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 THE 
 
 CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH; 
 
 OB, 
 
 MAID, WIFE, AND WIDOW. 
 
 A MATTER-OF-FACT ROMANCE. 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD EDITION'. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE.
 
 Though the opening of " The Cloister and the Hearth " resem- 
 bles a former story by the same author, it must not be confounded with it. 
 As a complete work, four times the size, it incorporates the fragment re- 
 ferred to, which, with an altogether different denouement, was contributed 
 to " Once a Week." The present volume, therefore, while beginning with 
 the previous book, soon changes in its (*onstruction, and justifies the second 
 title, "Maid, Wife, and Widow."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "T^TOT a day passes over the earth 
 _i^^ but men and women of no note 
 do great deeds, speak great words, 
 and suft'er noble sorrows. Of these 
 obscure heroes, philosophers, and mar- 
 tyrs, the greater part will never be 
 known till that hour when many that 
 were 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 cold- 
 ly ; they aie not like breathing stories 
 appealing to his heart, but little his- 
 toric hailstones striking him but to 
 glance otT his bosom ; nor can he un- 
 derstand them, for epitomes are not 
 narratives, as skeletons are not hu- 
 man figures. 
 
 'I'hus records of prime truths re- 
 main a dead letter to plain folk ; the 
 writers have left so much to the ima- 
 gination, and imagination is so rare a 
 gift. Here, then, the writer of fiction 
 may be of use to the pub'ic — as an 
 interpreter. 
 
 There is a musty chronicle, written 
 in tolerable 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 un- 
 triimpeted, and died unsung, four hun- 
 dred years ago ; and lie now as unpit- 
 ied, in that stern page, as fossils in a 
 rock. Thus, living or de:ul, fate is still 
 unjust to them. Tor if I can but show 
 
 you what lies below that dry chroni- 
 cler's words, methinks you will cor- 
 rect the inditference of centuries, and 
 give those two sore tried souls a place 
 in your heart — for a day. 
 
 It was past the middle of the fif- 
 teenth century. Louis XL was sover- 
 eign of France ; Edward IV. was 
 wrongful King of England ; and Phil- 
 ip " the Good," having by force and 
 cunning dispossessed his cousin Jac- 
 queline, and broken her lieart, reigned 
 undisturbed this many years in Hol- 
 land, where our tale begins. 
 
 Elias, and Catherine his wife, lived 
 in the little town of Tergou. He 
 traded, wholesale and retail, in cloth, 
 silk, brown holland, and, above all, in 
 curried leather, a material highly val- 
 ued 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 neighbor, on a very moderate dif- 
 ference 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 re- 
 joicings, 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 tiie amusement, joy, and 
 evening solace of people in business.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 But as the olive-branches shot up, 
 and the parents grew ohler, 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 disobedient children. So now, 
 when the huge loaf came in on a gi- 
 gantic 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 Dutch countenances ; for 
 in their opinion dinner and supper 
 came by nature like sunrise and sun- 
 set ; 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 natural 
 thoughtfulncss of the elder boys, and, 
 being often repeated, set several of the 
 family thinking, some of them good 
 thoughts, some ill thoughts, accord- 
 ing 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 mortify- 
 ing 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 
 alter 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, 
 tliey felt a pleasure the miser hoarding 
 for himself knows not. 
 
 One day, the eldest boy but one, 
 aged nineteen, came to hjs mother, 
 
 and, with that outward composura 
 which has so misled some persons as 
 to the real nature of this people, beg- 
 ged 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 1 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 fother now 
 he is no longer young ? " 
 
 " Mother, if I can leave you, I can 
 leave him." 
 
 " What, leave your poor brothers 
 and sisters, that love you so dear ? " 
 
 " There are enough in the house 
 without me." 
 
 " What inciin 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 discourse shall end ; young Rich- 
 art 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 angri-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ly to the children, " Sit wider ! can't 
 yel sit wider! " 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 merchant, 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 din- 
 ner, which was at eleven in the fore- 
 noon. At supper that day Elias re- 
 membered 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 she had 
 said, " No, sweetheart, I promise I 
 will not, since it vexes my children." 
 But when Elias whispered " Sit wid- 
 er ! " — 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. 
 
 " 'T is the best that leave us," 
 sobbed she ; " that is the cruel part." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! " said Elias ; " our chil- 
 dren 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 unthank- 
 ful — 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 
 ooffer with steel bands and florid key. 
 1* 
 
 They denied themselves in turn the 
 humblest luxuries, and then, catching 
 one another's looks, stnilcd ; 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 robe- 
 maker, in Tergou. Here were two 
 more provided for ; tiieir own trade 
 would enable them to throw work into 
 the hands of this pair. But the coffer 
 was drained to the dregs, 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, 1, Giles, a dwarf, 
 of the wrong sort, half stupidity, halt 
 malice, all head and claws and voice, 
 run from by dogs and unprejudiced 
 females, and sided with through thick 
 and tiiin 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 to work, and Cornelis, 
 the eldest, who had made calculations, 
 and stuck to the hearth. Availing 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, be- 
 cause a habit is a habit ; but they ut- 
 tered it half mechanically now, and 
 added brightly and 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,
 
 8 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 object of no fears and no great hopes. 
 No fears ; for he was going into the 
 Church ; and tlic Church could always 
 maintain her cliildren by hook or by 
 crook in tliose days ; no great hopes, 
 be^'ausc his family had no interest 
 with the great to get him a benefice, 
 and the young man's own hal)itswcre 
 frivolous, and, indeed, sucli as our 
 cloth merchant would not have put 
 lip with in any one but a clerk that 
 was to be. His trivialities were read- 
 ing and penmanship, and he was so 
 wrapt 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 neighbors, which he 
 liglitcd at unreasonable hours, — ay, 
 even at eight of the clock at night in 
 winter, when the very burgomaster 
 was abed. Endured at home, his 
 practices were encouraged by the 
 monks of a neighboring 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 tlicm. 
 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 
 son," 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 beauti- 
 ful crafts, how is it you do not color 
 as well as write 1 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 understand- 
 ing ; 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 colors, but the heart lifted by 
 effigies of the saints in glory. An- 
 swer me, my son." 
 
 At this Gerard was confused, and 
 muttered that he had made several 
 
 trials at illuminating, 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 handiwork ; it 
 pleased her so well that she sent her 
 female servant, Richt Heynes, to ask 
 him to come to her. This led to an ac- 
 quaintance ; it could hardly be other- 
 wise, 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 eacli 
 visit she fished out of holes and cor- 
 ners drawings and paintings, some 
 of them by her own band, that seemed 
 to him unapproachable ; but if the 
 artist overpowered him, the woman 
 kept his heart up. She and Richt 
 soon turned him inside out, like a 
 glove ; among other things, tliey 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, tlic blue, and the 
 red, but only the cheap earths; and 
 that he was afraid to ask his mother 
 to buy the choice colors, 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 vel- 
 lum to lay them on. He almost ador- 
 ed her. As he left the house Richt 
 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 sym- 
 pathy 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 charac- 
 teristic of the time. For this was u 
 century in which the fine arts and the 
 higher mechanical arts were not sepa- 
 rated by any distinct boundary, nol
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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 day, let me remind 
 him that even Christians loved one 
 another at first starting. 
 
 Backed by an acquaintance so ven- 
 erable, and strengthened by female 
 sympathy, Gerard advanced in learn- 
 ing and skill. His spirits, too, rose 
 risibly. 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 
 humor that had hitherto but peeped 
 in him, shone out, and ofieii he set the 
 table in a roar, and kept it there, 
 sometimes with his own wit, some- 
 times with jests which were glossy new 
 to his family, being drawn from an- 
 tiquity. 
 
 As a return for all he owed his 
 friends the monks, he made them ex- 
 quisite 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 
 " tlie Good," Duke of Burgundy, 
 Luxemburg, and Brabant, Earl of 
 Holland and Zealand, Lord of Fries- 
 land, 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 honor, 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, turbaned, and blazing with 
 jewels. His agents inveigled them 
 from Istamboul with fair promises ; 
 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 
 humdrum virtues. For anything sin- 
 gularly 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 fos- 
 tered the arts in earnest : whereof he 
 now gave a signal proof. He offered 
 prizes for the best specimens of " or- 
 f evrerie " in two kinds, religious and 
 secular ; item, for the best paintings in 
 white of egg, oils, and tempera ; these 
 to be on panel, silk, or metal, as the 
 artists chose : item, for the best trans- 
 parent painting on glass : item, for the 
 best illuminating and border-painting 
 on vellum ; item, for the fairest writing 
 on vellum. The burgomasters of the 
 several towns were commanded to aid 
 all the poorer competitors by receiv- 
 ing their specimens and sending them 
 with due care to Rotterdam at the ex- 
 pense 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, re- 
 lenting 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 ord- 
 nance we see on fortifications, more 
 like a flower-pot than a cannon ; but, 
 ods tympana, how they bellow ! 
 
 Gerard turned red with anger, the 
 more so as the others began to titter. 
 Wiiite Catherine saw, and a pink tinge 
 came on her cheek. She said softly, 
 " Why do you laugh "*. Is it because
 
 10 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 he is onr brother you think ho 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 moth- 
 er shall buy me vellum and the colors 
 to illuminate with." 
 
 " What will they cost, my lad ? " 
 
 " Two gold crowns " (about three 
 shillings and fourpence English 
 money ) . 
 
 " What 1 " screamed the house- 
 wife ; " when the bushel of rye costs 
 but a groat ! What ! 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 ! " sighed little Catherine, 
 imploringly. 
 
 " O, 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 forever taking 
 from her." 
 
 " It is not her affair," said Cathe- 
 rine, 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 gra- 
 cious, affectionate 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 ' Terence ' ; 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 colors, — one crown will 
 do." 
 
 " Never tyne the ship for want of a 
 bit of tar, Gerard," said this change- 
 able 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 Kotterdam and 
 sec the duke, and above all to see the 
 work of his competitors, and so get a 
 lesson from defeat. And the crown 
 came out of thehousewife'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 ; and when he came to look at 
 it, to his surprise he found it was ad- 
 dressed to the Princess Marie, at the 
 Stadthouse, in Rotterdam. 
 
 The day before the prizes were to 
 be distributed, Gerard started for 
 Rotterdam in his holiday suit, to wit, 
 a doublet of silver-gray 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 
 h^d 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 pur- 
 ple silk ribbon little Kate had passed 
 round him from the sides of the hat, 
 and knotted neatly on his breast ; be- 
 low his hat, attached to the upper rim 
 of his broad waist-belt, was his leath- 
 ern 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 hold- 
 ing his hand, with a face brimful of 
 concern. The country people trudged
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 11 
 
 by and noticed nothings amiss ; but 
 Gerard, as he passed, drew conclu- 
 sions. Even dress tells a tale to those 
 who study it so closely as he did, being 
 an illuminator. 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 iiisty, 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 network of silver cord 
 with silver spangles at the interstices ; 
 in this her glossy auburn hair was 
 rolled in front into solid waves, and 
 supported behind a luxurious and 
 shapely mass. His quick eye took in 
 all this, and the old man's pallor, and 
 the tear in the young woman's eyes. 
 So when he 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 resen^e 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, " Fa- 
 ther, a stranger, — a young man ! " 
 
 But it was too late. Gerard, with 
 simplicity, and quite as a matter of 
 course, fell to gathering sticks with 
 great expedition. This done, he took 
 down his wallet, out with the manchet 
 of bread and the iron flask his care- 
 ful mother had put up, and his ei^er- 
 
 lasting 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 
 
 fiurse at his girdle was plethoric, the 
 ur on his tippet was ermine, broad 
 and new. 
 
 It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, 
 the burgomaster of Tergou. He was 
 old, and his face furrowed. He was a 
 notorious miser, and looked one gen- 
 erally. IJut the idea of supping with 
 the duke raised him just now into 
 manifest complacency. Yet at the sight 
 of the Aided 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 un- 
 easiness. He reined in his mule. 
 " Why, Peter, — 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 fum- 
 bled 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 recognizing the burgomas- 
 ter, he colored all over. Ghysbrecht 
 Van S\vieten started and glared at 
 him, and took his hand out of hia
 
 12 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 purse. "O," 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 intelligible. How- 
 ever, 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 (juart of 
 soup," said he. When the young 
 man put that interpretation upon 
 Ghysbrecht's strange and meaning 
 look, Margaret was greatly relieved, 
 and smiled gayly on the speaker. 
 
 Meantime Ghysbrecht j)lodded 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 come- 
 ly 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 remorse 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 rogueiy. 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 term's 
 that looked 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, de- 
 spondingly. 
 
 " Father, the j'oung man has 
 brought us straws." And Margaret 
 smiled slyly. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " 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 ! ^' 
 
 For while he stated his difhculty, 
 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 between 
 the stones, and put the hat under the 
 old man's nose with a merry smile. 
 The other tremulously inserted the 
 })ipe 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 ! " ho 
 cried, " 't is a soupe au vin, — the re- 
 storative of restoratives. Blessed be 
 the nation that invented it, and the 
 woman that made it, and the yoimg 
 man who brings it to fainting 
 folk. Have a suck, my girl, while I 
 relate to our young host the history 
 and virtues of this his sovereign com- 
 pound- This corroborative, young 
 sir, v.as unknown to the ancients ; 
 we find it neither in their treatises of 
 medicine, nor in those popular nar- 
 ratives which reveal many of their 
 remedies, both in chinirgery 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 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 ' vinnm merum ' up- 
 on that score, he would have added 
 in the next hexameter, 'But a "soupe 
 au vin," madam, I will degust, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 13 
 
 gratefully.' Not only would this 
 have been but common civility, — a 
 virtue no perfect commander is want- 
 inf^ in, — hut 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, bring- 
 ing hungry soldiers to blows with 
 full ones, have been defeated, in all 
 ages, by inferior numbers. The Ro- 
 mans lost a great battle in the north 
 of Italy to Hannibal, the Carthagin- 
 ian, by this neglect alone. Now, this 
 divine elixir gives in one moment 
 force to the limbs and ardor to the 
 spirits ; and, taken into Hector's 
 body at the nick of time, would, by 
 the aid of Pha-bus, Venus, and the 
 blessed saints, have most likely pro- 
 cured the Greeks a defeat. For, note 
 how faint and weary and heart-sick I 
 was a minute ago ; well, I suck tliis 
 celestial cordial, and now behold me 
 brave as Achilles and strong as an 
 eagle." 
 
 " O 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 Rotterdam, and strong to 
 combat the ills of life, even poverty 
 and old age, which last philosophers 
 have called ' summum malum.' Ne- 
 satur ; unless the man's life has been 
 ill spent, — which, by the by, it 
 generally has. Now for the modems." 
 
 " Father ! dear father ! " 
 
 " Fear mc not, girl, I will be brief, 
 unreasonably and unseasonably brief 
 The ' soupe 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 hiive been idiots with their 
 chicken broth and their decoction of 
 gold, whereby they attribute the 
 highest qtuilit'ies to that meat which 
 has the least juice of any moat, and 
 to that metal which has less chemical 
 qualities than all the metals; mounte- 
 l)anks ! dunces ! homicides ! Since, 
 
 then, from these no light is to b* 
 gathered, go we to the chroniclers •, 
 and first we find that Duguesclin, a 
 French kni<;ht, 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, ' soupes au vin ' 
 in honor of the Blessed Trinity. 
 This done, he charged the islanders ; 
 and as might have been foretold, 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 restor- 
 ative, been sustentated, fortified, cor- 
 roborated, 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 " modem in- 
 stances," and gave Gerard an ojiportu- 
 nity of telling Margaret how proud 
 his mother would be her soup had 
 profited a man of leaming. 
 
 " Ay ! but," said Margaret, " it 
 would like her ill to see her son give 
 all and take none himself. Why 
 brought you but two straws 1 " 
 
 " Fair mistress, I hoped you would 
 let me 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, 
 't is vours : you cut it in yonder field." 
 
 " 1 cut it, and that made it mine ; 
 but after that your lip touched it, and 
 that made it yours." 
 
 " Did it ? " Then I ^vill lend it you. 
 There, — now it is yours again : your 
 lip has touched it." 
 
 " No, it belongs to us both now. 
 Let us di\ide it." 
 
 " By all means ; you have a knife." 
 
 " No, I will not cut it, — that would 
 be unlucky. I'll bite it. There J 
 shall keep my half; you will burn 
 yours, once you get home, I doubt." 
 
 " You know me not. I waste noth' 
 ing. It is odds but I make a hair-pin 
 of it, or something.*'
 
 14 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 This answer dashed the novice Ger- 
 ard, instead of provok.in<; him to fresii 
 efforts, and he was silent. And now, 
 the bread and soup being disposed of, 
 the old scholar prepared to continue 
 his journey. Then came a little ditH- 
 eulty : Gerard, the adroit, could not 
 tie his ribbon again as Catherine had 
 tixl it. Margaret, after slyly eying 
 liis efforts for some time, offered to 
 help him ; for at her age girls love to 
 be coy and tender, saucy and gentle, 
 liy turns, and she saw she had put 
 him out of countenance but now. 
 Then a fair head, with its stately 
 crown of auburn hair, glossy and 
 glowing through silver, bowed sweetly 
 towards him ; and, while it ravished 
 his eye, two white supple hands played 
 delicately upon the stubborn ribbon, 
 and moulded it with soft and airy 
 touches. Then a heavenly 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 sen- 
 sations Margaret unwittingly pro- 
 longed ; it is not natural to her sex to 
 hurry aught that pertains to the sacred 
 toilet. Nay, when the taper fingers 
 had at last subjugated the ends of the 
 knot, her mind was not quite easy, 
 till, by a manauvre peculiar to the fe- 
 male hand, she had made her palm 
 convex, and so applied it with a gen- 
 tle pressure to the centre of the knot, 
 — a sweet little coaxing hand-kiss, as 
 much as to say, " Now be a good 
 knot and stay so." 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 her work ; then, 
 looking up for simple approval of her 
 skill, received full in her eyes a long- 
 ing gaze of such ardent adoration as 
 made her lower them quickly and color 
 all over. An indescribable tremor 
 seized her, and she retreated with 
 downcast lashes and telltale cheeks, 
 and took her fatlier's arm on the op- 
 posite side. Gerard, blushing at hav- 
 ing scared her away with his eyes. 
 
 took the other arm ; and so tho two 
 young things went downcast and con- 
 scious, and propped the eagle along in 
 silence. 
 
 They entered Rotterdam by the 
 Schiedamze Poort ; and, as Gerard 
 was unacquainted with the town, Pe- 
 ter 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 Waagcn 
 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 npon 
 him, yet the streets were crowded. 
 Then he lamented too late, that, out 
 of delicacy, he had not asked his late 
 companions who they were and where 
 they lived. 
 
 " Heshrew my shamefacedness ! " 
 said be. " 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. O weary world, I hate you 
 and your ways. To think 1 must 
 meet beauty and goodness and learn- 
 ing, — three pearls of price, — and 
 never see them more ! " 
 
 Falling into this sad rcvery, and 
 letting his body go where it would, he 
 lost his way ; but presently meeting a 
 crowd of persons all moving in ono 
 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 npon 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 delectation of 
 the company. There was also a 
 trained bear, who stood on his head, 
 and marched upright, and bowed with 
 prodigious gravity to his master ; and 
 a hare that beat a drum, and a cock 
 that strutted on little stilts disdain
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 15 
 
 full/. 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, hearing a young man say to his 
 fellow that the duke had been in the 
 meadow, but was gone to the Stadt- 
 house to entertain the burgomasters 
 and aldermen and the competitors for 
 the prizes, and their friends, he sud- 
 denly 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 court- 
 yard. It was kept by soldiers, and 
 superintended by a pompous major- 
 domo, glittering in an embroidered 
 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 endeavoring 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 wiis with- 
 in four heads of the gate, he saw 
 something that made his heart beat : 
 there was Peter, with Margaret on 
 his arm, soliciting humbly for en- 
 trance. 
 
 " My cousin the alderman is not at 
 home. They say he is here." 
 
 " 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 writ- 
 ten his name; he will come out to 
 us." 
 
 " 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 im- 
 ploringly : — 
 
 " 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 hoarse- 
 ly. Margaret 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 fright- 
 ened her for one thing ; and her cous- 
 in's thoughtlessness in not even tell- 
 ing his servant they were coming 
 was cruel ; and the servant's caution, 
 however wise and faithful to her mas- 
 ter, was bitterly mortifying to her 
 father and her. And to her so mor- 
 tified, and anxious, and jostled, came 
 suddenly this kind hand and face. — 
 " Hine illse lacrimal." 
 
 "All is well now," remarked a 
 coarse humorist ; " 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, tlie 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 com- 
 pany ; they came before you."
 
 16 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " What matter ? they are my 
 friends, and without them I go not 
 in." 
 
 " Stay without, then." 
 
 " That will I not." 
 
 " That wc will see." 
 
 " Wc will, and speedily." And 
 with this Gerard raised a voice of as- 
 tounding volume and power, and 
 shouted, so that the whole street 
 rang : 
 
 " Ho ! PiiiLir, Earl of Hol- 
 land ! " 
 
 " Are you mad ? " cried the porter. 
 
 " Hkrk is one of youR varlets 
 
 DEFIES VOU." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " 
 
 " And will not let your 
 glests pass in." 
 
 " Hush ! murder ! The duke 's 
 there. 1 '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! 
 Way there for Gerard Elias- 
 soEN and ms COMPANY ! (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 tri- 
 umphant. 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. 
 
 Once passed the guarded portal, a 
 few steps brought the trio upon a 
 scene of Oriental luxury. The court- 
 yard was laid out in tables loaded 
 with rich meats and piled with gor- 
 geous plate. Guests in rich and vari- 
 ous 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 pendent, 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 
 Burgund)' in si.x 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, tin<,'ed 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, spellbound. — 
 Presently a whisper buzzed round 
 them, " Salute the duke ! Salute the 
 duke ! " 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 courtesied 
 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. In- 
 stantly seven of his people, with an 
 obedient start, went headlong at our 
 friends, seated them at a t:ii)le, and 
 put fifteen many-colored soups hiefore 
 them, in little silver bowls, and as 
 many wines in crystal vases. 
 
 " Nay, father, let us not eat until wo 
 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 hap- 
 piest at meeting again." 
 
 " Me ? " inquired Margaret. 
 
 "Xo: guess again." 
 
 " Father ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I have no guess ■which it 
 can be"; and she gave a little crow 
 of happiness and gayety. The sou|> 
 was tasted, and vanished in a twirl of 
 fourteen liands, and fish came on the 
 table in a dozen forms, Avith patties of 
 lobster and almonds mixed, and of 
 almonds and cream, and an immense
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 17 
 
 variety of " brouets," knowTi to us as 
 " rissoles." The next trifle was a 
 vv-ild 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 "cuisinier" had 
 been too clever, had made this excel- 
 lent 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 
 colors, 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 colored sugar glowed in his 
 Jiead. St. Argut ! what eyes ! so 
 bright, so bloodshot, so threatening, 
 — they followed 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 oppo- 
 site side of the table putting the mon- 
 ster down before our friends, with 
 a smiling, self-satisfied, benevolent 
 obsequiousness, — for this ghastly 
 monster was the flower of all comes- 
 tibles, — old Peter clasping both 
 hands in pious admiration of it ; 
 Margaret wheeling round with hor- 
 ror-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 the 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 bcef-stutfing, then, and bring me 
 Sir Boar." Benevolent monarch! 
 The beef-stutfing was his own private 
 dish. On these grand occasions an 
 ox was roasted whole, and reserved 
 for the poor. But this wise as well 
 as charitable prince had discovered, 
 that whatever venison, hares, lamb. 
 
 poultry, &c. you skewered into that 
 beef cavern, got cooked to perfection, 
 retaining their own juices and receiv- 
 ing 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 tri- 
 dents into the steaming cave at ran- 
 dom, and speared a kid, a cygnet, and 
 a flock of wild fowl. 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 
 herbs, and, last of all, confectionery 
 on a Titanic scale ; cathedrals of 
 sugar, all gilt and painted in the in- 
 terstices of the bas-i'eliefs ; castles 
 with their moats and ditches, imitat- 
 ed to the life ; elephants, camels, 
 toads ; knights on horseback joust- 
 ing ; kings and princesses looking on ; 
 trumpeters blowing ; and all these 
 personages delicious eating, and their 
 veins filled with sweet-scented juices: 
 works of art made to be destroyed. 
 The guests breached a bastion, crunch- 
 ed 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, mean- 
 while, hippocnis and other spiced 
 drinks, and Greek and Corsican wines, 
 while every now and then little Turk- 
 ish boys, turbaned, spangled, jewelled, 
 and gilt, came offering 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 suc- 
 cumbed, and Gerard had suddenly 
 remembered he was the bearer of a 
 letter to the Princess Marie, and, in 
 an undertone, had asked one of the 
 servants if he would undertake to de- 
 liver it. The man took it with a 
 deep obeisance : " He could not de- 
 liver it himself, but would instantly 
 give it one of the princess's suite, 
 several of whom were about." 
 
 It mav be remembered that Pctet
 
 18 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and Marj»arct came here not to dine, 
 but to find their cousin. Well, the 
 old ^'eiitleniau ate heartily, and, beinj^ 
 much fatii,Mied, dropped asleep, and 
 forgot all al)out his cousin. Margaret 
 did not remind him, we shall hear why. 
 
 Meantime, that cousin was seated 
 within a few feet of them, at their 
 hacks, and discovered them when 
 Margaret turned round and screamed 
 at the hoar. But he forlx»re to sneak 
 to them for nmnicipal reasons. Alar- 
 garet was very plainly dressed, and 
 Peter inclined to threadbare. So the 
 alderman said to himself: — 
 
 " T will be time to make up to 
 them when the sun sets and the com- 
 pany disperses ; then I wi'.l take my 
 poor relations to my house, and none 
 will be the wiser." 
 
 Half the courses were lost on Ge- 
 rard and Margaret. They were no 
 great caters, and just now were feed- 
 ing on sweet thoughts that have ever 
 been unfavorable to aj)])etite. 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 color, music, and perfume, all of 
 which blended so fascinatingly here. 
 
 Margaret leaned back and half clos- 
 ed her eyes, and murmured to Gerard : 
 " What a lovely scene ! the warm sun, 
 the green shade, the rich dresses, the 
 bright music of the lutos 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 arc you a com- 
 petitor for ? " 
 
 He told her. 
 
 " Verj' 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 liead 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 ! that is all a silly old song," 
 explained Gerard. " 'T is a byword 
 our elders keep repeating, out of cus- 
 tom : it is not true." 
 
 " How can you know ? you are but 
 a child," said Margaret, with pensive 
 dignity. 
 
