwer T tee how fair and 
 
 even be the letters. Few are left can write 
 like that ; and scarce a quarter of the price." 
 
 " I would fain have it," said Gerard sadly, 
 
 but my heart will not let me. Know that 
 I am a caligraph, and these disciples of Fust 
 run after me round the world a-taking the 
 bread out of my mouth. But I wish them 
 no ill. Heaven forbid I " And he hurried 
 from the shop. 
 
 1 Dear Margaret," said he to himself, " we 
 must lose no time ; we must make our hay 
 while shines the sun. One month more and 
 an avalanche of printer's type shall roll down 
 on Rome from those Apennines, and lay us 
 waste that writers be." 
 
 And he almost ran to the Princess Claelia. 
 
 He was ushered into an apartment new to 
 him. It was not very large, but most luxurious ; 
 a fountain played in the centre, and the 
 floor was covered with the skins of panthers, 
 dressed with the hair, so that no footfall 
 could be heard. The room was an ante- 
 chamber to the princess's boudoir, for on one 
 side there was no door, but an ample curtain 
 of gorgeous tapestry. 
 
 Here Gerard was left alone till he became 
 quite nneasy, and doubted whether the maid 
 had not shown him to the wrong place. 
 
 These doubts were agreeably dissipated. 
 
 A light step came swiftly behind the cur- 
 tain ; it parted in the middle, and there stood 
 a figure the heathens might have worshipped. 
 It was not quite Venus, nor quite Minerva ; 
 but between the two ; nobler than Venus, 
 more womanly than Jupiter's daughter. Toga, 
 tunic, sandals ; nothing was modern. And 
 as for beauty, that is of all times. 
 
 Gerard started up, and all the artist in him 
 flushed with pleasure. 
 
 " Oh I " he cried innocently, and gazed in 
 rapture. 
 
 This added the last charm to his model : 
 a light blush tinted her cheeks, and her eyes 
 brightened, and her mouth smiled with de- 
 licious complacency at this genuine tribute 
 to her charms. 
 
 When they had looked at one another so 
 some time, and she saw Gerard's eloquence 
 was confined to ejaculating and gazing, she 
 spoke. 
 
 "Well, Gerardo, thon seest I have made 
 myself an antique monster for thee." 
 
 "A monster? I doubt Fra Colonna would 
 fall down and adore your highness, seeing you 
 so habited." 
 
 "Nay, I care not to be adored by an old 
 man. I would liever be loved by a young one : 
 of my own choosing." 
 
 Gerard took out his pencils, arranged his 
 canvas, which he had covered with stout 
 paper, and set to work ; and so absorbed was 
 he that he had no mercy on his model. At 
 last, after near an hour in one posture 
 
 " Gerardo," said she faintly, " I can stand so 
 no more, even for thee." 
 
 " Sit down and rest awhile, signora." 
 
 " I thank thee," said she ; and sinking into 
 a chair turned pale and sighed. 
 
 Gerard vas alarmed, and saw also he had 
 been inconsiderate. He took water from the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 193 
 
 fountain and was about to throw it in her 
 face; but she put up a white hand depre- 
 catingly. 
 
 " Nay, hold it to my brow with thine hand ; 
 prithee, do not fling it at me ! " 
 
 Gerard timidly and hesitating applied his 
 wet hand to her brow. 
 
 "Ah!" she sighed, "that is reviving. 
 
 le applied it again. She thanked him, and 
 asked him to ring a little hand-bell on the 
 table. He did so, and a maid came, and was 
 Bent to Floretta with orders to bring a large 
 fan. 
 
 Floretta speedily came with the fan. 
 
 She no sooner came near the princess, 
 than that lady's high-bred nostrils suddenly 
 expanded like a bloodhorse's. " Wretch I " 
 said she ; and rising up with a sudden re- 
 turn to vigour, seized Floretta with her 
 left hand, twisted it in her hair, and with 
 the right hand boxed her ears severely three 
 times. 
 
 Floretta screamed and blubbered; but ob- 
 tained no mercy. 
 
 The antique toga left quite disengaged a 
 bare arm, that now seemed as powerful as 
 It was beautiful : it rose and fell like the 
 piston of a modern steam-engine, and heavy 
 slaps resounded one after another on Floretta's 
 shoulders ; the last one drove her sobbing 
 and screaming through the curtain, and there 
 she was heard crying bitterly for some time 
 after. 
 
 " Saints of heaven I " cried Gerard, " what 
 is amiss ? what hath she done ? " 
 
 "She knows right well. 'Tis not the first 
 time. The nasty toad 1 I'll learn her to come 
 to me stinking of the musk-cat." 
 
 " Alas I signora, 'twas a small fault, me- 
 thinks." 
 
 "A small fault? Nay, 'twas a foul fault." 
 She added with an amazing sudden descent 
 to humility and sweetness, "Are you wroth 
 with me for beating her, Gerar-do ? " 
 
 " Signora, it ill becomes me to school you ; 
 but methinks such as Heaven appoints to 
 govern others should govern themselves." 
 
 "That is true, Gerardo. How wise you 
 are, to be so young." She then called 
 the other maid, and gave her a little 
 purse. "Take that to Floretta, and tell 
 her 'the Gerardo' hath interceded for her; 
 and so I must needs forgive her. There, 
 Gerardo." 
 
 Gerard coloured all over at the compliment ; 
 but not knowing how to turn a phrase equal 
 to the occasion, asked her if he should resume 
 her picture. 
 
 "Not yet; beating that hussy hath some- 
 what breathed me. I'll sit awhile, and you 
 shall talk to me. I know you can talk, an' it 
 pleases you, as rarely as you draw." 
 
 " That were easily done." 
 
 " Do it then, Gerardo." 
 
 Gerard was taken aback. 
 
 " But, signora, I know not what to BT. This 
 U sudden." 
 
 "Say your real mind. Say you wish you 
 were anywhere but here." 
 
 "Nay, signora, that would not be sooth. I 
 wish one thing though." 
 
 " Ay, and what is that ? " said she gently. 
 
 " I wish I could have drawn you as yon 
 were beating that poor lass. You were 
 awful, yet lovely. Oh, what a subject for 
 a Pythoness ! " 
 
 "Alas ! he thinks but of his art. And why 
 keep such a coil about my beauty, Gerardo? 
 You are far fairer than I am. You are more 
 like Apollo than I to Venus. Also, you have 
 lovely hair and lovely eyes but you know 
 not what to do with them." 
 
 "Ay, do I. To draw you, signora." 
 
 " Ah, yes ; you can see my features with 
 them; but you cannot see what any Roman 
 gallant had seen long ago in your place. Yet 
 sure you must have noted how welcome you 
 are to me, Gerardo ? " 
 
 "I can see your highness is always passing 
 kind to me ; a poor stranger like me." 
 
 " No, I am not, Gerardo. I have often 
 been cold to you ; rude sometimes ; and you 
 are so simple you see not the cause. Alas ! 
 I feared for my own heart. I feared to be 
 your slave. I who have hitherto made slaves. 
 Ah ! Gerardo, I am unhappy. Ever since you 
 came here I have lived upon your visits. The 
 day you are to come I am bright. The other 
 days I am listless, and wish them fled. You 
 are not like the Roman gallants. Yon make 
 me hate them. You are ten times braver 
 to my eye ; and you are wise and scholarly, 
 and never flatter and lia I scern a man 
 that lies. Gerar-do, teach me thy magic ; 
 teach me to make thee as happy by my side 
 as I am still by thine." 
 
 As she poured out these strange words, 
 the princess's mellow voice sunk almost to a 
 whisper, and trembled with half-suppressed 
 passion, and her white hand stole timidly yet 
 earnestly down Gerard's arm, till it rested 
 like a soft bird upon his wrist, and as ready 
 to fly away at a word. 
 
 Destitute of vanity and experience, wrapped 
 up in his Margaret and his art, Gerard had 
 not seen this revelation coming, though it had 
 come by regular and visible gradations. 
 
 He blushed all over. His innocent admira- 
 tion of the regal beauty that besieged him, 
 did not for a moment displace the absent 
 Margaret's image. Yet it was regal beauty, 
 and wooing with a grace and tenderness he 
 had never even figured in imagination. How 
 to check her without wounding her I 
 
 He blushed and trembled. 
 
 The siren saw, and encouraged him. 
 
 "Poor Gerardo," she murmured, "fear not; 
 none shall ever harm thee under my wing. 
 Wilt not speak to me, Gerar-do mio ? " 
 
 " Signora ! " muttered Gerard deprecatingly. 
 
 At this moment his eye, lowered in hw 
 confusion, fell on the shapely white arm 
 and delicate hand that curled round his 
 elbow like a tender vine, and it flashed across 
 him how he had just seen that lovely limb 
 employed on Floretta. 
 
 He trembled and blushed. 
 
 " Alas ! " said the princess, " I icare him. 
 Am I then so very terrible ! IB it my Roman 
 
 e
 
 194 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 robe t I'll doff it, and habit me as when thou 
 first earnest to me. Mindest thout 'Twas 
 to writ* a letter to yon barren knight Ecole 
 d'Orsini. Shall I tell thee I 'twas the sight 
 of thee, and thy pretty ways, and thy wise 
 words, made me hate him on the instant. I 
 liked the fool well enough before ; or wist 
 I liked him. Tell me now how many times 
 hast thou been here since then. Ah ! thou 
 knowest not; lovest me not, I doubt, as I 
 love thee. Eighteen times, Gerardo. And 
 each time dearer to me. The day thoa comest 
 not 'tis night, not day, to Claelia. Alasl I 
 peak for both. Cruel boy, am I not worth 
 a word? Hast every day a princess at thy 
 feet T Nay, prithee, prithee, speak to me, 
 Gerar-do." 
 
 "Signora," faltered Gerard, "what can I 
 say, that were not better left unsaid? Oh, 
 evil day that ever I came here. " 
 
 " Ah ! say not so. 'Twas the brightest day 
 ever shone on me or indeed on thee. I'll 
 make thee confess BO much ere long, ungrate- 
 ful one." 
 
 "Your highness," began Gerard, in a low, 
 pleading voice. 
 
 "Call me Clalia, Gerar-do." 
 
 "Signora, I am too young and too little 
 wise to know how I ought to speak to you, 
 so as not to seem blind nor yet ungrateful. 
 But this I know, I were both caught and 
 ungrateful, and the worst foe e'er you had, 
 did I take advantage of this mad fancy. Sure 
 some ill spirit hath had leave to afflict you 
 withal For 'tis all unnatural that a princess 
 adorned with every grace should abase her 
 affections on a churl" 
 
 The princess withdrew her hand slowly 
 from Gerard's wrist. 
 
 Yet as it passed lightly over his arm it 
 eemed to linger a moment at parting. 
 
 "You fear the daggers of my kinsmen," 
 said she, half sadly, half contemptuously. 
 
 "No more than I fear the bodkins of your 
 women," said Gerard haughtily. "But I 
 fear God and the saints, and my own con- 
 science." 
 
 " The truth, Gerardo, the truth ! Hypocrisy 
 sit awkwardly on thee. Princesses, while 
 they are young, are not despised for love of 
 God, but of some other woman. Tell me 
 whom thou lovert ; and if she is worthy thee 
 I will forgive thee." 
 
 " No she in Italy, upon my soul." 
 
 " Ah I there is one somewhere then. Where T 
 where t " 
 
 " In Holland, my native country." 
 
 " Ah ! Marie de Bonrgoyne is fair, they say. 
 Yet she ii but a child." 
 
 " Princess, she I love is not noble. She is 
 as I am. Nor is she so fair as thou. Yet is 
 she fair; and linked to my heart for ever 
 by her virtues, and by all the dangers and 
 griefs we have borne together, and for one 
 another. Forgive me; but I would not wrong 
 my Margaret for all the highest dames in 
 Italy." 
 
 The slighted beauty started to her feet 
 und stood opposite him, as beautiful, but far 
 man tarribie thea when the slapped Florctta, 
 
 for then her cheeks were red, but now they 
 were pale, and her eyes full of concentrated 
 fury. 
 
 "This to my face, nnmaanered wretch," 
 she cried. "Was I born to be insulted, as 
 well as scorned, by such as thou? Beware I 
 We nobles brook no rivals. Bethink thea 
 whether is better, the love of a Cesarini, or 
 her hate : for after all I have said and done 
 to thee, it must be love or hate between us, 
 and to the death. Choose now 1 " 
 
 He looked up at her with wonder and awe, 
 as she stood towering over him in her Roman 
 toga, offering this strange alternative. 
 
 He seemed to have affronted a goddess of 
 antiquity ; he a poor puny mortal 
 
 He sighed deeply, but spoke not. 
 
 Perhaps something in his deep and patient 
 sigh touched a tender chord in that un- 
 governed creature; or perhaps the time had 
 come for one passion to ebb and another to 
 flow. The princess sank languidly into a seat, 
 and the tears began to steal rapidly down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Alas! alas I" said Gerard. "Weep not, 
 sweet lady; your tears they do accuse me, 
 and I am like to weep for company. My 
 kind patron, be yourself; you will live to 
 see how much better a friend I was to you 
 than I seemed." 
 
 "I see it now, Gerardo," said the princess. 
 " Friend is the word ! the only word can ever 
 pass between us twain. I was mad. Any 
 other man had ta'en advantage of my folly. 
 You must teach me to be your friend and 
 nothing more." 
 
 Gerard hatted this proposition with joy; 
 and told her out of Cicero how godlike a 
 thing was friendship, and how much better 
 and rarer and more lasting than love: to 
 prove to her he wa* capable of it, he even 
 told her about Denys and himself. 
 
 She listened with her eyes half shut, 
 watching his words to fathom his character, 
 and learn his weak point. 
 
 At last, she addressed him calmly thus: 
 " Leave me now, Gerardo, and come as usual 
 to-morrow. You will find your lesson well 
 bestowed." 
 
 She held out her hand to him : he kissed it ; 
 and went away pondering deeply this strange 
 interview, and wondering whether he had done 
 prudently or not. 
 
 The neit day he was received with marked 
 distance, and the princess stood before him 
 literally like a statue, and after a very short 
 sitting, excused herself and dismissed him. 
 Gerard felt the chilling difference; but said 
 to himself, "She is wise." So she was in 
 her way. 
 
 The next day he found the princess waiting 
 for him surrounded by young nobles flattering 
 her to the skies. She and they treated him 
 like a dog that could do one little trick they 
 could not. The cavaliers in particular criti- 
 cised his work with a mass of ignorance and 
 insolence combined that made his cheeks 
 burn. 
 
 The princess watched his face demurely 
 with half -closed ey*, at each sting; tot
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 '95 
 
 Insects gave him ; and when they had fled, 
 had her doors closed against every one of 
 them for their pains. 
 
 The neit day Gerard found her alone : cold 
 and silent. After standing to him so some 
 time, she said 
 
 " Yon treated my company with les respect 
 than became you." 
 
 " Did I, signora ? " 
 
 "Did you? you fired up at the comments 
 they did you the honour to make on your 
 work." 
 
 " Nay, I said nought," observed Gerard. 
 
 " Oh, high looks speak as plain as high 
 words. Your cheeks were red as blood." 
 
 " I was nettled a moment at seeing BO much 
 Ignorance and ill-nature together." 
 
 " Now it is me, their hostess, you 
 affront." 
 
 "Forgive me, signora, and acquit me of 
 design. It would ill become me to affront the 
 kindest patron and friend I have in Rome 
 but one." 
 
 "How humble we are all of a sudden. 
 In sooth, Ser Gerardo, you are a capital 
 feigner. You can insult or truckle at 
 will." 
 
 " Truckle ? to whom ? " 
 
 " To me, for one ; to one, whom you 
 affronted for a base-born girl like yourself; 
 but whose patronage you claim all the 
 Bame." 
 
 Gerard rose, and put bis hand to his 
 heart. 
 
 " These are biting words, signora. Have I 
 really deserved them ! " 
 
 " Oh, what are words to an adventurer like 
 yon T cold steel is all you fear I " 
 
 '' I am no swashbuckler, yet I have 
 met steel with steel ; and methinks I had 
 rather face your kinsmen's swords than 
 your cruel tongue, lady. Why do you use 
 me so ? " 
 
 " Gerar-do, for no good reason, but 
 because I am wayward, and shrewish, and 
 curst, and because everybody admires me 
 but you." 
 
 " I admire you too, signora. Your friends 
 may flatter you more ; but believe me they 
 have not the eye to eee half your charms. 
 Their babble yesterday showed me that. 
 None admire you more truly, or wish yon 
 better, than the poor artist, who might not 
 be your lover, but hoped to be your 
 friend; but no, I see that may not be 
 between one so high as you, and one so 
 low as I." 
 
 "Ay I but it shall, Gerardo," said the 
 princess eagerly. "I will not be so curst. 
 Tell me now where abides thy Margaret ; 
 and I will give thee a present for her ; 
 and on that you and I will be friends." 
 
 " She is the daughter of a physician called 
 Peter, and they bide at Sevenbergen ; ah me, 
 shall I e'er see it again ? " 
 
 "'Tis well. Now go." And she dismissed 
 him somewhat abruptly. 
 
 Poor Gerard. He began to wade in deep 
 waters when he encountered this Italian 
 princess; callida et calida solis filia. He 
 
 resolved to go no more when once he had 
 finished her likeness. Indeed he now re- 
 gretted having undertaken BO long and labo- 
 rious a task. 
 
 This resolution was shaken for a moment by 
 his next reception, which waa all gentleness 
 and kindness. 
 
 After standing to him some time in her 
 toga, she said she was fatigued, and wanted 
 his assistance in another way : would he 
 teach her to draw a little! He sat down 
 beside her, and taught her to make easy 
 lines. He found her wonderfully apt. He 
 said so. 
 
 "I had a teacher before thee, Gerar-do. 
 Ay, and one as handsome as thyself." She 
 then went to a drawer, and brought out several 
 heads drawn with a complete ignorance of the 
 art, but with great patience and natural talent. 
 They were all heads of Gerard, and full of 
 spirit; and really not unlike. One was his 
 very image. 
 
 "There," said she. "Now thou seest who 
 was my teacher." 
 
 " Not I, signora." 
 
 " What, know you not who teaches us women 
 to do all things? 'Tis love, Gerar-do. Love 
 made me draw because thou drawest, Gerar-do. 
 Love prints thine image in my bosom. My 
 fingers touch the pen, and love supplies the 
 want of art, and lo! thy beloved features lie 
 upon the paper." 
 
 Gerard opened his eyes with astonish- 
 ment at this return to an interdicted 
 topic. 
 
 ' ' Oh, signora, you promised me to be friends 
 and nothing more." 
 
 She laughed in his face. 
 
 " How simple you are : who believes a 
 woman promising nonsense, impossibilities I 
 Friendship, foolish boy, who ever built that 
 temple on red ashes? Nay, Gerardo," she 
 added gloomily, " between thee and me it 
 must be love or hate." 
 
 " Which you will, signora," said Gerard 
 firmly. "But for me I will neither love nor 
 hate you; but with your permission I will 
 leave you." And he rose abruptly. 
 
 She rose too, pale as death, and said 
 
 "Ere thou leavest me so, know thy fate; 
 outside that door are armed men who wait 
 to slay thee at a word from me." 
 
 "But you will not speak that word, 
 slgnortw 
 
 "That word I will speak. Nay, more, I 
 shall noise it abroad it was for proffering 
 brutal love to me thou wert slain ; and I 
 will send a special messenger to Sevenbergen : 
 a cunning messenger, well taught his lesson. 
 Thy Margaret shall know thee dead, and think 
 thee faithless ; now, go to thy grave ; a dog's. 
 For a man thou art not." 
 
 Gerard turned pale, and stood dumbstricken. 
 " God have mercy on us both." 
 
 " Nay, have thou mercy on her, and on 
 thyself. She will never know in Holland 
 what thou dost in Rome ; unless I be driven to 
 tell her my tale. Come, yield thee, Gerar-do 
 mio : what will it cost thee to say thou 
 lorest me? I ask thee but to feign it hand-
 
 196 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 somely. Thou art young : die not for the 
 poor pleasure of denying a lady what the 
 shadow of a heart. Who will shed a tear for 
 thee 7 I tell thee men will laugh, not weep 
 over thy tombstone ah ! " 
 
 She ended in. a little scream, for Gerard 
 threw himself in a moment at her feet, and 
 poured out in one torrent of eloquence the 
 story of his love and Margaret's. How he 
 had been imprisoned, hunted with blood- 
 hounds for her, driven to exile for her ; how 
 she had shed her blood for him, and now 
 pined at home. How he had walked through 
 Europe environed by perils, torn by savage 
 brutes, attacked by furious men with sword 
 and axe and trap, robbed, shipwrecked for 
 her. 
 
 The princess trembled, and tried to get 
 away from him ; but he held her robe, he 
 clung to her, he made her hear his pitiful 
 story and Margaret's ; he caught her hand, 
 and clasped it between both his, and his 
 tears fell fast on her hand, as he implored 
 her to think on all the woes of the true 
 lovers she would part ; and what but re- 
 morse, swift and lasting, could come of so 
 deep a love betrayed, and so false a love 
 feigned, with mutual hatred lurking at the 
 bottom. 
 
 In such momenta none ever resisted 
 Gerard. 
 
 The princess, after in vain trying to get 
 away from him, for she felt his power over 
 her, began to waver, and sigh, and her bosom 
 to rise and fall tumultuously, and her fiery 
 eyes to fill. 
 
 " You conquer me," she sobbed. " You, or 
 my better angel. Leave Rome 1 " 
 
 " I will, I will." 
 
 " If you breathe a word of my folly, it will 
 be your hut." 
 
 "Think not so poorly of me. You are my 
 benefactress once more. Is it for me to 
 slander you 7 " 
 
 " Go ! I will send you the means. I know 
 myself; if you cross my path again, I shall 
 kill you. Addio ; my heart is broken." 
 
 She touched her bell. 
 
 " Kioretta," said she, in a choked voice, 
 " take him safe out of the house, through my 
 chamber, and by the side postern." 
 
 He turned at the door ; she was leaning 
 with one hand on a chair, crying, with 
 averted head. Then he thought only of her 
 kindness, and ran back and kissed her robe. 
 She never moved. 
 
 Once clear of the house he darted home, 
 thanking Heaven for his escape, soul and 
 body. 
 
 "Landlady," said he, "there Is one would 
 pick a quarrel with me. What is to be 
 done 7 " 
 
 "Strike him first, and at vantage 1 Get 
 behind him ; and then draw." 
 
 "Alas, I lack your Italian courage. To be 
 serious, 'tis a noble." 
 
 "Oh, holy saints, that is another matter. 
 Change thy lodging awhile, and keep snug; 
 and alter the fashion of thy habits." 
 
 She then took him to her own niece, who 
 
 let lodgings at some little distance, and in- 
 stalled him there. 
 
 He had little to do now, and no princess 
 to draw, so he set himself resolutely to read 
 that deed of Floris Brandt, from which he 
 had hitherto been driven by the abominably 
 bad writing. He mastered it, and saw at 
 once that the loan on this land must have 
 been paid over and over again by the rents, 
 and that Ghysbrecht was keeping Peter Brandt 
 out of his own. 
 
 " Fool I not to have read this before," he 
 cried. He hired a horse and rode down to 
 the nearest port. A vessel was to sail for 
 Amsterdam in four days. 
 
 He took a passage ; and paid a small sum 
 to secure it. 
 
 " The land is too full of cut-throats for me," 
 said he ; " and 'tis lovely fair weather for the 
 sea. Our Dutch skippers are not shipwrecked 
 like these bungling Italians." 
 
 When he returned home there sat his old 
 landlady with her eyes sparkling. 
 
 "You are in luck, my young master," said 
 she. "All the fish run to your net this 
 day methinks. See what a lackey hath 
 brought to our house I This bill and this 
 bag." 
 
 Gerard broke the seals, and found it full 
 of silver crowns. 
 
 The letter contained a mere slip of paper 
 with this line, cut out of some MS : 
 
 "La lingua non ha osso, ma fa rompere 
 il dosso." 
 
 " Fear me not ! " said Gerard aloud. " I'll 
 keep mine between my teeth." 
 
 " What is that 7 " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. Am I not happy, dame ! 
 I am going back to my sweetheart with 
 money in one pocket, and land in the other." 
 And he fell to dancing round her. 
 
 "Well," said she, "I trow nothing could 
 make you happier." 
 
 " Nothing, except to be there." 
 
 "Well, that is a pity, for I thought to 
 make you a little happier with a letter from 
 Holland." 
 
 " A letter 7 for me 7 where 7 how 7 who 
 brought it 7 Oh, dame 1 " 
 
 "A stranger; a painter, with a reddish 
 face and an outlandish name ; Anselmin, I 
 trow." 
 
 "Hans Memling? a friend of mine. God 
 bless him 1 " 
 
 " Ay, that is it ; Anselmin. He could scarce 
 speak a word, but a had the wit to name thee ; 
 and a puts the letter down, and a nods and 
 smiles, and I nods and smiles, and gives him 
 a pint o' wine, and it went down him like 
 a spoonful." 
 
 "That is Hans, honest Hans. .Oh, dame, I 
 am in luck to-day; but I deserve it. For, 
 I care not if I tell you, I have just over- 
 come a great temptation for dear Margaret'a 
 sake." 
 
 " Who is she t " 
 
 "Nay, I'd have my tongue cut out sooner 
 than betray her, but oh, it was a temptation. 
 Gratitude pushing me wrong, Beauty almost 
 divine pulling me wrong : curses, reproaches,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 197 
 
 and hardest of all to resist, gentle tears 
 from eyes used to command. Sure some 
 saint helped me; Anthony belike. But my 
 reward is corne." 
 
 " Ay, is it, lad ; and no farther off than my 
 pocket. Come out, Gerard's reward," and 
 she brought a letter out of her capacious 
 pocket. 
 
 Gerard threw his arm round her neok and 
 hugged her. 
 
 "My best friend," said he, "my second 
 mother, I'll read it to you." 
 
 "Ay, do, do." 
 
 "Alas! it is not from Margaret. This is 
 not her hand." And he turned it about. 
 
 " Alack ; but maybe her bill is within. The 
 lasses are aye for gliding in their bills under 
 cover of another hand." 
 
 "True. Whose hand is this? sure I have 
 seen it. I trow 'tis my dear friend the 
 demoiselle Van Eyck. Oh, then Margaret's 
 bill will be inside." He tore it open. " Nay, 
 'tis all in one writing. 'Gerard, my well 
 beloved son ' (she never called me that before 
 that I mind), 'this letter brings thee heavy 
 news from one would liever send thee joyful 
 tidings. Know that Margaret Brandt died 
 in these arms on Thursday sennight last.' 
 (What does the doting old woman mean by 
 that ?) ' The last word on her lips was 
 " Gerard : " she said, " Tell him I prayed for 
 him at my last hour; and bid him pray for 
 me." She died very comfortable, and I saw 
 her laid in the earth, for her father was 
 useless, as you shall know. So no more at 
 present from her that is with sorrowing heart 
 thy loving friend and servant, 
 
 'MAEGAEKT VAN EYCK.' 
 
 "Ay, that is her signature sure enough. 
 Now what d'ye think of that, dame ? " cried 
 Gerard, with a grating laugh. " There is a 
 pretty letter to send to a poor fellow so far 
 from home. But it is Reicht Heynes I blame 
 for humouring the old woman and letting 
 her do it ; as for the old woman herself, she 
 dotes, she has lost her head, she is fourscore. 
 Oh, my heart, I'm choking. For all that 
 she ought to be locked up, or her hands tied. 
 Say this had come to a fool ; say I was idiot 
 enough to believe this ; know ye what I 
 should do? run to the top of the highest 
 church tower in Rome and fling myself off 
 it, cursing Heaven. Woman 1 woman 1 what 
 are you doing?" And he seized her rudely 
 by the shoulder. "What are ye weeping 
 for?" he cried, in a voice all unlike his own, 
 and loud and hoarse as a raven. "Would 
 ye scald me to death with your tears ? She 
 believes it. She believes it. Ah! ah I ah I 
 ah 1 ah I ah I Then there is no God." 
 
 The poor woman sighed and rocked herself. 
 
 "And must I be the one to bring it thee 
 all smiling and smirking ? I could kill myself 
 for't. Death spares none," she sobbed. " Death 
 spares none." 
 
 Gerard staggered against the window sill. 
 
 "But He is master of death," he groaned. 
 "Or they have taught me a He. I begin to 
 
 fear there is no God, and the saints are but 
 dead bones, and hell is master of the world. 
 My pretty Margaret ; my sweet, my loving 
 Margaret. The best daughter! the truest 
 lover ! the pride of Holland I the darling of 
 the world I It is a lie. Where is this caitiff 
 Hans? I'll hunt him round the town. I'll 
 cram his murdering falsehood down his 
 throat." 
 
 And he seized his hat and ran furiously 
 about the streets for hours. 
 
 Towards sunset he came back white as a 
 ghost. He had not found Memling ; but his 
 poor mind had had time to realise the 
 woman's simple words, that Death spares 
 none. 
 
 He crept into the house bent, and feeble 
 as an old man, and refused all food. Nor 
 would he speak, but sat, white, with great 
 staring eyes, muttering at intervals, " There is 
 no God." 
 
 Alarmed both on his account and on her 
 own (for he looked a desperate maniac), his 
 landlady ran for her aunt. 
 
 The good dame came, and the two women, 
 braver together, sat one on each side of 
 him, and tried to soothe him with kind and 
 consoling voices. But he heeded them no 
 more than the chairs they sat on. Then the 
 younger held a crucifix out before him, to 
 aid her. " Maria, mother of heaven, comfort 
 him," they sighed. But he sat glaring, deaf 
 to all external sounds. 
 
 Presently, without any warning, he jumped 
 up, struck the crucifix rudely out of his way 
 with a curse, and made a headlong dash at 
 the door. The poor women shrieked. But 
 ere he reached the door, something seemed 
 to them to draw him up straight by his 
 hair, and twirl him round like a top. He 
 whirled twice round with arms extended ; 
 then fell like a dead log upon the floor, 
 with blood trickling from his nostrils and 
 ears. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 GERARD returned to consciousness and to 
 despair. 
 
 On the second day he was raving with 
 fever on the brain. On a table hard by lay 
 his rich auburn hah*, long as a woman's. 
 
 The deadlier symptoms succeeded one an- 
 other rapidly. 
 
 On the fifth day his leech retired and gave 
 him up. 
 
 On the sunset of that same day he fell into 
 a deep sleep. 
 
 Some said he would wake only to die. 
 
 But an old gossip, whose opinion carried 
 weight (she had been a professional nurse), 
 declared that his youth might save him yet, 
 could he sleep twelve hours. 
 
 On this his old landlady cleared the room 
 and watched him alone. She vowed a wax 
 candle to the Virgin for every hour he should 
 sleep.
 
 198 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 He slept twelve boon. 
 
 The good soul rejoiced, and thanked the 
 Virgin on her knees. 
 
 He slept twenty-four boon. 
 
 Hi3 kind nurse began to doubt. At the 
 thirtieth hour she sent for the woman of 
 art. 
 
 " Thirty hours ! shall we wake him ? " 
 
 The other inspected him closely for some 
 time. 
 
 "His breath is even, his hand moist. I 
 know there be learned leeches would wake 
 him, to look at his tongue, and be none 
 the wiser ; but we that be women should 
 have the sense to let bon Nature alone. When 
 did sleep ever harm the racked brain or the 
 torn heart?" 
 
 When he had been forty -eight hours asleep, 
 It got wind, and they had much ado to keep 
 the curious out. But they admitted only 
 Fra Colonna and his friend the gigantic Fra 
 Jerome. 
 
 These two relieved the women, and sat 
 fleet ; the former eyeing his young friend 
 with tears in his eyes, the latter with beads 
 in his hand looked as calmly on him as he had 
 on the sea when Gerard and he encountered 
 it hand to hand. 
 
 At hist, I think it was about the sixtieth hour 
 of this strange sleep, the landlady touched 
 Fra Colonna with her elbow. He looked. 
 Gerard had opened his eyes as gently as if 
 be had been but dozing. 
 
 He stared. 
 
 He drew himself up a little in bed. 
 
 He put his hand to his head, and found his 
 hair was gone. 
 
 He noticed his friend Colonna, and smiled 
 with pleasure. But in the middle of smiling 
 his face stopped, and was convulsed in a 
 moment with anguish unspeakable, and he 
 altered a loud cry, and turned his face to 
 the wall 
 
 His good landlady wept at this. She had 
 known what it is to awake bereaved. 
 
 Fra Jerome recited canticles, and prayers 
 from his breviary. 
 
 Gerard rolled himself in the bed-clothes. 
 
 Fra Colonna went to him, and whimper- 
 log, reminded him that all was not lost. 
 The divine Muses were imtiortaL He must 
 transfer his affection to them; they would 
 never betray him nor fail him like creatures 
 of clay. The good, simple father then hurried 
 away ; for he was overcome by his emotion. 
 
 Fra Jerome remained behind. 
 
 "Young man," said he, "the Muses exist 
 bat in the brains of pagans and visionaries. 
 The Church alone gives repose to the heart 
 on earth, and happiness to the soul here- 
 after. Hath earth deceived thee, hath pas- 
 ion broken thy heart after tearing it, the 
 Church opens her arms : consecrate thy 
 gifts to her 1 The Church is peace of 
 mind." 
 
 He spoke these words solemnly at the 
 door, and was gone as soon as they were 
 uttered. 
 
 " The Church ! " cried Gerard, rising furl- 
 oosly, and shaking his fiat after the friar, 
 
 "Malediction on the Church! But for the 
 Church I should not lie broken here, and 
 she lie cold, cold, cold, in Holland. Oh, my 
 Margaret ! oh, my darling I my darling 1 And 
 I must run from thee the few months thoa 
 hadst to live. Cruel I cruel ! The monsters, 
 they let her die. Death comes not without 
 some signs. These the blind selfish wretches 
 saw not, or recked not ; but I had seen them, 
 I that love her. Oh, had I been there, I had 
 saved her, I had saved her. Idiot I idiot 1 
 to leave her for a moment." 
 
 He wept bitterly a long time. 
 
 Then, suddenly bursting into rage again, he 
 cried vehemently 
 
 " The Church 1 for whose sake I was driven 
 from her ; my malison be on the Church ! 
 and the hypocrites that name it to my broken 
 heart. Accursed be the world! Ghysbrecht 
 lives ; Margaret dies. Thieves, murderers, 
 harlots, live for ever. Only angels die. Curse 
 life I curse death 1 and whosoever made them 
 what they are ! " 
 
 The friar did not hear these mad and wicked 
 words; but only the yell of rage with which 
 they were flung after him. 
 
 It was as well For, if he had heard them, 
 he would have had his late shipmate burned in 
 the forum with as little hesitation as he would 
 have roasted a kid. 
 
 His old landlady, who had accompanied Fra 
 Colonna down the stair, heard the raised voice, 
 and returned in some anxiety. 
 
 She found Gerard putting on his clothes, 
 and crying. 
 
 She remonstrated. 
 
 "What avails my lying here?" said he 
 gloomily, "Can I find here that which I 
 seek ? " 
 
 " Saints preserve ns I Is he distraught 
 again ? What seek ye ? " 
 
 " Oblivion." 
 
 "Oblivion, my little heart! Oh, but y'are 
 young to talk so." 
 
 "Young or old, what else have I to live 
 for?" 
 
 He put on his best clothes. 
 
 The good dame remonstrated. 
 
 " My pretty Gerard, know that it is Tuesday, 
 not Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, Tuesday is it? I thought it had been 
 Saturday." 
 
 "Nay, thou hast slept long. Thou never 
 wearest thy brave clothes on working days. 
 Consider." 
 
 "What I did, when she lived, I did. Now 
 I shall do whatever erst I did not. The past 
 is the past. There lies my hair, and with it 
 my way of life. I have served one Master as 
 well as I could. You see my reward. Now 
 I'll serve another, and give him a fair trial 
 too." 
 
 " Alas ! " sighed the woman, turning pale, 
 "what mean these dark words? and what 
 new master is this whose service thou wouldst 
 try!" 
 
 "Satan." 
 And with this horrible declaration on hit
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 99 
 
 lipt the miserable creature walked out with his 
 cap and feather set jauntily on one side, and 
 feeble limbs, and a sinister face pale as ashes, 
 and all drawn down as if by age. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 A DAKK cloud fell on a noble mind. 
 
 His pure and unrivalled love for Margaret 
 had been his polar star. It was quenched, 
 and he drifted on the gloomy sea of no 
 hope. 
 
 Nor was he a prey to despair alone, but to 
 exasperation at all bis self-denial, fortitude, 
 perils, virtue, wasted and worse than wasted ; 
 for it kept burning and stinging him, that, 
 had he stayed lazily, selfishly at home, he 
 should have saved his Margaret's life. 
 
 These two poisons, raging together in his 
 young blood, maddened and demoralised him. 
 He rushed fiercely into pleasure. And in 
 those days, even more than now, pleasure 
 was vice. 
 
 Wine, women, gambling, whatever could 
 procure him an hour's excitement and a 
 moment's oblivion. He plunged into these 
 things, as men tired of life have rushed among 
 the enemy's bullets. 
 
 The large sums be had put by for Mar- 
 garet gave him ample means for debauchery, 
 and he was soon the leader of those loose 
 companions he had hitherto kept at a 
 distance. 
 
 His heart deteriorated along with his 
 morals. 
 
 He sulked with his old landlady for thrust- 
 ing gentle advice and warning on him ; and 
 finally removed to another part of the town, 
 to be clear of remonstrance and reminiscences. 
 When he had carried this game on some time, 
 his hand became less steady, and he could no 
 longer write to satisfy himself. Moreover, his 
 patience declined as the habits of pleasure 
 grew on him. So he gave up that art, and 
 took likenesses in colours. 
 
 But this he neglected whenever the Idle 
 rakes, his companions came for him. 
 
 And so he dived in foul waters, seeking that 
 iorry oyster-shell, Oblivion. 
 
 It is not my business to paint at full length 
 the scenes of coarse vice in which this un- 
 happy young man now played a part. But 
 it my business to impress the broad truth, 
 that he was a rake, a debauchee, and a 
 drunkard, and one of the wildest, loosest, 
 and wickedest young men in Rome. 
 
 They are no lovers of truth, nor of man- 
 kind, who conceal or slur the wickedness of 
 the good, and so by their want of candour 
 rob despondent sinners of hope. 
 
 Enough, the man was not born to do 
 things by halves. And he was not vicious 
 by halves. 
 
 His humble female friends often gossiped 
 him. Hu old landlady told Teresa he 
 
 was going to the bad, and prayed her to try 
 and find out where he was. 
 
 Teresa told her husband Lodovicd his sad 
 story, and bade him look about and see if 
 he could discover the young man's present 
 abode. 
 
 " Shouldst remember his face, Lodovico 
 mio?" 
 
 " Teresa, a man in my way of life never 
 forgets a face, least of all a benefactor's. 
 But thou knowest I seldom go abroad by 
 daylight." 
 
 Teresa sighed. 
 
 " And how long is it to be so, Lodovico T " 
 
 " Till some cavalier passes his sword through 
 me. They will not let a poor fellow like me 
 take to any honest trade." 
 
 Pietro Vanucci was one of those who bear 
 prosperity worse than adversity. 
 Having been ignominiously ejected for late 
 
 hours by their old landlady, and meeting 
 Gerard in the street, he greeted him warmly, 
 and soon after took up his quarters in the 
 same house. 
 
 He brought with him a lad called Andrea, 
 who ground his colours, and was his pupil, 
 and also his model, being a youth of rare 
 beauty, and as sharp as a needle. 
 
 Pietro had not quite forgotten old times; 
 and professed a warm friendship for Gerard. 
 
 Gerard, in whom all warmth of sentiment 
 seemed extinct, submitted coldly to the other's 
 friendship. 
 
 And a fine acquaintance it was. This Pietro 
 was not only a libertine, but half a misan- 
 thrope, and an open infidel. 
 
 And so they ran in couples, with mighty 
 little in common. Oh, rare phenomenon ! 
 
 One day, when Gerard had undermined his 
 health, and taken the bloom off his beauty, 
 and run through most of his money, Vanucci 
 got up a gay party to mount the Tiber in a 
 boat drawn by buffaloes. Lorenzo de' Medici 
 had imported these creatures into Florence 
 about three years before. But they were 
 new in Rome, and nothing would content 
 this beggar on horseback, Vanucci, but being 
 drawn by the brutes up the Tiber. 
 
 Each Libertine was to bring a lady ; and she 
 must be handsome, or he be fined. But the 
 one that should contribute the loveliest was 
 to be crowned with laurel, and voted a public 
 benefactor. Such was their reading or "Vir 
 bonus est quis ? " They got a splendid galley, 
 and twelve buffaloes. And all the libertin.es 
 and their female accomplices assembled by 
 degrees at the place of embarkation. But 
 no Gerard. 
 
 They waited for him some time, at first 
 patiently, then impatiently. 
 
 Vanucci excused him. 
 
 " I heard him say he had forgotten to pro- 
 vide himself with a fardingale. Comrades, 
 the good lad is hunting for a beauty fit to 
 take rank among these peerless dames. Con- 
 sider the difficulty, ladies, and be patient I " 
 
 At last Gerard was tsen t lome distune* 
 with a female in his hand.
 
 300 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " She is long enough," said cue of her sex, 
 criticising her from afar. 
 
 " Gemini ! what steps she takes," said 
 another. " Oh 1 it is wise to hurry into 
 good company," was Pietro's excuse. 
 
 But when" the pair came up, satire was 
 choked. 
 
 Gerard's companion was a peerless beauty ; 
 she extinguished the boat-load, as stars the 
 rising sun. Tall, but not too tall ; and 
 straight as a dart, yet supple as a young 
 panther. Her face a perfect oval, her fore- 
 head white, her cheeks a rich olive with the 
 eloquent blood mantling below ; and her 
 glorious eyes fringed with long thick silken 
 eyelashes, that seemed made to sweep up 
 ensitive hearts by the half dozen. Saucy 
 red lips, and teeth of the whitest ivory. 
 
 The women were visibly depressed by this 
 wretched sight ; the men in ecstasies ; they 
 received her with loud shouts and waving 
 of caps, and one enthusiast even went down 
 on his knees upon the boat's gunwale, and 
 hailed her of origin divine. But his chire 
 amie pulling his hair for it and the goddess 
 giving him a little kick cotemporaneously, 
 he lay supine ; and the peerless creature 
 frisked over his body without deigning him 
 a look, and took her seat at the prow. Pietro 
 Vanncci sat in a sort of collapse, glaring 
 at her, and gaping with his mouth open like 
 a dying cod-fish. 
 
 The drover spoke to the buffaloes, the ropes 
 tightened, and they moved up stream. 
 
 "What think ye of this new beef, mes- 
 dames 7 " 
 
 "We ne'er saw monsters so vilely ill- 
 favoured ; with their nasty horns that make 
 one afeard, and their foul nostrils cast up 
 into the air. Holes be they ; not nostrils." 
 
 "Signorina, the beeves are a present from 
 Florence the beautiful Would ye look a 
 gift beef i' the nose ? " 
 
 " They are so dull," objected a lively lady. 
 
 I went up Tiber twice as fast last time 
 with but five mules and an ass." 
 
 " Nay, that is soon mended," cried a gal- 
 lant, and jumping ashore he drew his sword, 
 and despite the remonstrances of the drivers, 
 went down the dozen buffaloes goading 
 them. 
 
 They snorted and whisked their tails, and 
 went no faster, at which the boat-load laughed 
 load and long ; finally he goaded a patriarch 
 bull, who turned instantly on the sword, sent 
 his long horns clean through the spark and 
 with a furious jerk of his prodigious neck 
 sent him flying over his head into the air. 
 He described a bold parabola and fell sitting 
 and unconsciously waving his glittering blade 
 into the yellow Tiber. The laughing ladies 
 creamed and wrung their hands, all but 
 Gerard's fair. She uttered something very 
 like an oath, and seizing the helm steered 
 the boat put, and the gallant came up sput- 
 tering, griped the gunwale, and was drawn in 
 dripping. 
 
 He glared roand him confusedly. " I under- 
 stand not that," said he, a little peevishly ; 
 
 puzzled, and therefore, it would seem, dis- 
 contented. At which, finding he was by 
 some strange accident not slain, his doublet 
 being perforated, instead of his body, they 
 began to laugh again louder than ever. 
 
 " What are ye cackling at ? " remonstrated 
 the spark. " I desire to know how 'tis that 
 one moment a gentleman is out yonder a 
 pricking of African beef, and the next 
 moment " 
 
 Oerard't lady. " Disporting in his native 
 stream." 
 
 " Tell him not, a soul of ye," cried Vanucci. 
 " Let him find out 's own riddle." 
 
 " Confound ye all. I might puzzle my 
 brains till doomsday, I should ne'er find it 
 out. Also, where is my sword ? " 
 
 Gerard's lady. " Ask Tiber I Your best 
 way, signer, will be to do it over again ; 
 and, in a word, keep pricking of Afric's beef, 
 till your mind receives light. So shall you 
 comprehend the matter by degrees, as lawyers 
 mount heaven, and buffaloes Tiber." 
 
 Here a chevalier remarked that the last 
 speaker transcended the sons of Adam as 
 much in wit as she did the daughters of 
 Eve in beauty. 
 
 At which, and indeed at all their compli- 
 ments, the conduct of Pietro Vanucci was 
 peculiar. That signer bad left off staring, 
 and gaping bewildered ; and now sat coiled 
 up snake-like, on a bench, his mouth muffled, 
 and two bright eyes fixed on the lady, and 
 twinkling and scintillating most comically. 
 
 He did not appear to interest or amuse 
 her in return. Her glorious eyes and eye- 
 lashes swept him calmly at times, but scarce 
 distinguished him from the benches and 
 things. 
 
 Presently the unanimity of the party suffered 
 a momentary check. 
 
 Mortified by the attention the cavaliers 
 paid to Gerard's companion, the ladies began 
 to pick her to pieces totto voce, and audibly. 
 
 The lovely girl then showed that, if rich 
 in beauty, she was poor in feminine tact. 
 Instead of revenging herself like a true 
 woman through the men, she permitted her- 
 self to overhear, and openly retaliate on her 
 detractors. 
 
 " There is not one of you that wears Nature's 
 colours," said she. "Look here," and she 
 pointed rudely in one's face. "This is the 
 beauty that is to be bought in every shop. 
 Here is cerussa, here is stibium, and here 
 pnrpurissum. Oh, I know the articles : bless 
 you, I nse them every day but not on my 
 face, no thank yon." 
 
 Here Vanucci's eyes twinkled themselves 
 nearly out of sight. 
 
 "Why, your lips are coloured, and the 
 very veins in your forehead: not a charm 
 but would come off with a wet towel. And 
 look at your great coarse black hair like a 
 horse's tail, drugged and stained to look 
 like tow. And then your bodies are as false 
 as your heads and your cheeks, and your 
 hearts I trow. Look at your padded bosoms, 
 and your wooden heeled chopines to raise 
 your little stunted limbs up and deceive
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the world. Skinny dwarfs 70 are, cushioned 
 and stiltified into great fat giants. Aha, 
 mesdames, well is it said of you, grande 
 di legni : grosse di straci : rosse di bettito : 
 bianche di calcina." 
 
 This drew out a rejoinder. 
 
 " A vaunt, vulgar toad, telling the men every- 
 thing. Your coarse, ruddy cheeks are your 
 own, and your little handful of African hair. 
 But who is padded more ? Why, you are shaped 
 like a fire-shoveL" 
 
 " Ye lie, malapert." 
 
 "Oh, the well-educated young person 1 
 Where didst pick her up, Ser Gerard ? " 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Marcia," said Gerard, 
 awakened by the raised trebles from a gloomy 
 reverie. " Be not so insolent 1 The grave 
 shall close over thy beauty as it hath over 
 fairer than thee." 
 
 " They began," said Marcia petulantly. 
 
 " Then be thou the first to leave off." 
 
 "At thy request, my friend." 8he then 
 whispered Gerard, "It was only to make 
 you laugh ; you are distraught, you are sad. 
 Judge whether I care for the quips of these 
 little fools, or the admiration of these big 
 fools. Dear Signer Gerard, would I were 
 what they take me for ? Yon should not 
 be so sad." 
 
 Gerard sighed deeply ; and shook his head. 
 But touched by the earnest young tones, 
 caressed the jet black locks, much as one 
 strokes the head of an affectionate dog. 
 
 At this moment a galley drifting slowly 
 down stream got entangled for an instant in 
 their ropes : for, the river turning suddenly, 
 they had shot out into the stream ; and this 
 galley came between them and the bank. In 
 it a lady of great beauty was seated under a 
 canopy with gallants and dependants standing 
 behind her. 
 
 Gerard looked up at the interruption. It 
 was the Princess Claelia. 
 
 He coloured and withdrew his hand from 
 Marcia's head. 
 
 Marcia was all admiration. 
 
 "Ahal ladies," said she, "here is a rival 
 an' ye will. Those cheeks were coloured by 
 Nature like mine." 
 
 " Peace, child ! peace I " said Gerard. " Make 
 not too free with the great." 
 
 "Why, she heard me not. Oh, Ser Gerard, 
 what a lovely creature 1 " 
 
 Two of the females had been for some time 
 past putting their heads together and casting 
 glances at Marcia. 
 
 One of them now addressed her. 
 
 " Signorina, do you love almonds ? " 
 
 The speaker had a lapful of them. 
 
 "Yes, I love them; when I can get them," 
 eaid Marcia pettishly, and eyeing the fruit 
 with ill-concealed desire ; " but yours is not 
 the hand to give me any, I trow." 
 
 "You are much mistook," said the other. 
 " Here, catch ! " 
 
 And suddenly threw a double handful into 
 Marcia's lap. 
 
 Marcia brought her knees together by an 
 irresigtible instinct. 
 
 "Aha! you are caught, my lad," cried she 
 of the nuts. " Tis a man ; or a boy. A 
 woman still parteth her knees to catch the 
 nuts the surer in her apron ; but a man 
 closeth his for fear they should fall between 
 his hose. Confess, now, didst never wear 
 fardingale ere to-day ? " 
 
 " Give me another handful, sweetheart, and 
 I'll tell thee." 
 
 "There! I said he was too handsome for 
 a woman." 
 
 "Ser Gerard, they have found me out," 
 observed the Epicaene, calmly cracking an 
 almond. 
 
 The libertines vowed it was impossible, 
 and all glared at the goddess like a battery. 
 But Vanucci struck in, and reminded the 
 gaping gazers of a recent controversy, in 
 which they had, with an unanimity not often 
 found among dunces, laughed Gerard and 
 him to scorn, for saying that men were 
 as beautiful as women in a true artist's 
 eye. 
 
 "Where are ye now! This is my boy 
 Andrea. And you have all been down on 
 your knees to him. Ha! ha! But oh, my 
 little ladies, when he lectured you and flung 
 your stibium, your cerussa, and your pur- 
 purissum back in your faces, 'tis then I was 
 like to burst ; a grinds my colours. Ha ! ha ! 
 he ! he ! he ! bo 1 " 
 
 " The little impostor ! Duck him I " 
 
 "What for, signers ?" cried Andrea, In dis- 
 may, and lost his rich carnation. 
 
 But the females collected round him, and 
 vowed nobody should harm a hair of his 
 head. 
 
 "The dear child! How well his pretty 
 little saucy ways become him." 
 
 " Oh, what eyes and teeth ! " 
 
 " And what eyebrows and hair ! " 
 
 " And what lashes ! " 
 
 " And what a nose ! " 
 
 " The sweetest little ear in the world ! " 
 
 " And what health ! Touch but his cheek 
 with a pin the blood should squirt." 
 
 " Who would be so cruel ? " 
 
 " He is a rosebud washed in dew." 
 
 And they revenged themselves for their 
 beaux' admiration of her by lavishing all their 
 tenderness on him. 
 
 But one there was who was still among these 
 butterflies, but no longer of them. 
 
 The sight of the Princess Claslia had torn 
 open his wound. 
 
 Scarce three months ago he had declined 
 the love of that peerless creature ; a love 
 illicit and insane ; but at least refined. How 
 much lower had he fallen now. 
 
 How happy he must have been, when the 
 blandishments of Claelia, that might have 
 melted an anchorite, could not tempt him 
 from the path of loyalty ! 
 
 Now what was he ? He had blushed at her 
 seeing him in such company. Yet it was his 
 daily company. 
 
 He hung over the boat in moody silence. 
 
 And from that hour another phase of his 
 misery began ; and grew upon him,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Some wretched fools try to drown care in 
 drink. 
 
 The fumes of Intoxication vanish ; the 
 inevitable care remains, and must be faced 
 at last with an aching head, a disordered 
 gtomach, and spirits artificially depressed. 
 
 Gerard's conduct had been of a piece with 
 these maniacs'. To survive his terrible blow 
 he needed all his forces; his virtue, his 
 health, his habits of labour, and the calm 
 sleep that is labour's satellite; above all, bis 
 piety. 
 
 Tet all these balms to wounded hearts he 
 flung away, and trusted to moral intoxi- 
 cation. 
 
 Its brief fumes fled; the bereaved heart 
 lay still heavy as lead within his bosom ; 
 but now the dark vulture Remorse sat upon 
 it rending it. 
 
 Broken health; means wasted; innocence 
 fled; Margaret parted from him by another 
 gulf wider than the grave ! 
 
 The hot fit of despair passed away. 
 
 The cold fit of despair came on. 
 
 Then this miserable young man spurned his 
 gay companions, and all the world. 
 
 He wandered alone. He drank wine alone 
 to stupefy himself; and paralyse a moment 
 the dark foes to man that preyed upon his 
 soul He wandered alone amidst the temples 
 of Old Rome, and lay stony eyed, woe- 
 begone, among their ruins, worse wrecked 
 than they. 
 
 Last o'f all came the climax, to which soli- 
 tude, that gloomy yet fascinating foe of minds 
 diseased, pushes the hopeless. 
 
 He wandered alone at night by dark streams, 
 and eyed them, and eyed them, with decreas- 
 ing repugnance. There glided peace ; perhaps 
 annihilation. 
 
 What else was left him t 
 
 These dark spells have been broken by kind 
 words, by loving and cheerful voices. 
 
 The humblest friend the afflicted one pos- 
 sesses may speak, or look, or smile, a sun- 
 beam between him and that worst madness 
 Gerard now brooded. 
 
 Where was Teresa ! Where his hearty, kind 
 old landlady T 
 
 They would see with their homely but swift 
 intelligence ; they would see and save. 
 
 No ; they knew not where he was, or whither 
 
 And is there no mortal eye upon the poor 
 wretch, and the dark road he is going 1 
 
 Yes ; one eye there is upon him ; watching 
 his every movement ; following him abroad 
 tracking him home. 
 
 And that eye is the eye of an enemy. 
 
 An enemy to the death. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVL 
 
 IK an apartment richly furnished, the floor 
 covered with striped and spotted skins of 
 animals, a lady sat with her arms extended 
 
 before her, and her hands half clenched. 
 The agitation of her face corresponded with 
 this attitude ; she was pale and red by turns ; 
 and her foot restless. 
 
 Presently the curtain was drawn by a 
 domestic. 
 
 The lady's brow flushed. 
 
 The maid said, in an awe-struck whisper 
 
 " Altezza, the man is here." 
 
 The lady bade her admit him, and snatched 
 up a little black mask and put it on ; and in 
 a moment her colour was gone, and the con- 
 trast between her black mask and her marble 
 cheeks was strange and fearful 
 
 A man entered bowing and scraping. It 
 was such a figure as crowds seem made of ; 
 short hair, roundish head, plain, but decent 
 clothes; features neither comely nor forbid- 
 ding. Nothing to remark in him but a singu- 
 larly restless eye. 
 
 After a profusion of bows he stood opposite 
 the lady, and awaited her pleasure. 
 
 "They have told yon for what you are 
 wanted ! " 
 
 " Yes, signonu" 
 
 "Did those who spoke to yon agree as to 
 what you are to receive ? " 
 
 " Yes, signora. 'Tis the full price ; and pur- 
 chases the greater vendetta : unless of your 
 benevolence you choose to content yourself with 
 the lesser." 
 
 " I understand you not," said the lady. 
 
 "Ah, this is the signora's first. The lesser 
 vendetta, lady, is the death of the body only. 
 We watch our man come out of a church ; or 
 take him in an innocent hour; and so deal 
 with him. In the greater vendetta we watch 
 him, and catch him hot from some unrepented 
 sin, and so slay his soul as well as his body. 
 But this vendetta is not so run upon now as 
 it was a few years ago." 
 
 "Man, silence me his tongue, and let his 
 treasonable heart beat no more. But his soul 
 I have no feud with." 
 
 "So be it, signora. He who spoke to me 
 knew not the man, nor his name, nor his abode. 
 From whom shall I learn these ? " 
 
 " From myself." 
 
 At this the man, with the first symptoms 
 of anxiety he had shown, entreated her to be 
 cautious, and particular, in this part of the 
 business. 
 
 "Fear me not," said she. "Listen. It is 
 a young man, tall of stature, and auburn hair, 
 and dark blue eyes, and an honest face, .would 
 deceive a saint. He lives in the Via Claudia, 
 at the corner house; the glover's. In that 
 house there lodge but three males : he ; and 
 a painter short of stature and dark visaged, 
 and a young, slim boy. He that hath betrayed 
 me is a stranger, fair, and taller than thou 
 art." 
 
 The bravo listened with all his ears. 
 
 "It is enough," said he. "Stay, signora; 
 hauuteth he any secret place where 1 may 
 deal with him ? " 
 
 "My spy doth report me he hath of late 
 frequented the banks of Tiber after du=k ; 
 doubtless to meet his light o' love, who calls 
 me her rival; even there slay him! and let
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 203 
 
 my rival come and find him ; the smooth, 
 heartless, insolent traitor." 
 
 " Be calm, signora. He will betray no more 
 ladies." 
 
 "I know not that. He weareth a sword, 
 and can use it. He is young and resolute." 
 
 " Neither will avail him." 
 
 " Are ye so sure of your hand I What are 
 your weapons ? " 
 
 The bravo showed her a steel gauntlet. 
 
 "We strike with such force we need must 
 guard our hand. This is our mallet." 
 
 He then undid his doublet, and gave her 
 a glimpse of a coat of mail beneath, and 
 finally laid his glittering stiletto on the table 
 with a flourish. 
 
 The lady shuddered at first, but presently 
 took it up in her white hand and tried its 
 point against her finger. 
 
 " Beware, madam," said the bravo. 
 
 " What, is it poisoned ? " 
 
 " Saints forbid ! We steal no lives. We take 
 them with steel point, not drugs. But 'tis 
 newly ground, and I feared for the signora's 
 white skin." 
 
 "His skin is as white as mine," said she, 
 with a sudden gleam of pity. It lasted but 
 a moment "But his heart is black as soot. 
 Bay, do I not well to remove a traitor that 
 slanders me I" 
 
 "The signora will settle that with her 
 confessor. I am but a tool in noble hands ; 
 like my stiletto." 
 
 The princess appeared not to hear the 
 speaker, 
 
 " Oh, how I could have loved him ; to the 
 death ; as now I hate him. Fool I he will 
 learn to trifle with princes ; to spurn them 
 and fawn on them, and prefer the scum of 
 the town to them, and make them a by- 
 word." She looked up. "Why loiter'st thou 
 here J haste thee, revenge me." 
 
 "It is customary to pay half the price be- 
 forehand, signora," 
 
 "Ah, I forgot ; thy revenge is bought. Here 
 is more than half," and she pushed a bag across 
 the table to him. "When the blow is struck, 
 come for the rest." 
 
 "You will soon see me again, signora." 
 
 And he retired bowing and scraping. 
 
 The princess, burning with jealousy, morti- 
 fied pride, and dread of exposure (for till she 
 knew Gerard no public stain had fallen on 
 her), sat where he left her, masked, with her 
 arms straight out before her, and the nails 
 of her clenched hand nipping the table. 
 
 So sat the fabled sphynx : so sits a tigress. 
 
 Yet there crept a chill upon her now that 
 the assassin was gone. And moody misgivings 
 heaved within her, precursors of vain remorse. 
 Gerard and Margaret were before their age. 
 This was your true mediaeval. Proud, amorous, 
 vindictive, generous, foolish, cunning, impulsive, 
 unprincipled ; and ignorant as dirt. 
 
 Power is the curse of such a creature. 
 
 Forced to do her own crimes, the weak- 
 ness of her nerves would have balanced the 
 violence of her passions, and her bark been 
 worse than her bite. But power gives a feeble, 
 furious woman, male instruments. And the 
 
 effect is as terrible as the combination is 
 unnatural. 
 
 In this instance it whetted an assassin's 
 dagger for a poor forlorn wretch just medi- 
 tating suicide, 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIL 
 
 IT happened, two days after the scene I 
 have endeavoured to describe, that Gerard, 
 wandering through one of the meanest streets 
 in Borne, was overtaken by a thunderstorm, 
 and entered a low hostelry. He called for 
 wine, and the rain continuing, soon drank 
 himself into a half stupid condition, and 
 dozed with his head on his hands and his 
 hands upon the table. 
 
 In course of time the room began to fill 
 and the noise of the rude guests to wake 
 him. 
 
 Then it was he became conscious of two 
 figures near him conversing in a low voice. 
 
 One was a pardoner. The other by his 
 dress, clean but modest, might have passed 
 for a decent tradesman; but the way he had 
 slouched his hat over his brows, so as to hide 
 all his face except his beard, showed he was 
 one of those who shun the eye of honest 
 men, and of the law. The pair were driving 
 a bargain in the sin market. And by an 
 arrangement not uncommon at that date, the 
 crime to be forgiven was yet to be committed 
 under the celestial contract. 
 
 He of the slouched hat was complaining 
 of the price pardons had reached. " If they 
 go up any higher we poor fellows shall be 
 shut out of heaven altogether." 
 
 The pardoner denied the charge flatly. 
 " Indulgences were never cheaper to good 
 husbandmen." 
 
 The other inquired, "Who were they!" 
 
 "Why, such as sin by the market, like 
 reasonable creatures. But if you will be so 
 perverse as go and pick out a crime the Pope 
 hath set his face against, blame yourself, 
 not me ! " 
 
 Then, to prove that crime of one sort or 
 another was within the means of all, but 
 the very scum of society, he read out the 
 scale from a written parchment. 
 
 It was a curious list; but not one that 
 could be printed in this book. And to muti- 
 late it would be to misrepresent it. It is to 
 be found in any great library. Suffice it to 
 say that murder of a layman was much 
 cheaper than many crimes my lay readers 
 would deem light by comparison. 
 
 This told ; and by a little trifling con- 
 cession on each side, the bargain was closed, 
 the money handed over, and the aspirant to 
 heaven's favour forgiven beforehand for re- 
 moving one layman. The price for disposing 
 of a clerk bore no proportion. 
 
 The word assassination was never once 
 uttered by either merchant. 
 
 All this buzzed in Gerard's ear, Bet h
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 never lifted hb head from the table ; only 
 listened stupidly. 
 
 However, when the parties rose and sepa- 
 rated, he half raised his head, and eyed 
 with a scowl the retiring figure of the 
 purchaser. 
 
 "If Margaret was alive," muttered he, 
 " I'd take thee by the throat and throttle 
 thee, thon cowardly Btabber. But she is 
 dead ! dead ! dead 1 Die all the world ; 'tis 
 nought to me : so that I die among the 
 first." 
 
 When he got home there was a man in a 
 slouched hat walking briskly to and fro on the 
 opposite side of the way. 
 
 "Why, there is that cur again," thought 
 Gerard." 
 
 But in this state of mind, the circumstance 
 made no impression whatever on him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIIL 
 
 Two nighta after this Pietro Vanucci and 
 Andrea sat waiting supper for Gerard. 
 
 The former grew peevish. It was past nine 
 o'clock. At last he sent Andrea to Gerard's 
 room on the desperate chance of his having 
 come in unobserved. Andrea shrugged his 
 shoulders and went. 
 
 He returned without Gerard, but with a slip 
 of paper. Andrea could not read, as scholars 
 in his day and charity boys in ours understand 
 the art ; but he had a quick eye, and had 
 learned how the words Pietro Vanucci looked 
 on paper. 
 
 " That is for you, I trow," said he, proud of 
 his intelligence. 
 
 Pietro snatched it, and read it to Andrea, 
 with his satirical comments. 
 
 '"Dear Pietro, dear Andrea, life is too great 
 a burden.' 
 
 "So 'tit, my lad ; but that it no reason for 
 being abroad at tupper-time. Supper it not a 
 burden." 
 
 " ' Wear my habits.' 
 
 " Said the poplar to the juniper buth." 
 
 " ' And thou, Andrea, mine amethyst ring ; 
 and me in both your hearts a month or 
 two.' 
 
 " Why, Andrea f " 
 
 14 ' For my body, ere this ye read, it will lie 
 In Tiber. Trouble not to look for it. 'Tis 
 not worth the pains. Oh, unhappy day that 
 it was born ; oh, happy night that rids me 
 of it 
 
 "'Adieu! adieu! 
 
 " 'The broken-hearted GERARD.' 
 
 " Here is a norry jest of the peevish rogue," 
 said Pietro. But his pale cheek and chattering 
 teeth belied his words. Andrea filled the house 
 with his cries. 
 
 " Oh, miserable day I Oh, calamity of cala- 
 mities ! Gerard, my friend, my sweet patron ! 
 Hr-Ip ! help I He is killing himself ! Oh, good 
 people, help me save him I " And after alarm- 
 
 ing all the house he ran into the street, bare- 
 headed, imploring all good Christians to help 
 him save his friend. 
 
 A number of persons soon collected. 
 
 But poor Andrea could not animate their 
 sluggishness. Go down to the river ? No. 
 It was not their business. What part of the 
 river ? It was a wild goose chase. 
 
 It was not lucky to go down to the river 
 after sunset. Too many ghosts walked those 
 bank." all night. 
 
 A lackey, however, who had been standing; 
 some time opposite the house, said he would 
 go with Andrea ; and this turned three or four 
 of the younger ones. 
 