 " Why, only look round ! And then 
 I thought I had lost you forever ; and 
 you are by my side ; and now the 
 minstrels are going to j)lay again. 
 Sin and misery ? Stuff and non* 
 sense ! " 
 
 The lutes burst out. The court- 
 yard rang again with their delicate 
 harmony. 
 
 " What do you admire most of all 
 these beautiful things, Gerard ? " 
 
 " You know my name ? How is 
 that 1 " 
 
 " White magic. I am a witch." 
 
 " Angels are never witches. But I 
 can't think how you — " 
 
 " 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, 1 '11 
 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 con- 
 ceived ; but the bravest 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 Vnlgate 
 praises for beauty, " an apple of gold 
 tn a network of silver," and, O, what 
 a pity I did not know you before I 
 sent in my poor endeavors at illumi- 
 nating ! i could illuminate so much 
 better now. I could do everything 
 better. There, now the sun is fulJ
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 19 
 
 on it, it is like an aureole. So Our 
 Lady looked, and none since her until 
 to-da>'." 
 
 " 0, fie ! it is wicked to talk so. 
 Compare a poor, coarse-favored girl 
 Cke me with the Queen of Heaven ? 
 O 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, — Mar- 
 garet ! " 
 
 " Gerard ? " 
 
 " Be not angry now ! " 
 
 " Now is it likely 1 " 
 
 " I love you." 
 
 " 0, for shame ! you must not say 
 that to me," and Margaret colored 
 furiously at this sudden assault. 
 ** "I can't help it. I love you. I love 
 you." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! for pity's sake ! I 
 must not listen to such words from a 
 stranger. I am ungrateful to call you 
 a stranger. 0, how one may be mis- 
 taken ! If I had known you were so 
 bold — " And Margaret's bosom be- 
 gan to heave, and her cheeks were 
 covered vnth blushes, and she looked 
 towards her sleeping father, very much 
 like a timid thing that meditates ac- 
 tual flight. 
 
 Then Gerard was frightened at the 
 alarm he caused. " Forgive me," said 
 he, imploringly. " How could any 
 one help loving you ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, 1 will try and forgive 
 you, — you are so good in other re- 
 spects; but then you must promise 
 me never to say you — to say that 
 again. " 
 
 " Give me your hand, then, or you 
 don't forgive 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 submit- 
 ted quite patiently to force. What is 
 the use of resisting force 1 She turned 
 her head away, and her long eyelashes 
 
 drooped sweetly. Gerald 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, maid'- 
 ens 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 oppor- 
 tunity ; for at the duke's banquet, this 
 mellow summer eve, all things dis- 
 posed the female nature to tenderness ; 
 the avenues to the heart lay open ; the 
 senses Avere so soothed and subdued 
 with lovely colors, gentle sounds, and 
 delicate odors ; the sun gently sink- 
 ing, the warm air, the green canopy, 
 the cool music of the now violet foun- 
 tain. 
 
 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 
 unreasonable tears rolled down hei 
 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 uni- 
 son and silence, and this weary world 
 looked heaven to them. 
 
 0, the merry days, the merry days when we 
 
 were young, 
 0, the merry days, the merry days when W9 
 
 were young. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A GRAVE white-haired seneschal 
 came to their table, and inquired cour- 
 teously whether Gerard Eliassoen was 
 of their company. Upon Gerard's 
 answer, he said : — 
 
 " The Princess Marie would confer
 
 20 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 with you, young sir ; I am to conduct 
 you to her prt'scnce." 
 
 Instantly all faces witliin licarinp^ 
 turned sharp round, and were hent 
 with curiosity and envy on the man 
 that was to go to a princess. 
 
 Grcrard rose to obey. 
 
 " I wager avc shall not see you 
 again," said Margaret, calmly, but 
 coloring a little. 
 
 " That will you," was the reply ; 
 then he whispered in her ear : " This 
 is my good princess, but you arc my 
 queen." He added aloud : "Wait for 
 me, I pray you ; I will presently re- 
 turn." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " said Peter, awaking 
 and speaking at one and the same 
 moment. 
 
 Gerard gone, the pair whose dress 
 was so homely, yet they were with 
 the man whom the princess sent for, 
 became " the cynosure of neighboring 
 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 
 us to Rotterdam, as it is for us to wel- 
 come you at Sevenbergen. Your ser- 
 vant 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 sus- 
 pected 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 
 he would show them whether they 
 were welcome to Rotterdam or not. 
 
 " Who doubts it, cousin ? Who 
 doubts it ? " said the scholar. 
 
 Margaret thanked him graciously, 
 but demurred to go just now ; said she 
 wanted to hear the minstrels again. 
 In about a quarter of an hour John- 
 
 son 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 he will lose us. He knows not 
 where we lodge in Rotterdam, and the 
 city is large, and wc have parted com- 
 pany 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 burden- 
 some." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; you shall sec whether 
 you are welcome or not, you and your 
 fricTuls, and your friends' friends if 
 needs 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 ! 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, precise 
 young man, the very statue of gravity 
 and starched propriety. At his aspect 
 Margaret, being very happy, could 
 hardly keep her countenance. But 
 she whispered Johnson, " I would put 
 my hand in the tire for him. We are 
 at your command, cousin, as soon as 
 you have given him liis 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 calm, 
 ly taking the seat indicated ; and Mar- 
 garet, Peter, 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.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 21 
 
 Hans Cloterraan sat waiting for 
 Gerard, solemn and business-like. 
 The minutes flew by, but excited no 
 impatience in tliat perfect young man. 
 Johnson did him no more than jus- 
 tice 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 — im- 
 proved the time by quaffing solemnly, 
 silently, and at short but accurately 
 measured intervals, goblets of Corsi- 
 can 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 Creation expected Cloterman to 
 drink the health of all good fellows, 
 and " nommement " of the Duke of 
 Burgundy here present. With this 
 view he filled bumper nine, and rose 
 gingerly but solemnly and slowly. 
 Having reached his full height, he in- 
 stantly rolled upon the grass, goblet 
 in hand, spilling the cold liquor on 
 more than one ankle, — whose owners 
 frisked, — but not disturbing a mus- 
 cle in his own long face, which, in 
 the total eclipse of reason, retained 
 its gravity, primness, and infallibil- 
 ity. 
 
 The seneschal led Gerard through 
 several passages to the door of the 
 pavilion, where some young noble- 
 men, embroidered and feathered, sat 
 sentinel, guarding the heir-apparent, 
 and playing cards by the red light of 
 torches their servants held. A whis- 
 per from the seneschal, and one of 
 them rose reluctantly, stared at Ge- 
 rard with haughty surprise, and en- 
 tered the pavilion. He presently re- 
 turned, and, beckoning the pair, led 
 them through a passage or two, and 
 landed them in an antechamber, 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 priflccss, — 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-ace again ! "' 
 
 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 to 
 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 
 playing cat's-cradle with fingers as 
 nimble as their tongues. At the sight 
 of a stranger all their tongues stopped 
 like one prece of complicated machin- 
 ery, and all the eyes turned on Gerard, 
 as if the same string that checked the 
 tongues had turned the eyes on. Ge- 
 rard was ill at ease before, but this bat- 
 tery 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, se- 
 verely, " Mesdames ! " and they were 
 all abashed at once as though a mod- 
 esty string had been pulled. This 
 same duenna took Gerard, and 
 marched before him in solemn si- 
 lence. 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 ? Doubtless 
 they take their breeding from him 
 they serve." These reflections were 
 interrupted bv 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
 
 22 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Bmile, and beckoned him to come near 
 her. She did not rise, hut she hiid 
 aside her work, and lier manner of 
 turning; towards him, slight as the 
 movement was, was full of grace and 
 case and courtesy. She began a con- 
 versation 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. Maria, my love, this 
 is the young gentleman who brought 
 you that pretty miniature." 
 
 " Sir, I thank you a thousand 
 times," said the young lady. 
 
 " I am glad you feel her debtor, 
 sweetheart, for our friend could have 
 us to do liim a little service in re- 
 turn." 
 
 " I will do anything on earth for 
 him," replied the young lady, with 
 ardor. 
 
 " Anything on earth is nothing in 
 the world," said the Countess of 
 Charlois, quietly. 
 
 " Well, then, I will — What would 
 you have me to do, sir ? " 
 
 Gerard had just found out what 
 high society he was in. " My sover- 
 eign demoiselle," said he, gently, and 
 a little tremulously, " where there liave 
 been no pains there needs no reward." 
 " But we must obey mamma. All 
 the world must obey mamma." 
 
 " That is true. Then, our demoi- 
 selle, reward me, if you Avill, by let- 
 ting me hear the stave you were going 
 to sing and I did interrupt it." 
 " What, you love music, sir ? " 
 " I adore it." 
 
 The little princess looked inquir- 
 ingly 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 arpeg- 
 gio 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 teeling. She was too young to be 
 theatrical, or even sentimental, sb 
 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 customei"s all night, and sometimes 
 gets shot for them, and always deser\-e8 
 it — so there were no cadences or 
 fiorituri, the trite, turgid, and feeble 
 expletives of song, the skim-milk 
 with which mindless musicians and 
 mindless writers quench fire, wash 
 out color, and drown melody and 
 meaning dead. 
 
 While the pure and tender strain 
 was flowing from the pure young 
 throat, Gerard's eyes tilled. The 
 countess watched him with interest, 
 for it was usual to applaud the prin- 
 cess loudly, but not with cheek and 
 eye. So when the voice ceased, and 
 the glasses left off ringing, she asked 
 demurely, " Was he content 1 " 
 
 Gerard gave a little start ; the spo- 
 ken voice broke a charm, and brought 
 him back to earth. 
 
 " madam ! " 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 girl ; 
 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 fa- 
 vor she has done us the honor of ask- 
 ing us, and the request is sacred. 
 You are in holy orders, sir ? " 
 
 Gerard bowed. 
 
 " I fear you are not a priest, yoa 
 look too young."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 23 
 
 " O no, madam : I am not even a 
 snb-dcacon. I am only a lector ; bnt 
 next month I shall be an exorcist ; 
 and before long an acolyth." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur Gerard, with your 
 accomplishments you can soon pass 
 through the inferior orders. And let 
 me beg of you to dc so. For the day 
 after you have said your first mass I 
 shall "have the pleasure of appointing 
 you to a beneiice." 
 
 " 0, madam ! " 
 
 " And, Marie, remember I make 
 this promise in your name as well as 
 in my own." 
 
 " Fear not, mamma : I will not for- 
 get. But if he will take my advice, 
 what he will be is Bishop of Liege. 
 The Bishop of Lie'ge is a beautifid 
 bishop. AVliat ! do you not remember 
 him, mamma, that day we were at 
 Liege ? 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, O, such beautiful 
 jewels : and his gown stiff with gold ; 
 and his mantle too ; and it had a 
 broad l)ordcr, all pictures ; but, above 
 all, his gloves ; you have no such 
 gloves, mamma. They were embroid- 
 ered, 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 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 witli you, Marie, 
 eh ? " 
 
 " He is a good Vjlgth, dear mamma ; 
 and I am sure he is yood enough for 
 a bishop." 
 
 " Alas, mademoiselle ! you are mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " I know not that, Monsieur Ge- 
 rard ; but I am a little jiuzzled to know 
 on what grounds mademoiselle there 
 uronouuces your character so boldl}-." 
 2 
 
 " Alas, mamma ! " said the prin- 
 cess, " you have not looked at his ftice, 
 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 daugh- 
 ter, 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 1 " 
 
 " Tergou, madam." 
 
 "A priest gives up much," con- 
 tinued the countess ; " often, I fear, 
 he leanis too late how much " ; and 
 her woman's eye rested a moment on 
 Gerard with mild pity and half sur- 
 prise at his resigning her sex and all 
 the heaven they can bestow, and the 
 great parental joys. " At least you 
 shall be near }'our friends. Have you 
 a niotlicr ^ " 
 
 " Yes, madam ; thanks be to God ! " 
 
 " Good ! You shall have a church 
 near Tergou. She will thank me. 
 And now, sir, wc must not detain you 
 too long from those who have a better 
 claim to your society than we have. 
 Duchess, oblige me by bidding one of 
 the pages conduct liim 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, shak- 
 ing her head with an air of solemn 
 misgiving, " but you had better have 
 been Bishop of Liege." 
 
 Gerard followed his new conductor, 
 his heart warm with gratitude ; but 
 ere he reached the banquet-hall a chill 
 came over him. The mi-nd 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
 
 24 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 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 1 resign her and all 
 the world of love and joy slie had 
 opened on him to-day 1 The revul- 
 sion, when it did come, was so strong, 
 that he hastily resolved to say noth- 
 ing at home about the offered benefice. 
 " The countess is so good," thought 
 he, " she has a hundred ways of aid- 
 ing 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 reflection his mind was 
 eased, and, being now at the entrance 
 of the banqueting-hall, he thanked his 
 conductor, and ran hastily Avith joyful 
 eyes to Margaret. He came in sight 
 of the table, — she was goi;c. Peter 
 was gone too. Nobody was at the ta- 
 ble at all, only a citizen in sober gar- 
 ments had just tumbled under it dead 
 drunk, and several persons were 
 raising him to carry him away. Ge- 
 rard never guessed how important this 
 solemn drunkard was to him ; he was 
 looking for "Beauty," and let the 
 " Beast " lie. He ran wildly round the 
 hall, which Avas now comparatively 
 empty. She Avas not there. He left 
 the palace ; outside he found a crowd 
 gaping at tAvo great fan-lights just 
 lighted over the gate. He asked them 
 earnestly if they had seen an old man 
 in a gOAvn, and a lovely girl pass out. 
 They laughed at the question. " They 
 Avere staring at these ncAv lights that 
 turn night into day. They did n't 
 trouble their heads about old men and 
 young Avenches, every-day sights." 
 From another group he learned there 
 Avas a Mystery being played under can- 
 vas hard by, and all the Avorld gone 
 to see it. This revived his hopes, and 
 he went and saw the Mystery. In this 
 representation, divine personages, too 
 sacred for me to name here, came 
 
 clumsily doAvn from heaven to talk 
 sophistry Avith the cardinal Virtues, the 
 nine Muses, and the seven deadly Sins, 
 all present in human shape, and not 
 unlike one another. To enliven Avhich 
 weary stuff, in rattled the Prince of 
 the poAver of the air, and an imp that 
 kept molesting him, and buffeting him 
 Avith a bladder, at each thAvack of 
 Avhich the crowd were in ecstasies. 
 When the Vices had uttered good 
 store of obscenity, and the Virtues 
 tAvaddle, the celestials, including the 
 nine Muses, Avent gingerly back to 
 heaven one by one ; for there Avas 
 but one cloud ; and tAvo artisans 
 Avorked it up Avith its supernatural 
 freight, and Avorked it doAvn Avith a 
 Avinch, in full sight of the audience. 
 These disposed of, the bottomless pit 
 opened and flamed in the centre of 
 the stage ; the carpenters 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 Avas Avrit by the 
 Bishop of Ghent for the diffusion of 
 religious sentiment by the aid of the 
 senses, and Avas an average specimen 
 of theatrical exhibitions so long as 
 they Avere in the hands of the clergy. 
 But, in course of time, the laity con- 
 ducted plays, and so the theatre, I 
 learn from the pulpit, has become pro- 
 fane. 
 
 Margaret was nowhere in the croAvd, 
 and Gerard could not enjoy the per- 
 formance : he actually Avent aAA-ay in 
 Act 2, in the midst of a much-admired 
 piece of dialogue, in Avhich Justice 
 outquibbled Satan. He Avalked 
 through many streets, but could not 
 find her he sought. At last, fairly 
 Avom out, he Avent to a hostelry and 
 slept till daA'break. All that day, 
 heaA-y and heartsick, he sought her, 
 but could never fall in with her or her 
 father, nor ever obtain the slightest 
 cleAv. Then he felt she Avas false or 
 had changed her mind. He Avas irri- 
 tated now, as well as sad. More 
 good fortune fell on him : he almost 
 hated it. At last, on th(5 third day.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 25 
 
 after he had once more been through 
 every street, he said, " She is not in 
 the town, pnd I shall never see her 
 again. I will go home." He started 
 for Tergou with royal favor 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 af- 
 ternoon. l<]li 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 Mere always an 
 original and leading people. They 
 claim to have invented printing 
 (wooden type), oil-painting, liberty, 
 banking, gardening, i&c. Above all, 
 years before my tale, they invented 
 cleanliness. So, while the English 
 gentr}', in velvet jerldns, and cliicken- 
 toed shoes, trod floors of stale rushes, 
 foul receptacle 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 
 oflT them. There was one large win- 
 dow ; the cross stone-work in the cen- 
 tre of it was very massive, and stood 
 in relief, lonking like an actual cross 
 to the inmates, and was eyed as such 
 in their devutions. The panes were 
 very small and lozenge-sha])ed,and sol- 
 dered to one another with stri])s of 
 lead ; the like ymi may see to this day 
 in our rural cottages. Hie chairs were 
 rude and primitive, 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 car\'ed at 
 the smnmit. There was a copper pail, 
 that went in at the waist, holding holy 
 water ; and a little hantl-besom to 
 sprinkle it far and wide ; and a long, 
 narrow, but massive oak table, and s 
 dwarf sticking to its rim by his teeth, 
 his ej'cs 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 atten- 
 tion was distracted, and she left the 
 rest to chance ; the result w^as a hu- 
 man wedge, an in^'erted cone. He 
 might justly have taken her to task in 
 the terms of Horace : — 
 
 " Amphora ccepit 
 Institui ; currente rota cur urceus exit? " 
 
 His centre was anything but his 
 centre of gravity. Bisected, upper 
 Giles would have outweighed three 
 lower Giles. But this very dispropor- 
 tion enabled him to do feats that 
 would have bafiled 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 band, 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 insane 
 ly fond of griping the dinner-cloth 
 with both hands, and so swinging ; 
 and then — climax of delight ! — he 
 would seize it with his teeth, and, tak- 
 ing otF his hands, hold on like grim 
 death by his huge ivories. 
 
 But all our joys, however elevat- 
 ing, suffer interruption. Little Kate 
 caught Samsonet in this posture, and 
 stood aghast. She was her mother's 
 daughter, and her heart was with the 
 furniture, not with the 12mo gym. 
 nast. 
 
 " O Giles, how can you ? Mothej 
 is at hand. It dents the table." 
 
 " Go and tell her, little talebearer," 
 snarled Giles. " You are clio one foi 
 ranking mischief."
 
 26 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Am I ? " inquired Kate, calmly ; 
 " that is news to inc." 
 
 " The biggest in Tcrgou," growled 
 Giles, fastening on again. 
 
 " O, indeed ? " said Kate, dryly. 
 
 This piece of unwonted satire 
 launched, and Giles not visibly blast- 
 ed, she sat down quietly and cried. 
 
 Her mother came in almost at that 
 moment, and Giles hurled himself un- 
 der the table, and there glared. 
 
 " What is to do now ? " said the 
 dame, sharply. Then turning her 
 experienced eyes from Kate to Giles, 
 and observing the position he had 
 taken up, and a sheepish expression, 
 she hinted at cuffing of ears. 
 
 "Nay, mother," said the girl ; "it 
 was but a foolish word Giles spoke. 
 I had not noticed it at another time ; 
 but I was tired and in care for Gerard, 
 you know." 
 
 " Let no one be in care for me," 
 said a faint voice at the door, and in 
 tottered Gerard, pale, dusty, and 
 worn out ; and, amidst uplifted hands 
 and cries of delight, curiosity, and 
 anxiety mingled, dropped exhausted 
 into the nearest chair. 
 
 Beating Rotterdam, like a covert, 
 for Margaret, and the long joiirney 
 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 pro- 
 nounced. " mother ! O Kate ; 
 when I saw the goldsmiths' work, I 
 had like 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, 
 vn sooth, all the arts are divine." 
 
 Then, to please the females, he de- 
 scribed to them the reliquaries, fereto- 
 ries, calices, crosiers, crosses, pyxes, 
 monstrances, and other wonders ec- 
 clesiastical, and the goblets, hanaps, 
 watches, clocks, chains, brooches, &c., 
 so tiiat 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 lirst min- 
 ute I could almost have cried ; but I 
 prayed for a better spirit, and present- 
 ly I was able to enjoy them, and thank 
 God for these lovely works, and for 
 those skilful, patient craftsmen, whom 
 I own my masters. Well, the colored 
 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 Ge- 
 rard, " but for all that Gerard Elias- 
 socn of Tergou was the name the 
 herald shouted. I stood stupid ; they 
 thrust me forward. Evei'y thing swam 
 before my eyes. I found myself kneel- 
 ing 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. 1 had seen one 
 before, but I never handled one. Hero 
 they are." 
 
 " O Gerard ! O Gerard ! " 
 
 " There is one for you, our eldest ; 
 and one for you, Sybrandt, and for 
 you. Little Mischief; and two for 
 thee. Little Lily, because God hath 
 aiflicted thee ; and one for myself to 
 buy colors and vellum ; .and nine for 
 her that nursed us all, and risked the 
 two crowns upon poor Gerard's 
 h.and." 
 
 The gold drew out their charac- 
 ters. Cornelis and Sybrandt clutched 
 each his coin with one glare of greed- 
 iness 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 27 
 
 a heavenly gesture of love and tender- 
 ness, and the mother, fairly benumbed 
 at first by the sht)wer uf gold that fell 
 on her apron, now eried out, " Leave 
 kissing him, Kate, he is my son, not 
 yours. Ah, (ierard, my boy ! I have 
 not loved you as you deserved." 
 
 Then Gerard threw himself on his 
 knees beside 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 neighbors. Lend me 
 the medal, Gerard, I '11 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 I " 
 
 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 ! A 
 benefice ? our son ! My cares are at 
 an end. Eli, my good friend and 
 master, now we two can die happy 
 whenever 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 liour Gerard was looked 
 upon as the stay of the family. He 
 was a son apart, Ijut in another sense. 
 lie was always in the right, and noth- 
 ing too good for him. Cornells and 
 Sybrantlt became more and more jeal- 
 ous of him, and longed for the daj' he 
 should go to his benefice : they would 
 get rid of the favorite, and his rever- 
 ence's purse would be open to them. 
 With these views he co-o])erated. The 
 wound love had given him throbbed 
 duller and duller. His success and 
 tho aitectioa and admiration of his 
 
 parents made him think more highly 
 of himself, and resent with moresjjirit 
 Margaret's ingratitude and discour- 
 tesy. 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 ])riest as soon as he 
 could pass the intermediate orders. 
 He knew the Vulgate already better 
 than most of the clergy, and stud- 
 ied 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 or- 
 ders. 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 bap- 
 tized 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. 
 
 " O Gerard ! who think you hath 
 sent to our house seeking you i — the 
 burgomaster himself" 
 
 " Ghj-sbrecht 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 1 " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Nothing ? " 
 
 " Kate, 1 '11 go." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ghysbrecht van Swieten was 
 an artful man. He opened on tho 
 novice with something quite wide of
 
 28 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the mark he was really aiming at. 
 " The town records," said he, " arc 
 crabbedly written, and the ink rusty 
 with age." He oftercd Gerard the 
 honor of transcribing them i'air. 
 
 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 labor ? 
 Here is a year's work." 
 
 " Your labor ? Call you marking 
 parchment labor ? Little sweat goes 
 to that, I trow." 
 
 " 'T is labor, and skilled labor to 
 boot ; and that is better paid in all 
 crafts than rude labor, sweat or no 
 sweat. Besides, there 's my time." 
 
 " Your time f 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 Sev- 
 enbergen but t'other day." 
 
 " Was I -i " 
 
 " Ay ; and at Peter's house." 
 
 " At Sevenbergen ? " 
 
 " Ay, at Sevenbergen." 
 
 Now this was what in modem 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 excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " Burgomaster," said he, with trem- 
 bling voice, " I have not been at Scv- 
 enbCTgen this three years and I knew 
 
 not the name of those you saw mo 
 ■with, nor where they dwelt ; but, as 
 my time is precious, though you value 
 it not, give you good day." And he 
 darted out, Asith his eyes sparkling. 
 
 Ghysbrecht started up in huge ire; 
 but he sank into his chair again. 
 
 " He fears me not. He knowa 
 something, if not all." 
 
 Then he called hastily to his trusty 
 servant, and almost dragged him to a 
 window. 
 
 " See you yon man ? " he cried. 
 " Haste. Follow him ! 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 he docs." 
 
 It was night when the servant re- 
 turned. 
 
 " Well ? well ? " cried Van Swieten, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Master, the young man went from 
 you to Sevenbergen." 
 
 Ghysbrecht groaned. 
 
 " To the house of Peter the Magi- 
 cian." 
 
 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 immortal truth, must n't 
 it f 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 sagacity 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 curi- 
 osity, to know why she jilted us, and ta
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 29 
 
 8ho\r her it lias not broken our licarts, 
 anil that we arc quite eontent witli 
 our lionors and our benefice in pro- 
 s/iirfit, and don't want her nor any of 
 lier tickle sex." 
 
 He soon found out Peter Brandt's 
 cottage-, and there sat a fjirl in tlie 
 doonvay, plying her needle, and a 
 stalwart tigure leaned on a long bow 
 and talked to her. Gerard felt an 
 unaccountable pang at the sight of 
 him. However, 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 ad- 
 mirable 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 turned 
 far more chill and indiftcrent than 
 she would if she had not betrayed 
 this agitation. 
 
 " What ! is it you, Master Gerard? 
 What on earth brings you here, 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 Martin, 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 Marga- 
 ret ! you little know how I searched 
 the town for you ; how for want of 
 you nothing was pleasant to me." 
 
 " These are idle woi'ds ; if you had 
 desired my father's company, or 
 mine, you would have come back. 
 There t had a bed laid for you, sir, 
 at my cousin's, and he would have 
 m:ule much of you, and, who knows ? 
 I niiglit have made much of you too. 
 
 I was in the humor that day. You 
 will not catch me in the same mind 
 again, neither you nor any young 
 man, I wan-ant me." 
 
 " Margaret, I came back the mo- 
 ment the countess let me go ; but you 
 were not there." 
 
 " Nay, you did not, or you had 
 seen Ilans 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- 
 colored 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. Fi- 
 nally, the clouds cleared, and they 
 guessed how the misunderstanding 
 had come about. Then came a re- 
 vulsion of tenderness, all the more 
 powerful that they had done each 
 other wrong ; and then, more danger- 
 ous 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 
 dehght ; but before he coidd get to it 
 two white hands c[uickly 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 ! the sacred book 
 lay open at 
 
 "An apple of goUl 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 bo 
 caucht! " and with a touch of incon.
 
 30 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Bistency she pointed it out to Gerard 
 with her white linjier. 
 
 " 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 Rotter- 
 dam." 
 
 " Ay, everything was beautiful that 
 day " (with a little sigh). 
 
 And now Peter came in, and wel- 
 comed Gerard cordially, and would 
 have him to stay supper. And Mar- 
 garet disappeared ; and Gerard had a 
 nice learned chat with Peter; and 
 Margaret reappeared with her hair in 
 her silver net, and shot a glance half 
 arch, half coy, and glided about them 
 and spread supper, and beamed 
 bright with gayety and happiness. 
 And in the cool evening Gerard 
 coaxed her out, and she objected, 
 and came ; and coaxed her on to the 
 road to Tergou, and she declined, 
 and came, and there they strolled 
 up and do^vn, hand in hand ; and 
 when he must go they pledged each 
 other never to quaiTel or misunder- 
 stand one another again ; and they 
 sealed the promise with a long, lov- 
 ing kiss, and Gerard went home on 
 wings. 
 
 From that day Gerard spent most 
 of his evenings with Margaret, and 
 the attachment deepened 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 attach- 
 ment 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 attach- 
 ment woiTld 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 forever. And then — 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 One bright morning unwonted vel 
 vet shone, unwonted feathers waved, 
 and horses' hoofs glinted and rang 
 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 neighboring forest. 
 
 Besides his own suite he was attend- 
 ed by several servants of the Uuke 
 of Burgundy, lent to do him honor 
 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 provoi'ative of 
 mirth, and so he played his part. 
 Towards the rear of the pageant lude 
 one that excited more attention still, 
 — the duke's leopard. A huntsman, 
 mounted on a Flemish horse of pro- 
 digious size and power, carried a 
 long box fastened to the rider's loins 
 by straps curiousl}- contrived, and on 
 this box sat a bright leopard crouch- 
 ing. She was chained to the hunts- 
 man. The people admired her glossy 
 hide and spots, and pressed near, and 
 one or two were for feeling her, and 
 pulling 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 pri.son, in a cell under 
 ground, and the rats cleaned the flesh 
 off his bones in a night. Sensed 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 31 
 
 high, brought up the rear. This enor- 
 mous creature had, like some other 
 giants, a treble, tiuty 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 shoul- 
 der-of-mutton fist to help him down. 
 
 " If I do I '11 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 
 fife, and the petty, deep, loud drum, 
 — the mountain delivered of a squeak, 
 and the molehill belching thunder. 
 
 The singular duet came to as sin- 
 gular an end. Giles lost all patience 
 and self-command, and being a crea- 
 ture devoid of fear, and in a rage to 
 boot, he actually dropjjed upon the 
 giant's neck, 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 in- 
 clination. 
 
 " He ! he ! Ah ! ha ! hallo ! oh ! oh ! 
 Holy saints ! here ! help ! or I must 
 throttle the imp. I can't! I '11 split 
 your skull against the — " and he 
 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 })eo])le roareil with laugh- 
 ter 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 
 wratht'ully away after the party. This 
 incident had consequences no one at 
 present foresaw. Its immediate re- 
 sults were agreeable. The Tergovians 
 turned proud of Giles, and listened 
 with more afl'ability to his prayers for 
 parchment. 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 chat- 
 ting together about their favorite 
 theme, Gerard, his goodness, his I one- 
 fice, and the brightened prospects of 
 the whole family. 
 
 Their good luck had come to them 
 in the very shajje they would have 
 chosen ; besides the advantages of a 
 benefice such as the Countess Cha- 
 rolois would not disdain to give, there 
 was the feminine delight at having a 
 priest, a holy man, in their own family. 
 " He will marry Cornells, and Sy- 
 brandt : for they can wed (good house- 
 wives) now, if they will. Gerard will 
 take care of you and Giles when wo 
 are gone." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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 happy, that — mother, can 
 you keep a secret ? " 
 
 " Nobody better, child. Why, you 
 know I can." 
 
 " Then I will show you something 
 so beautiful. You never saw the like, 
 I trow. Only Gerard must never 
 know ; for sure he means to surprise
 
 82 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 D9 with it; he covers it up so, and 
 sometimes he carries it away al- 
 together." 
 
 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. Cath- 
 erine, 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 ! " 
 
 " 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 forever." 
 
 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 pic- 
 ture in the cloth, though there was 
 no need. And the next moment in 
 came, casting his eyes furtively around, 
 a man that had not entered 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 ! " in a tone so 
 expressive, that Ghysbrecht felt com- 
 pelled to answer it. 
 
 " Yes ! I own, the last time I came 
 here was not on a friendly errand. 
 Men love their o^vn interest, — Eli's 
 and mine were contraiy. 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 contempt- 
 uous incredulity. They knew the man 
 better than he thought. 
 
 " It is about your son Gerard." 
 
 "Ay! ay! you want him to wor^ 
 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 for- 
 bid ! Man, torture not a mother ! 
 Speak out, and quickly : speak ere 
 you have time to coin falsehood : we 
 know thee." 
 
 Ghysbrecht turned pale at this af- 
 front, 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 
 forever with Margaret, Peter Brandt's 
 red-haired girl, and loves her like a 
 cow her calf." 
 
 Mother and daughter both Imrst 
 out laughing. Ghysbrecht stared at 
 them. 
 
 " What, you knew it 1 " 
 
 " Carry this tale to those who know 
 not my son Gerard. Women are 
 naught 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 not 
 waste time and friendly counsel : my 
 sen'ant has seen them together a 
 score of 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. Yes, I 
 have been young, and know how blind 
 the young and foolish 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 ! Ge- 
 rard is too good to love a creature of 
 earth. His love is for Our Lady and 
 the saints. Ah ! I will show you the
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 33 
 
 picture, — there- if his heart Was 
 ettrthly, could he paint the Queen of 
 Heaven like that — look ! look ! " 
 and she held the picture out trium- 
 phantly, and, more radiant and beauti- 
 ful in this moment of enthusiasm than 
 ever dead picture was or will be, over- 
 powered the burgomaster with her 
 eloquence and her feminine proof of 
 Grerard's purity. His eyes and mouth 
 opened, and remained open : in which 
 state they kept turning, face and all, 
 as if on a pivot, from tlie picture to 
 the women, and from the women to 
 the picture. 
 " Why, it is herself," he gasped. 
 " Is n't it 1 " cried Kate, and her 
 hostility was softened. " You ad- 
 mire it ? I forgive you for frighten- 
 ing us." 
 
 " Am I in a madhouse ? " 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 sweet- 
 hearts, painters do." 
 
 " A picture of the girl ? " exclaimed 
 
 Kate, shocked. " Fie ! this is no 
 
 girl ; this is our blessed Lady." 
 
 " No ; no, it is Margaret Brandt." 
 
 "O blind! It is the Queen of 
 
 Heaven." 
 
 " No ; only of Sevenbergen tillage." 
 " Profane man ! behold her crown !" 
 " Silly child ! look at her red hair ! 
 W^ould the Virgin be seen in red hair ? 
 — she who had the pick of all the 
 colors ten thousand years before the 
 world began." 
 
 At this moment an anxious face 
 was insinuated round the edge of the 
 open door : it was their neighbor 
 Peter Buyskens. 
 
 " What is to do ? " said he, in a 
 cautious wliisper. " We can hear you 
 all across the street. What on earth 
 is to do ? " 
 
 " neighbor ! WHiat is to do ? 
 Why, here is the burgomaster black- 
 ening our Gerard." 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Van Swieten. " Pe- 
 ter Buyskens 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 un- 
 holy 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 can ; 
 who is it, Peter 1 " 
 
 " Well, to be sure ! " said Peter, in 
 reply : and his eye seemed fascinated 
 by the picture. 
 
 " Who is it ? " repeated Ghysbrecht, 
 impetuously. 
 
 Peter Buyskens smiled. "Why, 
 you know as well as I do ; hut what 
 have they put a crown on her for ? I 
 never saw her in a crown, for my 
 part." 
 
 " Man alive ! Can't you open your 
 great jaws, and just speak a wench's 
 name plain out to oblige three peo- 
 ple ? " 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 " sir ! " said little Kate, " for 
 pity's sake tell us ; are these the fea- 
 tures of a living woman, of — of — 
 Margaret Brandt ? " 
 
 " A mirror is not truer, mj- little 
 maid." 
 
 " But is it she, sir, for very cer- 
 tain ■} " 
 
 " Why, who else should it be ? " 
 " Now why could n'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 con- 
 tention 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 fi'om the shop, and 
 stood aghast. Catherine, though her 
 face was covered, knew his footstep^
 
 34 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " That is my poor man," sobbed 
 she. " Tell him, f^ood Peter Buy- 
 skcns, for I have not the cour- 
 age." 
 
 Elias turned pale. The presence 
 of tiie hurj^omaster in liis liousc, after 
 so many years of coohiess, coupled 
 with his wife's and daufjjhter's dis- 
 tress, made him fear some heavy mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 " 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 ! All ! 
 something is gone off my breast that 
 was like to choke me. Now, what is 
 the matter 1 " 
 
 Ghysbreeht 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 an- 
 gering, but it is not like death nor 
 even sickness. Boys will be boys. 
 He will outgrow that disease : 't is 
 but skin-deep." 
 
 But when Ghysbreeht told him that 
 Margaret was a girl of good charac- 
 ter, ■^— 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 '11 stay that, ay, 
 by force if need be, as I would his 
 hand lifted to cut his throat. I 'd do 
 what old Johu Koestein did t'other 
 day." 
 
 "And what is that, in Heaven's 
 name 1 " asked the mother, suddenly 
 removing her apron. 
 
 It was the burgomaster who re- 
 phed : — 
 
 " He made me shut young Albert 
 Koestein up in the prison of the Stadt- 
 house till he knocked under : it was not 
 long. Forty-eight hours, all alone, on 
 bread and water, cooled his hot stom- 
 ach. " Tell my father I am his hum- 
 ble servant," says he, " and let me 
 into the sun once more, — the sun is 
 worth all the wenches in the world.' " 
 
 " O the cruelty of men ! " sighoi 
 Catherine. 
 
 " As to that, the burgomaster has no 
 choice : it is the law. And if a father 
 says, ' Burgomaster, lock up my son,' 
 he must do it. A tine 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 dis- 
 obeyed 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 Ghysbreeht ; " he is 
 at Sevenbergen. My senant met hira 
 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 i " 
 
 " Why, on the road to Sevenber- 
 gen." 
 
 " O no, no hasty words, father. 
 Poor Gerard ! he never vexed you be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Fear me not. But it must end ; 
 and I am not one that trusts to-mor- 
 row 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 si- 
 lence. The night was clear and balmy. 
 Such nights, calm and silent, recall 
 the past from the dead. 
 
 " It is 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 35 
 
 ever a girl's eye stole a look at. I do 
 suppose Gerai'd is with her now, as 
 you used to be with me. Nature is 
 strong, and the same in all our gen- 
 erations." 
 
 " Nay, I hope he has left her by 
 now, confound her, or we shall be 
 here all night." 
 
 " Eli ! " 
 
 " Well, Kate 1 " 
 
 " I have been happy with you, 
 sweetheart, for all our rubs, — much 
 happier, I trow, than if I had — been 
 — a — a — nun. You Avon't speak 
 harshly to the poor child ? One can 
 be firm without being harsh." 
 
 " Surely." 
 
 " Have you been happy with me, 
 my poor Eli 1 " 
 
 " 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. 
 Is n't it, Eli ? " 
 
 " It is so, my lass. 
 
 ^ It doth joy double. 
 And halveth trouble,^ 
 
 runs the byword. And so I have 
 found it, sweetheart. 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 ex- 
 posing Gerard at Tergou, Margaret 
 had a trouble of her own at Seven- 
 bergen. It was a housewife's distress, 
 but deeper than we can well conceive. 
 She came to Martin Wittenliaagen, 
 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 straiglit, 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 
 license given by Philip Duke of Bur- 
 gundy to Martin Wittenliaagen, 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 merks yearly, to be paid by the 
 duke's almoner, and the license was 
 to shoot three arrows once a week, 
 viz. on Thursday, and no other day, 
 in any of the duke's forest>i in Hol- 
 land, at any game but a seven-year 
 old buck or a doe carrying fawn, pro- 
 viso, 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 salar}^, and his head, and 
 a fine of a penny. 
 
 Margaret sighed and was silent. 
 
 " Come, cheer up, mistress," said 
 he, " for your sake I '11 peril my car- 
 cass ; I have done that for many a 
 one that was not worth your forefin- 
 ger. It is no such mighty risk either 
 I '11 but step into the skirts of the forest, 
 here. It is odds but tliey 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 sup- 
 perless than ill should come to you, 
 faithful Martin." 
 
 The required promise given, Mar- 
 tin took his bow and three arrows, 
 and stole cautiously into the wood : 
 it was scarce a furlong distant. The 
 horns were hoard faintly in the dis- 
 tance, and all the game was afoot
 
 86 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Come, thought Martin, I shall soon 
 fill the pot, and no one be the wiser. 
 He took his stand behind a tliick oak 
 that commanded a view of an open 
 glade, and strung his bow, a truly 
 formidable weapon. It was of Eng- 
 lish 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 in- 
 fancy, could draw a three-foot arrow 
 to the head, and, when it hew, the eye 
 could scarce follow it, and the bow- 
 string twanged as musical as a harp. 
 This l)ow had laid many a stont soldier 
 low in the wars of the Iloecks and 
 Cabbel-jaws. In those days a battle- 
 field 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 sat spright- 
 ly, and her ears made a capital V. 
 Martin levelled his tremendous wea- 
 pon at her : the arrow Hew, 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 jumjied 
 three feet perpendicular, and away at 
 the top of her speed. " Bungler ! " 
 said Martin. A sure proof he was 
 not an habitual bungler, or he would 
 liave blamed the hare. He had scarce- 
 ly 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 Ids arrow carefully, loosed 
 it smoothly, and saw it, to all appear- 
 ance, go clean through the bird, car- 
 rying feathers skyward like dust. 
 Instead of falling at his feet, the bird, 
 whose breast was torn, not fiiirly 
 pierced, fluttered feebly away, and by 
 a great elFort rose above tlie 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, 
 despondingly. But he fitted another 
 arnnv, anil eyed the glade keenly. 
 Presently he heard a bustle behind 
 him, and turned ruund Justin time to 
 see a noble buck cross the open, but 
 too late to shoot at liim. lie dashed his 
 bow down with an imj)recation. At 
 that moment a long, spotted animal, 
 glided swiftly across after the deer ; 
 its belly seemed to toiicli the ground 
 as it went. Martin took up his bow 
 hastily : he recognized the duke's 
 leopard. " The hunters will not be 
 far from her," said he, " and I must 
 not be seen. Gerard must go supper- 
 less this night." 
 
 He plunged into the wood, follow- 
 ing 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 vio- 
 lently and the ground trampled. He 
 hurried in the direction. He found 
 the leopard on the bi;ek's back, tear- 
 ing him with teeth and claw, and 
 the buck running in a circle and 
 bounding convulsively, with the blood 
 pouring down his hide. Then Mar- 
 tin formed a desperate resolution 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 leop- 
 ard 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 wait- 
 ed some minutes, then walked reso- 
 lutely 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 sidky and on her guard. What 
 was to be done'? Martin had heard 
 that wild creatures 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 otF Martin. 
 Then Martin continuing to look the 
 beast down, the leopard, brutally
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 37 
 
 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 jer- 
 kin, 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 t^vo 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 
 wliich 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. Present- 
 ly her long tail, that was high in the 
 air, went down. " Alia ! " cried Mar- 
 tin, joyfully, and griped her like 
 death ; next, her body lost its elas- 
 ticity, and he held a choked and pow- 
 erless 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 handful s of 
 leaves and threw them over her ; 
 then shouldered the buck and stag- 
 gered away, lea^nng a trail of blood 
 all the way, — his own and the 
 buck's. He burst into Peter's house 
 ft horrible figure, bleeding and blood- 
 
 stained, and flung the deer's carcass 
 down. 
 
 " There, no questions," said he, 
 " but broil me a steak on 't ; for I 'm 
 faint." 
 
 Margaret did not see he was wound- 
 ed : 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 ven- 
 ison. 
 
 They were very merry ; and Ge- 
 rard, with wonderful thoughtfulness, 
 had brought a flask of Schiedam, and 
 under its influence Martin revived, 
 and told them how the venison was 
 got ; and they all made merry over 
 the exploit. 
 
 Their mirth was strangely inter- 
 rupted. Margaret's eyes became fixed 
 and fascinated, and her cheek pale 
 with fear. She gasped, and could 
 not speak, but pointed to the window 
 with trembling finger. Their eyes fol- 
 lowed hers, and there in the twilight 
 crouched a dark form with eyes like 
 glow-worms. 
 
 It was the leopard. 
 
 While they stood petrified, fascinat- 
 ed 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 muz- 
 zled bloodhounds on her scent. They 
 will find her here, and the venison. 
 Good by, friends, Martin Witten- 
 haagen 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 lx)tli more likely " ; and he 
 reared his bow, and drew his arrow 
 to the head. 
 
 " Nay ! nay ! " cried Margaret, and 
 seized the arrow : it broke iu half:
 
 38 
 
 Tin: CLOISTKR AND TIIK flKAHTIf. 
 
 thf piivo« fell on onrh siiU" tht> Imw. 
 Tilt- iiir itt till- siiiiH- tiiiii- tilled with 
 till! tKii^iir-. of lUv liniin(i<i : ihi-y wuiv 
 Imt iiixiii till' M'l-ut. 
 
 '• NV'Imt Imvo von ilont', wmch ' 
 You liiive put the hnltt-r rotiiui n>_v 
 tliroiit." 
 
 "No!" crinl Mmx'iin't. "I Imvp 
 siived you : .Htiind luuk fnim tin- win- 
 il«>« , iMjth ! Viiiir kmtV. <niii k ! " 
 
 Slir si'izofl his l<>ti;:-|Miiiitr<t kiiifi*. 
 iilinost tnru it out <>f Um (,'irtllr, nntl 
 liarti'd from the room. Thv tiou.ic 
 wuH How surroumliHi with Imyiii^ 
 ilo;;>* »ntl Khoutint; nirn. 
 
 Thf (jlow-wonn ryw moved not. 
 
 CIIAl'Tini IX. 
 
 M vn<JAnK.T rut off n hugf pint* of 
 VI tifou, iind run to th<- window, and 
 tlirrw it out til till- \:T\-ru v\v% of Hn-. 
 'I'll! V iliirti'd on it with u luvu^jc inurl ; 
 mill then* wa.s n sound of n'tidiiii; nud 
 rruni-hin^; : nt this moment, n hound 
 uttiTid II hny M)nenrunil loud it runjj 
 tlm>u;,'h the house ; luiil the thn«e tit 
 the window >hniiik tomther. Tlien 
 the leopard feared for her supjuT. and 
 ^'lidiil swiltly and stealthily away 
 with it towards the wimmIs, and the 
 very next moment horses and men 
 and ilot;s eunie helter-skelter pa.st the 
 window, and followed her full ery. 
 Martin and his eompanions hn-athtil 
 a;;ain : the U-ojmrd was swift, and 
 would not tie eaiii;ht within a leajjiie 
 of their house. 'Ihey ;;ras]»iil hands. 
 Man^'aret seized this oniiortunity, and 
 cried a little; Gerard kiH^ed the tears 
 away. 
 
 To tahle onee more, and Gerard 
 drank to woman's wit : " "V is stron- 
 jrer than man's fone." said he. 
 
 " Ay," said Margaret, " when those 
 she loves arc in danger ; not eNe." 
 
 Ttvni;:ht (ierard stayiil with her 
 loiiL'er 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 eneountercd two fipiiva : ihry ■! 
 iiioit Imrri-d his way. 
 
 It was hio father and niotlH-r. 
 
 Out DO lute: what could U' ih« 
 cause ' 
 
 A cliill fell on him. 
 
 He stop|H>d and hMjked a( them : 
 they stiHMi prim and nilcnt. He main- 
 mered out some words of in(|uirv. 
 
 " Why n.sk ' " naiil hi* father ; "yon 
 know why we ore here." 
 
 " <) <icrnrd ! " said hi* mother, with 
 a voice full of reproach and yd ai 
 iiffivtion. 
 
 (ierarU's hrnrt quakixl ; ho waa li- 
 lent. 
 
 Then his father pitied hi» confu«ion, 
 and said to him : — 
 
 " Nay, you need not to han^; tout 
 head. You ore not the fir»t younf; 
 fiN>l that hA.4 Urn caught bv a rvd 
 rheek and a |Miir of blue eyevt.'' 
 
 " Nay, nay!" nut in Catherine; 
 " it wo.". witihiToM, IVrer the Ma^p- 
 cinn is well known for that." 
 
 " Come, Sir I'ncsi," n-numed hb 
 father, " you know vnu mu«t not 
 meddle with wiimen (ttlk. Hut girc 
 un your pn>mis4< to po no more to 
 Seven U-rijen, and here oil end* : wc 
 won't Ik- ImnI on vou for one fault." 
 
 •■ I cannot promise that, father." 
 
 " Not promise it, you younp hy[io> 
 crite • " 
 
 " Nay, father, niiM-all mc not : I 
 locknl conrapv to tell yon what I 
 knew would vex vou ; and rijfht 
 prutefiil am I to tliat i;imj«| friend, 
 whoi'vcr he 1m', that has let yr)u wot 
 "r is a load off niy mind. Yi-s, fa- 
 ther, I love Marpiin-t ; mul call me not 
 a priest, for o priest I will never be. 
 I will die Mioner." 
 
 " That we shall sec, younp man. 
 (^ome, painsay me no more ; you will 
 leani what 't is to di^rcs|Hrt a father." 
 
 (ierard held his jH-ace ; and the 
 three walked home in ;:l<K)mv silence, 
 broken oidy by a deep siyfi or two 
 from Catherine. 
 
 From that hour the little house at 
 Ter;rou was no lon;.'er the alxxle of 
 pciu-e. Gerard was taken to ta«k 
 next day before the whole familv ; and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 39 
 
 every voice was loud against him, ex- 
 ceptlittlc Kate's, and the dwarfs, who 
 was apt to take his cue from her with- ' 
 out 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 bri naming 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 Heav- 
 en to cure you of this folly ! " 
 
 " What, you are against me, too ? " 
 said Gerard, sadly ; and he rose with 
 a deep sigh, and left the house, and 
 went to Sevenbergen. 
 
 The beginning of a quarrel, where 
 the parties are bound by affection 
 though opposed in interest and senti- 
 ment, is comparatively innocent ; both 
 are perhaps in the right at first start- 
 ing, and then it is that a calm, judi- 
 cious friend, capable of seeing both 
 sides, is a gift from heaven. For, 
 the longer the dissension endures, 
 the wider and deeper it grows by the 
 fallibility and irascibility of human 
 nature ; these are not confined to 
 cither side, and finally the invariable 
 end is reached, — both in the wrong. 
 
 The combatants were unequally 
 matched ; Elias was angry, Comelis 
 and Sybrandt spiteful : but Gerard, 
 having a larger and more cultivated 
 mind, saw both sides where they saw 
 but one, and had fits of irresolution, 
 and was not wroth, but unhappy. He 
 was lonely too in this struggle. He 
 could open liis heart to no one. Mar- 
 garet was a high-spirited girl ; he 
 dared not tell her what he had to en- 
 dure at home ; she was capable of sid- 
 ing with his relations by resigning 
 him, though at the cost of her own 
 happiness. Margaret Van Eyck had 
 been a great comfort to him on anoth- 
 er occasion ; btit now he dared not 
 make her his confidante. Her outi 
 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's and moth- 
 er'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 de- 
 spised and sacrificed so lightly ? 
 
 Gerard at this period bade fiiir to 
 succumb. But the other side had a 
 horrible ally in Catherine Senior. 
 This good-hearted but uneducated 
 woman could not, like her daughter, 
 act quietly and firmly ; still less could 
 she act upon a plan. She irritated 
 Gerard at times, and so helped him ; 
 for anger is a great sustaincr of the 
 courage ; at others, she turned round 
 in a moment and made onslaughts on 
 her own forces. To take a single in- 
 stance out of many : one day that 
 they were all at home, Catherine and 
 all, Comelis said : " Our Gerard wed 
 Margaret Brandt 1 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 ? Naught but wait for your 
 father's shoon. O, 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 
 is n't yourn we part from, and may- 
 hap never will be." 
 
 On these occasions Gerard smiled 
 slyly, and picked up heart ; and tem- 
 porary 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, (ierard turned 
 pale with ang^'r 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 1 " cried Grerard. " Then
 
 40 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hear me, all. By God and St. Bavon 
 I swear I will never be a priest while 
 Margaret lives. Since force is to de- 
 cide it, and not love and duty, try 
 force, father; but force shall not serve 
 you, for the day I see the burgo- 
 master come for me, I leave Tergou 
 forever, and Holland too, and my fa- 
 ther'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 Ilicht 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 time in preliminaries, 
 but inquired coolly 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 Richt lleyncs, 
 pitying his confusion. 
 
 " Silence, wench ! Why should he 
 tell us his afluirs ? 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 1 " 
 
 " I am told so every day of mv 
 life." 
 
 " You need not have been afraid to 
 tell my mistress ; she is always kind 
 to true lovers." 
 
 "■ Madame, — Richt, — I was afraid 
 because I was told — " 
 
 " Well ? you were told — ? " 
 
 " That in your youth you scorned 
 love, preferring art." 
 
 " I did, boy ; and what is the end 
 of it 1 Behold 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 knowl- 
 edge 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 
 })ainter, though not like some I have 
 known. I will not let you throw 
 3'our youth away ns I did mine : you 
 shall marry this Margaret. I have 
 inquired, and she is a good daughter. 
 Richt here is a gossip. She has told 
 me all about it. But that need not 
 hinder ^o!< 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 pair 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 cour- 
 age. They never take jjart in a bull- 
 fight by any chance ; but it is re- 
 marked that they sit at one, unshaken 
 by those tremors and apprehensions 
 for the combatants 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 avec le peau d'autrui." 
 
 By tills trait Gerard now ])rofited. 
 Margaret and Richt were agreed that 
 a man should always 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 misunderstanding con-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 41 
 
 tinued 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 arc. Master Gerard," 
 said Rieht. " 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 like to have burst 
 out crying : he was so changed." 
 
 " And I '11 be bound the others 
 keep their color, eh, Richt"? such as 
 it is." 
 
 " O, I see no odds in them." 
 