 Ths little band took the way to the 
 river. 
 
 The lackey questioned Andrea. 
 
 Andrea, sobbing, told him about the letter, 
 and Gerard's moody ways of late. 
 
 That lackey was a spy of the Princess 
 Clselia. 
 
 Their Italian tongues went fast till they 
 neared the Tiber. 
 
 But the moment they felt the air from 
 the river, and the smell of the stream in 
 the calm spring night, they were dead 
 silent. 
 
 The moon shone calm and clear in a 
 cloudless sky. Their feet sounded loud and 
 ominous. Their tongues were hushed. 
 
 Presently hurrying round a corner they met 
 a man. He stopped irresolute at sight of 
 them. 
 
 The man was bareheaded, and his dripping 
 hair glistened in the moonlight ; and at the 
 next step they saw his clothes were drenched 
 with vrater. 
 
 "Here he is," cried one of the young 
 men, unacquainted with Gerard's face and 
 figure. 
 
 The stranger turned instantly and fled. 
 
 They ran after him might and main, 
 Andrea leading, and the princess's lackey 
 next. 
 
 Andrea gained on him ; but in a moment 
 he twisted up a narrow alley. Andrea shot 
 by, unable to check himself ; and the pursuers 
 soon found themselves in a labyrinth in which 
 it was vain to pursue a qnickfooted fugitive 
 who knew every inch of it, and could now only 
 be followed by the ear. 
 
 They returned to their companions, and 
 found them standing on the spot where 
 the man had stood, and utterly confounded. 
 For Pietro had assured them that the fugitive 
 had neither the features nor the stature of 
 , Gerard. 
 
 " Are ye verily sure ? " said they. " He had 
 been in the river. Why, in the saints' names, 
 fled he at our approach ? " 
 
 Then said Vanucci 
 
 "Friends, methinks this has nought to 
 do with him we seek. What shall we do, 
 Andrea ? " 
 
 Here the lackey put in his word. 
 
 "Let us track him to the water's side, to 
 make sure. See, he hath come dripping all 
 the way." 
 
 This advice was approved, and with very
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 little difficulty they tracked the man's 
 course. 
 
 But soon they encountered a new enigma. 
 
 They had gone scarcely fifty yards ere the 
 drops turned away from the river, and took 
 them to the gate of a large gloomy building. 
 It was a monastery. 
 
 They stood irresolute before it, and gazed at 
 the dark pile. It seemed to them to hide some 
 horrible mystery. 
 
 But presently Andrea gave a shout. 
 
 " Here be the drops again," cried he. " And 
 this road leadeth to the river." 
 
 They resumed the chase ; and soon it 
 became clear the drops were now leading 
 them home. The track became wetter and 
 wetter, and took them to the Tiber's edge. 
 And there on the bank a bucketful ap- 
 peared to have been discharged from the 
 stream. 
 
 At first they shouted, and thought they 
 had made a discovery ; but reflection showed 
 them it amounted to nothing. Certainly a 
 man had been in the water, and had got 
 out of it in safety ; but that man was not 
 Gerard. One said he knew a fisherman 
 hard by that had nets and drags. They 
 found the fisher, and paid him liberally to 
 sink nets in the river below the place, and 
 to drag it above and below ; and promised 
 him gold should he find the body. Then 
 they ran vainly up and down the river, which 
 flowed so calm and voiceless, holding this 
 and a thousand more strange secrets. Sud- 
 denly Andrea, with a cry of hope, ran back 
 to the house. 
 
 He returned in less than half an hour. 
 
 " No," he groaned, and wrung his hands. 
 
 "What is the hour ? " asked the lackey. 
 
 " Four hours past midnight." 
 
 "My pretty lad," said the lackey solemnly, 
 " say a mass for thy friend's soul : for he is 
 not among living men." 
 
 The morning broke. Worn out with fatigue, 
 Andrea and Pietro went home, heart sick. 
 
 The days rolled on, mute as the Tiber as to 
 Gerard's fate. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 IT would indeed have been strange if with 
 such barren data as they possessed, those men 
 could have read the handwriting on the river's 
 bank. 
 
 For there on that spot an event had just 
 occurred, which, take it altogether, was per- 
 haps without a parallel in the history of 
 mankind, and may remain so to the end of 
 time. 
 
 But it shall be told in a very few words, 
 partly by me, partly by an actor in the 
 scene. 
 
 Gerard, then, after writing his brief adieu 
 to Pietro and Andrea, had stolen down to the 
 river at nightfall. 
 
 He had taken his measures with a dogged 
 resolution not uncommon in those who are 
 
 bent on self-destruction. He filled his pockets 
 with all the silver and copper he possessed, 
 that he might sink the surer ; and so pro- 
 vided, hurried to a part of the stream that he 
 had seen was little frequented. 
 
 There are some, especially women, who 
 look about to make sure there is somebody 
 at hand. 
 
 But this resolute wretch looked about him 
 to make sure there was nobody. 
 
 And to his annoyance, he observed a single 
 figure leaning against the corner of an alley. 
 So he affected to stroll carelessly away; but 
 returned to the spot. 
 
 Lo I the same figure emerged from a side 
 street and loitered about. 
 
 " Can he be watching me ? Can he know 
 what I am here for ? " thought Gerard. " Im- 
 possible." 
 
 He went briskly off, walked along a street 
 or two, made a detour and came back. 
 
 The man had vanished. But lo 1 on Gerard 
 looking all round, to make sure, there he 
 was a few yards behind, apparently fastening 
 his shoe. 
 
 Gerard saw he was watched, and at this 
 moment observed in the moonlight a steel 
 gauntlet in his sentinel's hand. 
 
 Then he knew it was an assassin. 
 
 Strange to say, it never occurred to him 
 that his was the life aimed at. To be sure 
 he was not aware he had an enemy in the 
 world. 
 
 He turned and walked up to the bravo. 
 
 "My good friend," said he eagerly, "sell 
 me thine arm ! a single stroke I See, here 
 is all I have ; " and he forced his money into 
 the bravo's hands. " Oh, prithee ! prithee I 
 do one good deed, and rid me of my hateful 
 life ! " and even while speaking he undid his 
 doublet and bared his bosom. 
 
 The man stared in his face. 
 
 " Why do ye hesitate ? " shrieked Gerard. 
 "Have ye no bowels? Is it so much pains 
 to lift your arm and fall it? Is it because 
 I am poor, and can't give ye gold? Useless 
 wretch, canst only strike a man behind ; not 
 look one in the face. There, then, do but 
 turn thy head and hold thy tongue ! " 
 
 And with a snarl of contempt he ran from 
 him, and flung himself into the water. 
 
 " Margaret I " 
 
 At the heavy plunge of his body in the 
 stream the bravo seemed to recover from a 
 stupor. He ran to the bank, and with a 
 strange cry the assassin plunged in after the 
 self-destroyer. 
 
 What followed will be related by the 
 assassin. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 A WOMAN has her own troubles, as a man 
 has his. 
 
 And we male writers seldom do more than 
 indicate the griefs of the other ser. The
 
 206 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 intelligence of the female reader must come 
 to our aid, and fill up our cold outlines. So 
 have I indicated, rather than described, what 
 Margaret Brandt went through up to that 
 eventful day, when she entered Eli's house 
 an enemy, "read her sweetheart's letter, and 
 remained a friend. 
 
 And now a woman's greatest trial drew near, 
 and Gerard far away. 
 
 She availed herself bat little of Eli's sudden 
 favour ; for this reserve she had always a 
 plausible reason ready ; and never hinted at 
 the true one, which waa this; there were 
 two men in that house at sight of whom 
 she shuddered with instinctive antipathy and 
 dread. She had read wickedness and hatred 
 in their faces, and mysterious signals of 
 secret intelligence. She preferred to receive 
 Catherine and her daughter at home. The 
 former went to see her every day, and was 
 wrapped up in the expected event. 
 
 Catherine was one of those females whose 
 office is to multiply, and rear the multiplied : 
 who, when at last they consent to leave off 
 pelting one out of every room in the house 
 with babies, hover about the fair scourges 
 that are still in full swing, and do so cluck, 
 they seem to multiply by proxy. It was in 
 this spirit she entreated Eli to let her 
 stay at Rotterdam, while he went back to 
 Tergou. 
 
 " The poor lass hath not a soul about her, 
 that knows anything about anything. What 
 avail a pair o' soldiers? Why, that sort o' 
 cattle should be putten out o doors the first, 
 at such an a time. 1 ' 
 
 Need I say that this was a great comfort to 
 Margaret. 
 
 Poor soul, she was full of anxiety as the time 
 drew near. 
 
 She should die ; and Gerard away. 
 
 But things balance themselves. Her poverty, 
 and her father's helplessness, which had cost 
 her such a struggle, stood her in good stead 
 cow. 
 
 Adversity's Iron hand had forced her to 
 battle the lassitude that overpowers the rich 
 of her sex, and to be for ever on her feet, 
 working. She kept this up to the last by 
 Catherine's advice. 
 
 And so it was, that one fine evening, just 
 at sunset, she lay weak as water, but safe- 
 with a little face by her aide, and the heaven 
 of maternity opening on her. 
 
 !,'^ rh ? dost weep ' we t nart! All of a 
 sudden ? " 
 
 " He is not here to see it.'' 
 
 "Ah, well, lass, he will be here ere 'tis 
 weaned. Meantime God hath been as good 
 to thee as to e'er a woman born ; and do 
 but bethink thee it might have been a girl 
 didn't my very own Kate threaten me with 
 one ; and here we have got the bonniest boy 
 in Holland, and a rare heavy one, the saints 
 be praised for't." 
 
 "Ay, mother, I am but a sorry, ungrateful 
 wretch to weep. If only Gerard were here to 
 ee it. Tia strange ; I bore him well enow to 
 be away from me in my sorrow; but oh, it 
 
 doth seem so hard he should not share my joy. 
 Prithee, prithee, come to me, Gerard 1 dear, 
 dear Gerard 1" And she stretched out her 
 feeble arms. 
 
 Catherine bustled about, but avoided Mar- 
 garet's eyes ; for she could not restrain her 
 own tears at hearing her own absent child 
 thus earnestly addressed. 
 
 Presently, turning round, she found Mar- 
 garet looking at her with a singular ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Heard you nought ? " 
 
 "No, my lamb. What!" 
 
 " I did cry on Gerard, but now." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sure I heard that." 
 
 " Well, he answered me." 
 
 " Tush, girl : say not that." 
 
 " Mother, as sure as I lie here, with his boy 
 by my side, his voice came back to me, ' Mar- 
 garet I ' So. Yet methought 'twas not bis 
 happy voice. But that might be the distance. 
 All voices go off sad like at a distance. Why 
 art not happy, sweetheart? and I eo happy 
 this night? Mother, I seem never to have 
 felt a pain or known a care." And her sweet 
 eyes turned and gloated on the little face in 
 silence. 
 
 That very night Gerard flung himself into 
 the Tiber. And that very hour she heard 
 him speak her name, he cried aloud in death'a 
 jaws and despair's 
 
 "Margaret!" 
 
 Account for it those who can. I cannot 
 
 CHAPTER LXXI. 
 
 IN the guest chamber of a Dominican con- 
 vent lay a single stranger, exhausted by 
 successive and violent fits of nausea, which 
 had at last subsided, leaving him almost 
 as weak as Margaret lay that night in Hoi- 
 land. 
 
 A huge wood fire burned on the hearth, and 
 beside it hung the patient's clothes. 
 
 A gigantic friar sat by bis bedside, reading 
 pious collects aloud from his breviary. 
 
 The patient at times eyed him, and seemed 
 to listen : at others closed his eyes and 
 moaned. 
 
 The monk kneeled down with his face touch- 
 ing the ground and prayed for him : then rose 
 and bade him farewell. "Day breaks," said 
 he ; "I must prepare for matins." 
 
 "Good Father Jerome, before you go, how 
 came I hither?" 
 
 " By the hand of Heaven. You flung away 
 Gods gift. He bestowed it on you again. 
 Think on it ! Hast tried the world and found 
 its gall. Now try the Church I The Church is 
 peace. Pax vobiscum." 
 
 He was gone. Gerard lay back, meditating 
 and wondering, till weak and wearied he fell 
 into a doze. 
 
 When he awoke again he found a new nurse 
 seated beside him. It waa a layman, with an
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 eye as small and restless as Friar Jerome's was 
 calm and majestic. 
 
 The Tq?.n inquired earnestly how he felt. 
 
 " Very, very weak. Where have I seen yon 
 before, messer T " 
 
 " None the worse for my gauntlet ? " inquired 
 the other, with considerable anxiety ; " I was 
 fain to strike you withal, or both you and I 
 should be at the bottom of Tiber." 
 
 Gerard stared at him. "What, 'twas you 
 saved me 7 How ? " 
 
 " Well, signer, I was by the banks of Tiber 
 on on an errand, no matter what. You 
 came to me and begged hard for a dagger 
 stroke. But ere I could oblige you, ay, even 
 as you spoke to me, I knew you for the 
 signer that saved my wife and child upon 
 the sea." 
 
 " It it Teresa's husband. And an assas- 
 sin? I !!" 
 
 "At your service. Well, Ser Gerard, the 
 next thing was, you flung yourself into Tiber, 
 and bade me hold aloof." 
 
 " I remember that." 
 
 " Had it been any but you, believe me I had 
 obeyed you, and not wagged a finger. Men 
 are my foes. They may all hang on one 
 rope, or drown in one river for me. But 
 when thou, sinking in Tiber, didst cry 
 1 Margaret 1 ' " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " My heart it cried ' Teresa ! ' How could 
 I go home and look her in the face, did I let 
 thee die, and by the very death thou savedst 
 her fromf So in I went; and luckily for us 
 both I swim like a duck. You, seeing me 
 near, and being bent on destruction, tried to 
 grip me* and so end us both. But I swam 
 round thee, and (receive my excuses) so 
 buffeted thee on the nape of the neck with 
 my steel glove; that thou lost sense, and I 
 with much ado, the stream being strong, did 
 draw thy body to land, but insensible and 
 full of water. Then I took thee on my back 
 and made for my own home. 'Teresa will 
 nurse him, and be pleased with me,' thought I. 
 But hard by this monastery, a holy friar, the 
 biggest e'er I saw, met us and asked the 
 matter. So I told him. He looked hard at 
 thee. 'I know the face,.' quoth ha "Tis 
 one Gerard, a fair youth from Holland.' ' The 
 same,' quo' I. Then said hia reverence, 'He 
 hath friends among our brethren. Leave him 
 with us 1 Charity, it is our office.' 
 
 "Also he told me they of the convent had 
 better means to tend thee than I had. And 
 that was true enow. So I just bargained to 
 be let in to see thee once a day, and here 
 thou art." 
 
 And the miscreant cast a strange look of 
 affection and interest upon Gerard. 
 
 Gerard did not respond to it. He felt as 
 if a snake were in the room. He closed 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Ah, thou wouldst sleep," said the mis- 
 creant eagerly. " I go." And he retired 
 on tip-toe with a promise to come every 
 day. 
 
 Gerard lay with his eyes closed : not asleep, 
 but deeply pondering. 
 
 Saved from death, by an assassin ! 
 
 Was not this the finger of Heaven I 
 
 Of that Heaven he had insulted, cursed, 
 and defied. 
 
 He shuddered at his blasphemies. Ha 
 tried to pray. 
 
 He found he could utter prayers. But he 
 could not pray. 
 
 " I am doomed eternally," he cried, " doomed, 
 doomed." 
 
 The organ of the convent church burst on 
 his ear in rich and solemn harmony. 
 
 Then rose the voices of the choir chanting 
 a f ull service. 
 
 Among them was one that seemed to hover 
 above the others, and tower towards heaven ; 
 a sweet boy's voice, full, pure, angelic. 
 
 He closed his eyes and listened. The days 
 of his own boyhood flowed back upon him 
 in those sweet, pious harmonies. No earthly 
 dross there, no foul, fierce passions, rending 
 and corrupting the soul. 
 
 Peace, peace ; sweet, balmy peace. 
 
 " Ay," he sighed, " the Church is peace of 
 mind. Till I left her bosom I ne'er knew 
 sorrow, nor sin." 
 
 And the poor torn, worn creature wept. 
 
 And even as he wept, there beamed on 
 him the sweet and reverend face of one he 
 had never thought to see again, It was the 
 face of Father Anselm. 
 
 The good father had only reached the 
 convent the night before last. Gerard re- 
 cognised him in a moment, and cried to 
 
 him 
 
 " Oh, Father Anselm, yon cured my wounded 
 body in Juliers : now cure my hurt soul in 
 Rome 1 Alas, you cannot." 
 
 Anselm sat down by the bedside, and 
 putting a gentle hand on his head, first 
 calmed him with a soothing word or two. 
 
 He then (for he had learned how Gerard 
 came there) spoke to him kindly but solemnly, 
 and made him feel his crime, and urged him 
 to repentance, and gratitude to that Divine 
 Power which had thwarted his will to save 
 his soul 
 
 "Come, my son," said he, "first purge thy 
 bosom of its load." 
 
 "Ah, father," said Gerard, "in Juliers I 
 could ; then I was innocent ; but now, im- 
 pious monster that I am, I dare not confess 
 to you." 
 
 " Why not, my son ! Thinkest thou I have 
 not sinned against Heaven in my time, and 
 deeply ? oh, how deeply I Come, poor laden 
 soul, pour forth thy grief, pour forth thy 
 faults, hold back nought I Lie not oppressed 
 and crushed by hidden sins." 
 
 And soon Gerard was at Father Anselm's 
 knees confessing his every sin with sighs and 
 groans of penitence. 
 
 " Thy sins are great," said Anselm, " Thy 
 temptation also was great, terribly great. I 
 must consult bur good prior." 
 
 The good Anselm kissed his brow, and 
 left him, to consult the superior as to hii 
 penance. 
 
 And lo ! Gerard could pray now. 
 
 And he prayed with all his heart,
 
 aoS 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The phase, through which this remark- 
 able mind now passed, may be summed in 
 a word Penitence. 
 
 He turned with terror and aversion from 
 the world, and begged passionately to remain 
 in the convent. To him, convent nurtured, 
 it was like a bird returning wounded, wearied, 
 to its gentle nest. 
 
 He passed his novitiate in prayer, and morti- 
 fication, and pious reading and meditation. 
 
 The Princess Claelia's spj went home and 
 told her that Gerard was certainly dead, the 
 manner of his death unknown at present. 
 
 She seemed literally stunned. 
 
 When, after a long time, she found breath 
 to speak at all, it was to bemoan her lot, 
 cursed with such ready tools. 
 
 "So soon," she sighed; "see how swift 
 these monsters are to do ill deeds. They 
 come to us in our hot blood, and first tempt 
 us with their venal daggers, then enact the 
 mortal deeds we ne'er had thought on but 
 for them." 
 
 Ere many hours had passed, her pity for 
 Gerard and hatred of his murderer had risen 
 to fever heat ; which with this fool was blood 
 heat. 
 
 " Poor soul I I cannot call thee back to life. 
 But he shall never live that traitorously slew 
 thee." 
 
 And she put armed men in ambush, and 
 kept them on guard all day, ready, when 
 Lodovico should come for his money, to fall 
 on him in a certain antechamber and hack 
 him to pieces. 
 
 "Strike at his head," said she, "for he 
 weareth a privy coat of mail ; and if he goes 
 hence alive your own heads shall answer it. " 
 
 And so she sat weeping her victim, and 
 pulling the strings of machines to shed the 
 blood of a second for having been her machine 
 to kill the first. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 Ou of the novice Gerard's self-imposed 
 penances was to receive Lodovico kindly, 
 feeling secretly as to a slimy serpent. 
 
 Never was self-denial better bestowed ; 
 and like most rational penances, it soon 
 became no penance at alL At first the pride 
 and complacency, with which the assassin 
 gazed on the one life he had saved, was per- 
 haps as ludicrous as pathetic; but it is a 
 great thing to open a good door in a heart. 
 One good thing follows another through the 
 aperture. Finding it so sweet to save life, 
 the miscreant went on to be averse to taking 
 it; and from that to remorse; and from 
 remorse to something very like penitence. 
 And here Teresa co-operated by threatening, 
 not for the first time, to leave him unless he 
 would consent to lead an honest life. The 
 good fathers of the convent lent their aid, 
 and Lodovico and Teresa were sent by sea 
 to Leghorn, where Teresa had friends, and 
 
 the assassin settled down and became a 
 porter. 
 
 He found it miserably dull work at first; 
 and said so. 
 
 But methinks this dull life of plodding 
 labour was better for him, than the brief 
 excitement of being hewn in pieces by the 
 Princess Claelia's myrmidons. His exile saved 
 the unconscious penitent from that fate ; and 
 the princess, balked of her revenge, took to 
 brooding, and fell into a profound melan- 
 choly ; dismissed her confessor, and took 
 a new one with a great reputation for piety, 
 to whom she confided what she called her 
 griefs. The new confessor was no other than 
 Fra Jerome. She could not have fallen into 
 better hands. 
 
 He heard her grimly out. Then took her 
 and shook the delusions out of her as roughly 
 as if she had been a kitchen-maid. For, to 
 do this hard monk justice, on the path of 
 duty he feared the anger of princes as little 
 as he did the sea. He showed her in a few 
 words, all thunder and lightning, that she 
 was the criminal of criminals. 
 
 "Thou art the devil, that with thy money 
 hath tempted one man to slay his fellow, 
 and then, blinded with self-love, instead of 
 blaming and punishing thyself, art thirsting 
 for more blood of guilty men, but not so 
 guilty as thou." 
 
 At first she resisted, and told him she was 
 not used to be taken to task by her confessors. 
 But he overpowered her, and so threatened 
 her with the Church's curse here and here- 
 after, and so tore the scales off her eyes, and 
 thundered at her, and crushed her, that she 
 sank down and grovelled with remorse and 
 terror at the feet of the gigantic Boanerges. 
 
 "Oh, holy father, have pity on a poor 
 weak woman, and help me save my guilty 
 soul. I was benighted for want of ghostly 
 counsel like thine, good father. I waken 
 as from a dream." 
 
 " Doff thy jewels," said Fra Jerome sternly. 
 
 "I will. I will" 
 
 "Doff thy silk and velvet; and in humbler 
 garb than wears thy meanest servant, wend 
 thou instant to Loretto." 
 
 " I will," said the princess faintly. 
 
 " No shoes ; but a bare sandal." 
 
 " No, father." 
 
 " Wash the feet of pilgrims both going and 
 coming ; and to such of them as be holy friars 
 tell thy sin, and abide their admonition." 
 
 ' ' Oh, holy father, let me wear my mask." 
 
 " Humph 1 " 
 
 "Oh, mercy I Bethink thee I My features 
 are known through Italy." 
 
 "Ay. Beauty is a curse to most of ye. 
 Well, thou mayst mask thine eyes ; no more." 
 
 On this concession she seized his hand, and 
 was about to kiss it ; but he snatched it rudely 
 from her. 
 
 "What would ye do 7 That hand handled 
 the encharist but an hour agone : is it fit for 
 such as thou to touch it ? " 
 
 "Ah, no. But oh, go not without giving 
 your penitent daughter your blessing."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 209 
 
 " Time enow to ask it when you come back 
 from Loretto." 
 
 Thus that marvellous occurrence by Tiber's 
 banks left its mark on all the actors, as 
 prodigies are said to do. The assassin, 
 softened by saving the life he was paid to 
 take, turned from the stiletto to the porter's 
 knot. The princess went barefoot to Loretto, 
 weeping her crime and washing the feet of 
 base born men. 
 
 And Gerard, carried from the Tiber into that 
 convent a suicide, now passed for a young 
 saint within its walls. 
 
 Loving but experienced eyes were on him. 
 
 Upon a shorter probation than usual he was 
 admitted to priest's orders. 
 
 And soon after took the monastic vows, and 
 became a friar of St. Dominic. 
 
 Djing to the world, the monk parted with 
 the very name by which he had lived in it, 
 and so broke the last link of association with 
 earthly feelings. 
 
 Here Gerard ended, and Brother Clement 
 began. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 "As is the race of leaves so is that of men." 
 And a great man budded unnoticed in a 
 tailor's house at Rotterdam this year, and 
 a large man dropped to earth with great 
 idat. 
 
 Philip Duke of Burgundy, Earl of Holland, 
 &c., &c., lay sick at Bruges. Now paupers 
 got sick and got well as Nature pleased ; but 
 woe betided the rich in an age when, for 
 one Mr. Malady killed three fell by Dr. 
 Remedy. 
 
 The Duke's complaint, nameless then, is now 
 diphtheria. It is, and was, a very weakening 
 malady, and the Duke was old ; so altogether 
 Dr. Remedy bled him. 
 
 The Duke turned very cold : wonderful 1 
 
 Then Dr. Remedy had recourse to the arcana 
 of science. 
 
 " Ho I This is grave. Flay me an ape 
 incontinent, and clap him to the Duke's 
 breast ! " 
 
 Officers of state ran septemvious, seeking 
 an ape to counteract the bloodthirsty tom- 
 foolery of the human species. 
 
 Perdition 1 The Duke was out of apes. 
 There were buffaloes, lizards, Turks, leopards ; 
 any unreasonable beast but the right one. 
 
 "Why, there used to be an ape about," said 
 one. " If I stand here I saw him." 
 
 So there used ; but the mastiff had mangled 
 the sprightly creature for stealing his supper ; 
 and so fulfilled the human precept, "Soyez 
 de votre siecle ! " 
 
 In this emergency the seneschal cast his 
 despairing eyes around ; and not in vain. A 
 hopeful light shot into them. 
 
 " Here is this," said he, sotto voce. " Surely 
 this will serve : 'tis altogether apelike, doublet 
 and hose apart." 
 
 " Nay," said the chancellor peevishly, " the 
 
 Princess Marie would hang us. She doteth 
 on this." 
 
 Now this was our friend Giles, strutting, all 
 unconscious, in cloth of gold. 
 
 Then Dr. Remedy grew impatient, and bade 
 flay a dog. 
 
 " A dog is next best to an ape ; only it must 
 be a dog all of one colour." 
 
 So they flayed a liver-coloured dog, and 
 clapped it, yet palpitating, to their sovereign's 
 breast ; and he died. 
 
 Philip the Good, thus scientifically disposed 
 of, left thirty-one children : of whom one, 
 somehow or another, was legitimate ; and 
 reigned in his stead. 
 
 The good Duke provided for nineteen out 
 of the other thirty ; the rest shifted for them- 
 selves. 
 
 According to the Flemish chronicle the 
 deceased prince was descended from the kings 
 of Troy through Thierry of Aquitaine, and 
 Chilperic, Pharamond, &c., the old kings of 
 Franconia. 
 
 But this in reality was no distinction. Not 
 a prince of his day have I been able to discover 
 who did not come down from Troy. " Priam " 
 was mediaeval for " Adam." 
 
 The good Duke's body was carried into 
 Burgundy, and laid in a noble mausoleum of 
 black marble at Dijon. 
 
 Holland rang with his death; and little 
 dreamed that anything as famous was born in 
 her territory that year. That judgment has 
 been long reversed. Men gaze at the tailor's 
 house, where the great birth of the fifteenth 
 century took place. In what house the good 
 Duke died " no one knows and no one cares," 
 as the song says. 
 
 And why ? 
 
 Dukes Philip the Good come and go, and 
 leave mankind not a halfpenny wiser, nor 
 better, nor other than they found it. But 
 when, once in three hundred years, such a 
 child is born to the world as Margaret's 
 son, lo I a human torch lighted by fire from 
 heaven ; and " fiat lux " thunders from pole 
 to pole. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 JEfje Cloister. 
 
 THE Dominicans, or preaching friars, once 
 the most powerful order in Europe, were now 
 on the wane ; their rivals and bitter enemies, 
 the Franciscans, were overpowering them 
 throughout Europe ; even in England, a rich 
 and religious country, where, under the name 
 of the Black Friars, they had once been 
 paramount. 
 
 Therefore the sagacious men, who watched 
 and directed the interests of the order, were 
 never so anxious to incorporate able and 
 zealous sons and send them forth to win back 
 the world. 
 
 The zeal and accomplishments of Clement, 
 especially his rare mastery of language (for 
 he spoke Latin, Italian, French, high and 
 low Dutch), goon transpired, and he was
 
 THB CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 destined to travel and preach in England, 
 corresponding with the Roman centre. 
 
 Bat Jerome, who had the superior's ear, 
 obstructed this design. 
 
 " Clement," said he, " has the milk of the 
 world still in his veins, its feelings, its weak- 
 nesses; let not his new-born zeal and his 
 humility tempt us to forego our ancient 
 wisdom. Try him first, and temper him, lest 
 one day we find ourselves leaning on a reed 
 for a staff. 
 
 " It is well advised," said the prior. "Take 
 him in hand thyself." 
 
 Then Jerome, following the ancient wisdom, 
 took Clement and tried him. 
 
 One day he brought him to a field where 
 the young men amused themselves at the 
 games of the day ; he knew this to be a haunt 
 of Clement's late friends. 
 
 And sure enough ere long Pietro Vanucci 
 and Andrea passed by them, and cast a care- 
 less glance on the two friars. They did not 
 recognise their dead friend in a shaven monk. 
 
 Clement gave a very little start, and then 
 lowered his eyes and said a paternoster. 
 
 "Would ye not speak with them, brother?" 
 said Jerome, trying him. 
 
 "No, brother: yet was it good for me to 
 see them. They remind me of the sins I can 
 never repent enough." 
 
 "It is well," said Jerome, and he made a 
 cold report in Clement's favour. 
 
 Then Jerome took Clement to many death- 
 beds. And then into noisome dungeons ; 
 places where the darkness was appalling, and 
 the stench loathsome, pestilential ; and men 
 looking like wild beasts lay coiled in rags 
 and filth and despair. It tried his body 
 hard ; but the soul collected all its powers 
 to comfort such poor wretches there as were 
 not past comfort And Clement shone in 
 that trial. Jerome reported that Clement's 
 spirit was willing, but bis flesh was weak. 
 
 "Good I" said Anselm; "his flesh is weak, 
 out his spirit is willing." 
 
 But there was a greater trial hi store. 
 
 I will describe it as it was seen by others. 
 
 One morning a principal street in Rome 
 was crowded, and even the avenues blocked 
 up with heads. It was an execution. No 
 common crime had been done, and on no 
 vulgar victim. 
 
 The governor of Rome had been found in 
 his bed at daybreak, tlaughtered. His hand, 
 raised probably in self-defence, lay by his 
 side severed at the wrist; his throat was 
 cut, and his temples bruised with some blunt 
 instrument. The murder had been traced to 
 his servant, and was to be expiated in kind 
 this very morning. 
 
 Italian executions were not cruel in general 
 But this murder was thought to call for exact 
 and bloody retribution. 
 
 The criminal was brought to the house 
 of the murdered man, and fastened for half 
 an hour to Its walL After this foretaste of 
 legal vengeance his left hand was struck off, 
 like his victim's. A new-killed fowl wag 
 cut open and fastened round the bleeding 
 tump ; with what view I really don't know ; 
 
 but by the look of it, some mare's nest of 
 the poor dear doctors; and the murderer, 
 thus mutilated and bandaged, was hurried 
 to the scaffold; and there a young friar was 
 most earnest and affectionate in praying with 
 him, and for him, and holding the crucifix 
 close to his eyes. 
 
 Presently the executioner pulled the friar 
 roughly on one side, and in a moment felled 
 the culprit with a heavy mallet, and falling 
 on him, cut his throat from ear to ear. 
 
 There was a cry of horror from the crowd. 
 
 The young friar swooned away. 
 
 A gigantic monk strode forward, and carried 
 him off like a child. 
 
 Brother Clement went back to the convent 
 sadly discouraged. He confessed to the prior, 
 with tears of regret 
 
 "Courage, son Clement," said the prior. 
 "A Dominican is not made in a day. Thon 
 shalt have another trial And I forbid tbee to 
 go to it fasting." 
 
 Clement bowed bis head in token of obedi- 
 ence. He had not long to wait A robber 
 was brought to the scaffold; a monster of 
 villainy and cruelty, who had killed men 
 in pure wantonness, after robbing them. 
 Clement passed his last night in prison with 
 him, accompanied him to the scaffold, and 
 then prayed with him and for him so 
 earnestly that the hardened ruffian shed 
 tears and embraced him. Clement embraced 
 him too, though his flesh quivered with re- 
 pugnance; and held the crucifix earnestly 
 before his eyes. The man was garotted, and 
 Clement lost sight of the crowd, and prayed 
 loud and earnestly while that dark spirit was 
 passing from earth. 
 
 He was no sooner dead than the hangman 
 raised his hatchet and quartered the body 
 on the spot And oh, mysterious heart of 
 man I the people who had seen the living 
 body robbed of life with indifference, almost 
 with satisfaction, uttered a piteous cry at 
 each stroke of the axe upon his corpse that 
 could feel nought Clement too shuddered 
 then, but stood firm, like one of those rocks 
 that vibrate but cannot be thrown down. But 
 suddenly Jerome's voice sounded in his ear. 
 
 "Brother Clement, get thee on that cart and 
 preach to the people. Nay, quickly 1 strike 
 with all thy force on all this iron, while yet 
 'tis hot and souls are to be saved." 
 
 Clement's colour came and went ; and he 
 breathed hard. But he obeyed, and with ill- 
 assured step mounted the cart, and preached 
 his first sermon to the first crowd he had ever 
 faced. Oh, that sea of heads! His throat 
 seemed parched, his heart thumped, hie voice 
 trembled. 
 
 By-and-by the greatness of the occasion, 
 the sight of the eager upturned faces, and his 
 own heart full of zeal fired the pale monk. 
 He told them this robber's history, warm 
 from his own lips in the prison, and showed 
 his hearers by that example the gradations of 
 folly and crime, and warned them solemnly 
 not to put foot on the first round of that 
 fatal ladder. And as alternately he thundered 
 ugainst the shedders of blood, and moved the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE dEARTH. 
 
 311 
 
 crowd to charity and pity, his tremors left 
 him, and he felt all strung up like a lute, 
 and gifted with an unsuspected force ; he 
 was master of that listening crowd, could feel 
 their very pulse, could play sacred melodies 
 on them as on his psaltery. Sobs and groans 
 attested his power over the mob already 
 excited by the tragedy before them. Jerome 
 stared like one who goes to light a stick ; and 
 fires a rocket. After a while Clement caught 
 his look of astonishment, and seeing no appro- 
 bation in it, broke suddenly off, and joined him. 
 
 " It was my first endeavour," said he apolo- 
 getically. " Your behest came on me like a 
 thunderbolt. Was I ? Did I? Oh, correct 
 me, and aid me with your experience, Brother 
 Jerome." 
 
 "Humph!" said Jerome doubtfully. He 
 added, rather sullenly after long reflection, 
 " Give the glory to God, Brother Clement ; my 
 opinion is thon art an orator born." 
 
 He reported the same at headquarters, half 
 reluctantly. For he was an honest friar though 
 K disagreeable one. 
 
 One Julio Antonelli was accused of sacrilege ; 
 three witnesses swore they saw him come out 
 of the church whence the candlesticks were 
 tolen, and at the very time. Other witnesses 
 proved an alibi for him as positively. Neither 
 testimony could be shaken. In this doubt 
 Antonelii was permitted the trial by water, 
 hot or cold. By the hot trial he must put 
 his bare arm into boiling water, fourteen 
 Inches deep, and take out a pebble ; by the 
 cold trial his body must be let down into 
 eight feet of water. The clergy, who thought 
 him innocent, recommended the hot water 
 trial, which, to those whom they favoured, 
 was not so terrible as it sounded". But the 
 poor wretch had not the nerve, and chose the 
 cold ordeaL And this gave Jerome another 
 opportunity of steeling Clement. Antonelli 
 took the sacrament, and then was stripped 
 naked on the banks of the Tiber, and tied 
 hand and foot, to prevent those struggles by 
 which a man, throwing his arms out of the 
 water, sinks hii body. 
 
 He was then let down gently Into the 
 etream, and floated a moment, with just his 
 hair above water. A simultaneous roar from 
 the crowd on each bank proclaimed him guilty. 
 But the next moment the ropes, which hap- 
 pened to be new, got wet, and he settled down. 
 Another roar proclaimed his innocence. They 
 left him at the bottom of the river the ap- 
 pointed time, rather more than half a minute, 
 then drew him up, gurgling and gasping, and 
 screaming for mercy ; and after the appointed 
 prayers, dismissed him, cleared of the charge. 
 
 During the experiment Clement prayed ear- 
 neatly on the bank. When it was over he 
 thanked God in a loud but slightly quavering 
 voice. 
 
 By-and-by he asked Jerome whether the man 
 ought not to be compensated. 
 
 " For what ? " 
 
 " For the pain, the dread, the suffocation. 
 Poor Boul, he liveth, but hath tasted all the 
 bitterness of death. Yet he had done no ill." 
 
 " He is rewarded enough in that he is cleared 
 of his fault." 
 
 " But being Innocent of that fault, yet hath 
 he drunk Death's cup, though not to the dregs ; 
 and his accusers, leu innocent than he, do 
 suffer nought." 
 
 Jerome replied somewhat sternly 
 
 "It Is not in this world men are really 
 punished, Brother Clement. Unhappy they 
 who sin yet suffer not. And happy they who 
 suffer such ills as earth hath power to inflict ; 
 'tis counted to them above, ay, and a hundred- 
 fold." 
 
 Clement bowed his head submissively. 
 
 " May thy good words not fall to the ground, 
 but take root in my heart, Brother Jerome." 
 
 But the severest trial Clement underwent at 
 Jerome's hands was unpremeditated. It came 
 about thus. Jerome, in an indulgent moment, 
 went with him to Fra Colonna, and there " The 
 Dream of Polifilo " lay on the table just copied 
 fairly. The poor author, in the pride of his 
 heart, pointed out a master-stroke in it. 
 
 "For ages," said he, "fools have been 
 lavishing poetic praise and amorous compli- 
 ment on mortal women, mere creatures of 
 earth, smacking palpably of their origin j 
 Sirens at the windows, where our Roman 
 women in particular have by lifelong study 
 learned the wily art to show their one good 
 feature, though but an ear or an eyelash, 
 at a jalosy, and hide all the rest; Magpies 
 at the door, Capre n' i giardini, Angeli in 
 Strada, Sante in chiesa, Diavoli in casa. 
 Then come I and ransack the minstrels' lines 
 for amorous turns, not forgetting those which 
 Petrarch wasted on that French jilt Laura, 
 the sliest of them all ; and I lay yon the 
 whole bundle of spice at the feet of the 
 only females worthy amorous incense ; to wit, 
 the Nine Muses." 
 
 " By which goodly stratagem," said Jerome, 
 who had been turning the pages all tbii 
 time, "you, a friar of St. Dominic, have pro- 
 duced an obscene book." And he dashed 
 Polifilo on the table. 
 
 " Obscene ? thou discourteous monk !" And 
 the author ran round the table, snatched 
 Polifilo away, locked him up, and trembling 
 with mortification, said, " My Gerard, pshaw I 
 Brother What's-his-name had not found Polifilo 
 obscene. Puris omnia pura." 
 
 "Such as read your Polifilo Heaven grant 
 they may be few 1 will find him what I find 
 him." 
 
 Poor Colonna gulped down this bitter pill 
 as he might ; and had he not been in his 
 own lodgings, and a high-born gentleman as 
 well as a scholar, there might have been a 
 vulgar quarrel. As it was, he made a great 
 effort, and turned the conversation to a bean- 
 tiful chrysolite the Cardinal Colonna had lent 
 him ; and while Clement handled it, enlarged 
 on its moral virtues: for he went the whola 
 length of his age as a worshipper of jewels. 
 But Jerome did not, and expostulated with 
 him for believing that one dead stone could 
 confer valour on its wearer, another chastity, 
 another safety from poison, another temper- 
 ance.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "The experience of ages proves they do," 
 said Colonna. "As to the last virtue you 
 have named, there sits a living proof. This 
 Gerard I beg pardon, Brother Thingemy 
 comes from the north, where men drink like 
 fishes ; yet was he ever most abstemious. 
 And why T Carried an amethyst, the clearest 
 and fullest coloured e'er I saw on any but 
 noble finger. Where, in Heaven's name, is 
 thine amethyst ? Show it this unbeliever ] " 
 
 "And 'twas that amethyst made the boy 
 temperate ? " asked Jerome ironically. 
 
 "Certainly. Why, what is the derivation 
 and meaning of amethyst T a negative, and 
 UtOva to tipple. Go to, names are but the 
 signs of things. A stone is not called a/uedwrot 
 for two thousand years out of mere sport, and 
 abuse of language." 
 
 He then went through the prime jewels, 
 illustrating their moral properties, especially 
 of the ruby, the sapphire, the emerald, and 
 the opal, by anecdotes out of grave historians. 
 
 "These be old wives' fables," said Jerome 
 contemptuously. "Was ever such credulity 
 as thine ? " 
 
 Now credulity is a reproach sceptics have 
 often the ill-luck to incur ; but it mortifies 
 them none the less for that. 
 
 The believer in stones writhed under it, 
 and dropped the subject. Then Jerome, mis- 
 taking his silence, exhorted him to go a step 
 farther, and give up from this day his vain 
 Pagan lore, and study the lives of the saints. 
 
 "Blot out these heathen superstitions from 
 thy mind, brother, as Christianity hath blotted 
 them from the earth." 
 
 And in this strain he proceeded, repeating, 
 incautiously, some current but loose theological 
 statements. Then the smarting Polifilo re- 
 venged himself. He flew out, and hurled a 
 mountain of crude, miscellaneous lore upon 
 Jerome, of which, partly for want of tune, 
 partly for lack of learning, I can reproduce 
 but a few fragments. 
 
 14 The heathen blotted out T Why, they hold 
 four-fifths of the world. And what have we 
 Christians invented without their aid? paint- 
 ing T sculpture! these are heathen arts, and 
 we but pigmies at them. What modern mind 
 can conceive and grave so god-like forms 
 as did the chief Athenian sculptors, and the 
 Libyan Licas, and Dinocrates of Macedon, and 
 Scopas, Timotheus, Leochares, and Briaxis ; 
 Chares, Lysippns, and the immortal three of 
 
 lode*, that wrought Laocoon from a single 
 block T What prince hath the genius to turn 
 mountains into statues, as was done at Bagistan, 
 and projected at Athos T what town the soul to 
 SiE** 10MUS of bra88 in the sea, for the 
 tallest ship, to sail in and out between his 
 ! it architecture we have invented ? 
 >V hy, here too we are but children. Can we 
 
 itch for pure design the Parthenon, with its 
 
 clusters of double and single Doric columns? 
 
 (I do adore the Doric when the scale is large), 
 
 and for grandeur and finish, the theatres of 
 
 Greece and Rome, or the prodigious temples 
 
 %7pt, up to whose portals men walked 
 
 truck through avenues a mile long of 
 
 phinze., each a* big as . Venetian palace. 
 
 And all these prodigies of porphyry cut and 
 polished like crystal, not rough hewn as in our 
 puny structures. Even now their polished 
 columns and pilasters lie o'erthrown and 
 broken, o'ergrown with acanthus and myrtle, 
 but sparkling still, and flouting the slovenly 
 art of modern workmen. Is it sewers, aque"- 
 ducts, viaducts 7 
 
 " Why, we have lost the art of making a road 
 lost it with the world's greatest models under 
 our very eye. Is it sepulchres of the dead? 
 Why, no Christian nation has ever erected a 
 tomb, the sight of which does not set a scholar 
 laughing. Do but think of the Mausoleum, 
 and the Pyramids, and the monstrous sepul- 
 chres of the Indus and Ganges, which out- 
 side are mountains, and within are mines 
 of precious stones. Ah, you have not seen 
 the East, Jerome, or you could not decry the 
 heathen." 
 
 Jerome observed that these were mere mate- 
 rial things. True greatness was in the souL 
 
 " Well, then," replied Colonna, "in the world 
 of mind, what have we discovered ? Is it 
 geometry ? Is it logic ? Nay, we are all pupils 
 of Euclid and Aristotle. Is it written char- 
 acters, an invention almost divine? We no 
 more invented it than Cadmus did. Is it 
 poetry? Homer hath never been approached 
 by us, nor hath Virgil, nor Horace. Is it 
 tragedy or comedy? Why, poets, actors, 
 theatres, all fell to dust at our touch. Have 
 we succeeded in reviving them? Would you 
 compare our little miserable mysteries and 
 moralities, all frigid personification, and dog 
 Latin, with the glories of a Greek play (on the 
 decoration of which a hundred thousand crowns 
 had been spent) performed inside a marble 
 miracle, the audience a seated city, and the 
 poet a Sophocles ? 
 
 " What then have we invented ? Is.it mono- 
 theism? Why, the learned and philosophical 
 among the Greeks and Romans held it ; even 
 their more enlightened poets were monotheists 
 in their sleeves. 
 
 ' Zeus e<rrit> ovpavos, Zfvt rt 717 Zei* rot iravra,' 
 saith the Greek, and Lucan echoes him : 
 1 Jupiter eat quod cunquo vides quo cunque moveris.' 
 
 " Their vulgar were polytheists ; and what 
 are ours ? We have not invented ' invocation 
 of the saints." Our sancti answers to their 
 Dsemones and Divi, and the heathen used to 
 pray their Divi or deified mortals to intercede 
 with the higher divinity ; but the ruder minds 
 among them, incapable of nice distinctions, 
 worshipped those lesser gods they should have 
 but invoked. And so do the mob of Christians 
 in our day, following the heathen vulgar by 
 unbroken tradition. For in holy writ is no 
 polytheism of any sort or kind. 
 
 " We have not invented so much as a form 
 or variety of polytheism. The Pagan vulgar 
 worshipped all sorts of deified mortals, and 
 each had his favourite, to whom he prayed 
 ten times for once to the Omnipotent. Our 
 vulgar worship canonised mortals, and each 
 has his favourite, to whom he prays ten time*
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 SI3 
 
 for once to God. Call you that invention ? 
 Invention is confined to the East. Among the 
 ancient vulgar only the mariners were mono- 
 theists ; they worshipped Venus ; called her 
 4 Stella maris,' and ' Regina cselorum.' Among 
 our vulgar only the mariners are monotheists ; 
 they worship the Virgin Mary, and call her 
 the 'Star of the Sea,' and the 'Queen of 
 Heaven.' Call you theirs a new religion? 
 An old doublet with a new button. Our 
 vulgar make images, and adore them, which 
 is absurd j for adoration is the homage due 
 from a creature to its creator ; now here man 
 is the creator ; so the statues ought to worship 
 him, and would, if they had brains enough to 
 justify a rat in worshipping them. But even 
 this abuse, though childish enough to be 
 modern, is ancient. The Pagan vulgar in 
 these parts made their images, then knelt 
 before them, adorned them with flowers, 
 offered incense to them, lighted tapers before 
 them, carried them in procession, and made 
 pilgrimages to them just to the smallest tittle 
 as we their imitators do." 
 
 Jerome here broke in impatiently, and re- 
 minded him that the images the most revered 
 in Christendom were made by no mortal hand, 
 but had dropped from heaven. 
 
 "Ay," cried Colonna, "such are the tutelary 
 images of most great Italian towns. I have 
 examined nineteen of them, and made drafts 
 of them. If they came from the sky, our 
 worst sculptors are our angels. But my mind 
 is easy on that score. Ungainly statue or 
 villainous daub fell never yet from heaven to 
 smuggle the bread out of capable workmen's 
 mouths. All this is Pagan, and arose thus. 
 .The Trojans had Oriental imaginations, and 
 feigned that their Palladium, a wooden statue 
 three cubits long, fell down from heaven. The 
 Greeks took this fib home among the spoils 
 of Troy, and soon it rained statues on all the 
 Grecian cities, and their Latin apes. And 
 one of these Palladia gave St. Paul trouble 
 at Ephesus ; 'twas a statue of Diana that fell 
 down from Jupiter : credat qui credere possit." 
 
 " What, would you cast your profane doubts 
 on that picture of our blessed Lady, which 
 scarce a century agone hung lustrous in the 
 air over this very city, and was taken down 
 by the Pope and bestowed in St. Peter's 
 Church ? " 
 
 " I have no profane doubts on the matter, 
 Jerome. This is the story of Numa's shield, 
 revived by theologians with an itch for fiction, 
 but no talent that way; not being Orientals. 
 The ' ancile ' or sacred shield of Numa hung 
 lustrous in the air over this very city, till that 
 pious prince took it down and hung it in the 
 temple of Jupiter. Be just, swallow both 
 stories or neither. The 'Bocca della Verita' 
 passes for a statue of the Virgin, and convicted 
 a woman of perjury the other day ; it is in 
 reality an image of the goddess Rhea, and the 
 modern figment is one of its ancient traditions ; 
 swallow both or neither. 
 
 ' Qui Bavlum non odit amet tua carmina, Mavl." 
 
 44 But indeed we owe all our Palladiuncula, 
 and all our speaking, nodding, winking, sweat- 
 
 ing, bleeding statues, to these poor abused 
 heathens : the Athenian statues all sweated 
 before the battle of Chssronea, so did the 
 Roman statues during Tully's consulship, viz., 
 the statue of Victory at Capua, of Mars at 
 Rome, and of Apollo outside the gates. The 
 Palladium itself was brought to Italy by JCneas, 
 and after keeping quiet three centuries, made 
 an observation in Vesta's Temple : a trivial 
 one, I fear, since it hath not survived ; Juno's 
 statue at Veii assented with a nod to go to 
 Rome. Antony's statue on Mount Alban bled 
 from every vein in its marble before the fight 
 of Actium. Others cured diseases : as that of 
 Pelichus, derided by Lucian ; for the wiser 
 among the heathen believed in sweating marble, 
 weeping wood, and bleeding brass as I do. 
 Of all our marks and dents made in stone by 
 soft substances, this saint's knee, and that 
 saint's finger, and t'other's head, the original 
 is heathen. Thus the footprints of Hercules 
 were shown on a rock in Scythia, Castor 
 and Pollux fighting on white horses for 
 Rome against the Latians, left the prints of 
 their hoofs on a rock at Regillum. A temple 
 was built to them on the spot, and the marks 
 were to be seen in Tully's day. You may see, 
 near Venice, a great stone cut nearly in half 
 by St. George's sword. This he ne'er had done 
 but for the old Roman who cut the whetstone 
 in two with his razor. 
 
 ' Qui Bavium non odit amet tua carmina, Mavl. 
 
 41 Kissing of images, and the Pope's toe, is 
 Eastern Paganism. The Egyptians had it of 
 the Assyrians, the Greeks of the Egyptians, 
 the Romans of the Greeks, and we of the 
 Romans, whose Pontifex Maximus had his toe 
 kissed under the Empire. The Druids 'kissed 
 their High Priest's toe a thousand years B.C. 
 The Mussulmans, who, like you, profess to 
 abhor Heathenism, kiss the stone of the Caaba : 
 a Pagan practice. 
 
 44 The Priests of Baal kissed their idols so. 
 
 " Tully tells us of a fair image of Hercules 
 at Agrigentum, whose chin was worn by kiss- 
 ing. The lower parts of the statue we call 
 Peter are Jupiter. The toe is sore worn, but 
 not all by Christian mouths. The heathen 
 vulgar laid their lips there first, for many a, 
 year, and ours have but followed them, as 
 monkeys their masters. And that is why, 
 down with the poor heathen I Pereant qui 
 ante nos nostra f ecerint. 
 
 44 Our infant baptism is Persian, with the 
 font and the signing of the child's brow. Our 
 throwing three handfuls of earth on the coffin, 
 and saying dust to dust, is Egyptian. 
 
 " Our incense is Oriental, Roman, Pagan ; 
 and the early Fathers of the Church regarded 
 it with superstitious horror, and died for re- 
 fusing to handle it. Our holy water is Pagan, 
 and all its uses. See, here is a Pagan asper- 
 sorium. Could you tell it from one of ours T 
 It stood in the same part of their temples, 
 and was used in ordinary worship as ours, and 
 in extraordinary purifications. They called it 
 Aqua lustralis. Their vulgar, like ours, thought 
 drops of it falling on the body would wash out 
 sin ; and their men of sense, like ours, smiled
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 or sighed at such credulity. What saith Ovid 
 of this folly, which hath outlived him ? 
 
 ' Ah nlmlum facilea, qul tristla crtmina ccedli 
 rianiines. tolll posse putetia aqua.' 
 
 Thoa seest the heathen were not all fools. 
 No more are we. Not all." 
 
 Fra Colonna uttered all this with such 
 Tolnbility, that his hearers could not edge 
 in a word of remonstrance ; and not being 
 interrupted In praising his favourites, he re- 
 covered his good humour, without any diminu- 
 tion of his volubility. 
 
 "We celebrate the miraculous Conception 
 of the Virgin on the 2nd of February. The 
 old Romans celebrated the miraculous Con- 
 ception of Juno on the 2nd of February. 
 Our feast of All Saints is on the 2nd 
 November. The Festum Dei Mortis was on 
 the 2nd November. Our Candlemas is 
 also an old Roman feast ; neither the date 
 nor the ceremony altered one tittle. The 
 patrician ladies carried candles about the 
 city that night as our signoras do now. At 
 the gate of San Croce our courtesans keep a 
 feast on the aoth August. Ask them why ! 
 The little noodles cannot tell you. On that 
 very spot stood the Temple of Venus. Her 
 building is gone ; but her rite remains. Did 
 we discover Purgatory ? On the contrary, 
 all we really know about it is from two 
 treatises of Plato, the Gorgias and the Phaedo, 
 and the sixth book of Virgil's ^neid. 
 
 "I take it from a holier source: St. 
 Gregory," said Jerome sternly. 
 
 "Like enough," replied Colonna drily. 
 " But St. Gregory was not so nice ; he took 
 It from VirgiL Borne souls, saith Gregory, are 
 purged by fire, others by water, others by air. 
 
 "Says Virgil 
 
 1 Alto panduntur inanes, 
 Sntpensa ad rentes, aliis sub gurgite vasto 
 Inlectum elultur teeing, aut exuritur igni.' 
 
 But peradventure, yon think Pope Gregory I. 
 lived before Virgil, and Virgil versified him. 
 
 " But the doctrine is Eastern, and as much 
 older than Plato an Plato than Gregory. Our 
 prayers for the dead came from Asia with 
 ^Ericas. Ovid tells, that when he prayed for the 
 oul of Anchises, the custom was strange in Italy. 
 
 ' Hnnc tnorem 2Ena, pletatU Idoneua auctor 
 Attain In terrai, Juite Latine, tuas.' 
 
 The 'BiblicjB Sortea,' which I have seen 
 consulted on the altar, are a parody on the 
 'Sortes Virgilianas.' Our numerous altars in 
 one church are heathen : the Jews, who are 
 monotheists, have but one altar in a church. 
 But the Pagans had many, being polytheists. 
 In the temple of Paphian Venus were a hun- 
 dred of them. 'Centum que Sabaeo thure 
 calent arse.' Our altars and our hundred 
 lights around St. Peter's tomb are Pagan. 
 Centum aras posuit vigilemque sacraverat 
 ignem.' We invent nothing, not even numeri- 
 cally. Our very Devil is the god Pan, horns 
 and hoofs and all ; but blackened. For we 
 cannot draw ; we can but daub the figures 
 of Antiquity with a little sorry paint or soot. 
 
 Our Moses hath itolen the horns of Ammon ; 
 our Wolfgang the hook of Saturn ; and Janus 
 bore the keys of heaven before St. Peter. All 
 our really old Italian bronzes of the Virgin 
 and Child are Venuses and Cupids. So is the 
 wooden statue, that stands hard by this house, 
 of Pope Joan and the child she is said to 
 have brought forth there in the middle of a 
 procession. Idiots ! are new-born children 
 thirteen years old? And that boy is not a 
 day younger. Cupid I Cupid I Cupid I And 
 since you accuse me of credulity, know that 
 to my mind that Papess is full as mythological, 
 born of froth, and every way unreal, as the 
 goddess who passes for her in the next street, 
 or as the saints you call St. Baccho and St. 
 Quirina : or St. O'racte, which is a dunce-like 
 corruption of Mount Soracte, or St. Amphi- 
 bolus, an English saint, which is a dunce-like 
 corruption of the cloak worn by their St. 
 Alban, or as the Spanish saint, St. Viar, 
 which words on his tombstone, written thus, 
 ' S. Viar,' prove him no saint, but a good old 
 nameless heathen, and 'praefectus Viarum, 1 
 or overseer of roads (would he were back to 
 earth, and paganising of our Christian roads I), 
 or as our St. Veronica of Benasco, which 
 Veronica is a dunce-like corruption of the 
 1 Vera icon,' which this saint brought into tha 
 church. I wish it may not be as unreal as tha 
 donor, or as the eleven thousand virgins of 
 Cologne, who were but a couple." 
 
 Clement interrupted him to inquire what 
 he meant. " I have spoken with those have 
 seen their bones. " 
 
 "What, of eleven thousand virgins all col- 
 lected in one place and at one time ? Do 
 but bethink thee, Clement. Not one of the 
 great Eastern cities of antiquity could collect 
 eleven thousand Pagan virgins at one time, far 
 less a puny Western city. Eleven thousand 
 Christian virgin* in a little, wee Paynim city 1 
 ' Quod cunque ostendis mini sle Incredulus odl. 1 
 
 The simple sooth is this. The martyrs were 
 two : the Breton princess herself, falsely called 
 British, and her maid, Onesimilla, which is 
 a Geek name, Onesima, diminished. This 
 some fool did mis-pronounce undecim mille, 
 eleven thousand : loose tongue found credu- 
 lous ears, and so one fool made many ; eleven 
 thousand of them, an* you will. And you 
 charge me with credulity, Jerome? and bid 
 me read the Lives of the Saints. Well, I have 
 read them, and many a dear old Pacran ac- 
 quaintance I found there. The best 'fictions 
 in the book are Oriental, and are known to 
 have been current in Persia and Arabia eight 
 hundred years and more before the dates the 
 Church assigns to them as facts. As for the 
 true Western figments, they lack the Oriental 
 plausibility. Think you I am credulous enough 
 to believe that St. Ida joined a decapitated 
 head to its body? that Cuthbert's carcass 
 directed his bearers where to go, and where 
 to stop; that a city was eaten up of rats to 
 punish one Hatto for comparing the poor to 
 mice ; that angels have a little horn in their 
 foreheads, and that this was seen and recorded 
 at the time by St. Veronica of Benasco, who
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 never existed, and hath left us this information 
 and a miraculous handkercher ? For my part, 
 I think the holiest woman the world ere saw 
 must have an existence ere she can have a 
 handkercher or an eye to take unicorns for 
 angel*. Think yon I believe that a brace of 
 lions turned sextons and helped Anthony bury 
 Paul of Thebes ? that Patrick, a Scotch saint, 
 tuck a goat's beard on all the descendants 
 cf one that offended him ? that certain thieves, 
 having stolen the convent ram, and denying 
 it, St. Pol de Leon bade the ram bear witness, 
 and straight the mutton bleated in the thief's 
 belly ? Would you have me give up the skilful 
 figments of antiquity for such old wives' fables 
 as these ? The ancients lied about animals, 
 too ; but then they lied logically ; we un- 
 reasonably. Do but compare Ephis and his 
 lion, or, better still, Androcles and his lion, 
 with Anthony and his two lions. Both the 
 Pagan lions do what lions never did ; but at 
 the least they act in character. A lion with 
 a bone in his throat, or a thorn in his foot, 
 could not do better than be civil to a man. 
 But Anthony's lions are asses in a lion's skin. 
 What leonine motive could they have in turn- 
 ing sextons ? A lion's business is to make 
 corpses, not inter them." He added, with a 
 sigh, "Our lies are as inferior to the lies of 
 the ancients as our statues, and for the same 
 reason; we do not study nature as they did. 
 We are imitatores, servum pecus. Believe 
 you ' the Lives of the Saints ; ' that Paul the 
 Theban was the first hermit, and Anthony 
 the first Caenobite ? Why, Pythagoras was an 
 Eremite, and under ground for seven' years ; 
 and his daughter was an abbess. Monks and 
 hermits were in the East long before Moses, 
 and neither old Greece nor Rome was ever 
 without them. As for St. Francis and his 
 snowballs, he did but mimic Diogenes, who, 
 naked, embraced statues on which snow had 
 fallen. The folly without the poetry. Ape 
 of an ape for Diogenes was but a mimic 
 therein of the Brahmins and Indian gymno- 
 eophists. Natheless, the children of this 
 Francis bid fair to pelt us out of the Church 
 with their snowballs. Tell me now, Clement, 
 what habit is lovelier than the vestments of 
 our priests ? Well, we owe them all to Numa 
 Pompilius, except the girdle and the stole, 
 which are judaical. As for the amice and the 
 albe, they retain the very names they bore in 
 Numa's day. The ' pelt ' worn by the canons 
 comes from primeval Paganism. 'Tis a relic 
 of those rude times when the sacrificing priest 
 wore the skins of the beasts with the fur out- 
 trard. Strip off thy black gown, Jerome, thy 
 girdle and cowl, for they come to us all three 
 from the Pagan ladies. Let thy hair grow 
 like Absalom's, Jerome I for the tonsure is as 
 Pagan as the Muses." 
 
 "Take care what thon sayest," said Jerome 
 sternly. " We know the very year in which 
 the Church did first ordain it." 
 
 " But not invent it, Jerome. The Brahmins 
 wore it a few thousand years ere that. From 
 them it came through the Assyrians to the 
 priests of Isis in Egypt, and afterwards of 
 Serapis at Athens, The late Pope (the saints 
 
 be good to him) once told me the tonsure 
 was forbidden by God to the Levites in the 
 Pentateuch. If so, this was because of the 
 Egyptian priests wearing it. I trust to hi 
 holiness. I am no biblical scholar. The 
 Latin of thy namesake Jerome is a barrier 
 I cannot overleap. 'Dixit ad me DominuB 
 Deus. Dixi ad Dominnm Deum.' No, thank 
 you, holy Jerome; I can stand a good deal, 
 but I cannot stand thy Latin. Nay ; give 
 me the New Testament! 'Tis not the Greek 
 of Xenophon ; but 'tis Greek. And there be 
 heathen sayings in it too. For St. Paul waa 
 not so spiteful against them as thou. When 
 the heathen said a good thing that suited 
 his matter, by Jupiter he just took it, and 
 mixed it to all eternity with the inspired 
 text." 
 
 " Come forth, Clement, come forth ! " said 
 Jerome, rising ; " and thou, profane monk, 
 know that but for the powerful house that 
 upholds thee, thy accursed heresy should go 
 no farther, for I would have thee burned at 
 the stake." 
 
 And he strode out white with indignation. 
 
 Colonna's reception of this threat did credit 
 to him as an enthusiast. He ran and hallooed 
 joyfully after Jerome. 
 
 " And that is Pagan. Burning of men's 
 bodies for the opinions of their souls is a 
 purely Pagan custom as Pagan as incense, 
 holy water, a hundred altars in one church, 
 the tonsure, the cardinal's, or flamen's hat, 
 the word Pope, the " 
 
 Here Jerome slammed the door. 
 
 But ere they could get clear of the house 
 a jalosy was flung open, and the Paynim monk 
 came out head and shoulders, and overhung 
 the street shouting 
 
 " ' Aflectl BTipplicIia Chrlstlanl, genua homlnmn 
 Nova supentitionia ac malefic.' " 
 
 And having delivered this parting blow, he 
 felt a great triumphant joy, and strode exultant 
 to and fro ; and not attending with his usual 
 care to the fair way (for his room could only 
 be threaded by little paths wriggling among 
 the antiquities), tripped over the beak of an 
 Egyptian stork, and rolled upon a regiment of 
 Armenian gods, which he found tough in argu- 
 ment though small in stature. 
 
 1 You will go no more to that heretical monk," 
 said Jerome to Clement. 
 
 Clement sighed. "Shall we leave him and 
 not try to correct him ? Make allowance for 
 heat of discourse ! he was nettled. His words 
 are worse than his acts. Oh 1 'tis a pure and 
 charitable soul" 
 
 'So are all arch-heretics. Satan does not 
 tempt them like other men. Rather he makes 
 them more moral, to give their teaching weight. 
 Fra Colonna cannot be corrected ; his family 
 is all-powerful in Rome. Pray we the saints he 
 blasphemes to enlighten him. 'Twill not be 
 the first time they have returned good for evil. 
 Meantime thou art forbidden to consort with 
 him. From this day go alone through the 
 city I Confess and absolve sinners I exorcise 
 demons ! comfort the sick ! terrify the impeni- 
 tent ! preach wherever men are gathered and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 occasion serves 1 and bold no converse with 
 the Fra Colonna ! " 
 
 Clement bowed his head. 
 
 Then the prior, at Jerome's reqnest, had the 
 young friar watched. And one day the spy 
 returned with the news that Brother Clement 
 had passed by the Fra Colonna's lodging, and 
 bad stopped a little while in the street, and 
 then gone on, but with his hand to his eyes 
 and slowly. 
 
 This report Jerome took to the prior. The 
 prior asked his opinion, and also Anselm's, 
 who was then taking leave of him on his 
 return to Juliers. 
 
 Jerome. " Humph ! He obeyed, but with 
 regret, ay, with childish repining." 
 
 Antelm. "He shed a natural tear at turning 
 his back on a friend and a benefactor. But he 
 obeyed." 
 
 Now Anselm was one of your gentle irresis- 
 tibles. He had at times a mild ascendant even 
 over Jerome. 
 
 " Worthy Brother Anselm," said Jerome, 
 " Clement is weak to the very bone. He will 
 disappoint thee. He will do nothing great, 
 either for the Church or for our holy order. Yet 
 he is an orator, and hath drunken of the spirit 
 of St. Dominic. Fly him, then, with a string." 
 
 That same day it was announced to Clement 
 that he was to go to England immediately with 
 Brother Jerome. 
 
 Clement folded his hands on his breast, and 
 bowed bis head in calm submission. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 Cfje Etartfj. 
 
 A OATH ERIN* is not an unmixed good in a 
 strange house. The governing power is strong 
 in her. She has scarce crossed the threshold 
 ere the utensils seem to brighten ; the hearth 
 to sweep itself ; the windows to let in more 
 light ; and the soul of an enormous cricket to 
 animate the dwelling-place. But this cricket 
 is a Busy Body. And that is a tremendous 
 character. It has no discrimination. It sets 
 everything to rights, and everybody. Now 
 many things are the better for being set to 
 right*. But everything is not. Everything is 
 the one thing that won't stand being set to 
 rights; except in that calm and cool retreat, 
 the grave. 
 
 Catherine altered the position of every chair 
 and table in Margaret's house ; and perhaps 
 for the better. 
 
 But she must go farther, and npset the live 
 furniture. 
 
 When Margaret's time was close at hand, 
 Catherine treacherously invited the aid of 
 Denys and Martin; and on the poor, simple- 
 minded fellows asking her earnestly what 
 service they could be, she told them they 
 might make themselves comparatively useful 
 by going for a little walk. So far so good. 
 But she intimated further that should the pro- 
 menade extend into the middle of next week 
 all the better. This wag not ingratiating. 
 
 The subsequent conduct of the strong under 
 the yoke of the weak might have propitiated 
 a she-bear with three cubs, one sickly. They 
 generally slipped out of the house at daybreak ; 
 and stole in like thieves at night; and if by 
 any chance they were at home, they went 
 about like cats on a wall tipped with broken 
 glass, and wearing awe-struck visages, and a 
 general air of subjugation and depression. 
 
 But all would not do. Their very presence 
 was ill-timed; and jarred upon Catherine's 
 nerves. 
 
 Did instinct whisper, a pair of depopulators 
 had no business in a house with multipliers 
 twain ? 
 
 The breastplate is no armour against a female 
 tongue ; and Catherine ran infinite pins and 
 needles of speech into them. In a word, when 
 Margaret came down stairs, she found the 
 kitchen swept of heroes. 
 
 Martin, old and stiff, had retreated no farther 
 than the street, and with the honours of war : 
 for he had carried off his baggage, a stool; 
 and sat on it in the air. 
 
 Margaret saw he was out in the sun ; but was 
 not aware he was a fixture in that luminary. 
 She asked for Denys. "Good, kind Denys; 
 he will be right pleased to see me about again." 
 
 Catherine, wiping a bowl with now super- 
 fluous vigour, told her Denys was gone to 
 his friends in Burgundy. "And high time. 
 Hasn't been anigh them this three years, by all 
 accounts." 
 
 " What, gone without bidding me farewell ?" 
 said Margaret, opening two tender eyes like 
 full-blcfwn violets. 
 
 Catherine reddened. For this new view of 
 the matter set her conscience pricking her. 
 
 But she gave a little toss, and said, " Oh, you 
 were asleep at the time : and I would not have 
 you wakened." 
 
 " Poor Denys," said Margaret, and the dew 
 gathered visibly on the open violets. 
 
 Catherine saw out of the corner of her 
 eye, and without taking a bit of open notice, 
 slipped off and lavished hospitality and tender- 
 ness on the surviving depopulator. 
 
 It was sudden ; and Martin old and stiff in 
 more ways than one. 
 
 "No, thank you, dame. I have got used to 
 out o' doors. And I love not changing and 
 changing. I meddle wi' nobody here; and 
 nobody meddles wi' me." 
 
 "Oh, you nasty, cross old wretch 1 " screamed 
 Catherine, passing in a moment from treacle to 
 sharpest vinegar. And she flounced back into 
 the house. 
 
 On calm reflection she had a little cry. Then 
 she half reconciled herself to her conduct by 
 vowing to be so kind, Margaret should never 
 miss her plagues of soldiers. But feeling still 
 a little uneasy, she dispersed all regrets by a 
 process at once simple and sovereign. 
 
 She took and washed the child. 
 
 From head to foot she washed him in tepid 
 water; and heroes, and their wrongs, became 
 as dust in an ocean of soap and water. 
 
 While this celestial ceremony proceeded, 
 Marparet could not keep quiet. She hovered 
 round the fortunate performer. She must have
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 217 
 
 an apparent hand in it, if not a real. She put 
 her finger into the water to pave the way for 
 her boy, I suppose ; for she could not have 
 deceived herself so far as to think Catherine 
 would allow her to settle the temperature. 
 During the ablution she kneeled down oppo- 
 site the little Gerard, and prattled to him with 
 amazing fluency ; taking care, however, not to 
 articulate like grown-up people ; for, how could 
 a cherub understand their ridiculous pronun- 
 ciation ? 
 
 " I wish yon could wash out THAT," said she, 
 fixing her eyes on the little boy's hand. 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " What, have you not noticed ? on his little 
 finger." 
 
 Granny looked, and there was a little brown 
 mole. 
 
 "Eh, but this is wonderful!" she cried. 
 " Nature, my lass, y'are strong ; and meddle- 
 some to boot. Hast noticed such a mark on 
 some one else ? Tell the truth, girl ! " 
 
 "What, on him? Nay, mother, not I." 
 
 " Well then he has ; and on the very spot. 
 And you never noticed that much. But, dear 
 heart, I forgot ; you han't known him from 
 child to man as I have. I have had him 
 hundreds o' times on my knees, the same as 
 this, and washed him from top to toe in In- 
 warm water." And she swelled with conscious 
 superiority; and Margaret looked meekly up 
 to her as a woman beyond competition. 
 
 Catherine looked down from her dizzy height 
 and moralised. She differed from other busy- 
 bodies in this, that she now and then reflected : 
 not deeply ; or of course I should take care 
 not to print it. 
 
 " " It is strange," said she, " how things 
 come round and about. Life is but a whirli- 
 gig. Leastways, we poor women, our lives 
 are all cut upon one pattern. Wasn't I for 
 washing out my Gerard's mole in his young 
 days ? ' Oh, fie I here's a foul blot,' quo' I ; 
 and scrubbed away at it I did till I made the 
 poor wight cry ; so then I thought 'twas 
 time to give over. And now says you to 
 me, ' Mother," says you, ' do try and wash 
 yon out o' my Gerard's finger,' says you. 
 Think on't I " 
 
 " Wash it out ? " cried Margaret ; " I 
 wouldn't for all the world. Why, it is the 
 sweetest bit in his little darling body. I'll 
 kiss it morn and night till he that owned 
 it first comes back to us three. Oh, bless 
 you, my jewel of gold and silver, for being 
 marked like your own daddy, to comfort 
 me." 
 
 And she kissed little Gerard's little mole ; 
 but she could not stop there ; she presently 
 had him sprawling on her Lap, and kissed 
 his back all over again and again, and seemed 
 to worry him as wolf a lamb ; Catherine looking 
 on and smiling. She had seen a good many of 
 these savage onslaughts in her day. 
 
 And this little sketch indicates the tenor 
 of Margaret's life for several months. One 
 or two small things occurred to her during 
 that time which must be told ; but I reserve 
 them, since one string will serve for many 
 glass beadi. But while her boy's father 
 
 was passing through those fearful tempests 
 of the soul, ending in the dead monastic calm, 
 her life might fairly be summed in one great 
 blissful word 
 
 Maternity. 
 
 You, who know what lies in that word, 
 enlarge my little sketch, and see the young 
 mother nursing and washing, and dressing 
 and undressing, and crowing and gambolling 
 with her first-born ; then swifter than light- 
 ning dart your eye into Italy, and see the 
 cold cloister; and the monks passing like 
 ghosts, eyes down, hands meekly crossed over 
 bosoms dead to earthly feelings. 
 
 One of these cowled ghosts is he, whose 
 return, full of love, and youth, and joy, that 
 radiant young mother awaits. 
 
 In the valley of Grindelwald the traveller has 
 on one side the perpendicular Alps, all rock, 
 ice, and everlasting snow, towering above 
 the clouds, and piercing to the sky; on his 
 other hand little every -day slopes, but green 
 as emeralds, and studded with cows and 
 pretty cots, and life ; whereas those lofty 
 neighbours stand leafless, lifeless, inhuman, 
 sublime. Elsewhere sweet commonplaces of 
 nature are apt to pass unnoticed ; but, fronting 
 the grim Alps, they soothe, and even gently 
 strike, the mind by contrast with their 
 tremendous opposites. Such, in their way, 
 are the two halves of this story, rightly 
 looked at ; on the Italian side rugged adven- 
 ture, strong passion, blasphemy, vice, peni- 
 tence, pure ice, holy snow, soaring direct at 
 heaven. On the Dutch side, all on a humble 
 scale and womanish, but ever green. And 
 as a pathway parts the ice towers of Grindel- 
 wald, aspiring to the sky, from its little sunny 
 braes, so here is but a page between "the 
 Cloister and the Hearth," 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 &fje (Cloister. 
 
 THE new pope favoured the Dominican order. 
 The convent received a message from the 
 Vatican, requiring a capable friar to teach 
 at the University of Basle. Now Clement 
 was the very monk for this : well versed 
 in languages, and in his worldly days had 
 attended the lectures of Guarini the younger. 
 His visit to England was therefore postponed 
 though not resigned ; and meantime he was 
 sent to Basle ; but not being wanted there for 
 three months, he was to preach on the road. 
 
 He passed out of the northern gate with 
 his eyes lowered, and the whole man wrapped 
 in pious contemplation. 
 
 Oh, if we could paint a mind and its story, 
 what a walking fresco was this barefooted 
 friar I 
 
 Hopeful, happy love, bereavement, despair, 
 impiety, vice, suicide, remorse, religious de- 
 spondency, penitence, death to the world, 
 resignation. 
 
 And all in twelve short month*.
 
 siS 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 And now the traveller was on foot again. 
 Bat all was changed : no perilous adventures 
 now. The very thieves and robbers bowed to 
 the ground before him, and instead of robbing 
 him, forced stolen money on him, and begged 
 his prayers. 
 
 This journey therefore furnished few pic- 
 turesque incidents. I nave, however, some 
 readers to think of, who care little for melo- 
 drama, and expect a quiet peep at what passes 
 Inside a man. To such students things un- 
 dramatic are often Tocal, denoting the progress 
 of a mind. 
 
 The first Sunday of Clement's journey was 
 marked by this. He prayed for the soul of 
 Margaret He had never done so before. Not 
 that her eternal welfare was not dearer to him 
 than anything on earth. It was his humility. 
 The terrible impieties that burst from him on 
 the news of her death horrified my well-disposed 
 readers ; but not as on reflection they horrified 
 him who had uttered them. For a long time 
 during his novitiate he was oppressed with reli- 
 gious despair. He thought he must have com- 
 mitted that sin against the Holy Spirit which 
 dooms the soul for ever. By degrees that dark 
 cloud cleared away, Anselmo juvante ; but deep 
 self-abasement remained. He felt his own 
 salvation insecure, and moreover thought it 
 would be mocking Heaven, should he, the 
 deeply stained, pray for a soul so innocent, 
 comparatively, as Margaret's. So he used to 
 coax good Anselm and another kindly monk to 
 pray for her. They did not refuse, nor do it 
 by halves. In general the good old monks 
 (and there were good, bad, and indifferent in 
 every convent) had a pure and tender affection 
 for their younger brethren, which, in truth, was 
 oot of this world. 
 
 Clement then, having preached on Sunday 
 morning in a small Italian town, and being 
 mightily carried onward, was greatly encour- 
 aged ; and that day a balmy sense of God's 
 forgiveness and love descended on him. And 
 he prayed for the welfare of Margaret's souL 
 And: from that hour this became his daily habit, 
 and the one purified tie, that by memory con- 
 nected his heart with earth. 
 
 For his family were to him as if they had 
 never been. 
 
 The Church would not share with earth. 
 Nor could even the Church cure the great 
 love without annihilating the smaller ones. 
 
 During most of this journey Clement rarely 
 felt any spring of life within him, but when he 
 was in the pulpit. The other exceptions were, 
 when ho happened to relieve some fellow- 
 creature. 
 
 A young man was tarantula bitten, or per- 
 haps, like many more, fancied it. Fancy or 
 reality, he had been for two days without sleep, 
 and in most extraordinary convulsions, leaping, 
 twisting, and beating the walls. The village 
 musicians had only excited him worse with 
 their music. Exhaustion and death followed 
 the disease, when it gained such a head. 
 Clement passed by and learned what was the 
 matter. He sent for a psaltery, and tried the 
 patient with soothing melodies; but if the 
 other tunes maddened him. Clement's seemed 
 
 to crush him. He groaned and moaned under 
 them, and grovelled on the floor. At last the 
 friar observed that at intervals his lips kept 
 going. He applied his ear, and found the 
 patient was whispering a tune; and a very 
 singular one, that had no existence. He 
 learned this tune and played it. The patient's 
 face brightened amazingly. He marched about 
 the room on the light fantastic toe enjoying it; 
 and when Clement's fingers ached nearly off 
 with playing it, he had the satisfaction of 
 seeing the young man sink complacently to 
 sleep to this lullaby, the strange creation of 
 his own mind ; for it seems he was no musician, 
 and never composed a tune before or after. 
 This sleep saved his life. And Clement, after 
 teaching the tune to another, in case it should 
 be wanted again, went forward with his heart a 
 little warmer. On another occasion he found a 
 mob haling a decently dressed man along, who 
 struggled and vociferated, but in a strange 
 language. This person had walked into their 
 town erect and sprightly, waving a mulberry 
 branch over his head. Thereupon the natives 
 first gazed stupidly, not believing their eyes, 
 then pounced on him and dragged him before 
 the podesta. 
 
 Clement went with them; but on the way 
 drew quietly near the prisoner and spoke to 
 him in Italian ; no answer. In French ; Ger- 
 man ; Dutch j no assets. Then the man tried 
 Clement in tolerable Latin, but with a sharpish 
 accent. He said he was an Englishman, and 
 oppressed with the heat of Italy, had taken a 
 bough off the nearest tree, to save his head. 
 " In my country anybody is welcome to what 
 grows on the highway. Confound the fools ; I 
 am ready to pay for it. But here is all Italy up 
 in arms about a twig and a handful of leaves." 
 
 The pig-headed podesta would have sent the 
 dogged islander to prison ; but Clement medi- 
 ated, and with some difficulty made the prisoner 
 comprehend that silkworms, and by conse- 
 quence mulberry leaves, were sacred, being 
 under the wing of the sovereign, and his source 
 of income ; and urged on the podesta that 
 ignorance of his mulberry laws was natural In 
 a distant country, where the very tree perhaps 
 was unknown. The opinionative islander turned 
 the still vibrating scale by pulling out a long 
 purse and repeating his original theory, that 
 the whole question was mercantile. " Quid 
 damni I " said he. " Die ; et cito solvam." The 
 podesta snuffed the gold : fined him a ducat 
 lor the Duke; about the value of the whole 
 tree ; and pouched the coin. 
 
 The Englishman shook off his ire the moment 
 he was liberated, and laughed heartily at the 
 whole thing ; but was very grateful to Clement. 
 
 " Yon are too good for this hole of a country, 
 father," said he. " Come to England ! That 
 is the only place in the world. I was an uneasy 
 fool to leave it, and wander among mulberries 
 and their idiots. I am a Kentish squire, and 
 educated at Cambridge University. My name 
 it is Rolfe, my place Betshanger. The man 
 and the house are both at your service. Come 
 over and stay till domesday. We sit down 
 forty to dinner every day at Betshanger. One 
 more or one less at the board will not be men.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 219 
 
 You shall end your days with me and my heirs 
 if you will. Come now ! What an English- 
 man says he means." And he gave him a 
 great hearty grip of the hand to confirm it. 
 
 "I will visit thee some day, my son," said 
 Clement ; " but not to weary thy hospitality." 
 
 The Englishman then begged Clement to 
 ihrive him. "I know not what will become 
 of my soul," said he. " I live like a heathen 
 since I left England." 
 
 Clement consented gladly, and soon the 
 islander was on his knees to him by the road- 
 side, confessing the last month's sins. 
 
 Finding him so pious a son of the Church, 
 Clement let him know he was really coming to 
 England. He then asked him whether it was 
 true that country was overrun with Lollards 
 and Wickliffites. 
 
 The other coloured up a little. "There be 
 black sheep in every land," said he. Then 
 after some reflection he said gravely, " Holy 
 father, hear the truth about these heretics. 
 None are better disposed towards Holy Church 
 than we English. But we are ourselves, and 
 by ourselves. We love our own ways, and 
 above all, our own tongue. The Norman could 
 conquer our bill-hooks, but not our tongues ; 
 and hard they tried it for many a long year by 
 law and proclamation. Our good foreign priests 
 titter God to plain English folk in Latin, or in 
 gome French or Italian lingo, like the bleating 
 of a sheep. Then come the fox WickliS and 
 his crew, and read him out of his own book in 
 plain English, that all men's hearts warm to. 
 Who can withstand this ? God forgive me, I 
 believe the English would turn deaf ears to St. 
 Peter himself, spoke he not to them in the 
 tongue their mothers sowed in their ears and 
 their hearts along with mothers' kisses." He 
 added hastily, " I say not this for myself ; I am 
 Cambridge bred; and good words come not 
 amiss to me in Latin ; but for the people in 
 general Clavis ad corda Anglorum est lingua 
 materna." 
 
 " My son," said Clement, " blessed be the 
 hour I met thee ; for thy words are sober and 
 wise. But alas! how shall I learn your 
 English tongue 7 No book have I." 
 
 " I would give you my book of hours, father. 
 'Tie in English and Latin, cheek by jowL But 
 then, what would become of my poor soul, 
 wanting my ' hours ' in a strange land 1 Stay, 
 you are a holy nan, and I am an honest one ; 
 let us make a bargain; you to pray for me 
 every day for two months, and I to give you my 
 book of hours. Here it is. What say you to 
 that 1 " And his eyes sparkled, and he was aD 
 on fire with mercantility. 
 
 Clement smiled gently at this trait ; and 
 quietly detached a MS, from his girdle, and 
 showed him that it was in Latin and Italian. 
 
 "See, my son," said he, " Heaven hath fore- 
 seen our several needs, and given us the means 
 to satisfy them: let us change books; and, 
 my dear son, I will give thee my poor prayers 
 and welcome, not sell them thee. I love not 
 religious bargains." 
 
 The islander was delighted. " So shall I learn 
 the Italian tongue without risk to my eternal 
 weal. Near is my purse, but nearer is my soul." 
 
 He forced money on Clement. In vain the 
 friar told him it was contrary to his vow to 
 carry more of that than was barely necessary. 
 
 " Lay it out for the good of the Church and 
 of my soul," said the islander. " I ask you 
 not to keep it, but take it you must and shall." 
 And he grasped Clement's hand warmly again ; 
 and Clement kissed him on the brow, and 
 blessed him, and they went each his way. 
 
 About a mile from where they parted, 
 Clement found two tired wayfarers lying in 
 the deep shade of a great chestnut-tree, one of 
 a thick grove the road skirted. Near the men 
 was a little cart, and in it a printing-press, rude 
 and clumsy as a vine-press. A jaded mule was 
 harnessed to the cart. 
 
 And so Clement stood face to face with his 
 old enemy. 
 
 And as he eyed it, and the honest, blue-eyed 
 faces of the wearied craftsmen, he looked back 
 as on a dream at the bitterness he had once 
 felt towards this machine. He looked kindly 
 down on them, and said softly 
 
 "Sweynheim 1" 
 
 The men started to their feet. 
 
 " Pannartz 1 " 
 
 They scuttled into the wood, and were seen 
 no more. 
 
 Clement was amazed, and stood puzzling 
 himself. 
 
 Presently a face peeped from behind a tree. 
 
 Clement addressed it. 
 
 " What fear ye ? " 
 
 A quavering voice replied 
 
 " Say, rather, by what magic you, a stranger, 
 can call us by our names ! I never clapt eyes 
 on you till now." 
 
 " Oh, superstition I I know ye, as all good 
 workmen are known by your works. Come 
 hither and I will tell ye." 
 
 They advanced gingerly from different sides ; 
 each regulating his advance by the other's. 
 
 " My children," said Clement, " I saw a Lac- 
 tantius in Rome, printed by Sweynheim and 
 Pannartz, disciples of Fust." 
 
 " D'ye hear that, Pannartz ? our work has 
 gotten to Rome already." 
 
 " By your blue eyes and flaxen hair I wist ye 
 were "Germans; and the printing-press spoke 
 for itself. Who then should ye be but Fust's 
 disciples, Pannartz and Sweynheim I " 
 
 The honest Germans were now astonished 
 that they had suspected magic in so simple a 
 matter. 
 
 " The good father hath his wits about him, 
 that is all," said Pannartz. 
 
 " Ay," said Sweynheim, " and with those wits 
 would he could tell us how to get this tired 
 beast to the next town." 
 
 " Yea," said Sweynheim, " and where to find 
 money to pay for his meat and ours when we 
 get there." 
 
 " I will try," said Clement. " Free the mule 
 of the cart, and of all harness but the bare 
 halter." 
 
 This was done, and the animal immediately 
 lay down and rolled on his back in the dust 
 like a kitten. Whilst he was thus employed, 
 Clement assured them he would rise up a 
 new mule. " His Creator hath taught him this
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 art to refresh himself, which the nobler horse 
 knoweth not Now, with regard to money, 
 know that a worthy Englishman hath entrusted 
 me with a certain sum to bestow in charity. 
 To whom can I better give a stranger's money 
 than to strangers ? Take it, then, and be kind 
 to some Englishman or other stranger in his 
 need ; and may all nations learn to love one 
 another one day." 
 
 The tears stood in the honest workmen s 
 eyes. They took the money with heartfelt 
 thanks. 
 
 " It is your nation we are bound to thank 
 and bless,' good father, if we but knew it." 
 
 " My nation is the Church." 
 
 Clement was then for bidding them farewell, 
 but the honest fellows implored him to wait a 
 little ; they had no silver nor gold, but they 
 had something they could give their benefactor. 
 They took the press out of the cart, and while 
 Clement fed the mule, they bustled about, now 
 on the white hot road, now in the deep cool 
 shade, now half in and half out, and presently 
 printed a quarto sheet of eight pages, which 
 was already set up. They had not type enough 
 to print two sheets at a time. When, after 
 the slower preliminaries, the printed sheet was 
 pulled all in a moment, Clement was amazed 
 in turn. 
 
 " What, are all these words really fast upon 
 the paper ? " said he. " Is it verily certain 
 they will not go as swiftly as they came ? And 
 you took me for a magician 1 Tis ' Augustine 
 de civitate Del' My sons, you carry here the 
 very wings of knowledge. Oh, never abuse 
 this great craft 1 Print no ill books 1 They 
 would fly abroad countless as locusts, and lay 
 waste men's souls." 
 
 The workmen said they would sooner put 
 their hands under the screw than so abuse 
 their goodly craft. 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 There is nothing but meeting and parting in 
 this world. 
 
 At a town in Tuscany the holy friar had a 
 sudden and strange rencontre with the past. 
 He fell in with one of those motley assem- 
 blages of patricians and plebeians, piety and 
 profligacy, "a company of pilgrims ;" a subject 
 too well painted by others for me to go and 
 daub. 
 
 They were in an immense barn belonging to 
 the inn. Clement, dusty and wearied, and no 
 lover of idle gossip, sat in a corner studying 
 the Englishman's hours, and making them out 
 as much by his own Dutch as by the Latin 
 version. 
 
 Presently a servant brought a bucket half 
 full of water, and put it down at his feet. A 
 female servant followed with two towels. And 
 then a woman came forward, and crossing 
 herself, kneeled down without a word at the 
 bucket-side, removed her sleeves entirely, and 
 motioned to him to put his feet into the water. 
 It was some lady of rank doing penance. She 
 wore a mask scarce an inch broad, but effectual 
 Moreover, she handled the friar's feet more 
 delicately than those Jo who are born to such 
 offices. 
 
 These penances were not uncommon ; and 
 
 Clement, though he had little faith in this 
 form of contrition, received the services of the 
 incognita as a matter of course. But presently 
 she sighed deeply, and with her heartfelt sigh 
 and her head bent low over her menial office, 
 she seemed so bowed with penitence, that he 
 pitied her, and said calmly but gently, " Can I 
 aught for your soul's weal, my daughter ? " 
 
 She shook her head with a faint sob. 
 "Nought, holy father, nought; only to hear 
 the sin of her who is most unworthy to touch 
 thy holy feet. 'Tis part of my penance to tell 
 sinless men how vile I am." 
 
 " Speak, my daughter." 
 
 " Father," said the lady, bending lower and 
 lower, "these hands of mine look white, but 
 they are stained with blood the blood of the 
 man I loved. Alas I you withdraw your foot. 
 Ah me 1 What shall I do ? All holy things 
 shrink from me." 
 
 " Culpa mea 1 culpa mea ! " said Clement 
 eagerly. "My daughter, it was an unworthy 
 movement of earthly weakness, for which / 
 shall do penance. Judge not the Church by 
 her feebler servants. Not her foot, but her 
 bosom, is offered to thee, repenting truly. 
 Take courage, then, and purge thy conscience 
 of its load." 
 
 On this the lady, in a trembling whisper, 
 and hurriedly, and cringing a little, as if she 
 feared the Church would strike her bodily for 
 what she had done, made this confession. 
 
 "He was a stranger, and base-born, but 
 beautiful as Spring, and wise beyond his years. 
 I loved him. I had not the prudence to con- 
 ceal my love. Nobles courted me. I ne'er 
 thought one of humble birth could reject me. 
 I showed him my heart ; oh, shame of my sex 1 
 He drew back ; yet he admired me ; but 
 innocently. He loved another; and he was 
 constant. I resorted to a woman's wiles. They 
 availed not. I borrowed the wickedness of 
 men, and threatened his life, and to tell his 
 true lover he died false to her. Ah 1 you 
 shrink 1 your foot trembles. Am I not a 
 monster? Then he wept and prayed to me 
 for mercy ; then my good angel helped me ; 
 I bade him leave Rome. Gerard, Gerard, why 
 did you not obey me ? I thought he was gone. 
 But two months after this I met him. Never 
 shall I forget it. I was descending the Tiber 
 in my galley, when he came up it with a gay 
 company, and at his side a woman beautiful 
 as an angel, but bold and bad. That woman 
 claimed me aloud for her rival Traitor and 
 hypocrite, he had exposed me to her, and to 
 all the loose tongues in Rome. In terror and 
 revenge I hired a bravo. When he was gone 
 on his bloody errand, I wavered too late. The 
 dagger I had hired struck. He never came 
 back to his lodgings. He was dead. Alas ! 
 perhaps he was not so much to blame: none 
 have ever cast his name in my teeth. His 
 poor body is not found : or I should kiss its 
 wounds ; and slay myself upon it. All around 
 his very name seems silent as the grave, to 
 which this murderous hand hath sent him." 
 (Clement's eye was drawn by her movement. 
 He recognised her shapely arm, and soft white 
 band.) " And oh 1 he was so young to die. A
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 poor thoughtless boy, that had fallen a victim 
 to that bad woman's arts, and she had made 
 him tell her everything. Monster of cruelty, 
 what penance can avail me 1 Oh, holy father, 
 what shall I do I " 
 
 Clement's lips moved in prayer, but he was 
 silent. He could not see his duty clear. 
 
 Then she took his feet and began to dry 
 them. She rested his foot upon her soft arm, 
 and pressed it with the towel so gently she 
 seemed incapable of hurting a fly. Yet her lips 
 had just told another story, and a true one. 
 
 While Clement was still praying for wisdom, 
 a tear fell upon his foot. It decided him, 
 "My daughter," said he, "I myself have been 
 a great sinner." 
 
 "You, father?" 
 
 " I ; quite as great a sinner as thou ; though 
 not in the same way. The devil has gins and 
 gnares, as well as traps. But penitence softened 
 my impious heart, and then gratitude remoulded 
 it. Therefore, seeing you penitent, I hope you 
 can be grateful to Him, who has been more 
 merciful to you than you have to your fellow- 
 creature. Daughter, the Church sends you 
 comfort." 
 
 " Comfort to me ? ah ! never ! unless it can 
 raise my victim from the dead." 
 
 "Take this crucifix in thy hand, fix thine 
 eyes on it, and listen to me," was all the reply. 
 
 "Yes, father; but let me thoroughly dry 
 your feet first ; 'tis ill sitting in wet feet ; and 
 you are the holiest man of all whose feet I 
 have washed. I know it by your voice." 
 
 "Woman, I am not. As for my feet, they 
 can wait their turn. Obey thou me." 
 
 "Yes, father," said the lady humbly. But 
 with a woman's evasive pertinacity she wreathed 
 one towel swiftly round the foot she was drying, 
 and placed his other foot on the dry napkin ; 
 then obeyed his command. 
 
 And as she bowed over the crucifix, the low, 
 solemn tones of the friar fell upon her ear, and 
 his words soon made her whole body quiver 
 with various emotions, in quick succession. 
 
 "My daughter, he you murdered in intent 
 was one Gerard, a Hollander. He loved 
 a creature, as men should love none but 
 their Redeemer and His Church. Heaven 
 chastised him. A letter came to Rome. She 
 was dead." 
 
 "Poor Gerard! Poor Margaret!" moaned 
 the penitent. 
 
 Clement's voice faltered at this a moment. 
 But soon, by a strong effort, he recovered all 
 his calmness. 
 
 "His feeble nature yielded, body and soul, 
 to the blow. He was stricken down with fever. 
 He revived only to rebel against Heaven. He 
 said, ' There is no God.' " 
 
 " Poor, poor Gerard ! " 
 
 " Poor Gerard ? thou feeble, foolish woman ! 
 Nay, wicked, impious Gerard. He plunged 
 into vice, and soiled his eternal jewel : those 
 you met him with were his daily companions ; 
 but know, rash creature, that the seeming 
 woman you took to be his leman was but a 
 boy, dressed in woman's habits to flout the 
 others, a fair boy called Andrea. What that 
 Andrea said to thee I know cot ; but be sure 
 
 neither he, nor any layrrian, knows thy folly. 
 This Gerard, rebel against Heaven, was no 
 traitor to thee, unworthy." 
 
 The lady moaned like one in bodily agony, 
 and the crucifix began to tremble in her 
 trembling hands. 
 
 " Courage ! " said Clement. " Comfort is at 
 hand." 
 
 "From crime he fell into despair, and bent 
 on destroying his soul, he stood one night by 
 Tiber, resolved on suicide. He saw one watch- 
 ing him. It was a bravo." 
 
 " Holy saints 1 " 
 
 " He begged the bravo to despatch him ; he 
 offered him all his money, to slay him body 
 and souL The bravo would not. Then this 
 desperate sinner, not softened even by that 
 refusal, flung himself into Tiber." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "And the assassin saved his life. Thou 
 hadst chosen for the task Lodovico, husband 
 of Teresa, whom this Gerard had saved at sea, 
 her and her infant child." 
 
 " He lives 1 he lives ! he lives I I am faint." 
 
 The friar took the crucifix from her hands, 
 fearing it might fall A shower of tears re- 
 lieved her. The friar gave her time; then 
 continued calmly, " Ay, he lives ; thanks to 
 thee and thy wickedness, guided to his eternal 
 good by an almighty and all-merciful hand. 
 Thou art his greatest earthly benefactor." 
 
 " Where is he ? where ? where 1 " 
 
 " What is that to thee 1 " 
 
 " Only to see him alive. To beg him on my 
 knees forgive me. I swear to you I will never 
 presume again to How could I ? He knows 
 all. Oh, shame ! Father, does he know ? " 
 
 "AIL" 
 
 " Then never will I meet his eye ; I should 
 sink into the earth. But I would repair my 
 crime. I would watch his life unseen. He 
 shall rise hi the world, whence I so nearly 
 thrust him, poor soul ; the Csesare, my family, 
 are all-powerful in Rome ; and I am near their 
 head." 
 
 "My daughter," said Clement coldly, "he 
 you call Gerard needs nothing man can do for 
 him. Saved by a miracle from double death, 
 he has left the world, and taken refuge from 
 sin and folly in the bosom of the Church." 
 
 " A priest ? " 
 
 " A priest, and a friar." 
 
 "A friar? Then you are not his confessor? 
 Yet you know all. That gentle voice 1 " 
 
 She raised her head slowly, and peered at 
 him through her mask. 
 
 The next moment she uttered a faint shriek, 
 and lay with her brow upon his bare feet. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 CLEMENT sighed. He began to doubt whether 
 he had taken the wisest course with a creature 
 so passionate. 
 
 But young as he was, he had already learned 
 many lessons of ecclesiastical wisdom. For 
 one thing he had been taught to pause, i.e.,
 
 THE CLOISTER XA> THE HEARTH. 
 
 in certain difficulties, neither to do nor to say 
 anything, ontil the matter should clear itself 
 a "little. H therefore held his peace and 
 prayed for wisdom. 
 
 All be did was gently to withdraw his foot. 
 
 But Lis penitent flung her arms round it 
 with a piteous cry, and held it convulsively, 
 and wept over it. 
 
 And "now the agony of shame, as well as 
 penitence, she was in, showed itself by the 
 bright red that crept over her very throat, as 
 he lay quivering at his feet. 
 
 "My daughter," said Clement gently, "take 
 courage. Torment thyself no more about this 
 Gerard, who is not. As for me, I am Brother 
 Clement, whom Heaven hath sent to theo this 
 day to comfort thee, and help thee save thy 
 K>ul. Thou hast made me thy confessor. I 
 claim, then, thine obedience." 
 
 " Ob yes," sobbed the penitent. 
 
 " Leave this pilgrimage, and instant return 
 to Rome. Penitence abroad is little worth. 
 There where we live lie the temptations we 
 mist defeat, or perish ; not fly in search of 
 others more showy, but less lethal. Easy to 
 wash the feet of strangers, masked ourselves. 
 Hard to be merely meek and charitable with 
 those about us." 
 
 " 111 never, never lay finger on her again." 
 
 " Nay, I speak not of servants only, but of 
 dependants, kinsmen, friends. This be thy 
 penance ; the last thing at night, and the first 
 thing after matins, call to mind thy sin, and 
 God His goodness; and so be humble and 
 gentle to the faults of those around thee. The 
 world it courts the rich; but seek thou the 
 poor : not beggars ; these for the most are 
 neither honest nor truly poor. But rather find 
 out those who blush to seek thee, yet need 
 thee sore. Giving to them shalt lend to 
 Heaven. Marry a good son of the Church." 
 
 " Me f I will never marry." 
 
 "Thou wilt marry within the year. I do 
 entreat and command thee to marry one that 
 f eareth God. For thou art very clay. Mated 
 ill thou shalt be naught. But weddin<? a 
 worthy husband thou mayest, Dei gratii, live 
 a pious^ princess ; ay, and die a saint." 
 
 "Thou." 
 
 He then desired her to rise and go about the 
 good work he had set her. 
 
 She rose to her knees, and removing her 
 mask, cast an eloquent look upon him, then 
 lowered her eyes meekly. 
 
 " I will obey you as I would an angel How 
 happy I am, yet unhappy ; for oh, my heart 
 tells me I shall never look on you again. I 
 will not go till I have dried your feet." 
 
 "It needs not. I have excused thee this 
 bootless penance." 
 
 " 'Ti no penance to me. Ah I you do not 
 forgive me, if you will not let me dry your 
 poor feet" 
 
 * So be it then," said Clement resignedly ; 
 and thought to himself, " Levius quid fcemina," 
 
 But these weak creatures, that gravitate 
 toward* the small, as heavenly bodies towards 
 the preat, have yet their own flasher of angelic 
 
 When the princess had dried the friar's feet, 
 she looked at him with tears in her beautiful 
 yes, and murmured with singular tenderness 
 ad goodness 
 
 " I will have masses said for her soul. May 
 I ? " she added timidly. 
 
 This brought a faint blush into the monk's 
 cheek, and moistened his cold blue eye. It 
 came so suddenly from one he was just rating 
 so low. 
 
 " It is a gracious thought," he said. " Do as 
 thou wilt : often such acts fall back on the 
 doer like blessed dew. I am thy confessor, 
 not hers ; thine IB the soul I must now do my 
 all to save, or woe be to my own. My daughter, 
 my dear daughter, I see good and ill angels 
 fighting for thy soul this day, ay, this moment ; 
 oh, fight thou on thine own side. Dost thou 
 remember all I bade thee J " 
 
 "Remember!" said the princess. "Sweet 
 saint, each syllable of thine is graved in my 
 heart." 
 
 "But one word more, then. Pray much to 
 Christ, and little to His saints." 
 
 " I wilL" 
 
 "And that is the best word I have light to 
 say to thee. So part we ou it. Thou to the 
 place becomes thee best, thy father's house : 
 I to my holy mother's work." 
 
 " Adieu," faltered the princess. " Adieu, thou 
 that I have loved too well, hated too ill, known 
 and revered too late ; forgiving angel, adieu 
 for ever." 
 
 The monk caught her words, though but 
 faltered in a sigh. 
 
 "For ever I" he cried aloud, with sudden 
 ardour. "Christiana live 'for ever,' and love 
 4 for ever,' but they never part ' for ever.' They 
 part, as part the earth and sun, to meet more 
 brightly in a little while. You and I part here 
 for life. And what is our life? One line in 
 the great story of the Church, whose son and 
 daughter we are ; one handful in the sand of 
 time, one drop in the ocean of ' For ever.' 
 Adieu for the little moment called 'a lif e ! ' 
 We part in trouble, we shall meet in peace : 
 we part creatures of clay, we shall meet im- 
 mortal spirits : we part in a world of sin and 
 sorrow, we shall meet where all is purity and 
 love divine; where no ill passions are, but 
 Christ is, and His saints around Him clad in 
 white. There, in the turning of an hour-glass, 
 in the breaking of a bubble, in the passing of 
 a cloud, she, and thou, and I, shall meet again ; 
 and sit at the feet of angels and archangels, 
 apostles and saints, and beam like them with 
 joy unspeakable, in the light of the shadow of 
 God upon His throne, for ever and ever and 
 
 And so they parted. The monk erect, his 
 eyes turned heavenwards and glowing with the 
 sacred fire of zeal ; the princess slowly retiring 
 and turning more than once to cast a lingering 
 glance of awe and tender regret on that in- 
 spired figure. 
 
 She went home subdued, and purified. 
 Clement, in due course, reached Basle, and 
 entered on his duties, teaching in the Uni- 
 versity, and preaching in the town and nei^h-
 
 THE CLO/Si 3 AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 bourhood. He led a life that can be comprised 
 in two words deep study, and mortification. 
 My reader has already a peep Into his soul 
 At Basle he advanced in holy zeal and know- 
 ledge. 
 
 The brethren of his order began to see In him 
 a descendant of the saints and martyrs. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVIIL 
 
 WHEN little Gerard was nearly three months 
 old, a messenger came hot from Tergou for 
 Catherine. 
 
 " Now just you go back," said she, " and tell 
 them I can't come, and I won't : they have got 
 Kate." So he departed, and Catherine con- 
 tinued her sentence ; " there, child, I mutt go : 
 they are all at sixes and sevens : this is the 
 third time of asking ; and to-morrow my man 
 would come himself and take me home by the 
 ear, with a flea in't." She then recapitulated 
 her experiences of infants, and instructed Mar- 
 garet what to do in each coming emergency, 
 and pressed money upon her. Margaret de- 
 clined it with thanks. Catherine insisted, and 
 turned angry. Margaret made excuses all so 
 reasonable that Catherine rejected them with 
 calm contempt; to her mind they lacked 
 femininity. " Come, out with your heart," said 
 she; "and you and me parting; and mayhap 
 shall never see one another's face again." 
 
 " Oh I mother, say not so." 
 
 " Alack, girl, I have seen it BO often ; 'twill 
 come into my mind now at each parting. When 
 I was your age, I never had such a thought. 
 Nay, we were all to live for ever then : so out 
 wi' it.' 
 
 "Well, then, mother I would rather not 
 have told you your Cornells must say to me, 
 So you are come to share with us, eh, mis- 
 tress ? ' those were his word*. I told him I 
 would be very sorry." 
 
 " Beshrew his ill tongue 1 What signifies it I 
 He will never know." 
 
 " Most likely he would sooner or later. But 
 whether or no, I will take no grudged bounty 
 from any family ; unless I saw my child starv- 
 ing, and then Heaven only knows what I might 
 do. Nay, mother, give me but thy love I do 
 prize that above silver, and they grudge me not 
 that, by all I can find for not a stiver of money 
 will I take out of your house." 
 
 "You are a foolish lass. Why, were it me, 
 I'd take it just to spite him." 
 
 "No, you would not. You and I are apples 
 off one tree." 
 
 Catherine yielded with a good grace; and 
 when the actual parting came, embraces and 
 tears burst forth on both sides. 
 
 When she was gone the child cried a good 
 deal; and all attempts to pacify him failing, 
 Margaret suspected a pin, and searching be- 
 tween his clothes and his skin, found a gold 
 angel incommoding his backbone. 
 
 " There, now, Gerard," said she to the babe ; 
 * I thought graany g*ye in rather tudden." 
 
 She took the coin and wrapped it in a piece 
 of linen, and laid it at the bottom of her box, 
 bidding he infant observe she could be at 
 times ar resolute as granny herself. 
 
 Gather ie told Eli of Margaret's foolish pride, 
 and how she had baffled it. Eli said Margaret 
 was right, and she was wrong. Catherine tossed 
 her head. Eli pondered. 
 
 Margaiot was not without domestic anxieties. 
 She had still two men to feed, and could not 
 work so hard as she had done. She had enough 
 to do to keep the house, and the child, and cook 
 for them all. But she had a little money laid 
 by, and she used to tell her child his father 
 would be home to help them before it was 
 spent. And with these bright hopes, and that 
 treasury of bliss, her boy, she spent some happy 
 months. 
 
 Tune wore on ; and no Gerard came ; and 
 stranger still, no news of him. 
 
 Then her mind was disquieted, and contrary 
 to her nature, which was practical, she was 
 often lost in sad reverie ; and sighed in silence. 
 And while her heart was troubled, her money 
 was melting. And so it was, that one day she 
 found the cupboard empty, and looked in her 
 dependants' faces; and at the sight of them, 
 her bosom was all pity ; and she appealed to 
 the baby whether she could let grandfather 
 and poor old Martin want a meal ; and went 
 and took out Catherine's angel. As she un- 
 folded the linen a tear of gentle mortification 
 fell on it. She sent Martin out to change it. 
 While he was gone a Frenchman came with 
 one of the dealers in illuminated work, who had 
 offered her so poor a price. He told her he waa 
 employed by bis sovereign to collect master- 
 pieces for her book of hours. Then she showed 
 him the two best things she had ; and he was 
 charmed with one of them, viz., the flowers and 
 raspberries and creeping things, which Mar- 
 garet Van Eyck had shaded. He offered her 
 an unheard-of price. " Nay, flout not my need, 
 good stranger," said she ; " three mouths there 
 be in this house, and none to fill them but me." 
 
 Curious arithmetic ! Left out No. I. 
 
 " I flout thee not, fair mistress. My princess 
 charged me strictly, ' Seek the best craftsmen ; 
 but I will no hard bargains ; make them con- 
 tent with me, and me with them." " 
 
 The next minute Margaret was on her knees 
 kissing little Gerard in the cradle, and shower- 
 ing four gold pieces on him again and again, 
 and relating the whole occurrence to him in 
 very broken Dutch. 
 
 " And oh, what a good princess : wasn't she ! 
 We will pray for her, won't we, my lambkin ; 
 when we are old enough ? " 
 
 Martin came in furious. " They will not 
 change it. I trow they think I stole it" 
 
 " I am beholden to thee," said Margaret 
 hastily, and almost snatched it from Martin, 
 and wrapped it up again, and restored it to 
 its hiding-place. 
 
 Ere these unexpected funds were spent, she 
 got to her ironing and starching again. In 
 the midst of which Martin sickened ; and 
 died after an illness of nine days. 
 
 Nearly all her money went fco bury bun 
 decently.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 He was gone ; and there was an empty 
 chair by her fireside. For he had preferred 
 the hearth to the sun as soon as the Busybody 
 was pone. 
 
 Margaret would not allow anybody to sit 
 in this chair now. Yet whenever she let her 
 eye dwell too long on it vacant, it was sure to 
 cost her a tear. 
 
 And now there was nobody to carry her 
 linen home. To do it herself she must leave 
 little Gerard in charge of a neighbour. But 
 she dared not trust such a treasure to mortal ; 
 and besides she could not bear him out of her 
 sight for hours and hours. So she set inquiries 
 on foot for a boy to carry her basket on 
 Saturday and Monday. 
 
 A plump, fresh-coloured youth, called Luke 
 Peterson, who looked fifteen, but was eighteen, 
 came in, and blushing, and twiddling his 
 bonnet, asked her if a man would not serve 
 her turn as well as a boy. 
 
 Before he spoke she was saying to herself, 
 " This boy will just do." 
 
 But she took the cue, and said, " Nay ; but a 
 man will maybe seek more than I can well pay." 
 
 "Not I," said Luke warmly. "Why, Mis- 
 tress Margaret, I am your neighbour, and I 
 do very well at the coopering. I can carry 
 your basket for you before or after my day's 
 work, and welcome. You have no need to pay 
 me anything. 'Tisn't as if we were strangers, 
 ye know." 
 
 " Why, Master Luke, I know your face, for 
 that matter ; but I cannot call to mind that 
 ever a word passed between us." 
 
 " Oh yes, you did, Mistress Margaret What, 
 have you forgotten ? One day you were trying 
 to carry your baby and eke your pitcher full 
 o' water ; and quo* I, ' Give me the baby to 
 carry.' ' Nay,' says you, ' I'll give you the 
 pitcher, and keep the bairn myself ; ' and I 
 carried the pitcher home, and you took it from 
 me at this door, and you said to me, ' I am 
 muckle obliged to you, young man,' with such 
 a sweet voice ; not like the folk in this street 
 peak to a body." 
 
 " I do mind now, Master Luke ; and methinks 
 it was the least I could say." 
 
 "Well, Mistress Margaret, if you will say 
 as much every time I carry your basket, I care 
 not how often I bear it, nor how far." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Margaret, colouring faintly. 
 " I would not put upon good nature. You are 
 young, Master Luke, and kindly. Say I give 
 YOU your supper on Saturday night, when you 
 bring the linen home, and your dawn-mete o* 
 Monday ; would that make us anyways even ? " 
 
 " As you please ; only say not I sought a 
 couple o' diets, I, for such a trifle as yon." 
 
 With chubby-faced Luke's timely assistance, 
 and the health and strength which Heaven 
 gave this poor young woman, to balance her 
 many ills, the house went pretty smoothly 
 awhile. But the heart became more and more 
 troubled 07 Gerard's long, and now most 
 mysterious n'ence. 
 
 And then that mental torturer, Suspense, 
 began to tear her heavy heart with his hot 
 pincers, till she cried often and vehemently. 
 " Oh, that I could know the worst" 
 
 Whilst she was in this state, one day she 
 heard a heavy step mount the stair. She 
 started and trembled. " That is no step that 
 I know. Ill tidings ? " 
 
 The door opened, and an unexpected visitor, 
 Eli, came in, looking grave and kind. 
 
 Margaret eyed him in silence, and with in- 
 creasing agitation. 
 
 " Girl," said he, " the skipper is come back." 
 
 " One word," gasped Margaret ; "is he 
 alive 1 " 
 
 "Surely, I hope so. No one has seen him 
 dead." 
 
 " Then they must have seen him alive. " 
 
 " No, girl ; neither dead nor alive hath he 
 been seen this many months in Rome. My 
 daughter Kate thinks he is gone to some other 
 city. She bade me tell you her thought." 
 
 " Ay, like enough," said Margaret gloomily ; 
 " like enough. My poor babe I " 
 
 The old man in a faintish voice asked her 
 for a morsel to eat : he had come fasting. 
 
 The poor thing pitied him with the surface 
 of her agitated mind, and cooked a meal for 
 him, trembling, and scarce knowing what she 
 was about 
 
 Ere he went he laid his hand upon her head, 
 and said, "Be he alive, or be he dead, I look 
 on thee as my daughter. Can I do nought 
 for thee this day ? bethink thee now." 
 
 " Ay, old man. Pray for him ; and for me ! " 
 
 Eli sighed, and went sadly and heavily down 
 the stairs. 
 
 She listened half stupidly to his retiring 
 footsteps till they ceased. Then she sank 
 moaning down by the cradle, and drew little 
 Gerard tight to her bosom. " Oh, my poor 
 fatherless boy ; my fatherless boy I " 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 NOT long after this, as the little family at 
 Tergou sat at dinner, Luke Peterson burst in 
 on them, covered with dust "Good people, 
 Mistress Catherine is wanted instantly at 
 Rotterdam." 
 
 " My name is Catherine, young man. Kate, 
 it will be Margaret." 
 
 " Ay, dame, she said to me, ' Good Luke, hie 
 thee to Tergou, and ask for Eli the hosier, and 
 pray bis wife Catherine to come to me, for God 
 His love.' I didn't wait for daylight" 
 
 " Holy saints I He has come home, Kate. 
 Nay, she would sure have said so. What on 
 earth can it be 1 " And she heaped conjecture 
 on conjecture. 
 
 "Mayhap the young man can tell us," 
 hazarded Kate timidly. 
 
 " That I can," said Luke. " Wfcy, her babe 
 is a-dying. And she was so wrapped up in it I " 
 
 Catherine started up : "What is his trouble?" 
 
 " Nay, I know not But it has been peaking 
 and pining worse and worse this while." 
 
 A furtive glance of satisfaction passed be- 
 tween Cornells and Sybrandt Luckily for 
 them Catherine did not see it. Her face 
 was turned towards her husband, " Now,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 125 
 
 Eli," cried she furiously, "if you say a word 
 against it, you and I shall quarrel, after all 
 these years." 
 
 " Who gainsays thee, foolish woman ? Quarrel 
 with your own shadow, while I go borrow 
 Peter's mule for ye." 
 
 " Bless thee, my good man ! Bless thee I 
 Didst never yet fail me at a pinch. Now eat 
 your dinners who can, while I go and make 
 ready." 
 
 She took Luke back with her in the cart, and 
 on the way questioned and cross-questioned 
 him severely and seductively by turns, till she 
 had turned his mind inside out, what there 
 was of it. 
 
 Margaret met her at the door, pale and 
 agitated, and threw her arms round her neck, 
 and looked imploringly in her face. 
 
 " Come, he is alive, thank God," said Cathe- 
 rine, after scanning her eagerly. 
 
 She looked at the failing child, and then 
 at the poor hollow-eyed mother, alternately. 
 " Lucky you sent for me," said she. " The 
 child is poisoned." 
 
 " Poisoned 1 by whom ? " 
 
 " By you. You have been fretting." 
 
 " Nay, indeed, mother. How can I help 
 fretting ? " 
 
 " Don't tell me, Margaret. A nursing mother 
 has no business to fret. She must turn her 
 mind away from her grief to the comfort that 
 lies in her lap. Know you not that the child 
 pines if the mother vexes herself ? This comes 
 of your reading and writing. Those idle crafts 
 befit a man ; but they keep all useful knowledge 
 out of a woman. The child must be weaned." 
 
 " Oh, you cruel woman," cried Margaret 
 vehemently; "I am sorry I sent for you. 
 Would you rob me of the only bit of comfort 
 I have in the world ? A-nursing my Gerard, 
 I forget I am the most unhappy creature be- 
 neath the sun." 
 
 "That you do not," was the retort, "or he 
 would not be the way he is." 
 
 " Mother 1 " said Margaret imploringly. 
 
 '"Tis hard," replied Catherine, relenting. 
 "But bethink thee; would it not be harder 
 to look down and see his lovely wee face a- 
 looking tip at you out of a little coffin ? " 
 
 " Ob, Jcsu ! " 
 
 " And how could you face your other troubles 
 with your heart aye full, and your lap empty ? " 
 
 "Oh, mother, I consent to anything. Only 
 save my boy." 
 
 " That is a good lass. Trust to me I I do 
 stand by, and see clearer than thou." 
 
 Unfortunately there was another consent to 
 be gained the babe's ; and he was more 
 refractory than his mother. 
 
 " There," said Margaret, trying to affect regret 
 at his misbehaviour ; "he loves me too well." 
 
 But Catherine was a match for them both. 
 As she came along she had observed a healthy 
 young woman, sitting outside her own door, 
 with an infant, hard by. She went and told 
 her the case ; and would she nurse the pining 
 child for the nonce, till she had matters ready 
 to wean him ? 
 
 The young woman consented with a smile, 
 and popped her child into the cradle, and came 
 
 into Margaret's house. She dropped a curtsey, 
 and Catherine put the child into her hands. 
 She examined, and pitied it, and purred over 
 it, and proceeded to nurse it, just as if it had 
 been her own. 
 
 Margaret, who had been paralysed at her 
 assurance, cast a rueful look at Catherine, and 
 burst out crying. 
 
 The visitor looked up. "What is to do? 
 
 Wife, ye told me not the mother was unwilling." 
 
 " She is not : she is only a fool Never heed 
 
 her ; and you, Margaret, I am ashamed of you." 
 
 "You are a cruel, hard -hearted woman," 
 
 sobbed Margaret. 
 
 "Them as take in hand to guide the weak 
 need be hardish. And you will excuse me ; 
 but you are not my flesh and blood ; and your 
 boy is." 
 
 After giving this blunt speech time to sink, 
 she added, " Come now, she is robbing her own 
 to save yours, and you can think of nothing 
 better than bursting out a-blubbering in the 
 woman's face. Out fie, for shame 1 " 
 
 " Nay, wife," said the nurse. " Thank 
 Heaven, I have enough for my own and for hers 
 to boot. And prithee wyte not on her I Maybe 
 the troubles o' life ha' soured her own milk. " 
 
 "And her heart into the bargain," said the 
 remorseless Catherine. 
 
 Margaret looked her full in the face; and 
 down went her eyes. 
 
 " I know I ought to be very grateful to you," 
 sobbed Margaret to the nurse : then turned 
 her head and leaned away over the chair, not 
 to witness the intolerable sight of another 
 nursing her Gerard, and Gerard drawing no 
 distinction between this new mother and her 
 the banished one. 
 
 The nurse replied, "You are very welcome, 
 my poor woman. And so are you, Mistress 
 Catherine, which are my townswoman, and 
 know it not." 
 
 What, are ye from Tergou ? all the better. 
 But I cannot call your face to mind." 
 
 " Oh, you know not me : my husband and 
 me, we are very humble folk by you. But true 
 Eli and his wife are known of all the town ; 
 and respected. So, I am at your call, dame ; 
 and at yours, wife ; and yours, my pretty 
 poppet ; night or day." 
 
 " There's a woman of the right old sort," 
 said Catherine, as the door closed upon her. 
 
 ' I hate her. I hate her. I hate her," said 
 Margaret, with wonderful fervour. 
 
 Catherine only laughed at this outburst. 
 
 "That is right," said she; "better say it, as 
 set sly and think it. It is very natural after 
 all. Come, here is your bundle o' comfort. 
 Take and hate that, if ye can ; " and she put 
 the child in her lap. 
 
 "No, no," said Margaret, turning her head 
 half away from him ; she could not for her 
 life turn the other half. " He is not my child 
 now ; he is hers. I know not why she left him 
 here, for my part. It was very good of her not 
 to take him to her house, cradle and all ; oh 1 
 oh I oh 1 oh 1 oh I oh I oh 1 oh 1 " 
 
 "Ah! well, one comfort, ht la not dead. 
 This given me light : some other woman haa
 
 226 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 got him away from me ; like father, like son ; 
 oh 1 oh 1 oh I oh 1 oh I " 
 
 Catherine was sorry for her, and let her cry 
 in peace. And after that, when she wanted 
 Joan's aid, she used to take Gerard out, to give 
 him a little fresh air. Margaret never objected ; 
 nor expressed the least incredulity; but on 
 their return was always in tears. 
 
 This connivance was shortlived. She was 
 cow altogether as eager to wean little Gerard. 
 It was done ; and he recovered health and 
 vigour; and another trouble fell upon him 
 directly teething. But here Catherine's ex- 
 perience was invaluable ; and now, in the midst 
 of her grief and anxiety about the father, 
 Margaret had moments of bliss, watching the 
 son's tiny teeth come through. "Teeth, 
 mother T I call them not teeth, but pearls of 
 pearls." And each pearl that peeped and 
 sparkled on his red gums, was to her the 
 greatest feat Nature had ever achieved. 
 
 Her companion partook the illusion. And 
 had we told them a field of standing corn was 
 equally admirable, Margaret would have changed 
 to a reproachful gazelle, and Catherine turned 
 us out of doors ; so each pearl's arrival was 
 announced with a shriek of triumph by which- 
 ever of them was the fortunate discoverer. 
 
 Catherine gossiped with Joan, and learned 
 that she was the wife of Jorian Ketel of Tergou, 
 who had been servant to Gbysbrecht Van 
 Swieten, but fallen out of favour, and come 
 back to Rotterdam, his native place. His 
 friends had got him the place of sexton to the 
 parish, and what with that and carpentering, 
 be did pretty well 
 
 Catherine told Joan in return whose child it 
 was she had nursed, and all about Margaret and 
 Gerard, and the deep anxiety bis silence had 
 plunged them in. " Ay," said Joan, " the world 
 Is fuD of trouble." One day she said to Cathe- 
 rine, " It's my belief my man knows more about 
 your Gerard than anybody in these parts ; but 
 he has got to be oloser than ever of late. Drop 
 in some day just afore sunset, and set him talk- 
 ing. And for our Lady's sake say not I set 
 you on. The only hiding he ever gave me was 
 for babbling his business ; and I do not want 
 another. Gramercy ! I married a man for the 
 comfort of the thing, not to be hided." 
 
 Catherine dropped in. Jorian was ready 
 enough to tell her how he had befriended her 
 on and perhaps saved his life. But this was 
 no news to Catherine; and the moment she 
 began to cross-question him as to whether he 
 could guess why her lost boy neither came nor 
 wrote, he cast a grim look at his wife, who re- 
 ceived it with a calm air of stolid candour and 
 Innocent unconsciousness; and his answers 
 became short and gullen. "What should he 
 know more than another!" and BO on. He 
 added, after a pause, " Think you the burgo- 
 master takes such as me into his secrets ? " 
 
 "Oh, then the burgomaster knows some- 
 t " said Catherine sharply, 
 ikely. Who else should f " 
 
 " I'll ask him." 
 
 "I would." 
 
 " And tell him you say he knowi." 
 
 "That is right, dame. Go make him mine 
 enemy. That is what a poor fellow always gets 
 if he says a word to you women." And Jorian 
 from that moment shrunk in and became im- 
 penetrable as a hedgehog, and almost as prickly. 
 
 His conduct caused both the poor women 
 agonies of mind, alarm, and irritated curiosity. 
 Ghysbrecht was for eome cause Gerard's mortal 
 enemy; had stopped his marriage, imprisoned 
 him, hunted him. And here was his late servant, 
 who when off his guard had hinted that this 
 enemy had the clue to Gerard's silence. After 
 sifting Jorian's every word and look, all remained 
 dark and mysterious. Then Catherine told 
 Margaret to go herself to him. "You are 
 young, you are fair. You will maybe get 
 more out of him than I could." 
 
 The conjecture was a reasonable one. 
 
 Margaret went with her child in her arms 
 and tapped timidly at Jorian's door just before 
 sunset. " Come in," said a sturdy voice. She 
 entered, and there sat Jorian by the fireside. 
 At sight of her he rose, snorted, and burst out 
 of the house. " Is that for me, wife 1 " inquired 
 Margaret, turning very red. 
 
 "You must excuse him," replied Joan, rather 
 coldly; "he -iys it to your door that he is a 
 poor man instead of a rich one. It is something 
 about a piece of parchment. There was one 
 amissing, and he got nought from the burgo- 
 master all along of that one." 
 
 " Alas ! Gerard took it." 
 
 " Likely. But my man says you should not 
 have let him : you were pledged to him to keep 
 them all safe. And sooth to say, I blame 
 not my Jorian for being wroth, 'Tis hard for 
 a poor man to be so near fortune and lose it 
 by those he has befriended. However, I tell 
 him another story. Bays I, ' Folk that are out 
 o' trouble like you and me didn't ought to be 
 too hard on folk that are in trouble ; and she 
 has plenty. Going already ? What is all your 
 hurry, mistress ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is not for me to drive the goouman 
 out of his own house." 
 
 "Well, let me kiss the bairn afore ye go. 
 He is not in fault anyway, poor innocent." 
 
 Upon this cruel rebuff Margaret came to a 
 resolution, which she did not confide even to 
 Catherine. 
 
 After six weeks' stay that good woman re- 
 turned home. 
 
 On the child's birthday, which occurred soon 
 after, Margaret did no work; but put on Ler 
 Sunday clothes, and took her boy in her arms 
 and went to the church and prayed there long 
 and fervently for Gerard's safe return. 
 
 That same day and hour Father Clement 
 celebrated a mass and prayed for Margaret's 
 departed soul in the minster church at Basle. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXY. 
 
 SOMK blackguard or other, I think it was 
 Svbrandt, said, " A lie is not like a blow with 
 a curtal axe." 
 True: for we can predict In some degree
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 227 
 
 the consequences of a stroke with any material 
 weapon. But a lie has no bounds at all. The 
 nature of the thing is to ramify beyond human 
 calculation. 
 
 Often in the everyday world a lie has cost 
 a life, or laid waste two or three. 
 
 And BO, in this story, what tremendous con- 
 sequences of that one heartless falsehood I 
 
 Yet the tellers reaped little from it. 
 
 The brothers, who invented it merely to have 
 one claimant the less for their father's property, 
 saw little Gerard take their brother's place in 
 their mother's heart. Nay, more, one day Eli 
 openly proclaimed that, Gerard being lost, and 
 probably dead, he had provided by will for 
 little Gerard, and also for Margaret, his poor 
 son's widow. 
 
 At this the look that passed between the 
 black sheep was a caution to traitors. Cornells 
 had it on his lips to say Gerard wa-3 most likely 
 alive. But he saw his mother looking at him, 
 and checked himself in time. 
 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, the other partner 
 in that lie, was now a failing man. He saw 
 the period fast approaching when all his wealth 
 would drop from hi body, and his misdeeds 
 cling to his sonL 
 
 Too intelligent to deceive himself entirely, 
 he had never been free from gusts of remorse. 
 In taking Gerard's letter to Margaret he had 
 compounded. "I cannot, give up land and 
 money," said his giant Avarice. "I will cause her 
 no unnecessary pain, " said his dwarf Conscience. 
 
 So, after first tampering with the seal, and 
 finding there was not a syllable about the 
 deed, he took it to her with his own hand ; 
 and made a merit of it to himself : a set-off ; 
 and on a scale not uncommon where the self- 
 accuser is the judge. 
 
 The birth of Margaret's child surprised and 
 shocked him, and put his treacherous act in a 
 new light. Should his letter take effect he 
 should cause the dishonour of her who was 
 the daughter of one friend, the granddaughter 
 of another, and whose land he was keeping 
 from her too. 
 
 These thoughts preying on him at that period 
 of life when the strength of body decays, and 
 the memory of old friends revives, filled him 
 with gloomy horrors. Yet he was afraid to 
 confess. For the cur was an honest man, and 
 would have made him disgorge. And with 
 him Avarice was an ingrained habit, Penitence 
 only a sentiment. 
 
 Matters were thus when, one day, returning 
 from the town hall to his own house, he found 
 a woman waiting for him in the vestibule, with 
 a child in her arms. She was veiled, and so, 
 concluding she had something to be ashamed 
 of, he addressed her magisterially. On this 
 she let down her veil and looked him full in 
 the face. 
 
 It was Margaret Brandt. 
 
 Her sndden appearance and manner startled 
 him, and he could not conceal his confusion. 
 
 " Where is my Gerard ? " cried she, her 
 bosom heaving. " Is he alive 1 " 
 
 " For aught I know," stammered Ghysbrecht 
 11 1 hope so, for your sake. Prithee come into 
 t'ois room. Th servants I " 
 
 "Not a step," said Margaret, and she took 
 him by the shoulder, and held him with all the 
 energy of an excited woman. " You know the 
 secret of that which is breaking my heart. 
 Why does not my Gerard come, nor send A 
 line this many months? Answer me, or all 
 the town is like to hear me, let alone thy 
 servants. My misery is too great to be sported 
 with." 
 
 In vain he persisted he knew nothing about 
 Gerard. She told him those who had sent her 
 to him told her another tale. " You do know 
 why he neither comes nor sends," said she 
 firmly. 
 
 At this Ghysbrecht turned paler and paler ; 
 but he summoned all his dignity, and said, 
 "Would you believe those two knaves against 
 a man of worship ? " 
 
 " What two knaves ? " said she keenly. 
 
 He stammered, "Said ye not ? There, I 
 am a poor old broken man, whose memory is 
 shaken. And you come here, and confuse me 
 so. I know not what I say." 
 
 "Ay, sir, your memory it shaken, or sure 
 you would not be my enemy. My father saved 
 you from the plague, when none other would 
 come anigh you; and was ever your friend. 
 My grandfather Floris helped you in your early 
 poverty, and loved you, man and boy. Three 
 generations of us you have seen ; and here is 
 the fourth of us ; this is your old friend Peter's 
 grandchild, and your old friend Floris his 
 great-grandchild. Look down on his innocent 
 face, and think of theirs 1 " 
 
 "Woman, you torture me," sighed Ghys- 
 brecht, and sank upon a bench. But she saw 
 her advantage, and kneeled before him, and 
 put the boy on his knees. "This fatherless 
 babe is poor Margaret Brandt's, that never did 
 you ill, and comes of a race that loved you. 
 Nay, look at his face. 'Twill melt thee mpre 
 than any word of mine. Saints of heaven, 
 what can a poor desolate girl and her babe 
 have done to wipe out all memory of thine 
 own young days, when thou wert guiltless as 
 he is, that now looks up in thy face and im- 
 plores thee to give him back his father ? " 
 
 And with her arms under the child she held 
 him up higher and higher, smiling under the 
 old man's eyes. 
 