 " Of course not. We painters are 
 no match for boors. We are glass, 
 they arc stone. Wc can't stand the 
 worry, woriy, 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 masterpiece, 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 rebellion. 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 mc. 
 I should take Margaret from her 
 father, and give her a poor husband, 
 who could never thrive weighed down 
 by his parent's curse. Madam ! I 
 sometimes 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, coidd come back with 
 money in my purse, and say : ' My 
 dear parents, we do not seek your sub- 
 stance, we but ask j'ou to love us once 
 more as you used, and as we have 
 never ceased to love you' — But, 
 alas ! I shall be told that 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 
 S])irit to carry out your own thought. 
 There is a country, Gerard, where 
 certain fortune awaits you at this mo- 
 ment. Here the arts freeze, but there 
 they flourish as they never yet flour- 
 ished in any age or land." 
 
 " It is Italy ! " cried Gerard, — " it 
 is Italy ! " 
 
 " Ay, Italy ! where painters are 
 honored 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 maiiu- 
 sci'ipts that arc pouring into that 
 favored land from Constantinople, 
 Avhence learning and learned men ai-e 
 driven by the barbarian Turks ■? " 
 
 " Nay, I know not that ; but it has 
 been the dream and hojic of my life 
 to visit Italy, the queen of all the arts ; 
 madam ; but the journey, and we 
 are all so poor." 
 
 " Find you the heart to go, I '11 
 find the means. I know where to lay 
 my hand on ten golden angels : they 
 Avill take you to Rome ; and tlie girl 
 with you, if she loves you as she 
 ought." 
 
 They sat till midnight over this 
 theme. And, after that day, Gerard 
 recovered his sj)irits, and seemed to 
 carry a secret talisman against all the 
 gibes and the harsh words that flew 
 about liis 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 arc gone from me, 
 and have left no fellow beJiind. 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 
 colors bright as the day they left the 
 easel. The reason is, he did nothing 
 blindly, nothing in a hurry. He
 
 42 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 tnistetl to no hireling to grind his 
 colors; he did it himself, or saw it 
 done. His panel was prepared and 
 prepared again — I will show you 
 l^ow — a year before he laid his color 
 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 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 color. 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. Four the dirty water 
 carefully away, and add fresh. When 
 that is poured away, you will foncy 
 the oil is clear. You are mistaken. 
 Richt, fetch me that!" Richt brouglit 
 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 sec the water 
 turbid again. But, mark, you must 
 not carry this game too far, or tlie 
 Run 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 
 colors, 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 
 did not forget him in a hurry." 
 
 This and several other receipts, quaj 
 nunc perscribere longum est, Margaret 
 gave him with sparkling eyes, and Ge- 
 rard received them like a legacy from 
 heaven, so interesting are some things 
 that read uninteresting. Thus pro- 
 vided with money and knowledge, 
 Gerard decided to marry, and fly with 
 his wife to Italy. Nothing remained 
 now bvit 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 
 Evck'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 impa- 
 tient 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 on- 
 ly loves me in jest." 
 
 And with this wild, bitter speech, 
 he flung away home again, and left 
 Margaret weeping. 
 
 When a man misbehaves, the eflfect 
 is curious on a girl who loves liim 
 sincerely. It makes her pity him. 
 This, to some of us males, seems any- 
 thing but logical. The fault is in our 
 own eye ; the logic is too swift for us. 
 The girl argues thus : " How unhap- 
 py, how vexed, poor * * * must be ; 
 him to misbehave ! Poor thing ! " 
 
 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 frag- 
 ments of a picture in his hand, and 
 panting with anger and grief. 
 
 " There, Margaret ! see ! see ! the 
 wretches ! Look at their spite ! 
 They have cut your portrait to pieces." 
 
 Margaret looked. And, sure 
 enough, some malicious hand had 
 cut her portrait into Ave pieces. She
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 43 
 
 was a good girl, but she was not iee ; 
 she turned red to her very fore- 
 head. 
 
 " 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 ! Tlic butchers, the 
 ruffians. 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. O 
 heartless, merciless vipers ! " 
 
 " Xever mind, Gerard," said Mar- 
 garet, panting. " 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." 
 
 " Margaret ! " 
 
 " Yes, Gerard, since they are so 
 cruel, I win he the kinder ; forgive 
 me for refusing you. I will be your 
 wife : to-morrow, if it is your 
 pleasure." 
 
 Gerard kissed her hands with rap- 
 ture and then her lips, and in a tu- 
 mult of joy ran for Peter and Martin. 
 They came and witnessed the be- 
 trothal, — 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 ; Avith 
 this difference, that they were com- 
 monly read on week-days, and the 
 young couple easily persuaded the 
 cure to do the three readings in twen- 
 ty-four hours : he was new to the 
 place, and their looks spoke volumes 
 in their favor. They were cried on 
 Monday at matins and at vespers ; 
 and, to their great delight, nobody 
 from Tergou was in the church. The 
 next morning they were botli there 
 palpitating 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 al- 
 most despairing consultation ; but, 
 before they could settle anything, the 
 man who had done them so ill a turn 
 approached, and gave them to under- 
 stand that he was very sorry to inter- 
 fere; 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 for- 
 bidding banns : what then ? " The 
 young people give me a croA\'n, and I 
 undo my work handsomely, tell the 
 cure 1 was misinformed, and all goes 
 smoothly." 
 
 " A crown ? I -will give you a 
 golden angel to do this," said Gerard, 
 eagerly. The man consented as 
 eagerly, and went with Gerard to the 
 cure' and told him he had made a ri- 
 diculous mistake, which a sight of the 
 parties had rectified. On tliis the 
 cure' 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 common 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. Idle- 
 ness is vitiating; waiting for the 
 death of those we ought to love is 
 vitiating : and these two one-idead 
 curs were ready to tear any one to 
 death that should interfere with that 
 miserable inheritance which was their
 
 44 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 thoujjht by day and their dream by 
 night. Iht'ir j);irents' parsimony 
 was a virtue ; it was accompanied by 
 industry, and its motive was love of 
 their otispring : but in these j)erverse 
 and seltibh hearts that homely virtue 
 was pencrted into avarice, than 
 wliich no more fruitful source of 
 crimes is to be found in nature. 
 
 They put their heads toj,^tlier, and 
 agreed not to tell their mother, wiiose 
 sentiments were so uncertain, but to 
 go tirst to the burgomaster. They 
 were cunning enough to see that he 
 was averse to the match, though they 
 could not divine why. 
 
 Gliysbrecht Van Swietcn saw 
 through them at once ; but he took 
 care not to let them see through him. 
 He heard their story ; and, putting 
 on nuigisterial dignity and coldness, 
 he said : — 
 
 " Since the father of the family is 
 not here, his duty fallcth on me, who 
 am tiie father of the town. I know 
 your father's mind ; leave all to me : 
 and, above all, tell not a woman 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 super- 
 ciliously : 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 Avho, in a moment of female 
 irritation, had cut M;u-garet's picture 
 to pieces. She had watched the ef- 
 fect with some misgivings, and had 
 seen Gerard turn pale as death, and 
 sit motionless like a bereaved crea- 
 ture, with the pieces in his hands, 
 and his eyes fixed on them till tears 
 came and blinded them. Then she 
 was terrified at what she had done : 
 and next her heart smote her bitter- 
 ly : and she wept sore apart : but, 
 
 being what she was, dared not own 
 it, i)ut said to herself, " 1 '11 not say a 
 word, hut I 'II make it up lo him." 
 And her bowels yearned over licr 
 son, and her feeble violence dieil a 
 natural death, and she was transfer- 
 ring her fatal alliance to {ieriird 
 when the two black shee]) came in. 
 Gerard knew nothing of the immedi- 
 ate cause ; on the contrary, inexperi- 
 enced as he was in the ins and outs 
 of females, her kindness made him 
 ashamed of a susi)icion he had enter- 
 tained that she was the dej)redator ; 
 and he kissed her again and sigain, 
 anil went to bed liaj)j)y as a j)rince, 
 to think his mother was his mother 
 once more at the very crisis of liis 
 fate. 
 
 The lU'Xt moniing, at ten o'clock, 
 Gerard and Margaret were in the 
 church at Sevenbergcn, he radiant 
 with joy, she with blushes. Peter 
 was also there, and Martin Wittcn- 
 haagen, but no other friend. Secrecy 
 wixs everything. Margaret liad de- 
 clined Italy. She could not leave her 
 father ; he was too leanie<l and too 
 helpless. 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. I'resently he stood 
 at the altar, and called them to him. 
 Tliry went liand in hand, the ha;)i)iest 
 in Holland. The cure opened his 
 book. 
 
 But, ere he uttered a single word of 
 the sacred rite, a harsh voice cried, 
 " Forbear ! " And the constables of 
 Tergou came up the aisle, and seized 
 Gerard in the name of the law. Mar- 
 tin's long knife flashed out directly. 
 
 " Forbear, man ! " cried the priest. 
 " What ! draw your weapon in a 
 church ? and ye who interrupt this 
 holy sacrament, what means this im- 
 piety ? " 
 
 " There is no impiety, father," said 
 the burgomaster's sen^ant, respect- 
 fully. " This young man woidd mar- 
 ry against his father's ^rill, and his
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 45 
 
 father has prayed our burgomaster to 
 deal with him according to the hiw. 
 Let him deny it if he can." 
 
 " Is this so, young man ? " 
 
 Gerard hung his head. 
 
 " Wc take him to Rotterdam 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 pite- 
 onsly, that the instruments of op- 
 pression drew back a step, and were 
 ashamed ; but one of them that was 
 good-natured stepped up under pre- 
 tence of separating them, and wliis- 
 pered 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 
 Tei'gou. Just outside the town they 
 were met by a rude vehicle covered 
 with canvas. Gerard was put into 
 this, and about five in the evening 
 was secretly conveyed into the prison 
 of the Stadthouse. He was taken up 
 several flights of stairs and thrust in- 
 to 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 high-roads to death. It is 
 horrible in its mildest form ; but in 
 those days it implied cold, unbroken 
 solitude, torture, starvation, and often 
 poison. Gerard felt he was in the 
 hands of an enemy. 
 
 " O, 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 ^^indow, and clutched 
 it. This enabled him to look out by 
 pressing his knees against the wall. 
 It was but for a mmute ; but in that 
 minute he saw a sight such as none 
 but a captive can appreciate. 
 
 Mai-tiu Wittenhaageu's back. 
 
 Martin was sitting quietly fishing 
 in the brook near the Stadthouse. 
 
 Gerard sprang again at the win- 
 dow, and whistled. Martin instantly 
 showed that he was watching much 
 harder than fishing. He turned has- 
 tily round and saw Gerard ; made 
 him a signal, and, taking up his line 
 and bow, went quickly off. 
 
 Gerard saw by this that his friends 
 were not idle ; yet he had rather INIar- 
 tin had stayed. The verv' sight of 
 him was a comfort. He held on, look- 
 ing at the soldier's retiring form as 
 long as he could, then, falling back 
 somewhat heavily, wrenched the rus- 
 ty iron bar, held only by rusty nails, 
 away from the stonework just as 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten opened the 
 door stealthily behind him. The 
 burgomaster's eye fell instantly on 
 the iron, and then glanced at the win- 
 dow ; but he said nothing. The win- 
 dow was a hundi'ed 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 dowai the stairs ; 
 but the burgomaster, seeing something 
 wicked in his eye, gave a little cough, 
 and tliree 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. 
 
 Mai-tin went witli all speed to Sev- 
 enbergen ; there he found Margaret 
 pale and agitated, but full of resolu- 
 tion and energy. She was just finish- 
 ing a letter to the Countess Charolois, 
 api)ealing to her against the ^^olence 
 and treachery of Ghysbrecht. 
 
 " Courage ! " cried Martin, on en- 
 tering. " I have found him. He is 
 in the haunted tower ; right at the top
 
 46 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 of it. Ay ! I know the place : many 
 a poor fellow has f^one up there 
 straifi^ht, and come down feet-fore- 
 most." 
 
 lie the-n told her how he had looked 
 up, and seen (ierard's face at a win- 
 dow that was like a .<lit in the wall. 
 " O Martin, how did he look ? " 
 " What n*can you ^ He looked 
 like Gerard Eliassocn." 
 " 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 si^^lit of you. He 
 counts on us. O 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 pondering, and yet, contrary to 
 custom, keenly attentive to what was 
 going on around him. 
 
 " I'ut not your trust in princes," 
 said he. 
 
 " Alas ! 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 strong- 
 er 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 mat- 
 ter. I have nine angels. Gerard 
 gave them me to keep ; but what do 
 they avail f The burgomaster will 
 not be bribed to let Gerard free." 
 
 " What do they avail 1 Give me 
 but one crown, and the young man 
 shall sup with us this night." 
 
 Peter spoke so eagerly and confi- 
 dently, that for a momeiU Margaret 
 felt hopeful; but she caught Mar- 
 
 tin's eye dwelling upon him with an 
 expression of benevolent contempt. 
 
 " It passes the powers of man's in- 
 vention," said she, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Invention ? " cried the old man. 
 " A fig for invention. AVhat need we 
 invention at this time of day 1 Every- 
 thing 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 scjuirc 
 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 t>he ex- 
 amination left him as incredulous as 
 before. 
 
 Then Peter told them his story, 
 how the faithful scpiire got the knight 
 out of a high tower at Brescia. The 
 mana'uvre, like most things that are 
 really scientific, was so sini])le, that 
 now their wonder was they had taken 
 for impossible what was not even dif- 
 ficult. 
 
 The letter never went to Rotterdam. 
 They trusted to Peter's learning and 
 their own dexterity. 
 
 It was nine o'clock on a clear 
 moonlight night ; Gerard, .senior, was 
 still awa}' ; the rest of his little family 
 had been for some time abed. 
 
 A figure stood by the dwarfs 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 afeard of 
 me? " 
 
 At this, Giles's head peeped cau- 
 tiously 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 Syhrandt hear us." Giles's 
 claws seized the side of the bed, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 47 
 
 he rcturnc. to his place by one uudi- 
 iidud 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 
 tlieir door, and made a fearful dis- 
 covery. Gerard was in prison, in the 
 hiutntcd 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 entreat- 
 ing 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 ftither 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 : l)ut with you 
 I shall not be afeard." 
 
 " Nor I with you," said Giles. " I 
 don't believe there are any spirits in 
 Tergon. 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 aifc hour Giles and 
 Kate ojjened the house door cautioiis- 
 ly 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 ut- 
 ter solitude. I observe that in our 
 own day a great many persons com- 
 mit 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 embers of liope went 
 out. He was faint, too, with hunger ; 
 
 for he was afraid to eat the fuod Ghys- 
 brecht had brought him ; and liunger 
 alone cows men. He sat upon the 
 chest, his arms and his head drooping 
 before him, a picture of despondency. 
 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 np 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 
 felt a soft substance attached to it. 
 Then one of his eccentricities was of 
 grand use to him. His tinder-box en- 
 abled him to strike a light : it showed 
 him two things that made his heart 
 bonnd with tlclight, none the less 
 thrillin;;- for being somewhat vague. 
 Attacli ^d to the arrow was a skein of 
 silk, and on the arrow itself were 
 words written. 
 
 How his eyes devoured them, liis 
 heart panting the while ! 
 
 Wcll-hdoccd, make fust the silk to 
 thji knife and lower to us : but hold thine 
 end fast : then count an hundred and 
 draw 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 Ijon- 
 net 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 hun- 
 dred. 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 at- 
 tached to the silk. What could this 
 mean ? While he was puzzling liiut-
 
 48 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 self, Margaret's voice came up to him, 
 low but clear. " Draw up, Gerard, 
 till you see liberty." At the word 
 Gerard drew the whipcord line uj), 
 and drew and drew till lie came to 
 another knot, and found a cord of 
 some thickness take the place of the 
 whipcord. He had no sooner begun 
 to draw this up than he found that he 
 had now a heavyweight to deal with. 
 Then the truth suddeidv flashed on 
 him, and he went to work and jjulled 
 and pulled till the perspiration rolled 
 down him : the weight got heavier 
 and heavier, and at last he was well- 
 nigli exhausted ; 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 jo}', aTul a score more wild 
 pulls, aiul lo ! a stout new rojie touched 
 ins hand : he liaided and hauled, 
 and dragged the end into his ])rison, 
 and instantly passed it through both 
 handled of the chest in succession, 
 and knotted it firmly ; then sat for a 
 moment to recover his breath and col- 
 lect his courage. The first thing was 
 to make sure that the chest was sound, 
 and capalilc 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 tlie 
 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 wliich was in- 
 side. In the silent night he heard his 
 OAvn heart beat. 
 
 The free air breathed on liis face, I 
 
 and gave him tlie 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 ro])e outside. Gerard re- 
 flected. Finally he put liimself 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 anx- 
 iously 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, ])ut his left liand 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 
 bodv 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 
 with his feet and gripped it with his 
 hands, and went down slo^\■ly, liand 
 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 oflT now. 
 
 Down — down — dovm — down. 
 
 The rope made his hands sore. 
 
 He looked up. The window was 
 so distant, he ventured now to turn
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 49 
 
 his eyes downward again : and tliere, 
 not more than thirty fijct below him, 
 were Margaret and Martin, their i'aith- 
 ful hands upstretclied to catcli him 
 shoukl he fall. lie could see their 
 eyes and their teeth shine in the moon- 
 light. For their mouths were open, 
 and they were breathing hard. 
 
 " Take care, Gerard ! 0, take care ! 
 Look not down." 
 
 " Fear me not," cried Gerard, joy- 
 fully, and eyed the wall, but came 
 doivn 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 man}' 
 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 foot- 
 steps 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, iu 
 a whisper. " They are after iis." 
 
 " Give me my knife," whispered 
 Gerard. " I '11 never be taken alive." 
 
 "No, no!" murmured INIargarot : 
 " is there no way out where we are 1 " 
 
 "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 their death comes from " ; then, 
 motioning his companions to be quiet, 
 ho 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 sol- 
 dier, 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 dead- 
 ly shaft, was seen to waver first, then 
 sliake 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 ! the 
 haunted tower ! " 
 
 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 tip the 
 wall ! Its head is on fire. Up the 
 wall, as mortal crcatixres walk upon 
 greensward. If you know a prayer 
 say it ! for hell is loose to-night." 
 
 " I have power to exorcise spirits," 
 said Gerard, trembling. "I wiU 
 venture forth." 
 
 " Go alone, then," said Martin ; "I 
 have looked on 't once, and live." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The strange glance of hatred the 
 burgomaster had cast on Gerard, 
 coupled with his imprisonment, had 
 filled the young man with a persua- 
 sion that Ghysbrecht was his enemy 
 to the death ; and he glided round 
 the angle of the tower, fully expect- 
 ing to sec no supernatural appearance, 
 but some cruel and treacherous con- 
 trivance of a bad man to do him a 
 mischief in that prison, his escape 
 from which could hardly be kno\vn.
 
 50 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 As he stole forth, a soft but brave 
 hand crept into liis, and Margaret 
 was by his side to share this new 
 peril. 
 
 No sooner was the haunted tower 
 visible, tlian a sight struik their eyes 
 that benumbed them as they stood. 
 More than half-way up the tower, a 
 creature with a fiery head, like an 
 enormous glow-worm, 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 tiie foot of the tower stood a 
 thing in white, that looked exactly 
 like tiie figure of a female. Gerard 
 and Margaret jialpitated with awe. 
 
 " The rope, the rope ! It is going 
 up the rope," gasped Gerard. 
 
 As they ga/.ed, the glow-worm dis- 
 appeared in (Jerard's late jjrison, but 
 its light illuminated tlie cell in- 
 side, and reddened the window. The 
 white figure stood motionless be- 
 low. 
 
 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 Maeready used to 
 render this finely in Macbeth, at Ban- 
 quo's second appearance. He flung 
 himself with averted head at the hor- 
 rible shadow. This strange impulse 
 now seized Margaret. She put down 
 Gerard's hand quietly, and stood be- 
 wildered ; tlien 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. 
 
 " Exorciso vos. In nomine beatas 
 Maria?, exorciso vos." 
 
 While the exorcist was shrieking 
 his incantations in extremity of ter- 
 ror, to his infinite relief he heard the 
 spcf'trc utter a feeble cry of fear. To 
 
 find that hell had also its little weak- 
 nesses was encouraging. He re- 
 doubled his exorcisms, and presently 
 he saw the ghastly shaj)e kneeling at 
 Margaret's knees, and heard it pray- 
 ing piteously for mercy. 
 
 Kate and Giles soon reached the 
 haunted tower. Judge their surjiri.'^e 
 wiien 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, 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 liearts ; he 
 has seen how fond you are of going 
 up things. Where should our Ge- 
 rard procure a rope ? how fasten it 
 in the sky like this ? It is not in 
 nature, lloly 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 u]) 
 the rope faster than his brother 
 came down it. The light at the najie 
 of his neck made a glow-worm of him 
 His sister watched his progress witJi 
 trembling anxiety. Suddenly a fe- 
 male figure started out of the solid
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 51 
 
 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 
 liL'r knees, hiding her face and moan- 
 ing : — 
 
 " Take my body, but spare my 
 soul ! " 
 
 Margaret (panting) "Why, it is a 
 woman." 
 
 Kate (quivering). " Why, it is a 
 woman." 
 
 Margaret. " How you scared me ! " 
 
 Kate. " I am scared enough my- 
 self. Oh! oh! oh!" 
 
 " This is strange. 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 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps we arc on the same 
 errand t Ah, you are his good sister, 
 Kate." 
 
 " And j'ou 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 ex- 
 planation was cut short by a horrible, 
 unearthly noise, like a sepulchre ven- 
 triloquizing. 
 
 " Parchment ! — parcument ! — 
 parchment ! " 
 
 At each repetition it rose in inten- 
 sity. They looked up, and there was 
 the dwarf with his hands 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 the word 
 the awful imp hurled parchment at 
 the astonished heads below. Down 
 came records like wounded wild 
 ducks, some collapsed, others flutter- 
 ing, and others spread out and 
 wheeling slowly down in airy circles. 
 They had hardly settled, when again 
 the sepulchral roar was heard, 
 " Parchment .' — Parchment ! " and 
 
 down pattered and sailed another 
 flock of documents : another fol- 
 lowed : they whitened* the grass. 
 Finally, the firc-hcaded imp, with his 
 light body and horny hands, slid 
 down the rope like a falling star, and 
 (business before sentiment) proposed 
 to his rescued brother an immediato 
 settlement for the merchandise he had 
 just delivered. 
 
 " Hu.sh ! " said Gerard ; "you speak 
 too loud. Gather them vip and follow 
 us to a safer place than this." 
 
 " Will you not come home with me, 
 Gerard ? " said little Kate. 
 " I have 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 jailer. I have 
 escaped from his hands ; I will never 
 come Avithin their reach again." 
 
 " An enemy did this, and not our 
 father." 
 
 And she told him what she had 
 overheard Cornclis and Sybrandt say. 
 But the injury was too recent to be 
 soothed. Gei'ard showed a bitterness 
 of indignation he had hitherto seemed 
 incapable of. 
 
 " Cornelis and Sybrandt arc 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 gave 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, I '11 never trouble you again, 
 Tergou." 
 
 " Gerard ! Gerard ! " 
 Margaret whispered her, "Do. not 
 gainsay him now. Give his choler 
 time to cool ! " 
 
 Kate turned quickly towards her. 
 " Let me look at your face ! " The
 
 52 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 inspection was favorable, it seemed, 
 for she whispered, " It is a comely 
 face, and no mischief-maker's." 
 
 " Fear me not," said Margaret, in 
 the same tone. " I could not be hap- 
 P3' without your love as well as Ge- 
 rard's." 
 
 " These are comfortable words," 
 Eobbcd Kate. Then, looking up, she 
 said, " I little thought to like you so 
 well. My heart is willing, but my 
 infirmity ' will not let me embrace 
 you." 
 
 At this hint, Margaret wound gen- 
 tly round Gerard's sister, and kissed 
 her lovingly. 
 
 " Often he has spoken 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 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 liis sister's 
 sigh. 
 
 As they turned to go to Scvenber- 
 gen the dwarf nudged Gerard with his 
 bundle of parchments, and held out a 
 concave claw. 
 
 Margaret dissuaded Gerard. "Why 
 take what is not ours ? " 
 
 " 0, spoil an enemy how you can." 
 
 " But may they not make this a 
 handle for 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." 
 
 " O 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 small coins, 
 with which the urchin was gladdened, 
 and shuffled after, his sister. Marga- 
 ret and Gerard were speedily joined 
 by Martin, and away to Sevenber- 
 gen. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 GHTsnREciiT Van Swieten kept 
 the key of Gerard's jjrison in his pouch. 
 He waited till ten of the clock ere he 
 visited him ; for he said to himself, 
 " A little hunger sometimes does well ; 
 it breaks 'em." At ten he crept up 
 the stairs with a loaf and pitcher, fol- 
 lowed by his trusty sen'ant, 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, 
 his body seemed to lose all motion in 
 so peculiar a way, and then, after a 
 little, he fell a trembling so, that the 
 servant behind him saw there was 
 something amiss, and crept close to 
 him 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 sur- 
 prise doubled when his master, disre- 
 garding all else, suddenly fiung him- 
 self on his knees before the empty 
 chest, and felt wildly all over it with 
 quivering hands, as if unwilling to 
 trust his eyes in a matter so impor- 
 tant. 
 
 The scrs-ant gazed at him in utter 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " Why, master, what is the mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 Ghysbrecht's pale lips worked as 
 if he was going to answer ; but 
 they uttered no sound : liis hands fell 
 by his side, and he stared into the 
 chest. 
 
 " Wliy, master, what avails glaring 
 into that empty box ? The lad is not 
 there. See here ! Note the cunning 
 of the young rogue ; he hath taken 
 out the bar, and — " 
 
 "GONE! GONT:! GONE!" 
 
 " Gone ? What is gone ? Holy 
 saints ! he is planet-struck." 
 
 " STOP THIEF ! " shrieked Ghys- 
 brecht, and suddenly turned on his
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 53 
 
 servant and collared hiin, and shook 
 him with rage. " D' ye stand there, 
 k:j:ive, and see your master robbed '? 
 Kiai ! fly ! A hundred crowns to him 
 that finds it me again. No, no ! 't is 
 in vain. O fool, fool ! to leave that 
 in the same room with him. But 
 none ever found tlic secret spring be- 
 for^i. None 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, mut- 
 tering, " Lost ! lost ! " 
 
 " What is lost, master ? " asked the 
 servant, kindly. 
 
 " House and lauds and good name," 
 a;roaned Ghysbrecht, and wrung 
 his hands feebly. 
 
 " WHAT ? '"' cried the servant. 
 
 The emphatic word, and the tone 
 of eager curiosity, struck on Ghys- 
 brecht's ear, and revived 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. 
 
 " O, is that all ? " 
 
 " Is 't not enough 1 What will the 
 burghers say to me "? What will tlie 
 burgh do ? " Then he suddenly 
 burst out again, " A hundred crowns 
 to him who shall recover them ; all, 
 mind, all that were in this box. If 
 one be missing, I give nothing." 
 