 He cast a wild look of anguish on the child, 
 and another on the kneeling mother, and 
 started up shrieking, " Avaunt, ye pair of 
 adders." 
 
 The stung soul gave the old limbs a momen- 
 tary vigour, and he walked rapidly, wringing 
 his hands and clutching at his white hair. 
 " Forget those days ! I forget all else. Oh, 
 woman, woman, sleeping or waking I see but 
 the faces of the dead, I hear but the voices 
 of the dead, and I shall soon be among the 
 dead. There, there, what is done is done. 
 I am in hell. I am in hell." 
 
 And unnatural force ended Jn prostration. 
 
 He staggered, and but for Margaret would 
 have fallen. With her one disengaged arm 
 she supported him as well as she could, and 
 cried for help. 
 
 A couple of servants came running, and 
 carried him away la s state bordering oa
 
 928 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 syncope. The last Margaret saw of him was 
 his old furrowed face, white and helpless as hi 
 hair that hung down over the servant's elbow 
 
 " Heaven forgive me," she said. " I donb 
 I have killed the poor old man." 
 
 Then this attempt to penetrate the torturing 
 mystery left it as dark, or darker than before. 
 For when she came to ponder every word, her 
 suspicion was confirmed that Ghysbrecht die 
 know something about Gerard. "And who 
 were the two knaves he thought had done a 
 good deed, and told me T Oh, my Gerard, my 
 poor deserted babe, you and I are wading in 
 deep waters." 
 
 The visit to Tergou took more money than 
 she could well afford ; and a customer ran 
 away in her debt. She was once more com 
 pelled to unfold Catherine's angel. Bui 
 strange to say, as she came down stairs with 
 it in her hand she found some loose silve: 
 on the table, with a written line 
 
 JFot frarn fcts; CHpft. 
 
 She fell with a cry of surprise on the 
 writing ; and soon it rose into a cry of joy. 
 
 " He is alive. He sends me this by some 
 friendly hand." 
 
 She kissed the writing again and again, and 
 put it in her bosom. 
 
 Time rolled on, and no news of Gerard. 
 
 And about every two months a small sum 
 in silver found its way into the house. Some- 
 times it lay on the table. Once it was flung 
 In through the bedroom window in a purse. 
 Once it was at the bottom of Luke's basket 
 He had stopped at the public-house to talk 
 to a friend. The giver or his agent was never 
 detected. Catherine disowned it Margaret 
 Van Eyck swore she had no hand in it So 
 did Eli. And Margaret, whenever it came, 
 used to say to little Gerard, "Oh, my poor 
 deserted child, you and I are wading in deep 
 waters." 
 
 She applied at least half this modest, but 
 useful supply, to dressing the little Gerard 
 beyond his station in life. " If it does come 
 from Gerard, he shall see his boy neat." All 
 the mothers in the street began to sneer, 
 especially such as had brats out at elbows. 
 
 The months rolled on, and dead sickness 
 of heart succeeded to these keener torments. 
 She returned to her first thought: "Gerard 
 must be dead. She should never see her boy's 
 father again, nor her marriage lines." This 
 last giHef, which had been somewhat allayed 
 by Eli and Catherine recognising her betrothal, 
 now revived in full force ; others would not 
 look so favourably on her story. And often 
 she moaned over her boy's illegitimacy. "Is 
 it not enough for us to be bereaved ? Must we 
 be dishonoured too! Oh, that we had ne'er 
 been born." 
 
 A change took place in Peter Brandt His 
 Blind, clouded for nearly two years, seemed 
 now to be clearing ; he had intervals of in- 
 Ulll^ence; and then he and Margaret used 
 U> Ulk of Gerard, till he wandered again. 
 But one day, returning after an absence of 
 ome hours, Margaret found him conversing 
 
 with Catherine, in a way he had never done 
 since his paralytic stroke. " Eh, girl, why 
 must you be out ? " said she. " But indeed I 
 have told him all ; and we have been a-crying 
 together over thy troubles." 
 
 Margaret stood silent, looking joyfully from 
 one to the other. 
 
 Peter smiled on her, and said, " Come, let 
 me bless thee." 
 
 She kneeled at his feet, and he blessed her 
 most eloquently. He told her she had been 
 all her life the lovingest, truest, and most 
 obedient daughter Heaven ever sent to a poor 
 old widowed man. " May thy son be to thee 
 what thou hast been to me ! " 
 
 After this he dozed. Then the females 
 
 whispered together ; and Catherine said " All 
 
 our talk e'en now was of Gerard. It lies 
 
 heavy on his mind. His poor head must often 
 
 have listened to us when it seemed quite dark. 
 
 Margaret, he is a very understanding man ; 
 
 he thought of many things : ' He may be in 
 
 prison,' says he, 'or forced to go fighting for 
 
 some king, or sent to Constantinople to copy 
 
 books there, or gone into the Church after 
 
 all.' He had a bent that way." 
 
 "Ah, mother," whispered Margaret, in reply, 
 
 he doth but deceive himself as we do." 
 
 Ere she could finish the sentence, a strange 
 
 interruption occurred. 
 
 A loud voice cried out, "I see him. I see 
 him." 
 
 And the old man with dilating eyes seemed 
 to be looking right through the wall of the 
 house. 
 
 "In a boat; on a great river; coming this 
 way. Sore disfigured ; but I knew him. Gone 1 
 ;one 1 all dark." 
 
 And he sank back, and asked feebly where 
 was Margaret 
 
 " Dear father, I am by thy side. Oh, mother I 
 mother, what is this 1 " 
 
 I cannot see thee, and but a moment agone 
 I saw all round the world. Ay, ay. Well, I am 
 ready. Is this thy hand ! Bless thee, my child, 
 bless thee 1 Weep not 1 The tree is ripe." 
 
 The old physician read the signs aright. 
 These calm words were his last. The next 
 moment he drooped his head, and gently, 
 placidly, drifted away from earth, like an 
 nfant sinking to rest The torch had flashed 
 up before going out 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 JHE who had wept for poor old Martin was not 
 ikely to bear this blow so stoically as the death 
 )f the old is apt to be borne. In vain Catherine 
 ried to console her with commonplaces ; in vain 
 old her it was a happy release for him ; and 
 ,hat, as he himself had said, the tree was ripe. 
 Jut her worst failure was, when she urged that 
 here were now but two mouths to feed ; and 
 ne care the less. 
 
 " Such cares are all the joys I have," said 
 Margaret " They fill my desolate heart, 
 which now seems void ai well u waste. Oh,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 229 
 
 empty chair, my bosom it aches to see thee. 
 Poor old man, how could I love him by halves, 
 I that did nse to sit and look at him and think, 
 ' But for me thou wouldst die of hunger.' He, 
 so wise, so learned erst, was got to be helpless 
 as my own sweet babe, and I loved him as if 
 he had been my child instead of my father. 
 Oh, empty chair I Oh, empty heart 1 Well- 
 a-day 1 well-a-day 1 " 
 
 And the pious tears would not be denied. 
 
 Then Catherine held her peace ; and hung 
 her head. And one day she made this con- 
 fession, " I speak to thee out o' my head, and 
 not out o' my bosom ; thou dost well to be deaf 
 to me. Were I in thy place I should mourn the 
 old man all one as thou dost." 
 
 Then Margaret embraced her, and this bit 
 of true sympathy did her a little good. The 
 commonplaces did none. 
 
 Then Catherine's bowels yearned over her, 
 and she said, "My poor girl, you were not 
 born to live alone. I have got to look on you 
 as my own daughter. Waste not thine youth 
 upon my son Gerard. Either he is dead or he 
 is a traitor. It cuts my heart to say it ; but who 
 can help seeing it ? Thy father is gone ; and 
 I cannot always be aside thee. And here is 
 an honest lad that loves thee well this many 
 a day. I'd take him and Comfort together. 
 Heaven hath sent us these creatures to tor- 
 ment us and comfort us and all ; we are just 
 nothing in the world without 'em." Then 
 seeing Margaret look utterly perplexed, she 
 went on to say, "Why, sure you are not so 
 blind as not to see it ? " 
 
 "What? Who?" 
 
 " Who but this Luke Peterson." 
 
 " What, our Luke 1 The boy that carries 
 my basket ? " 
 
 "Nay, he is over nineteen, and a fine 
 healthy lad ; and I have made inquiries for 
 you ; and they all do say he is a capable work- 
 man, and never touches a drop ; and that is 
 much in a Rotterdam lad, which they are 
 mostly half man, half sponge." 
 
 Margaret smiled for the first time this 
 many days. " Luke loves dried puddings 
 dearly," said she, "and I make them to his 
 mini 'Tis them he comes a-courting here." 
 Then she suddenly turned red. " But if I 
 thought he came after your son's wife that is, 
 or ought to be, I'd soon put him to the door." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; for Heaven's sake let me not 
 make mischief. Poor lad 1 Why, girl, Fancy 
 will not be bridled. Bless you, I wormed it 
 out of him near a twelvemonth agone." 
 
 " Oh, mother, and you let him ! ? " 
 
 " Well, \ thought of you. I said to myself, 
 1 If he is fool enough to be her slave for nothing, 
 all the better for her. A lone woman is lost 
 without a man about her to fetch and carry 
 her little matters.' But now my mind is 
 changed, and I think the best use you can 
 put him to is to marry him." 
 
 " So then his own mother is against him, 
 and would wed me to the first comer. Ah, 
 Gerard, thou hast but me ; I will not believe 
 thee dead till I see thy tomb, nor false till I see 
 thee with another lover in thine hand. Foolish 
 boy, I shall ne'er be civil to him again." 
 
 Afflicted with the busybody's protection, 
 Luke Peterson met a cold reception in the 
 house where he had hitherto found a gentle 
 and kind one. And by-and-by, finding him- 
 self very little spoken to at all, and then 
 sharply and irritably, the great soft fellow 
 fell to whimpering, and asked Margaret plump 
 if he had done anything to offend her. 
 
 " Nothing. I am to blame. I am curst. 
 If you will take my counsel you will keep out 
 of my way awhile." 
 
 "It is all along of me, Luke," said the 
 busybody. 
 
 " You, Mistress Catherine. Why, what have 
 I done for you to set her against me ? " 
 
 " Nay, I meant all for the best. I told her 
 I saw you were looking towards her through a 
 wedding ring. But she won't hear of it." 
 
 " There was no need to tell her that, wife ; she 
 knows I am courting her this twelvemonth." 
 
 " Not I," said Margaret ; " or I should never 
 have opened the street door to you." 
 
 " Why, I come here every Saturday night. 
 And that is how the lads in Rotterdam do 
 court. If we sup with a lass o' Saturdays, 
 that's wooing." 
 
 "Oh, that is Rotterdam, is it? Then next 
 time you come, let it be Thursday or Friday. 
 For my part, I thought you came after my 
 puddings, boy." 
 
 " I like your puddings well enough. Yon 
 make them better than mother does. But I 
 like you still better than the puddings," said 
 Luke tenderly. 
 
 " Then you have seen the last of them. How 
 dare you talk so to another man's wife, and him 
 far away ? " She ended gently, but very firmly, 
 "You need not trouble yourself to come here any 
 more, Luke ; I can carry my basket myself." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Luke ; and after sitting 
 silent and stupid for a little while, he rose, and 
 said sadly to Catherine, " Dame, I daresay I have 
 got the sack ; " and went out. 
 
 But the next Saturday Catherine found him 
 seated on the doorstep blubbering. He told 
 her he had got used to come there, and every 
 other place seemed strange. She went in, 
 and told Margaret ; and Margaret sighed, and 
 said, " Poor Luke, he might come in for her, 
 if he could know his place, and treat her like 
 a married wife." On this being communi- 
 cated to Luke, he hesitated. " Pshaw I " said 
 Catherine, " promises are pie-crusts. Promise 
 her all the world, sooner than sit outside like 
 a fool, when a word will carry you inside. 
 Now you humour her in everything, and then, 
 if poor Gerard come not home and claim her, 
 you will be sure to have her in time. A lone 
 woman is aye to be tired out, thou foolish boy." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 Cfjr Cloister. 
 
 BROTHER CLEMENT had taught and preached 
 in Basle more than a twelvemonth, when one 
 day Jerome stood before him, dusty, with ft 
 triumphant glance in his eye.
 
 830 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Give the glory to God, Brother Clement ; 
 thou canst now wend to England with me." 
 
 " I am ready, Brother Jerome ; acd ex- 
 pecting tbce these many months, have in the 
 intervals of teaching and devotion studied the 
 English tonpue somewhat closely." 
 
 " 'Twas well thought of," said Jerome. He 
 then told him he had but delayed till he could 
 obtain extraordinary powers from the Pope to 
 collect money for the Church's use in England, 
 and to hear confession in all the secular monas- 
 teries. " So now gird up thy loins, and let us 
 go forth and deal a good blow for the Church, 
 and against the Franciscans." 
 
 The two friars went preaching down the 
 Rhine for England. In the larger places they 
 both preached. At the smaller they often 
 divided, and took different sides of the river, 
 and met again at some appointed spot. Both 
 were able orators, but in different styles. 
 
 Jerome's was noble and impressive, but a 
 little contracted in religious topics, and a 
 trifle monotonous in delivery compared with 
 Clement's, though in truth not so, compared 
 with most preachers. 
 
 Clement's was full of variety, and often 
 remarkably colloquial In its general flow, 
 tender and gently winning, it curled round the 
 reason and the heart. But it always rose with 
 the rising thought ; and so at times Clement 
 oared as far above Jerome as his level speaking 
 was below him. Indeed, in these noble heats he 
 was all that we have read of inspired prophet 
 or heathen orator : Vehemens ut procella, ex- 
 citatus ut torrens, incensus ut fnlmen, tona- 
 bat, fulgurabat, et rapidis eloquentia fluctibus 
 cuncta proruebat et portnrbabat. 
 
 I would give literal specimens, but for five 
 objections : it is difficult ; time is short ; I have 
 done it elsewhere; an able imitator has since 
 done it better ; and similarity, a virtue in peas, 
 Is a vice in books. 
 
 But (not to evade the matter entirely) Cle- 
 ment used secretly to try and learn the recent 
 events and the besetting sin of each town he 
 was to preach in. 
 
 But Jerome, the unbending, scorned to go 
 out of his way for any people's vices. At ono 
 great town, some leagues from the Rhine, they 
 mounted the same pulpit in turn. Jerome 
 preached against vanity in dress, a favourite 
 theme of his. He was eloquent and satirical, 
 and the people listened with complacency. It 
 was a vice that they were little given to. 
 
 Clement preached against drunkenness. It 
 was a besetting sin, and sacred from preaching 
 In these parts : for the clergy themselves were 
 infected with it, and popular prejudice pro- 
 tected it. Clement dealt it merciless blows 
 out of Holy Writ and worldly experience. A 
 crime itself, It was the nursing mother of most 
 ciimes, especially theft and murder. He 
 reminded them of a parricide that had 
 lately been committed in their town by an 
 honest man in liquor ; and also how a band of 
 drunkards had roasted one of their own com- 
 rades alive at a neighbouring village. "Your 
 laat prince," said he, "is reported to have died 
 of apoplexy, but well you know he died of 
 drink; and of your aldermen one perished 
 
 miserably last month dead drunk, suffocated 
 in a puddle. Your children's backs go bare 
 that you may fill your bellies with that which 
 makes you the worst of beasts, silly as calves, 
 yet fierce as boars ; and drives your families to 
 need, and your souls to helL I tell ye your 
 town, ay, and your very nation, would sink to 
 the bottom of mankind did your women drink 
 as you do. And how long will they be tem- 
 perate, and contrary to nature, resist the 
 example of their husbands and fathers T Vice 
 ne'er yet stood still Ye must amend yourselves, 
 or see them come down to your mark. Already 
 in Bohemia they drink along with the men. 
 How shows a drunken woman ? Would you 
 love to see your wives drunken, your mothers 
 drunken!" At this there was a shout of 
 horror, for mediaeval audiences had not learned 
 to sit mumchance at a moving sermon. " Ah, 
 that comes home to you," cried the friar. 
 " What ? madmen ! think you it doth not more 
 shock the all-pure God to see a man, His 
 noblest work, turned to a drunken beast, than 
 it can shock you creatures of sin and unreason 
 to see a woman turned into a thing no better 
 nor worse than yourselves ? " 
 
 He ended with two pictures : a drunkard's 
 house and family, and a sober man's ; both so 
 true and dramatic in all their details, that the 
 wives fell all to "ohing" and "ahing," and 
 " Eh, but that is a true word." 
 
 This discourse caused quite an uproar. The 
 hearers formed knots ; the men were indig- 
 nant ; so the women flattered them, and took 
 their part openly against the preacher. A 
 married man had a right to a drop ; he needed 
 it, working for all the family. And for their 
 part they did not care to change their men for 
 milksops. 
 
 The double faces 1 That very evening a 
 band of men caught near a hundred of them 
 round Brother Clement, filling his wallet with 
 the best, and offering him the very roses off 
 their heads, and kissing his frock, and blessing 
 him " for taking in hand to mend their sots." 
 
 Jerome thought this sermon too earthly. 
 
 " Drunkenness is not heresy, Clement, that a 
 whole sermon should be preached against it." 
 
 As they went on, he found to his surprise 
 that Clement's sermons sank into his hearers 
 deeper than his own ; made them listen, think, 
 cry, and sometimes even amend their ways. 
 " He hath the art of sinking to their peg," 
 thought Jerome. "Yet he can soar high 
 enough at times." 
 
 Upon the whole, it puzzled Jerome, who had 
 a secret sense of superiority to his tenderer 
 brother. And after about two hundred miles 
 of it, It got to displease him as well as puzzle 
 him. But he tried to check this sentiment as 
 petty and unworthy. " Souls differ like locks," 
 said he, "and preachers must differ like keys, 
 or the fewer should the Church open for God 
 to pass in. And certes, this novice hath the 
 key to these northern souls, being himself a 
 northern man." 
 
 And so they came slowly down the Rhine, 
 sometimes drifting a few miles on the stream \ 
 but in general walking by the banks preach- 
 ing, and teaching, and confessing winners in the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 towns and villages ; and they reached the town 
 of Dusseldorf. 
 
 There was the little quay where Gerard and 
 Denys had taken boat up the Rhine. The 
 friars landed on it. There were the streets, 
 there was "The Silver Lion." Nothing had 
 changed but he, who walked through it bare- 
 foot, with his heart calm and cold, his hands 
 across his breast, and his eyes bent meekly on 
 the ground, a true son of Dominic and Holy 
 Church. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIII. 
 Cfje |rartfy. 
 
 "ELI," said Catherine, "answer me one ques- 
 tion like a man, and I'll ask no more to-day. 
 What is wormwood ? " 
 
 Eli looked a little helpless at this sudden 
 demand upon his faculties ; but soon recovered 
 enough to say it was something that tasted 
 main bitter. 
 
 " That is a fair answer, my man, but not the 
 one I look for. " 
 
 "Then answer it yourself." 
 
 " And shall. Wormwood is to have two in 
 the house a-doing nought, but waiting for thy 
 shoes and mine." Eli groaned. The shaft 
 struck home. 
 
 "Methinks waiting for their best friend's 
 coffin, that and nothing to do, are euow to 
 make them worse than Nature meant. Why 
 not set them np somewhere, to give 'em a 
 chance ? " 
 
 Eli said he was willing, but afraid they would 
 drink and gamble their very shelves away. 
 
 " Nay," said Catherine. " Dost take me for 
 a simpleton ? Of course I mean to watch them 
 at starting, and drive them wi' a loose rein, as 
 the saying is." 
 
 "Where did you think of? Not here; to 
 divide our own custom." 
 
 " Not likely. I say Rotterdam against the 
 world. Then I could start them." 
 
 Oh, self-deception I The true motive of all 
 this was to get near little Gerard. 
 
 After many discussions and eager promises 
 of amendment on these terms from Cornells 
 and Sybrandt, Catherine went to Rotterdam 
 shop-hunting, and took Kate with her ; for a 
 change. They soon found one, and in a good 
 street ; but it was sadly out of order. How- 
 ever they got it cheaper for that, and instantly 
 set about brushing it up, fitting proper shelves 
 for the business, and making the dwelling- 
 house habitable. 
 
 Luke Peterson was always asking Margaret 
 what he could do for her. The answer used to 
 be in a sad tone, " Nothing, Luke, nothing." 
 
 " What, you that are so clever, can you think 
 of nothing for me to do for you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Luke, nothing." 
 
 But at last she varied the reply thus : " If 
 you could make something to help my sweet 
 sister Kate about." 
 
 The slave of love consented joyfully, and 
 toon made Kate a little cart, and cushioned it, 
 
 and yoked himself into it, and at eventide 
 drew her out of the town, and along the 
 pleasant boulevard, with Margaret and Cathe- 
 rine walking beside. It looked a happier party 
 than it was. 
 
 Kate, for one, enjoyed it keenly, for little 
 Gerard was put in her lap, and she doted on 
 him ; and it was like a cherub carried by a 
 little angel, or a rosebud lying in the cup of 
 a lily. 
 
 So the vulgar jeered ; and asked Luke how 
 a thistle tasted, and if his mistress could not 
 afford one with four legs, &c. 
 
 Luke did not mind these jeers ; but Kate 
 minded them for him. 
 
 " Thou hast made the cart for me, good 
 Luke," said she. "'Twas much. I did ill to 
 let thee draw me too ; we can afford to pay 
 some poor soul for that. I love my rides, and 
 to carry little Gerard ; but I'd liever ride no 
 more than thou be mocked for't." 
 
 " Much I care for their tongues," said Luke ; 
 "if I did care I'd knock their heads together. 
 I shall draw you till my mistress says give 
 over." 
 
 " Luke, if you obey Kate, you will oblige me." 
 
 " Then I will obey Kate." 
 
 An honourable exception to popular humour 
 was Jorian Ketel's wife. "That is strength 
 well laid out, to draw the weak. And her 
 prayers will be your guerdon ; she is not long 
 for this world; she suiileth in pain." These 
 were the words of Joan. 
 
 Single-minded Luke answered that he did not 
 want the poor lass's prayers ; he did it to please 
 his mistress, Margaret. 
 
 After that Luke often pressed Margaret to 
 give him something to do without success. 
 
 But one day, as if tired with his importuning, 
 she turned on him, and said with a look and 
 accent I should in vain try to convey 
 
 "Find me my boy's father." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 " MISTRESS, they all say he is dead." 
 
 " Not so. They feed me still with hopes." 
 
 " Ay, to your face, but behind your back they 
 all say he is dead." 
 
 At this revelation Margaret's tears began to 
 flow. 
 
 Luke whimpered for company. He had the 
 body of a man, but the heart of a girl. 
 
 "Prithee, weep not so, sweet mistress," said 
 he. " I'd bring him back to life an' I could, 
 rather than see thee weep so sore." 
 
 Margaret said she thought she was weeping 
 because they were so double-tongued with her. 
 
 She recovered herself, and laying her hand 
 on his shoulder, said solemnly, "Luke, he is 
 not dead. Dying men are known to have a 
 strange sight. And listen, Luke I My poor 
 father, when he was a-dying, and I, simple 
 fool, was so happy, thinking he was going to 
 get well altogether, he said to mother and me 
 he was sitting in that very chair where you 
 are now, and mother was as might be here,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and I was yonder making a sleeve said he, 
 1 1 see him ! I see him ! ' Just so. Not like a 
 failing man at all, but all o 1 fire. 'Sore dis- 
 figuredon a great river coming this way.' 
 
 1 ' Ah, Luke, if you were a woman, and had 
 the feeling for me you think you have, you 
 would pity me, and find him for me. Take a 
 thought ! The father of my child 1 " 
 
 "Alack, I would if I knew how," said Luke. 
 " But how can I ? " 
 
 " Nay, of course you cannot. I am mad to 
 think it. But oh, if any one really cared for 
 me, they would ; that is all I know." 
 
 Luke reflected in silence for some time. 
 
 "The old folk all say dying men can see 
 more than living wights. Let me think: for 
 my mind cannot gallop like thine. On a great 
 river I Well, the Maas is a great river." He 
 pondered on. 
 
 "Coming this way? Then if it 'twas the 
 Maas, he would have been here by this time, 
 BO 'tis not the Maas. The Rhine is a great 
 river, greater than the Maas ; and very long. 
 I think it will be the Rhine." 
 
 "And so do I, Luke; for Denys bade him 
 come down the Rhine. But even if it is, he 
 may turn off before he comes anigh his birth- 
 place. He does not pine for me as I for him ; 
 that is clear. Luke, do you not think he has 
 deserted me ? " She wanted him to contradict 
 her, but he said, " It looks very like it ; what 
 a fool he must be 1 " 
 
 "What do we know?" objected Margaret 
 imploringly. 
 
 "Let me think again," said Luke. " I can- 
 not gallop." 
 
 The result of this meditation was this. He 
 knew a station about sixty miles up the Rhine, 
 where all the public boats put in ; and he 
 would go to that station, and try and cut the 
 truant off. To be sure he did not even know 
 him by sight ; but as each boat came in he 
 would mingle with the passengers, and ask if 
 one Gerard was there. " And, mistress, if you 
 were to give me a bit of a letter to him ; for, 
 with us being strangers, mayhap a won't believe 
 a word I say." 
 
 " Good, kind, thoughtful Luke, I will (how 
 I have undervalued thee!). But give me till 
 supper-time to get it writ." At supper she 
 put a letter into his hand with a blush ; it was 
 a long letter, tied round with silk after the 
 fashion of the day, and sealed over the knot. 
 
 Luke weighed it in his hand, with a shade 
 of discontent, and said to her very gravely, 
 "Say your father was not dreaming, and say 
 I have the luck to fall in with this man, and 
 say he should turn out a better bit of stuff 
 than I think him, and come home to you then 
 and there what is to become o' me ? " 
 
 Margaret coloured to her very brow. "Oh, 
 Luke, Heaven will reward thee. And I shall 
 fall on my knees and bless thee ; and I shall 
 love thee all my days, sweet Luke, as a mother 
 does her son. I am so old by thee : trouble 
 ages the heart Thou shalt not go : 'tis not 
 fair of me. Love maketh us to be all self." 
 
 "Humph!" said Luke. "And if," resumed 
 be. in the same grave way, "yon scapegrace 
 hall read thy letter, and hear me tell him how 
 
 thou pinest for him, and yet, being a traitor, or 
 a mere idiot, will not turn to thee what shall 
 become of me then? Must I die a bachelor, 
 and thou fare lonely to thy grave, neither maid, 
 wife, nor widow ? " 
 
 Margaret panted with fear and emotion at 
 this terrible piece of good sense, and the plain 
 question that followed it. But at last she fal- 
 tered out, " If, which our Lady be merciful to 
 me, and forbid oh ! " 
 
 " Well, mistress ? " 
 
 " If he should read my letter, and hear thy 
 words and, sweet Luke, be just and tell him 
 what a lovely babe he hath, fatherless, father- 
 less. Oh, Luke, can he be so cruel ? " 
 
 " I trow not ; but if 2 " 
 
 "Then he will give thee up my marriage 
 lines, and I shall be an honest woman, and a 
 wretched one, and my boy will not be a bas- 
 tard ; and of course, then we could both go into 
 any honest man's house that would be troubled 
 with us ; and even for thy goodness this day, 
 I will I will ne'er be so ungratefel as go 
 past thy door to another man's." 
 
 " Ay, but will you come in at mine ? Answer 
 me that ! " 
 
 " Oh, ask me not ! Some day, perhaps, when 
 my wounds leave bleeding. Alas, I'll try. If 
 I don't fling myself and my child into the 
 Maas. Do not go, Luke ! do not think of 
 going I 'Tis all madness from first to last." 
 
 But Luke was as slow to forego an idea as 
 to form one. 
 
 His reply showed how fast love was making 
 a man of him. " Well," said he, " madness is 
 something, anyway ; and I am tired of doing 
 nothing for thee ; and I am no great talker. 
 To-morrow, at peep of day, I start. But hold, 
 I have no money. My mother, she takes care 
 of all mine ; and I ne'er see it again." 
 
 Then Margaret took out Catherine's gold 
 angel, which had escaped so often, and gave 
 it to Luke ; and he set out on his mad errand. 
 
 It did not, however, seem so mad to him as 
 to us. It was a superstitious age ; and Luke 
 acted on the dying man's dream, or vision, or 
 illusion, or whatever it was, much as we should 
 act on respectable information. 
 
 But Catherine was downright angry when 
 she heard of it. To send the poor lad on such 
 a wild-goose chase I " But you are like a 
 many more girls ; and mark my words : by the 
 time you have worn that Luke fairly out, ar.'i 
 made him as sick of you as a dog, you will 
 turn as fond on him as a cow on a calf, and 
 ' Too late ' will be the cry." 
 
 SEfjt dTIoistrr. 
 
 The two friars reached Holland from the 
 south just twelve hours after Luke started up 
 the Rhine. 
 
 Thus, wild-goose chase or not, the parties 
 were nearing each other, and rapidly too. 
 For Jerome, unable to preach in low Dutch, 
 now began to push on towards the coast, 
 anxious to get to England as soon as possible. 
 
 And having the stream with them, the friars 
 would in point of fact liave missed Luke by 
 passing him in full stream below his station,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 233 
 
 but for the incident which I am about to 
 relate. 
 
 About twenty miles above the station Luke 
 was making for, Clement landed to preach in 
 a large village ; and towards the end of his 
 sermon he noticed a grey nun weeping. 
 
 He spoke to her kindly, and asked her what 
 was her grief. "Nay," said she, "'tis not for 
 myself flow these tears ; 'tis for my lost friend. 
 Thy words reminded me of what she was, and 
 what she is, poor wretch. But you are a 
 Dominican, and I am a Franciscan nun." 
 
 " It matters little, my sister, if we are both 
 Christians, and if I can aid thee in aught." 
 
 The nun looked in his face, and said, " These 
 are strange words, but methinks they are good ; 
 and thy lips are oh, most eloquent. I will tell 
 thee our grief." 
 
 She then let him know that a young nun, the 
 darling of the convent, and her bosom friend, 
 had been lured away from her vows, and after 
 various gradations of sin, was actually living 
 in a small inn as chambermaid, in reality as 
 a decoy, and was known to be selling her 
 favours'to the wealthier customers. She added, 
 " Anywhere else we might, by kindly violence, 
 force her away from perdition. But this inn- 
 keeper was the servant of the fierce baron on 
 the height there, and hath his ear still, and 
 he would burn our convent to the ground, were 
 we to take her by force." 
 
 " Moreover, souls will not be saved by brute 
 force," said Clement. 
 
 While they were talking Jerome came up, 
 and Clement persuaded him to lie at the con- 
 vent that night. But when in the morning 
 Clement told him he had had a long talk with 
 the abbess, and that she was very sad, and he 
 had promised her to try and win back her nun, 
 Jerome objected, and said, " It was not their 
 business, and was a waste of time." Clement, 
 however, was no longer a mere pupil. He stood 
 firm, and at last they agreed that Jerome should 
 go forward, and secure their passage in the next 
 ship for England, and Clement be allowed time 
 to make his well-meant but idle experiment. 
 
 About ten o'clock that day, a figure in a 
 horseman's cloak, and great boots to match, 
 and a large flapping felt hat, stood like a statue 
 near the auberge, where was the apostate nun, 
 Mary. The friar thus disguised was at that 
 moment truly wretched. These ardent natures 
 undertake wonders ; but are dashed when they 
 come hand to hand with the sickening diffi- 
 culties. But then, as their hearts are steel, 
 though their nerves are anything but iron, 
 they turn not back, but panting and dispirited, 
 struggle on to the last. 
 
 Clement hesitated long at the door, prayed 
 for help and wisdom, and at last entered the 
 inn and sat down faint at heart, and with his 
 body in a cold perspiration. 
 
 But outside he was another man. He called 
 lustily for a cup of wine : it was brought him 
 by the landlord. He paid for it with money 
 the convent had supplied him ; and made a 
 show of drinking it. 
 
 " Landlord," said he, " I hear there is a fair 
 chambermaid in thine house. " 
 
 "Ay, stranger, the buxomest in Holland. 
 
 But she gives not her company to all comers ; 
 only to good customers." 
 
 Friar Clement dangled a massive gold chain 
 in the landlord's sight. He laughed, and 
 shouted, " Here, Janet, here is a lover for thee 
 would bind thee in chains of gold ; and a tall 
 lad into the bargain, I promise thee." 
 
 " Then I am in double luck," said a female 
 voice ; " send him hither." 
 
 Clement rose, shuddered, and passed into the 
 room, where Janet was seated playing with a 
 piece of work, and laying it down every minute, 
 to sing a mutilated fragment of a song. For, 
 in her mode of life, she had not the patience 
 to carry anything out. 
 
 After a few words of greeting, the disguised 
 visitor asked her if they could not be more 
 private somewhere. 
 
 "Why not?" said she. And she rose and 
 smiled, and went tripping before him. He 
 followed, groaning inwardly, and sore per- 
 plexed. 
 
 "There," said she. "Have no fear! No- 
 body ever comes here, but such as pay for 
 the privilege. " 
 
 Clement looked round the room, and prayed 
 silently for wisdom. Then he went softly, and 
 closed the window-shutters carefully. 
 
 " What on earth is that for ? " said Janet, in 
 
 "Sweetheart," whispered the visitor, with a 
 mysterious air, " it is that God may not see us." 
 
 " Madman," said Janet, " think you a wooden 
 shutter can keep out His eye ? " 
 
 " Nay, I know not. Perchance He has too 
 much on hand to notice us. But I would not 
 the saints and angels should see us. Would 
 you ? " 
 
 " My poor soul, hope not to escape their sight ! 
 The only way is not to think of them ; for if 
 you do, it poisons your cup. For two pins I'd 
 run and leave thee. Art pleasant company in 
 sooth." 
 
 " After all, girl, so that men see us not, what 
 signify God and the saints seeing us? Feel 
 this chain I 'Tis virgin gold. I shall cut two 
 of these heavy links off for thee." 
 
 "Ah! now thy discourse is to the point." 
 And she handled the chain greedily. "Why, 
 'tis as massy as the chain round the Virgin's 
 neck at the conv " She did not finish the 
 word. 
 
 " Whisht I whisht ! whisht I 'Tis it. And 
 thou shalt have thy share. But betray me 
 not." 
 
 " Monster ! " cried Janet, drawing back from 
 him with repugnance ; " what, rob the blessed 
 Virgin of her chain, and give it to an " 
 
 "You are none," cried Clement exultingly, 
 " or you had not recked for that. Mary I " 
 
 "Ah! ah! ah I" 
 
 " Thy patron saint, whose chain this is, sends 
 me to greet thee." 
 
 She ran screaming to the window and began 
 to undo the shutters. 
 
 Her fingers trembled, and Clement had time 
 to debarass himself of his boots and his hat 
 before the light streamed in upon him. He 
 then let his cloak quietly fall, and stood before 
 her, a Dominican friar, calm and majestic as a
 
 34 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Utne, and held his crucifix towering over her 
 with a loving, sad, and solemn look, that some- 
 how relieved her of the physical part of fear, but 
 crushed her with religious terror and remorse. 
 She crouched and cowered against the walL 
 
 " Mary," said he gently ; " one word I Are 
 yon happy ? " 
 
 " As happy as I shall be in helL" 
 
 " And they are not happy at the convent ; 
 they weep for you." 
 
 " For me T " 
 
 "Day and night; above all, the Sister 
 Ursula." 
 
 " Poor Ursula I " And the strayed nun began 
 to weep herself at the thought of her friend. 
 
 " The angels weep still more. Wilt not dry 
 all their tears in earth and heaven, and save 
 thyself 1 
 
 " Ah 1 would I could ; but it is too late." 
 
 "Satan avaunt," cried the monk sternly. 
 " 'Tis thy favourite temptation ; and thou, 
 Mary, listen not to the enemy of man, belying 
 God, and whispering despair. I who come to 
 save thee have been a far greater sinner than 
 thou. Come, Mary, sin, thou seest, is not so 
 sweet, e'en in this world, as holiness ; and 
 eternity is at the door." 
 
 " How can they ever receive me again ? " 
 
 " 'Tis their worthiness thou doubtest now. 
 But in truth they pine for thee. 'Twas in pity 
 of their tears that I, a Dominican, undertook 
 this task ; and broke the rule of my order by 
 entering an inn ; and broke it again by donning 
 these lay vestments. But all is well done, and 
 quit for a light penance, if tbou wilt let us 
 rescue thy soul from this den of wolves, and 
 bring thee back to thy vows." 
 
 The nun gazed at him with tears in her eyes. 
 " And thou, a Dominican, hast done this for a 
 daughter of St. Francis ! Why, the Franciscans 
 and Dominicans hate one another." 
 
 " Ay, my daughter; but Francis and Dominic 
 love one another." 
 
 The recreant nun seemed struck and affected 
 by this answer. 
 
 Clement now reminded her how shocked she 
 had been that the Virgin should be robbed of 
 her chain. "But see now," said he, "the 
 convent, and the Virgin too, think ten times 
 more of their poor nun than of golden chains ; 
 for they freely trusted their chain to me a 
 tranger, that peradventure the sight of it 
 might touch their lost Mary and remind her 
 of their love." Finally he showed her with 
 nch terrible simplicity the end of her present 
 course, and on the other hand so revived her 
 dormant memories and better feelings, that 
 she kneeled sobbing at his feet, and owned she 
 had never known happiness nor peace since 
 he betrayed her TOWS ; and said she would go 
 back if be would go with her ; but alone she 
 dared not, could not : even if she reached the 
 gate she could never enter. How could she 
 face the abbess and the sisters? He told 
 her he would go with her as joyfully as the 
 hepherd bears a strayed lamb to the fold. 
 
 But when he urged her to go at once, up 
 prung a crop of those prodigiously petty diffi- 
 culties that entangle her sex, like silken nets, 
 liker iron cobweb*, 
 
 He quietly swept them aside. 
 
 "But how can I walk beside thee in this 
 habit?" 
 
 " I have brought the gown and cowl of thy 
 holy order. Hide thy bravery with them. And 
 leave thy shoes as I leave these " (pointing to 
 his horseman's boots). 
 
 She collected her jewels and ornaments. 
 
 " What are these for ? " inquired Clement. 
 
 "To present to the convent, father." 
 
 " Their source is too impure." 
 
 "But," objected the penitent, "it would be 
 a sin to leave them here. They can be sold 
 to feed the poor." 
 
 "Mary, fix thine eye on this crucifix, and 
 trample those devilish baubles beneath thy 
 feet/' 
 
 She hesitated; but soon threw them down 
 and trampled on them. 
 
 " Now open the window and fling them out 
 on that dunghill. 'Tis well done. So pass 
 the wages of sin from thy hands, its glittering 
 yoke from thy neck, its pollution from thy 
 soul. Away, daughter of St. Francis, we tarry 
 in this vile place too long." She followed him. 
 
 But they were not clear yet. 
 
 At first the landlord was so astounded at 
 seeing a black friar and a grey nun pass 
 through his kitchen from the inside, that he 
 gaped, and muttered, " Why, what mummery 
 is this?" But he soon comprehended the 
 matter, and whipped in between the fugitives 
 and the door. " What ho ! Reuben 1 Carl ! 
 Gavin ! here is a false friar spiriting away 
 our Janet. " 
 
 The men came running in with threatening 
 looks. The friar rushed at them crucifix in 
 hand. "Forbear," he cried, in a stentorian 
 voice. " She is a holy nun returning to her vows. 
 The hand that touches her cowl or her robe 
 to stay her, it shall wither, his body shall lie 
 nnburied, cursed by Rome, and his soul shall 
 roast in eternal fire." They shrank back as if 
 a flame had met them. " And thou miserable 
 panderer 1" 
 
 He did not end the sentence in words, but 
 seized the man by the neck, and strong as a 
 lion in his moments of hot excitement, whirled 
 him furiously from the door and sent him all 
 across the room, pitching head foremost on to 
 the stone floor; then tore the door open and 
 carried the screaming nun out into the road. 
 " Hush ! poor trembler," he gasped ; " they daro 
 not molest thee on the highroad. Away I " 
 
 The landlord lay terrified, half stunned, and 
 bleeding; and Mary, though she often looked 
 back apprehensively, saw no more of him. 
 
 On the road he bade her observe his im- 
 petuosity. 
 
 " Hitherto," said he, " we have spoken of thy 
 faults : now for mine. My choler is ungovern- 
 able ; furious. It is by the grace of God I am 
 not a murderer. I repent the next moment ; 
 but a moment too late is all too late. Mary, 
 had the churls laid finger on thee, I should 
 have scattered their brains with my crucifix. 
 Oh, I know myself ; go to ; and tremble at 
 myself. There lurketh a wild beast beneath 
 this black gown of mine." 
 
 "Alas, father," sUi'IIary, "were you other
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 than you are I had been lost. To take me from 
 that place needed a man wary as a fox; yet 
 bold as a lion." 
 
 Clement reflected. " Thus much ia certain : 
 God chooseth well His fleshly instruments ; and 
 with imperfect hearts doeth His perfect work. 
 Glory be to God 1 " 
 
 When they were near the convent Mary 
 suddenly stopped, and seized the friar's arm, 
 and began to cry. He looked at her kindly, 
 and told her she had nothing to fear. It would 
 be the happiest day she had ever spent. He 
 then made her sit down and compose herself 
 till he should return. He entered the convent, 
 and desired to see the abbess. 
 
 " My sister, give the glory to God : Mary is 
 at the gate." 
 
 The astonishment and delight of the abbess 
 were unbounded. She yielded at once to 
 Clement's earnest request that the road of 
 penitence might be smoothed at first to this 
 unstable wanderer, and after some opposition, 
 she entered heartily into his views as to her 
 actual reception. To give time for their little 
 preparations Clement went slowly back, and 
 seating himself by Mary soothed her ; and 
 heard her confession. 
 
 " The abbess has granted me that you shall 
 propose your own penance." 
 
 " It shall be none the lighter," said she. 
 
 " I trow not," said he ; " but that is future : 
 to-day is given to joy alone." 
 
 He then led her round the building to the 
 abbess's postern. As they went they heard 
 musical instruments and singing. 
 
 '"Tis a feast-day," said Mary ; " and I come 
 to mar it." 
 
 "Hardly," said Clement, smiling; "seeing 
 that you are the queen of the fete." 
 
 " I, father 7 what mean you ? " 
 
 "What, Mary, have you never heard that 
 there is more joy in heaven over one sinner 
 that repenteth, than over ninety-nine just per- 
 sons which need no repentance? Now this 
 convent is not heaven ; nor the nuns angels ; 
 yet are there among them some angelic spirits ; 
 and these sing and exult at thy return. And 
 here methinks comes one of them ; for I see 
 her hand trembles at the keyhole." 
 
 The postern was flung open, and in a moment 
 Sister Ursula clung sobbing and kissing round 
 her friend's neck. The abbess followed more 
 sedately, but little less moved. 
 
 Clement bade them farewell. They entreated 
 him to stay ; but he told them with much regret 
 he could not. He had already tried his good 
 Brother Jerome's patience, and must hasten 
 to the river ; and perhaps sail for England 
 to-morrow. 
 
 So Mary returned to the fold, and Clement 
 strode briskly on towards the Rhine, and 
 England. 
 
 This was the man for whom Margaret's boy 
 lay in wait with her letter. 
 
 Efjt ^eartfj. 
 
 And that letter was one of those simple, 
 touching appeals only her sex can write to 
 
 those who have used them cruelly, and they 
 love them. She began by telling him of the 
 birth of the little boy, and the comfort he 
 had been to her in all the distress of mind his 
 long and strange silence had caused her. She 
 described the little Gerard minutely, not for- 
 getting the mole on his little finger. "Know 
 you any one that hath the like on his I If 
 you only saw him you could not choose but ba 
 proud of him ; all the mothers in the street 
 do envy me ; but I the wives ; for thoa comest 
 not to us. My own Gerard, some say thou art 
 dead. But if thou wert dead, how could I be 
 alive ? Others say that thou, whom I love so 
 truly, art false. But this will I believe from 
 no lips but thine. My father loved thee well ; 
 and as he lay a-dying he thought he saw thee 
 on a great river, with thy face turned towards 
 thy Margaret, but sore disfigured. Is't so, 
 perchance 1 Have cruel men scarred thy 
 sweet face? or hast thou lost one of thy 
 precious limbs? Why, then thou hast the 
 more need of me, and I shall love thee not 
 worse, alasl thinkest thou a woman's love 
 is light as a man's? but better, than I did 
 when I shed those few drops from my arm, 
 not worth the tears thou didst shed for them ; 
 mindest thou? 'tis not so very long agone, 
 dear Gerard." 
 
 The letter continued in this strain, and con- 
 cluded without a word of reproach or doubt as 
 to his faith and affection. Not that she was 
 free from most distressing doubts ; but they 
 were not certainties ; and to show them might 
 turn the scale, and frighten him away from her 
 with fear of being scolded. And of this letter 
 she made soft Luke the bearer. 
 
 So she was not an angel after all. 
 
 Luke mingled with the passengers of two 
 boats, and could hear nothing of Gerard 
 Eliassoen. Nor did this surprise him. He was 
 more surprised when, at the third attempt, a 
 black friar said to him, somewhat severely, 
 "And what would you with him you call 
 Gerard Eliassoen ? " 
 
 "Why, father, if he is alive I have got a 
 letter for him." 
 
 "Humph!" said Jerome. "I am sorry for 
 it. However, the flesh is weak. Well, my son, 
 he you seek will be here by the next boat, or 
 the next boat after. And if he chooses to 
 answer to that name After all, I am not 
 the keeper of his conscience." 
 
 " Good father, one plain word, for Heaven's 
 sake. This Gerard Eliassoen of Tergou is 
 he alive!" 
 
 " Humph I Why, certes, he that went by 
 that name is alive." 
 
 " Well, then, that is settled," said Luke drily. 
 But the next moment he found it necessary to 
 run out of sight and blubber. 
 
 " Oh, why did the Lord make any women ? " 
 said he to himself. " I was content with the 
 world till I fell in love. Here hia little finger 
 is more to her than my whole body, and he is 
 not dead. And here I have got to give him 
 this." He looked at the letter and dashed it 
 on the ground. But he picked it up again 
 with a spiteful snatch, and went to the landlord,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 with tears in his eyes, and begged for work. 
 The landlord declined, said he had his own 
 
 " Oh, I seek not your money," said Luke. 
 " I only want some work to keep me from 
 breaking my heart about another man's lass." 
 
 " Good lad I good lad I " exploded the land- 
 lord ; and found him lots of barrels to mend 
 on these terms. And he coopered with fury in 
 the interval of the boats coming down the 
 Rhine. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 BTfjt fctartlj. 
 
 WIUTINQ an earnest letter seldom leaves the 
 mind in itatu quo. Margaret, in hers, vented 
 her energy and her faith in her dying father's 
 vision, or illusion ; and when this was done, 
 and Lake gone, she wondered at her credulity, 
 and her conscience pricked her about Luke; 
 and Catherine came and scolded her, and she 
 paid the price of false hopes, and elevation of 
 spirits, by falling into deeper despondency. 
 She was found in this state by a stanch friend 
 she had lately made Joan Ketel This good 
 woman came in radiant with an idea. 
 
 " Margaret, I know the cure for thine ill : 
 the hermit of Gouda, a wondrous holy man. 
 Why, he can tell what is coming, when he is 
 In the mood." 
 
 "Ay, I have heard of him," said Margaret 
 hopelessly. Joan with some difficulty persuaded 
 her to walk out as far as Gouda, and consult 
 the hermit. They took some butter and eggs 
 in a basket, and went to his cave. 
 
 What had made the pair such fast friends ? 
 Jorian some six weeks ago fell ill of a bowel 
 disease ; it began with 'raging pain ; and when 
 this went off, leaving him weak, an awkward 
 symptom succeeded ; nothing, either liquid or 
 olid, would stay in his stomach a minute. The 
 doctor said : " He must die if this goes on 
 many hours ; therefore, boil thou now a chicken 
 with a golden angel in the water, and let him 
 up that ! " Alas I Gilt chicken broth shared 
 the fate of the humbler viands, its predecessors. 
 Then the curt steeped the thumb of St. Sergius 
 in beef broth. Same result. Then Joan ran 
 weeping to Margaret to borrow some linen to 
 make his shroud. "Let me see him," eaid 
 Margaret She came in and felt his pulse. 
 " Ah I " said she, " I doubt they have not gone 
 to the root. Open the window ! Art stifling 
 him ; now change all his linen." 
 
 "Alack, woman, what for? Why foul more 
 linen for a dying man 7 " objected the mediaeval 
 wife. 
 
 " Do as thou art bid," said Margaret dully, 
 and left the room. 
 
 Joan somehow found herself doing as she 
 wa* bid. Margaret returned with her apron 
 full of a flowering herb. She made a decoction 
 and took it to the bedside ; and before eivine 
 it to the patient, took a spoonful herself, and 
 smacked her lips hypocritically. "That is 
 fair," said he, with a feeble attempt at humour. 
 " Why, 'tl iweet, and now 'tis bittr." She 
 
 engaged him in conversation as soon as he had 
 taken it. This bitter-sweet stayed by him. 
 Seeing which she built on it as cards are 
 built : mixed a very little schiedam in the 
 third spoonful, and a little beaten yoke of 
 egg in the seventh. And so with the patience 
 of her sex she coaxed his body out of Death's 
 grasp ; and finally, Nature, being patted on 
 the back, instead of kicked under the bed, 
 set Jorian Ketel on his legs again. But the 
 doctress made them both swear never to tell 
 a soul her guilty deed. " They would put me 
 in prison, away from my child." 
 
 The simple that saved Jorian was called 
 sweet feverfew. She gathered it in his own 
 garden. Her eagle eye had seen it growing 
 out of the window. 
 
 Margaret and Joan, then, reached the hermit's 
 cave, and placed their present on the little 
 platform. Margaret then applied her mouth 
 to the aperture, made for that purpose, and 
 said : " Holy hermit, we bring thee butter and 
 eggs of the best ; and I, a poor deserted girl, 
 wife, yet no wife, and mother of the sweetest 
 babe, come to pray thee tell me whether he 
 is quick or dead, true to his vows or false." 
 
 A faint voice issued from the cave : " Trouble 
 me not with the things of earth, but send me a 
 holy friar. I am dying." 
 
 " Alas ! " cried Margaret. " Is it e'en so, 
 poor soul ? Then let us in to help thee. " 
 
 " Saints forbid 1 Thine is a woman's voice. 
 Send me a holy friar." 
 
 They went back as they came. Joan could 
 not help saying, " Are women imps o' darkness 
 then, that they must not come anigh a dying 
 bed ? " 
 
 But Margaret was too deeply dejected to say 
 anything. Joan applied rough consolation. 
 But she was not listened to till she said : 
 " And Jorian will speak out ere long ; he is 
 just on the boil. He is very grateful to thee, 
 believe it." 
 
 " Seeing is believing," replied Margaret, 
 with quiet bitterness. 
 
 " Not but what he thinks you might have 
 saved him with something more out o' the 
 common than yon. 'A man of my inches to 
 be cured wi' feverfew,' says he. 'Why, if 
 there is a sorry herb,' says he. 'Why, I was 
 thinking o' pulling all mine up," says he. I 
 up and told him remedies were none the better 
 for being far-fetched ; you and feverfew cured 
 him, when the grand medicines came up faster 
 than they went down. So says I, 'You may 
 go down on your four bones to feverfew." But 
 indeed, he is grateful at bottom ; you are all 
 his thought and all his chat. But he sees 
 Gerard's folk coming around ye, and good 
 friends, and he said only last night " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He made me vow not to tell ye." 
 
 " Prithee, tell me." 
 
 "Well, he said: 'An' if I tell what little I 
 know, it won't bring him back, and it will set 
 them all by the ears. I wish I had more head- 
 piece," said he ; 'I am sore perplexed. But 
 least said is soonest mended.' Yon is his 
 favourite word ; he comes back to't from a 
 mile off."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 237 
 
 Margaret shook her head. "Ay, we are 
 wading in deep waters, my poor babe and 
 me." 
 
 It was Saturday night ; and no Luke. 
 
 " Poor Luke 1 " said Margaret. " It was very 
 good of him to go on such an errand." 
 
 "He is one out of a hundred," replied 
 Catherine warmly. 
 
 "Mother, do you think he would be kind 
 to little Gerard ? " 
 
 " I am sure he would. So do you be kinder 
 to him when he comes back I Will ye now ? " 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 Efjt Cloister. 
 
 Brother Clement, directed by the nuns, 
 avoided a bend in the river, and striding 
 lustily forward, reached a station some miles 
 nearer the coast than that where Luke lay in 
 wait for Gerard Eliassoen. And the next morn- 
 ing he started early, and was in Rotterdam at 
 noon. He made at once for the port, not to 
 keep Jerome waiting. 
 
 He observed several monks of his order on 
 the quay ; he went to them ; but Jerome was 
 not amongst them. He asked one of them 
 whether Jerome had arrived ? " Surely, 
 brother," was the reply. 
 
 " Prithee, where is he ? " 
 
 "Where? Why, there!" said the monk, 
 pointing to a ship in full sail. And Clement 
 now noticed that all the monks were looking 
 seaward. 
 
 "What, gone without me! Oh, Jerome! 
 Jerome 1 " cried he, in a voice of anguish. 
 Several of the friars turned round and stared. 
 
 "You must be Brother Clement," said one of 
 them at length ; and on this they kissed him 
 and greeted him with brotherly warmth, and 
 gave him a letter Jerome had charged them 
 with for him. It was a hasty scrawl. The 
 writer told him coldly a ship was about to 
 sail for England, and he was loth to lose time. 
 He (Clement) might follow if he pleased, but 
 he would do much better to stay behind, and 
 preach to his own country folk. "Give the 
 glory to God, brother ; you have a wonderful 
 power over Dutch hearts; but you are no 
 match for those haughty islanders: you are 
 too tender. 
 
 "Know thou that on the way I met one, 
 who asked me for thee under the name thou 
 didst bear in the world. Be on thy guard ! 
 Let not the world catch thee again by any 
 silken net. And remember, Solitude, Fasting, 
 and Prayer are the sword, spear, and shield of 
 the soul. Farewell." 
 
 Clement was deeply shocked and mortified 
 at this contemptuous desertion, and this cold- 
 blooded missive. 
 
 He promised the good monks to sleep at 
 the convent, and to preach wherever the prior 
 should appoint (for Jerome had raised him to 
 the skies as a preacher), and then withdrew 
 abruptly, for he was cut to the quick, and 
 wanted to be alone. He asked himself, was 
 there some incurable fault in him, repulsive 
 to so true a son of Dominic ? Or was Jerome 
 himself devoid of that Christian Love which 
 
 St. Paul had placed above Faith itself ? Ship- 
 wrecked with him, and saved on the same 
 fragment of the wreck : his pupil, his penitent, 
 his son in the Church, and now for four hundred 
 miles his fellow-traveller in Christ ; and to be 
 shaken off like dirt, the first opportunity, with 
 harsh and cold disdain. " Why, worldly hearts 
 are no colder nor less trusty than this," said 
 he. " The only one that ever really loved me 
 lies in a grave hard by. Fly me, fly to England, 
 man born without a heart ; I will go and pray 
 over a grave at Sevenbergen." 
 
 Three hours later he passed Peter's cottage. 
 A troop of noisy children were playing about 
 the door, and the house had been repaired, 
 and a new outhouse added. He turned his 
 head hastily away, not to disturb a picture his 
 memory treasured ; and went to the church- 
 yard. 
 
 He sought among the tombstones for Mar- 
 garet's. He could not find it. He could not 
 believe they had grudged her a tombstone, so 
 searched the churchyard all over again. 
 
 " Oh, poverty ! stern poverty ! Poor soul, 
 thou wert like me ; no one was left that loved 
 thee, when Gerard was gone." 
 
 He went into the church, and after kissing 
 the steps, prayed long and earnestly for the 
 soul of hr : whose resting-place he could not 
 find. 
 
 Coming out of the church he saw a very old 
 man looking over the little churchyard gate. 
 He went towards him, and asked him did he 
 live in the place. 
 
 " Four score and twelve years, man and boy. 
 And I come here every day of late, holy father, 
 to take a peep. This is where I look to bide 
 ere long." 
 
 "My son, can you tell me where Margaret 
 lies ? " 
 
 " Margaret ? There's a many Margarets here." 
 
 "Margaret Brandt. She was daughter to a 
 learned physician." 
 
 " As if I didn't know that," said the old man 
 pettishly. "But she doesn't lie here. Bless 
 you, they left this a longful while ago. Gone 
 in a moment, and the house empty, What, is 
 she dead 1 Margaret a Peter dead ? Now only 
 think on't. Like enow ; like enow. They 
 great towns do terribly disagree wi' country 
 folk." 
 
 " What great towns, my son ? " 
 
 " Well, 'twas Rotterdam they went to from 
 here, so I heard tell ; or was it Amsterdam ? 
 Nay, I trow 'twas Rotterdam. And gone there 
 to die 1 " 
 
 Clement sighed. 
 
 "'Twas not in her face now, that I saw. 
 And I can mostly tell. Alack, there was a 
 blooming young flower to be cut off so soon, 
 and an old weed like me left standing still. 
 Well, well, she was a May rose yon ; dear 
 heart, what a winsome smile she had, 
 and " 
 
 " God bless thee, my son," said Clement ; 
 " farewell ! " and he hurried away. 
 
 He reached the convent at sunset, and 
 watched and prayed in the chapel for Jerome 
 and Margaret till it was long past midnight, 
 and his soul had recovered its cold calm.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVL 
 Cfje Scatty. 
 
 THE next day, Sunday, after mass, was a 
 bustling day at Catherine's house in the Hoog 
 Btraet. The shop was now quite ready, and 
 Cornells and Sybrandt were to open it next 
 day ; their names were above the door ; also 
 their sign, a white lamb sucking a gilt sheep. 
 Eli had come, and brought them some more 
 goods from bis store to give them a good start. 
 The hearts of the parents glowed at what they 
 were doing, and the pair themselves walked in 
 the garden together, and agreed they were sick 
 of their old life, and it was more pleasant to 
 make money than waste it ; they vowed to 
 stick to business like wax. Their mother's 
 quick and ever watchful ear overheard this 
 resolution tlirough an open window, and she 
 told Eli. The family supper was to include 
 Margaret, and her boy, and be a kind of in- 
 augural feast, at which good trade advice was 
 to flow from the elders, and good wine to be 
 drunk to the success of the converts to Com- 
 merce from Agriculture in its unremunerative 
 form wild oats. So Margaret had come over 
 to help her mother-in-law, and also to shake 
 off her own deep languor ; and both their faces 
 were as red as the fire. Presently in came 
 Joan with a salad from Jorian's garden. 
 
 " He cut it for you, Margaret ; you are all 
 his chat ; I shall be jealous. I told him yon 
 were to feast to-day. But oh, lass, what a 
 sermon in the new kerk 1 Preaching T I never 
 heard it till this day." 
 
 " Would I had been there then," said Mar- 
 garet; "for I am dried up for want of dew 
 from heaven." 
 
 "Why, he preacheth again this afternoon. 
 But mayhap you are wanted here." 
 
 * Not she," said Catherine. " Come, away ye 
 go, if y'are minded." 
 
 " Indeed," said Margaret, "methinks I should 
 not be such a damper at table if I could come 
 to 't warm from a good sermon." 
 
 "Then you must be brisk," observed Joan. 
 " See the folk are wending that way, and as I 
 live, there goes the holy friar. Oh, bless us 
 and save us, Margaret ; the hermit 1 We forgot" 
 And this active woman bounded out of the 
 house, and ran across the road, and stopped 
 the friar. She returned as quickly. " There, 
 I was bent on seeing him nigh hand." 
 
 14 What said he to thee t " 
 
 " Says he, ' My daughter, I will go to him 
 ere sunset, God willing.' The sweetest voice. 
 But oh, my mistresses, what thin cheeks for a 
 young man, and great eyes, not far from your 
 colour, Margaret." 
 
 " I have a great mind to go hear him," said 
 Margaret. "But my cap is not very clean, 
 and they will all be there in their snow-wliite 
 mutches." 
 
 "There, take my handkerchief out of the 
 basket," said Catherine; "you cannot have 
 the chil1, I want him for my poor Kate. It is 
 one of her ill daya." 
 
 Margaret replied by taking the boy upstairs. 
 She found Kate in bed. 
 
 ' How art thou, sweetheart t Nay, I need 
 not ask. Thou art in sore pain ; thou smilest 
 so. See, I have brought thee one thoo 
 lovest." 
 
 "Two, by my way of counting," said Kate, 
 with an angelic smile. She had a spasm at 
 that moment would have made some of us 
 roar like bulls. 
 
 " What, in your lap ? " said Margaret, answer- 
 ing a gesture of the suffering girl " Nay, he 
 is too heavy, and thou in such pain." 
 
 " I love him too dear to feel his weight," was 
 the reply. 
 
 Margaret took this opportunity, and made 
 her toilet. " I am for the kerk," said she, " to 
 hear a beautiful preacher." Kate sighed. "And 
 a minute ago, Kate, I was all agog to go ; that 
 is the way with me this month past ; up and 
 down, up and down, like the waves of the 
 Zuyder Zee. I'd as lieve stay aside thee ; say 
 the word 1 " 
 
 " Nay," said Kate, " prithee go ; and bring 
 me back every word. Well-a-day that I cannot 
 go myself." And the tears stood in the patient's 
 eyes. This decided Margaret, and she kissed 
 Kate, looked under her lashes at the boy, and 
 heaved a little sigh. 
 
 "I trow I must not," said she. "I never 
 could kiss him a little ; and my father was 
 dead against waking a child by day or night. 
 When 'tis thy pleasure to wake, speak thy aunt 
 Kate the two new words thou hast gotten." 
 And she went out, looking lovingly over her 
 shoulder, and shut the door inaudibly. 
 
 "Joan, you will lend me a hand, and peel 
 these ? " said Catherine. 
 
 "That I will, dame." And the cooking pro- 
 ceeded with silent vigour. 
 
 "Now, Joan, them which help me cook and 
 serve the meat, they help me eat it ; that's a 
 rule." 
 
 "There's worse laws in Holland than that. 
 Your will is my pleasure, mistress ; for my 
 Luke hath got his supper i' the air. He is 
 diggtog to-day, by good luck." (Margaret came 
 down.) 
 
 " Eh, woman, yon Is an ugly trade. There 
 she has just washed her face and gi'en her hair 
 a turn, and now who is like her 7 Rotterdam, 
 that for you 1 " and Catherine snapped her 
 fingers at the capital. "Give us a buss, 
 hussy 1 Now mind, Eli won't wait supper for 
 the Duke. Wherefore, loiter not after your 
 kerk is over." 
 
 Joan and she both followed her to the door, 
 and stood at it watching her a good way down 
 the street. For among homely housewives 
 going out o' doors is half an incident. Catherine 
 commented on the launch : " There, Joan, it is 
 almost to me as if I had just started my own 
 daughter for kerk, and stood a looking after ; 
 the which I've done it manys and manys the 
 times. Joan, lass, she won't hear a word 
 against our Gerard; and be he alive, he has 
 used her cruel ; that is why my bowels yearn 
 for the poor wench. I'm older and wiser than 
 she ; and so I'll wed her to yon simple Luke, 
 and there an end. What's one grandchild ! "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIL 
 
 Cfjt Cloister anto tfjt 
 
 THE sermon had begun when Margaret entered 
 the great church of St. Laurens. It was a huge 
 edifice, far from completed. Churches were 
 not built in a year. The side aisles were roofed, 
 but not the mid aisle nor the chancel ; the 
 pillars and arches were pretty perfect, and 
 some of them whitewashed. But only one 
 window in the whole church was glazed ; the 
 rest were at present great jagged openings in 
 the outer walls. 
 
 But to-day all these uncouth imperfections 
 made the church beautiful. It was a glorious 
 summer afternoon, and the sunshine came 
 broken into marvellous forms through those 
 irregular openings, and played bewitching 
 pranks upon so many broken surfaces. 
 
 It streamed through the gaping walls, and 
 clove the dark cool side aisles with rivers of 
 glory, and dazzled and glowed on the white 
 pillars beyond. 
 
 And nearly the whole central aisle was 
 chequered with light and shade in broken 
 outlines ; the shades seeming cooler and more 
 soothing than ever shade was, and the lights 
 like patches of amber diamon' 1 animated with 
 heavenly fire. And above, from west to east the 
 blue sky vaulted the lofty aisle, and seemed 
 quite close. 
 
 The sunny caps of the women made a sea of 
 white contrasting exquisitely with that vivid 
 vault of blue. 
 
 For the mid aisle, huge as it was, was 
 crammed, yet quite still. The words and the 
 mellow, gentle, earnest voice of the preacher 
 held them mute. 
 
 Margaret stood spellbound at the beauty, 
 the devotion, "the great calm." She got 
 behind a pillar in the north aisle; and there, 
 though she could hardly catch a word, a sweet 
 devotional languor crept over her at the loveli- 
 ness of the place and the preacher's musical 
 voice ; and balmy oil seemed to trickle over the 
 waves in her heart and smooth them. So she 
 leaned against the pillar with eyes half closed, 
 and all seemed soft and dreamy. She felt it 
 good to be there. 
 
 Presently she saw a lady leave an excellent 
 place opposite to get out of the sun, which 
 was indeed pouring on her head from the 
 window. Margaret went round softly but 
 swiftly ; and was fortunate enough to get the 
 place. She was now beside a pillar of the 
 south aisle, and not above fifty feet from the 
 preacher. She was at his side, a little behind 
 him, but could hear every word. 
 
 Her attention, however, was soon distracted 
 by the shadow of a man's head and shoulders 
 bobbing up and down so drolly she had some 
 ado to keep from smiling. 
 
 Yet it was nothing essentially droll. 
 It was the sexton digging. 
 She found that out in a moment by looking 
 behind her, through the window, to whence 
 the shadow came. 
 
 Now as she was looking at Jorian Eetel 
 digging, suddenly a tone of the preacher's voice 
 fell upon her ear and her mind so distinctly, it 
 seemed literally to strike her, and make her 
 vibrate inside and out. 
 
 Her hand went to her bosom, so strange and 
 sudden was the thrill. Then she turned round, 
 and looked at the preacher. His back was 
 turned, and nothing visible but his tonsure. 
 She sighed. That tonsure, being all she saw, 
 contradicted the tone effectually. 
 
 Yet she now leaned a little forward with 
 downcast eyes, hoping for that accent again. 
 It did not come. But the whole voice grew 
 strangely upon her. It rose and fell as the 
 preacher warmed ; and it seemed to waken 
 faint echoes of a thousand happy memories. 
 She would not look to dispel the melancholy 
 pleasure this voice gave her. 
 
 Presently, in the middle of an eloquent period, 
 the preacher stopped. 
 
 She almost sighed; a soothing music had 
 ended. Could the sermon be ended already? 
 No; she looked round; the people did not 
 move. 
 
 A good many faces seemed now to turn her 
 way. She looked behind her sharply. There 
 was nothing there. 
 
 Startled countenances near her now eyed the 
 preacher. She followed their looks ; and there, 
 in the pulpit, was a face as of a staring corpse. 
 The friar's eyes, naturally large, and made larger 
 by the thinness of his cheeks, were dilated to 
 supernatural size, and glaring her way out of 
 a bloodless face. 
 
 She cringed and turned fearfully round : for 
 she thought there mutt be some terrible thing 
 near her. No ; there was nothing ; she was the 
 outside figure of the listening crowd. 
 
 At this moment the church fell into commo- 
 tion. Figures got up all over the building, and 
 craned forward; agitated faces by hundreds 
 gazed from the friar to Margaret, and from 
 Margaret to the friar. The turning to and fro 
 of so many caps made a loud rustle. Then came 
 shrieks of nervous women, and buzzing of men ; 
 and Margaret, seeing so many eyes levelled at 
 her, shrank terrified behind the pillar, with one 
 scared, hurried glance at the preacher. 
 
 Momentary as that glance was, it caught in 
 that stricken face an expression that made her 
 shiver. 
 
 She turned faint, and sat down on a heap of 
 chips the workmen had left, and buried her face 
 in her hands. The sermon went on again. She 
 heard the sound of it ; but not the sense. She 
 tried to think, but her mind was in a whirl. 
 Thought would fix itself in no shape but this : 
 that on that prodigy-stricken face she had seen 
 a look stamped. And the recollection of that 
 look now made her quiver from head to foot. 
 
 For that look was " Recognition." 
 
 The sermon, after wavering some time, ended 
 in a strain of exalted, nay, feverish eloquence, 
 that went far to make the crowd forget the 
 preacher's strange pause and ghastly glare. 
 
 Margaret mingled hastily with the crowd, and 
 went out of the church with them. 
 
 They went their ways home. But she turned 
 at the door, and went into the churchyard ; to
 
 240 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Peter's grave. Poor as she was, she had given 
 him a Blab and a headstone. She sat down on 
 the slab, and kissed it. Then threw her apron 
 over her head that no one might distinguish her 
 by her hair. 
 
 ""Father," she said, "thou hast often heard 
 me say I am wading in deep waters ; but now 
 I begin to think God only knows the bottom of 
 them. I'll follow that friar round the world, 
 but I'll see him at arm's length. And he shall 
 tell me why he looked towards me like a dead 
 man wakened ; and not a soul behind me. Oh, 
 father ; you often praised me here : speak a 
 word for me there. For I am wading in deep 
 waters." 
 
 Her father's tomb commanded a side view of 
 the church door. 
 
 And on that tomb she sat, with her face 
 covered, waylaying the holy preacher. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 
 
 Clje CTlotsttr inU the 
 
 THE cool church, chequered with sunbeams 
 and crowned with heavenly purple, soothed and 
 charmed Father Clement, as it did Margaret ; 
 and more, it carried his mind direct to the 
 Creator'of all good and pure delights. Then his 
 eye fell on the great aisle crammed with his 
 country folk ; a thousand snowy caps, filigreed 
 with gold. Many a hundred leagues he had 
 travelled ; but seen nothing like them, except 
 snow. In the morning he had thundered ; but 
 this sweet afternoon seemed out of tune with 
 threats. His bowels yearned over that multi- 
 tude ; and he must tell them of God's love : poor 
 souls, they heard almost as little of it from the 
 pulpit then a days as the heathen used. He 
 told them the glad tidings of salvation. The 
 people hung upon his gentle, earnest tongue. 
 
 He was not one of those preachers who keep 
 gyrating in the pulpit like the weathercock on 
 the steeple. He moved the hearts of others 
 more than his own body. But on the other 
 hand he did not entirely neglect those who were 
 in bad places. And presently, warm with this 
 theme, that none of all that multitude might 
 miss the joyful tidings of Christ's love, he turned 
 him towards the south aisle. 
 
 And there, in a stream of sunshine from the 
 window, was the radiant face of Margaret 
 Brandt. He gazed at it without emotion. It 
 just benumbed him soul and body. 
 
 But soon the words died in his throat, and he 
 trembled as he glared at it. 
 
 There, with her auburn hair bathed in sun- 
 beams, and glittering like the gloriola of a 
 saint, and her face glowing doubly, with its 
 own beauty, and the sunshine it was set in 
 tood his dead love. 
 
 She was leaning very lightly against a white 
 column. She was listening with tender, down- 
 cast lashes. 
 
 He had seen her listen so to him a hundred 
 
 There was no change In her. Thi was the 
 
 blooming Margaret he had left : only a shade 
 riper and more lovely. 
 
 He stared at her with monstrous eyes and 
 bloodless cheeks. 
 
 The people died out of his sight. He heard, 
 as in a dream, a rustling and rising all over 
 the church ; but could not take his prodigy- 
 stricken eyes off that face, all life, and bloom, 
 and beauty, and that wondrous auburn hair 
 glistening gloriously in the sun. 
 
 He gazed, thinking she must vanish. 
 
 She remained. 
 
 All in a moment she was looking at him, full. 
 
 Her own violet eyes 1 1 
 
 At this he was beside himself, and his lips 
 parted to shriek out her name, when she turned 
 her head swiftly, and soon after vanished, but 
 not without one more glance, which, though 
 rapid as lightning, encountered his, and left her 
 couching and quivering with her mind in a whirl, 
 and him panting and griping the pulpit convul- 
 sively. For this glance of hers, though not re- 
 cognition, was the startled inquiring, nameless, 
 indescribable look that precedes recognition. 
 He made a mighty effort, and muttered some- 
 thing nobody could understand : then feebly 
 resumed his discourse ; and stammered and 
 babbled on a while, till by degrees forcing him- 
 self, now she was out of sight, to look on it as 
 a vision from the other world, he rose into a 
 state of unnatural excitement, and concluded 
 in a style of eloquence that electrified the 
 simple ; for it bordered on rhapsody. 
 
 The sermon ended, he sat down on the pulpit 
 stool, terribly shaken. But presently an idea 
 very characteristic of the time took possession 
 of him. He had sought her grave at Sevenbergen 
 in vain. She had now been permitted to appear 
 to him, and show him that she was buried here ; 
 probably hard by that very pillar, where her 
 spirit had showed itself to him. 
 
 This idea once adopted soon settled on his 
 mind with all the certainty of a fact. And 
 he felt he had only to speak to the sexton 
 (whom to his great disgust he had seen working 
 during the sermon), to learn the spot where 
 she was laid. 
 
 The church was now quite empty. He came 
 down from the pulpit and stepped through an 
 aperture in the south wall on to the grass, 
 and went up to the sexton. He knew him 
 in a moment. But Jorian never suspected 
 the poor lad, whose life he had saved, in 
 this holy friar. The loss of his shapely beard 
 had wonderfully altered the outline of his 
 face.* This had changed him even more 
 than his tonsure, his short hair sprinkled with 
 premature grey, and his cheeks thinned and 
 paled by fasts and vigils. 
 
 "My son," said Friar Clement softly, "if 
 you keep any memory of those whom you lay 
 in the earth, prithee tell me is any Christian 
 buried inside the church, near one of the 
 pillars ? " 
 
 "Nay, father," said Jorian, "here in the 
 
 Pletro Vanned and Andrea did not recognise him 
 without his beard. The fact is, that the beard which 
 has never known a razor grows in a very picturesque 
 and characteristic form, and becomes a feature in the 
 face; BO that 1U removal may in some cases be an 
 effectual disguise.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 241 
 
 churchyard lie buried all that buried be. 
 Why!" 
 
 " No matter. Prithee tell me then where 
 lieth Margaret Brandt." 
 
 " Margaret Brandt ? " And Jorian stared 
 stupidly at the speaker. 
 
 " She died about three years ago, and was 
 buried here." 
 
 " Oh, that is another matter," said Jorian ; 
 " that was before my time ; the vicar could 
 tell you, likely; if so be she was a gentle- 
 woman, or at the least rich enough to pay 
 aim his fee." 
 
 "Alas, my son, she was poor (and paid a 
 htavy penalty for it) ; but born of decent folk, 
 Her "father, Peter, was a learned physician ; 
 she came hither from Sevenbergen to die." 
 
 When Clement had uttered these words his 
 head sunk upon his breast, and he seemed 
 to have no power nor wish to question Jorian 
 more. I doubt even if he knew where he was. 
 He was lost in the past. 
 
 Jorian put down his spade, and standing 
 upright in the grave, set his arms akimbo, 
 and said sulkily, "Are you making a fool of 
 me, holy sir, or has some wag been making a 
 fool of you ! " 
 
 And having relieved his mind thus, he pro- 
 ceeded to dig again, with a certain vigour 
 that showed his somewhat irritable temper 
 was ruffled. 
 
 Clement gazed at him with a puzzled but 
 gently reproachful eye, for the tone was rude, 
 and the words unintelligible. 
 
 Good-natured, though crusty, Jorian had 
 not thrown up three spadefuls ere he became 
 ashamed of it himself. " Why, what a base 
 churl am I to speak thus to thee, holy father ; 
 and thou a standing there, looking at me like 
 a lamb. Aha ! I have it ; 'tis Peter Brandt's 
 grave you would fain see, not Margaret's. 
 He does lie here; hard by the west door. 
 There ; I'll show you." And he laid down 
 his spade* and put on his doublet and jerkin 
 to go with the friar. 
 
 He did not know there was anybody sitting 
 on Peter's tomb. Still less that she was watch- 
 ing for this holy friar. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 WHILE Jorian was putting on his doublet and 
 jerkin to go to Peter's tomb, his tongue was 
 not idle. " They used to call him a magician 
 out Sevenbergen way. And they do say he 
 gave 'em a touch of his trade at parting ; 
 told 'em he saw Margaret's lad a-coming down 
 Rhine in brave clothes and store o' money, 
 but his face scarred by foreign glaive, and 
 not altogether so many arms and legs as a 
 went away wi'. But, dear heart, nought came 
 on't. Margaret is still wearying for her lad ; 
 and Peter, he lies as quiet as his neighbours ; 
 not but what she hath put a stone slab over 
 him, to keep him where he is : as you shall 
 see." 
 He put both hands on the edge of the grave, 
 
 and was about to raise himself out of it, but 
 the friar laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, 
 and said in a strange whisper 
 
 " How long since died Peter Brandt 1 " 
 
 " About two months. Why ? " 
 
 " And his daughter buried him, say you ? " 
 
 "Nay, I buried him, but she paid the fee 
 and reared the stone. Why ? " 
 
 " Then but he had but one daughter ; 
 Margaret ? " 
 
 " No more ; leastways, that he owned to." 
 
 " Then yon think Margaret is is alive ? " 
 
 "Think? Why, I should be dead else. Riddle 
 me that." 
 
 " Alas, how can I ? You love her I " 
 
 "No more than reason, being a married 
 man, and father of four more sturdy knaves 
 like myself. Nay, the answer is, she saved 
 my life scarce six weeks agone. Now had she 
 been dead she couldn't ha' kept me alive. 
 Bless your heart, I couldn't keep a thing on 
 my stomach; nor doctors couldn't make me. 
 My Joan says, ' 'Tis time to buy thee a shroud.' 
 ' I dare say, so 'tis,' says I ; ' but try and borrow 
 one first.' In comes my lady, this Margaret, 
 which she died three years ago, by your way 
 on't, opens the windows, makes 'em shift me 
 where I lay, and cures me in the twinkling 
 of a bedpost ; but wi' what ? there pinches 
 the shoe; with the scurviest herb, and out 
 of my own garden, too ; with sweet feverfew. 
 A herb, quotha, 'tis a weed ; leastways it waa 
 a weed till it cured me, but now whene'er I 
 pass my bunch I doff bonnet, and says I, 
 ' My service t' ye. 1 Why, how now, father, 
 you look wondrous pale, and now you aro 
 red, and now you are white 1 Why, what is 
 the matter ? What, in Heaven's name, is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " The surprise the joy the wonder the 
 fear," gasped Clement. 
 
 " Why, what is it to thee ! Art thou of kin 
 to Margaret Brandt ? " 
 
 " Nay ; but I knew one that loved her well, 
 so well her death nigh killed him, body and 
 soul. And yet thou sayest she lives. And I 
 believe thee." 
 
 Jorian stared, and after a considerable silence 
 said very gravely, " Father, you have asked me 
 many questions, and I have answered them 
 truly ; now for our Lady's sake answer me 
 but two. Did you in very sooth know one 
 who loved this poor lass ? Where ? " 
 
 Clement was on the point of revealing him- 
 self, but he remembered Jerome's letter, and 
 shrank from being called by the name he had 
 borne in the world. 
 
 " I knew him in Italy," said he. 
 
 " If you knew him you can tell me his name," 
 said Jorian cautiously. 
 
 " His name was Gerard Eliassoen." 
 
 " Oh, but this is strange. Stay, what made 
 thee say Margaret Brandt was dead ? " 
 
 " I was with Gerard when a letter came from 
 Margaret Van Eyck. The letter told him she 
 he loved was dead and buried. Let me sit 
 down, for my strength fails me. Foul play I 
 Foul play I " 
 
 " Father," said Jorian, " I thank Heaven 
 for sending thee to me. Ay, sit ye down ; y
 
 24* 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THB HEARTH. 
 
 do look like a ghost ; ye fast overmuch to be 
 strong. My mind misgives me ; methinks I 
 hold the clue to this riddle, and if I do, there 
 be two knaves in this town whose heads I 
 would fain batter to pieces as I do this mould ; " 
 and he clenched his teeth and raised his long 
 spade above his head, and brought it furiously 
 down upon the heap several times. " Foul 
 play ! You never said a truer word i' your 
 life ; and if you know where Gerard is now, 
 lose no time, but show him the trap they have 
 laid for him. Mine is but a dull head, but 
 whiles the slow hound puzzles out the scent- 
 go to. And I do think yon and I ha' got hold 
 of two ends o' one stick, and a main foul 
 one." 
 
 Jorian then, after some of those useless pre- 
 liminaries men of his class always deal in, 
 came to the point of the story. He had been 
 employed by the burgomaster <*. Tergou to 
 repair the floor of an upper room in his house, 
 and when it was almost done, coming suddenly 
 to fetch away his tools, curiosity had been 
 excited by some loud words below, and he 
 had lain down on his stomach, and heard the 
 burgomaster talking about a letter which 
 Cornells and Sybrandt were minded to convf 
 into the place of one that a certain Hans 
 Memling was taking to Gerard ; " and it seems 
 their will was good, but their stomach was 
 small ; so to give them courage the old man 
 showed them a drawer full of silver, and if 
 they did the trick they should each put a 
 hand in, and have all the silver they could 
 hold in't. Well, father," continued Jorian, 
 " I thought not much on't at the time, except 
 for the bargain itself, that kept me awake 
 mostly all night. Think on't 1 Next morn- 
 ing at peep of day who should I see but my 
 masters Cornells and Sybrandt come out of 
 their house each with a black eye. ' Oho,' says 
 I, ' what yon Hans hath put big mark on ye ; 
 well now I hope that is all you have got for 
 your pains.' Didn't they make for the burgo- 
 master's house T I to my hiding-place." 
 
 At this part of Jorian's revelation the monk's 
 nostril dilated, and his restless eye showed the 
 uspense he was in. 
 
 "Well, father," continued Jorian, "the 
 burgomaster brought them into that same 
 room. He had a letter in his hand ; but I am 
 no scholar ; however, I have got as many eyes 
 In my head as the Pope hath, and I saw the 
 drawer opened, and those two knaves put in 
 each a hand and draw it out full And saints 
 In glory, how they tried to hold more, and 
 more, and more o' yon stuff I And Sybrandt, 
 he had daubed his hand in something sticky, 
 I think 'twas glue, and he made shift to carry 
 one or two pieces away a sticking to the back 
 of his hand, he I he I he I 'Tis a sin to laugh. 
 So yon see luck was on the wrong side as 
 usual ; they had done the trick ; but how they 
 did it, that, methinks, will never be known 
 till doomsday. Go to, they left their immortal 
 jewels in yon drawer. Well, they got a hand- 
 fnl of silver for them ; the devil had the worst 
 o* yon bargain. There, father, that is off my 
 mind ; often I longed to tell it some one, but 
 1 durrt not to the women ; or Margaret would 
 
 not have had a friend left hi the world ; 
 for those two black-hearted villains are the 
 favourites. 'Tis always so. Have not the old 
 folk just taken a brave new shop for them in 
 this very town, in the Hoog Straet ! There 
 may you see their sign, a gilt sheep and a 
 lambkin ; a brace of wolves sucking their dam 
 would be nigher the mark. And there the 
 whole family feast this day ; oh, 'tis a fine 
 world. What, not a word, holy father; you 
 sit there like stone, and have not even a 
 curse to bestow on them, the stony-hearted 
 miscreants. What, was it not enough th 
 poor lad was all alone in a strange land ; must 
 his own flesh and blood go and lie away the 
 one blessing his enemies had left him ? And 
 then think of her pining and pining all tiese 
 years, and sitting at the window looking adown 
 the street for Gerard I and so constant, so 
 tender, and true : my wife says she is sure 
 no woman ever loved a man truer tian she 
 loves the lad those villains have parted from 
 her ; and the day never passes but she weeps 
 salt tears for him. And when I think, that, 
 but for those two greedy lying knaves, yon 
 winsome lad, whose life I saved, might be by 
 her side this day the happiest he in Holland ; 
 and the sweet lass, that saved my life, might 
 be sitting with her cheek upon her sweet- 
 heart's shoulder, the happiest she in Hol- 
 land in place of the saddest ; oh, I thirst for 
 their blood, the nasty, sneaking, lying, cogging, 
 cowardly, heartless, bowelless how now 71" 
 
 The monk started wildly up, livid with fury 
 and despair, and rushed headlong from the 
 place with both hands clenched and raised 
 on high. So terrible was this inarticulate 
 burst of fury, that. Jorian's puny ire died 
 out at sight of it, and he stood looking 
 dismayed after the human tempest he had 
 launched. 
 
 While thus absorbed he felt his arm grasped 
 by a small, tremulous hand. 
 
 It was Margaret Brandt. 
 
 He started ; her coming there just then 
 seemed so strange. 
 
 She had waited long on Peter's tombstone, 
 but the friar did not come. So she went into 
 the church to see if he was there still. She 
 could not find him. 
 
 Presently, going up the south aisle, the 
 gigantic shadow of a friar came rapidly along 
 the floor and part of a pillar, and seemed to 
 pass through her. She was near screaming ; 
 but in a moment remembered Jorian's shadow 
 had come in so from the churchyard ; and 
 tried to clamber out the nearest way. She 
 did so, but with some difficulty ; and by that 
 time Clement was just disappearing down the 
 street ; yet, so expressive at times is the body 
 as well as the face, she could see he was 
 greatly agitated. Jorian and she looked at 
 one another, and at the wild figure of the 
 distant friar. 
 
 " Well ? " said she to Jorian, trembling. 
 
 "Well," said he, "you startled me. How 
 come you here of all people ? " 
 
 " Is this a time for idle chat ? What said he 
 to you 7 He has been speaking to you ; deny
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 243 
 
 " Girl, as I stand here, he asked me where- 
 about you were buried in this churchyard." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " I told him, nowhere, thank Heaven : you 
 were alive and saving other folk from the 
 churchyard." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 "Well, the long and the short is, he knew 
 thy Gerard in Italy ; and a letter came saying 
 you were dead ; and it broke thy poor lad's 
 heart. Let me see ; who was the letter written 
 by 7 Oh, by the demoiselle Van Eyck. That 
 waz his way of it. But I up and told him nay ; 
 'twas neither demoiselle nor dame that penned 
 yon lie, but Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, and those 
 foul knaves, Cornelia and Sybrandt; these 
 changed the true letter for one of their own ; 
 I told him as how I saw the whole villainy done 
 through a chink ; and now, if I have not been 
 and told you I " 
 
 " Oh, cruel 1 cruel ! But he lives. The fear 
 of fears is gone. Thank God I " 
 
 " Ay, lass ; and as for thine enemies, I have 
 given them a dig. For yon friar is friendly to 
 Gerard, and he is gone to Eli's house, methinks. 
 For I told him where to find Gerard's enemies 
 and thine, and wow but he will give them their 
 lesson. If ever a man was mad with rage, its 
 yon. He turned black and white, and parted 
 like a stone from a sling. Girl, there was 
 thunder in his eye and silence on his lips. 
 Made me cold a did." 
 
 "Oh, Jorian, what have you done 7" cried 
 Margaret. "Quick! quick! help me thither, 
 for the power is gone all out of my body. You 
 know him not as I do. Oh, if you had seen 
 the blow he gave Ghysbrecht ; and heard the 
 frightful crash ! Come, save him from worse 
 mischief. The water is deep enow ; but not 
 bloody yet ; come ! " 
 
 Her accents were so full of agony that Jorian 
 sprang out of the grave and came with her, 
 huddling on his jerkin as he went. 
 
 But as they hurried along, he asked her what 
 on earth she meant ? "I talk of this friar, and 
 you answer me of Gerard." 
 
 " Man, see you not, this is Gerard 1 " 
 
 " This, Gerard 7 what mean ye 1 " 
 
 "I mean, yon friar is my boy's father. I 
 have waited for him long, Jorian. Well, he is 
 come to me at last. And thank God for it. 
 Oh, my poor child ! Quicker, Jorian, quicker ! " 
 
 " Why, thou art mad as he. Stay ! By St. 
 Bavon, yon was Gerard's face ; 'twas nought 
 like it ; yet somehow 'twas it. Come on I 
 come on ! let me see the end of this." 
 
 "The end? How many of us will live to 
 see that 7" 
 
 They hurried along in breathless silence, till 
 they reached Hoog Straet. 
 
 Then Jorian tried to reassure her. " You are 
 making your own trouble," said he ; " who says 
 he has gone thither 7 more likely to the con- 
 vent to weep and pray, poor soul. Oh, cursed, 
 cursed villains ! " 
 
 "Did not you tell him where those villains 
 bide?" 
 
 "Ay, that I did." 
 
 " Then quicker, oh, Jorian, quicker. I see the 
 house, Thank God and all the saints, I shall 
 
 be in time to calm him. I know what I'll say 
 to him ; Heaven forgive me I Poor Catherine ; 
 'tis of her I think : she has been a mother 
 to me." 
 
 The shop was a corner house, with two doors , 
 one in the main street, for customers, and a 
 house-door round the corner. 
 
 Margaret and Jorian were now within twenty 
 yards of the shop, when they heard a roar in- 
 side, like as of some wild animal, and the friar 
 burst out, white and raging, and went tearing 
 down the street. 
 
 Margaret screamed, and sank fainting on 
 Jorian's arm. 
 
 Jorian shouted after him, " Stay, madman, 
 know thy friends." 
 
 But he was deaf, and went headlong, shaking 
 his clenched fists high, high in the air. 
 
 "Help me in, good Jorian," moaned Mar- 
 garet, turning suddenly calm. " Let me know 
 the worst ; and die." 
 
 He supported her trembling limbs into the 
 house. 
 
 It seemed unnaturally still ; not a sound. 
 
 Jorian's own heart beat fast. 
 
 A door was before him, unlatched. He 
 pushed it softly with his left hand, and Mar- 
 garet and he stood on the threshold. 
 
 What they saw there you shall soon know. 
 
 CHAPTER XO. 
 
 IT was sapper-time. Eli's family were collected 
 round the board ; Margaret only was missing. 
 To Catherine's surprise, Eli said he would wait 
 a bit for her. 
 
 "Why, I told her you would not wait for 
 the Duke." 
 
 " She is not the Duke : she is a poor, good 
 lass, that hath waited not minutes, but years, 
 for a graceless son of mine. You can put the 
 meat on the board all the same ; then we can 
 fall to, without further loss o' time, when she 
 does come." 
 
 The smoking dishes smelt so savoury that 
 Eli gave way. "She will come if we begin," 
 said he ; " they always do. Come, sit ye down, 
 Mistress Joan ; y'are not here for a slave, I 
 trow, but a guest. There, I hear a quick step 
 off covers, and fall to." 
 
 The covers were withdrawn, and the knives 
 brandished. Then burst into the room, not the 
 expected Margaret, but a Dominican friar, livid 
 with rage. 
 
 He was at the table in a moment, in front 
 of Cornelis and Sybrandt, threw his tall body 
 over the narrow table, and with two hands 
 hovering above their shrinking heads, like 
 eagles over a quarry, he cursed them by name, 
 soul and body, in this world and the next. It 
 was an age eloquent in curses ; and this curse 
 was so full, so minute, so blighting, blasting, 
 withering, and tremendous, that I am afraid 
 to put all the words on paper. "Cursed be 
 the lips," he shrieked, "which spoke the lie 
 that Margaret was dead ; may they rot before 
 the grave, and kiss white-hot iron in hell there-
 
 244 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 after ; doubly cursed be the hands that changed 
 those letters, and be they struck off by the 
 hangman's knife, and handle hell fire for ever ; 
 thrice accursed be the cruel hearts that did 
 conceive that damned lie, to part true love 
 for ever ; may they sicken and wither on earth 
 joyless, loveless, hopeless ; and wither to dust 
 be'fore their time ; and burn in eternal fire." 
 He cursed the meat at their mouths and every 
 atom of their bodies, from their hair to the 
 soles of their feet Then turning from the 
 cowering, shuddering pair, who had almost hid 
 themselves beneath the table, he tore a letter 
 out of his bosom, and flung it down before his 
 father. 
 
 "Kead that, thou hard old man, that didst 
 imprison thy son, read, and see what monsters 
 thou hast brought into the world. The memory 
 of my wrongs and hers dwell with you all for 
 ever 1 I will meet you again at the judgment 
 day ; on earth ye will never see me more." 
 
 And in a moment, as he had come, so he was 
 gone, leaving them stiff, and cold, and white as 
 statues round the smoking board. 
 
 And this was the sight that greeted Mar- 
 garet's eyes and Jorian's pale figures of men 
 and women petrified around the untasted food, 
 as Eastern poets feigned. 
 
 Margaret glanced her eye round, and gasped 
 out, " Oh, joy 1 all here ; no blood hath been 
 shed. Oh, you cruel, cruel men 1 I thank 
 God he hath not slain you." 
 
 At sight of her Catherine gave an eloquent 
 scream ; then turned her head away. But Eli, 
 who had just cast his eye over the false letter, 
 and begun to understand it all, seeing the other 
 victim come in at that very moment with her 
 wrongs reflected in her sweet, pale face, started 
 to his feet in a transport of rage, and shouted, 
 "Stand clear, and let me get at the traitors. 
 I'll hang for them." And in a moment he 
 whipped out his short sword, and fell upon 
 them. 
 
 " Fly 1 " screamed Margaret. " Fly I " 
 
 They slipped howling under the table, and 
 crawled out the other side. 
 
 But ere they could get to the door, the 
 furious old man ran round and intercepted 
 them. Catherine only screamed and wrung 
 her hands ; your notables are generally useless 
 at such a time ; and blood would certainly have 
 flowed, but Margaret and Jorian seized the 
 fiery old man's arms, and held them with all 
 their might, whilst the pair got clear of the 
 house ; then they let him go ; and he went 
 vainly raging after them out into the street. 
 
 They were a furlong off, running like hares. 
 
 He hacked down the board on which their 
 names were written, and brought it indoors 
 and flung it into the chimney-place. 
 
 Catherine was sitting rocking herself with 
 her apron over her head. Joan had run to 
 her husband. Margaret had her arms round 
 Catherine's neck ; and pale and panting, was 
 yet making efforts to comfort her. 
 
 But it was not to be done. " Oh, my poor 
 children I " she cried. " Oh, miserable mother 1 
 Tis a mercy Kate was ill upstairs. There, I 
 h*v lived V) thank God for tbat ! " she cried 
 
 with a fresh burst of sobs. "It would have 
 killed her. He had better have stayed in Italy, 
 as come home to curse his own flesh and blood 
 and set us all by the ears." 
 
 "Oh, hold your chat, woman," cried Eli 
 angrily ; " you are still on the side of the ill- 
 doer. You are cheap served ; your weakness 
 made the rogues what they are ; I was for 
 correcting them in their youth: for sore ills, 
 sharp remedies ; but you still sided with their 
 faults, and undermined me, and baflled wise 
 severity. And yon, Margaret, leave comfort- 
 ing her that ought rather to comfort you ; for 
 what is her hurt to yours ? But she never had 
 a grain of justice under her skin ; and never 
 wilL So come thou to me, that arn thy father 
 from this hour." 
 
 This was a command ; so she kissed Catherine, 
 and went tottering to him, and he put her on 
 a chair beside him, and she laid her feeble 
 head on his honest breast ; but not a tear : it 
 was too deep for that. 
 
 " Poor lamb," said he. After awhile " Come, 
 good folks," said true Eli, in a broken voice, 
 to Jorian and Joan, " we are in a little trouble, 
 as you see ; but that is no reason you should 
 starve. For our Lady's sake, fall to ; and add 
 not to my grief the reputation of a churL 
 What the dickens 1 " added he, with a sudden 
 ghastly attempt at stout-heartedness, " the 
 more knaves I have the luck to get shut of, 
 the more my need of true men and women, 
 to help me clear the dish, and cheer mine eye 
 with honest faces about me where else were 
 gaps. Fall to, I do entreat ye." 
 
 Catherine, sobbing, backed his request. Poor, 
 simple, antique, hospitable souls 1 Jorian, whose 
 appetite, especially since his illness, was very 
 keen, was for acting on this hospitable invita- 
 tion ; but Joan whispered a word in his ear, 
 and he instantly drew back. "Nay, I'll touch 
 no meat that Holy Church hath cursed." 
 
 "In sooth, I forgot," said Eli apologetically. 
 "My son, who was reared at my table, bath 
 cursed my victuals. That seems strange. Well, 
 what God wills, man must bow to." 
 
 Jorian took his wife home, and heavy sadness 
 reigned in Eli's house that night. 
 
 Meantime, where was Clement ? 
 
 Lying at full length upon the floor of the 
 convent church, with his lips upon the lowest 
 step of the altar, in an indescribable state of 
 terror, misery, penitence, and self-abasement : 
 through all which struggled gleams of joy that 
 Margaret was alive. 
 
 Night fell and found him lying there weep- 
 ing and praying ; and morning would have 
 found him there too ; but he suddenly remem- 
 bered that, absorbed in his own wrongs and 
 Margaret's, he had committed another sin 
 besides intemperate rage. He had neglected 
 a di' 
 
 o rose instantly, groaning at his accumu- 
 lated wickedness, and set out to repair the 
 omission. The weather had changed; it was 
 raining hard, and when he got clear of tho 
 town, he heard the wolves baying ; they were 
 on the foot. But Clement was himself again, 
 or nea/lj ; be thought little oj danger or dis*
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 24$ 
 
 comfort, having & shameful omission of re- 
 ligious duty to repair : he went stoutly forward 
 through rain and darkness. 
 
 And as he went, he often beat his breast, 
 and cried, " Mea culpa I Mea culpa I " 
 
 CHAPTER XCI. 
 
 WiiAT that sensitive mind, and tender con- 
 science, and loving heart, and religious soul, 
 went through even in a few hours, under a 
 situation so sudden and tremendous, is per- 
 haps beyond the power of words to paint. 
 
 Fancy yourself the man ; and then put your- 
 self in his place ! 
 
 Were I to write a volume on it, we should 
 have to come to that at last. 
 
 I shall relate his next two overt acts. They 
 indicate his state of mind after the first fierce 
 tempest of the soul had subsided. 
 
 After spending the night with the dying 
 hermit in giving and receiving holy consola- 
 tions, he set out not for Rotterdam, but for 
 Tergou. He went there to confront his fatal 
 enemy the burgomaster, and by means of that 
 parchment, whose historf by-the-by was itself 
 a romance, to make him disgorge ; and give 
 Margaret her own. 
 
 Heated and dusty, he stopped at the fountain, 
 and there began to eat his black bread and 
 drink of the water. But in the middle of his 
 frugal meal a female servant came running, 
 and begged him to come and shrive her dying 
 master. He returned the bread to his wallet, 
 and followed her without a word. 
 
 She took him to the Stadthouse. 
 
 He drew back with a little shudder when he 
 saw her go in. 
 
 But he almost instantly recovered himself, 
 and followed her into the house, and up the 
 stairs. And there in bed, propped up by 
 pillows, lay his deadly enemy, looking already 
 like a corpse. 
 
 Clement eyed him a moment from the door, 
 and thought of all the tower, the wood, the 
 letter. Then he said in a low voice, "Pax 
 vobiscum ! " He trembled a little while he 
 said it. 
 
 The sick man welcomed him as eagerly as 
 his weak state permitted. " Thank Heaven, 
 thou art come in time to absolve me from my 
 sins, father, and pray for my soul, thou and 
 thy brethren." 
 
 "My son," said Clement, "before absolution 
 cometh confession. In which act there must 
 be no reservation, as thou valuest thy soul's 
 weal. Bethink thee, therefore, wherein thon 
 hast most offended God and the Church, while 
 I offer up a prayer for wisdom to direct thee." 
 
 Clement then kneeled and prayed ; and when 
 he rose from his knees, he said to Ghysbrecht, 
 with apparent calmness, ' ' My son, confess thy 
 sins." 
 
 " Ah, father," said the sick man, " they are 
 many and great." 
 
 " Great, then, be thy penitence, my son ; 
 so shalt thou find God's mercy great." 
 
 Ghysbrecht put his hands together, and 
 began to confess with every appearance of 
 contrition. 
 
 He owned he had eaten meat in mid-Lent. 
 He had often absented himself from mass on 
 the Lord's day, and saints' days ; and had 
 trifled with other religious observances, which 
 he enumerated with scrupulous fidelity. 
 
 When he had done, the friar said quietly, 
 '"Tis well, my son. These be faults. Now to 
 thy crimes. Thou hadst done better to begin 
 with them." 
 
 " Why, father, what crimes lie to my account 
 if these be none ? " 
 
 " Am I confessing to thee, or thou to me 7 " 
 said Clement somewhat severely. 
 
 " Forgive me, father ! Why, surely, I to 
 you. But I know not what you call crimes." 
 
 "The seven deadly sins, art thou clear of 
 them ? " 
 
 " Heaven forefend I should be guilty of them. 
 I know them not by name." 
 
 " Many do them all that cannot name them. 
 Begin with that one which leads to lying, theft, 
 and murder." 
 
 " I am quit of that one, anyway. How call 
 you it ? " 
 
 " Avarice, my son." 
 
 ' ' Avarice ? Oh, as to that, I have been a 
 saving man all my day ; but I have kept a 
 good table, and not altogether forgotten the 
 poor. But, alas, I am a great sinner. May- 
 hap the next will catch me. What is the 
 next ? " 
 
 " We have not yet done with this one. Be- 
 think thee, the Church is not to be trifled 
 with. " 
 
 " Alas I am I in a condition to trifle with her 
 now ? Avarice ? Avarice ? " 
 
 He looked puzzled and innocent. 
 
 " Hast thou ever robbed the fatherless ? " 
 inquired the friar. 
 
 " Me ? robbed the fatherless ? " gasped Ghys- 
 brecht ; " not that I mind." 
 
 " Once more, my son, I am forced to tell thee 
 thou art trifling with the Church. Miserable 
 man ! another evasion, and I leave thee, and 
 fiends will straightway gather round thy bed, 
 and tear thee down to the bottomless pit." 
 
 "Oh, leave me not 1 leave me not 1 " shrieked 
 the terrified old man. " The Church knows all. 
 I must have robbed the fatherless. I will con- 
 fess. Who shall I begin with? My memory 
 for names is shaken." 
 
 The defence was skilful, but in this case 
 failed. 
 
 " Hast thou forgotten Floris Brandt ? " said 
 Clement stonily. 
 
 The sick man reared himself in bed in a 
 pitiable state of terror. 
 
 " How knew you that 7 " said he. 
 
 " The Church knows many things," said 
 Clement coldly, "and by many ways that are 
 dark to thee. Miserable impenitent, you called 
 her to your side, hoping to deceive her. You 
 said, ' I will not confess to the cure\ but to 
 some friar who knows not my misdeeds. So 
 will I cheat the Church on my deathbed, and 
 die as I have lived.' But God, kinder to thee 
 than thou art to thyself, sent to thee one whom
 
 146 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THB HEARTH. 
 
 thou couldst not deceive. He has tried thee ; 
 He was patient with thee, and warned thee 
 not to trifle with Holy Church; bat all is in 
 vain ; tbou canst not confess ; for thou art im- 
 penitent as a stone. Die, then, as thou hast 
 lived. Methinks I see the fiends crowding 
 round the bed for their prey. They wait but 
 for me to go. And I go." 
 
 He turned his back ; but Ghysbrecht, in ex- 
 tremity of terror, caught him by the frock. 
 "Oh, holy man, mercy 1 stay. I will confess 
 all, all I robbed my friend Floris. Alas 1 
 would it had ended there ; for he lost little by 
 me ; but I kept the land from Peter his son, 
 and from Margaret, Peter's daughter. Yet I 
 was always going to give it back ; but I couldn't, 
 I couldn't" 
 
 " Avarice, my son, avarice. Happy for thee 
 'tis not too late." 
 
 " No ; I will leave it her by will She will 
 not have long to wait for it now ; not above a 
 month or two at farthest." 
 
 " For which month's possession thou wouldst 
 damn thy soul for ever. Thou fool I " 
 
 The sick man groaned, and prayed the friar 
 to be reasonable. The friar firmly, but gently 
 and persuasively, persisted, and with infinite 
 patience detached the dying man's gripe from 
 another's property. There were times when 
 his patience was tried, and he was on the 
 point of thrusting his hand into his bosom 
 and producing the deed, which he had brought 
 for that purpose ; but after yesterday's outbreak 
 he waa on his guard against choler ; and to 
 conclude, ho conquered his impatience ; he 
 conquered a personal repugnance to the man, 
 so strong as to make his own flesh creep all the 
 time he was struggling with this miser for his 
 soul ; and at last, without a word about the 
 deed, he won upon him to make full and 
 prompt restitution. 
 
 How the restitution was made will be briefly 
 related elsewhere : also certain curious effects 
 produced upon Ghysbrecht by it; and when 
 and on what terms Ghysbrecht and Clement 
 parted. 
 
 I promised to relate two acts of the latter, 
 indicative of his mind. 
 
 This is one. The other is told in two words. 
 
 As soon aa he was quite sure Margaret had 
 her own, and was a rich woman 
 
 He disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XCII. 
 
 IT wa the day after that terrible scene : the 
 little house in the Hoog Straet was like a grave, 
 and none more listless and dejected than Cathe- 
 rine, so busy and sprightly by nature. After 
 dinner, her eyes red with weeping, she went to 
 the convent to try and soften Gerard, and lay the 
 first stone at least of a reconciliation. It was 
 some time before she could make the porter 
 understand whom she was seeking. Eventually 
 be learned he had left late last night, and was 
 not expected back. She went sighing with the 
 news to Margaret. She found her sitting idle 
 
 like one with whom life had lost its savour ; she 
 had her boy clasped so tight in her arms, as if he 
 was all she had left, and she feared some one 
 would take him too. Catherine begged her to 
 come to the Hoog Straet. 
 
 " What for ? " sighed Margaret. " You cannot 
 but say to yourselves, she is the cause of all." 
 
 "Nay, nay," said Catherine, " we are not so 
 ill-hearted, and Eli is so fond on you ; yon will 
 maybe soften him." 
 
 " Oh, if you think I can do any good, I'll 
 come," said Margaret, with a weary sigh. 
 
 They found Eli and a carpenter putting 
 up another name in place of Cornells and 
 Sybrandt's ; and what should that name be 
 but Margaret Brandt's. 
 
 With all her affection for Margaret, this went 
 through poor Catherine like a knife. "The 
 bane of one is another's meat," said she. 
 
 " Can he make me spend the money unj ustly ? " 
 replied Margaret coldly. 
 
 " You are a good soul," said Catherine. " Ay, 
 so best, sith he is the strongest." 
 
 The next day Giles dropped in, and Catherine 
 told the story all in favour of the black sheep, 
 and invited his pity for them, anathematised 
 by their brother, and turned on the wide world 
 by their father. But Giles's prejudices ran the 
 other way ; he heard, her out, and told her 
 bluntly the knaves had got off cheap ; they 
 deserved to be hanged at Margaret's door into 
 the bargain, and dismissing them with con- 
 tempt, crowed with delight at the return of his 
 favourite, " I'll show him," said he, " what 'tis 
 to have a brother at court with a heart to serve 
 a friend, and a head to point the way." 
 
 "Bless thee, Giles," murmured Margaret 
 softly. 
 
 " Thou wast ever his stanch friend, dear 
 Giles," said little Kate ; "but alack, I know 
 not what thou canst do for him now." 
 
 Giles had left them, and all was sad and 
 silent again, when a well-dressed man opened 
 the door softly, and asked was Margaret Brandt 
 here. 
 
 "D'ye hear, lass? You are wanted," said 
 Catherine briskly. In her the Gossip was 
 indestructible. 
 
 "Well, mother," said Margaret listlessly, 
 " and here I am." 
 
 A shuffling of feet was heard at the door, and 
 a colourless, feeble old man was assisted into 
 the room. It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten. 
 At sight of him Catherine shrieked, and threw 
 her apron over her head, and Margaret shud- 
 dered violently, and turned her head swiftly 
 away, not to see him. 
 
 A feeble voice issued from the strange victor's 
 lips, " Good people, a dying man hath come to 
 ask your forgiveness." 
 
 "Come to look on your work, yon mean," 
 said Catherine, taking down her apron and 
 bursting out sobbing. "There, there, she is 
 fainting; look to her, Eli, quick." 
 
 "Nay," said Margaret, in a feeble voice, 
 " the sight of him gave me a turn, that is all. 
 Prithee, let him say his say, and go ; for he is 
 the murtherer of me and mine." 
 
 "Alas," said Ghysbrecht, " I am too feeble to 
 say it standing, and no one biddeth me sit down."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 847 
 
 Eli, who had followed him into the house, 
 interfered here, and said, half sullenly, half 
 apologetically, " Well, burgomaster, 'tis not our 
 wont to leave a visitor standing whiles we 
 Bit. But man, man, you have wrought us too 
 much ill." And the honest fellow's voice began 
 to shake with anger he fought hard to contain, 
 because it was his own house. 
 
 Then Ghysbrecht found an advocate in one 
 who seldom spoke in vain in that family, 
 
 It was little Kate. " Father, mother," said 
 she, "my duty to you, but this is not well. 
 Death squares all accounts. And see you not 
 death in his face ? I shall not live long, good 
 friends ; and his time is shorter than mine." 
 
 Eli made haste and set a chair for their 
 dying enemy with his own hands. Ghys- 
 brecht's attendants put him into it. " Go 
 fetch the boxes," said he. They brought in 
 two boxes, and then retired, leaving their 
 master alone in the family he had so cruelly 
 injured. 
 
 Every eye was now bent on him, except 
 Margaret's. He undid the boxes with unsteady 
 fingers, and brought out of one the title-deeds 
 of a property at Tergou. " This land and 
 these houses belonged to Floris Brandt, and 
 do belong to thee of right, his granddaughter. 
 These I did usurp for a debt long since de- 
 frayed with interest. These I now restore 
 their rightful owner with penitent tears. In 
 this other box are three hundred and forty 
 golden angels, being the rent and fines I 
 have received from that land more than Floris 
 Brandt's debt to me. I have kept compt, still 
 meaning to be just one day ; but Avarice 
 withheld me. Pray, good people, against 
 temptation 1 I was not born dishonest : yet 
 you see." 
 
 " Well, to be sure 1 " cried Catherine. " And 
 you the burgomaster ! Hast whipt good store 
 of thieves in thy day. However," said she, on 
 second thoughts, "'tis better late than never. 
 What, Margaret, art deaf? The good man 
 hath brought thee back thine own. Art a rich 
 woman. Alack, what a mountain o' gold 1 " 
 
 "Bid him keep land and gold, and give me 
 back my Gerard, that he stole from me with 
 his treason," said Margaret, with her head 
 still averted. 
 
 "Alas! "said Ghysbrecht, "would I could. 
 What I can I have done. Is it nought? It 
 cost me a sore struggle ; and I rose from my 
 last bed to do it myself, lest some mischance 
 should come between her and her rights." 
 
 " Old man, ' said Margaret, " since thou, whose 
 idol is pelf, hast done this, God and the saints 
 will, as I hope, forgive thee. As for me, I am 
 neither saint nor angel, but only a poor woman, 
 whoso heart thou hast broken. Speak to him, 
 Kate, for I am like the dead." 
 
 Kate meditated a little while ; and then her 
 soft silvery voice fell like a soothing melody 
 upon the air. " My poor sister hath a sor- 
 row that riches cannot heaL Give her time, 
 Ghysbrecht ; 'tis not in nature she should for- 
 give thee all Her boy is fatherless ; and she 
 is neither maid, wife, nor widow ; and the blow 
 fell but two (lays syne, that laid her heart a 
 bleeding." 
 
 A single heavy sob from Margaret was the 
 comment to these words. 
 
 'Therefore, give her tune I And ere thou 
 diest, she will forgive thee all, ay, even to 
 pleasure me, that haply shall not be long be- 
 hind thee, Ghysbrecht. Meantime, we, whose 
 wounds be sore, but not so deep as hers, do 
 pardon thee, a penitent and a dying man ; and 
 I, for one, will pray for thee from this hour ; 
 go in peace 1 " 
 
 Their little oracle had spoken ; it was enough. 
 Eli even invited him to break a manchet and 
 drink a stoup of wine to give him heart for his 
 journey. 
 
 But Ghysbrecht declined, and said what he 
 had done was a cordial to him. " Man seeth 
 but a little way before him, neighbour. This 
 land I clung so to it was a bed of nettles to me 
 all the time. 'Tis gone ; and I feel happier 
 and livelier like for the loss on't." 
 
 He called his men, and they lifted him into 
 the litter. 
 
 When he was gone Catherine gloated over 
 the money. She had never seen so much to- 
 gether, and was almost angry with Margaret, 
 for " sitting out there like an image." And she 
 dilated on the advantages of money. 
 
 And she teased Margaret till at last she 
 prevailed on her to come and look at it. 
 
 "Better let her be, mother," said Kate. 
 "How can she relish gold, with a heart in her 
 bosom liker lead ? " But Catherine persisted. 
 
 The result was, Margaret looked down at all 
 her wealth with wondering eyes. Then sud- 
 denly wrung her hands and cried with piercing 
 anguish, " Too late 1 Too late ! " And shook off 
 her leaden despondency, only to go into strong 
 hysterics over the wealth that came too late to 
 be shared with him she loved. 
 
 A little of this gold, a portion of this land, a 
 year or two ago, when it was as much her own 
 as now ; and Gerard would have never left her 
 side for Italy or any other place. 
 
 Too late I Too late ! 
 
 CHAPTER XCIII. 
 
 NOT many days after this came the news that 
 Margaret Van Eyck was dead and buried. 
 By a will she had made a year before, she left 
 all her property, after her funeral expenses and 
 certain presents to Reicht Heynes, to her dear 
 daughter Margaret Brandt, requesting her to 
 keep Reicht as long as unmarried. By this 
 will Margaret inherited a furnished house, and 
 pictures and sketches that in the present day 
 would be a fortune : among the pictures was 
 one she valued more than a gallery of others. 
 It represented "A Betrothal." The solemnity 
 of the ceremony was marked in the grave face 
 of the man, and the demure complacency of 
 the woman. She was painted almost entirely 
 by Margaret Van Eyck, but the rest of the 
 picture by Jan. The accessories were ex- 
 quisitely finished, and remain a marvel of skill 
 to this day. Margaret Brandt sent word to 
 Reicht to stay in the house till such time as
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 she could find the heart to put foot In it, and 
 miss the face and voice that used to meet her 
 there ; and to take special care of the picture 
 " in the little cubboord : " meaning the diptych. 
 
 The next thing was, Luke Peterson came 
 home, and heard that Gerard was a monk. 
 
 He was like to go mad with joy. He came 
 to Margaret, and said 
 
 " Never heed, mistress. If he cannot marry 
 yon I can." 
 
 " You ? " said Margaret " Why, I have seen 
 him." 
 
 " But he is a friar." 
 
 " He was my husband, and my boy's father 
 long ere he was a friar. And I have seen him. 
 I've teen him." 
 
 Luke was thoroughly puzzled. " I'll tell yon 
 what," said he ; "I have got a cousin a lawyer. 
 I'll go and ask him whether you are married 
 or single." 
 
 " Nay, I shall ask my own heart, not a lawyer. 
 So that is your regard for me; to go making 
 me the town talk, oh, fie ! " 
 
 " That is done already without a word from 
 me." 
 
 " But not by such as seek my respect. And 
 If you do it, never come nigh me again." 
 
 "Ay," said Luke, with a sigh, " you are like 
 a dove to all the rest; but you are a hard- 
 hearted tyrant to me." 
 
 " 'Tis your own fault, dear Luke, for wooing me. 
 That is what lets me from being as kind to you 
 as I desire. Luke, my bonny lad, listen to me. 
 I am rich now ; I can make my friends happy, 
 though not myself. Look round the street, look 
 round the parish. There is many a quean in it 
 fairer than I twice told, and not spoiled with 
 weeping. Look high ; and take your choice. 
 Speak you to the lass herself, and I'll speak to 
 the mother ; they shall not say thee nay ; take 
 my word for't." 
 
 " I see what ye mean," said Luke, turning very 
 red. " But if I can't have your liking, I will 
 none o' your money. I was your servant when 
 yon were poor as I ; and poorer. No ; if yon 
 would liever be a friar's leman than an honest 
 man's wife, you are not the woman I took you 
 for : so part we withouten malice : seek you 
 your comfort on yon road, where never a she 
 did find it yet, and for me, I'll live and die a 
 bachelor. Good even, mistress." 
 
 " Farewell, dear Luke ; and God forgive you 
 for saying thai to me." 
 
 For some days Margaret dreaded, almost as 
 much as she desired, the coming interview with 
 Gerard. She said to herself, " I wonder not he 
 keeps away a while ; for so should I." How- 
 ever, he would hear he was a father ; and the 
 desire to see their boy would overcome every- 
 thing. " And," said the poor girl to herself, 
 " If o be that meeting does not kill me I feel 
 I shall be better after it than I am now." 
 
 But when day after day went by, and he was 
 not heard of, a freezing suspicion began to crawl 
 and creep towards her mind. What if his ab- 
 sence was intentional 7 What if he had gone 
 to some cold-blooded monks his fellows, and 
 they had told him never to see her more T The 
 convent had ere this shown itself as merciless 
 to true lovers as the grave itself. 
 
 At this thought the very life seemed to die 
 out of her. 
 
 And now for the first time deep indignation 
 mingled at times with her grief and apprehen- 
 sion. "Can he have ever loved me? To run 
 trom me and his boy without a word I Why, 
 ;his poor Luke thinks more of me than he 
 does." 
 
 While her mind was in this state, Giles came 
 roaring. " I've hit the clout ; our Gerard is 
 Vicar of Gouda," 
 
 A very brief sketch of the dwarf's court life 
 will suffice to prepare the reader for his own 
 account of this feat. Some months before he 
 went to court his intelligence had budded. 
 He himself dated the change from a certain 
 8th of June, when, swinging by one hand along 
 ith the week's washing on a tight rope in the 
 drying ground, something went crack inside 
 his head ; and lo I intellectual powers unchained. 
 At court his shrewdness and bluntness of speech, 
 coupled with his gigantic voice and his small 
 stature, made him a Power: without the last 
 tern I fear they would have conducted him to 
 that unpopular gymnasium, the gallows. The 
 young Duchess of Burgundy, and Marie the 
 heiress apparent, both petted him, as great 
 ladies have petted dwarfs in all ages ; and the 
 court poet melted butter by the six-foot rule, 
 and poured enough of it down his back to stew 
 Goliah in. He even amplified, versified, and 
 enfeebled certain rough and ready sentences 
 dictated by Giles. 
 
 The centipedal prolixity that resulted went to 
 Eli by letter, thus entitled 
 
 " The high and puissant Princess Mario 
 of Bourgogne her lytel jantilman hy 
 complaynt of y Coort, and 
 
 praise of a rusticall lyfe, versiflcated, and empapyred 
 by me the lytel jantilman's right lovynge 
 and obsequious servitor, etc." 
 
 But the dwarf reached his climax by a happy 
 mixture of mind and muscle ; thus : 
 
 The day before a grand court joust he chal- 
 lenged the Duke's giant to a trial of strength. 
 This challenge made the gravest grin, and 
 aroused expectation. 
 
 Giles had a lofty pole planted ready, and at 
 the appointed hour went up it like a squirrel, 
 and by strength of arm made a right angle with 
 his body, and so remained : then slid down so 
 quickly, that the high and puissant princess 
 squeaked, and hid her face in her hands, not to 
 see the demise of her pocket Hercules. 
 
 The giant effected only about ten feet, then 
 looked ruefully up and ruefully down, and 
 descended, bathed in perspiration, to argue 
 the matter. 
 
 " It was not the dwarf's greater strength, but 
 his smaller body." 
 
 The spectators received this excuse with loud 
 derision. There was the fact, the dwarf was 
 great at mounting a pole : the giant only great 
 at excuses. In short Giles had gauged their 
 intellects : with his own body no doubt. 
 
 "Come," said he, "an* ye go to that, I'll 
 wrestle ye, my lad, if so be you will let me 
 blindfold your eyae,"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 249 
 
 The giant, smarting under defeat, and think- 
 ing he could surely recover it by this means, 
 readily consented. 
 
 "Madam," said Giles, "see you yon blind 
 Samson ? At a signal from me he shall make 
 me a low obeisance, and unbonnet to me." 
 
 "How may that be, being blinded I" in- 
 quired a maid of honour. 
 
 "That is my affair." 
 
 "I'll wager on Giles for one," said the 
 princess. 
 
 When several wagers were laid pro and con, 
 Giles hit the giant in the bread-basket. He went 
 double (the obeisance), and his bonnet fell off. 
 
 The company yelled with delight at this 
 delicate stroke of wit, and Giles took to his 
 heels. The giant followed as soon as he could 
 recover his breath and tear off his bandage. 
 But it was too late ; Giles had prepared a little 
 door in the wall, through which he could pass, 
 but not a giant, and had coloured it so artfully, 
 it looked like wall ; this door he tore open, and 
 went headlong through, leaving no vestige but 
 this posy, written very large upon the reverse 
 of his trick door 
 
 Hong limbs, big bo&g, Scanting Wt, 
 5 torr ant) Seise is bet ant) bit. 
 
 After this Giles became a Force. 
 
 He shall now speak for himself. 
 
 Finding Margaret unable to believe the good 
 news, and sceptical as to the affairs of Holy 
 Church being administered by dwarfs, he nar- 
 rated as follows : 
 
 " When the princess sent for me to her bed- 
 room as of custom to keep her out of languor, 
 I came not mirthful nor full of country diets, 
 as is my wont, but dull as lead. 
 
 " ' Why, what aileth thee ? ' quo' she. ' Art 
 sick!' 'At heart,' quo' I. 'Alas, he is in 
 love,' quo* she. Whereat five brazen hussies, 
 which they call them maids of honour, did 
 giggle loud. ' Not so mad as that,' said I, 
 ' seeing what I see at court of women folk.' 
 
 " ' There, ladies,' quo' the princess, ' best let 
 him a be. 'Tis a liberal mannikin, and still 
 giveth more than he taketh of saucy words." 
 
 " ' In all sadness,' quo' she, ' what is the 
 matter ? ' 
 
 " I told her I was meditating, and what per- 
 plexed me was, that other folk could now and 
 then keep their word, but princes never. 
 
 " ' Heyday,' says she, ' thy shafts fly high this 
 morn.' I told her, ' Ay, for they hit the Truth. 1 
 
 "She said I was as keen as keen ; but it be- 
 came not me to put riddles to her, nor her to 
 answer them. ' Stand aloof a bit, mesdames,' 
 said she, ' and thou speak withouten fear ; ' for 
 she saw I was in sad earnest. 
 
 "I began to quake a bit, for mind ye, she 
 can doff "freedom and don dignity quicker than 
 she can slip out of her dressing-gown into 
 kirtle of state. But I made my voice so soft 
 as honey (wherefore smilest ?), and I said, 
 'Madam, one evening, a matter of five years 
 agone, as ye sat with your mother, the Coun- 
 tess of Charolois, who is now in heaven, worse 
 luck, you wi' your lute, and she wi' her tapestry, 
 or the like, do ye mind there came into ye a 
 
 fair youth with a letter from a painter body, 
 one Margaret Van Eyck ? " 
 
 " She said she thought she did. ' Was it not 
 a tall youth, exceeding comely ! ' 
 
 " 'Ay, madam,' said I ; ' he was my brother.' 
 
 " ' Your brother ? ' said she, and did eye me 
 like all over. (What dost smile at ?) 
 
 " So I told her all that passed between her 
 and Gerard, and how she was for giving him a 
 bishopric ; but the good countess said, ' Gently, 
 Marie 1 he is too young ; ' and with that they 
 did both promise him a living : ' Yet,' said I, 
 ' he hath been a priest a long while, and no 
 living. Hence my bile.' 
 
 " ' Alas I ' said she, ' 'tis not by my good will ; 
 for all this thou hast said is sooth, and more. 
 I do remember my dear mother said to me, 
 " See thou to it if I be not here." ' So then she 
 cried out, ' Ay, dear mother, no word of thine 
 shall ever fall to the ground.' 
 
 " I, seeing her so ripe, said quickly, ' Madam, 
 the Vicar of Gouda died last week. ' (For when 
 ye seek favours of the great, behoves ye know 
 the very thing ye aim at.) 
 
 " ' Then thy brother is Vicar of Gouda,' quo 1 
 she, ' so sure as I am heiress of Burgundy and 
 the Netherlands. Nay, thank me not, good 
 Giles,' quo' she, ' but my good mother. And I 
 do thank thee for giving of me somewhat to do 
 for her memory.' And doesn't she fall a weep- 
 ing for her mother ! And doesn't that set me 
 off a-snivelling for my good brother that I love 
 so dear, and to think that a poor little elf like 
 me could yet speak in the ear of princes, and 
 make my beautiful brother Vicar of Gouda ; 
 eh, lass, it is a bonny place, and a bonny manse, 
 and hawthorn in every bush at spring-tide, and 
 dog-roses and eglantine in every summer hedge. 
 I know what the poor fool affects, leave that 
 to me." 
 
 The dwarf began his narrative strutting to 
 and fro before Margaret, but he ended it in 
 her arms ; for she could not contain herself, 
 but caught him, and embraced him warmly. 
 "Oh, Giles," she said, blushing, and kissing 
 him, " I cannot keep my hands off thee, thy 
 body it is so little, and thy heart so great. 
 Thou art his true friend. Bless thee ! bless 
 thee ! bless thee I Now we shall see him 
 again. We have not set eyes on him since 
 that terrible day." 
 
 "Gramercy, but that is strange," said Giles. 
 " Maybe he is ashamed of having cursed those 
 two vagabones, being our own flesh and blood, 
 worse luck." 
 
 "Think you that is why he hides!" said 
 Margaret eagerly. 
 
 "Ay, if he is hiding at all. However, I'll 
 cry him by bell-man." 
 
 " Nay, that might much offend him." 
 
 " What care I ! Is Gouda to go vicarless, 
 and the manse in nettles ! " 
 
 And to Margaret's secret satisfaction, Giles 
 had the new vicar cried in Rotterdam and 
 the neighbouring towns. He easily persuaded 
 Margaret that in a day or two Gerard would 
 be sure to hear, and come to his benefice. She 
 went to look at his manse, and thought how 
 comfortable it might be made for him, and 
 how dearly she should love to do it.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 But the days rolled on, and Gerard came 
 neither to Rotterdam nor Gouda, Giles was mor- 
 tified, Margaret indignant, and very wretched. 
 She said to herself, "Thinking me dead, he 
 comes home, and now, because I am alive, he 
 goes back to Italy, for that is where he has 
 gone." 
 
 Joan advised her to consult the hermit of 
 Gouda. 
 
 " Why, sure he is dead by this time." 
 
 "Yon one, belike. But the cave is never 
 long void ; Gouda ne'er wants a hermit." 
 
 But Margaret declined to go again to Gouda 
 on such an errand. " What can he know, shut 
 up in a cave ? less than I, belike. Gerard hath 
 gone back t' Italy. He hates me for not being 
 dead." 
 
 Presently a Tergovian came in with a word 
 from Catherine that Ghysbrecht Van Swieten 
 had seen Gerard later than any one else. On 
 this Margaret determined to go and see the 
 house and goods that had been left her, and 
 take Reicht Heynes home to Rotterdam. And 
 as may be supposed, her steps took her first to 
 Ghysbrecht's house. She found him in his 
 garden, seated in a chair with wheels. He 
 greeted her with a feeble voice, but cordially ; 
 and when she asked him whether it was true 
 he had seen Gerard since the fifth of August, 
 he replied, " Gerard no more, but Friar Cle- 
 ment. Ay, I saw him ; and blessed be the 
 day he entered my house." 
 
 He then related in his own words his inter- 
 view with Clement. He told her, moreover, that 
 the friar had afterwards acknowledged he came 
 to Tergou with the missing deed in his bosom 
 on purpose to make him disgorge her land; 
 but that finding him disposed towaids peni- 
 tence, he had gone to work the other way. 
 
 "Was not this a saint; who came to right 
 thee, but must needs save his enemy's soul in 
 the doing it I " 
 
 To her question, whether he had recognised 
 him, he said, " I ne'er suspected such a thing. 
 'Twas only when he had been three days with 
 me that he revealed himself. Listen while I 
 peak my shame and his praise. 
 
 "I said to him, ' The land is gone home, and 
 my stomach feels lighter ; but there is another 
 fault that clingeth to me still;' then told I 
 him of the letter I had writ at request of his 
 brethren, I whose place it was to check them. 
 Said I, ' Yon letter was writ to part two lovers 
 and the devil aiding, it hath done the foul 
 work. Land and bouses I can give back, but 
 yon mischief is done for ever.' 'Nay,' quoth 
 he, ' not for ever, but for life. Repent it then 
 while thou livcst' ' I shall,' said I, 'but how 
 can God forgive it! I would not,' said I 
 were I He.' 
 
 "'Yet will He certainly forgive it,' quoth 
 he ; ' for He is ten times more forgiving than 
 I am, and I forgive thee.' I itared at him ; 
 and then he said softly, but quavering like 
 ' Ghysbrecht, look at me closer. I am Gerard 
 the son of Ell' And I looked, and looked, and 
 at last, lo I it was Gerard. Verily I had fallen 
 at his feet with shame and contrition, but he 
 would not suffer me. ' That became not mine 
 years and his, for a particular fault. I eay not 
 
 I forgive thee without a struggle,' said he, 
 ' not being a saint. But these three days thoa 
 hast spent in penitence, I have worn under 
 thy roof in prayer ; and I do forgive thee.' 
 Those were his very words." 
 
 Margaret's tears began to flow, for it was 
 in a broken and contrite voice the old man 
 told her this unexpected trait in her Gerard. 
 He continued, "And even with that he bade 
 me farewell. 
 
 " ' My work here Is done now,' said he. I 
 had not the heart to stay him ; for let him 
 forgive me ever so, the sight of me must be 
 wormwood to him. He left me in peace, and 
 may a dying man's blessing wait on him, go 
 where he will. Oh, girl, when I think of his 
 wrongs, and thine, and how he hath avenged 
 himself by saving this stained soul of mine, my 
 heart is broken with remorse, and these old 
 eyes shed tears by night and day." 
 
 "Ghysbrecht," said Margaret, weeping, "since 
 he hath forgiven thee, I forgive thee too : what 
 is done, is done ; and thou hast let me know 
 this day that which I had walked the world 
 to hear. But oh, burgomaster, thou art an 
 understanding man, now help a poor woman, 
 which hath forgiven thee her misery." 
 
 She then told him all that had befallen. 
 "And," said she, "they will not keep the 
 living for him for ever. He bids fair to lose 
 that, as well as break all our hearts." 
 
 "Call my servant," cried the burgomaster, 
 with sudden vigour. 
 
 He sent him for a table and writing materials, 
 and dictated letters to the burgomasters in all 
 the principal towns in Holland, and one to a 
 Prussian authority, his friend. His clerk and 
 Margaret wrote them, and he signed them. 
 "There," said he, "the matter shall be de- 
 spatched throughout Holland by trusty couriers, 
 and as far as Basle in Switzerland ; and fear 
 not, but we will soon have the Vicar of Gouda 
 to his village." 
 
 She went home animated with fresh hopes, 
 and accusing herself of ingratitude to Gerard. 
 " I value my wealth now," said she. 
 
 She also made a resolution never to blame 
 his conduct till she should hear from his own 
 lips his reason. 
 