 " 'T is a bargain, master : the 
 hundred crOwns are in my pouch. 
 See you not that where Gerard Elias- 
 soen is, there are the pieces of sheep- 
 skin you rate so high ? " 
 
 " That is true ; that is true ; good 
 Dierich ; good, feithful Dierich. All, 
 mind, all that were in the chest." 
 
 " Master, I will take the constables 
 to Gerard's house, and seize liim for 
 the theft." 
 
 "The theft? ay! 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 the toads are 
 and the rats. Dierich, that man 
 must never see daylight again. 'T is 
 his own fault; he must be prying. 
 
 Quick, quick ! ere he has time to 
 talk, you know, time to talk." 
 
 In less than half an hour Dierich 
 Brower and four constables entered 
 the liosier's house, and demanded 
 young Gerard of the panic-stricken 
 Catherine. 
 
 " Alas ! what has he done now? " 
 cried she : " that boy will break my 
 heart." 
 
 " Nay, dame, but a trick of youth," 
 said Dierich. " He hath but made 
 oif with certain skins of parchment, 
 in a frolic, doubtless ; but the burgo- 
 master is answerable to the burgh for 
 their safe-keeping, so he is in care 
 about them : as for the youth, he 
 will doubtless be quit for a reprimand." 
 
 This smooth speech completely im- 
 posed on Catherine ; but her daugli- 
 ter was more suspicious, and that 
 suspicion was strengthened by the 
 disproportionate anger and disappoint- 
 ment Dierich showed the moment he 
 learned Gerard was not at home, had 
 not been at home that night. 
 
 " Come away, then," said he, 
 roughly. " We are wasting time." 
 He added, vehemently, " I '11 find 
 him if he is above ground." 
 
 Afi'ection sharpens the wits, and 
 often it has made an innocent person 
 more than a match for the wily. 
 As Dierich was going out, Kate 
 made liim a signal she would speak 
 with him privately. He bade his 
 men go on, and waited outside the 
 door. She joined him. 
 
 " Hush ! " said she, " my mother 
 knows not. Gerard has left Tergou." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 " I saw him last night." 
 
 " Ay ? Wlicre ? " cried Dierich, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "At the foot of the harjitcd 
 tower." 
 
 " How did he get the rope ? " 
 
 "I know not; but this I know; 
 my brother Gerard bade me there 
 farewell, and he is many 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
 
 54 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Let the burgomaster be content, 
 then. He has imprisoned him, and 
 he has driven him from his hirthphice 
 and from liis native land. What 
 need now to rob him and us of our 
 good name ? " 
 
 This might at another moment 
 have struck Dierieli as good sense ; 
 but he was too mortified at this escape 
 of Gerard and the loss of a hundred 
 crowns. 
 
 " What need had he to steal ? " 
 retorted he, bitterly. 
 
 " Gerard stole not the trash ; he 
 but took it to sj)ite the burgomaster, 
 who stole his liberty : 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 sty, and 't is odds 
 but you find them." 
 
 " Think ye so, mistress ? — think 
 ye so ? " And Dierich's eyes 
 flashed. " Mayhap you know 't is 
 so." 
 
 " This I know, that Gerard is too 
 good to steal, and too wise to load 
 himself with rubbish, going a jour- 
 ney." 
 
 " Give you good day, then," said 
 Dierich, sharply. " The sheepskin 
 you scorn, I value it more than the 
 skin of any he in Tergou." 
 
 And he went oft' hastily on a false 
 scent. 
 
 Kate returned into the house and 
 drew Giles aside. 
 
 " Giles, my heart misgives me ; 
 breathe not to a soul what I say to 
 you. I have told Dirk Brower that 
 Gerard is out of Holland : but much 
 I doubt he is not a league from 
 Tergou." 
 
 " Why, where is he, then 1 " 
 
 " Where should he be, but with 
 her he loves ? But, if so, he must 
 not loiter. These be deep and dark 
 and ^vicked men that seek him. 
 Giles, I see that in Dirk Brower's eye 
 makes me tremble. 0, why can- 
 not I fly to Sevenbergen, and bid him 
 away 1 Why am I not lusty and 
 active like other girls ? God forgive 
 me for fretting at his will : but I 
 
 never felt till now what it is to be 
 lame and weak and useless. But you 
 are strong, dear Giles," added she, 
 coaxingly, " you are very strong." 
 
 " Yes, I am strong," thundered 
 Pcrpusillus ; then, catching sight of 
 her meaning, " but I hate to go on 
 foot," he added, sulkily. 
 
 " Alas ! alas .' who will help me if 
 you will not ? Dear Giles, do you 
 not love Gerard ? " 
 
 " Yes, I like him best of the lot. 
 I '11 go to Sevenbergen on Peter Buy, 
 skens his mule. Ask you him, for 
 he won't lend her me." 
 
 Kate remonstrated. The whole 
 town would follow him. It woidd be 
 known whither he was gone, and 
 Gerard be in worse danger than be- 
 fore. 
 
 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 bixt 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 retired, 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. 
 
 Gerard and Margaret went gayly 
 to Sevenbergen, in the first flush of 
 recovered liberty and successful ad- 
 venture. But these soon yielded to 
 sadder thoughts. Gerard was an 
 escaped prisoner, and liable to be re- 
 taken, and perhaps punished ; and, 
 therefore, he and Margaret would 
 have to part for a time. Moreover, 
 he had conceived a hatred to his na- 
 tive place. Margaret wished him to 
 leave the country for a while, but at 
 the thought of bis going to Italy her
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 55 
 
 heart fainted, (lerard, on the con- 
 trary, was reconciled to leaving Mar- 
 garet only by his desire to visit Ital}', 
 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 tliis ground, 
 above all, the unselfish girl gave her 
 consent : but many tender tears came 
 with it, and at that Gerard, young and 
 loWng as herself, cried bitterly with 
 her, and often they asked one another 
 what they had done that so many 
 different persons should be their ene- 
 mies, and combine, as it seemed, to 
 part them. 
 
 They sat hand in hand till mid- 
 night, now deploring their hard fate, 
 now drawing bright and hopeful pic- 
 tures of the future, in the midst of 
 which Margaret's tears would sud- 
 denly 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 parch- 
 ments you took they are but a blind. 
 iSlie hath seen your death in the 
 men's eyes : a price is on your head. 
 Fly 1 For Margaret's sake and all 
 who love you, loiter not lile away, but 
 flv!" 
 
 3* 
 
 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 rote 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." 
 
 " O yes ! Gerard," cried Mar- 
 garet, 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 
 caitifl^ 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 ! " 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 ap- 
 peared 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." 
 
 " O, not now, Gerard, not now,"
 
 56 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 cried Margaret ; "every moment you 
 lose fills nic with fear ; and see, large 
 drops of rain are beginning to fall, 
 and the clouds lower." 
 
 Gerard listened to this remon- 
 strance ; but lie 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 thun- 
 der came nearer and nearer till it 
 crashed overhead : the flashes fol- 
 lowed one another close, like the 
 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 to- 
 gether, and Gerard blessed the storm 
 that gave him a few hours more with 
 Margaret. The sun set unperceivcd, 
 and still the thunder pealed .and the 
 lightning flashed, and the rain poured. 
 Supper was set ; but Gerard and 
 Margaret could not eat : tlie 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 awhile, 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 mo- 
 ment a footstep crackled faintly upon 
 the autumn leaves that lay strewn in 
 the garden at the back door of the 
 liousc. To those who had nothing to 
 fear such a step would have said noth- 
 ing : but to those who had enemies it 
 
 was terrible. For it was a foot try. 
 ing to be noiseless. 
 
 Martin fitted an an-ow to his string, 
 and hastily blew out the candle. At 
 this moment, to their horror, they 
 heard more than one footstep ap- 
 proach the other door of the cottage, 
 not quite so noiseless as the other, 
 but very stealthily, — and then a dead 
 pause. 
 
 Their blood froze in their veins. 
 
 " U Kate ! O Kate ! You said fly 
 on the instant." And Margaret 
 moaned and wrung her hands in an- 
 giiish and terror, and wild remorse 
 for having kept Gerard. 
 
 " Hush, girl ! " said Martin, in a 
 stern whisper. 
 
 A heavy knock fell on the door. 
 And on the hearts within. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 As if this had been a concerted sig- 
 nal, the back door was struck as rudely 
 the next instant. They were hemmed 
 in. But at these alarming sounds 
 Margaret seemed to recover some 
 share of self-possession. She whis- 
 pered : " Say he teas 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 Averc repeat- 
 ed. 
 ■" Who knocks at this hour t " 
 " Open, and you will see ! " 
 " I open not to thieves, — honest 
 men are all abed now." 
 
 " Open to the law, Martin Witten- 
 haagen, or you shall rue it." 
 
 " Why, that is Dirk Brower's voice, 
 I trow. What makes vou so far from 
 Tergou ? " 
 
 " Open and you will know." 
 Martin drew the bolt very slowly, 
 and in rushed Dierich and four more. 
 They let in their companion who was 
 at the back door.
 
 IHE CLOISTER AND THE HEAKTH. 
 
 57 
 
 "Kow, Martin, where is Gerard 
 Eliassoen 1 " 
 
 " Gerard Eliassoen 1 Wliy, he was 
 here bat now." 
 
 " Was here ? " Dierich's counte- 
 nance fell. "And where is he 
 now 1 " 
 
 " They say he has pone to Italy. 
 Why ? Wliat is to do ? " 
 
 "No matter. When did he go? 
 Tell me not that he went in such a 
 storm as this ! " 
 
 " Here is a coil about Gerard Elias- 
 soen," said Martin, contemptuously. 
 Then he lighted the candle, and, seat- 
 ing himself coolly by the fire, proceed- 
 ed to whip some fine silk round his 
 bowstring at the place where the nick 
 of the arrow frets it. " I '11 tell you," 
 said he, carelessly. " Know you his 
 brother Giles, — a little misbegotten 
 imp, all head and arms ? Well, he 
 came tearing over here on a mule, and 
 bawled out something. I was too for 
 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 cunninger man 
 than Martin would, perhaps, have 
 told a lie too many, and raised suspi- 
 cion. But Martin did his task well. 
 He only told the one falsehood he was 
 bade to tell, and of his own head in- 
 vented nothing. 
 
 " Mates," said Dierich, " I doubt 
 he speaks sooth. I told the burgo- 
 master how 't would be. He met the 
 dwarf galloping Peter Buyskens's 
 mule from Sevenbergen. ' They have 
 sent that imp to Gerard,' says he ; ' so 
 then Gerard is at Sevenbergen.' 
 ' All, master ! ' says I, ' 't is too late 
 now. We should have thought of Sev- 
 enbergen l)efore, 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 liiin we were after him. He 
 is leagues away by now,' quoth I. 
 Confound that chalk-faced girl ! she 
 has outwitted us bearded men ; and 
 so I told the burgomaster, but he 
 would not hear reason. A wet jerkin 
 apiece, that is all we shall get, mates, 
 by this job." 
 
 Martin grinned coolly iu 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 mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "Watch outside, two of yon, 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. Ge- 
 rard 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 left a man be- 
 low; 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 Marga- 
 ret's bedroom. Still no window was 
 opened. Had Gerard intended to es- 
 cape 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.
 
 58 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The longer the silence continued, the 
 stronger grew this conviction. But it 
 was suddenly and nidely dissipated. 
 
 I'aint 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 es- 
 cape, and in a twinkling formed a 
 resolution terribly characteristic of 
 those iron times and of a soldier driv- 
 en to bay. He stepped to each door 
 in turn, and, imitating Dirk Browcr's 
 voice, said sharply, " AVatch the win- 
 dow ! " 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 determina- 
 tion 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-strick- 
 en 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 perhaps to his ; more 
 likely so than not : for four is long 
 odds in a battle-field of ten feet square, 
 and Gerard might be bound, perhaps, 
 and powerless to help. But this man, 
 whom we have seen shake in his shoes 
 
 at a Giles-o'-lantem, never wavered 
 in this awful moment of real danger, 
 l)ut stood there, his body all braced 
 for combat, and his eye glowing, 
 e(iually 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 
 fioor he stood on. 
 
 Dicrich Brower and his men found 
 Peter in his first sleep. They opened 
 his cu})boards ; 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 chim- 
 ney. Dierich's eye fell on these direct- 
 ly.' Here they found the beauty of 
 Scvenbergen sleeping on an old chest, 
 not a foot high, and no attempt made 
 to cover it ; laut the sheets were snowy 
 white, and so was Margaret's own lin- 
 en. And there she lay, looking like a 
 lily fallen in a rut. 
 
 Presently she awoke, and sat up in 
 the bed like one amazed ; then, see- 
 ing 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 1 " 
 
 "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 arc wicked 
 men ; you are not men of Seven- 
 bergen, or you would know Margaret 
 Brandt better than to look for her
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ^9 
 
 lover in this room of all others in the 
 world. O, hnive ! Four great hulk- 
 ing men to come, anncd to the teeth, 
 to insult one poor honest girl ! The 
 women that live in yonr own houses 
 must be naught, or }'ou 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 t' would 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 1 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 fa- 
 ther's room, and down the stairs. 
 
 Now in that chest there was a pccii- 
 liarity 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 whole room. As for 
 the bed or chest, it really rested on the 
 rafters a foot below the boards. Con- 
 sequently 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 door, and leaned 
 over the cliest, and whispered tender- 
 ly, "Gerard!" 
 
 Gerard did not reply. 
 
 She then whispered, a litth; louder, 
 " Gerard, all is safe, thank Heaven ! 
 You may rise ; but, O, be cau- 
 tious! " 
 
 Gerard made no reply. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder, 
 — " Gerard ! " 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " 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 lie 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 
 color 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 1 
 
 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 be- 
 fore, 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. 
 
 " Gerard ! I am very sorry you
 
 60 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 are dead. I am very sorry I have 
 killed you. Forgive me for not let- 
 ting the men take you ; it would have 
 been better than this. Gerard ! 
 I am very, very sorry for what I have 
 done." Then she began suddenly to 
 rave. " No ! no ! such things can't 
 be, or there is no God. Jt is mon- 
 strous. How can my Gerard be dead 1 
 How can I have killed my Gerard ? 
 I love him. O God ! you know how 
 I love him. He does not. I never told 
 liim. If he knew my heart, he would 
 speak to me, he would not be so deaf 
 to his ])oor Margaret. It is all a trick 
 to make me cry out and betray him : 
 but no, I love him too well for that. 
 I '11 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. 
 O Gerard ! don't die without a word. 
 Have mercy on me and scold me ! but 
 sj)eak to me : if you are angry with 
 mc, scold me ! curse me ! 1 deserve 
 it : the idiot that killed the man she 
 loved better than herself Ah ! I am 
 a murderess. The worst in all the 
 world. Help, help ! I have murdered 
 liim. Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! " 
 
 She tore her hair, and uttered shriek 
 after sliriek so Avild, so piercing, they 
 fell like a knell upon the ears of Die- 
 rich Brower and his men. All started 
 to their feet, and looked at one another. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Martin Wittexhaagen, standing 
 at the foot of the stairs with his arrow 
 drawn nearly to the head, and his 
 knife behind him, was struck with 
 amazement to see the men come back 
 without Gerard : he lowered his bow, 
 and 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 lis ? " 
 
 " Stuff!" said Martin, recovering 
 his stolid composure, " I was but try- 
 
 ing my new string. There, I '11 un- 
 string my bow, if you think that." 
 
 " Humph! " said Dierich, suspicious- 
 ly, " 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 anil long hair were soon smok- 
 ing 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 prevent him 
 from going there. 
 
 At this Dierich threw his arms 
 round him from behind, and called 
 on the others to keej) him. The 
 man that hud the candle got clear 
 away, and all the rest fell ujion Mar- 
 tin, and after a long and fierce strug- 
 gle, in the course of whicli they were 
 more than once all rolling on the floor, 
 with Martin in the middle, they suc- 
 ceeded in mastering the ohl Samson, 
 and binding him hand and foot with 
 a rope they had brought for (ierard. 
 
 Martin groaned aloud. He saw the 
 man had made his way to Margaret's 
 room during the struggle, and lierc 
 was he powerless. 
 
 "Ay, grind your teeth, you old 
 rogue," said Dierich, panting with the 
 struggle. " You sha' n'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 r;- 
 mark had hardly subsided, when has- 
 ty footsteps were heard running along 
 overhead. 
 
 " 0, here he comes at last. Well, 
 Jorian, what is to do now up there 1 "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 61 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 JoEiAX Ketel went straight to 
 Margaret's room, and there, to his in- 
 finite surprise, he found tlie man he 
 had been in search of, pale and mo- 
 tionless, his head in jMargaret'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 awe-struck, 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 answering 
 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 withdrew it, it was 
 dull. 
 
 "There is life in him!" said 
 Jorian Ketel to himself. 
 
 Margaret caught the words instant- 
 ly, though only muttered, and it was 
 as if a statue should start into life and 
 passion. She rose and flung her arms 
 round Jorian's neck. 
 
 " O bless the tongue that tells me 
 so !" and she clasped the great rough 
 fellow again and again, eagerly, al- 
 most fiercely. 
 
 "There, there! let us lay him 
 wann," said Jorian ; and in a moment 
 he raised Gerard and laid him on the 
 bedclothes. 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 pun- 
 gent liquor co-operated witli his re- 
 covery, — he gave a faint sigh. O, 
 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 '11 drive his 
 breath back again. Let him alone; 
 he is sure to come to. 'T is n't like as 
 if he was an old man." 
 
 Gerard sighed deeply, and a faint 
 streak of color 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 've done you two a good turn ; 't was 
 I told you in the church whither we 
 had to take him. Besides, what is 
 Dirk Brower to me ? I '11 see him 
 hanged ere I '11 tell him. But I wish 
 you'd tell 7ne 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 hun- 
 dred crowns." 
 
 " What ! are the things in the 
 house ?" asked Jorian, eagerly. 
 
 "No ; but I know where they are : 
 and, by God and St. Bnvon, 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 Brow- 
 er ? 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 Mar- 
 garet knelt, quivering from head to 
 foot, and prayed beside Gerard, and 
 for Gerard. 
 
 "What is to do?" replied Jorian
 
 G2 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 to Dierich Brower's query ; " why, we 
 have scared the ;^irl out of her wits. 
 She was in a kind of fit." 
 
 " We had better all go and doctor 
 her, then." 
 
 " O yes ! and frijjhten her into the 
 churchyard. Her father is a doctor, 
 and I have roused liim, and set him 
 to bring her round. Let us sec the 
 fire, will ye 1 " 
 
 His off-hand way disarmed all sus- 
 picion ; and soon after the party 
 agreed that the kitchen of the Tliree 
 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 
 Diericli Browcr, at the door : " I said 
 we should be too late to catch liim, 
 and we were too late." 
 
 Thus Gerard, in one terrible niglit, 
 grazed the prison and the grave. 
 
 And how did he get clear at last 1 
 Not by his cunningly contrived hid- 
 ing-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 
 lieart, aided !)y his desire of gain. So 
 mixed and seemingly incongruous are 
 human motives, so short-sighted our 
 shrewdest counsels. 
 
 They whose moderate natures, or 
 gentle fates, keep them, in life's ])as- 
 sage, from the fierce extremes of joy 
 and anguish our nature is capable of, 
 are perhaps the best, and certainly the 
 happiest, of mankind. But to such 
 readers I should try in vain to con- 
 vey what bliss unspeakable settled 
 now upon these persecuted lovers. 
 Even to those who have joyed great- 
 ly, and greatly suffered, my feeble 
 art can present but a pale reflec- 
 tion of Margaret's and Gerard's ecs- 
 tasy. 
 
 To sit and see a beloved face come 
 back from the grave to the world, to 
 health and beauty, by swift grada- 
 tions ; to see the roses return to the 
 loved cheek, love's glance to the loved 
 
 eye, and his words to the loved month; 
 tiiis was Margaret's, — a joy to bal- 
 ance years of sorrow. It was Ge- 
 rard's to awake from a trance, and 
 find his head ])illowcd on Margaret's 
 arm ; to hear the woman he adored 
 murmur new words of elo(juent 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. lie 
 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 l)etrothed? 
 And had they not stood before the al- 
 tar together '? Was not the blessing 
 of Holy Church upon their union 1 
 — her curse on all who would part 
 them 1 
 
 But, as no woman's nerves can bear 
 with impunity so terrible a strain, 
 presently Margaret turned faint, and 
 sank on Gerard's shoulder, smiling 
 feebly, but (piite, (|uite unstrung. 
 Then Gerard was anxious, and would 
 seek assistance. But she held him 
 with a gentle grasp, and implored 
 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, 
 dcan-st, but hapj)y ; O, so haj)j)y ! " 
 
 Then it was Gerard's turn to sup- 
 port that dear head, with its great 
 waves of hair flowing loose over him, 
 and nurse her, and soothe her quiver- 
 ing on his bosom, with soft encourag- 
 ing words and murmurs of love, and 
 gentle caresses. Sweetest of all her 
 charms is a woman's weakness to a 
 manly heart. 
 
 Poor things ! they were happy. 
 To-moiTow 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 63 
 
 was bright, the present was heaven : 
 80 passed the blissfal hours. 
 
 Alas ! their innocence ran other 
 risks besides the prison and the grave ; 
 they were in most danger from their 
 own hearts and their inexperience, 
 now that visible danger there was 
 none. 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 Ghysbrecht 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 unsuccessful 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 f " 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, en- 
 tered the house. 
 
 The house was empty. 
 
 Not a creature to be seen, not even 
 Peter. They went up stairs, 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 dis- 
 tance, walking 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 aston- 
 ished. 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 upon 
 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 Mar- 
 garet, who kept nervously looking 
 back every now and then, uttered a 
 cri% and, following her instinct, began 
 to run towards the woods, screaming 
 with terror all the way. 
 
 Ghj-sbrecht and his men were in 
 hot pursuit. 
 
 Resistance would have been mad- 
 ness. Martin and Gerard followed
 
 64 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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 hound- 
 ed with hope at Martin's words, for 
 the great trees seemed now to streteh 
 their branches like friendly arms 
 towards them, and their leaves like a 
 screen. 
 
 Hut an unforeseen danger attacked 
 them. The fiery old burgomaster 
 flung himself on his mule, and, spur- 
 ring 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 semi- 
 oirele, and got on the edge of the 
 wood, right in front of Gerard : the 
 otliers might escape for aught lie cared. 
 
 Margaret shrieked and tried to 
 protect Gerard by clasping liim ; but he 
 shook her off without ceremony. 
 
 Gliysbrccht in his ardor forgot that 
 hunted animals turn on the hunter ; 
 and that two men can hate, and two 
 can long to kill the thing they hate. 
 
 Instead of attempting to dodge 
 him, as the burgomaster made sure 
 he would, Gerard Acav right at him 
 with a savage, exulting cry, and 
 struck at him with all his heart and 
 soul and strength. The oak staff 
 came <l()wn on Ghysbrecht's face with 
 a frightful crash, and laid him under 
 his mule's tail, beating the Devil's 
 tattoo with his heels, his face stream- 
 ing, and his collar spattered with 
 blood. 
 
 The next moment the three were 
 in the wood. The yell of dismay 
 and vengeance that burst from Ghys- 
 brecht'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, pant- 
 ing. " You have your bow, and I have 
 this ; and he shook his bloody staff. 
 
 " Bov ! " roared Martin ; " the 
 GALLOWS ! Follow me ! " and he 
 fled into the wood. Soon they heard 
 a cry like a pack of hounds opening 
 
 on sight of the game. The men 
 were in the wood, and saw them flit- 
 ting 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. Mar- 
 tin dashed into it, and shouldered the 
 young wood aside as if it were stand- 
 ing corn. 
 
 Ere they had gone fifty yards in it 
 they came to four blind paths. 
 
 Martin took one. " Bend low," 
 said he ; and, half creej)ing, 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 jiine grove, 
 where the walking was good and 
 hard ; there were no ])aths here, and 
 the young tir-trees were so thick you 
 could not see three yards before your 
 nose. 
 
 When the}' 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 
 eating his breakfast. 
 
 The young ones looked at him with 
 dismay. He replied to their looks : — 
 
 " All Sevenbergcn 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 triangular 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 become 
 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 65 
 
 g:rcatly 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 ! 
 stuffed Avith paper to deceive the 
 world ! " 
 
 The wonder was, how the burgo- 
 master's purse came on Gerard. 
 
 They hit at last upon the right so- 
 lution. The purse must have been 
 at Ghysbrecht's saddle-bow, and Ge- 
 rard, rushing at his enemy, had un- 
 consciously torn it away, thus felling 
 his enemy and robbing him, with a 
 single gesture. 
 
 Gerard was delighted at this feat, 
 but Margaret was uneasy. 
 
 " Throw it away, Gerard, or let 
 Martin take it back. Already they 
 call you a thief. I cannot bear it." 
 
 " Throw it away 1 give it him 
 back ? not a stiver. This is spoil 
 lawfully won in battle from an ene- 
 my. Is it not, Martin 1 " 
 
 " Why, of course. Send him back 
 the brown paper, an j-ou will ; but the 
 jnirse or the coin, — that were a sin." 
 
 " 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 accord- 
 ingly," said this pious youth. " Thus 
 the favored people spoiled the Egyp- 
 tians, and were blessed." 
 
 " Take your own way," said Mar- 
 garet, humbly, "you are wiser than 
 I am. You are my husband," added 
 she, in a low, murmuring voice ; " is 
 it for me to gainsay you '? " 
 
 These humble words from Mar- 
 garet, who, till that day, had held 
 the whip hand, rather surprised Mar- 
 tin for the moment. They recurred 
 to him some time afterwards, and 
 they then surprised him less. 
 
 Gerard kissed her tenderly in re- 
 turn for her wife-like docility, and 
 they pursued their journey hand in 
 hand, Martin leading the yvny, into 
 
 the depths of the huge forest. The 
 farther they went, the more absolutely 
 secure from pursuit they felt. In- 
 deed, the towns-i)eoplc never ventured 
 so far as this into the trackless part 
 of the forest. 
 
 Impetuous natures repent quickly. 
 Gerard was no sooner out of all dan- 
 ger, than his conscience 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 gray 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 gray 
 hairs "? The grayer your enemy is, 
 the older ; and the older the 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 ! " 
 
 " Heaven and the saints forbid it I " 
 
 " 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 
 ruthlessly. 
 
 Gerard fell on his knees, and began 
 to pray for this enemy's life. 
 