 Not long after her return from Tergou a 
 fresh disaster befell Catherine, I must pre- 
 mise, had secret interviews with the black 
 sheep the very day after they were expelled ; 
 and Cornells followed her to Tergou, and lived 
 there on secret contributions, but Sybrandt 
 chose to remain in Rotterdam. Ere Catherine 
 left, she asked Margaret to lend her two gold 
 angels. "For," said she, "all mine are spent." 
 Margaret was delighted to lend them or give 
 them ; but the words were scarce out of her 
 mouth ere she caught a look of regret and 
 distress on Kate's face, and she saw directly 
 whither her money was going. She gave 
 Catherine the money, and went and shut her- 
 self up with her boy. Now this money was to 
 last Sybrandt till his mother could make some 
 good excuse for visiting Rotterdam again, and 
 then she would bring the idle dog some of her 
 own industrious scrapings. 
 But Bybrandt, having gold in his pocket,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 thought it inexhaustible ; and being now under 
 no shadow of restraint, led the life of a com- 
 plete sot ; until one afternoon, in a drunken 
 frolic, he climbed on the roof of the stable at 
 the inn hs was carousing in, and proceeded to 
 walk along it, a feat he had performed many 
 times when sober. But now his unsteady brain 
 mads his legs unsteady, and he rolled down 
 the roof and fell with a loud thwack on to a 
 horizontal paling, where he hung a moment in 
 a semicircle ; then toppled over and lay silent 
 on the ground, amidst roars of laughter from 
 his boon companions. 
 
 When they came to pick him up he could not 
 etand, but fell down giggling at each attempt. 
 
 On this they went staggering and roaring 
 down the street with him, and carried him at 
 great risk of another fall to the shop in the 
 Hoog Straet. For he had babbled his own 
 shame all over the place. 
 
 As soon as he saw Margaret he hiccuped 
 out, "Here is the doctor that cures all hurts, 
 a bonny lass." He also bade her observe he 
 bore her no malice, for he was paying her 
 a visit sore against his will. "Wherefore, 
 prithee send away these drunkards, and let 
 you and me have t'other glass, to drown all 
 unkindness." 
 
 All this time Margaret was pale and red by 
 turns at sight of her enemy and at his insolence ; 
 but one of the men whispered what had hap- 
 pened, and a streaky something in Sybrandt's 
 face arrested her attention. 
 
 " And he cannot stand up, say you ? " 
 
 " A couldn't just now. Try, comrade ! Be a 
 man now 1 " 
 
 "I am a better man than thou," roared 
 Sybrandt. " I'll stand up and fight ye all for 
 a crown." 
 
 He started to his feet, and instantly rolled 
 into his attendant's arms with a piteous groan. 
 He then began to curse his boon companions, 
 End declare they had stolen away his legs. 
 " He could feel nothing below the waist." 
 
 "Alas, poor wretch," said Margaret. She 
 turned very gravely to the men, and said, 
 "Leave him here. And if yon have brought 
 him to this, go on your knees, for you have 
 spoiled him for life. He will never walk again ; 
 1m back is broken." 
 
 The drunken man caught these words, and 
 the foolish look of intoxication fled, and a 
 glare of anguish took its place. " The curse," 
 he groaned ; " the curse 1 " 
 
 Margaret and Reicht Heynes carried him 
 carefully, and laid him on the softest bed. 
 
 " I must do as he would do," whispered Mar- 
 garet. " He was kind to Ghysbrecht." 
 
 Her opinion was verified. Sybrandt's spine 
 was fatally injured ; and he lay groaning and 
 helpless, fed and tended by her he had so 
 deeply injured. 
 
 The news was sent to Tergou, and Catherine 
 came over. 
 
 It was a terrible blow to her. Moreover, 
 ehe accused herself as the cause. " Oh, false 
 wife ; oh, weak mother," she cried. " I am 
 rightly punished for my treason to my poor 
 Kli." 
 
 She sat for hours at a time by his bedside 
 
 rocking herself in silence, and was never 
 quite herself again ; and the first grey hairs 
 began to come in her poor head from that 
 hour. 
 
 As for Sybrandt, all his cry was now for 
 Gerard. He used to whine to Margaret like 
 a suffering hound, " Oh, sweet Margaret, oh, 
 bonny Margaret, for our Lady's sake find 
 Gerard, and bid him take his curse off me. 
 Thou art gentle, thou art good ; thou wiit 
 entreat for me, and he will refuse thee nought." 
 Catherine shared his belief that Gerard could 
 cure him, and joined her entreaties to his. 
 Margaret hardly needed this. The burgo- 
 master and his agents having failed, she 
 employed her own, and spent money like 
 water. And among these agents poor Luke 
 enrolled himself. She met him one day look- 
 ing very thin, and spoke to him compassion- 
 ately. On this he began to blubber, and say 
 " he was more miserable than ever ; he would 
 like to be good friends again upon almost 
 any terms." 
 
 "Dear heart," said Margaret sorrowfully, 
 " why can you not say to yourself, now I am 
 her little brother, and she is my old, married 
 sister, worn down with care ? Say so, and I 
 will indulge thee, and pet thee, and make 
 thee happier than a prince." 
 
 " Well, I will," said Luke savagely, " sooner 
 than keep away from you altogether. But 
 above all give me something to do. Perchance 
 I may have better luck this time." 
 
 " Get me my marriage lines," said Margaret, 
 turning sad and gloomy in a moment. 
 
 " That is as much as to say, get me him I 
 for where they are, he is." 
 
 " Not so. He may refuse to come nigh me ; 
 but certes he will not deny a poor woman, 
 who loved him once, her lines of betrothal 
 How can she go without them into any honest 
 man's house ? " 
 
 " I'll get them you if they are in Holland," 
 said Luke. 
 
 " They are as like to be in Rome," replied 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Let us begin with Holland," observed 
 Luke prudently. 
 
 The slave of love was furnished with money 
 by his soft tyrant, and wandered hither and 
 thither, coopering, and carpentering, and look- 
 ing for Gerard. " I can't be worse if I find 
 the vagabone," said he, " and I may be a hantle 
 better." 
 
 The months rolled on, and Sybrandt im- 
 proved in spirit, but not in body ; he was 
 Margaret's pensioner for life ; and a long- 
 expected sorrow fell upon poor Catherine, and 
 left her still more bowed down ; and she lost 
 her fine hearty bustling way, and never went 
 about the house singing now ; and her nerves 
 were shaken, and she lived in dread of some 
 terrible misfortune falling on Cornelis. The 
 curse was laid on him as well as Sybrandt. 
 
 She prayed Eli, if she had been a faithful 
 partner all these years, to take Cornelis into 
 his house again, and let her live awhile at 
 Rotterdam. 
 
 " I have good daughters here," said she ; 
 "but Margaret is BO tender, and thoughtful,
 
 352 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and the little Gerard, he is my joy ; he grows 
 liker his father every day, and his prattle cheers 
 my heavy heart ; and I do love children." 
 
 And Eli, sturdy but kindly, consented sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 And the people of Gouda petitioned the 
 Duke for a vicar, a real vicar. " Ours cometh 
 never nigh us," said they, " this six months 
 past ; our children they die unchristened, and 
 our folk nnburied, except by some chance 
 comer." Giles' influence baffled this just 
 complaint once; but a second petition was 
 prepared, and he gave Margaret little hope 
 that the present position could be maintained 
 a single day. 
 
 So then Margaret went sorrowfully to the 
 pretty manse to see it for the last time, ere 
 it should pass for ever into stranger's hands. 
 
 " I think he would have been happy here," 
 she said, and turned heart-sick away. 
 
 On their return, Reicht Heynes proposed to 
 her to go and consult the hermit. 
 
 " What," said Margaret, "Joan has been at 
 you. She is the one for hermits. I'll go, if 
 'tis but to show thee they know no more than 
 we do." And they went to the cave. 
 
 It was an excavation partly natural, partly 
 artificial, in a bank of rock overgrown by 
 brambles. There was a rough stone door on 
 hinges, and a little window high up, and two 
 apertures, through one of which the people 
 announced their gifts to the hermit, and put 
 questions of all sorts to him ; and when he 
 chose to answer, his voice came dissonant and 
 monstrous out at another small aperture. 
 
 On the face of the rock this line was cut 
 
 Jtlii qut in Domino nirus ab orbe fugit. 
 
 Margaret observed to her companion that 
 this was new since she was here last. 
 
 " Ay," said Reicht, " like enough ; " and 
 looked up at it with awe. Writing even on 
 paper she thought no trifle ; but on rock ! 
 
 She whispered, "'Tis a far holier hermit 
 than the last ; he used to come in the town 
 now and then, but this one ne'er shows his 
 face to mortal man." 
 
 " And that is holiness I " 
 
 " Ay, ure." 
 
 " Then what a saint a dormouse must be ? " 
 
 " Out, fie, mistress. Would ye even a beast 
 to a man T " 
 
 " Come, Reicht," said Margaret, " my poor 
 father taught me overmuch. So I will e'en sit 
 here, and look at the manse once more. Go 
 thon forward and question thy solitary, and 
 tell me whether ye get nought or nonsense 
 out of him, for 'twill be one." 
 
 As Reicht drew near the cave a number of 
 birds flew out of it She gave a little scream, 
 and pointed to the cave to show Margaret they 
 had come thence. On this Margaret felt sure 
 there wa no human being in the cave, and 
 
 Sve the matter no further attention. She 
 11 into a deep reverie while looking at the 
 little manse. 
 
 She was startled from It by Reicht's hand 
 upon her shoulder, and a faint voice saying 
 " Let na go home." 
 
 "You got no answer at all, Reicht," said 
 Margaret calmly. 
 
 "No, Margaret," said Reicht despondently. 
 And they returned home. 
 
 Perhaps after all Margaret had nourished 
 some faint secret hope in her heart, though 
 her reason had rejected it, for she certainly 
 went home more dejectedly. 
 
 Just as they entered Rotterdam, Reicht said, 
 " Stay I Oh, Margaret, I am ill at deceit ; 
 but 'tis death to utter ill news to thee; I 
 love thee so dear." 
 
 " Speak out, sweetheart," said Margaret. 
 "I have gone through so much, I am almost 
 past feeling any fresh trouble." 
 
 " Margaret, the hermit did speak to me." 
 
 "What, a hermit there? among all those 
 birds." 
 
 " Ay ; and doth not that show him a holy 
 man ? " 
 
 "I* God's name, what said he to thee, 
 Reicht ! " 
 
 "Alas 1 Margaret, I told him thy store, and 
 I prayed him for our Lady's sake tell me 
 where thy Gerard is. And I waited long for 
 an answer, and presently a voice came like 
 a trumpet : ' Pray for the soul of Gerard the 
 son of Eli ! ' " 
 
 " Ah 1 " 
 
 " Oh, woe is me that I have this to tell thee, 
 sweet Margaret ! bethink thee thou hast thy 
 boy to live for yet" 
 
 " Let me get home," said Margaret faintly. 
 
 Passing down the Brede Kirk Straet they 
 saw Joan at the door. 
 
 Reicht said to her, "Eh, woman, she has 
 been to your hermit, and heard no good news." 
 
 "Come in," said Joan, eager for a gossip. 
 
 Margaret would not go in ; but she sat 
 down disconsolate on the lowest step but one 
 of the little external staircase that led into 
 Joan's house, and let the other two gossip 
 their fill at the top of it. 
 
 "Oh," said Joan, "what yon hermit says is 
 sure to be sooth. He is that holy, I am told, 
 that the very birds consort with him." 
 
 " What does that prove ? " said Margaret 
 deprecatingly. " I have seen my Gerard tame 
 the birds in winter till they would eat from 
 his hand," 
 
 A look of pity at this parallel passed between 
 the other two, but they were both too fond 
 of her to say what they thought Joan pro- 
 ceeded to relate all the marvellous tales she 
 had heard of this hermit's sanctity ; how he 
 never came out but at night, and prayed among 
 the wolves, and they never molested him ; and 
 how he bade the people not bring him so much 
 food to pamper his body, but to bring him 
 candles. 
 
 "The can dies are to burn before his saint," 
 whispered Reicht solemnly. 
 
 " Ay, lass ; and to read his holy books wl'. 
 A neighbour o' mine saw bis hand come out, 
 and the birds sat thereon and pecked crumbs. 
 She went for to kiss it, but the holy man 
 whippit it away in a trice. They can't abide 
 a woman to touch 'em, or even look at 'em, 
 saints can't"
 
 TUB CLOISTB& AIM tttB HEARTS. 
 
 " What like was his hand, wife ? Did yon 
 ask her ? " 
 
 "What is ffiy tongue for, else? Why, dear 
 heart, all one as ourn ; by the same token a 
 had a thumb and four fingers." 
 
 " Look ye there now." 
 
 " But a deal whiter nor yourn and mine." 
 
 " Ay, ay." 
 
 " And main skinny." 
 
 " Alas." 
 
 " What could ye expect ? Why, a live upon 
 air, and prayer ; and candles." 
 
 " Ah, well," continued Joan ; " poor thing, I 
 whiles think 'tis best for her to know the worst. 
 And now she hath gotten a voice from heaven, 
 or almost as good, and behoves her pray for 
 his soul. One thing, she is not so poor now 
 as she was ; and never fell riches to a better 
 hand ; and she is only come into her own for 
 that matter, so she can pay the priest to say 
 masses for him, and that is a great comfort." 
 
 In the midst of their gossip, Margaret, in 
 whose ears it was all buzzing, though she 
 seemed lost in thought, got softly up, and 
 crept away with her eyes on the ground, and 
 her brows bent. 
 
 "She hath forgotten I am with her," said 
 Reicht Heynes ruefully. 
 
 She had her gossip out with Joan, and then 
 went home. 
 
 She found Margaret seated cutting out a 
 pelisse of grey cloth, and a cape to match. 
 Little Gerard was standing at her side, inside 
 her left arm, eyeing the work, and making it 
 more difficult by wriggling about, and fingering 
 the arm with which she held the cloth steady, 
 to all which she submitted with imperturbable 
 patience and complacency. Fancy a male work- 
 man so entangled, impeded, worried ! 
 
 " Ot's that, mammy ? " 
 
 " A pelisse, my pet." 
 
 " Ot's a p'lisse ? " 
 
 " A great frock. And this is the cape to't." 
 
 " Ot's it for ? " 
 
 " To keep his body from the cold ; and the 
 cape is for his shoulders, or to go over his head 
 like the country folk. 'Tis for a hermit." 
 
 " Ot's a 'ermit ? " 
 
 "A holy man that lives in a cave all by 
 himself." 
 
 " In de dark ? " 
 
 " Ay, whiles." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 In the morning Reicht was sent to the hermit 
 with the pelisse, and a pound of thick candles. 
 
 As she was going out of the door Margaret 
 said to her, "Said you whose son Gerard 
 was T " 
 
 " Nay, not I." 
 
 " Think, girl ! How could he call him 
 Gerard, son of Eli, if you had not told him T " 
 
 Reicht persisted she had never mentioned 
 him but as plain Gerard. But Margaret told 
 her flatly she did not believe her ; at which 
 Reicht was affronted, and went out with a little 
 toss of the head. However, she determined to 
 question the hermit again, and did not doubt 
 he would be more liberal in his communication 
 when he saw his nice new pelisse and the 
 candles. 
 
 She had not been gone long when Giles came 
 in with ill news. The living of Gouda would 
 be kept vacant no longer. 
 
 Margaret was greatly distressed at this. 
 
 "Oh, Giles," said she, "ask for another 
 month. They will give thee another month, 
 maybe." 
 
 He returned in an hour to tell her he could 
 not get a month. " They have given me a 
 week," said he. " And what is a week ? " 
 
 " Drowning bodies catch at strawen," was 
 her reply. " A week ? a little week ? " 
 
 Reicht came back from her errand out of 
 spirits. Her oracle had declined all further 
 communication. So at least its obstinate 
 silence might fairly be interpreted. 
 
 The next day Margaret put Reicht in charpre 
 of the shop, and disappeared all day. So the 
 next day, and so the next. Nor would she tell 
 any one where she had been. Perhaps she was 
 ashamed. The fact is, she spent all those days 
 on one little spot of ground. When they 
 thought her dreaming, she was applying to 
 every word that fell from Joan and Reicht the 
 whole powers of a far acuter mind than either 
 of them possessed. 
 
 She went to work on a scale that never 
 occurred to either of them. She was deter- 
 mined to see the hermit, and question him face 
 to face, not through a wall She found that by 
 making a circuit she could get above the cave, 
 and look down without being seen by the soli- 
 tary. But when she came to do it, she found 
 an impenetrable mass of brambles. After tear- 
 ing her clothes, and her hands and feet, so that 
 she was soon covered with blood, the resolute, 
 patient girl took out her scissors and steadily 
 snipped and cut till she made a narrow path 
 through the enemy. But so slow was the work 
 that she had to leave it half done. The next 
 day sfie had her scissors fresh ground, and 
 brought a sharp knife as well, and gently, 
 silently, cut her way to the roof of the cave. 
 There she made an ambush of some of the cut 
 brambles, so that the passers-by might not see 
 her, and couched with watchful eye till the 
 hermit should come out. She heard him 
 move underneath her. But he never left his 
 cell. She began to think it was true that 
 he only came out at night. The next day 
 she came early and brought a jerkin she was 
 making for little Gerard, and there she sat 
 all day, working, and watching with dogged 
 patience. 
 
 At four o'clock the birds began to feed ; and 
 a great many of the smaller kinds came flutter- 
 ing round the cave, and one or two went in. 
 But most of them, taking a preliminary seat on 
 the bushes, suddenly discovered Margaret, and 
 went off with an agitated flirt of their little 
 wings. And although they sailed about in the 
 air, they would not enter the cave. Presently, 
 to encourage them, the hermit, all unconscious 
 of the cause of their tremors, put out a thin 
 white hand with a few crumbs in it. Margaret 
 laid down her work softly, and gliding her body 
 forward like a snake, looked down at it from 
 above ; it was but a few feet from her. It 
 was as the woman described it, a thin, whits 
 hand,
 
 254 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Presently the other hand came out with a 
 j'iece of bread, and the two hands together 
 broke it and scattered the crumbs. 
 
 Bat that other hand had hardly been out two 
 seconds ere the violet eyes that were watching 
 above dilated; and the gentle bosom heaved, 
 and the whole frame quivered like a leaf in 
 the wind. 
 
 What her swift eye had seen I leave the 
 reader to guess. She suppressed the scream 
 that rose to her lips, but the effort cost her 
 dear. Soon the left hand of the hermit began 
 to swim indistinctly before her gloating eyes ; 
 and with a deep sigh her head drooped, and 
 she lay like a broken lily. 
 
 She was in a deep swoon, to which per- 
 haps her long fast to-day and the agitation 
 and sleeplessness of many preceding days 
 contributed. 
 
 And there lay beauty, intelligence, and con- 
 stancy, pal* and silent. And little that hermit 
 guessed who was so near him. The little birds 
 hopped on her now, and one nearly entangled 
 his little feet in her rich auburn hair. 
 
 She came back to her troubles. The sun was 
 *et. She was very cold. She cried a little, 
 but I think it was partly from the remains of 
 physical weakness. And then she went home, 
 praying God and the saints to enlighten her 
 and teach her what to do for the best. 
 
 When she got home she was pale and hys- 
 terical, and would say nothing in answer to all 
 their questions but her favourite word, "We 
 are wading in deep waters." 
 
 The night seemed to have done wonders for 
 her. 
 
 She came to Catherine, who was sitting 
 ighing by the fireside, and kissed her, and 
 said 
 
 " Mother, what would you like best in the 
 world 1 " 
 
 " Eh, dear," replied Catherine despondently, 
 "I know nought that would make me smile 
 now ; I have parted from too many that were 
 dear to me. Gerard lost again as soon as 
 found; Kate in heaven; and Sybrandt down 
 for life." 
 
 14 Poor mother ! Mother dear, Gouda manse 
 is to be furnished, and cleaned, and made 
 ready all in a hurry. See, here be ten gold 
 angels. Make them go far, good mother ; for 
 1 hare ta'en over many already from my boy 
 for a set of useless loons that were aye going 
 to find him for me." 
 
 Catherine and Reicht stared at her a moment 
 In silence, and then out burst a flood of ques- 
 tions, to none of which would she give a 
 wply. 
 
 " Nay," said she, " I have lain on my bed and 
 thought, and thought, and thought, whiles you 
 were all sleeping ; and methinks I have got 
 th clue to all. I love you, dear mother ; but 
 11 trust no woman's tongue. If I fail this 
 time, I'll have none to blame but Margaret 
 Brandt" 
 
 A resolute woman is a very resolute thine 
 And thr wma e d M p, dogged determination 
 
 in Margaret's voice and brow that at once con- 
 vinced Catherine it would be idle to put any 
 more questions at that time. She and Reicht 
 lost themselves in conjectures ; and Catherine 
 whispered Reicht 
 
 "Bide quiet, then 'twill leak out;" a 
 shrewd piece of advice, founded on general 
 observation. 
 
 Within an hour Catherine was on the road 
 to Gouda in a cart, with two stout girls to 
 help her, and quite a siege artillery of mops, 
 and pails, and brushes. She came back with 
 heightened colour, and something of the old 
 sparkle in her eye, and kissed Margaret with 
 a silent warmth that spoke volumes, and at 
 five in the morning was off again to Gouda. 
 
 That night as Reicht was in her first sleep 
 a hand gently pressed her shoulder, and she 
 awoke, and was going to scream. 
 
 " Whisht," said Margaret, and put her finger 
 to her lips. 
 
 She then whispered, "Rise softly, don thy 
 habits, and come with me I " 
 
 When she came down, Margaret begged her 
 to loose Dragon and bring him along. Now 
 Dragon was a great mastiff, who had guarded 
 Margaret Van Eyck and Reicht, two lone 
 women, for some years, and was devotedly 
 attached to the latter. 
 
 Margaret and Reicht went out, with Dragon 
 walking majestically behind them. They came 
 back long after midnight, and retired to 
 rest. 
 
 Catherine never knew. 
 
 Margaret read her friends : she saw the 
 sturdy, faithful Frisian could hold her tongue, 
 and Catherine could not. Yet I am not sure she 
 would have trusted even Reicht had her nerve 
 equalled her spirit; but with all her daring 
 and resolution, she was a tender, timid woman, 
 a little afraid of the dark, very afraid of being 
 alone in it, and desperately afraid of wolves. 
 Now Dragon could kill a wolf in a brace of 
 shakes; but then Dragon would not go with 
 her, but only with Reicht; so altogether she 
 made one confidante. 
 
 The next night they made another moon- 
 light reconnaissance, and as I think, with some 
 result For not the next night (it rained that 
 night and extinguished their courage), but the 
 next after they took with them a companion, 
 the last in the world Reicht Heynes would 
 have thought of; yet she gave her warm ap- 
 proval as soon as she was told he was to go 
 with them. 
 
 Imagine how these stealthy assailants 
 trembled and panted when the moment of 
 action came ; imagine, if you can, the tumult 
 in Margaret's breast, the thrilling hopes, chas- 
 ing, and chased by sickening fears ; the strange 
 and perhaps unparalleled mixture of tender 
 familiarity and distant awe with which a 
 lovely and high-spirited, but tender, adoring 
 woman, wife in the eye of the Law, and no 
 wife in the eye of the Church, trembling, blush- 
 'ng, paling, glowing, shivering, stole at night, 
 noiseless as the dew, upon the hermit of 
 Gouda. 
 
 And the stars above seemed never so bright 
 and calm.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XCIV. 
 
 YES, the hermit of Gouda was the Vicar of 
 Gouda, and knew it not, so absolute was his 
 seclusion. 
 
 My reader is aware that the moment the 
 frenzy of his passion passed, he was seized 
 with remorse for having been betrayed into it. 
 But perhaps only those who have risen as high 
 in religious spirit as he had, and suddenly 
 fallen, can realise the terror at himself that 
 took possession of him. He felt like one whom 
 self-confidence had betrayed to the very edge 
 of a precipice. " Ah, good Jerome," he cried, 
 "how much better you knew me than I knew 
 myself I How bitter yet wholesome was your 
 admonition ! " 
 
 Accustomed to search his own heart, he saw 
 at once that the true cause of his fury was 
 Margaret. " I love her, then, better than God," 
 said he despairingly ; " better than the Church. 
 From such a love what can spring to me, or to 
 her?" He shuddered at the thought. "Let 
 the strong battle temptation ; 'tis for the weak 
 to flee. And who is weaker than I have shown 
 myself ? What is rny penitence, my religion ? 
 A pack of cards built by degrees into a fair- 
 seeming structure ; and lo I one breath of 
 earthly love, and it lies in the dust. I must 
 begin again, and on a surer foundation." He 
 resolved to leave Holland at once, and spend 
 years of his life in some distant convent before 
 returning to it. By that time the temptations 
 of earthly passion would be doubly baffled ; an 
 older and a better monk, he should be more 
 master of his earthly affections, and Mar- 
 garet, seeing herself abandoned, would marry, 
 and love another. The very anguish this last 
 thought cost him showed the self-searcher and 
 self-denier that he was on the path of religious 
 duty. 
 
 But in leaving her for his immortal good and 
 hers, he was not to neglect her temporal weaL 
 Indeed, the sweet thought, he could make her 
 comfortable for life, and rich in this world's 
 goods, which she was not bound to despise, 
 sustained him in the bitter struggle it cost him 
 to turn his back on her without one kind word 
 or look. " Oh, what will she think of me 1 " 
 he groaned. " Shall I not seem to her of all 
 creatures the most heartless, inhuman 1 but so 
 best ; ay, better she should hate me, miserable 
 that I am. Heaven is merciful, and giveth my 
 broken heart this comfort ; I can make that 
 villain restore her own, and she shall never lose 
 another true lover by poverty. Another ? Ah 
 me ! ah me ! God and the saints to mine aid ! " 
 
 How he fared on this errand has been related. 
 But first, as you may perhaps remember, he 
 went at night to shrive the hermit of Gouda. 
 He found him dying, and never left him till he 
 had closed his eyes and buried him beneath 
 the floor of the littl* oratory attached to his 
 cell. It was the peacerul end of a stormy life. 
 The hermit had been a soldier, and even now 
 carried a steel corselet next his skin, saying 
 he was now Christ's soldier as he had been 
 
 Satan's. When Clement had shriven him and 
 prayed by him, he, in his turn, sought counsel 
 of one who was dying in so pious a frame. 
 The hermit advised him to be his successor 
 in this peaceful retreat. 
 
 "His had been a hard fight against the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil, and he had 
 never thoroughly baffled them till he retired 
 into the citadel of Solitude." 
 
 These words and the hermit's pious and 
 peaceful death, which speedily followed, and 
 set as it were the seal of immortal truth on 
 them, made a deep impression upon Clement. 
 Nor in his case had they any prejudice to 
 combat ; the solitary recluse was still pro- 
 foundly revered in the Church, whether im- 
 mured as an anchorite or anchoress in some 
 cave or cell belonging to a monastery, or hidden 
 in the more savage but laxer seclusion of the 
 independent hermitage. And Clement knew 
 more about the hermits of the Church than 
 most divines at his time of life ; he had read 
 much thereon at the monastery near Tergou, 
 had devoured their lives with wonder and 
 delight in the manuscripts of the Vatican, and 
 conversed earnestly about them with the men- 
 dicant friars of several nations. Before Print- 
 ing these friars were the great circulators of 
 those local annals and biographies which ac- 
 cumulated in the convents of every land. Then 
 his teacher, Jerome, had been three years an 
 anchorite on the heights of Camaldoli, where 
 for more than four centuries the Thebaid had 
 been revived ; and Jerome, cold and curt on 
 most religious themes, was warm with enthu- 
 siasm on this one. He had pored over the 
 annals of St. John Baptist's abbey, round about 
 which the hermits' caves were scattered, and 
 told him the names of many a noble, and many 
 a famous warrior who had ended his days 
 there a hermit, and of many a bishop and arch- 
 bishop who had passed from the see to the 
 hermitage, or from the hermitage to the see. 
 Among the former the Archbishop of Ravenna ; 
 among the latter Pope Victor the Ninth. He 
 told him too, with grim delight, of their multi- 
 farious austerities, and how each hermit set 
 himself to find where he was weakest, and 
 attacked himself without mercy or remission 
 till there, even there, he was strongest. And 
 how seven times in the twenty-four hours, in 
 thunder, rain, or snow, by daylight, twilight, 
 moonlight, or torchlight, the solitaries flocked 
 from distant points, over rugged precipitous 
 ways, to worship in the convent church ; at 
 matins, at prime, tierce, sexte, nones, vespers, 
 and compline. He even, under eager question- 
 ing, described to him the persons of famous 
 anchorites he had sung the Psalter and prayed 
 with there ; the only intercourse their vows 
 allowed, except with special permission. Mon- 
 cata, Duke of Moncata and Cardova, and 
 Hidalgo of Spain, who in the flower of his 
 youth had retired thither from the pomps, 
 vanities, and pleasures of the world ; Father 
 John Baptist of Novara, who had led armies to 
 battle, but was now a private soldier of Christ ; 
 Cornelius, Samuel, and Sylvanus. This last, 
 when the great Duchess de' Medici obtained 
 the Pope's leave, hitherto refused, to visit
 
 56 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Camaldoli, went down and met her at the firsl 
 wooden cross, and there, surrounded as sht 
 was with courtiers and flatterers, remonstrated 
 with her, and persuaded her, and warned her, 
 not to profane that holy mountain, where no 
 woman for so.many centuries had placed her 
 foot ; and she, awed by the place and the 
 uian, retreated with all her captains, soldiers 
 courtiers, and pages from that one hoary hermit. 
 At Basle Clement found fresh materials, espe- 
 cially with respect to German and English 
 anchorites ; and ho had even prepared a 
 " Catena Eremitarum " from the year of our 
 Lord 250, when Paul of Thebes commenced his 
 ninety years of solitude, down to the year 
 1470. He called them Angdorum amid et 
 animalium, i.e., 
 
 Friends of Angels and animals. 
 
 Thus, though in those days he never thought to 
 be a recluse, the road was paved, so to speak ; 
 and when the dying hermit of Gouda blessed 
 the citadel of Solitude, where he had fought 
 the good fight and won it, and invited him to 
 take up the breastplate of faith that now fell 
 oil his own shrunken body, Clement said within 
 himself : " Heaven itself led my foot hither to 
 this end," It struck him, too, as no small 
 coincidence that his patron, St. Bavon, was a 
 hermit, and an austere one, a cuirassier * of 
 the solitary cell. 
 
 As soon as he was reconciled to Ghysbrecht 
 Van Swieten, he went eagerly to his new abode, 
 praying Heaven it might not have been already 
 occupied in these three days. The fear was 
 not vain ; these famous dens never wanted a 
 human tenant long. He found the rude stone 
 door ajar ; then he made sure he was too late ; 
 he opened the door and went softly in. No ; 
 the cell was vacant, and there were the hermit's 
 great ivory crucifix, his pens, ink, seeds, and, 
 memento mori, a skull ; his cilice of hair, and 
 another of bristles; his well-worn sheepskin 
 pelisse and hood; his hammer, chisel, and 
 psaltery, &c. Men and women had passed that 
 way, but none had ventured to intrude, far less 
 to steal. Faith and simplicity had guarded 
 that keyless door more securely than the houses 
 of the laity were defended by their gates like 
 a modern jail, and thick iron bars at every 
 window, and the gentry by moat, bastion, 
 chevanx de frise, and portcullis. 
 
 As soon as Clement was fairly in the cell 
 there was a loud flap, and a flutter, and down 
 came a great brown owl from a corner, and 
 \vhirlod out of the window, driving the air cold 
 on Clement's face. He started and shud- 
 dered. 
 
 Was thi seeming owl something diabolical ? 
 trying to deter him from his soul's good ? On 
 ight it not be some good 
 spirit the hermit had employed to keep the cell 
 for him, porhaps the hermit himself 7 Finally 
 he concluded that it was just an owl, and that 
 he would try and make friends with it 
 
 He kneeled down and inaugurated his new 
 life with prayer. 
 
 " Lorioafeu," wU Ducange, in voot. 
 
 Clement had not only an earthly passion to 
 quell, the power of which made him tremble 
 for his eternal weal, but he had a penance to 
 do for having given way to ire, his besetting 
 sin, and cursed his own brothers. 
 
 He looked round this roomy cell furnished 
 with so many comforts, and compared it with 
 the pictures in his mind of the hideous place, 
 eremus in eremo, a desert in a desert, where 
 holy Jerome, hermit, and the Plutarch of her- 
 mits, had wrestled with sickness, temptation, 
 and despair four mortal years ; and. with the 
 inaccessible and thorny niche, a hole in a 
 precipice, where the boy hermit Benedict 
 buried himself, and lived three years on the 
 pittance the good monk Romanus could spare 
 him from his scanty commons, and subdivided 
 that mouthful with his friend, a raven ; and 
 the hollow tree of his patron St. Bavon ; and 
 the earthly purgatory at Fribourg, where lived 
 a nameless saint in a horrid cavern, his eyes 
 chilled with perpetual gloom, and his ears 
 stunned with an eternal waterfall ; and the 
 pillar on which St. Simeon Stylita existed 
 forty-five years ; and the destina, or stone 
 box, of St. Dunstan, where, like Hilarion in his 
 bulrush hive, sepulchro potius quam domu, he 
 could scarce sit, stand, or lie ; and the living 
 tombs, sealed with lead, of Thais, and Christina, 
 and other recluses ; and the damp dungeon of 
 St. Aired. These and scores more of the dismal 
 dens in which true hermits had worn out their 
 wasted bodies on the rock, and the rock under 
 their sleeping bodies, and their praying knees, 
 all came into his mind, and he said to himself, 
 " This sweet retreat is for safety of the soul ; 
 but what for penance ? Jesu aid me against 
 faults to come; and for the fault I rue, face 
 of man I will not see for a twelvemonth and a 
 day." He had famous precedents in his eye 
 even for this last and unusual severity. In fact 
 the original hermit of this very cell was clearly 
 under the same vow. Hence the two apertures, 
 through which he was spoken to and replied. 
 
 Adopting in other respects the uniform rule 
 of hermits and anchorites, he divided his 
 day into the seven offices, ignoring the petty 
 accidents of light and dark, creations both of 
 Him to whom he prayed so unceasingly. He 
 learned the psalter by heart, and in all the 
 intervals of devotion, not occupied by broken 
 slumbers, he worked hard with his hands. No 
 article of the hermit's rule was more strict or 
 more ancient than this. And here his self- 
 imposed penance embarrassed him, for what 
 work could he do, without being seen, that 
 should benefit his neighbours? for the hermit 
 was to labour for himself in those cases only 
 where his subsistence depended on it. Now 
 Element's modest needs were amply supplied 
 ay tho villagers. 
 
 On moonlipht nights he would steal out like 
 a thief, and dig some poor man's garden on the 
 outskirts of the village. He made baskets and 
 dropped them slily at humble doors. 
 
 And since he could do nothing for the bodies 
 of those who passed by his cell iu daytime, he 
 went out in the dead of the night with his 
 jammer and his chisel, and carved moral and 
 religious sentences all down the road upon the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 257 
 
 sandstone rocks. "Who knows?" said he, 
 " often a chance shaft striketh home. Oh, sore 
 heart, comfort thou the poor and bereaved with 
 holy words of solace in their native tongue; 
 for he said well, 'tis clavu ud corda plebis." 
 Also he remembered the learned Colonna had 
 told him of the written mountains in the east, 
 where kings had inscribed their victories. 
 "What," said Clement, "are they so wise, 
 those eastern monarchs, to engrave their war- 
 like glory upon the rock, making a blood bubble 
 endure so long as earth ; and shall I leave the 
 rocks about me silent on the King of Glory, at 
 whose word they were, and at whose breath 
 they shall be dust? Nay, but these stones 
 shall speak to weary wayfarers of eternal peace, 
 and of the Lamb, whose frail and afflicted yet 
 happy servant worketh them among." 
 
 Now at this time the inspired words that 
 have consoled the poor and the afflicted for 
 so many ages were not yet printed in Dutch, 
 BO that these sentences of gold from the holy 
 evangelists came like fresh oracles from heaven, 
 or like the dew on parched flowers ; and the 
 poor hermit's written rocks softened a heart 
 or two, and sent the heavy laden singing on 
 their way.* 
 
 These holy oracles that seemed to spring up 
 around him like magic ; his prudent answers 
 through his window to such as sought ghostly 
 counsel ; and above all, his invisibility, soon 
 gained him a prodigious reputation. This was 
 not diminished by the medical advice they now 
 and then extorted from him, sore against his 
 will, by tears and entreaties ; for if the patients 
 got well they gave the holy hermit the credit, 
 and if not they laid all the blame on the devil 
 I think he killed nobody, for his remedies were 
 " womanish and weak." Sage and wormwood, 
 eion, hyssop, borage, spikenard, dog's-tongue, 
 our Lady's mantle, feverfew, and Faith, and 
 all in small quantities except the last. 
 
 Then his abstinence, sure sign of a saint. 
 The eggs and milk they brought him at first he 
 refused with horror. Know ye not the hermit's 
 rule is bread, or herbs, and water ? Eggs, they 
 are birds in disguise ; for when the bird dieth, 
 then the egg rotteth. As for milk, it is little 
 better than white blood. And when they 
 brought him too much bread he refused it. 
 Then they used to press it on him. " Nay, 
 holy father ; give the overplus to the poor." 
 
 "You who go among the poor can do that 
 better. Is bread a thing to fling haphazard 
 from an hermit's window ? " And to those who 
 persisted after this : " To live on charity, yet 
 play Sir Bountiful, is to lie with the right hand. 
 Giving another's to the poor, I should beguile 
 them of their thanks, and cheat thee the true 
 giver. Thus do thieves, whose boast it is they 
 bleed the rich into the lap of the poor. Occasio 
 avaritia; nomen pauperam." 
 
 When nothing else would convince the good 
 souls, this piece of Latin always brought them 
 round. So would a line of Virgil's 2Eneid. 
 This great reputation of sanctity was all 
 
 * It requires nowadays a strong effort of the imagina- 
 tion to realise the effect on poor people who had never 
 leen them before of lucli sentences ma this, " Bleiaed are 
 the poor," Ac. 
 
 external. Inside the cell was a man who held 
 the hermit of Gouda as cheap as dirt. 
 
 " Ah I " said he, " I cannot deceive myself ; 
 I cannot deceive God's animals. See the little 
 birds, how coy they be ; I feed and feed them, 
 and long for their friendship, yet will they 
 never come within, nor take my hand, by light- 
 ng on't. For why? No Paul, no Benedict, 
 no Hugh of Lincoln, no Columba, no Guthlac 
 bides in this cell. Hunted doe flieth not hither, 
 for here is no Fructuosus, nor Aventine, nor 
 Albert of Suabia ; nor e'en a pretty squirrel 
 cometh from the wood hard by for the acorns 
 I have hoarded ; for here abideth no Columban. 
 The very owl that was here hath fled. They 
 are not to be deceived ; I have a Pope's word 
 for that ; Heaven rest his soul." 
 
 Clement had one advantage over her whose 
 image in his heart he was bent on destroying. 
 
 He had suffered and survived the pang of 
 bereavement, and the mind cannot quite repeat 
 such anguish. Then he had built up a habit 
 of looking on her as dead. After that strange 
 scene in the church and churchyard of St. 
 Laurens, that habit might be compared to 
 a structure riven by a thunderbolt. It was 
 shattered, but stones enough stood to found a 
 similar habit on ; to look on her as dead to 
 
 m. 
 
 And by severe subdivision of his time and 
 thoughts, by unceasing prayers and manual 
 labour, he did in about three months succeed 
 in benumbing the earthly half of his heart. 
 
 But lol within a day or two of this first 
 symptom of mental peace returning slowly, 
 there descended upon his mind a horrible 
 despondency. 
 
 Words cannot utter it, for words never yet 
 painted a likeness of despair. Voices seemed 
 to whisper in his ear, "Kill thyself! kill ! 
 kill ! kill ! " 
 
 And he longed to obey the voices, for life 
 was intolerable. He wrestled with his dark 
 enemy with prayers and tears ; he prayed God 
 but to vary his temptation. "Oh, let mine 
 enemy have power to scourge me with red-hot 
 whips, to tear me leagues and leagues over 
 rugged places by the hair of my head, as he 
 has served many a holy hermit, that yet baffled 
 him at last ; to fly on me like a raging lion ; 
 to gnaw me with a serpent's fangs ; any pain, 
 any terror, but this horrible gloom of the soul 
 that shuts me from all light of Thee and of 
 the saints." 
 
 And now a freezing thought crossed him. 
 What if the triumphs of the powers of dark- 
 ness over Christian souls in desert places had 
 been suppressed, and only their defeats re- 
 corded, or at least in full ; for dark hints were 
 scattered about antiquity that now first began 
 to grin at him with terrible meaning. 
 
 "They wandered in the desert and perished 
 by serpents," said an ancient father, of hermits 
 that went into solitude, "and were seen no 
 more." And another at a more recent epoch 
 wrote: Vertuntur ad mclancholiam ; "they 
 turn to gloomy madness." These two state- 
 ments, were they not one ? for the ancient 
 fathers never spoke with regret of the death 
 of the body. No, the hermits BO lost were 
 
 I
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 perished sonls, and the serpents were diabolical * 
 thoughts, tha natural brood of solitude. 
 
 St. Jerome went into the desert with three 
 companions; one fled in the first year, two 
 died ; how ? The single one that lasted was a 
 gigantic soul with an iron body. 
 
 The cotemporary who related this made no 
 comment, expressed no wonder. What, then, 
 if here was a glimpse of the true proportion 
 in every age, and many sonls had always been 
 lost in solitude for one gigantic mind and iron 
 body that survived this terrible ordeal. 
 
 The darkened recluse now cast his despair- 
 Ing eyes over antiquity to see what weapons 
 the Christian arsenal contained that might 
 befriend him. The greatest of all was prayer. 
 Alas ! it was a part of his malady to be unable 
 to pray with true fervour. The very system 
 of mechanical supplication he had for months 
 carried out so severely by rule had rather 
 checked than fostered ids power of originating 
 true prayer. 
 
 He prayed louder than ever, but the heart 
 hung back cold and gloomy, and let the words 
 go up alone. 
 
 "Poor wingless prayers," he cried, "you 
 will not get half-way to heaven." 
 
 A fiend of this complexion had been driven 
 out of King Saul by music. 
 
 Clement took up the hermit's psaltery, and 
 with much trouble mended the strings and 
 tuned it. 
 
 No, he could not play it. His soul was so 
 out of tune. The sounds jarred on it, and 
 made him almost mad. 
 
 " Ah, wretched me I " he cried ; " Saul had a 
 aint to play to him. He was not alone with 
 the spirits of darkness ; but here is no sweet 
 bard of Israel to play to me ; I, lonely, with 
 crushed heart, on which a black fiend sitteth 
 mountain high, must make the music to uplift 
 that heart to heaven; it may not be." And 
 he grovelled on the earth weeping and tearing 
 bis hair. 
 
 Vertebatur ad melancholiam. 
 
 CHAPTER XCV. 
 
 ONB day aa he lay there sighing and groan- 
 in , prayerless, tuneless, hopeless, a thought 
 lla.shod into his mind. What he had done for 
 the poor and the wayfarer, he would do for 
 himself. He would fill his den of despair with 
 the name of God and the magic words of holy 
 writ, and the pious, prayerful consolations of 
 the Church. 
 
 Then, like Christian at Apollyon's feet, he 
 reached his hand suddenly out and caught, 
 not his sword, for he had none, but peaceful 
 labour's humbler weapon, his chisel, and worked 
 with it as if his soul depended on hia arm. 
 
 The primitive writer was to Interpreted by others 
 beildea Clement; and In particular by Veter of Blois 
 a dlrln. of the twelfth century, who* comment U note. 
 wortoj, as he himself was a forty-year hermit 
 
 They say that Michael Angelo in the next 
 generation used to carve statues, not like our 
 timid sculptors, by modelling the work in clay, 
 and then setting a mechanic to chisel it, but 
 would seize the block, conceive the image, 
 and at once, with mallet and steel, make the 
 marble chips fly like mad about him, and the 
 mass sprout into form. Even so Clement drew 
 no lines to guide his hand. He went to hia 
 memory for the gracious words, and then 
 dashed at his work and eagerly graved them in 
 the soft stone, between working and fighting. 
 
 He begged his visitors for candle ends, and 
 rancid oil. 
 
 " Anything is good enough for me" he said, 
 "if 'twill but burn." So at night the cave 
 glowed afar off like a blacksmith's forge, through 
 the window and the gaping chinks of the rude 
 stone door, and the rustics beholding crossed 
 themselves and suspected deviltries, and within 
 the holy talismans, one after another, came upon 
 the walls, and the sparks and the chips flew 
 day and night, night and day, as the soldier of 
 Solitude and of the Church plied, with sigh* 
 and groans, his bloodless weapon, between 
 working and fighting. 
 
 itgrit Glctson. 
 CTffristt Ittson, 
 
 Taw 'S.a.rava.v ffvvrpi\f/ot> frirc row iroSat Ji/w>v. 1 
 
 Stmram cot&a. 3 
 
 Brtts &rfujrmtn nostrum tt btrtus. 1 
 
 Sgnus Bet, qtti tollts ptcrata munfei tnisrrrrr 
 tntfjU* 
 
 ancta STrtnitas anus Bens, tmsrrrrt nobis. 1 
 
 So infrstattamlrag Qaimanum, a btntura its, 
 a oatnnattont perprtua,' 
 
 ILibcta nos JBominr. 
 
 JBeus, qttf miro orUine Sngrlorutn mmistma, 
 ttc. (the whole collect).' 
 
 utm quammus aojutortm nisi te Qomtiw 
 qui pro pttratts nostris juste irasraris? 8 
 
 Sanctt Brus, Sanctt fortts, Santtt tt mfsert* 
 tors Salbator, atnarar tnorti nt traoas nos. 
 
 And underneath the great crucifix, which 
 was fastened to the wall, he graved this from 
 Augustine : 
 
 i Beat down Satan under our feet 
 
 Up, hearts I 
 
 ' O God our refuge and strength. 
 
 O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the 
 world, have mercy upon me ! 
 
 B O Holy Trinity, one God, have mercy upon ns. 
 
 8 From the assaults of demons from the wrath to 
 come from everlasting damnation deliver us, O Lord ! 
 
 7 See the English collect, St. Michael ami all Angels. 
 
 Of whom may we seek succour but of Thee, O Lord, 
 who for our sins art Justly displeased (and that torrent 
 of prayer, the following verse).
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 259 
 
 anima Christiana, respice bulnera pa 
 tientis, sanguinem morientis, pretium reoemp 
 ttonis. -$aec quanta sint cogitate, et in statera 
 mentis brstra: appcn&ite, ttt totus faobis figatur 
 in coriJt, qui pro bobt's totus fiius est in cruet. 
 $atn si passio Cfjristi ao memoriatn rebocetur, 
 mfjil tst tarn fcurum quoU non atquo animo 
 toleretur. 
 
 Which may be thus rendered : 
 
 Cfjristian soul, look on tfje footm&s of tfje 
 suffering ne, tfje blooB of tfje figing ne, tfjt 
 price pata for our rcbemption I Cijese tfjtngs, 
 ojj, tfjinh fjofo great tfjeg be, anU foeigfj tfjem 
 in tfje balance of tfjg mini): tfjat $e mag be 
 fajfjollg naileo to tfjg fjeart, fofjo for tfjee teas all 
 nailed unto tfje cross. JFor oo but call to mint) 
 tfje sufferings of ffifjtist, anto tfjere is nougfjt on 
 tartfj too fjaro to eniure faritfj composure. 
 
 Soothed a little, a very little, by the sweet 
 and pious words he was raising all round him, 
 and weighed down with watching and working 
 night and day, Clement one morning sank 
 prostrate with fatigue, and a deep sleep over- 
 powered him for many hours. 
 
 Awaking quietly, he heard a little cheep ; he 
 opened his eyes, and lo I upon his breviary, 
 which was on a low stool near his feet, ruffling 
 11 his feathers with a single pull, and smooth- 
 ing them as suddenly, and cocking his bill this 
 way and that with a vast display of cunning 
 purely imaginary, perched a robin redbreast. 
 
 Clement held his breath. 
 
 He half closed his eyes lest they should 
 frighten the aiiy guest. 
 
 Down came robin on the floor. 
 
 When theie he went through his pantomime 
 of astuteness ; and then, pirn, pirn, pirn, with 
 three stiff little hops, like a ball of worsted on 
 vertical wires, he was on the hermit's bare foot. 
 On this eminence he swelled and contracted 
 again, with ebb and flow of feathers; but 
 Clement lost this, for he quite closed his eyes 
 and scarce drew his breath in fear of frighten- 
 ing and losing his visitor. He was content 
 to feel the minute claw on his foot. He could 
 but just feel it, and that by help of knowing it 
 was there. 
 
 Presently a little flirt with two little wings, 
 and the feathered busybody was on the breviary 
 again. 
 
 Then Clement determined to try and feed 
 this pretty little fidget without frightening it 
 away. But it was very difficult. He had a 
 piece of bread within reach, but how get at it ? 
 I think he was five minutes creeping his hand 
 up to that bread, and when there he must not 
 move his arm. 
 
 He slily got a crumb between a finger and 
 thumb and shot it as boys do marbles, keeping 
 the hand quite still. 
 
 Cockrobin saw it fall near him, and did 
 sagacity, but moved not. 
 
 When another followed, and then another, 
 he popped down and caught up one of the 
 crumbs, but not quite understanding this 
 mystery fled with it, for more security, to an 
 eminence ; to wit, the hermit's knee. 
 
 And so the game proceeded till a much larger 
 fragment than usual rolled along. 
 
 Here was a prize. Cockrobin pounced on it, 
 bore it aloft, and fled so swiftly into the world 
 with it, the cave resounded with the buffeted 
 air. 
 
 " Now, bless thee, sweet bird," sighed the 
 stricken solitary; " thy wings are music, and 
 thou a feathered ray camedst to light my 
 darkened soul." 
 
 And from that to his orisons, and then to 
 his tools with a little bit of courage, and this 
 was his day's work : 
 
 Feni, Creator Spirttus, 
 fSentes trtorum bisita, 
 JEmple supcrna gratia 
 
 uae tit creasti pectora 
 
 Sccenbe lumen scnstbus, 
 fHentes tuorum bisita, 
 Inffrma nostri corporis, 
 Firtttte firmans perpeti. 
 
 And so the days rolled on ; and the weather 
 got colder, and Clement's heart got warmer, 
 and despondency was rolling away ; and by 
 and by, somehow or another, it was gone. He 
 had outlived it. 
 
 It had come like a cloud, and it went like 
 one. 
 
 And presently all was reversed ; his cell 
 seemed illuminated with joy. His work pleased 
 him ; his prayers were full of unction ; his 
 psalms of praise. Hosts of little birds followed 
 their crimson leader, and flying from snow, and 
 a parish full of Cains, made friends one after 
 another with Abel ; fast friends. And one keen 
 frosty night as he sang the praises of God to 
 his tuneful psaltery, and his hollow cave rang 
 forth the holy psalmody upon the night, as if 
 that cave itself was Tubal's sounding shell, or 
 David's harp, he heard a clear whine, not un- 
 inelodious ; it became loader and less in tune. 
 He peeped through the chinks of his rude door, 
 and there 'sat a great red wolf moaning melo- 
 diously with his nose high in the air. 
 
 Clement was rejoiced. "My sins are going," 
 tie cried, " and the creatures of God are own- 
 ing me, one after another." And in a burst of 
 enthusiasm he struck up the laud : 
 1 Praise Him all ye creatures of His I 
 1 Let everything that hath breath praise the 
 Lord." 
 
 And all the time he sang the wolf bayed at 
 intervals. 
 
 But above all he seemed now to be drawing 
 nearer to that celestial intercourse which was 
 the sign and the bliss of the true hermit ; for 
 be had dreams about the saints and angels, so 
 vivid, they were more like visions. He saw 
 bright figures clad in woven snow. They bent
 
 260 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 on him eyes lovelier than those of the antelope's 
 he had seen at Rome, and fanned him with 
 broad wings hued like the rainbow, and their 
 gentle voices bade him speed upon his course. 
 
 He had not long enjoyed this felicity when 
 his dreams began to take another and a strange 
 complexion. He wandered with Fra Colonna 
 over the relics of antique nations, and the friar 
 was lame and had a staff, and this staff he 
 waved over the mighty ruins, and were they 
 Egyptian, Greek, or Roman, straightway the 
 temples and palaces, whose wrecks they were, 
 rose again like an exhalation, and were thronged 
 with the famous dead. Songsters that might 
 have eclipsed both Apollo and his rival poured 
 forth their lays ; women, godlike in form, and 
 draped like Minerva, swam round the marble 
 courts in voluptuous but easy and graceful 
 dances. Here sculptors carved away amidst 
 admiring pupils, and forms of supernatural 
 beauty grew out of Parian marble in a quarter 
 of an'hour ; and grave philosophers conversed 
 on high and subtle matters, with youth listen- 
 ing reverently ; it was a long time ago. And 
 still beneath all this wonderful panorama a 
 tort of suspicion or expectation lurked in the 
 dreamer's mind. " This is a prologue, a 
 flourish, there is something behind ; something 
 that means me no good, something mysterious, 
 awfuL" 
 
 And one night that the wizard Colonna had 
 transcended himself, he pointed with his stick, 
 and there was a swallowing up of many great 
 ancient cities, and the pair stood on a vast 
 sandy plain with a huge crimson sun sinking to 
 rest. There were great palm-trees ; and there 
 were bulrush hives, scarce a man's height, 
 dotted all about to the sandy horizon, and the 
 crimson sun. 
 
 "These are the anchorites of the Theban 
 desert," said Colonna calmly; "followers not 
 of Christ and His apostles, and the great 
 fathers, but of the Greek pupils of the Egyptian 
 pupils of the Brachmans and Gymnosophists." 
 
 And Clement thought that he burned to go 
 and embrace the holy men and tell them his 
 troubles, and seek their advice. But he was 
 tied by the feet somehow, and could not move, 
 and the crimson sun sank, and it got dusk, 
 and the hives scarce visible. And Colonna's 
 figure became shadowy and shapeless, but his 
 eyes glowed ten times brighter; and this thing 
 all eyes spoke and said: "Nay, let them be, 
 a pack of fools! see how dismal it all is." 
 Then with a sudden sprightliness, " But I bear 
 one of them has a manuscript of Petronius, on 
 papyrus ; I go to buy it ; farewell for ever, for 
 ever, for ever." 
 
 And it was pitch dark, and a light came at 
 Clement's back like a gentle stroke, a glorious 
 roseate light. It warmed as well as brightened. 
 It loosened his feet from the ground ; he turned 
 round, and there, her face irradiated with sun- 
 shine, and her hair glittering like the gloriola 
 of a saint, was Margaret Brandt. 
 
 She blushed and smiled and cast a look of 
 ineffable tenderness on him. "Gerard," she 
 murmured, " be whose thon wilt by day, but 
 at night be mine ! " 
 
 Even as she spoke, the agitation of seeing 
 
 her so suddenly awakened him, and he found 
 himself lying trembling from head to foot. 
 
 That radiant figure and mellow voice seemed 
 to have struck his nightly keynote. 
 
 Awake he could pray, and praise, and worship 
 God ; he was master of his thoughts. But if 
 he closed his eyes in sleep, Margaret, or Satan 
 in her shape, beset him, a seeming angel of 
 light He might dream of a thousand different 
 things, wide as the poles asunder, ere he woke 
 the imperial figure was sure to come and ex- 
 tinguish all the rest in a moment, Stellas exortus 
 uti atlierius sol; for she came glowing with 
 two beauties never before united, an angel's 
 radiance and a woman's blushes. 
 
 Angels cannot blush. So he knew it was a 
 fiend. 
 
 He was alarmed, but not so much surprised 
 as at the demon's last artifice. From Anthony 
 to Nicholas of the Rock scarce a hermit that 
 had not been thus beset ; sometimes with 
 gay voluptuous visions, sometimes with lovely 
 phantoms, warm, tangible, and womanly with- 
 out, demons within, nor always baffled even by 
 the saints. Witness that " angel form with a 
 devil's heart " that came hanging its lovely 
 head, like a bruised flower, to St. Macarius, 
 with a feigned tale, and wept, and wept, and 
 wept, and beguiled him first of his tears and 
 then of half his virtue. 
 
 But with the examples of Satanic power and 
 craft had come down copious records of the 
 hermits' triumphs and the weapons by which 
 they had conquered. 
 
 Donandum est eorput, the body must be 
 tamed ; this had been their watchword for 
 twelve hundred years. It was a tremendous 
 war-cry ; for they called the earthly affections, 
 as well as appetites, body, and crushed the 
 whole heart through the suffering and mortified 
 flesh. 
 
 Clement then said to himself that the great 
 enemy of man had retired but to spring with 
 more effect, and had allowed him a few days 
 of true purity and joy only to put him off his 
 guard against the soft blandishments he was 
 pouring over the soul that had survived the 
 buffeting of his black wings. He applied him- 
 self to tame the body, he shortened his sleep, 
 lengthened his prayers, and increased his 
 severe temperance to abstinence. Hitherto, 
 following the ordinary rule, he had eaten only 
 at sunset. Now he ate but once in forty-eight 
 hours, drinking a little water every day. 
 
 On this the visions became more distinct. 
 
 Then he flew to a famous antidote, to "the 
 grand febrifuge " of anchorites cold water. 
 
 He found the deepest part of the stream 
 that ran by his cell ; it rose not far off at a holy 
 well; and clearing the bottom of the large 
 stones, made a bole where he could stand in 
 water to the chin, and fortified by so many 
 examples, he sprang from his rude bed upon 
 the next diabolical assault, and entered the icy 
 water. 
 
 It made him gasp and almost shriek with the 
 cold. It froze his marrow. " I shall die," he 
 cried, "I shall die; but better this than fire 
 eternal."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 261 
 
 And the next day he was so stiff in all his 
 joints he could not move, and he seemed 
 one great ache. And even in sleep he felt 
 that his very bones were like so many raging 
 teeth, till the phantom he dreaded came and 
 gave one pitying smile, and all the pain was 
 gone. 
 
 Then, feeling that to go into the icy water 
 again, enfeebled by fasts as he was, might 
 perhaps carry the guilt of suicide, he scourged 
 himself till the blood ran, and so lay down 
 smarting. 
 
 And when exhaustion began to blunt the 
 smart down to a throb, that moment the pre- 
 sent was away, and the past came smiling back. 
 He sat with Margaret at the Duke's feast, the 
 minstrels played divinely, and the purple foun- 
 tains gushed. Youth and love reigned in each 
 heart, and perfumed the very air. 
 
 Then the scene shifted, and they stood at the 
 altar together man and wife. And no inter- 
 ruption this time, and they wandered hand in 
 hand, and told each other their horrible dreams. 
 As for him, "he had dreamed she was dead, 
 and he was a monk ; and really the dream had 
 been so vivid and so full of particulars that 
 only his eyesight could even now convince 
 him it was only a dream, and they were really 
 one." 
 
 And this new keynote once struck, every 
 tune ran upon it. Awake he was Clement the 
 hermit, risen from unearthly visions of the 
 night, as dangerous as they were sweet ; asleep 
 he was Gerard Eliassoen, the happy husband 
 of the loveliest and best, and truest girl hi 
 Holland : all the happier that he had been for 
 some time the sport of hideous dreams, in 
 which he had lost her. 
 
 His constant fasts, coupled with other 
 austerities, and the deep mental anxiety of a 
 man fighting with a supernatural foe, had now 
 reduced him nearly to a skeleton ; but still on 
 those aching bones hung flesh unsubdued, and 
 quivering with an earthly passion ; so, however, 
 he thought ; " or why had ill spirits such power 
 over him?" 
 
 His opinion was confirmed, when one day 
 he detected himself sinking to sleep actually 
 with a feeling of complacency, because now 
 Margaret would come and he should feel no 
 more pain, and the unreal would be real, and 
 the real unreal, for an hour. 
 
 On this he rose hastily with a cry of dismay, 
 and stripping to the skin climbed up to the 
 brambles above his cave, and flung himself on 
 them, and rolled on them writhing with the 
 pain : then he came into his den a mass of gore, 
 and lay moaning for hours ; till, out of sheer 
 exhaustion, he fell into a deep and dreamless 
 sleep. 
 
 He awoke to bodily pain, and mental exul- 
 tation ; he had broken the fatal spelL Yes, it 
 was broken ; another and another day passed, 
 and her image molested him no more. But he 
 caught himself sighing at his victory. 
 
 The birds got tamer and tamer, they perched 
 upon his hand. Two of them let him gild 
 their little claws. Eating but once in two dkys 
 he had more to give them. 
 
 His tranquillity was not. to, la^t long. 
 
 A woman's voice came in from the outside, 
 told him his own story in a very few words, 
 and asked him to tell her where Gerard was to 
 be found. 
 
 He was BO astounded he could only say, 
 with an instinct of self-defence, "Pray for 
 the soul of Gerard the son of Eli ! " meaning 
 that he was dead to the world. And he sat 
 wondering. 
 
 When the woman was gone, he determined, 
 after an inward battle, to risk being seen, and 
 he peeped after her to see who it could be ; but 
 he took so many precautions, and she ran so 
 quickly back to her friend, that the road was 
 clear. 
 
 "Satan I" said he directly. 
 
 And that night back came his visions of 
 earthly love and happiness so vividly, he could 
 count every auburn hair in Margaret's head, 
 and see the pupils of her eyes. 
 
 Then he began to despair, and said 
 
 " I must leave this country; here I am bound 
 fast in memory's chain ; " and began to dread 
 his celL He said, " A breath from hell hath 
 infected it, and robbed even these holy words 
 of their virtue." 
 
 And unconsciously imitating St. Jerome, a 
 victim of earthly hallucinations, as overpower- 
 ing, and coarser, he took his warmest covering 
 out into the wood hard by, and there flung 
 down under a tree that torn and wrinkled 
 leather bag of bones, which a little ago might 
 have served a sculptor for Apollo. 
 
 Whether the fever of his imagination inter- 
 mitted, as a master mind of our day has shown 
 that all things intermit,* or that this really 
 broke some subtle link, I know not, but his 
 sleep was dreamless. 
 
 He awoke nearly frozen, but warm with joy 
 within. 
 
 " I shall yet be a true hermit, Dei gratiA," 
 said he. 
 
 The next day some good soul left on his 
 little platform a new lambs-wool pelisse and 
 cape, warm, soft, and ample. 
 
 He had a moment's misgiving on account of 
 its delicious softness and warmth ; but that 
 passed. It was the right skin,t and a mark 
 that Heaven approved his present course. 
 
 It restored warmth to his bones after he 
 ca'ne in from his short rest. 
 
 And now, at one moment he saw victory 
 before him if he could but live to it ; at another, 
 he said to himself "'Tis but another lull ; be 
 on thy guard, Clement." 
 
 And this thought agitated his nerves and 
 kept him in continual awe. 
 
 He was like a soldier within the enemy's 
 lines. 
 
 One night, a beautiful clear frosty night, 
 he came back to his cell, after & short rest. 
 The stars were wonderful Heaven seemed a 
 thousand times larger as well as brighter than 
 
 * Dr. Dickson, author of "Fallaciei of the Faculty," 
 <fec. 
 
 t It is related of a mediaeval hermit, that being offered 
 a garment made of cats' skins, he rejected it, saying, " I 
 have heard of a lamb of God, but I never heard of a cat 
 of God."
 
 262 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 earth, and to look with a thousand eyes instead 
 of one. 
 
 "Oh, wonderful," he cried, " that there should 
 be men who do crimes by night ; and others 
 scarce less mad, who live for this little world, 
 and not for that great and glorious one, which 
 nightly, to all eyes not blinded by custom, 
 reveals its glowing glories. Thank God I am 
 a hermit." 
 
 And in this mood he came to his cell door. 
 
 He paused at it ; it was closed. 
 
 "Why, methought I left it open," said he. 
 " The wind. There is not a breath of wind. 
 What means this ?" 
 
 He itood with his hand upon the rugged 
 door. He looked through one of the great 
 chinks, for it was much smaller in places than 
 the aperture it pretended to close, and saw 
 his little oil wick burning just where he had 
 left it 
 
 "How is it with me," he sighed, "when I 
 tart and tremble at nothing 1 Either I did 
 shut it, or the fiend hath shut it after me to 
 disturb my happy souL Retro Sathanas ! " 
 
 And he entered his cave rapidly, and began 
 with somewhat nervous expedition to light one 
 of his largest tapers. While he was lighting it, 
 there was a soft sigh in the cave. 
 
 He started and dropped the candle just as it 
 was lighting, and it went out. 
 
 He stooped for it hurriedly and lighted it, 
 listening intently. When it was lighted he 
 haded it with his hand from behind, and 
 threw the faint light all round the cell. 
 
 In the farthest corner the outline of the wall 
 eemed broken. 
 
 He took a step towards the place with his 
 heart beating. 
 
 The candle at the same time getting brighter, 
 he saw it was the figure of a woman. 
 
 Another tep with his knees knocking to- 
 gether. 
 
 it was Margaret Brandt, 
 
 CHAPTER XCVI. 
 
 HER attitude was one to excite pity rather 
 than terror, in eyes not blinded by a precon- 
 ceived notion. Her bosom was fluttering like 
 a bird, and the red and white coming and 
 going in her cheeks, and she had her hand 
 against the wall by the instinct of timid things 
 he trembled so; and the marvellous mixed 
 gaze of love, and pious awe, and pity, and 
 tender memories, those purple eyes cast on the 
 emaciated and glaring hermit, was an event 
 in nature. 
 
 "Ahal" he cried. "Thou art come at last 
 in flesh and blood ; come to me as thou earnest 
 to holy Anthony. But I am ware of thee. I 
 thought thy wiles were not exhausted. I am 
 armed." With this he snatched up his small 
 crucifix and held it out at her, astonished, and 
 the candle in the other hand, both crucifix and 
 candle shaking violently, " Exorcize te." 
 
 "Ah, nol" cried she piteously; and put 
 out two pretty deprecating palms. " Alas I 
 work me no ill 1 It is Margaret." 
 
 "Liar!" shouted the hermit. "Margaret 
 was fair, but not so supernatural fair as thou. 
 Thou didst shrink at that sacred name, thou 
 subtle hypocrite. In Nomine Dei exorcize 
 vos." 
 
 "Ah, Jesul" gasped Margaret, in extremity 
 of terror, "curse me notl I will go home. I 
 thought / might come. For very manhood be- 
 Latin me not I Ob, Gerard, is it thus you and 
 I meet after all, after all 7 " 
 
 And she cowered almost to her knees and 
 sobbed with superstitious fear and wounded 
 alfection. 
 
 Impregnated as he was with Satanophobia, 
 he might perhaps have doubted still whether 
 this distressed creature, all woman and nature, 
 was not all art and fiend. But her spon- 
 taneous appeal to that sacred name dissolved 
 his chimera ; and let him see with his eyes, 
 and hear with his cars. 
 
 He uttered a cry of self-reproach, and tried 
 to raise her; but what with fasts, what with 
 the overpowering emotion of a long solitude so 
 broken, he could not. "What," he gasped, 
 shaking over her, "and is it thou ? And have 
 I met thee with hard words? Alas!" And 
 they were both choked with emotion, and 
 could not speak for a while. 
 
 " I heed it not much," said Margaret bravely, 
 struggling with her tears; "you took me 
 for another : for a devil ; oh ! oh 1 oh ! 
 oh! oh!" 
 
 "Forgive me, sweet soul I" And as soon as 
 he could speak more than a word at a time, ha 
 said, " I have been much beset by the evil one 
 since I came here." 
 
 Margaret looked round with a shudder. 
 " Like enow. Then oh, take my hand, And let 
 me lead thee from this foul place." 
 
 He gazed at her with astonishment. 
 
 " What, desert my cell ; and go into the 
 world again? Is it for that thou bast come 
 to me ?" said he sadly and reproachfully. 
 
 "Ay, Gerard. I am come to take thee to 
 thy pretty vicarage : art Vicar of Gouda, thanks 
 to Heaven and thy good brother Giles; and 
 mother and I have made it so neat for thee, 
 Gerard. 'Tis well enow in winter I promise 
 thee. But bide a bit till the hawthorn bloom, 
 and anon thy walls put on their kirtle of brave 
 roses, and sweet woodbine. Have we forgot- 
 ten thee, and the foolish things thou lovestf 
 And, dear Gerard, thy mother is waiting : and 
 'tis late for her to be out of her bed : prithee, 
 prithee, come! And the moment we are out 
 of this foul hole 111 show thee a treasure thon 
 hast gotten, and knowest nought on't, or sure 
 hadst never fled from us so. Alas ! what is to 
 do? What have I ignorantly said, to be re- 
 garded thus ? " 
 
 For he had drawn himself all up into a heap, 
 and was looking at her with a strange gaze of 
 fear and suspicion blended. 
 
 " Unhappy girl," said he solemnly, yet deeply 
 agitated, "would you have me risk my soul 
 and yours for a miserable vicarage and the 
 flowers that grow on it? But this is not
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 263 
 
 thy doing: the bowelless fiend sends thee, 
 poor simple girl, to me with this bait. But 
 oh, cunning fiend, I will unmask thee even 
 to this thine instrument, and she shall see 
 thee, and abhor thee as I do. Margaret, my 
 lost love, why am I here? Because I love 
 thee." 
 
 " Oh ! no, Gerard, you love me not, or yon 
 would not have hidden from me ; there was 
 no need." 
 
 "Let there be no deceit between us twain, 
 that have loved so true ; and after this night, 
 shall meet no more on earth." 
 
 " Now God forbid !" said she. 
 
 "I love thee, and thou hast not forgotten 
 me, or thou hadst married ere this, and hadst 
 not been the one to find me, buried here from 
 Bight of man. I am a priest, a monk : what 
 but folly or sin can come of you and me living 
 neighbours, and feeding a passion innocent 
 once, but now (so Heaven wills it) impious and 
 unholy 2 No, though my heart break I must 
 be firm. "Tis I that am the man, 'tis I that 
 am the priest. You and I must meet no more, 
 till I am schooled by solitude, and thou art 
 wedded to another." 
 
 " I consent to my doom but not to thine. I 
 would ten times liever die ; yet I will marry, 
 ay, wed misery itself sooner than let thee lie 
 in this foul dismal place, with yon sweet manse 
 awaiting for thee." Clement groaned ; at each 
 word she spoke out stood clearer and clearer 
 two things his duty, and the agony it must 
 cost. 
 
 " My beloved," said he, with a strange mixture 
 of tenderness and dogged resolution, "I bless 
 thee for giving me one more sight of thy sweet 
 face, and may God forgive thee, and bless thee, 
 for destroying in a minute the holy peace it 
 hath taken six months of solitude to build. 
 No matter. A year of penance will, Dei -gratia, 
 restore me to my calm. My poor Margaret, 
 I seem cruel : yet I am kind : 'tis best we part ; 
 ay, this moment." 
 
 "Part, Gerard! Never: we have seen what 
 comes of parting. Part ? Why, you have not 
 heard half my story ; no, nor the tithe. 'Tit 
 not for thy mere comfort I take thee to Gouda 
 manse. Hear me ! " 
 
 " I may not. Thy very voice is a temptation 
 with its music, memory's delight." 
 
 " But I say you shall hear me, Gerard, for 
 forth this place I go not unheard." 
 
 " Then must we part by other means," said 
 Clement sadly. 
 
 "Alack! what other means? Wonldst put 
 me to thine own door, being the stronger ? " 
 
 " Nay, Margaret, well thou knowest I would 
 suffer many deaths rather than put force on 
 thee ; thy sweet body is dearer to me than my 
 own ; but a million times dearer to me are our 
 immortal souls, both thine and mine. I have 
 withstood this direst temptation of all long 
 enow. Now I must fly it : farewell ! fare- 
 well I" 
 
 He made to the door, and had actually opened 
 it and got half out, when she darted after and 
 caught him by the arm. 
 
 "Nay, then another must speak for me. I 
 thought to reward thee for yielding to me ; but 
 
 unkind that thou art, I need his help I find ; 
 turn then this way one moment." 
 
 "Nay, nay." 
 
 " But I say ay ! And then turn thy back on 
 us an' thou canst." She somewhat relaxed her 
 grasp, thinking he would never deny he? BO 
 small a favour. But at this he saw his oppor- 
 tunity and seized it. 
 
 " Fly, Clement, fly J " he almost shrieked ; 
 and his religious enthusiasm giving him for a 
 moment his old strength, he burst wildly away 
 from her, and after a few steps bounded oTer 
 the little stream and ran beside it, but find- 
 ing he was not followed, stopped, and looked 
 back. 
 
 She was lying on her face, with her hands 
 spread out. 
 
 Yes, without meaning it, he had thrown her 
 down and hurt her. 
 
 When he saw that, he groaned and turned 
 back a step ; but suddenly, by another impulse, 
 flung himself into the icy water instead. 
 
 " There, kill my body 1 " he cried, " taut saye 
 my soul 1 " 
 
 Whilst he stood there, up to his throat In 
 liquid ice, so to speak, Margaret uttered one 
 long, piteous moan, and rose to her knees. 
 
 He saw her as plain almost as in midday. Saw 
 her pale face and her eyes glistening ; and then 
 in the still night he heard these words : 
 
 "Oh, Godl Thou that knowest all, Thou 
 seest how I am used. Forgive me then ! For 
 I will not live another day." With this she 
 suddenly started to her feet, and flew like 
 some wild creature, wounded to death, close by 
 his miserable hiding-place, shrieking : " Cruel ! 
 cruel I cruel 1 cruel ! " 
 
 What manifold anguish may burst from a 
 human heart in a single syllable. There were 
 wounded love, and wounded pride, and despair, 
 and coming madness all in that piteous cry. 
 Clement heard, and it froze his heart with 
 terror and remorse, worse than the icy water 
 chilled the marrow of his bones. 
 
 He felt he had driven her from him for ever, 
 and in the midst of his dismal triumph, the 
 greatest he had won, there came an almost 
 incontrollable impulse to curse the Church, to 
 curse religion itself, for exacting such savage 
 cruelty from mortal man. At last he crawled 
 half dead out of the water, and staggered to 
 his den. " I am safe here," he groaned ; " ehe 
 will never come near me again ; unmanly, 
 ungrateful wretch that I am." And he flung 
 his emaciated, frozen body down on the floor, 
 not without a secret hope that it might never 
 rise thence alive. 
 
 But presently he saw by the hour-glass that 
 it was past midnight. On this, he rose slowly 
 and took off his wet things, and moaning 
 all the time at the pain he had caused her 
 he loved, put on the old hermit's cilice of 
 bristles, and over that his breastplate. He 
 had never worn either of these before, doubting 
 himself worthy to don the arms of that tried 
 soldier. But now he must give himself every 
 aid; the bristles might distract his earthly 
 remorse by bodily pain, and there might b 
 holy virtue in the breastplate.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Then be kneeled down and prayed God 
 humbly to release him that very night from the 
 burden of the desh. Then he lighted all his 
 candles, and recited his psalter doggedly ; each 
 word sef med to come like a lump of lead from 
 a leaden heart, and to fall leaden to the ground ; 
 and in this mechanical office every now and 
 then he moaned with all his soul. In the midst 
 of which he suddenly observed a little bundle 
 in the corner he had not seen before in the 
 feebler light, and at one end of it something 
 like gold spun into silk. 
 
 He went to see what it could be ; and he had 
 no sooner viewed it closer, than he threw up 
 his hands with rapture. " It is a seraph," he 
 whispered, "a lovely seraph. Heaven hath 
 witnessed my bitter trial, and approves my 
 cruelty ; and this flower of the skies is sent to 
 cheer me, fainting under my burden." 
 
 He fell on his knees, and gazed with ecstasy 
 on its golden hair, and its tender skin, and 
 cheeks like a peach. 
 
 " Let me feast my sad eyes on thee ere thou 
 leavfist me for thine ever-blessed abode, and 
 my cell darkens again at thy parting, as it did 
 at hers." 
 
 With all this, the hermit disturbed the lovely 
 visitor. He opened wide two eyes, the colour of 
 heaven ; and seeing a strange figure kneeling 
 over him, he cried piteously, " Mum ma 1 
 Mum ma I " And the tears began to run down 
 his little cheeks. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, Clement, who for more 
 than six months had not looked on the human 
 face divine, estimated childish beauty more 
 justly than we can; and in truth, this fair 
 northern child, with its long golden hair, was 
 far more angelic than any of our imagined 
 angels. But now the spell was broken. 
 
 Yet not unhappily. Clement, it may be re- 
 membered, was fond of children, and true 
 monastic life fosters this sentiment. The 
 innocent distress on the cherubic face, the 
 team that ran so smoothly from those trans- 
 parent violets, his eyes, and his pretty, dismal 
 cry for his only friend, his mother, went 
 through the hermit's heart He employed all 
 his gentleness and all his art to soothe him ; 
 and as the little soul was wonderfully intelli- 
 gent for his age, presently succeeded so far 
 that he ceased to cry out, and wonder took the 
 place of fear ; while, in silence, broken only in 
 little gulps, he scanned, with great tearful eves 
 thin strange figure that looked so wild, 'but 
 poke so kindly, and wore armour, yet did not 
 kill little boys, but coaxed them. Clement was 
 equally perplexed to know how this little 
 human flower came to lie sparkling and bloom- 
 ing in his gloomy cave. Uut he remembered 
 be had left the door wide open, and he was 
 driven to conclude that, owing to this negli- 
 gence, tome unfortunate creature of high or 
 low degree had seized this opportunity to get 
 rid of her child for ever." At this his bowels 
 yearned so over the poor deserted cherub, that 
 the tears of pure tenderness stood in his eyes 
 and still, beneath the crime of the mother, he 
 
 K ttun one h 
 
 saw the divine goodness, which had so directed 
 her heartlessness as to comfort His servant's 
 breaking heart. 
 
 " Now bless thee, bless thee, bless thee, sweet 
 innocent, I would not change thee for e'en a 
 cherub in heaven." 
 
 "At's pooty," replied the infant, ignoring 
 contemptuously, after the manner of infants, 
 all remarks that did not interest him. 
 
 " What is pretty here, my love, besides 
 thee ? " 
 
 " Ookum-gars," * said the boy, pointing to 
 the hermit's breastplate. 
 
 " Quot liberi, tot sententiunculae I " Hector's 
 child screamed at his father's glittering casque 
 and nodding crest ; and here was a mediaeval 
 babe charmed with a polished cuirass, and his 
 griefs assuaged. 
 
 "There are prettier things here than that," 
 said Clement; "there are little birds; lovest 
 thou birds ? " 
 
 "Nay. Ay. En um ittle, ery ittle T 
 Not ike torks. Hate torks ; um bigger an 
 baby." 
 
 He then confided, in very broken language, 
 that the storks, with their great flapping 
 wings, scared him, and were a great trouble 
 and worry to him, darkening his existence 
 more or less. 
 
 " Ay, but my birds are very little, and good, 
 and oh, so pretty I " 
 
 "Den I ikes 'm," said the child authorita- 
 tively. " I ont my mammy." 
 
 "Alas, sweet dove! I doubt I shall have 
 to fill her place as best I may. Hast 
 thou no daddy as well as mammy, sweet 
 one ? " 
 
 Now not only was this conversation from 
 first to last, the relative ages, situations, and 
 all circumstances of the parties considered, as 
 strange a one as ever took place between two 
 mortal creatures, but at or within a second or 
 two of the hermit's last question, to turn the 
 strange into the marvellous, came an unseen 
 witness, to whom every word that passed car- 
 ried ten times the force it did to either of the 
 speakers. 
 
 Since, therefore, it is with her eyes you must 
 now see, and hear with her ears, I go back a 
 step for her. 
 
 Margaret, when she ran past Gerard, was 
 almost mad. She was in that state of mind in 
 which affectionate mothers have been known to 
 kill their children, sometimes along with them- 
 selves, sometimes alone, which last is certainly 
 maniacal. She ran to Reicht Heynes pale and 
 trembling, and clasped her round the neck. 
 " Oh, Reicht ! oh, Reicht ! " and could say no 
 more. Reicht kissed her, and becran to 
 whimper ; and would yon believe it, the 
 great mastiff attered one long whine : even 
 his glimmer of sense taught him grief was 
 afoot. 
 
 " Oh, Reicht ! " moaned the despised beauty, 
 as soon as she could utter a word for choking, 
 " see how ho has served me ; " and she showed 
 her hands, that were bleeding with falling on 
 
 > Query, " looking -glut"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the stony ground. "He threw me down, he 
 was so eager to fly from me. He took me for 
 a devil ; he said I came to tempt him. Am I 
 the woman to tempt a man 1 you know me, 
 Reich t." 
 
 " Nay, in sooth, sweet Mistress Margaret, the 
 last i' the world." 
 
 "And he would not look at my child. I'll 
 fling myself and him into the Rotter this 
 night." 
 
 " Oh, fie I fie ! eh, my sweet woman, speak 
 not so. Is any man that breathes worth your 
 child's life ? " 
 
 " My child ! where is he 7 Why, Reicht, I 
 have left him behind. Oh, shame I is it pos- 
 sible I can love him to that degree as to 
 forget my child 7 Ah ! I am rightly served 
 for it." 
 
 And she sat down, and faithful Reicht be- 
 side her, and they sobbed in one another's 
 arms. 
 
 After a while Margaret left off sobbing, and 
 said doggedly, " Let us go home." 
 " Ay, but the bairn 7 " 
 
 "Oh I he is well where he is. My heart is 
 turned against my very child. He cares nought 
 for him ; wouldn't see him, nor hear speak of 
 him ; and I took him there so proud, and made 
 his hair so nice, I did, and put his new frock 
 and cowl on him. Nay, turn about : it's his 
 child as well as mine ; let him keep it awhile : 
 mayhap that will learn him to think more of its 
 mother and his own." 
 
 " High words off an empty stomach," said 
 Reicht. 
 
 " Time will show. Come thou home." 
 They departed, and Time did show quicker 
 than he levels abbeys, for at the second step 
 Margaret stopped, and could neither go one 
 way nor the other, but stood stock still 
 
 " Reicht," said she piteously, " what else 
 have I on earth 7 I cannot." 
 
 " Whoever said you could ? Think you 
 I paid attention 1 Words are woman's 
 breath. Come back for him without more 
 ado; 'tis time we were in our beds, much 
 more he." 
 
 Reicht led the way, and Margaret followed 
 readily enough in that direction ; but as they 
 drew near the cell, she stopped again. 
 
 " Reicht, go you and ask him, will he give 
 me back my boy ; for I could not bear the sight 
 of him." 
 
 " Alas I mistress, this do seem a sorry ending 
 after all that hath been betwixt you twain. 
 Bethink thee now, doth thine heart whisper 
 no excuse for him? dost verily hate him for 
 whom thou hast waited so long 7 Oh, weary 
 world ! " 
 
 " Hate him, Reicht 7 I would not harm a 
 hair of his head for all that is in nature ; but 
 look on him I cannot ; I have taken a horror 
 of him. Oh ! when I think of all I have 
 suffered for him, and what I came here this 
 night to do for him, and brought my own 
 darling to kiss him and call him father. Ah, 
 Luke, my poor chap, my wound showeth 
 me thine. I have thought too little of thy 
 pangs, whose true affection I despised ; and 
 cow my own is despised. Reicht, if the poor 
 
 lad was here now, he would have a good 
 chance." 
 
 "Well, he is not far off," said Reicht 
 Heynes ; but somehow she did not say it 
 with alacrity. 
 
 " Speak not to me of any man," said Margaret 
 bitterly ; " I hate them all." 
 
 " For the sake of one 7 " 
 
 " Flout me not, but prithee go forward, and 
 get me what my own, my sole joy in the 
 world. Thou knowest I am on thorns till I 
 have him to my bosom again." 
 
 Reicht went forward ; Margaret sat by tho 
 roadside and covered her face with her apron, 
 and rocked herself after the manner of her 
 country, for her soul was full of bitterness and 
 grief. So severe, indeed, was the internal 
 conflict, that she did not hear Reicht run- 
 ning back to her, and started violently when 
 the young woman laid a hand upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' Mistress Margaret 1 " said Reicht quietly, 
 " take a fool's advice that loves ye. Go softly 
 to yon cave, wi' all the ears and eyes your 
 mother ever gave you." 
 
 " Why ? what Reicht 7 " stammered Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " I thought the cave was afire, 'twas so light 
 inside ; and there were voices." 
 
 "Voices?" 
 
 " Ay, not one, but twain, and all unlike a 
 man's and a little child's, talking as pleasant 
 as you and me. I am no great hand at a key- 
 hole for my part, 'tis paltry work ; but if so be 
 voices were a talking in yon cave, and them 
 that owned those voices were so near to me 
 as those are to thee, I'd go on all fours like a 
 fox, and I'd crawl on my belly like a serpent, 
 ere I'd lose one word that passes atwixt thote 
 twain." 
 
 " Whisht, Reicht I Bless thee 1 Bide thou 
 here. Buss me 1 Pray for me ! " 
 
 And almost ere the agitated words had left 
 her lips, Margaret was flying towards the her- 
 mitage as noiselessly as a lapwing. Arrived 
 near it, she crouched, and there was something 
 truly serpentine in the gliding, flexible, noise- 
 less movements by which she reached the very 
 door, and there she found a chink, and listened. 
 And often it cost her a struggle not to burst 
 in upon them ; but warned by defeat, she was 
 cautious, and resolute to let well alone. And 
 after a while, slowly and noiselessly sha 
 reared her head, like a snake its crest, to 
 where she saw the broadest chink of all, 
 and looked with all her eyes and soul, as well 
 as listened. 
 
 The little boy then being asked whether he 
 had no daddy, at first shook his head, and 
 would say nothing ; but being pressed he sud- 
 denly seemed to remember something, and 
 said he, " Dad da ill man ; run away and leave 
 poor mum ma." 
 
 She who heard this winced. It was as new 
 to her as to Clement. Some interfering foolish 
 woman had gone and said this to the boy, and 
 now out it came in Gerard's very face. His 
 answer surprised her ; he burst out, " The 
 villain I the monster ! he must be born without 
 bowels to desert thee, sweet one. Ah ! ho
 
 166 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 little knows the joy he hath turned his back 
 on. Well, my little dove, I mast be father and 
 mother to thee, since the one runs away, and 
 t'other abandons thee to my care. Now to- 
 morrow I shall arfk the good people that bring 
 me znr food to fetch some nice eggs and milk 
 for thetj u well ; for bread is good enough for 
 poor old good-for-nothing me, but not for thee. 
 And I shall teach thee to read." 
 
 " I dtu yead, I can yead." 
 
 "Ay, verily, so young T all the better; we 
 will read good books together, and I shall show 
 thee the way to heaven. Heaven is a beautiful 
 place, a thousand times fairer and better than 
 earth, and there be little cherubs like thyself, 
 in white, glad to welcome thee and love thee. 
 Wouldst like to go to heaven one day 7 " 
 
 " Ay, along wi' my mammy." 
 
 " What, not without her then 7 " 
 
 "Nay. I ont my mammy. Where is my 
 mammy 7 " 
 
 (Oh 1 what it cost poor Margaret not to burst 
 in and clasp him to her heart I) 
 
 " Well, fret not, sweetheart, mayhap she will 
 come when thou art asleep. Wilt thou be good 
 now and sleep 1 " 
 
 " I not eepy. Ikes to talk." 
 
 "Well, talk we then; tell me thy pretty 
 came." 
 
 "Baby." And he opened his eyes with 
 amazement at this great hulking creature's 
 Ignorance. 
 
 " Hast none other I " 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " What shall I do to pleasure thee, baby 7 
 Shall I toll thee a story?" 
 
 "I ikes tories," said the boy, clapping his 
 hands. 
 
 " I ikes tongs," and he became excited. 
 
 " Choose then, a song or a story." 
 
 "Ting I a tong. Nay, tell I a tory. Nay, 
 ting I a tong. Nay" And the corners of 
 his little mouth turned down and he had half 
 a mind to weep because he could not have 
 both, and could not tell which to forego. Sud- 
 denly his little face cleared : " Ting I a tory," 
 said he. 
 
 " Sing thee a story, baby ? Well, after all, 
 why not f And wilt thou sit o" my knee and 
 hear it 1 " 
 
 -Yea." 
 
 " Then I must e'en doff this breastplate. "Tis 
 too hard for thy soft cheek. So. And now I 
 most doff this bristly cilice ; they would prick 
 thy tender akin, perhaps make it bleed, as they 
 have me, I bee. So. And now I put on my 
 best ipeliase, in honour of thy worshipful visit. 
 Se how itoft and warm it is ; bless the good 
 soul that sent it ; and now I sit me down ; so. 
 And I take thee on my left knee, and put my 
 arm under thy little head ; so. And then the 
 psaltery, and play a little tune ; so, not too 
 loud." 
 
 " I Ikes dat." 
 
 " I ^am right glad on't. Now list the 
 
 He chanted a child's story in a sort of recita- 
 tive, sin^rinK a little moral refrain now and then. 
 The boy listened with rapture. 
 
 ' I ikes oo," said he. " Ot is oo ? is oo a 
 n !" 
 
 'Ay, little heart, and a great sinner to 
 boot." 
 
 'I ikes great tingers. Ting one other 
 tory." 
 
 Story No. 2 was chanted. 
 
 "I abbs oo," cried the child impetuously. 
 " Ot caft is oo 7 " 
 
 " I am a hermit, love." 
 
 " I ubbs vermins. Ting other one." 
 
 But during this final performance, Nature 
 suddenly held out her leaden sceptre over tho 
 youthful eyelids. " I is not eepy," whined he 
 very faintly, and succumbed. 
 
 Clement laid down his psaltery softly and 
 began to rock his new treasure in his arms, and 
 to crone over him a little lullaby well known in 
 Tergou, with which his own mother had often 
 set him off. 
 
 And the child sank into a profound sleep 
 upon his arm. And he stopped croning and 
 gazed on him with infinite tenderness, yet sad- 
 ness; for at that moment he could not help 
 thinking what might have been but for a piece 
 of paper with a lie in it. 
 
 He sighed deeply. 
 
 The next moment the moonlight burst into 
 his cell, and with it, and in it, and almost as 
 swift as it, Margaret Brandt was down at his 
 knee with a timorous hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Gerard, you do not reject us. You cannot." 
 
 CHAPTER XCVIL 
 
 THE startled hermit glared from his nurseling 
 to Margaret, and from her to him, in amaze- 
 ment, equalled only by his agitation at her so 
 unexpected return. The child lay asleep on 
 his left arm, and she was at his right knee ; 
 no longer the pale, scared, panting girl he had 
 overpowered so easily an hour or two ago, 
 but an imperial beauty, with blushing checks 
 and sparkling eyes, and lips sweetly parted in 
 triumph, and her whole face radiant with a 
 look he could not quite read ; for he had never 
 yet seen it on her ; maternal pride. 
 
 He stared and stared from the child to her, 
 in throbbing amazement. 
 
 "Us!" he gasped at last. And still his 
 wonder-stricken eyes turned to and fro. 
 
 Margaret was surprised in her turn. It was 
 an age of impressions not facts. "What!" 
 she cried, "doth not a father know his own 
 child 7 and a man of God, too ? Fie, Gerard, 
 to pretend 1 nay, thou art too wise, too good, 
 not to have why, I watched thee ; and e'en 
 now look at you twain ! 'Tis thine own flesh 
 and blood thou boldest to thine heart." 
 
 Clement trembled. " What words are these," 
 he stammered, " this angel mine ? " 
 
 " Whose else 7 since he is mine." 
 
 Clement turned on the sleeping child, with 
 
 * Craft He means trade or profession.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 267 
 
 a look beyond the power of the pen to describe, 
 and trembled all over, as his eyes seemed to 
 absorb the little love. 
 
 Margaret's eyes followed his. "He is not a 
 bit like me," said she proudly; "bat oh, at 
 whiles he is thy very image in little ; and see 
 this golden hair. Thine was the very colour at 
 his age; ask mother else. And see this mole 
 on his little finger ; now look at thine own ; 
 there I 'Twas thy mother let me weet thou 
 wast marked so before him ; and oh, Gerard, 
 'twas this our child found thee for me ; for by 
 that little mark on thy finger I knew thee for 
 his father, when I watched above thy window 
 and saw thee feed the birds." Here she seized 
 the child's hand, and kissed it eagerly, and got 
 half of it into her mouth, Heaven knows how. 
 " Ah I bless thee, thou didst find thy poor daddy 
 for her, and now thou hast made us friends 
 again after our little quarrel ; the first, the last. 
 Wast very cruel to me but now, my poor 
 Gerard, and I forgive thee; for loving of thy 
 child." 
 
 " Ah I ah I ah ! ah 1 ah ! " sobbed Clement, 
 choking. 
 
 And lowered by fasts, and unnerved by soli- 
 tude, the once strong man was hysterical, and 
 nearly fainting. 
 
 Margaret was alarmed, but having experience, 
 her pity was greater than her fear. " Nay, take 
 not on so," she murmured soothingly, and put 
 a gentle hand upon his brow. " Be brave 1 So, 
 BO. Dear heart, thou art not the first man that 
 hath gone abroad and come back richer by a 
 lovely little self than he went forth. Being a 
 man of God, take courage, and say He sends thee 
 this to comfort thee for what thou hast lost in 
 me ; and that is not so very much, my lamb ; 
 for sure the better part of love shall ne'er 
 cool here to thee ; though it may in thine, 
 and ought, being a priest, and " parson of 
 Gouda." 
 
 "It priest of Gouda f Never 1 " murmured 
 Clement in a faint voice ; " I am a friar of St. 
 Dominic : yet speak on, sweet music, tell me 
 all that has happened thee, before we are 
 parted again." 
 
 Now some would on this have exclaimed 
 apainst parting at all, and raised the true 
 question in dispute. But such women as 
 Margaret do not repeat their mistakes. It is 
 very hard to defeat them twice, where their 
 hearts are set on a thing. 
 
 She assented, and turned her back on Gouda 
 manse as a thing not to be recurred to ; and she 
 told him her tale, dwelling above all on the 
 kindness to her of his parents ; and while she 
 related her troubles, his hand stole to hers, and 
 often she felt him wince and tremble with ire, 
 and often press her hand, sympathising with 
 her in every vein. 
 
 " Oh, piteous tale of a true heart battling 
 alone against such bitter odds," said he. 
 
 "It all seems small, when I see thee here 
 again, and nursing my boy. We have had a 
 warning, Gerard. True friends like you and 
 roe are rare, and they are mad to part, ere 
 death divideth them." 
 
 "And that is true," said Clement, off his 
 guard. 
 
 And then she would have him tell her what 
 he had suffered for her, and he begged her to 
 excuse him, and she consented ; but by ques- 
 tions quietly revoked her consent and elicited 
 it all ; and many a sigh she heaved for him, and 
 more than once she hid her face in her hands 
 with terror at his perils, though past. 
 
 And to console him for all he had gone through, 
 she kneeled down and put her arms under the 
 little boy, and lifted him gently up. " Kiss him 
 softly," she whispered. "Again, again! kiss 
 thy fill if thou canst ; he is sound. 'Tis all I 
 can do to comfort thee till thou art out of this 
 foul den and in thy sweet manse yonder. " 
 
 Clement shook his head. 
 
 " Well," said she, " let that pass. Know 
 that I have been sore affronted for want of 
 my lines." 
 
 " Who hath dared affront thee ? " 
 
 " No matter, those that will do it again if 
 thou hast lost them, which the saints for- 
 bid." 
 
 " I lose them ? nay, there they lie, close to 
 thy hand." 
 
 " Where, where, oh, where 7 " 
 
 Clement hung his head. " Look In the Vul- 
 gate. Heaven forgive me : I thought thou wert 
 dead, and a saint in heaven." 
 
 She looked, and on the blank leaves of the 
 poor soul's Vulgate she found her marriage 
 lines. 
 
 " Thank God I " she cried, " thank God I Oh, 
 bless thee, Gerard, bless thee 1 Why, what is 
 here, Gerard?" 
 
 On the other leaves were pinned every scrap 
 of paper she had ever sent him, and their two 
 names she had once written together in sport, 
 and the lock of her hair she had given him, 
 and half a silver coin she had broken with him, 
 and a straw she had sucked her soup with the 
 first day he ever saw her. 
 
 When Margaret saw these proofs of love 
 and signs of a gentle heart bereaved, even her 
 exultation at getting back her marriage lines 
 was overpowered by gushing tenderness. She 
 almost staggered, and her hand went to her 
 bosom, and she leaned her brow against the 
 stone cell and wept so silently that he did not 
 see she was weeping; indeed she would not 
 let him, for she felt that to befriend him 
 now she must be the stronger ; and emotion 
 weakens. 
 
 "Gerard," said she, "I know you are wise 
 and good. Yon must have a reason for what 
 you are doing, let it seem ever so unreasonable. 
 Talk we like old friends. Why are you buried 
 alive T " 
 
 "Margaret, to escape temptation. My im- 
 pious ire against those two had its root in the 
 heart ; that heart then I must deaden, and, Dei 
 gratia, I shall. Shall I, a servant of Christ and 
 of the Church, court temptation ? Shall I pray 
 daily to be led out on't, and walk into it with 
 open eyes 1 " 
 
 " That is good sense anyway," said Margaret, 
 with a consummate affectation of candour. 
 
 "'Tis unanswerable," said Clement, with a 
 sigh. ' 
 
 "We shall see. Tell me, have you escaped 
 temptation here T Why I ask is, when / am
 
 268 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 alone, mj thoughts are far more wild and 
 foolish than in company. Nay, speak sooth ; 
 come ! " 
 
 "I must needs own I have been worse 
 tempted here with evil imaginations than in 
 the world." 
 
 " There now." 
 
 "Ay, bat o were Anthony and Jerome, 
 Macarius and Hilarion, Benedict, Bernard, 
 and all the saints. 'Twill wear off. " 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I feel sure it will." 
 
 "Guessing against knowledge. Here 'tis 
 men folk are sillier than us that be but women. 
 Wise in their own conceits, they will not let 
 themselves see ; their stomachs are too high 
 to be taught by their eyes. A woman, if she 
 went into a hole in a bank to escape tempta- 
 tion, and there found it, would just lift her 
 farthingale and out on't, and not e'en know 
 bow wise she was, till she watched a man in 
 like plight." 
 
 "Nay, I grant humility and a teachable 
 spirit are the roads to wisdom ; but when all 
 IB said, here I wrestle but with imagination. 
 At Gouda she I love as no priest or monk must 
 lore any bat the angels, she will tempt a weak 
 onl, on willing, yet not loth to be tempted." 
 
 " Ay, that i another matter ; / should tempt 
 thee then ? to what, i' God's name ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? The flesh is weak." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, my lad. Why, you are 
 thinking of some other Margaret, not Margaret 
 h Peter. Was ever my mind turned to folly 
 and frailty ? Stay, is it because you were my 
 husband once, as these lines avouch? Think 
 you the road to folly is beaten for you more 
 than for another ? Oh I how shallow are the 
 wise, and how little able are you to read me, 
 who can read you so well from top to toe. 
 Come, learn thine ABC. Were a stranger to 
 proffer me unchaste love, I should shrink a bit, 
 no doubt, and feel sore, but I should defend 
 myielf without making a coil ; for men, I know, 
 are so, the best of them sometimes. But if 
 yon, that have been my husband, and are my 
 child's father, were to offer to humble me so 
 in mine own eyes, and thine, and his, either 
 I shoold spit In thy face, Gerard, or, as I 
 am not a downright vulgar woman, I should 
 natch the first weapon at hand and strike 
 thee dead." 
 
 And Margaret's eyes flashed fire, and her 
 notril expanded, that it was glorious to see ; 
 and no one that did see her could doubt her 
 sincerity. 
 
 14 1 had not the sense to see that," said 
 Gerard quietly. And he pondered. 
 
 Margaret eyed him In silence, and soon re- 
 covered her composure. 
 
 "Let not yoa and I dispute," said she 
 gently ; " speak we of other things. Ask me 
 of thy folk." 
 
 "My father?" 
 
 "Well, and warms to thee and me. Poor 
 tool, a drew glaive on those twain that day, 
 but Jorian Ketel and I we mastered him, and 
 he drove them forth his house for ever." 
 
 " That may not be : he must take them 
 back." 
 
 'That he will never do for us. You know 
 the man ; he is dour as iron ; yet would he 
 do it for one word from one that will not 
 speak it." 
 'Who?" 
 
 1 The Vicar of Gouda. The old man will be 
 at the manse to-morrow, I hear." 
 
 "How you come back to that." 
 
 " Forgive me : I am but a woman. It is us 
 for nagging; shouldst keep me from it wi' 
 questioning of me." 
 
 " My sister Kate ? " 
 
 " Alas ! " 
 
 " What hath ill befallen e'en that sweet lily ? 
 Out and alas I " 
 
 "Be calm, sweetheart, no harm hath her 
 befallen. Oh, nay, nay, far fro' that." Then 
 Margaret forced herself to be composed, and 
 in a low, sweet, gentle voice she murmured to 
 him thus : " My poor Gerard, Kate hath left 
 her trouble behind her. For the manner on't, 
 'twas like the rest. Ah, such as she saw never 
 thirty, nor ever shall while earth shall last. 
 She smiled in pain too. A well, then, thus 
 'twas : she was took wi' a languor and a loss 
 of all her pains." 
 
 " A loss of her pains? I understand you not." 
 
 " Ay, you are not experienced ; indeed, e'en 
 thy mother almost blinded herself and said, 
 ' 'Tis maybe a change for the better.' But Joan 
 Ketel, which is an understanding woman, she 
 looked at her and said, ' Down sun, down 
 wind I ' And the gossips sided and said, ' Be 
 brave, you that are her mother, for she is half 
 way to the saints." And thy mother wept sore, 
 but Kate would not let her ; and one very 
 ancient woman, she said to thy mother, ' She 
 will die as easy as she lived hard.' And she 
 lay painless best part of three days, a sipping 
 of heaven aforehand. And, my dear, when 
 she was just parting, she asked for ' Gerard's 
 little boy,' and I brought him and set him on 
 the bed, and the little thing behaved as peace- 
 ably as he does now. But by this time she was 
 past speaking; but she pointed to a drawer, 
 and her mcther knew what to look for : it was 
 two gold angels thou hadst given her years 
 ago. Poor soul ! she had kept them till thou 
 shouldst come home. And she nodded towards 
 the little boy, and looked anxious ; but we 
 understood her, and put the pieces in his two 
 hands, and when his little fingers closed on 
 them, she smiled content. And so she gave 
 her little earthly treasures to her favourite's 
 child for you were her favourite and her 
 immortal jewel to God, and passed so sweetly 
 we none of us knew justly when she left us. 
 Well-a-day, well-a-day ! " 
 
 Gerard wept 
 
 "She hath not left her like on earth," he 
 sobbed. " Oh, how the affections of earth 
 curl softly round my heart I I cannot help 
 it ; God made them after all. Speak on, 
 sweet Margaret ; at thy voice the past rolls 
 its tides back upon me ; the loves and the 
 hopes of youth come fair and gliding into 
 my dark cell, and darker bosom, on waves of 
 memory and music." 
 
 " Gerard, I am loth to grieve you, but Kate
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 269 
 
 cried a little when she first took ill at you not 
 being there to close her eyes." 
 
 Gerard sighed. 
 
 "You were within a league, but hid your 
 face from her." 
 
 He groaned. 
 
 " There, forgive me for nagging ; I am but 
 a woman ; you would not have been so cruel 
 to your own flesh and blood knowingly, would 
 you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Well, then, know that thy brother Sybrandt 
 lies in my charge with a broken back, fruit of 
 thy curse." 
 
 " Mea culpa I mea culpa ! " 
 
 " He is very penitent ; be yourself and for- 
 give him this night." 
 
 " I have forgiven him long ago." 
 
 " Think you he can believe that from any 
 mouth but yours 7 Come 1 he is but about 
 two butts' length hence." 
 
 " So near ? Why, where ? " 
 
 " A.t Gouda manse. I took him there 
 yestreen. For I know you, the curse was 
 ecarce cold on your lips when you repented 
 it " (Gerard nodded assent), " and I said to 
 myself, Gerard will thank me for taking 
 Sybrandt to die under his roof ; he will not 
 beat his breast and cry mea culpa, yet grudge 
 three footsteps to quiet a withered brother 
 on his last bed. He may have a bee in his 
 bonnet, but he is not a hypocrite, a thing all 
 pious words and uncharitable deeds." 
 
 Gerard literally staggered where he sat at 
 this tremendous thrust. 
 
 " Forgive me for nagging," said she. " Thy 
 mother too is waiting for thee. Is it well 
 done to keep her on thorns so long ? She will 
 not sleep this night. Bethink thee, Gerard, 
 she is all to thee that I am to this sweet child. 
 Ah, I think so much more of mothers since I 
 had my little Gerard. She suffered for thee, 
 and nursed thee, and tended thee from boy 
 to man. Priest, monk, hermit, call thyself 
 what thou wilt, to her thou art but one thing, 
 her child." 
 
 "Where is she?" murmured Gerard, in a 
 quavering voice. 
 
 "At Gouda manse, wearing the night in 
 prayer and care." 
 
 Then Margaret saw the time was come for 
 that appeal to his reason she had purposely 
 reserved till persuasion should have paved the 
 way for conviction. So the smith first softens 
 the iron by fire, and then brings down the 
 sledge hammer. 
 
 She showed him, but in her own good 
 straightforward Dutch, that his present life 
 was only a higher kind of selfishness, spiritual 
 egotism ; whereas a priest had no more right 
 to care only for his own soul than only for his 
 own body. That was not his path to heaven. 
 "But," said she, "whoever yet lost his soul 
 by saving the souls of others I the Almighty 
 loves him who thinks of others ; and when 
 He shall see thee caring for the souls of the 
 folk the Duke hath put into thine hand, He 
 will care ten times more for thy soul than He 
 does now." 
 
 Gerard was struck by this remark. "Art 
 shrewd in dispute," said he. 
 
 " Far from it," was the reply, " only my 
 eyes are not bandaged with conceit.* So long 
 as Satan walks the whole earth, tempting men, 
 and so long as the sons of Belial do never 
 lock themselves in caves, but run like ants 
 to and fro corrupting others, the good man 
 that skulks apart plays the devil's game, or 
 at least gives him the odds : thou a soldier 
 of Christ ? ask thy comrade Denys, who is 
 but a soldier of the Duke, ask him if ever he 
 skulked in a hole and shunned the battle 
 because forsooth in battle is danger as well 
 as glory and duty. For thy sole excuse is 
 fear; thou makest no secret on't. Go to, no 
 duke nor king hath such cowardly soldiers 
 as Christ hath. What was that you said in 
 the church at Rotterdam about the man in 
 the parable that buried his talent in the 
 earth, and so offended the giver ? Thy wonder- 
 ful gift for preaching, is it not a talent, and 
 a gift from thy Creator ? " 
 
 " Certes ; such as it is." 
 
 "And hast thou laid it out? or buried itT 
 To whom hast thou preached these seven 
 months ? to bats and owls ? Hast buried it 
 in one hole with thyself and thy once good 
 wits? 
 
 "The Dominicans are the friars preachers. 
 'Tis for preaching they were founded, so thou 
 art false to Dominic as well as to his Master. 
 
 "Do you remember, Gerard, when we were 
 young together, which now are old before our 
 time, as we walked handed in the fields, did 
 you but see a sheep cast, ay, three fields off, 
 you would leave your sweetheart (by her good 
 will) and run and lift the sheep for charity? 
 Well, then, at Gouda is not one sheep in evil 
 plight, but a whole flock; some cast, some 
 strayed, some sick, some tainted, some a being 
 devoured, and all for the want of a shepherd. 
 Where is their shepherd ? lurking in a den 
 like a wolf, a den in his own parish ; out fie 1 
 out fie 1 
 
 " I scented thee out, in part, by thy kind- 
 ness to the little birds. Take note, you Gerard 
 Eliassoen must love something, 'tis in your 
 blood ; you were born to't. Shunning man, 
 you do but seek earthly affection a peg lower 
 than man." 
 
 Gerard interrupted her. "The birds are 
 God's creatures, 'His innocent creatures, and 
 I do well to love them, being God's creatures." 
 
 " What, are they creatures of the same God 
 that we are, that he is who lies upon thy 
 knee ? " 
 
 "You know they are." 
 
 " Then what pretence for shunning us and 
 being kind to them ? Sith man is one of the 
 animals, why pick him out to shun ? Is't 
 because he is of animals the paragon ? What, 
 you court the young of birds, and abandon 
 your own young? Birds need but bodily 
 food, and having wings, deserve scant pity if 
 they cannot fly and find it. But that sweet 
 dove upon thy knee, he needeth not carnal 
 
 I think ibe means prejudice.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 only, but spiritual food. He is thine as well 
 K mine; and I have done my share. He 
 will soon be too much for me, and I look to 
 Gouda's parson to teach him trne piety and 
 useful lore. Is he not of more value than 
 many sparrows ? " 
 
 Gerard started and stammered an affirmation. 
 For she waited for his reply. 
 
 "Y<Ju wonder," continued she, "to hear me 
 quote holy writ so glib. I have pored over it 
 this four "years, and why T Not because God 
 wrote it, but because I saw it often in thy 
 hands ere thou didst leave me. Heaven forgive 
 me, I am but a woman. What thinkest thou 
 of this sentence? 'Let your work so shine 
 before men that they may see your good works 
 and glorify your Father which is in heaven I ' 
 What is a saint in a sink better than ' a light 
 under a bushel I ' 
 
 " Therefore, since the sheep committed to thy 
 charge bleat for thee and cry, 'Oh, desert us 
 no longer, but come to Gouda manse ; ' since 
 I, who know thee ten times better than thon 
 knowest thyself, do pledge my soul it is for thy 
 oul's weal to go to Gouda manse since duty 
 to thy child, too long abandoned, calls thee to 
 Gouda manse since thy sovereign, whom holy 
 writ again bids thee honour, sends thee to 
 Gouda manse since the Pope, whom the Church 
 teaches thee to revere, hath absolved thee of 
 thy monkish vows, and orders thee to Gouda 
 
 "Ahl" 
 
 "Since thy grey-haired mother watches for 
 thee in dole and care, and tnrneth oft the hour- 
 glass and sigheth sore that thou comest so slow 
 to her at Gouda manse since thy brother, 
 withered by thy curse, awaits thy forgiveness 
 and thy prayers for his soul, now lingering in 
 his body, at Gouda manse take thon up in 
 thine arms the sweet bird wi' crest of gold that 
 nestles to thy bosom, and give me thy hand ; 
 thy sweetheart erst and wife, and now thy 
 friend, the truest friend to thee this night 
 that ere man had, and come with me to Gouda 
 manse!" 
 
 " It is the voice of an angel I " cried Clement 
 loudly. 
 
 " Then hearken it, and come forth to Gouda 
 manse!" 
 
 The battle was won. 
 
 Margaret lingered behind, cast her eye rapidly 
 round the furniture, and selected the Vulgate 
 and the psaltery. The rest she sighed at and 
 let it lie. The breastplate and the cilice of 
 bristles she took and dashed with feeble ferocity 
 on the floor. Then seeing Gerard watch her 
 with surprise from the outside, she coloured 
 and said, " I am but a woman ; ' little ' will still 
 b ' BpitefuL' " 
 
 " Why encumber thyself with those ! They 
 are safe. " 
 
 " Oh, she had a reason." 
 
 And with this they took the road to Gouda 
 parsonage. The moon and stars were so bright 
 it seemed almost as light as day. 
 
 Suddenly Gerard stopped. "My poor little 
 biros ! 
 
 " What of them I " 
 
 "They will miss their food. I feed them 
 every day." 
 
 " The child hath a piece of bread in his cowL 
 Take that, and feed them now against the 
 morn." 
 
 " I will. Nay, I will not. He is as innocent, 
 and nearer to me and to thee." 
 
 Margaret drew a long breath. '"Tis well 
 Hadst taken it, I might have hated thee ; I am 
 but a woman." 
 
 When they had gone about a quarter of a 
 mile, Gerard sighed. " Margaret," said he, 
 " I must e'en rest ; he is too heavy for me." 
 
 "Then give him me, and take thou these. 
 Alas ! alas ! I mind when thou wouldst have 
 run with the child on one shoulder, and the 
 mother on t'other." 
 
 And Margaret carried the boy. 
 
 " I trow," said Gerard, looking down, " over- 
 much fasting is not good for a man." 
 
 "A many die of it each year, winter time," 
 replied Margaret. 
 
 Gerard pondered these simple words, and 
 eyed her askant, carrying the child with perfect 
 ease. When they had gone nearly a mile he 
 said with considerable surprise, " You thought 
 it was but two butts' length." 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " Why, yon said so." 
 
 " That is another matter." She then turned 
 on him the face of a Madonna. " I lied," said 
 she sweetly. "And to save your soul and 
 body, I'd maybe tell a worse lie than that, 
 at need. I am but a woman. Ah, well, it 
 is but two butts' length from here at any 
 rate." 
 
 " Without a lie ? " 
 
 " Humph I Three, without a lie." 
 
 And sure enough, in a few minutes they came 
 up to the manse. 
 
 A candle was burning in the vioar's par- 
 lour. " She is waking still," whispered 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Beautiful 1 beautifull" said Clement, and 
 stopped to look at it. 
 
 " What, in Heaven's name T " 
 
 "That little candle, seen through the win- 
 dow at night. Look an' it be not like some 
 fair star of size prodigious : it delighteth the 
 eyes, and warmeth the heart of those out- 
 side." 
 
 " Come, and I'll show thee something better," 
 said Margaret, and led him on tiptoe to the 
 window. 
 
 They looked in, and there was Catherine 
 kneeling on the hassock, with her "hours" 
 before her. 
 
 "Folk can pray out of a cave," whispered 
 Margaret. "Ay, and hit heaven with their 
 prayers ; for 'tis for a sight of thee she prayeth, 
 and thou art here. Now, Gerard, be prepared ; 
 she is not the woman you knew her; her 
 children's troubles have greatly broken the 
 brisk, light-hearted soul. And I see she has 
 been weeping e'en now ; she will have given 
 thee up, being so late." 
 
 "Let me get to her," said Clement hastily, 
 trembling all over. 
 
 " That door ! I will bide here." 
 
 When Gerard was gone to the door,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 271 
 
 Margaret, fearing the sudden surprise, gave 
 one sharp tap at the window and cried, 
 "Mother I" in a loud, expressive voice that 
 Catherine read at once. She clasped her 
 hands together and had half risen from her 
 kneeling posture when the door burst open 
 and Clement flung himself wildly on his 
 knees at her knees, with his arms out to em- 
 brace her. She uttered a cry such as only a 
 mother could. "Ah I my darling, my darling 1" 
 and clucg sobbing round his neck. And true 
 it was, she saw neither a hermit, a priest, nor 
 a monk, but just her child, lost, and despaired 
 of, and in her arms. And after a little while 
 Margaret came in, with wet eyes and cheeks, 
 and a holy calm of affection settled by degrees 
 on these sore troubled ones. And they sat all 
 three together, hand in hand, murmuring sweet 
 and loving converse ; and he who sat in the 
 middle drank right and left their true affection 
 and their humble but genuine wisdom, and was 
 forced to eat a good nourishing meal, and at 
 daybreak was packed off to a snowy bed. and 
 by and by awoke, as from a hideous dream, 
 friar and hermit no more, Clement no more, but 
 Gerard Eliassoen, parson of Gouda. 
 
 CHAPTER XCVIII. 
 
 MARGARET went back to Rotterdam long ere 
 Gerard awoke, and actually left her boy behind 
 her. She sent the faithful, sturdy Reicht off to 
 Gouda directly with a vicar's grey frock and 
 large felt hat, and with minute instructions 
 how to govern her new master. 
 
 Then she went to Jorian Ketel ; for she said 
 to herself, " he is the closest I ever met, BO he 
 is the man for me," and in concert with him 
 she did two mortal sly things ; yet not, in my 
 opinion, virulent, though she thought they 
 were ; but if I am asked what were these deeds 
 without a name, the answer is, that as she, 
 "who was 'but a woman,' kept them secret 
 till her dying day, I, who am a man Verbum 
 non ampliut addam." 
 
 She kept away from Gouda parsonage. 
 
 Things that pass little noticed in the heat of 
 argument sometimes rankle afterwards ; and 
 when she came to go over all that had passed, 
 nhe was offended at Gerard thinking she could 
 ever forget the priest in the some time lover. 
 " For what did he take me ? " said she. And 
 this raised a great shyness which really she 
 would not otherwise have felt, being down- 
 right innocent And pride sided with modesty, 
 and whispered, "Go no more to Gouda par- 
 sonage." 
 
 She left little Gerard there to complete the 
 conquest her maternal heart ascribed to him, 
 not to her own eloquence and sagacity, and to 
 anchor his father for ever to humanity. 
 
 But this generous stroke of policy cost her 
 heart dear. She had never yet been parted 
 from her boy an hour, and she felt sadly 
 strange as well as desolate without him. After 
 
 the first day it became intolerable ; and what 
 does the poor Boul do, but creep at dark up to 
 Gouda parsonage, and lurk about the premises 
 like a thief till she saw Reicht Heynes in the 
 kitchen alone. Then she tapped softly at the 
 window and said, "Reicht, for pity's sake 
 bring him out to me unbeknown." With Mar- 
 garet the person who occupied her thoughts 
 at the time ceased to have a name, and sank 
 to a pronoun. 
 
 Reicht soon found an excuse for taking little 
 Gerard out, and there was a scene of mutual 
 rapture, followed by mutual tears when mother 
 and boy parted again. 
 
 And it was arranged that Reicht should take 
 him half way to Rotterdam every day, at a set 
 hour, and Margaret meet them. And at these 
 meetings, after the raptures, and after mother 
 and child had gambolled together like a young 
 cat and her first kitten, the boy would some- 
 times amuse himself alone at their feet, and 
 the two women generally seized this oppor- 
 tunity to talk very seriously about Lake 
 Peterson. This began thus : 
 
 " Reicht," said Margaret, " I as good as pro- 
 mised him to marry Luke Peterson. ' Say yoa 
 the word,' quoth I, ' and I'll wed him." " 
 
 " Poor Luke ! " 
 
 " Prithee, why poor Luke ? " 
 
 "To be bandied about BO, atwixt yea and 
 nay." 
 
 "Why, Reicht, you have not ever been BO 
 simple as to cast an eye of affection on the 
 boy, that you take his part 7 " 
 
 "Me?" said Reicht, with a toss of the 
 head. 
 
 "Oh, I ask your pardon. Well, then, yon 
 can do me a good turn." 
 
 "Whisht! whisper I that little darling is 
 listening to every word, and eyes like 
 saucers." 
 
 On this both their heads would have gone 
 under one cap. 
 
 Two women plotting against one boy ? Oh, 
 you great cowardly serpents ! 
 
 But when these stolen meetings had gone 
 on about five days Margaret began to feel the 
 injustice of it, and to be irritated as well as 
 unhappy. 
 
 And she was crying about it when a cart 
 came to her door, and in it, clean as a new 
 penny, his beard close shaved, his bands white 
 as snow, and a little colour in his pale face, sat 
 the Vicar of Gouda in the grey frock and large 
 felt hat she had sent him. 
 
 She ran upstairs directly, and washed away 
 all trace of her tears, and put on a cap, which 
 being just taken out of the drawer was cleaner, 
 theoretically, than the one she had on, and 
 came down to him. 
 
 He seized both her hands and kissed them, 
 and a tear fell upon them. She turned her 
 head away at that to hide her own which 
 started. 
 
 "My sweet Margaret," he cried, "why ia 
 this? Why hold yon aloof from your own 
 good deed ? we have been waiting and waiting 
 for you every day, and no Margaret." 
 1 You said things."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " What 1 when I was a hermit, and a 
 donkey." 
 
 " Ay ! no matter, you said things. And you 
 had no reason." 
 
 " Forget all I said there. Who hearkens the 
 ravings of a maniac ? for I see now that in a 
 few months more I should have been a gibbering 
 idiot ; yet no mortal could have persuaded me 
 away but you. Oh, what an outlay of wit and 
 goodness was yours 1 But it is not here I can 
 thank and bless you as I ought. No, it is in 
 the home you have given me, among the sheep 
 whose shepherd you have made me ; already I 
 love them dearly ; there it is I must thank 
 'the truest friend ever man had.' So now I 
 say to yon as erst you said to me, come to 
 Gouda manse." 
 
 "Humph ! we will see about that." 
 
 " Why, Margaret, think you I had ever kept 
 the dear child so long, but that I made sure 
 you would be back to him from day to day ? 
 Oh, he curls round my very heart-strings, but 
 what is my title to him compared to thine ? 
 Confess now, thou hast had hard thoughts of 
 me for this." 
 
 " Nay, nay, not I. Ah ! thou art thyself 
 gain ; wast ever thoughtful of others. I have 
 half a mind to go to Gouda manse, for your 
 saying that." 
 
 " Come then, with half thy mind, 'tis worth 
 the whole of other folk's." 
 
 " Well, I dare say I will ; but there is no such 
 mighty hurry," said she coolly (she was literally 
 burning to go). " Tell me first how you agree 
 with your folk." 
 
 " Why, already my poor have taken root in 
 my heart." 
 
 " I thought as much." 
 
 " And there are such good creatures among 
 them ; simple, and rough, and superstitious, 
 but wonderfully good." 
 
 " Oh 1 leave you alone for seeing a grain of 
 good among a bushel of ill" 
 
 " Whisht 1 whisht! And Margaret, two of 
 them have been ill friends for four years, and 
 came to the manse each to get on my blind 
 ide. But give the glory to God I got on their 
 bright side, and made them friends, and laugh 
 at themselves for their folly." 
 
 " J5ut are you in very deed their vicar ? answer 
 me that" 
 
 " Certes ; have I not been to the bishop and 
 taken the oath, and rung the church bell, and 
 touched the altar, the missal, and the holy 
 cnp before the churchwardens? And they 
 hve handed me the parish seal ; see, here it 
 i. Nay, 'tin a real vicar inviting a true friend 
 to Gouda manse." 
 
 " Then my mind is at ease. Tell me oceans 
 moro." 
 
 "Well, sweet one, nearest to me of all my 
 pariah is a poor cripple that my guardian angel 
 and his (her name ihou knowest even by this 
 turning of thy head away) hath placed beneath 
 my roof. Sybrandt and I are that we never 
 were till now, brothers. 'T would gladden thee, 
 yet sadden thee to hear how we kissed and 
 forgave one another. He is full of thy praises, 
 and wholly in a pious mind ; he says he is 
 happier since hit trouble than e'er be was in 
 
 the days of his strength. Oh ! out of my 
 house he ne'er shall go to any place but 
 heaven." 
 
 " Tell me somewhat that happened thyself, 
 poor soul ! All this is good, but yet no tidings 
 to me. Do I not know thee of old ? " 
 
 "Well, let me see. At first I was much 
 dazzled by the sunlight, and could not go 
 abroad (owl 1), but that is passed ; and good 
 Reicht Heynes humph I " 
 
 "What of her?" 
 
 " This to thine ear only, for she is a diamond. 
 Her voice goes through me like a knife, and all 
 voices seem loud but thine, which is so mellow 
 sweet. Stay, now I'll fit ye with tidings ; I 
 spake yesterday with an old man that conceits 
 he is ill-tempered, and sweats to pass for such 
 with others, but oh ! so threadbare, and the 
 best good heart beneath." 
 
 " Why, 'tis a parish of angels," said Margaret 
 ironically. 
 
 "Then why dost thou keep out on't ? " re- 
 torted Gerard. " Well, he was telling me there 
 was no parish in Holland where the devil hath 
 such power as at Gouda ; and among his in- 
 stances, says be, ' We had a hermit, the holiest 
 in Holland ; but being Gouda, the devil came 
 for him this week, and took him, bag and 
 baggage ; not a ha'porth of him left but a 
 goodish piece of his skin, just for all the world 
 like a hedgehog's, and a piece o' old iron fur- 
 bished up? " 
 
 Margaret smiled. 
 
 "Ay, but," continued Gerard, "the strange 
 thing is, the cave has verily fallen in ; and 
 had I been so perverse as resist thee, it had 
 assuredly buried me dead there where I had 
 buried myself alive. Therefore in this I see 
 the finger of Providence, condemning my late, 
 approving my present, way of life. What sayest 
 thou ? " 
 
 " Nay, can I pierce the like mysteries ? I am 
 but a woman." 
 
 "Somewhat more, methinks. This very tale 
 proves thee my guardian angel, and all else 
 avouches it, so come to Gouda manse." 
 
 " Well, go you on, I'll follow." 
 
 " Nay, in the cart with me." 
 
 "Not so." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 "Can I tell why and wherefore, being a 
 woman? All I know is I seem to feel to 
 wish to come alone." 
 
 " So be it then. I leave thee the cart, being, 
 as thou sayest, a woman, and I'll go a- foot 
 being a man again, with the joyful tidings of 
 thy coming." 
 
 When Margaret reached the manse the first 
 thing she saw was the two Gerards together, 
 the son performing his capriccios on the plot, 
 and the father t touching on a chair, in his 
 great hat, with pencil and paper, trying very 
 patiently to sketch him. 
 
 After a warm welcome he showed her his 
 attempts. " But in vain I strive to fix him," 
 said he, "for he is incarnate quicksilver. Yet 
 do but note his changes, infinite, but none un- 
 gracious ; all is supple and easy ; and how he 
 melteth from one posture to another." He 
 added presently, " Woe to illuminators I look-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 273 
 
 Ing on thee, sir baby, I see what awkward, 
 lopsided, ungainly toads I and my fellows 
 painted missals with, and called them cherubs 
 and seraphs." Finally he threw the paper away 
 in despair, and Margaret conveyed it secretly 
 into her bosom. 
 
 At night when they sat round the peat fire 
 he bade them observe how beautiful the brass 
 candlesticks and other glittering metals were 
 in the glow from the hearth. Catherine's eyes 
 sparkled at this observation. "And oh, the 
 sheets I lie in here," said ho, "often my con- 
 science pricketh me and saith, ' Who art thou 
 to lie in lint like web of snow ? ' Dives was 
 ne'er so flaxed as I. And to think that there 
 are folk in the world that have all the beauti- 
 ful things which I have here, yet not content. 
 Let them pass six months in a hermit's cell, 
 seeing no face of man, then will they find how 
 lovely and pleasant this wicked world is, and 
 eke that men and women are God's fairest 
 creatures. Margaret was always fair, but 
 never to my eye so bright as now." Margaret 
 shook her head incredulously. Gerard con- 
 tinued, "My mother was ever good and kind, 
 but I noted not her exceeding comeliness till 
 now. '' 
 
 "Nor I neither," said Catherine; "a score 
 years ago I might pass in a crowd, but not 
 now." 
 
 Gerard declared to her that each age had its 
 beauty. "See this mild grey eye," said he, 
 " that hath looked motherly love upon so many 
 of us, all that love hath left its shadow, and 
 that shadow is a beauty which defieth Time. 
 See this delicate lip, these pure white teeth. 
 See this well-shaped brow, where comeliness 
 just passeth into reverence. Art beautiful in 
 my eyes, mother dear." 
 
 "And that is enough for me, my darling. 
 'Tis time you were in bed, child. Ye have to 
 preach the morn." 
 
 And Reicht Heynes and Catherine inter- 
 changed a look which said, "We two have 
 an amiable maniac to superintend ; calls every- 
 thing beautiful." 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and they heard 
 him preach in his own church. It was crammed 
 with persons, who came curious, but remained 
 devout. Never was his wonderful gift displayed 
 more powerfully ; he was himself deeply moved 
 by the first sight of all his people, and his 
 bowels yearned over this flock he had so long 
 neglected. In a single sermon, which lasted 
 two hours and seemed to last but twenty 
 minutes, he declared the whole scripture : he 
 terrified the impenitent and thoughtless, con- 
 firmed the wavering, consoled the bereaved 
 and the afflicted, uplifted the hearts of the 
 poor, and when he ended, left the multitude 
 standing rapt, and unwilling to believe the 
 divine music of his voice and soul had ceased. 
 
 Need I say that two poor women in a corner 
 sat entranced, with streaming eyes. 
 
 " Wherever gat he it all ? " whispered Cathe- 
 rine, with her apron to her eyes. "By our 
 Lady, not from me." 
 
 As soon as they were by themselves Margaret 
 threw her arms round Catherine's neck and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " Mother, mother, I am not quite a happj 
 woman, but oh, I am a proud one." 
 
 And she vowed on her knees never by word 
 or deed to let her love come between this young 
 saint and Heaven. 
 
 Reader, did you ever stand by the seashore 
 after a storm, when the wind happens to have 
 gone down suddenly ? The waves cannot cease 
 with their cause ; indeed, they seem at first 
 to the ear to lash the sounding shore more 
 fiercely than while the wind blew. Still we 
 are conscious that inevitable calm has begun, 
 and is now but rocking them to sleep. So it 
 was with those true and tempest-tossed loverg 
 from that eventful night when they went hand 
 in hand beneath the stars from Gouda hermi- 
 tage to Gouda manse. 
 
 At times a loud wave would every now and 
 then come roaring, but it was only memory's 
 echo of the tempest that had swept their lives ; 
 the storm itself was over, and the boiling waters 
 began from that moment to go down, down, 
 down, gently, but inevitably. 
 
 This image is to supply the place of 
 interminable details that would be tedious 
 and tame. What best merits attention 
 at present is the general situation, and the 
 strange complication of feeling that arose 
 from it. History itself, though a far more 
 daring story-teller than romance, presents few 
 things so strange* as the footing on which 
 Gerard and Margaret now lived for many 
 years. United by present affection, past 
 familiarity, and a marriage irregular but 
 legal ; separated by Holy Church and by their 
 own consciences, which sided unreservedly 
 with Holy Church ; separated by the Church, 
 but united by a living pledge of affection, 
 lawful in every sense at its date. 
 
 And living but a few miles from one another, 
 and she calling his mother " mother." For 
 some years she always took her boy to Gouda 
 on Sunday, returning home at dark. Go when 
 she would, it was always fete at Gouda manse, 
 and she was received like a little queen. 
 Catherine in these days was nearly always 
 with her, and Eli very often. Tergou had so 
 little to tempt them compared with Rotterdam, 
 and at last they left it altogether, and set up 
 in the capital. 
 
 And thus the years glided ; so barren now of 
 striking incidents, so void of great hopes, and 
 free from great fears, and so like one another, 
 that without the help of dates I could scarcely 
 indicate the progress of time. 
 
 However, early next year, 1471, the Duchess 
 of Burgundy, with the open dissent, but secret 
 connivance of the Duke, raised forces to enable 
 her dethroned brother, Edward the Fourth of 
 England, to invade that kingdom ; our old 
 
 Let me not be understood to apply this to the barn 
 outline of the relation. Many bishops and priests, and 
 not a few popes, had wives and children as laymen, and 
 entering orders were parted from the wives and not from 
 the children. But in the case before the reader are the 
 additional features of a strong surviving attachment on 
 both sides, and of neighbourhood, besides that here tha 
 man had been led into holy orders by a false state- 
 ment of the woman's death. On a summary of all the 
 essential features, th? Bitua.tiop wa^, to th.e best ol 
 my belisf, unique.
 
 74 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 friend Denys thus enlisted, and passing through 
 Rotterdam to the ships, heard on his way that 
 Gerard was a priest, and Margaret alone. On 
 this he told Margaret that marriage was not a 
 haiai of his, but that as his comrade had put 
 it OQ! >f his own power to keep troth, he felt 
 bound to offer to keep it for him; "for a 
 comrade's honour is dear to as as our own," 
 aid he. 
 
 She stared, then smiled. "I choose rather 
 to b still thy she-comrade," said she ; "closer 
 acquainted, we might not agree so well." And 
 In her character of she-comrade she equipped 
 him with a new sword of Antwerp make, and 
 a double handful of silver. " I give thee no 
 gold," said she, " for 'tis thrown away as quick 
 as silver, and harder to win back. Heaven 
 send thee safe out of all thy perils ; there be 
 famous fair women yonder to beguile thee with 
 their faces, as well as men to hash thee with 
 their axes." 
 