 At this Martin lost his patience. 
 " Here 's mummery. What, you that 
 set up for leai'ning, know you not 
 that a wise man never strikes his 
 enemy but to kill him 1 And what is 
 all this cod 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 1 But 
 an old fellow at the edge of the gi-ave, 
 why tiot shove him in ? Go he must, 
 to-day or to-morrow ; and what bet- 
 ter place for graybeards ? Now, if 
 ever I should be so mischancy as to 
 last so long as Ghysbrecht did, and
 
 6G 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 have to po on a mule's IcffS instead of 
 Martin Wittenhaagcn's, and a back 
 like this (striking the wood of his 
 bow), instead of this (striking the 
 string), I '11 thank and bless any 
 young fellow who will knock me 
 on the head, as you have done that 
 old shopkeeper ; malison on his mem- 
 ory." 
 
 " Oh, culpa mea ! culpa mca ! " cried 
 Gerard, and smote upon his breast. 
 
 " Look there," said Martin to Mar- 
 garet, scornfully, "he is a priest at 
 heart still; and when he is not in ire, 
 St. Paul, what a milksop ! " 
 
 " Tush, Martin ! " cried Margaret, 
 reproachfully : then she wreathed her 
 arms round Gerard, and comforted 
 liim with the double magic of a wo- 
 man's sense and a woman's voice. 
 
 " Sweetheart ! " murmured she, 
 "you forget: you went not a step 
 out of the way to harm him, who 
 hunted you to your death. You fled 
 from him. lie it was who spurred 
 on you. Then did you strike ; but 
 in self-defence, and a single i)low, 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 yonr enemy has fallen, it is 
 through his own malice, not yours, 
 and by the will of God." 
 
 " Bless you, Margaret, bless you 
 for thinking 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. O, 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, 't is 
 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 1 
 My ears are getting old." 
 
 Margaret listened, and presently 
 she heard a tuneful sounil, 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 beautiful. Ah ! there it is again. 
 How sweetly it blends with the air. 
 It is a long way oft". 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 ? 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 
 Martin, gravely, " and die like sol- 
 diers, killing three for one." 
 
 " What 's that sound ? " 
 
 "IT IS THE AVENGER OF 
 BLOOD." 
 
 " O Martin, save him ! O Heaven, 
 be merciful ! What new mysterious 
 peril is this f " 
 
 " GlllL, IT 'S A BLOOD. 
 HOUND." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The courage, like the 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 rnde 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.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 67 
 
 u sense of the supernatural combined 
 with novelty to unsteel his heart. 
 After going a few steps, he leaned on 
 his bow, and energy and hope oozed 
 out of him. Gerard, to whom the 
 danger appeared slight in proportion 
 as it was distant, urged him to flight. 
 
 " What avails it 1 " said Martin, sad- 
 \y ; " if we get clear of the wood, we 
 shall die cheap ; here, hard by, I know 
 a place Avhere \vc may die dear." 
 
 " Alas, good Martin," cried Gerard, 
 " despair not so quickly ; there must 
 be some way to escape." 
 
 " 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 tlie blood- 
 hound's nature. He is not on this 
 man's track or that ; he is on the 
 track of blood. My life on 't they 
 have taken him to where Gh3'sbrecht 
 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 tuDable 
 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 trem- 
 bles, and awaits liis death ; and even 
 so, to compare hearing with sight, this 
 sweet and mellow sound seemed to 
 lascinate Martin Wittenhaagen. He 
 stood uncertain, bewildered, and un- 
 nerved. Gerard was little better now. 
 Martin's last Avords 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 t 
 
 Whilst the men were thus be- 
 numbed, the Avoman'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 't will be little use in your 
 hands," said he. 
 
 Then Margaret did a sly thing. 
 She stepped behind Gerard, and fur- 
 tively drew the knife across her arm, 
 and made it bleed freely ; then, stooj> 
 ing, 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 ! " 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 
 fiivored 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 strag- 
 gling 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 man as I am ? " 
 
 " O 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 knile, 
 he cut at every step a hazel shoot ot
 
 68 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 two close by the ground, and, turning 
 round, twisted them breast-high bc- 
 hiiui him among the standing shoots. 
 Martin did the same, Init with a dog- 
 ged, hopeless air. When they had 
 thus painfully travelled through the 
 greater part of the coppice, the blood- 
 hound's deep bay came nearer and 
 iienrcr, less and less musical, louder 
 and sterner. 
 
 Margaret trembled. 
 
 Martin went down on his stomach 
 and listened. 
 
 " I iiear 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 u]) so bitterly." 
 
 " Never strike your enemy but to 
 slay him," said Martin, gloomily. 
 
 " I '11 hit harder this time, if Heav- 
 en gives me the chance," said Ge- 
 rard. 
 
 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 min- 
 gled a score of voices, whooping and 
 hallooing. 
 
 " The whole village is out after us," 
 said Martin. 
 
 " I care not," said Gerard. " Lis- 
 ten, 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." 
 
 "Ay! but one speaks, the others 
 nm mute ; but let the leading hound 
 lose the scent, then another shall give 
 tongue. There will be tvvo dogs at 
 least, or devils in dogs' 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 ^lartin, plucking up heart. 
 
 " Hush ! the men are in the wood." 
 
 Gerard now gave his orders in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " IStand you with your bow by the 
 side 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 whooping 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 rus- 
 tling nearer and nearer, and the in- 
 evitable struggle for life and death 
 coming on minute by minute, and 
 that death-knell leading it. A trem- 
 bling hand was laid on Gerard's 
 shoulder. It made him start violent- 
 ly, strung up as he was. 
 
 " Martin says, if we are forced to 
 part company, make for that high 
 ash-tree we came in by." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! yes ! but go back for 
 Heaven's sake ! 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 no- 
 ticed her. Scent was to him what 
 sight is to us. He lowered his nose 
 an instant, and the next moment, 
 with an awful yell, s])rang straight at 
 Gerai'd'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 Mar- 
 tin'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 sti'cak 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 69 
 
 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 cx'ept cau- 
 tiously into the thick coppice just as 
 three men hurst out. These had 
 headed their comrades considerably ; 
 the rest were following at various 
 distances. Gci'ard crawled back al- 
 most on all-fours. Instinct taught 
 Martin and Margaret to do tlie same 
 upon their line of retreat. Thus, 
 within the distance of a few yards, 
 the pursuers and pursued were pass- 
 ing one another upon opposite tracks. 
 
 A loud cry announced the discov- 
 ery of the dead and the wounded 
 hound. Then followed a babble of 
 voices, still swelling as fresh pursuers 
 reached the spot. The hunters, as 
 usual on a surprise, were wasting 
 time, and the hunted ones were mak- 
 ing the most of it. 
 
 " I hear no more hounds," whis- 
 pered Martin to Margaret, and he was 
 hnnself again. 
 
 It was Margaret's turn to tremble 
 and despair. 
 
 " O, why did wc 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-trcc 1 " 
 
 " And so I did. Bless you, Mar- 
 tin, for thinking of that. To the 
 ash-tree ! " 
 
 " Ay ! but with less noise." 
 
 They were now nearly at the edge 
 of the co])pice, when suddenly they 
 heard whooping and hallooing behind 
 them. The men had satisfied them- 
 selves the fugitives were in the cop- 
 pice ; and were beating back. 
 
 " No matter," whispered Martin to 
 his trembling companion. " We shall 
 Iiave time to vnn clear and slip out 
 of sight by hard running. Ah ! " 
 
 He stopped suddenly ; for just as 
 he was going to burst out of the brush- 
 wood 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 ; bat 
 over this his eyes peered keenly, and 
 it was plain by their expression he 
 had heard the fugitives rustle, and 
 was looking out for them. Martin 
 muttered a tenible oath, and cautious- 
 ly strung his bow, then with equal 
 caution fitted liis 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 dead- 
 ly 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 ; wc are saved." 
 
 At this crisis, when safety seemed 
 at hand, as fate would have it, Mar- 
 garet, who had borne up so bravely 
 till now, began to succumb, partly 
 from loss of blood. 
 
 " 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 '11 run by your 
 side." 
 
 In a moment Martin was on Gh3-s- 
 brecht's mule, and Gerard raised the 
 fixinting girl in his arms and placed 
 her on the saddle, and relieved Mar- 
 tin of his bow. 
 
 " Help ! treason ! murder ! mur- 
 der ! " shrieked Ghysbrecht, suddenly 
 rising on his hams. 
 
 " Silence, cur," roared Gerard, and 
 trod him down again by the throat 
 as men crush an adder. 
 
 " Now, have you got her firm ?
 
 70 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Then fly ! for our lives ! for our 
 lives ! " 
 
 But even as the mule, urged sud- 
 denly by Martin's heel, scattered the 
 flints with his hind hoot's ere he got 
 into a canter, and even as Gerard 
 withdrew his foot from Ghyshrecht's 
 tiiroat to run, Dicrich Hrowcr and his 
 five men, who iiad come hack for <jr- 
 ders and heard the burgomaster's 
 cries, burst roaring out of the coppice 
 on them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Speech is the familiar vent of 
 human thoughts : but there are emo- 
 tions so simple and overpowering, 
 that tliey rush out not in words, but 
 in elo(juent sounds. At such mo- 
 ments man seems to lose his charac- 
 teristics, and to be merely one of the 
 higher animals ; for tiiese, when 
 greatly agitated, ejaculate, though 
 they cannot speak. 
 
 There was something terrible and 
 tndy animal both in the roar of tri- 
 umph with which the jmrsuers burst 
 out (>? tlic thicket on our fugitives, 
 and the sharji cry of terror with wliich 
 these latter darted away. The pursu- 
 ers' 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. Die- 
 rich and his men let Gerard and the 
 mule j)Ut ten yards l)etween them. 
 Then they flew after with uplifted 
 weapons. They were sure of catch- 
 ing 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. A hun- 
 dred yards were covered in no time ; 
 yet still there remained these ten 
 j^ards between the pursuers and the 
 pursued. 
 
 This increase of speed since the 
 morning puzzled Dierich Brower. 
 The reason was this. "When three 
 run in company, the pace is that of 
 
 the slowest of the three. From P© 
 ter's house to the edge of the forest 
 Gerard ran Margaret's j)ace ; 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 between the hunted 
 ones and the hunters. Then Dieri<h 
 made a desperate eftbrt, and gained 
 two yards, but in a few seconds Ge- 
 rard had stolen them (luietly back. 
 The j)ursuers began to curse. 
 
 Martin heard, uiul 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 
 evi-r. 
 
 Ere he reached the top, Dierich's 
 forty years weighed him down like 
 forty bullets. "Our cake is dough," 
 he gasj)ed. "Take him dead, if you 
 can't alive " ; and he left running, and 
 followed at a foot's jiace. iJorian 
 Kctcl tailed olf next; and then an- 
 other, and so, one liy one, Cierard ran 
 them all to a stand-still, excei)t one 
 who kept on, stanch as a bloodhound, 
 though losing ground every minute. 
 His name, if I am not mistaken, was 
 Eric Wouverman. Followed l)y 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 than he was 
 running before. 
 
 At the sight of this manoeuvre, Die- 
 rich's man lost heart, and, being now 
 fully eighty yards behind Gerard, and 
 rather more than that in advance of 
 his nearest comrade, he pulled uj) 
 short, and, in obedience to Dierich s 
 order, took down his cross-bow, lev- 
 elled it deliberately, and, just as the 
 trio were sinking out of sight over the 
 crest of the hill, sent the bolt whiz- 
 zing among them.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Yl 
 
 There wns a cry of dismay ; and 
 next moment, as if a tlmnderbolt had 
 fallen on them, they were all lying on 
 the ground, mule and all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 The effect was so sudden and magi- 
 cal that the shooter himself was stu- 
 pefied for an instant. Then he hailed 
 his companions to join him in effect- 
 ing the capture, and himself set off up 
 the hill ; but, ere he had got half-way, 
 up rose the figure of Martin Witten- 
 haagen with a bent bow in his hand. 
 Eric Wouvcrman 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 known, and the slain 
 dog was a keen reminder of it. 
 
 Wouverman peered round the bark 
 cautiously ; there was the aiTow's 
 point still aimed at him. He saw it 
 shine. He dared not move from liis 
 shelter. 
 
 When he had been at peep-bo some 
 minutes, his companions came up in 
 great force. 
 
 Then, with a scornful laugh, Mar- 
 tin 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 almost interminable glade. 
 
 The}^ saw Gerard and Margaret 
 running along at a prodigious dis- 
 tance ; they looked like gnats ; and 
 Martin galloping after them ventre a 
 terre. 
 
 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 deceit- 
 ful. As we have all seen a hare tumble 
 over a brier 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 lier foot in a rabbit-hole at or 
 about the time the cross-bow bolt 
 
 whizzed innocuous over hei head ; she 
 fell and threw both her riders. Ge- 
 rard caught Margaret, but was carried 
 do^vn by her weight and impetus ; 
 and, behold, the soil was strewed with 
 dramatis personcv. 
 
 The docile mule was up again di- 
 rectly, 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 compan- 
 ions, 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 foiled, then 
 took his turn to ride; and so in rota- 
 tion. Thus the runner was always 
 fresh, and, long ere they relaxed their 
 speed, all sound and trace of them was 
 hopelessly lost to Dierichand his men. 
 Tiiese latter went crestfallen back to 
 look after their chief and their winged 
 bloodhound. 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 Life and liberty, while safe, are 
 little thought of ; for why? they are 
 matters of course. Endangei-ed, 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 imder 
 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 ev- 
 ery leaf that rustled louder than its 
 fellows, glowed all over ^vith joy and 
 thankfulness as they glided among the 
 friendly trees in safety and deep tran- 
 quil silence, baying dogs and brutal 
 voices yet ringing in their minds' 
 ears. 
 
 But presently Gerard found stains 
 of blood on Margaret's ankles. 
 
 " Martin ! Martin ! help ! they 
 have wounded her ; the cross-bow ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " said Mai-gai-et, smiling
 
 72 
 
 THE CLOISFER AND TlIK III.AIMH. 
 
 to rca.sstiru liiiii. " I 'in not wound- 
 cil, nor hurt at nil." 
 
 " But what is it, then, in Heaven's 
 name ^ " crictl Gerard, in jjreat ugitji- 
 tion. 
 
 " Scold me not then ! " and Mar- 
 ijarct hUished. 
 
 " Did I ever srol<l von 1 " 
 
 "No, <Ienr (Jerard. Well, tlien, 
 Martin said it wiut hlood those eniel 
 do;,'s followeil ; stt I thoiijjht if I 
 could hut have a little IiIojmI on my 
 sh(M>n the do^'s wouhl follow me in- 
 stead, and let my (iernrd wend free. 
 So I seratcheil my arm with Martin's 
 knife, — for;,'ive me! WIiom- ilse 
 could I take f Yours, (Jerard '. Ah, 
 no. You for;;ive me ? " said she, 1k'- 
 8efchin;;ly, and lovingly, and fawii- 
 in;:ly, nil in one. 
 
 " Let me see this Bcrntch first," 
 said (ierard, ehokin}; with emotion. 
 " 'i'here, I thou;;ht so. A scratch ? 
 I call it a cut, — a<lcc|), terrihie, cruel 
 cut." 
 
 (Jernrd shiidilered at si;;ht of it. 
 
 " She mi;:ht have done it with her 
 iMidkin," s.iifl the soldier. " Milk- 
 .''oii ! that sickens at siplit of a scratch 
 and a little Mood." 
 
 " No. no. 1 could look on a sea 
 of Mood : hut not on hers. O Mar- 
 piret ! how could you he so cruel '. " 
 
 Marfjaret smili-d with love inetTa- 
 blc. " Fm)lish (Jerard,' nmmnired 
 she, " to make so much of nothinp." 
 And she tlun;^ the ;,'nilty arm round 
 his neck. " As if 1 would not pive 
 all the hl(K)d in my heart tor you, let 
 alone a few drojis from my arm." 
 And with this, under the sense of his 
 recent dan;;er, she wept on his neck for 
 pity and love ; and he wept witli her. 
 
 "And I must part from her," he 
 sobbed, — " we twf> that love so dear, 
 — one must be in Holland, one in It- 
 aly. Ah mo ! ah me ! ah me ! " 
 
 At this Mar;:aret wept afresh, but 
 jiatiently and silently. Instinct is 
 never ofr its j^uard, and with her un- 
 seltishness was an instinct. To utter 
 her present thoui^hts would he to add 
 to Cierard's miser)' at parting, so she 
 wept in silence. 
 
 Suddeidy they <'mir;.'i-d uj on ■ 
 lx.'aten |iath, and Martin >loiiped. 
 
 " This is the bridle roati I spoke 
 of," said he, han;;iiig his head, " and 
 there away lies the hostelry." 
 
 Mar;:arei ami Gerard ca>t a warvd 
 liMik at one another. 
 
 "Come a step with me, Martin," 
 whisjK^red Gerard. When he had 
 drawn him aside, he saiil to him, in a 
 broken voice : " (Jood Martin, wat<h 
 over her for mc ! She is my wife ; 
 yet I leave her. See, Martin ! here 
 IS j;old, — it was for my journey; it 
 is no use my asking' her to take it ; 
 she would not ! but you wdl for her, 
 — will you not ' () Heaven! and is 
 this all I can do for her '. Money ? 
 But jHiverty is a curse. You will 
 not let her want for anything;, dear 
 Martin 1 Tlie bur;.'omaster's silver 
 is enough for me." 
 
 "Thou art a pxMl lad, Gerard. 
 Neither wan' nor liarm shidl come to 
 her. I care more tor her little finger 
 than for all the world, and, were she 
 naught to me, even for thy sake 
 wouhl I lie a father to her. (Jo with 
 n .stout heart, and (Jod be with theo 
 going and coming." And the rough 
 soldier wrung (Jeranls hand, and 
 turned his head away with unwonted 
 feeling. 
 
 At'ter a moment's silence he was 
 for going bark to Margaret ; but Ge- 
 rard stopped him. " No, good Mar- 
 tin : prithee stay here lieJiiml the 
 thicket, and turn your brad away from 
 us, while I — (J Marl in ! Martin ! " 
 
 By this means ( Jerard escajKrd a 
 witness of his anguish at leaving her 
 be loved, and Martin escaped a pit- 
 eous sight. He flid not see the jKJOr 
 young things kneel and n-new before 
 Heaven those holy vows cruel men 
 had interrupted. He did not sec 
 them cling together like one, and then 
 try to part, and fail, and return to 
 one another, and cling again like 
 flnjwning, desjj.iiring creatures. But 
 be heard Gerard sob, and sob, and 
 Margaret moan. 
 
 At last there was a hoarse cry, and 
 feet pattered on the hard road.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 73 
 
 He started up, and there was Ge- 
 rard 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 
 luuaned, and held him tight, and 
 trembled violently. 
 
 lie got her on the mule, and put 
 his arm round her, and so, support- 
 ing 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. Sevenber- 
 gen 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 hos- 
 telry, and rode swiftly towards the 
 German frontier. But all was me- 
 chanical : his senses felt blunted ; 
 trees and houses and men moved by 
 him like objects seen through a veil. 
 Hij 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 1 " 
 
 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 
 Germanv." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " On t'other side of the bourn. 
 Xo 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 hate, 
 ful country," said his guide, half sul- 
 kily; "mayhap the one you are go- 
 ing 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 admoni- 
 tion or a cuiF. They fell on Gerard 
 now like idle air. He paid the lad 
 in silence, and descended the hill 
 alone. 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 
 bun. 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 country ! " he 
 cried. " But for her it would cost me 
 naught to leave you forever, and all 
 my kith and kin, and — the mother 
 that bore me, and my playmates, and 
 my little native town. Farewell, fa- 
 therland, — 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 
 awhile 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 Imguages 
 needed on that long road. He said to
 
 71 
 
 TIIK CLOISTER AND THE HEAHTH. 
 
 liimsolf, "I will soon lie at Rome; 
 llic soomr the Utter now." 
 
 After wiilkiii;; 11 i:<»>*\ Icajriie, he 
 raine to ii plaie where four ways nu-t. 
 IJeiii;: cDuntrv roiwl.s and serjH'iitine, 
 they ha<l |iii/.zU-il many an inexjK'- 
 i-ieiui'<l neij^hl>or jia.ssin;; from vina;;e 
 to vilhii,'f. (ierartl took out a little 
 dial IVter had f^vcn liim, and set it in 
 the autumn .-un, and hy this compass 
 stt-^red unhesitatinL'ly for Home ; iu- 
 exiK-rierued as a yuun;; swallow fly- 
 ing south, hut, unlike the swallow, 
 waniieriu'' south alone. 
 
 CIIAPTKK XXIV. 
 
 Not fjiron this road he eamc upon 
 a little >,'roup. Two men in solier 
 suits stfHKl leanin^; lazily on each side 
 i.f a horse, talking; to one another. 
 The rider, in a silk douhlet and hrii;ht 
 ^,'re«-n jerkin and hose, Ixith f>f En;;- 
 li>h c loth, ;;lo.ssy as a mole, lay (lat 
 on Ins stomach in the afternoon sun, 
 anil looked like an enonnous lizard. 
 His velvet eloak (flaming; yellow) was 
 e.irefidly spri'ad over the horse's loins. 
 " Is au;.'ht amiss '. " impiired Gerard. 
 
 " Not that I wot of," rej)lied one 
 of the servants. 
 
 " Hut your master, he lies like a 
 corjise. Arc ye not ashamed to let 
 him grovel on the t:round ? " 
 
 " tio to, the hare j,'round is the best 
 rure tor his di.sorder. If you pet so- 
 Iter in hed it >;ives you a headache ; 
 hut you leap up from the hanl t:ronnd 
 like a lark in sprinp ; eh, L'Irie '. " 
 
 " He sj)caks sooth, young man," 
 Bail! riric, warmly. 
 
 " What, is the (gentleman drunk ? " 
 
 The servants burst into a hoarse 
 laujjh at the simplicity of Gerard's 
 question. But suddenly Ulric stopped, 
 and, eyin<r him all over, said very 
 pravciv, " Who are you, and where 
 born, that know not the count is very 
 drunk at this hour ? " and Gerard 
 fcund hini.self a suspected character. 
 
 •• 1 am a stranger,' said he, " but a 
 true m:in, and one that loves knowl- 
 
 edge ; therefore ask I questions, and 
 not for love of pryinp." 
 
 " If you he a true man," saiil Ulrie, 
 shrewdly, " then pive us trinkpeld for 
 the knowledge we have piven you." 
 
 (Jerard looke<l blank; but, puttinp: 
 a poo<i lace on it, saiil : " T'rinkpeld 
 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 U-ast." 
 
 Under the inspiring influence of 
 eominp trinkpeld, two solutions were 
 instantly ofVered (ieranl at once ; the 
 one wits, that should the count c«)mo 
 to himsilf (which, U-inp a .sea.soned 
 toper, he was apt to do all in a min- 
 ute), and tind his horse stamiinp 
 sweating in the cold while a cloak 
 lay idle at hand, he would fall to 
 cursing, and peradventurc to laying 
 on ; the other, mon' pn-tentious, was, 
 that a horse is a poor milksop, which, 
 drinking nothing but water, lias to Ikj 
 eoeken'(l up and warmed outside ; but 
 a master, being a creature ever filled 
 with good lHx;r, has a store of inward 
 heat that wanns him to the skin, and 
 renders a cloak a mere shred of idle 
 vanity. 
 
 Kaeh 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 
 ro.sc so high that the grirn sot began 
 to growl insteail of snoring ; in their 
 heat they did not notice this. 
 
 Ere long the argument t<K)k a turn 
 that .sooner or later was pretty sure 
 to enliven a discussion in tliat age. 
 Hans, holding the briflle witli his 
 right hand, gave Llric a sound cuflf 
 with his left ; Ulric retunied it with 
 interest, his right hand being free, 
 and at it they went ding-dong over 
 the horse's mane, pommelling one an- 
 other, and jagging the poor beast till 
 he ran backward and trod with iron 
 heel upon a promontory of the <.'reen 
 lord ; he, like the toad stung by Itliu- 
 riel's spear, started np howling, with 
 one hand clapped to the smart and 
 the other tugging at his hiit. The
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 75 
 
 servants, amazed with terror, let the 
 horse go ; he galloped oft' whinnving, 
 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- 
 hounding from hedge to hedge in his 
 headlong but zigzag career down the 
 narrow lane. 
 
 " In wliich hurtling " Gerard 
 turned his hack 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-heart- 
 ed even to smile at their drunken ex- 
 travagance. 
 
 The sun was nearly setting, and 
 Gerard, who had now for sonic time 
 been hoping in vain to find an inn by 
 the way, was very ill at ease. To 
 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 bewil- 
 dered traveller, and seemed to extin- 
 guish 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 nar- 
 row road, and the benighted stranger 
 gi-oped 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 faint 
 heart, till the wolves rose from their 
 lairs and bayed all round the wood. 
 
 His hair bristled ; but he gra.sped 
 his cudgel, and prepared to sell his 
 life dear. 
 
 There was no wind ; and his ex- 
 cited ear heard light feet jiatter at 
 times over the newly fallen leaves, 
 and low branches rustle with crea- 
 tures 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 CAN- 
 DLE ! " he shouted, and tried to 
 run ; but the dark and rugged way 
 soon stopped that. The light was 
 more distant than he had thonght; 
 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 sign- 
 board. There was none. " Not an 
 inn, after aU," 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 those 
 parts calls " rammish clowns," evolved 
 rank vapors and compound odors in- 
 expressible, in steaming clouds. 
 
 In one corner was a travelling fam- 
 ily, 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 efflu- 
 via 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 returned to the light again and 
 again like the singed moth. At last 
 he discovered that the various smells
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 dill not cntirrlr mix, no ficml l>einp 
 tliere to stir tluiii round. Odor of 
 fiiniily pnilominatfil in two conii-rs, 
 stcwL-d rustic rii;;ncd siijin inc in thf 
 CfUtrc, and ;,':irlio in tlic noisy p-onp 
 l>v the \viniiow. He found too, hy 
 lia^ty analysis, that of these the pirlie 
 discriht'd the snnillest lUTJal orhit, 
 ami till' scent of rcekin;: rustic darted 
 farthest, — a flavor as if aiuient ^'oats, 
 or llio fathers of all foxes, hud l»ivn 
 drawn through a river, and were here 
 dried hy Nrtuichadnezzar. 
 
 So (ierard crept into a eonier close 
 to the door. Hut, thou^rh the soliflity 
 of the main fetors is(datcd them some- 
 what, the heat anil n-ekin^' vaj)ors 
 circulated and made the walls drip ; 
 uinl the home-nurtureil novice found 
 sonuthin;; like ii cold snake wind 
 alnxit his Ic'^'s, and his head turn to a 
 ^'reat lumji of leail ; and next he felt 
 like chokinj,', sweetly slntnlnTJnjj, and 
 dviii;,', all in one. 
 