 He was hurried on board at La Vere, and 
 never saw Gerard at that time. 
 
 In 1473 Sybrandt began to fail. His piti- 
 able existence had been sweetened by his 
 brother's inventive tenderness and his own 
 contented spirit, which, his antecedents con- 
 sidered, was truly remarkable. As for Gerard, 
 the day never passed that he did not devote 
 two hours to him ; reading or singing to him, 
 praying with him, and drawing him about in 
 a soft carriage Margaret and he had made 
 between them. When the poor soul found 
 his end near, he begged Margaret might be 
 Rent for. She came at once, and almost with 
 his last breath he sought once more that for- 
 giveness she had long ago accorded. She 
 remained by him till the last; and he died, 
 blessing and blessed, in the arms of the two 
 true lovers he had parted for life. Tantum 
 rrligio tfcit suadere boni 
 
 1474 tfa ere was a wedding in Margaret's 
 house. Luke Peterson and Reicht Heynes. 
 
 This may seem less strange if I give the 
 purport of the dialogue interrupted some time 
 back. 
 
 Margaret went on to say, "Then in that 
 case you can easily make him fancy you, and 
 for my sake you must, for my conscience it 
 pricketh me, and I must needs fit him with 
 wife, the best I know." Margaret then in- 
 rtructed Reicht to be always kind and good- 
 humoured to Luke, and she would be a model 
 of peevishness to him. But be not thou BO 
 dmple as run me down," said she. "Leave 
 that to me. Make thou excuses for me ; I will 
 make myself black enow." 
 
 Reicht received these instructions like an 
 order to sweep a room, and obeyed them 
 punctually. 
 
 When they had subjected poor Luke to this 
 double artillery for a couple of years, he got 
 to look upon Margaret as his fog and wind 
 and Reicht as his sunshine ; and his affections 
 transferred themselves, he scarce knew how or 
 when. 
 
 On the wedding day Reicht embraced Mar- 
 garet, and thanked her almost with tears 
 "He was always my fancy," said she, " from 
 tte first hour I clapped eyes on him." 
 
 "Heyday, yon never told me that. What, 
 Reicht, are you as sly as the rest ? " 
 
 "Nay, nay," said Reicht eagerly; "but I 
 never thought you would really part with him 
 to me. In my country the mistress looks to 
 be served before the maid. 
 
 Margaret settled them in her shop, and gave 
 them half the profits. 
 
 1476 and 7 were years of great trouble to 
 Gerard, whose conscience compelled him to 
 oppose the Pope. His Holiness, siding with 
 the Grey Friars in their determination to swamp 
 every palpable distinction between the Virgin 
 Mary and her Son, bribed the Christian world 
 into his crotchet by proffering pardon of all 
 sins to such as would add to the Ave Mary 
 this clause : "and blessed be thy Mother Anna, 
 from whom, without blot of original sin, pro- 
 ceeded thy virgin llesh." 
 
 Gerard, in common with many of the northern 
 clergy, held this sentence to be flat heresy. He 
 not only refused to utter it in his church, but 
 warned his parishioners against using it in 
 private; and he refused to celebrate the new 
 feast the Pope invented at the same time, viz., 
 " the feast of the miraculous conception of the 
 Virgin." 
 
 But this drew upon him the bitter enmity 
 of the Franciscans, and they were strong 
 enough to put him into more than one serious 
 difficulty, and inflict many a little mortifica- 
 tion on him. 
 
 In emergencies he consulted Margaret, and 
 she always did one of two things, either she 
 said, "I do not see my way," and refused to 
 guess ; or else she gave him advice that proved 
 wonderfully sagacious. He had genius, but 
 she had marvellous tact. 
 
 And where affection came in and annihilated 
 the woman's judgment, he stepped in his turn 
 to her aid. Thus though she knew she was 
 spoiling little Gerard, and Catherine was ruin- 
 ing him for life, she would not part with him, 
 but kept him at home, and his abilities unculti- 
 vated. And there was a shrewd boy of nine 
 years, instead of learning to work and obey, 
 playing about and learning selfishness from 
 their infinite unselfishness, and tyrannising 
 with a rod of iron over two women, both of 
 them sagacious and spirited, but reduced by 
 their fondness for him to the exact level o'f 
 idiots. 
 
 Gerard saw this with pain, and interfered 
 with mild but firm remonstrance ; and after a 
 considerable struggle prevailed, and got little 
 Gerard sent to the best school in Europe, kept 
 by one Haaghe at Deventer : this was in 1477. 
 Many tears were shed, but the great progress 
 the boy made at that famous school reconciled 
 Margaret in some degree, and the fidelity of 
 Reicht Heynes, now her partner in business, 
 enabled her to spend weeks at a time hovering 
 over her boy at Deventer. 
 
 And so the years glided ; and these two 
 persons, subjected to as strong and constant 
 a temptation aa can well be conceived, were 
 each other's guardian angels, and not each 
 other's tempters. 
 
 To be sure the well preased morality of the 
 next century, which taught that solemn vows
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 275 
 
 to God are sacred in proportion as they are 
 reasonable, had at that time entered no single 
 mind ; and the alternative to these two minds 
 was self-denial, or sacrilege. 
 
 It was a strange thing to hear them talk 
 with unrestrained tenderness to one another 
 of their boy, and an icy barrier between them- 
 selves all the time. 
 
 Eight years had now passed thus, and 
 Gerard, fairly compared with men in general, 
 was happy. 
 
 But Margaret was not. 
 
 The habitual expression of her face waa a 
 sweet pensiveness, but sometimes she was 
 irritable and a little petulant. She even 
 napped Gerard now and then. And when 
 she went to see him, if a monk was with him 
 she would turn her back and go home. 
 
 (She hated the monks for having parted 
 Gerard and her, and she inoculated her boy 
 with a contempt for them which lasted him 
 till his dying day. 
 
 Gerard bore with her like an angel. He 
 knew her heart of gold, and hoped this ill 
 gust would blow over. 
 
 He himself being now the right man in 
 the right place this many years, loving his 
 parishioners, and beloved by them, and occu- 
 pied from morn till night in good works, 
 recovered the natural cheerfulness of his dis- 
 position. To tell the truth, a part of his 
 jocoseness was a blind; he was the greatest 
 peacemaker, except Mr. Harmony in the play, 
 that ever was born. He reconciled more 
 enemies in ten years than his predecessors 
 had done in three hundred; and one of his 
 manoeuvres in the peacemaking art was to 
 make the quarrellers laugh at the cause of 
 quarrel. So did he undermine the demon of 
 discord. But independently of that, he really 
 loved a harmless joke. He was a wonderful 
 tamer of animals, squirrels, hares, fawns, &c. 
 So half in jest a parishioner who had a mule 
 supposed to be possessed with a devil gave it 
 him and said, " Tame this vagabone, parson, 
 if ye can." Well, in about six months, Heaven 
 knows how, he not only tamed Jack, but won 
 his affections to such a degree, that Jack would 
 come running to his whistle like a dog. One 
 day, having taken shelter from a shower on 
 the stone settle outside a certain public-house, 
 he heard a toper inside, a stranger, boasting 
 he could take more at a draught than any man 
 in Gouda. He instantly marched in and said, 
 " What, lads, do none of ye take him .up for 
 the honour of Gouda? Shall it be said that 
 there came hither one from another parish a 
 greater sot than any of us ? Nay, then, I your 
 parson do take him up. Go to, I'll find thee 
 a parishioner shall drink more at a draught 
 than thou." 
 
 A bet was made ; Gerard whistled ; in clat- 
 tered Jack for he was taught to come into a 
 room with the utmost composure and put his 
 nose into his backer's hand. 
 
 " A pair of buckets ! " shouted Gerard, "and 
 let us see which of these two sons of asses can 
 drink most at a draught." 
 
 On another occasion two farmers had a dis- 
 pute whose hay was the best. Failing to con- 
 
 vince each other, they said, " We'll ask parson ; " 
 for by this time he was their referee in everj 
 mortal thing. 
 
 " How lucky you thought of me 1 " said Gerard. 
 " Why, I have got one staying with me who in 
 the best judge of hay in Holland. Bring me a 
 double handful a-piece." 
 
 So when they came, he had them into tha 
 parlour, and put each bundle on a chair. Then 
 he whistled, and in walked Jack. 
 
 " Lord a mercy ! " said one of the farmers. 
 
 "Jack," said the parson, in the tone of con- 
 versation, "just tell us which is the best hay 
 of these two." 
 
 Jack sniffed them both, and made his choice 
 directly, proving his sincerity by eating every 
 morsel. The farmers slapped their thighs, and 
 scratched their heads. "To think of we not 
 thinking o' that." And they each sent Jack 
 a truss. 
 
 So Gerard got to be called the merry parson 
 of Gouda. But Margaret, who like most loving 
 women had no more sense of humour than a 
 turtle-dove, took this very ill. " What 1 " said 
 she to herself, "is there nothing sore at the 
 bottom of his heart that he can go about play- 
 ing the zany?" She could understand pious 
 resignation and content, but not mirth, in true 
 lovers parted. And whilst her woman's nature 
 was perturbed by this gust (and women seem 
 more subject to gusts than men) came that 
 terrible animal, a busybody, to work upon 
 her. Catherine saw she was not happy, 
 and said to her, "Your boy is gone from 
 you. I would not live alone all my days If 
 I were yon." 
 
 " He is more alone than I," sighed Margaret. 
 
 "Oh, a man is a man, but a woman is a 
 woman. You must not think all of him and 
 none of yourself. Near is your kirtle, but nearer 
 is your smock. Besides, he is a priest, and can 
 do no better. But you are not a priest. He 
 has got his parish, and his heart is in that. 
 Bethink thee 1 Time flies ; overstay not thy 
 market. Wouldst not like to have three or four 
 more little darlings about thy knee now they 
 have robbed thee of poor little Gerard, and sent 
 him to yon nasty school 1 " And so she worked 
 upon a mind already irritated. 
 
 Margaret had many suitors ready to marry 
 her at a word or even a look, and among them 
 two merchants of the better class, Van Schelt 
 and Oostwagen. " Take one of those two," 
 said Catherine. 
 
 "Well, I will ask Gerard if I may," said 
 Margaret one day, with a flood of tears ; " for I 
 cannot go on the way I am." 
 
 "Why, you would never be so simple as ask 
 him ? " 
 
 " Think you I would be so wicked as marry 
 without his leave 1 " 
 
 Accordingly she actually went to Gouda, and 
 after hanging her head, and blushing, and 
 crying, and saying she was miserable, told him 
 his mother wished her to marry one of those 
 two ; and if he approved of her marrying at all, 
 would he use his wisdom, and tell her which 
 he thought would be the kindest to the little 
 Gerard of those two ; for herself, she did not 
 care what became of her.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Gerard felt as if she had put a soft hand into 
 his body and torn his heart out with it. But 
 the priest with a mighty effort mastered the 
 man. In a voice scarcely audible he declined 
 this responsibility. ' T am not a saint or a 
 prophet," said he; "I might advise thee ill. 
 I shall read the marriage service for thee," 
 faltered he ; " it is my right. No other would 
 pray for thee as I should. But thou must choose 
 for thyself ; and oh I let me see thee happy. 
 This four months past thou hast not been 
 happy." 
 
 " A discontented mind is never happy," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 She left him, and he fell on his knees, and 
 prayed for help from above. 
 
 Margaret went home pale and agitated. 
 " Mother," said she, " never mention it to me 
 again, or we shall quarrel." 
 
 " He forbade you 7 Well, more shame for him, 
 that is all." 
 
 " He forbid me T He did not condescend so 
 far. He was as noble as I was paltry. He 
 would not choose for me for fear of choosing 
 me an ill husband. But he would read the 
 service for my groom and me; that was his 
 right. Oh, mother, what a heartless creature 
 I was ! " 
 
 "Well, I thought not he had that much 
 sense." 
 
 "Ah, you go by the poor soul's words, but 
 I rate words as air when the face speaketh to 
 mine eye. I saw the priest and the true lover 
 a-fighting in hia dear face, and his cheek 
 pale with the strife, and oh 1 his poor lip 
 trembled as he said the stout-hearted words 
 Oh I oh! oh I oh! oh I oh! oh!" And 
 Margaret burst into a violent passion of 
 tears. 
 
 Catherine groaned. "There, give it up 
 without more ado," said she. "You two are 
 chained together for life; and if God is 
 merciful, that won't be for long ; for what 
 are yon ! neither maid, wife, nor widow." 
 
 "Give it up?" eaid Margaret; "that was 
 done long ago. All I think of now is com- 
 forting him ; for now I have been and made 
 him unhappy too, wretch and monster that 
 I am." 
 
 So the next day they both went to Gonda. 
 And Gerard, who had been praying for re- 
 signation all this time, received her with 
 peculiar tenderness as a treasure he was to 
 lose; but she was agitated and eager to let 
 him see without words that she would never 
 niarry, and she fawned on him like a little 
 dog to be forgiven. And as she was going 
 away she murmured, Forgive ! and forget ! 
 I am but a woman." 
 
 He misunderstood her, and said, "All I 
 bargain for is, let me see thee content; for 
 
 " My darling, you never shall again," said 
 Margaret, with streaming eyes, and kissed his 
 hand. 
 
 He misunderstood thia too at first; but 
 when month after month passed, and he 
 hoard no more of her marriage, and she came 
 to Gouda comparatively cheerful, and was even 
 
 civil to Father Ambrose, a mild benevolent 
 monk from the Dominican convent hard by 
 then he understood her ; and one day he 
 invited her to walk alone with him in the 
 sacred paddock ; and before I relate what 
 passed between them, I must give its history. 
 When Gerard had been four or five days at 
 the manse, looking out of window he uttered 
 an exclamation of joy. 
 
 " Mother, Margaret, here is one of my birds : 
 another, another ; four, six, nine. A miracle 1 
 a miracle ! " 
 
 "Why, how can you tell your birds from 
 their fellows ? " said Catherine. 
 
 " I know every feather in their wings. And 
 see ; there is the little darling whose claw I 
 gilt, bless it ! " 
 
 And presently his rapture took a serious turn, 
 and he saw Heaven's approbation in this conduct 
 of the birds as he did in the fall of the cave. 
 This wonderfully kept alive his friendship for 
 animals ; and he enclosed a paddock, and drove 
 all the sons of Cain from it with threats of ex- 
 communication. " On this little spot of earth 
 we'll have no murder," said he. He tamed 
 leverets and partridges, and little birds, and 
 hares, and roe-deer. He found a squirrel with 
 a broken leg ; he set it with infinite difficulty 
 and patience ; and during the cure showed it 
 repositories of acorns, nuts, chestnuts, &c. And 
 this squirrel got well and went off, but visited 
 him in hard weather, and brought a mate, and 
 next year little squirrels were found to have 
 imbibed their parents' sentiments, and of all 
 these animals each generation was tamer 
 than the last. This set the good parson 
 thinking, and gave him the true clue to the 
 great successes of mediaeval hermits in taming 
 wild animals. 
 
 He kept the key of this paddock, and never 
 let any man but himself enter it ; nor would he 
 even let little Gerard go there without him 
 or Margaret. "Children are all little Cains," 
 said he. 
 
 In this oasis, then, he spoke to Margaret, 
 and said, "Dear Margaret, I have thought 
 more than ever of thee of late, and have 
 asked myself why I am content, and thou 
 unhappy." 
 
 " Because thou art better, wiser, holier than 
 I ; that is all," said Margaret promptly. 
 
 " Our lives tell another tale," said Gerard 
 thoughtfully. " I know thy goodness and thy 
 wisdom too well to reason thus perversely. 
 Also I know that I love thee as dear as thou, I 
 think, lovest me. Yet am I happier than thou. 
 Why is this so?" 
 
 "Dear Gerard, I am as happy as a woman 
 can hope to be this side the grave." 
 
 "Not so happy as I. Now for the reason. 
 First, then, I am a priest, and this, the one great 
 trial and disappointment God giveth me along 
 with so many joys, why, I share it with a multi- 
 tude. For alas ! I am not the only priest by 
 thousands that must never hope for entire 
 earthly happiness. Here, then, thy lot is harder 
 than mine." 
 
 "But, Gerard, I have my child to love. Thoa 
 canst not fill thy heart with him as his mother 
 can. So you may set this against you."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 277 
 
 " And I have ta'en him from thee ; it was 
 cruel, but he would have broken thy heart one 
 day if I had not. Well then, sweet one, I come 
 to where the shoe pincheth, methinks. I have 
 my parish, and it keeps my heart in a glow from 
 morn till night. There is scarce an emotion 
 that my folk stir not up in me many times a 
 day. Often their sorrows make me weep, some- 
 times their perversity kindles a little wrath, 
 and their absurdity makes me laugh, and some- 
 times their flashes of unexpected goodness 
 do set me all of a glow, and I could hug 
 'em. Meantime thou, poor soul, sittest with 
 
 heart " 
 
 " Of lead, Gerard ; of very lead." 
 " See now how unkind thy lot compared with 
 mine. Now how if thou couldst be persuaded 
 to warm thyself at the fire that warmeth 
 
 ' Ah, if I could ? " 
 
 " Hast but to will it. Come among my folk. 
 Take in thine hand the alms I set aside, and give 
 it with kind words ; hear their sorrows : they 
 shall show you life is full of troubles, and as 
 thou sayest truly, no man or woman without 
 their thorn this side the grave. Indoors I 
 have a map of Gouda parish. Not to o'erburden 
 thee at first, I will put twenty housen under 
 thee with their folk. What sayest thou ? but 
 for thy wisdom I had died a dirty maniac, and 
 ne'er seen Gouda manse, nor pious peace. 
 Wilt profit in turn by what little wisdom 
 / have to soften her lot to whom I do owe 
 all?" 
 
 Margaret assented warmly, and a happy 
 thing it was for the little district assigned to 
 her ; it was as if an angel had descended on 
 them. Her fingers were never tired of knitting 
 or cutting for them, her heart of sympathising 
 with them. And that heart expanded and 
 waved its drooping wings ; and the glow of good 
 and gentle deeds began to spread over it ; and 
 she was rewarded in another way by being 
 brought into more contact with Gerard, and 
 also with his spirit. All this time malicious 
 tongues had not been idle. " If there is nought 
 between them more than meets the eye, why 
 doth she not marry ?" &c. And I am sorry to 
 say our old friend Joan Ketel was one of these 
 coarse sceptics. And now one winter even- 
 ing she got on a hot scent. She saw Margaret 
 and Gerard talking earnestly together on the 
 Boulevard. She whipped behind a tree. "Now 
 I'll hear something," said she ; and so she did. 
 It was winter ; there had been one of those 
 tremendous floods followed by a sharp frost, 
 and Gerard in despair as to where he should 
 lodge forty or fifty houseless folk out of the 
 piercing cold. And now it was, " Oh, dear, dear 
 Margaret, what shall I do ? The manse is full 
 of them, and a sharp frost coming on this 
 night." 
 
 Margaret reflected, and Joan listened. 
 
 " You must lodge them in the church," said 
 Margaret, quietly. 
 
 " In the church ? Profanation." 
 
 " No ; charity profanes nothing, not even a 
 church ; soils nought, not even a church. To- 
 day is but Tuesday. Go save their lives, for a 
 bitter night is coming. Take thy stove into the 
 
 church, and there house them. We will dis- 
 pose of them here and there ere the Lord's 
 day." 
 
 " And I could not think of that ; bless thee, 
 sweet Margaret, thy mind is stronger than 
 mine, and readier." 
 
 " Nay, nay, a woman looks but a little way, 
 therefore she sees clear. I'll come over myself 
 to-morrow." 
 
 And on this they parted with mutual 
 blessings. 
 
 Joan glided home remorseful. 
 
 And after that she used to check all surmises 
 to their discredit. " Beware," she would say, 
 "lest some angel should blister thy tongue. 
 Gerard and Margaret paramours ? I tell ye 
 they are two saints which meet in secret to 
 plot charity to the poor." 
 
 In the summer of 1481 Gerard determined 
 to provide against similar disasters recurring 
 to his poor. Accordingly he made a great hole 
 in his income, and bled his friends (zealous 
 parsons always do that) to build a large 
 Xenodochium to receive the victims of flood or 
 fire. Giles and all his friends were kind, but 
 all was not enough ; when lo I the Dominican 
 monks of Gouda, to whom his parlour and heart 
 had been open for years, came out nobly, and 
 put down a handsome sum to aid the charitable 
 ticar. 
 
 " The dear good souls," said Margaret ; " who 
 would have thought it?" 
 
 "Any one who knows them," said Gerard. 
 " Who more charitable than monks ? " 
 
 " Go to ! They do but give the laity back a 
 pig of their own sow." 
 
 " And what more do 1 7 What more doth the 
 Duke ? " 
 
 Then the ambitious vicar must build alms- 
 houses for decayed true men in their old age 
 close to the manse, that he might keep and 
 feed them, as well as lodge them. And his 
 money being gone, he asked Margaret for a 
 few thousand bricks, and just took off his coat 
 and turned builder ; and as he had a good 
 head, and the strength of a Hercules, with the 
 zeal of an artist, up rose a couple of almshouses 
 parson built. 
 
 And at this work Margaret would sometimes 
 bring him his dinner, and add a good bottle of 
 Rhenish. And once seeing him run up a plank 
 with a wheelbarrow full of bricks which really 
 most bricklayers would have gone staggering 
 under, she said, " Times are changed since I 
 had to carry little Gerard for thee. " 
 
 " Ay, dear one, thanks to thee." 
 
 When the first home was finished, the ques- 
 tion was who they should put into it ; and 
 being fastidious over it like a new toy, there 
 was much hesitation. But an old friend 
 arrived in time to settle this question. 
 
 As Gerard was passing a public-house in 
 Rotterdam one day, he heard a well-known 
 voice. He looked up, and there was Denys 
 of Burgundy, but sadly changed ; his beard 
 stained with grey, and his clothes worn and 
 ragged ; he had a cuirass still, and gauntlets, 
 but a staff instead of an arbalest. To the 
 company he appeared to be bragging and 
 boasting, but in reality he was giving a true
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 relation of Edward the Fourth's invasion of an 
 armed kingdom with 2000 men, and his march 
 through the country with armies capable of 
 wallowing him looking on, his battles at 
 Tewkesbury and Barnet, and reoccupation of 
 his capital and kingdom in three months after 
 landing at the H umber with a mixed handful 
 of Dutch, English, and Burgundians. 
 
 In this, the greatest feat of arms the century 
 had seen, Denys had shone ; and whilst sneer- 
 ing at the warlike pretensions of Charles the 
 Bold, a duke with an itch but no talent for 
 fighting, and proclaiming the English king the 
 first captain of the age, did not forget to exalt 
 himself. 
 
 Gerard listened with eyes glittering affection 
 and fun. "And now," said Denys, "after all 
 these feats, patted on the back by the gallant 
 young Prince of Gloucester, and smiled on by 
 the great captain himself, here I am lamed for 
 life ; by what T by the kick of a horse, and this 
 night I know not where I shall lay my tired 
 bones. I had a comrade once in these parts 
 that would not have let me lie far from him ; 
 but he turned priest and deserted his sweet- 
 heart, so 'tis not likely he would remember his 
 comrade. And ten years play sad havoc with 
 our hearts, and limbs, and all." Poor Denys 
 ighed, and Gerard's bowels yearned over 
 him. 
 
 "What words are these?" he said, with a 
 great gulp in his throat. "Who grudges a 
 brave soldier supper and bed? Come home 
 with me ! " 
 
 "Much obliged, but I am no lover of 
 priests." 
 
 " Nor I of soldiers ; but what is supper and 
 bed between two true men ? " 
 
 " Not much to yon, but something to me. I 
 will come." 
 
 "In one hour," said Gerard, and went in 
 high spirits to Margaret, and told her the treat 
 in store, and she must come and share it She 
 must drive his mother in his little carriage up 
 to the manse with all speed, and make ready 
 an excellent supper. 
 
 Then he himself borrowed a cart, and drove 
 Denys up rather slowly, to give the women 
 time. 
 
 On the road Denys found out this priest was 
 m kind soul, so told him his trouble, and con- 
 fessed his heart was pretty near broken. "The 
 great use our stout hearts, and arms, and lives 
 till we are worn out, and then fling us away 
 like broken tools." He sighed deeply, and it 
 cost Gerard a great struggle not to hug him 
 then and there, and tell him. But he wanted 
 to do it all like a story book. Who has not 
 had this fancy once in his life ? Whv, Joseph 
 had it ; all the better for us. 
 
 They landed at the little house. It was as 
 clean as a penny, the hearth blazing, and 
 upper set. 
 
 J)enys brightened up. "Is thia your house, 
 reverend sir ? " 
 
 my work, and with these hands, 
 but 'tis your house." 
 
 "Ah, no such luck," said Denys, with a 
 igh. 
 
 "But I Bay ay," shouted Gerard. "And 
 
 what is more, I" (gulp) "say" (gulp) 
 " Courage, camarade, le diable est mort I " 
 
 Denys started, and almost staggered. " Why, 
 what ? " he stammered, " w wh who art 
 thou, that bringest me back the merry words 
 and merry days of my youth ? " and he was 
 greatly agitated. 
 
 "My poor Denys, I am one whose face it 
 changed, but nought else ; to my heart, dear, 
 trusty comrade, to my heart." And he opened 
 his arms, with the tears in his eyes. But Denyi 
 came close to him, and peered in his face, and 
 devoured every feature ; and when he was 
 sure it was really Gerard, he uttered a cry so 
 vehement it brought the women running from 
 the house, and fell upon Gerard's neck, and 
 kissed him again and again, and sank on his 
 knees, and laughed and sobbed with joy so 
 terribly, that Gerard mourned his folly in doing 
 dramas. But the women with their gentle 
 soothing ways soon composed the brave fellow, 
 and he sat smiling, and holding Margaret'a 
 hand and Gerard's. And they all supped 
 together, and went to their beds with hearts 
 warm as a toast ; and the broken soldier was 
 at peace, and in his own house, and under his 
 comrade's wing. 
 
 His natural gaiety returned, and he resumed 
 his consigne after eight years' disuse, and 
 hobbled about the place enlivening it ; but 
 offended the parish mortally by calling the 
 adored vicar comrade, and nothing but com- 
 rade. 
 
 When they made a fuss about this to Gerard, 
 he just looked in their faces and said, " What 
 does it matter? Break him of swearing, and 
 you shall have my thanks." 
 
 This year Margaret went to a lawyer to make 
 her will, for without this, she was told, her boy 
 might have trouble some day to get his own, 
 not being born in lawful wedlock. The lawyer, 
 however, in conversation expressed a different 
 opinion. 
 
 "This is the babble of churchmen," said 
 he. " Yours is a perfect marriage, though an 
 irregular one." 
 
 He then informed her that throughout 
 Europe, excepting only the southern part of 
 Britain, there were three irregular marriages, 
 the highest of which was hers, viz., a betrothal 
 before witnesses. 
 
 "This," said he, "if not followed by matri- 
 monial intercourse, is a marriage complete in 
 form, but incomplete in substance. A person 
 so betrothed can forbid any other banns to 
 all eternity. It has, however, been set aside 
 where a party so betrothed contrived to pet 
 married regularly, and children were born 
 thereafter. But such a decision was for the 
 sake of the offspring, and of doubtful justice. 
 However, in your case the birth of your child 
 closes that door, and your marriage is com- 
 plete both in form and substance. Your 
 course, therefore, is to sue for your conjugal 
 rights; it will be the prettiest case of the 
 century. The law is all on our side, the 
 Church all on theirs. If you come to that, 
 the old Batavian law, which compelled the 
 clergy to marry, hath fallen into disute, but 
 was never formally repealed."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 279 
 
 Margaret was quite puzzled. " What are 
 you driving at, sir 2 Who am I to go to law 
 with ? " 
 
 " Who is the defendant ? Why, the Vicar of 
 Gouda." 
 
 "Alas, poor soul ! And for what shall I law 
 him?" 
 
 " Why, to make him take you into his house, 
 and share bed and board with you, to be 
 sure." 
 
 Margaret turned red as fire. " Gramercy for 
 your rede," said she. " What, is yon a woman's 
 part ! Constrain a man to be hers by force f 
 That is men's way of wooing, not ours. Say I 
 were so ill a woman as ye think me, I should 
 set myself to beguile him, not to law him ; " 
 and she departed, crimson with shame and 
 Indignation. 
 
 "There is an impracticable fool for you," 
 said the man of art. 
 
 Margaret had her will drawn elsewhere, and 
 made her boy safe from poverty, marriage or 
 no marriage. 
 
 These are the principal incidents that in ten 
 whole years befell two peaceful lives, which in 
 a much shorter period had been BO thronged 
 with adventures and emotions. 
 
 Their general tenor was now peace, piety, the 
 mild content that lasts, not the fierce bliss 
 ever on tiptoe to depart, and above all, Chris- 
 tian charity. 
 
 On this sacred ground these two true lovers 
 met with an uniformity and a kindness of senti- 
 ment which went far to soothe the wound in 
 their own hearts. To pity the same bereaved ; 
 to hunt in couples all the ills in Gouda, and 
 contrive and scheme together to remedy all 
 that were remediable ; to use the rare insight 
 into troubled hearts which their own troubles 
 had given them, and use it to make others 
 happier than themselves this was their daily 
 practice. And in this blessed cause their pas- 
 sion for one another cooled a little, but their 
 affection increased. From the time Margaret 
 entered heart and soul into Gerard's pious 
 charities, that affection purged itself of ail 
 mortal dross. And as it had now long OTLS- 
 ' lived scandal and misapprehension, one would 
 have thought that so bright an example of pure 
 self-denying affection was to remain long before 
 the world, to show men hew nearly religious 
 faith, even when not quite reasonable, and 
 religious charity, which is always reasonable, 
 could raise two true lovers' hearts to the 
 loving hearts of the angels of heaven. But 
 the great Disposer of events ordered other- 
 wise. 
 
 Little Gerard rejoiced both his parents' 
 hearts by the extraordinary progress he made 
 at Alexander Haaghe's famous school at 
 Deventer. 
 
 The last time Margaret returned from visit- 
 Ing him, she came to Gerard flushed with 
 pride. " Oh, Gerard, he will be a great man 
 one day, thanks to thy wisdom in taking him 
 from us silly women. A great scholar, one 
 Zinthius, came to see the school and judge the 
 scholars, and didn't our Gerard stand up, and 
 not a line in Horace or Terence could Zinthius 
 cite but the boy would follow him with the 
 
 j rest. ' Why, 'tis a prodigy,' says that great 
 scholar ; and there was his poor mother stood 
 by and heard it. And he took our Gerard in 
 his arms, and kissed him ; and what think you 
 he said ? " 
 
 " Nay, I know not." 
 
 11 ' Holland will hear of thee one day ; and not 
 Holland only, but all the world.' Why, what 
 sad brow 1 " 
 
 " Sweet one, I am as glad as thou, yet am 
 I uneasy to hear the child is wise before his 
 time. I love him dear ; but he is thine idol, 
 and Heaven doth often break our idols." 
 
 "Make thy mind easy," said Margaret. 
 "Heaven will never rob me of my child. 
 What I was to suffer in this world I have 
 suffered. For if any ill happened my child 
 or thee, I should not live a week. The Lord 
 He knows this, and He will leave me my 
 boy." 
 
 A month had elapsed after this ; but Mar- 
 garet's words were yet ringing in his ears, 
 when, going his daily round of visits to hia 
 poor, he was told quite incidentally, and as 
 mere gossip, that the plague was at Deventer, 
 carried thither by two sailors from Ham- 
 burgh. 
 
 His heart turned cold within him. News 
 did not gallop in those days. The fatal disease 
 must have been there a long time before the 
 tidings would reach Gouda. He sent a line by 
 a messenger to Margaret, telling her that he 
 r as gone to fetch little Gerard to stay at the 
 manse a little while, and would she see a bed 
 prepared, for he should be back next day. 
 And so he hoped she would not hear a word 
 of the danger till it was all happily over. He 
 borrowed a good horse, and scarce drew rein 
 till he reached Deventer, quite late in th 
 afternoon. He went at once to the school. 
 The boy had been taken away. 
 
 As he left the school he caught sight of 
 Margaret's face at the window of a neighbour- 
 ing house she always lodged at when she came 
 to Deventer. 
 
 He ran hastily in to scold her and pack both 
 her and the boy out of the place. 
 
 To his surprise the servant told him with 
 some hesitation that Margaret had been there, 
 but was gone. 
 
 " Gone, woman ? " said Gerard indignantly ; 
 " art not ashamed to say so T Why, I saw her 
 but now at the window." 
 
 " Oh, if you saw her " 
 
 A sweet voice above said, " Stay him not, let 
 him enter." It was Margaret 
 
 Gerard ran up the stairs to her, and went to 
 take her hand. 
 
 She drew back hastily. 
 
 He looked astounded. 
 
 "I am displeased," said she coldly. "What 
 makes you here 1 Know you not the plague is 
 in the town ? " 
 
 " Ay, dear Margaret ; and came straightway 
 to take our boy away." 
 
 " What, had he no mother ? " 
 
 " How you speak to me 1 I hoped you knew 
 not." 
 
 " What, think you I leave my boy unwatched! 
 I pay a trusty woman that notes every change
 
 2So 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 in his cheek when I am not here, and lets me 
 know. I am his mother." 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 "In Rotterdam, I hope, ere this." 
 
 " Thank Heaven I And why are you not 
 there 1 " 
 
 " I am not fit for the journey ; never heed 
 me ; go you home on the instant ; I'll follow. 
 For shame of you to come here risking your 
 precious life." 
 
 " It is not so precious as thine," said Gerard. 
 " But let that pass ; we will go home together, 
 and on the instant." 
 
 " Nay, I have some matters to do in the 
 town. Go thou at once, and I will follow 
 forthwith." 
 
 ' Leave thee alone in a plague-stricken 
 town ? To whom speak you, dear Margaret ? " 
 
 " Nay, then, we shall quarrel, Gerard." 
 
 "Methinks I see Margaret and Gerard 
 quarrelling ! Why, it takes two to quarrel, 
 and we are but one." 
 
 With this Gerard smiled on her sweetly. 
 But there was no kind responsive glance. She 
 looked cold, gloomy, and troubled. He sighed, 
 and sat patiently down opposite her with his 
 face all puzzled and saddened. He said 
 nothing, for he felt sure she would explain 
 her capricious conduct, or it would explain 
 itself. 
 
 Presently she rose hastily, and tried to reach 
 her bedroom, but on the way she staggered 
 and put out her hand. He ran to her with a 
 cry of alarm. She swooned in his arms. He 
 laid her gently on the ground, and beat her 
 cold hands, and ran to her bedroom, and 
 fetched water, and sprinkled her pale face. 
 His own was scarce less pale, for in a basin 
 he had seen water stained with blood ; it 
 alarmed him, he knew not why. She was a 
 long time ere she revived, and when she did 
 she found Gerard holding her h-and, and 
 bending over her with a look of infinite con- 
 cern and tenderness. She seemed at first as 
 if she responded to it, but the next moment 
 her eyes dilated, and she cried 
 
 " Ah, wretch, leave my hand ; how dare you 
 touch me ? " 
 
 " Heaven help her ! " said Gerard, " She 
 is not herself." 
 
 " You will not leave me, then, Gerard ? " 
 aid she faintly. " Alas ! why do I ask ? 
 Would I leave thee if tbou wert At least 
 touch me not, and then I will let thee bide, 
 and soc the last of poor Margaret. She ne'er 
 spoke harsh to thee before, sweetheart, and 
 he never will again." 
 
 " Alas I what mean these dark words, these 
 wild and troubled looks T " said Gerard, clasp- 
 ing his hands. 
 
 My poor Gerard," said Margaret, " forgive 
 me that I spoke so to thee. I am but a woman, 
 and would have spared thee a sight will make 
 tbee weep." She burst into tears. " Ah, 
 me 1 " she cried, weeping, " that I cannot keep 
 ffrief from thee ; there is a great sorrow before 
 my darling, and this time I shall not be able 
 to come and dry his eyes." 
 
 "Ix;t it come, Margaret, so it touch not 
 tbee," said Gerard, trembling. 
 
 "Dearest," said Margaret solemnly, "call 
 now religion to thine aid and mine. I must 
 have died before thee one day, or else outlived 
 thee and so died of grief." 
 
 " Died ? thou die ? I will never let thee 
 die. Where is thy pain ? What is thy 
 trouble ? " 
 
 "The plague," said she calmly. Gerard 
 uttered a cry of horror, and started to his 
 feet; she read his thought. "Useless," said 
 she quietly. " My nose hath bled ; none ever 
 yet survived to whom that came along with 
 the plague. Bring no fools hither to babble 
 over the body they cannot save. I am but a 
 woman ; I love not to be stared at ; let none 
 see me die but thee." 
 
 And even with this a convulsion seized her, 
 and she remained sensible but speechless a 
 long time. 
 
 And now for the first time Gerard began 
 to realise the frightful truth, and he ran wildly 
 to and fro, and cried to Heaven for help, as 
 drowning men cry to their fellow-creatures. 
 She raised herself on her arm, and set herself 
 to quiet him. 
 
 She told him she had known the torture 
 of hopes and fears, and was resolved to spare 
 him that agony. "I let my mind dwell too 
 much on the danger," said she, "and so 
 opened my brain to it, tlirough which door 
 when this subtle venom enters it makes short 
 work. I shall not be spotted or loathsome, my 
 poor darling ; God is good, and spares thee 
 that ; but in twelve hours I shall be a dead 
 woman. Ah, look not so, but be a man ; be 
 a priest 1 Waste not one precious minute over 
 my body ; it is doomed ; but comfort my part- 
 ing soul." 
 
 Gerard, sick and cold at heart, kneeled down, 
 and prayed for help from Heaven to do his 
 duty. 
 
 When he rose from his knees his face was 
 pale and old, but deadly calm and patient. 
 He went softly and brought her bed into the 
 room, and laid her gently down and supported 
 her head with pillows. Then he prayed by 
 her side the prayers for the dying, and she 
 said Amen to each prayer. Then for some 
 hours she wandered, but when the fell disease 
 had quite made sure of its prey, her mind 
 cleared, and she begged Gerard to shrive 
 her. "For oh, my conscience it is laden," 
 said she sadly. 
 
 " Confess thy sins to me, my daughter ; let 
 there be no reserve." 
 
 "My father," said she sadly, "I have one 
 great sin on my breast this many year. 
 E'en now that death is at my heart I can 
 scarce own it. But the Lord is debonair; 
 if thou wilt pray to Him, perchance He may 
 forgive me." 
 
 " Confess it first, my daughter." 
 
 " I alas ! " 
 
 " Confess it ! " 
 
 " I deceived thee. This many years I have 
 deceived thee." 
 
 Here tears interrupted her speech. 
 
 " Courage, my daughter, courage," said 
 Gerard kir.dly, overpoweriog the lover in the 
 priest.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 281 
 
 She hid her face in her hands, and with 
 many sighs told him it was she who had 
 broken down the hermit's cave with the help 
 cf Jorian KeteL "I, shallow, did it but to 
 hinder thy return thither ; but when thou 
 sawest therein the finger of God, I played 
 the traitress, and said, ' While he thinks so, 
 he will ne'er leave Gouda manse ; ' and I held 
 my tongue. Oh, false heart." 
 
 " Courage, my daughter ; thou dost exaggerate 
 a trivial fault." 
 
 " Ah, but 'tis not alL The birds." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " They followed thee not to Gouda by 
 miracle, but by my treason. I said, he will 
 ne'er be quite happy without his birds that 
 visited him in his cell ; and I was jealous of 
 them, and cried, and said, these foul little 
 things, they are my child's rivals. And I 
 bought loaves of bread, and Jorian and me 
 we put crumbs at the cave door, and thence 
 went sprinkling them all the way to the 
 manse, and there a heap. And my wiles suc- 
 ceeded, and they came, and thou wast glad, 
 and I was pleased to see thee glad ; and 
 when thou sawest in my guile the finger of 
 Heaven, wicked, deceitful, I did hold my 
 tongue. But die deceiving thee? ah, no. I 
 could not. Forgive me if thou canst ; I was 
 but a woman ; I knew no better at the time. 
 'Twas writ in my bosom with a very sun- 
 beam, ' 'Tis good for him to bide at Gouda 
 
 " Forgive thee, sweet innocent ? " sobbed 
 Gerard; " what have 7 to forgive ? Thou hadst 
 a foolish froward child to guide to his own 
 weal, and didst all this for the best. I thank 
 thee and bless thee. But as thy confessor, all 
 deceit is ill in Heaven's pure eye. Therefore 
 thou hast done well to confess and report it ; 
 and even on thy confession and penitence the 
 Church through me absolves thee. Pass to thy 
 graver faults." 
 
 "My graver faults? Alas I alas! Why, 
 what have I done to compare ? I am not an ill 
 woman, not a very ill one. If He can forgive 
 me deceiving thee, He can well forgive me all 
 the rest ever I did." 
 
 Being gently pressed, she said she was to 
 blame not to have done more good in the 
 world. "I had just begun to do a little," 
 she said, " and now I must go. But I repine 
 not, since 'tis Heaven's will. Only I am so 
 afeard thou wilt miss me." And at this she 
 could not restrain her tears, though she tried 
 hard. 
 
 Gerard struggled with his as well as he 
 could; and knowing her life of piety, purity, 
 and charity, and seeing that she could not in 
 her present state realise any sin but her having 
 deceived him, gave her fuU absolution. Then 
 he put the crucifix in her hand, and while 
 he consecrated the oil, bade her fix her mind 
 neither on her merits nor her demerits, but on 
 Him who died for her on the tree. 
 
 She obeyed him with a look of confiding 
 love and submission. 
 
 And he touched her eyes with the conse- 
 crated oil, and prayed aloud beside her. 
 
 Soon after she dozed. 
 
 He watched beside her, more dead than alive 
 himself. 
 
 When the day broke she awoke, and seemed 
 to acquire some energy. She begged him to 
 look in her box for her marriage lines and for 
 a picture, and bring them both to her. He did 
 so. She then entreated him by all they had 
 suffered for each other, to ease her mind by 
 making a solemn vow to execute her dying 
 requests. 
 
 He vowed to obey them to the letter. 
 
 " Then, Gerard, let no creature come here to 
 lay me out. I could not bear to be stared at ; 
 my very corpse would blush. Also I would 
 not be made a monster of for the worms to 
 sneer at as well as feed on. Also my very 
 clothes are tainted, and shall to earth with 
 me. I am a physician's daughter ; and ill be- 
 comes me kill folk, being dead, which did so 
 little good to men in the days of health ; 
 wherefore lap me in lead, the way I am, and 
 bury me deep I yet not so deep but what one 
 day thou mayst find the way, and lay thy bones 
 by mine. 
 
 "Whiles I lived I went to Gouda but once or 
 twice a week. It cost me not to go each day. 
 Let me gain this by dying, to be always at dear 
 Gouda in the green kirkyard. 
 
 "Also they do say the spirit hovers where 
 the body lies ; I would have my spirit hover 
 near thee, and the kirkyard is not far from the 
 manse. I am so afeard some ill will happen 
 thee, Margaret being gone. 
 
 "And see, with mine own hands I place my 
 marriage lines in my bosom. Let no living 
 hand move them, on pain of thy curse and 
 mine. Then when the angel comes for me at 
 the hist day, he shall say, this is an honest 
 woman, she hath her marriage lines (for you 
 know I am your lawful wife, though Holy 
 Church hath come between us), and he will 
 set me where the honest women be. I will 
 not sit among ill women, no, not in heaven ; 
 for their mind is not my mind, nor their soul 
 my souL I have stood, unbeknown, at my 
 window, and heard their talk." 
 
 For some time she was unable to say any 
 more, but made signs to him that she had not 
 done. 
 
 At last she recovered her breath, and bade 
 him look at the picture. 
 
 It was the portrait he had made of her when 
 they were young together, and little thought 
 to part so soon. He held it in his hands and 
 looked at it, but could scarce see it. He 
 had left it in fragments, but now it was 
 whole. 
 
 " They cut it to pieces, Gerard ; but see, Love 
 mocked at their knives. 
 
 "I implore thee with my dying breath, let 
 this picture hang ever in thine eye. 
 
 " I have heard that such as die of the plague, 
 unspotted, yet after death spots have been 
 known to come out ; and oh, I could not bear 
 thy last memory of me to be so. Therefore, 
 as soon as the breath is out of my body, cover 
 my face with this handkerchief, and look at 
 me no more till we meet again, 'twill not be 
 so very long. Oh, promise." 
 
 "I promise," said Gerard, sobbing.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "Bat look on this picture instead. Forgive 
 m ; I am but a woman. I could not bear my 
 face to lie a foul thing in thy memory. Nay, I 
 must have thee still think me as fair as I was 
 true. Hast called me an angel once or twice ; 
 bnt be just ! did I not still tell thee I was no 
 angel, but only a poor simple woman, that 
 whiles saw clearer than thou because she 
 looked but a little way, and that loves thee 
 dearly, and never loved but thee, and now 
 with her dying breath prays thee indulge her 
 in this, thou that art a man." 
 
 "I will I will Each word, each wish is 
 sacred." 
 
 " Bless thee I Bless thee 1 So then the eyes 
 that now can scarce see thee, they are so 
 troubled by the pest, and the lips that shall 
 not touch thee to taint thee, will still be 
 before thee, as they were when we were 
 young and thon didst love me." 
 
 "When I did love thee, Margaret! Oh, 
 never loved I thee as now." 
 
 " Hast not told me so of late." 
 
 " Alas I hath love no yoice but words 1 I was 
 a priest ; I had charge of thy soul ; the sweet 
 offices of a pure love were lawful ; words of 
 love imprudent at the least. But now the 
 good fight is won, ah met Oh, my love, if 
 tbou hast lived doubting of thy Gerard's 
 heart, die not so ; for never was woman loved 
 to tenderly as thou this ten years past." 
 
 "Calm thyself, dear one," said the dying 
 woman, with a heavenly smile. " I know it ; 
 only being but a woman, I could not die happy 
 till I had heard thee say so. Ah 1 I have pined 
 ten years for those sweet words. Hast said 
 them, and this is the happiest hour of my 
 life. I had to die to get them ; well, I grudge 
 not the price." 
 
 From this moment a gentle complacency 
 rested on her fading features, but she did 
 not speak. 
 
 Then Gerard, who had loved her soul so 
 many years, feared lest she should expire with 
 a mind too fixed on earthly affection. "Oh, 
 my daughter," he cried, " my dear daughter, if 
 indeed thou lovest me as I love thee, give me 
 not the pain of seeing thee die with thy pious 
 soul fixed on mortal things. 
 
 "Dearest lamb of all my fold, for whose 
 soul I must answer, oh, think not now of 
 mortal love, but of His who died for thee on 
 the tree. Oh, let thy last look be heavenwards, 
 thy last word a word of prayer." 
 
 She turned a look of gratitude and obedience 
 on him. 
 
 "What saint 7" she murmured; meaning, 
 doubtless, " what saint should she invoke as 
 an intercessor." 
 
 "He to whom the saints themselves do 
 pray." 
 
 Sho turned on him one more sweet look of 
 love and submission, and put her pretty hands 
 together in prayer like a child. 
 
 " Jesu 1 " 
 
 This blessed word was her last. She lay 
 with her eye* heavenwards, and her hands 
 put together. 
 
 Gerard prayed fervently for her passing 
 
 spirit. And when he had prayed a long time 
 with his head averted, not to see her last 
 breath, all seemed unnaturally still. He turned 
 his head f earfully. It was so. 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 Nothing left him now but the earthly shell 
 of as constant, pure, and loving a spirit as 
 ever adorned the earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XCIX. 
 
 A PRIEST is never more thoroughly a priest 
 than in the chamber of death. Gerard did 
 the last offices of the Church for the departed, 
 just as he should have done them for his 
 smallest parishioner. He did this mechani- 
 cally, then sat down stupefied by the sudden 
 and tremendous blow, and not yet realising the 
 pangs of bereavement. Then in a transport of 
 religious enthusiasm he kneeled and thanked 
 Heaven for her Christian end. 
 
 And then all his thought was to take her 
 away from strangers, and lay her in his own 
 churchyard. That very evening a covered cart 
 with one horse started for Gouda, and in it 
 was a coffin, and a broken-hearted man lying 
 with his arms and chin resting on it. 
 
 The mourner's short-lived energy had ex- 
 hausted itself in the necessary preparations, 
 and now he lay crushed, clinging to the cold 
 lead that held her. 
 
 The man of whom the cart was hired walked 
 by the horse's head and did not speak to him, 
 and when he baited the horse spoke bnt in 
 a whisper respecting that mute agony. But 
 when he stopped for the night, he and the 
 landlord made a well-meaning attempt to get 
 the mourner away to take some rest and food. 
 But Gerard repulsed them, and when they per- 
 sisted, almost snarled at them, like a faithful 
 dog, and clung to the cold lead all night. 
 So then they drew a cloak over him, and left 
 him in peace. 
 
 And at noon the sorrowful cart came up to 
 the manse, and there were full a score of 
 parishioners collected with one little paltry 
 trouble or another. They had missed the 
 parson already. And when they saw what it 
 was, and saw their healer so stricken down, 
 they raised a loud wail of grief, and it roused 
 him from his lethargy of woe, and he saw 
 where he was, and their faces, and tried to 
 speak to them. " Oh, my children ! my chil- 
 dren ! " he cried ; bnt choked with anguish, 
 could say no more. 
 
 Yet the next day, spite of all remonstrances, 
 he buried her himself, and read the service 
 with a voice that only trembled now and then. 
 Many tears fell upon her grave. And when 
 the service ended he stayed there standing like 
 a statue, and the people left the churchyard 
 out of respect. 
 
 He stood like one in a dream till the sexton, 
 who was, as most men are, a fool, began to 
 fill in the grave without giving him dut 
 warning.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 283 
 
 Bat at the sound of earth falling on her 
 Gerard uttered a piercing scream. 
 
 The sexton forbore. 
 
 Gerard staggered and put his hand to his 
 breast. The sexton supported Vn'm J and called 
 for help. 
 
 Jorian Ketel, who lingered near mourning 
 his benefactress, ran into the churchyard, and 
 the two supported Gerard into the manse. 
 
 " Ah, Jorian 1 good Jorian ! " said he, " some- 
 thing snapped within me ; I felt it, and I 
 heard it ; here, Jorian, here ; " and he put his 
 hand to his breast. 
 
 CHAPTER C. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT after this a pale bowed figure 
 entered the Dominican convent in the suburbs 
 of Gouda, and sought speech with Brother 
 Ambrose, who governed the convent as deputy, 
 the prior having lately died, and his successor, 
 though appointed, not having arrived. 
 
 The sick man was Gerard, come to end life 
 as he began it. He entered as a novice, on 
 probation ; but the truth was, he was a failing 
 man, and knew it, and came there to die in 
 peace, near kind and gentle Ambrose, his 
 friend, and the other monks to whom his 
 house and heart had always been open. 
 
 His manse was more than he could bear ; 
 It was too full of reminiscences of her. 
 
 Ambrose, who knew his value, and his 
 Borrow, was not without a kindly hope of 
 curing him, and restoring him to his parish. 
 With this view he put him in a comfortable 
 cell over the gateway, and forbade him to fast 
 or practice any a,usterities. 
 
 But in a few rJays the new prior arrived, 
 and proved a very Tartar. At lirst he was 
 absorbed in curing abuses, and tightening 
 the general discipline; but one day hearing 
 the Vicar of Gouda had entered the convent 
 as a novice, he said, " 'Tis well ; let him first 
 give up his vicarage then, or go; I'll no fat 
 parsons in my house." The prior then sent 
 for Gerard, and he went to him ; and the 
 moment they saw one another they both 
 started. 
 
 " Clement ! " 
 
 " Jerome 1" 
 
 CHAPTER CI. 
 
 JEBOME was as morose as ever in his general 
 character, but he had somewhat softened to- 
 wards Gerard. All the time he was in England 
 he had missed him more than he thought 
 possible, and since then had often wondered 
 what had become of him. What he heard in 
 Gouda raised his feeble brother in his good 
 opinion ; above all, that he had withstood the 
 Pope and the Minorites on " the infernal heresy 
 
 of the immaculate conception," as he called it. 
 But when one of his young monks told him 
 with tears in his eyes the cause of Gerard's 
 illness, all his contempt revived. "Dying for 
 a woman '? " 
 
 He determined to avert this scandal ; ha 
 visited Clement twice a day in his cell, and 
 tried all his old influence and all his eloquence 
 to induce him to shake off this unspiritual 
 despondency, and not rob the Church of his 
 piety and his eloquence at so critical a 
 period. 
 
 Gerard heard him, approved his reasoning, 
 admired his strength, confessed his own weak- 
 ness, and continued visibly to wear away to 
 the land of the leal. One day Jerome told 
 him he had heard his story, and heard it 
 with pride. "But now," said he, "you spoil 
 it all, Clement ; for this is the triumph of 
 earthly passion. Better have yielded to it 
 and repented, than resist it while she lived, 
 and succumb under it now, body and 
 soul." 
 
 "Dear Jerome," said Clement, so sweetly 
 as to rob his remonstrance of the tone of 
 remonstrance, "here, I think, you do me 
 some injustice. Passion there is none ; but 
 a deep affection, for which I will not blush 
 here, since I shall not blush for it in heaven. 
 Bethink thee, Jerome, the poor dog that dies 
 of grief on his master's grave, is he guilty 
 of passion ? Neither am I. Passion had saved 
 nay life, and lost my sonL She was my good 
 angel ; she sustained me in my duty and 
 charity ; her face encouraged me in the pulpit ; 
 her lips soothed me under ingratitude. She 
 intertwined herself with all that was good 
 in my life ; and after leaning on her so long, 
 I could not go on alone. And, dear Jerome, 
 believe me I am no rebel against Heaven. 
 It is God's will to release me. When they 
 threw the earth upon her poor coffin, some- 
 thing snapped within my bosom here that 
 mended may not be. I heard it, and I felt 
 it. And from that time, Jerome, no food 
 that I put in my mouth had any savour. 
 With my eyes bandaged now I could not 
 tell thee which was bread, and which was 
 flesh, by eating of it." 
 
 "Holy saints I" 
 
 "And again, from that same hour my deep 
 dejection left me, and I smiled again. I 
 often smile why 1 I read it thus : He in 
 whose bands are the issues of life and death 
 grave me that minute the great summons; 
 'twas some cord of life snapped in me. Ha 
 is very pitifuL I should have lived unhappy ; 
 but He said, ' No ; enough is done, enough 
 is suffered ; poor, feeble, loving servant, thy 
 shortcomings are forgiven, thy sorrows touch 
 thine end ; come thou to thy rest 1 ' I come, 
 Lord, I come 1 " 
 
 Jerome groaned. "The Church had ever 
 her holy but feeble servants," he said. " Now 
 would I give ten years of my life to save 
 thine. But I see it may not be. Die in 
 peace." 
 
 And so it was that in a few days more 
 Gerard lay a-dying in a frame of mind BO
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 holy and happy, that more than one aged 
 saint was there to garner his dying words. 
 In the evening he had seen Giles, and begged 
 him not to let poor Jack starve ; and to see 
 that little Gerard's trustees did their duty, 
 and to kiss his parents for him, and to send 
 Denys to his friends in Burgundy: "Poor 
 thing, he will feel so strange here without 
 Mm comrade." And after that be had an 
 interview with Jerome alone. What passed 
 between them was never distinctly known ; 
 but it must have been something remarkable, 
 for Jerome went from the door with his 
 hands crossed on his breast, his high head 
 lowered, and sighing as he went. 
 
 The two monks that watched with him till 
 matins related that all through the night he 
 broke out from time to time in pious exclama- 
 tions, and praises, and thanksgivings ; only 
 once tbey said he wandered, and thought he 
 saw her walking in green meadows with other 
 epirits clad in white, and beckoning him ; and 
 they all smiled and beckoned him. And both 
 these monks said (but it might have been fancy) 
 that just before dawn there came three light 
 taps against the wall, one after another, very 
 slow : and the dying man heard them, and 
 said 
 
 "I come, love, I come." 
 
 This much is certain, that Gerard did utter 
 these words, and prepare for his departure, 
 having uttered them. He sent for all the 
 monks who at that hour were keeping vigil. 
 They came, and hovered like gentle spirits 
 round him with holy words. Some prayed in 
 silence for him with their faces touching the 
 ground, others tenderly supported his head. 
 But when one of them said something about 
 his life of self-denial and charity, he stopped 
 him, and addressing them all said, " My dear 
 brethren, take note that he who here dies so 
 happy holds not these new-fangled doctrines 
 of man's merit Oh, what a miserable hour 
 were this to me an' if I did! Nay, but I 
 bold, with the Apostles, and their papils in 
 the Church, the ancient fathers, that ' we are 
 justified not by our own wisdom, or piety, or 
 the works we have done in holiness of heart, 
 but by faith.' " 
 
 Then there was a silence, and the monks 
 looked at one another significantly. 
 
 " Please you sweep the floor," said the 
 dying Christian, in a voice to which all its 
 clearness and force seemed supernaturally 
 restored. 
 
 They instantly obeyed, not without a senti- 
 ment of awe and curiosity. 
 
 " Make me a great cross with wood 
 
 They strewed the ashes in form of a great 
 cross upon the floor. 
 
 "Now lay me down on it, for so will I 
 die." 
 
 And they took him gently from his bed, and 
 laid him on the cross of wood ashes. 
 
 He WM citing from Clement of Borne 
 
 " Bv ii <auTM 4iaioun0o v&< jia Tiff in 
 * *v<Mflia, n *n** !>" aT.p>o<rMf oanonjT' 
 XXliTinwTH."-A>wf. md CorintA 1. 3 . 
 
 "Shall we spread out thine arms, dear 
 brother ? " 
 
 " Now God forbid 1 Am I worthy of 
 that ? " 
 
 He lay silent, but with his eyes raised in 
 ecstasy. 
 
 Presently he spoke half to them, half to 
 himself. 
 
 "Oh," he said, with a subdued but con- 
 centrated rapture, "I feel it buoyant. It lifts 
 me floating in the sky whence my merits had 
 sunk me like lead." 
 
 Day broke, and displayed his face cast up- 
 ward in silent rapture, and his hands together, 
 like Margaret's. 
 
 And just about the hour she died he spoke 
 his last word in this world. 
 
 "Jesu!" 
 
 And even with that word he fell asleep. 
 
 They laid him out for his last resting- 
 place. 
 
 Under his linen they found a horse - hair 
 shirt. 
 
 "Ah!" cried the young monks, "behold a 
 saint ! " 
 
 Under the hair cloth they found a long thick 
 tress of auburn hair. 
 
 They started and were horrified; and a 
 babel of voices arose, some condemning, some 
 excusing. 
 
 In the midst of which Jerome came in, and 
 hearing the dispute, turned to an ardent young 
 monk called Basil, who was crying scandal the 
 loudest. 
 
 "Basil," said he, "is she alive or dead that 
 owned this hair 7 " 
 
 " How may I know, father ? " 
 
 "Then for aught you know it may be the 
 relic of a saint ? " 
 
 " Certes it may be," said Basil scepti- 
 cally. 
 
 " You have then broken our rule, whir.h 
 saith, ' Put ill construction on no act done by 
 a brother which can be construed innocently.' 
 Who are you to judge such a man as this was ? 
 go to your cell, and stir not out for a week by 
 way of penance." 
 
 He then carried off the lock of hair. 
 
 And when the coffin was to be closed, he 
 cleared the cell, and put the tress upon 
 the dead man's bosom. "There, Clement," 
 said he to the dead face ; and set himself 
 a penance for doing it, and nailed the coffin 
 up himself. 
 
 The next day Gerard was buried in Gouda 
 churchyard. The monks followed him in 
 procession from the convent. Jerome, who 
 was evidently carrying out the wishes of the 
 deceased, read the service. The grave was 
 a deep one, and at the bottom of it was a 
 lead coffin. Poor Gerard's, light as a feather 
 (so wasted was he), was lowered, and placed 
 by the side of it. 
 
 After the service Jerome said a few words 
 to the crowd of parishioners that had come 
 to take the last look at their best friend.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 When he spoke of the virtues of the departed 
 loud wailing and weeping burst forth, and 
 tears fell upon the coffin like rain. 
 
 The monks went home. Jerome collected 
 them in the refectory and spoke to them 
 thus : " We have this day laid a saint in the 
 earth. The convent will keep his trentals, 
 but will feast, not fast ; for our good brother 
 is freed from the burden of the flesh; his 
 labours are over, and he has entered into his 
 joyful rest. I alone shall fast, and do pen- 
 ance ; for to my shame I say it, I was unjust 
 to him, and knew not his worth till it was 
 too late. And you, young monks, be not 
 curious to inquire whether a lock he bore on 
 his bosom was a token of pure affection 
 or the relic of a saint; but remember the 
 heart he wore beneath ; most of all, fix your 
 eyes upon his life and conversation, and 
 follow them an' ye may, for he was a holy 
 
 Thus after life's fitful fever these true lovers 
 were at peace. The grave, kinder to them 
 than the Church, united them for ever ; and 
 now a man of another age and nation, touched 
 with their fate, has laboured to build their 
 tombstone, and rescue them from long and 
 unmerited oblivion. 
 
 He asks for them your sympathy, but not 
 your pity. 
 
 No ; put this story to a wholesome use. 
 
 Fiction must often give false views of life 
 and death. Here as it happens, curbed by 
 history, she gives you true ones. Let the 
 barrier that kept these true lovers apart 
 prepare you for this, that here on earth there 
 will nearly always be some obstacle or other 
 to your perfect happiness ; to their early 
 death apply your Reason and your Faith, by 
 way of exercise and preparation. For if you 
 cannot bear to be told that these died young, 
 who had they lived a hundred years would 
 still be dead, how shall you bear to see the 
 gentle, the loving, and the true glide from 
 your own bosom to the grave, and fly from 
 your house to heaven ? 
 
 Yet this is in store for you. In every age 
 the Master of life and death, who is kinder 
 as well as wiser than we are, has trans- 
 planted to heaven, young, earth's sweetest 
 flowers. 
 
 I ask your sympathy, then, for their rare 
 constancy and pure affection, and their cruel 
 separation by a vile heresy* in the bosom of 
 the Church ; but not your pity for their early, 
 but happy end. 
 
 Beati sunt qui in Domino moriuntur. 
 
 CHAPTER GIL 
 
 IN compliance with a custom I despise, but 
 have not the spirit to resist, I linger on the 
 etage to pick up the smaller fragments of 
 
 " Celibacy of the clergy, an Invention truly fiendish. 
 
 humanity I have scattered about; i.e., some 
 of them, for the wayside characters have no 
 claim on me ; they have served their turn if 
 they have persuaded the reader that Gerard 
 travelled from Holland to Rome through 
 human beings, and not through a population 
 of dolls. 
 
 Eli and Catherine lived to a great age; 
 lived so long, that both Gerard and Margaret 
 grew to be dim memories. Giles also was 
 longsevous ; he went to the court of Bavaria, 
 and was alive there at ninety, but had some- 
 how turned into bones and leather, trumpet 
 toned. 
 
 Cornells, free from all rivals, and forgiven 
 long ago by his mother, who clung to him 
 more and more now all her brood was scat- 
 tered, waited and waited and waited for 
 his parents' decease. But Catherine's shrewd 
 word came true ; ere she and her mate wore 
 out, this worthy rusted away. At sixty-five 
 he lay dying of old age in his mother's arms, 
 a hale woman of eighty-six. He had lain 
 unconscious a while, but came to himself in 
 articulo mortis, and seeing her near him, told 
 her how he would transform the shop and 
 premises as soon as they should be his. " Yes, 
 my darling," said the poor old woman sooth- 
 ingly, and in another minute he was clay, 
 and that clay was followed to the grave 
 by all the feet whose shoes he had waited 
 for. 
 
 Denys, broken-hearted at his comrade's 
 death, was glad to return to Burgundy, and 
 there a small pension the court allowed him 
 kept him until unexpectedly he inherited a 
 considerable sum from a relation. He was 
 known in his native place for many years 
 as a crusty old soldier, who could tell good 
 stories of war when he chose, and a bitter 
 railer against women. 
 
 Jerome, disgusted with northern laxity, re- 
 tired to Italy, and having high connections, 
 became at seventy a mitred abbot. He put on 
 the screw of discipline , his monks revered and 
 hated him. He ruled with iron rod ten years. 
 And one night he died, alone ; for he had not 
 found the way to a single heart. The Vulgate 
 was on his pillow, and the crucifix in his hand, 
 and on his lips something more like a smile 
 than was ever seen there while he lived ; so 
 that, methinks, at that awful hour he was 
 not quite alone. Requiescat in pace. The 
 Master he served has many servants, and 
 they have many minds, and now and then a 
 faithful one will be a surly one, as it is in 
 these our mortal mansions. 
 
 The yellow-haired laddie, Gerard Gerardson, 
 belongs not to Fiction but to History. She 
 has recorded his birth in other terms than 
 mine. Over the tailor's house in the Brede 
 Kirk Straet she has inscribed : 
 
 "Haec est parva domus natus qul 
 magnus Erasmus ; " 
 
 and she has written half-a-dozen lives of 
 him. But there is something left for her 
 yet to do. She has no more comprehended
 
 S6 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 njafmum Krasmum, than any other pigmy com- 
 prehends a giant, or partisan a judge. 
 
 First scholar and divine of his epoch, he was 
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 Some of the best scenes in this new book are 
 from bis mediaeval pen, and illumine the pages 
 where they come ; for the words of a genius 
 eo high aa his are not born to die : their imme- 
 
 diate work upon mankind fulfilled, they may 
 seem to lie torpid ; but at each fresh shower 
 of intelligence Time pours upon their students, 
 they prove their immortal race ; they revive, 
 they spring from the dust of great libraries ; 
 they bud, they flower, they fruit, they seed, 
 from generation to generation, and from age 
 to age. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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