 He was within nn ace of swooning, 
 hut recovered to a deep sense of <lis- 
 ;,'ust and discouraL,'fment, and settled 
 to {;o hack to Holland at jK'cpofday; 
 this resolution tomied, he plucked uji 
 a little heart, and, liein;^ faint witfi 
 huu^'cr, asked one of tlie men of ^'ar- 
 lic whether this was not an inn after 
 all 7 
 
 " Whence come von, who know not 
 ' The Star of the torcst ' ? " was the 
 reply. 
 
 " I am n stranjrer ; and in my 
 country inns have aye a sij^n." 
 
 " Droll coimtry yours ! What need 
 of a sijrn to a [lulilic-housc, a place 
 that every soul knows > " 
 
 Gerard was too tired and faint for 
 the labor of arjrument ; so he turned 
 the conversation, and asked where he 
 could tind the landlord. 
 
 At this fresh disjday of ipnorancc 
 the native's contempt rose too hiph 
 for words ; he pointed to a middle- 
 ajLjed woman seated on the other side 
 of the oven, and, tumin^r to his mates, 
 let them know what an outlandish 
 animal was in the room. Thereat 
 the loud voices stopped one by one, 
 as the infonnation penetrated the 
 
 mass, and each eye turned n.s on a 
 pi\(>t, following: (ierard and his every 
 movement silently and 7.oolo;_ncally. 
 
 The lainllady sat on a chair an 
 inch or two hi;:her than the rest, l»e- 
 tween two bundles. From the tirst, 
 a hn;;e henj) <d" feathers and winj;^, 
 she was takin;: the downy plimiCM, 
 and pullint: the others from the (juills, 
 and so tilling' bunille two, littering 
 the tloor ankle-tleep, ami contributint; 
 to the pneral sto<k a stuffy little 
 malaria, which nii;,'ht have played a 
 distin^'uished jiart in a sweet r<K)m, 
 but went for iKithinc lierc. Gerard 
 asked her if he could have something 
 to eat. 
 
 She op<'ned her eyes in astonish, 
 ment. " Supjier is over this hour and 
 more." 
 
 " Rut I had none of it, {.'(mmI 
 dame." 
 
 " Is that my fault ? Y<ui were wcl 
 comi" to your share, for me." 
 
 " Hut I was Id-niphted, and a stran- 
 >,'er, and l>eltttwl sore against my 
 will." 
 
 " What have I to do with tliat ? 
 All the w<irld knows " The Star of 
 the Forest " sups from six till ei;:ht. 
 Come before six, ye suji well ; come 
 laforc ei;.'ht, ye sup as pleases Heav- 
 en ; come after ci^ht, ve get a clean 
 l)C(l, and a stirrup-<np or a horn of 
 kine's milk at the «lawning." 
 
 Gerard looked blank. " May I go 
 to l»c-d then, dame ? " said lie, sulkily ; 
 " for it is ill sitting \i\i wet and fast- 
 ing, and the byword saitli, ' He sups 
 ■who sleejjs.' " 
 
 " The beds are not come yet," re- 
 plie<l the landlaily ; "yon will sleep 
 when the rest do. Inns arc not built 
 for one." 
 
 It was Gerard's turn to he aston- 
 ished. " The beds were not come ; 
 what in Heaven's name did she 
 mean ? " But he was afraid to ask, 
 for every word he had spoken hither- 
 to had amazed the assembly ; and 
 zoiilotrieal eyes were upon him, — ho 
 felt tlum. lie leaned against the wall 
 and sighed audibly. 
 
 At tliis fresh zoiilogical trait, a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 77 
 
 tittei- went round the watchful com- 
 pany. 
 
 " So this is Germany," thought 
 Gerard, "and Germany is a great 
 country by Holland. Small nations 
 tor me." 
 
 He consoled himself by reflecting 
 it was to be his last, as well as his 
 first night in the land. His revery 
 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 beckoning 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 wo- 
 man, chcerfiilly : " they know no 
 better, how should they, bred an' 
 born in a wood "? " She was rum- 
 maging among her clothes with the 
 two penetrating hands, one of which 
 Gerard had set free. Presently she 
 fislied out a small tin plate and a 
 dried pudding, and, resuming her 
 cliihl with one arm, held them forth 
 to Gerard with the other, keeping a 
 thumb on the pudding to prevent it 
 from slipping ofl". 
 
 "Put it in the stove," said she; 
 " you are too young to lie down fast- 
 ing." 
 
 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 house- 
 wife moving her furniture. " Turn 
 about is fair play," she said. " Ye 
 have been dry this ten minutes and 
 better." 
 
 Her experienced eye was not de- 
 ceived ; Gorgonii had dOne stewing, 
 and begun baking. Debarred the 
 stove they trundled home all but one, 
 who stood like a table where the land- 
 lady had moved him to like a table, 
 and Gerard baked his pudding, and, 
 getting to the stove, burst into stsam. 
 
 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 farm-yard. These were then 
 dispersed round the stove in layers 
 like the seats 'n\ an arena, and in a 
 moment the company was all on its 
 back. 
 
 The beds had cqme. 
 
 Gerard took out his pudding and 
 foiind 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. Ge- 
 rard returned to the stove, and gob- 
 bled the rest of his sausage, casting 
 uneasy glances at the landlady seat- 
 ed 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, calm- 
 ly, making neither much nor little of 
 the favor; 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 ardor. 
 She watched him demurely.
 
 r8 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND iUK HEARTH. 
 
 " I wot not whence yc come," miiil 
 nhe, with ii nlir o( (iiMnmC, ndti- 
 iiHj nitiru toriliully, " but yv have 
 Ik-vm well hrou;;ht up ; y have hud u 
 pxMl iiiotluT, I 'II i;o bjul." 
 
 Ac tlio dcMir »\iv roiiimitti-d thi- 
 wliDJo oinipniiy to hi-uvcn in ii for- 
 iiiuhi, ami diHup|M-aritl. (iiTurd to 
 hi.H Htruw in the very conu-r, lor the 
 j,'Ui'Sl.H hiy round the .ta<re«l kIovc by 
 Beniority, i. v. priority of arrival. 
 
 Thit piiiii->hni(-iit wa.t a InMjn to 
 (iernrd, tor tlitii he lay on the .<<liore 
 of iMlor and iititlin); hvnt, instead of 
 in inid<Hvun. 
 
 He was jiHt dropping off, when lie 
 wn.t awaked by a n<»i'*«', and lo ! there 
 waM the hind renjorseles-nly Himkinf; 
 and waking' t'uest after i;uest to u-tk 
 him whether it wiw* he who had picked 
 up tlie mistress's feathers. 
 
 " It wa.1 I," cried Clcranl. 
 
 " n, it WBM you — was it'" iinid 
 the other, nnd came stridin;; rapidly 
 over the intennediato «leep«T». " She 
 Iwide me say, ' One pmkI tuni deser>i-s 
 another,' ami so here '.t your tii^ht- 
 cap." and he thrust a ^reat oaken 
 nm^ uiidi r (ierard's nose. 
 
 " I thank her and bless her; here 
 
 . 'W9 — u>;h ! " and his jjrntitmle eml- 
 
 • l in a wry face, for the l»eer was 
 
 muddy, nnd had a strange medicinal 
 
 twar»;; new to the Hollander. 
 
 ■■ Trinke aus ! " shouteil the hind, 
 nproaehfully. 
 
 " Know is as ctHnl as a feast," said 
 the youth, Je.-iuitically. 
 
 The hind cast a h)ok of pity on 
 this stran^jer who left liiiuor in his 
 mujj. " leh trinks eueh, ' said he, 
 ami drained it to the lM>ttom. 
 
 Ami now lieranl turned his face to 
 the wall, nnd pulled up two handfuls 
 of the nice clean straw, and bore<l in 
 them with his linf^er, and so mailo a 
 scabbard, and sheathed his nose in it. 
 And soon they were all asleep : men, 
 maids, wives, antl children, all lyinj; 
 liiu'^lody-jiigLrlody, and siiorin;; in a 
 dozen keys, like an orchestra slowly 
 tnniiif; ; nnd Gerard's iKidy lay on 
 straw in Germany, and his spirit was 
 away to Scvcnbcrgcn 
 
 When he woke in the niomin;; h$ 
 found nearly all his fellow-piL«vii;;eri 
 pjtie. One or two were waitunj fc' 
 dinner, nine o'diM-k ; it was now nix. 
 He paid the landlady her demand, 
 two pfennini;, or alK)ut an Kn;:li>.h 
 half-jHimy, ami he of the pitchfork de- 
 matideil trink;;e!d, antl. ^ettin;; a trille 
 more than u>ual, and .Hii-in^ (ierard 
 eye a founiin;; niilk|uul ho luid juAt 
 brought fnJHi the cow, hoi<<te«l it up 
 IomIiIv to his lips. " Drink jmur fdl, 
 man, ' said he, nnd, on (iemrd ofl'er- 
 inL' to jwy for the delicious draught, 
 tolit him, in bndul [uitois, that a man 
 nii;;ht swallow a .skinful of milk, or 
 A breakfast of air, without puttin;; 
 hand to |>ouch. At the door Gcrurd 
 found his t*encfiu-trcss of lust ni;;hU 
 and a hu;^e-i-hested artisan, her JiuS' 
 bnn<l. 
 
 (ierard thanked her, and, in the 
 spirit of the a^e. otVoa-d her a kreutzcr 
 for her puiltlinj;. 
 
 Hut Mie npulse<l his h:inJ (|tii«»t'v'. 
 " For what no you take me ( ' i>.iitl 
 she, ndorin^ faintly ; " wo are travel' 
 lers and strangent the same us you, 
 nnd iMtund to feel for those in lika 
 
 Then fiernrd blushed in his turn, 
 nnd stammered excuses. 
 
 The hulkin;; husliand prinned supe- 
 rior to them l>oth. 
 
 " (live the vi.xen a kiss for her pud- 
 din;.', and cry <|uits," stkid he, with nq 
 air impartial, judyedike, and Jovc- 
 likc. 
 
 Gcmnl olicvcd the lofty behest, and 
 kis.sed the wile's chei-k. "A blessine 
 >;o with you l>oth,good people !'' said 
 lie. 
 
 "An<l fiod s|)ced you, younp man ! " 
 replied the honest couple ; and with 
 that they parted, and never met again 
 in this world. 
 
 The sun had just risen ; the rain- 
 dmps on the leaves j;littercd like diu- 
 niunds. The air was fresh and bra- 
 ciii;r, and Geranl stirred south and 
 did not even remember his resolve of 
 over night. 
 
 Eight leagues he walked that day, 
 and in the afternoon canio ujwn a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 79 
 
 Tiuge building, with an enormous 
 arched gateway and a postcm by its 
 side. 
 
 " A monastery ! " 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 service sung 
 so exquisitely it seemed the choir of 
 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 moderate, had each a truckle- 
 bed, and for covering sheepskins 
 dressed with the fleece on : but, previ- 
 ously to this, a monk, stnick 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 
 tho convent and made him stay and 
 dine in the refectorj-. They also 
 pricked him a route on a slip of parch- 
 ment, 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 1 " 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 
 4* 
 
 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 ham- 
 mered on the great oak door; no 
 answer. He halloed ; no reply. After 
 a while he halloed louder, and at last 
 a little round window, or rather hole 
 in the wall, opened, a man's head pro- 
 truded cautiously, like a tortoise's 
 from its shell, and eyed Gerard stol- 
 idly, but never uttered a syllable. 
 
 " Is this an inn ? " asked Gerard, 
 with a covert sneer. 
 
 The head seemed to fall into a 
 browm study; eventually it nodded, 
 but lazily. 
 
 " Can I have entertainment hero 1 " 
 
 Again the head pondered and mded 
 by nodding, but sullenly, and seemed 
 a skull overburdened with catch-penny 
 interrogatories. 
 
 " How am I to get ^-ithin, an 't 
 please you 1 " 
 
 At this the head popped in, as if 
 the last question had shot it ; and a 
 hand popped out, pointing 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 custom- 
 ers, 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 ruf- 
 fians. 
 
 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 sol- 
 emnly in, and turned the hour-glass 
 and then was stalking out — when 
 supper would be. The grisly Gany- 
 mede counted the guests on his fin-
 
 80 
 
 THi: CLOISTER AND THK IIKAHTH. 
 
 pcrs, — " ^Vh^n I wo thrico as many 
 here »is now." (ifriinl );ri)aiie<l. 
 
 Till- ^,'ri>ly tyrant riscnti<l the ro- 
 Ullious Miiinil. •■ Inns arc not bnilt 
 for one," >aul ho ; " if ^vou can't wait 
 for the rfst, look out for another lody- 
 in^'." 
 
 (fcrard siKhitl. 
 
 At this the fH'aylK'ard frowned. 
 
 After a while eonijcinv triekled 
 steadily in, 'ill full ei;;hty jK-r.sons of 
 various conditions were con;;re;;ated, 
 and to our novice the place Ufanie a 
 cli:unlH-r of horrors ; for here the 
 inutluTs not to;,'ether and com|iared 
 rin^'wornis, an<l the tnen scra|K<l the 
 mini olV their shtH'S with their Knives, 
 and left it on the tloor, and coniU-d 
 tlii'ir ion;; hair out, innnites includ- 
 c<l, and niiulc their toilet, eonsistin;; 
 j^-nerally of a dry ruh. Water, how- 
 ever, WHS l>rou;,'ht in ewers. (Jeranl 
 j>ounced on one f>f thex-, hut at si;;ht 
 of the iii|uid contents lost his temper 
 and said to the waiter, " Wash you 
 tirst your water, and then a nmn may 
 wiish his liands withal." 
 
 " An it likes you not, seek another 
 inn ! " 
 
 ( icrard said nothinp, hut went quiet- 
 ly, and courtcou<ly U-soiiirht an ol«l 
 truvelUr to tell him how far it was to 
 the next inn. 
 
 " About four Icflfjuw" 
 
 Then (icrard appnviatod the prim 
 pleasantry of the unlH'iidinjr sire. 
 
 'That worthy now returned with an 
 armful of wood, and, counting the 
 travellers, put on a lo;; for every six, 
 l)y which act of raw justice the hot- 
 ter the room the more heat he added. 
 Poor (icrard noticed this little flaw in 
 tlie ancient man's lopic, hut carefully 
 sujiprossed every symptom of intel- 
 ligence, lest his feet should have to 
 carry his brains four lea^iics farther 
 that" night. 
 
 When perspiration and suffocation 
 were far advanced, they brought in the 
 table-cloths ; but O, so brown, so 
 dirty, and so coarse ! they seemed like 
 sacks that h;vl been worn out in airri- 
 cultiire and come down to this, or like 
 shreds from the main-sail of Bome 
 
 worn-out ship. The Hollander, who 
 had never sivn such linen, even in 
 niphtnnire, uttered a faint cry. 
 
 " What is to do > " int|uired n trav- 
 eller, (icrard (xtinted ruefully to the 
 dirty sackcloth. The other looked at 
 it with lark-lustre eye, and compnv 
 bended nautrht. 
 
 A lJ\irpundian soldier, with his ar- 
 balest at his back, came jHV|iinp over 
 (ierard's shoulder, an<l, seeing what 
 wiLs amiss, laughed so loud that tho 
 riMMn rang again, then slap|M'd him on 
 the biuk anil cried, " Courage le 
 (liable i-st mort." 
 
 Gerard stared ; he <louhted alike 
 the good tidings and their relevan- 
 cy ; but the tones were so hejirty 
 anil the arbalestrier's face, notwith- 
 standing a formidable l)eard, was so 
 gay and genial, that he smiled, and 
 after a pause saiil dryly, "II a bien 
 fait ; avec lean tt lingc du pays on 
 allait Ic noircir ii no sc rcconnaitrc 
 plus." 
 
 " Tims, tiens ! " cried the soldier, 
 "vTaqui paric le Kram/ais, |k'ii s'en 
 faut,"and lie seated himself by (icrard, 
 and in a moment was talking voliiblv 
 of war. Women, and j>illage, interlard- 
 ing his discoui-M- with curious oalhs, 
 at which ( terard drew away from him 
 more or less. 
 
 Presently in came the grisly ser- 
 vant, and countcil them all on his fin- 
 gers su|H-n-iliously, like Abraham tell- 
 ing sheej), then went out again and 
 returned with a deal trencher and 
 deal sjxHin 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 bre^id apiece, and exit with 
 an injured air. Exj)ectatiiin thus 
 raised, the guests sat for nearly an 
 hour balancing the wooden spoons, 
 and with their own knives whittling 
 the bread. Eventually, when ho{)C 
 was extinct, patience worn out, and 
 hunger exhausted, a huge vessel was 
 brought in with pomp, the lid was re- 
 moved, a cloud of steam rolled forth, 
 and behold some thin broth with
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 81 
 
 square pieces of bread floating. Tliis, 
 though not agreeable to the mind, 
 served to distend the body. Slices of 
 Strasbourg ham followed, and pieces 
 of salt fish, both so liighly salted that 
 Gerard could hardly swallow a mouth- 
 ful. 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 pikestaif of the good centurion, 
 the natives had outwitted him. Then 
 turning to Grerard, he said, " Courage, 
 I'ami, le diable est mort," as loudly 
 as before, but not witti the same tone 
 of conviction. The canny natives had 
 kept an internal corner for contingen- 
 cies, 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 numer- 
 ous vermin. When the cheese Avas 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 or- 
 gan of self-torture. He recoiled with 
 a loud ejaculation, and hung to the 
 bench by the calves of his legs. 
 
 " What is the matter 1 " said a trav- 
 eller, disdainfully. " Docs the good 
 cheese scare ye? Then put it hither, 
 in the name of all the saints ! " 
 
 " Cheese !" cried Gerard. "I see 
 none. These naitseous reptiles have 
 made awav 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 swallowing these uncleanly 
 insects." 
 
 Gerard raised his voice in uttering 
 this, and the 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 Gallicize the discussion. 
 He patted his interpreter on the back. 
 " C'est bien, mon gars ; plus fin que 
 toi n'est pas bete," and administered 
 his formula of encouragement ; and 
 Gerard edged away from him, for 
 next to ugly sights and ill odors the 
 poor wretch disliked profaneness. 
 
 Meantime, though shaken in argu- 
 ment, 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 " garausses " all round, and 
 their tongues were unloosed, and O 
 the Babel ! But above the fierce 
 clamor rose at inten-als, like some 
 hero's war-cry in l)attle, the trumpet- 
 like voice of the Burgundian soldier 
 shouting lustily, " Courage, cama- 
 rades, Ic diable est mort ! " 
 
 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 of 
 Styx waiting for his boat-load of souls. 
 Then pouches and purses were rum- 
 maged, and each threw a coin into the 
 dish. Gerard timidh' observed that 
 he had drunk next to no beer, and in- 
 quired how much less he was to pay 
 than the others. 
 
 "What mean you?" said Gany- 
 mede, roughly. " Whose fault is it you 
 have not drunken ? Are all to suffer 
 because one chooses to be a milksop 1 
 You will pay no more than the rest 
 and no less." 
 
 Gerard was abashed.
 
 82 
 
 THK CLOISTEK ANI> THE IlKAKTH. 
 
 Conrafje, j>ot;t, le (liable est mort," 
 (i;inviiK'<lo a foiii, 
 
 hircoii''lic(l 
 
 ,T>ot;t, 
 tiio s 
 
 suldicr, and Hung 
 
 " You are as liatl as he is," said the 
 old man, pccvislily, " yuu arc payinj; 
 too niiuh " ; and the tyramiiial old 
 Aristidis returned him some coin out 
 of tlie trenclier with a most reproadi- 
 ful conntcnance. And now the man 
 wliom (iiranl liad confuted an inuir 
 anil a lialf a;,'o awoke from a i)rown 
 study, in whieh he had been ever sinec. 
 ami camo to him and said, " Yes; but 
 the honey is none the worse for pnss- 
 in;,' tlirou;;h the Ixes' bellies." 
 
 Gerard staretl. The answer had 
 been so lon^' on tlie road he hadn't 
 an iilea what it was an answer to. 
 Scein;,' him ilumfoundered, tlie other 
 coneluded him eonfuted, and with- 
 drew ealmed. 
 
 The i>edrooms were up-stjiirs dun- 
 geons with not ft serap of furniture 
 except the bed, and a male servant 
 settled inexorably who should sleep 
 with whom. Neither money nor 
 jirayers would get a man a bed to 
 himself here ; custom forbade it stern- 
 ly. You mi;;ht as wi'll have asked to 
 iiioMopoli/e a see-saw. They assifjned 
 to (icrard a man with a great black 
 beard. Ho was an honest fellow 
 enough, but not perfect ; he >vould 
 ttot go to l)ed, an<l would sit on the 
 ed;re of it, telling the wretched Gerard 
 by force and at lcn;;th the events of 
 the day, anil alternately laughing and 
 crying at the same circumstances, 
 wiiich were not in the smallest degree 
 pathetic or humorous, but only dead 
 trivial. At last Gerard put his fin- 
 gers 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 that his drunk- 
 en 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 l\ist me- 
 chanically. Gerard tried to twitch it 
 
 away by Burprise, but instinct was 
 too many for him. On thi.s he got 
 out of bed, and, kneeling down on liis 
 l)edfellow's unguarded side, easily 
 whipiK'd the jui/e away, and rolled 
 with it under the l)ed, and there lay 
 on one edge of it, and curled the rest 
 round his shuuldeis. Ucfore he slept, 
 he often heard something grumbling 
 and growling aliorc him, which was 
 some little satisfaction. Thus Instinct 
 was outwitted, and victorious Reason 
 lay chuckling on feathers, and not 
 quite choked with dust. 
 
 At jxTj) of day Gerard rose, flung 
 the feather bed upon his snoring com- 
 |)anion, and ^vcnt 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 
 dog's lair," answered (ierard, crossly. 
 
 " Courage, I'nmi ! le diable est 
 mort," 'wa.s the instant reply. The 
 .soldier then told him his name was 
 Denys, and he was passing from 
 Flushing in Zealand to the duke's 
 Fremh dominions, a change the more 
 agreeable to him as he should revisit 
 his native jdace and a host of pretty 
 girls who hail wept at his departure, 
 and should hear French spoken again. 
 " And who arc you, and whither 
 bound ? " 
 
 " >[y name is Gerard, and I am go- 
 ing to Home," said the more reserved 
 Hollander, and in a way that invited 
 no further confidences. 
 
 " All the better ; we will go to- 
 gether as far as Burgimdy." 
 
 " That is not my road." 
 
 " All roads take to Home." 
 
 " 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 rae, 
 and thou speakest French, or nearly." 
 
 " There go two words to that bar- 
 gain," said Gerard, coldly. " I steer 
 by proverbs too. They do put old 
 heads on young men's shoulders. 
 'Bon loup mauvais compagnon, dit lo
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 83 
 
 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.' 
 
 " Let us drop wolves and sheep, be- 
 ing men ; my meaning is, that a good 
 soldier never pillages — a comrade. 
 Come, young man, too much suspi- 
 cion becomes not your years. They 
 who travel should learu to read faces ; 
 methinks you might see Icalty 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 imdid his belt, and 
 poured out of it a double handful of 
 gold pieces, then returned them to 
 their hiding-place. " There is a host- 
 age for you," said he; "carry you 
 that, and let us be comrades," and 
 handed him his belt, gold and all. 
 
 Gerard stared. " If I am over-pru- 
 dent, you have not enow." But he 
 flushed and looked pleased at the oth- 
 er's trust in him. 
 
 " Bah ! I can read faces ; and so 
 must you, or you '11 never take your 
 four bones safe to Eome." 
 
 " Soldier, you would find me a dull 
 companion, for my heart is very 
 heavy," said Gerard, yielding. 
 
 " I '11 cheer you, mon gars." 
 
 " I think yon would," said Gerard, 
 sweetly ; " and sore need have I of a 
 kindly voice in mine ear this day." 
 
 " 0, no soul is sad alongside me. 
 I lifj; 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 to- 
 gether as far as Rhine, and God go 
 with us both ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " said Denys, and lifted 
 his cap. " En avant ! " 
 
 The pair trudged manfully on, and 
 Denys enlivened the weary way. He 
 chattered about battles and sieges, and 
 things which were new to Gerard; 
 and he was one of those who make lit- 
 
 tle incidents wherever they go. Ho 
 passed nobody without addressing 
 him. " They don't understand 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 dofled 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 nuttters : and, at each carrion 
 crow or magpie, down came his cross- 
 bow, and he would go a furlong off 
 the road to circumvent it ; and indeed 
 he did shoot one old crow with lauda- 
 ble neatness and despatch, and carried 
 it to the nearest hen-roost, and there 
 slipped in and set it upon a nest. 
 " The goodwife will say, ' Alack, here 
 is Beelzebub a hatching of my eggs.' " 
 
 "No, you forget, he is dead," ob- 
 jected Gerard. 
 
 " So he is, so he is. But she does n'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 enter- 
 tainment. They searched for it, and 
 found a small house Avith barn and 
 stables. In the former was the ever- 
 lasting stove, 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 travellers ; we only provide 
 lodging, good lodging for man and 
 beast. You can have some beer." 
 
 "Madman who, born in Holland, 
 sought other lands ! " snorted Gerard, 
 in Dutch. The landlady started. 
 
 "What gibberish is that?" asked 
 she, and crossed herself with looks of 
 siiperstitioxis alarm. " You can buy 
 what you like in the village, and cook
 
 84 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TlIK llKAUTir. 
 
 it in our oven ; Imt, prithee, mutter no I 
 eliarms nor .Kori-t-rifs here, (;o<nl man ; 
 don't ye, now, it do niiike my Ihsh 
 ereeit so." \ 
 
 They seuiired the viliajre for AkhI, | 
 and ended hy snppinf^on roiisted ejrjr^ 
 and brown lirt^d. 
 
 At a very early hour their eham- 
 iHTinaid eamc for them. It was a 
 rosy-<-iieeked oKl fellow with a lan- 
 teni. 
 
 They followed him. He led them 
 across a dirty ("arm-yanl, where they 
 had much ado to piek their stejis, and 
 l>riiui;lit them into a cow-lionse. 
 'I'liere, on eaeh side of'^Pery cow, 
 was laid a little clean fMnnw, ami a 
 tied hiiudle ot' ditto for a pillow. 
 The old man looked down on this 
 !iis work with paternal pri«lc. Not 
 so Gerard. What, do yon Ret Chris- 
 tian men to lie amon;^ cattle ? " 
 
 *■ Well, it ii hard upon the poor 
 Ixa-st-s. They have scarce room to 
 turn." 
 
 "Oh! what, it is not hard on us 
 then 1 " 
 
 " Where is the hardship ? I have 
 lain ainon;; them all my life. Ix>ok 
 at me ! I am fotirseore, and nc\er 
 had a headache in all my liorn days, 
 
 — all alon;,' of lyiii;: anion;; the kye. 
 Bless your silly head, kiiic's breath is 
 ten times sweeter to drink nor Chris- 
 tians'. Yon try it ! " and he slammed 
 the l)edro<jm door. 
 
 " Denys, wlure are you ? " whined 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Here, on her other side." 
 
 " What are you doinp ? " 
 
 " I know not. But, as near as I 
 can ;;ucss. I think I must be going to 
 slecj). What are you at ? " 
 
 " I am sayin^r niy prayers." 
 
 " Forget me not in them ! " 
 
 " Is it likely ? Dcnys, 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." 
 
 "Dcnys!" , 
 
 " Augh ! eh ! hallo I is it time to 
 get tip : " 
 
 •' Alack, no. There, I hurried my 
 ori.s(jns to talk ; and look at vou, go- 
 ing to sleep! Wtr shall be stJir\cd 
 before morning, having no cover- 
 lets." 
 
 " Well, you know what to do." 
 
 "Not I, in sooth." 
 
 *' Cmldle the cow." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 " Burrow in the straw then. You 
 must be very new to the world to 
 grumble at this. How would you 
 iK'ar to lie on the field of battle on a 
 frosty night, as I did t'other day, 
 stark naked, with nothitig to kecf> me 
 warm but the carciuss of a fellow I 
 had Im-cii and lielj>ed kill ? " 
 
 "Horrible! horrible! Tell me all 
 about it ! O, but this is sweet." 
 
 " Well, we had a little battle in 
 Brabant, and won a little victory, but 
 it cost us dear ; several iirbalestriers 
 turned their toes up, and 1 among 
 them." 
 
 " Killed, Dcnys ? come, now ! " 
 
 " Dead as mutton. Stuck full of 
 pike-holes till the blood ran out of 
 me, like the good wine of Mi'icon 
 from the trodden grapes. It is right 
 bountious in me to jiour the tale in 
 minstrel phrase, for — augh — I am 
 sleepy. Augh — now where was I '. " 
 
 " fvcft dead on the field of battle, 
 bleeding like a pig ; that is to say, 
 like grai)es, or something ; go on, pri- 
 thee go on, 'tis a sin to sleej) in iho 
 midst of a good story." 
 
 " Granted. Well, some of those 
 vagabonds that strip the dead soldier 
 on the field of glory came and took 
 ever)' rag off mc ; they wrought me 
 no further ill, because there was no 
 need." 
 
 " No : yon were dead." 
 
 " C'est convcnu. This mnst 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?"
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 85 
 
 asked Gerard, eagerly, being a youth 
 inoculated with monkish tales. 
 
 " Too frost-bitten for that, mon 
 gars; 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 hugging 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, ' Dulcc bcUum inex- 
 pertis.' " 
 
 " Tu dis ? " 
 
 " I say, — O what stout hearts 
 some men have ! " 
 
 " N 'est-ce pas, p'tit 1 So after 
 that sort — thing, — this sort thing 
 is heaven. Soft — warm — good com- 
 pany comradancow — cou'age — dia- 
 ble — m — ornk ! " 
 
 And the glib tongue was still for 
 some hours. 
 
 In the morning Gerard was awak- 
 ened by a liquid hitting his eye, and 
 it was Denys employing the cow's 
 udder as a squirt. 
 
 "O 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 camarade was not nice ; but 
 what then ? true friendship dispenses 
 with ceremony. To-day we make as 
 free with her." 
 
 "Wliy, what did she do, poor 
 thing?" 
 
 "Ate my pillow." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" 
 
 " On waking I had to hunt for mv 
 
 head, and found it do^vn in the stable 
 gutter. She ate our pillow from us, 
 wc drink our pillow from her. A 
 votre sante', madame; et sans ran- 
 cune " ; and the dog drank her to her 
 own health. 
 
 " The ancient was right, though," 
 said Gei'ard. " 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 Chris- 
 tians, let alone the garlic which men 
 and women folk affect, but cowen ab- 
 hor 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-favored one neither." 
 
 These three towns proved types, and 
 repeated themselves with slight varia- 
 tions for many a weary league ; but, 
 even when he could get neither a con- 
 vent nor a cow-house, Gerard learned 
 in time to steel himself to the inevi- 
 table, and to emulate I. is comrade, 
 whom he looked on as almost super- 
 human for hardihood of body and 
 spirit. 
 
 There was, however, a balance to 
 all this veneration. 
 
 Denys, like his predecessor Achil- 
 les, 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 farthin- 
 gale, and his whole soul became oc- 
 cupied with that garment and its in- 
 mate till they had disappeared; and 
 sometimes for a good while after. 
 
 He often put Gerard to the blush by 
 talking his amazing German to such fe- 
 males as he caught standing or sitting 
 in doors 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. 
 T)ie invariable effect of which was,
 
 86 
 
 Tin: CLOISTER AND THK UKARTH. 
 
 that she Riulilonly drew herself up 
 (piite stiff, like a soldii-r on parade, 
 B.ii'1 wore a fi>rl»ii|iliii;; CDUTiti'iiiiiiee. 
 
 '• They drive iiic to desjiair," says 
 Denys. " Ls that u just return to a 
 civil hnnnetjide i They are larjje, 
 thi-y are fair, hut slii|iid as swans." 
 
 " What hrei'dini' ean you exiK-et 
 from women that wear no liose, " 
 inquired (ierard, " and some of them 
 no shoon ? They sit-m to mo re- 
 jk-rved on<l modest, as iKromi-s their 
 sex ; and soU-r, whereas the men an- 
 little U-tterthan iKer-harn-ls. Would 
 vou have them hra/en a.s well as liose- 
 less I " 
 
 " A little nffahility adorns even 
 iK-autv," sighed Denys. 
 
 " 'I'hen let them alone, sith they 
 are not to your taste," retorteil (Ji"- 
 rard. " What, is tlnre no swirt faee 
 in nur;:\indy that would ]iaie to see 
 you so wra]ipid uj) in straufje wt>- 
 nuii ' " 
 
 " Half a dozen that would crj' 
 thiir eves <iut." 
 
 " W'l-ll. then ! " 
 
 " liut it ii u long way to Burpun- 
 <ly." 
 
 " Ay, to the foot, luit not to tlu* 
 heart. I am tlurr, sleepinj,' and 
 wakin;:, and almnst iviry minute of 
 tlie day." 
 
 " In Hurpundy ' Why, I thought 
 you hatl never — " 
 
 •' In Burgundy ? " cric<l Gernrd, 
 contemjituously. " No, in sweet 
 SevenlR-rgcn. Ah ! wtll-a-day ! well- 
 a day ! " 
 
 Many sueh dialogues as this pa.ssed 
 between the pair on the long and 
 weary road, and neither could change 
 the otlier. 
 
 One day about noon they reached 
 a town of some pretensions, and (Ie- 
 rard wius glad, for he wanted to buy 
 a i)air of shoes ; his own were quite 
 worn out. They soon found a shop 
 that displayed a goodly array, and 
 niaile up to it, and wotilil have entered 
 it, but the shopkeejKr sat on the 
 doorstep taking a n:i|). anil was so fat 
 as to block up the narrow doorway ; 
 the verj- light cuuld hardly struggle 
 
 [last his " too, too solid flesh,' ' murl) 
 e.ss a carnal customer. 
 
 My fair readers, accustomed, when 
 thfv go shopping, to l>e met half-way 
 with no«ls and In'cks and wreathed 
 smiles, and waved into a keat, wliilc 
 almost at the same in.^tant an ea;:er 
 sluipman llings himself half acro-s 
 the counter in a seniicirfle t<i learn 
 their commands, ean l»est appreciate 
 this inediieval Teuton, who kept a 
 shop as a dog keeps a kcniud, and 
 sat, at the exclusion of custom, snor- 
 ing like a pig. 
 
 Denys and (icrnrd st»Hxl and con- 
 templated this curiosity ; cmldem, 
 IK^'rmit me to remark, of the lets and 
 lindranees to commerce that charuc- 
 teri/.ed his ep<K-h. 
 " .lump over hin> ! " 
 " The diMir is too low." 
 " March through hin> ! " 
 " The man is too thick." 
 " What is the coil '. " in(|uired a 
 mumbling voice from the interior, — 
 apprentice with his mouth full. 
 " We want to get into your shop." 
 " What for, in Heaven's 
 nunu- !!]]]" 
 
 " ShtM)n ; lazy-bones ! " 
 The ire of the apprentice l)egan to 
 rise at such an explanation. " And 
 could ye fmd no hour out of all tho 
 twelve to come pestering us for shoon, 
 but the one little, little hour my mas- 
 ter takes his nap, and I sit down to 
 my dinner, when all the rest of tho 
 world is fidl long ago t " 
 
 Denys heard, but could not follow 
 the sen.se. " Waste no more time in 
 talking their (ierman giblMjrish," sai«l 
 he : " take out thy tnife and tickle 
 his fat ribs." 
 
 " That will I not," said Gerard. 
 " Then here goes ; I '11 prong him 
 with this." 
 
 Gerard seized the mad fellow's arm 
 in dismay, for he had been long 
 enough in tlie country to guess that 
 the whole town would take part in 
 any brawl with the native against a 
 stninger. But Denys twisted away 
 from him, and the cross-lrow IkjU in 
 bis hand was actually on the road to
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 87 
 
 the sleeper's ribs, but at that very 
 moment two females crossed the road 
 towards liim ; he saw the blissful vis- 
 ion, and instantly forgot what he was 
 about, and awaited the approach with 
 unreasonable joy. 
 
 Though companions they were not 
 equals, except in attractiveness to a 
 Burgundian cross-bow-man ; for one 
 W:is very tall, the other short, and, by 
 one of those anomalies which socie- 
 ty, however primitive, speedily estab- 
 lishes, the long one held up the little 
 one's tail. The tall one wore a plain 
 linen coif on her head, a little grogi'am 
 cloak over her shoulders, agraykirtle, 
 and a short fartliingale, 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 be- 
 furred, were open at the inside of the 
 «lbo\v, and so the arm passed through 
 and left them dangling. Velvet head- 
 dress, huge purse at girtlle, 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 
 shoemaker's shop. Denys louted low ; 
 the worshipful lady nodded gracious- 
 ly, but rapidly, having business on 
 hand, or rather on foot ; for in a mo- 
 ment 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 
 neighbor's shop, the tailor's, and, sit- 
 ting on the step, protected it from 
 the impertinence of morning calls. 
 Neighbors should be neighborly. 
 
 Denys and Gerard followed the 
 
 dignity into the shop, where sat the 
 apprentice at dinner; the maid stood 
 outside ^vith her insteps crossed, lean- 
 ing 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 appren- 
 tice stood stock-still, neutralized by 
 his dinner and his duty, Denys sprang 
 at the shoes, and brought them to her ; 
 she smiled, and, calmly seating her- 
 self, proti'uded 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. Finding she 
 had a willing victim, she abused the 
 opportunity, tried first one pair, then 
 another, then the first again, and so 
 on, balancing and hesitating 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 colored shoes ! " 
 said he, as they disappeared in the 
 girl's apron. 
 
 The lady departed. Gerard fitted 
 himself with a stout paii", asked the 
 price, paid it without a word, and 
 gave his old ones to a beggar in the 
 street, who blessed him in the mai'ket- 
 place, and threw them furiously down 
 a well in the suburbs. The comrades 
 left the shop, and in it two melan- 
 choly men, that looked, and even 
 talked, as if they had been robbed 
 wholesale. 
 
 " My shoon are sore worn," snid 
 Denys, grinding his teeth ; " but I '11 
 go barefoot till I reach France ere I '11 
 leave my money with such churls as 
 these." 
 
 The Dutchman replied, calmly, 
 " They seem indifferently well sewn." 
 
 As they drew near the Rhine, they 
 passed through forest after forest, and
 
 88 
 
 TIIK CI.OISTFH ANI> THK IIKAIMII. 
 
 novr for the first time uply woitls* ; 
 bounilifl in truvcIliTs' mouiiu, Fcateil 
 aniuiid stovfs. " Thicvca ! " " bluck 
 ^.'iui^'s ! " " cutthront-t ! " etr. 
 
 'I'lii- MTV rustics wvTv said tt> Iiuvr 
 a custom hi-rt-aliuut/i of munliTiiij,' 
 tlic ;niwi»ry iruvi-llcr in tliosc ^looniv 
 >viM>ils, wli(»Sf (larlc and devious wind- 
 inir* enuhled those who were f.tniiliar 
 with them to do di-eds of rapine and 
 IdiMMl undetirted, or, if detected, easily 
 to haille pUTMuit. 
 
 ( "erUiin it wa.s. thatevery clown they 
 met carried, whether for oHenec or 
 difiiue, a most fonnidahle weajKin : 
 a ii;,'ht axe with a short pike at tlie 
 head, and a lonj;, slemler handle of 
 ash or yew, well Rcasonctl. These 
 the natives could all throw with sin- 
 gular ]irecision, so as to make (h<< i>oint 
 strike an ohjivt at several yards dis- 
 tance, or could slay a liulltM-k at hanil 
 with a stroke of the Made. (Wrard 
 lK)ti;jIit one and practised with it. 
 Dcnys quietly filed and j:round his 
 liolts sharp, whi-.tlinK the whilst ; and, 
 when they entered a i;loomy wwmI, 
 he woulil unslin;; his cross-lKJW and 
 carrv it reaily for action ; hut not so 
 much like a tniveller tearing; an at- 
 tack as a s|H)rtsnian watchful not to 
 miss a snap-shot. 
 
 One day, hein;; in a fon*<t a few 
 loai;ues from Dusseldorf. as Gerard 
 WiLs walking like one in a dri'am, 
 tliiukiii;; of Mar;:arct, and .scarce see- 
 ing: the roail he tnxl, his ci^mpaniun 
 laid a hand on his shoulder, ami 
 strunj; his cross-l>ow with ;;littcrinjj 
 eye. " Hush ! " said he, in a low 
 whisjxT, that surtled (ierard more 
 th:in thunder, (icranl ;:r.»sped his 
 axe tii;l»t, and sho-ik a little; he 
 heanl a rustlin;: in the wood hard hy, 
 and at the same moment Denys 
 sprani: into the wood, and his cross- 
 Itow went to his shoulder even as he 
 jumped. Twanir ! went the metal 
 string' ; and after an instant'.s susj)ense 
 he n):>rod, " Hun forward, truard the 
 road ; he is hit ! he is hit ! " 
 
 Cierard darted fonvard, and, as he 
 ran, a young bear burst out of the 
 wood right upon him ; finding itself 
 
 intercepted, it went up on its hind 
 legs ^vith a itnarl, ami, thougli not half 
 grown, ojK:ne<l formiilahU- jaw« and 
 long claws. Gerard, in a fury of ex- 
 citement and agitation. Hung him»elf 
 on it, and ddiveretl a tremendous 
 Mow on its nose with his axe, and the 
 creature staggm-d ; anolhi-r. and it 
 lay grovelling, with (ierard hacking it. 
 "Hallo! ston! you are mad to 
 s|M)il the meat.' 
 
 ■' I took it for ft robU-r," Boid Ge- 
 rard, punting '■ I nu-an I had made 
 really for a robl>er, so 1 could not hold 
 my hand." 
 
 "" Ay, these chattering travellers 
 
 I have siutVed your head full of thieves 
 
 I and a.ssassins ; they have not got n 
 
 real live robl>er in ihcir whole nation. 
 
 Nay, I '11 carrv tin- Uast ; In-ar thou 
 
 ' my cross-Uiw. 
 
 '" We will carry it by tnnjs, then," 
 .saiil (JeranI, " for 't is a heavy load. 
 I'lxir thing, how its WwmI «lrips! Why 
 did we slay it ? " 
 
 " For supjier, and the n*ward the 
 
 baillieof the next town shall give us." 
 
 " And for that it mu-t die, when it 
 
 had but just Ingun to live ; and jht- 
 
 I chance it hath a mother that will miss 
 
 I it sore this night, and loves it as ours 
 
 I loves us ; nion' than mine doi-s me." 
 
 I " What, know ycm not that his 
 
 mother was caught in a pitfall last 
 
 I month, and her skin is now at the 
 
 tanner's ? and his father was stuck 
 
 I full of cloth-yard shafts t'other day, 
 
 I and died like Julius Ca-sar, with his 
 
 I hands folded on his lH>som and a 
 
 i dca<l dog in each of them ? " 
 
 I But Gerard would not view it jest- 
 
 I inirly. " Why, tiici^" said he, " wo 
 
 , have killed one of God's creatures, 
 
 I that w as all alone in the world, — as I 
 
 i am this day in this strange land." 
 
 '* You young inilk.sop," roared 
 
 Denys, " these things mu.st not be 
 
 looked at so, or not another bow 
 
 woidd be drawn nor qnaml fly in 
 
 forest nor battle-field. Why, one of 
 
 voiir 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 ne\ef
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 89 
 
 wouldst thoit reach the Alps in a 
 whole skin. I take thee to Ilemire- 
 mont, my native place, and there I 
 marry thee to my young sister ; she is 
 blooming as a peach. Thou shakest 
 thy head ? ah ! I forgot ; thou lovest 
 elsewhere, and art a one-woman man, 
 a creature to me scarce conceivable. 
 Well, then, I shall find thee not a 
 wife, nor a leman, but a friend, some 
 honest Burgundian 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 
 ivords, and make thee their duke in 
 a twinkling." 
 
 Gerard sighed : " In sooth, I love 
 not to think of this Dusseldorf, 
 where we are to part company, good 
 friend." 
 
 They walked silently, each think- 
 ing 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, slyly. 
 
 " 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 surprised him ; the 
 short but thick steel bow jarred liim 
 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 driving out the long-bow, ■ — to 
 Martin's much discontent." 
 
 " Ay, lad," said Denys, triumphant- 
 ly, " it gains ground every day, in 
 spite of their laws and their procla- 
 mations to keep up the yewen bow, 
 because, forsooth, their grandsires 
 shot with it, knowing no better. You 
 sec, Gerard, war is not pastime. 
 Men will shoot at their enemies with 
 the hittingcst arm and the killingest, 
 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 Goliah and tho 
 Seven Champions." 
 
 " Fooh ! pooh ! " said Denys, 
 warmly, "petrone nor harquebuss 
 shall ever put down Sir 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 fumbling 
 for the field of battle ; there a sol- 
 dier'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, rush- 
 ing softly over the dead leaves. He 
 turned round with some little curios- 
 ity. 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 ! " he cried. " O God ! 
 Denys ! " 
 
 Denys whirled round. 
 
 It was a bear as big as a cart- 
 horse. 
 
 It was tearing along with its huge 
 head down, iiinning on a hot scent. 
 
 The very moment he saw it, Denys 
 said in a sickening whisner : — 
 
 "THE CUB!" 
 
 O the concentrated horror of 
 that one word, whispered hoarsely, 
 with dilating eyes ! For in that
 
 90 
 
 THK CLOISTKU AND TIIK HF.AHTH. 
 
 Fvllahlc it nil Husliod U[)oii thi-m iKitli, 
 iiki' a siKJilcii stroke of li;^litniii;; in 
 the (lark, — till.' bloody trail, the innr- 
 dtnil luli, the mother ujtoii them, 
 and it. DKATH. 
 
 All this in a moment of time. 
 The next she saw them. IIupc as 
 .she was, »\w ."ieemed to douhle herself 
 (it wiLs her Ion;: hair hristlint; with 
 ru^'e) ; .she raised her head hi^ lus a 
 hull's, her swine-shn[)ed jaws ojK'iied 
 wide at thoni, her eve.s ttinied to 
 liliHid and tiame, and she ruslie<l u]H)n 
 them, seatlerin^ the leaveii about her 
 like a whirlwind a.s she eame. 
 
 " .*sh«Jot ! " storeamed Denv.s, but 
 (ienird stood shakin^^ from head to 
 foot, ii.seless. 
 
 " Shoot, mnn ! ten thousand devils, 
 slioot ! tcjo late ! Tree ! tri-e ! " and 
 he dro[)|M.-d the euh, pushed fierard 
 aiToss the road, nnd tlew to the Hrst 
 tree and elind>ed it; (ierard the same 
 on his side ; and, as they tied, lioth 
 men uttered inhuman howls, like .sav- 
 a;;e ereatures j^ra/ed l»y death. 
 
 Wich all their sj»«.-ed one or 
 other would have l)een torn to frag- 
 ments at the foot of his tree, but 
 the U-ar stopjad a moment at the 
 cub 
 
 Without taking her blmidshot eyes 
 oft" those she was hunting', she smelt 
 it all round, ai\d found, how her 
 Creator only knows, that it wius dead, 
 quite dead. She gave a yell such as 
 neither of the hunted ones had ever 
 heard, nor dreameii to \)C in nature, 
 anil flew after Denys. She reared 
 and stnuk at him as he elimbed. lie 
 was just out of reaeh. 
 
 Instantly she seized the tree, and 
 with her huge teeth tore a great pieee 
 out of it with a crash. Then she 
 roaretl again, dug her claws deep into 
 the bark, and liegan to mount it 
 slowly, but as surely as a monkey. 
 
 Denys's evil star liatl led him to a 
 dead tree, a mere shaft, and of no 
 very great height- He elimbed faster 
 than his pursuer, and was soon at the 
 top. He looked this way and that 
 for some bough of another tree to 
 ipring to. There was none ; and, if 
 
 he jumjicd down, he knew the Ytetf 
 woulil Ik' uiMm hint ere he eonld re- 
 er»\er the tall, and make short work 
 of him. Miire<»ver, Denys was little 
 used to turning his back on danger, 
 and his blood wits rising at bein^ 
 hunted. He turned to bay. 
 
 " My hour is come," thought he. 
 " Ixt me me-et death like a man." 
 He kneele<l down nnd gras|>*'(| a small 
 shcM)t to steady himself, drew his 
 long knite, and, elenehing his teeth, 
 prepared to job ihe huge brute ns 
 soon as it should mount within 
 reach. 
 
 Of this combat the result was not 
 doubtful. 
 
 The monster's head an<l nwk wa.*f 
 s<aree vulnerable for lK)ne and masses 
 of huir. The man was going to 
 sting the b«>ar, and the iKitr to cnurk 
 the man like a nut. 
 
 (lerard's hciirt wius In-tter than his 
 nerves. -He saw his friend's mortal 
 danger, and passi-d at onee from fear 
 to blin<lish ragt\ He slipjK'd ilown 
 his tree in a moment, caught up the 
 cross-bow which he had drop|Md in 
 the road, nnd, running furiously up, 
 sent a lK)lt into the liear's l>ody with 
 a loud shout. The la-ar gave a snarl 
 of rage and pain, and turned its head 
 irn.'solutely. 
 
 "Keep aloof!" cried Denys, "or 
 you are a dead man." 
 
 " I care not," and in a moment he 
 had another Itolt nady and shot it 
 fiercely into the l>ear, screaming, 
 " Take that ! take that ! " 
 
 Denys jHJured n volley of oaths 
 down at him. " Get away, idiot ! " 
 
 He was right : the bear, finding .«o 
 formidable and noisy a foe behind 
 him, slipped growling down the tree, 
 rending deep furrows in it as she 
 slipped, (ierard ran back to his tree 
 ami climbed it swiftly. But, while Iiis 
 legs were dangling some eight feet 
 from the ground, the bear came rear- 
 ing and struck with her fore paw, and 
 out Hew a piece of bloody cloth from 
 Gerard's hose. He climl)cd and 
 climbed ; and presently lie liwinl, Jis it 
 were in the air, a voice say, " Go oul
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 9] 
 
 on the bough ! " He looked, and 
 there was a long, massive branch be- 
 fore him, shooting upwards at a shght 
 angle ; he threw his body across it, 
 and by a series of con-vnilsive 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 the 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 hor- 
 rible form. His hair bristled. The 
 sweat poured from him. He sat 
 helpless, fascinated, tongue-tied. 
 
 As the fearful monster crawled 
 growling towards him, incongruous 
 thoughts coursed through his mind. 
 Margaret, — the Vulgate, where it 
 speaks of the rage of a she-bear robbed 
 of her whelps, — Rome, — Eternity. 
 
 The bear crawled on. And now 
 the stupor of death fell on the doomed 
 man ; he saw the opened 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 
 llie cross-bow twanged, and the next 
 moment the bear was close upon Ge- 
 rard, 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 Ge- 
 rard as from a pump. The bough 
 rocked. The wounded monster was 
 reeling ; it clung, it stuck its sick- 
 les of claws deep into the wood; 
 it toppled ; its claws held tirm, 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 convulsive ef- 
 fort she raised her head up, up, till 
 he felt her hot, fetid breath. Then 
 huge teeth snapped together loudly 
 close below him in the air, with a last 
 effort of baffled hate. The ponder- 
 ous 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 head- 
 long from the perilous height. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Dents 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 d\ing bear, on whose hairy 
 carcass his head and shoulders de- 
 scended. Denys tore him off her. 
 It was needless. She panted still, 
 and her limbs quivered, but a hare 
 was not so harmless ; 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 all around him, rolled 
 away, yelling. 
 
 " "Courage," cried Denys, " le diable 
 est mort." 
 
 " Is it dead ? quite dead ? " inquired 
 Gerard from behind a tree; for his 
 courage was feverish, and the cold fit
 
 92 
 
 TIIK CLOIMKi; AM) 1111. HI.AKIH. 
 
 was upon liim just now, nnil had 
 li.rn fur M>riu' tiinc. 
 
 " Ikliolil," .siiid Dirnys, and pulled 
 the lirute's car pliiyfullv, und opt-ni-d 
 liiT jiiws and put in his head, with 
 otliir insultin;; unties, in the midst 
 ol wlii<h (.nrard was violently sick. 
 
 Deiiys laughed at him. 
 
 " What is the matter now ? " snid 
 he ; " also why tumble otl your rierdi 
 just when we had won the day ? ' 
 
 '• I s\v(H)iied, I trow." 
 
 •' But why t " 
 
 Not reeeivinjj nn answer, lie con- 
 tiinird, " Green i;irls faint us ymm 
 1L^ liMtk at you, liut tlnn they eh.x^se 
 time and phue. What wuman tver 
 faiiiteil up a tree ? " 
 
 " Sht; sent her nasty blou<\ all over 
 inc. I think the smell muit have 
 overjKjwered me. I'augh ! I hate 
 hlooil." 
 
 " I do liclievo it jiotcntly." 
 
 " 8eo what u ines.s she hua made 
 me ! " 
 
 " But with her blotMl, not youm. I 
 pity the enemy that strives to satisfy 
 \ou." 
 
 " You need not to hruL', Maitn- 
 Denys ; I saw you uiuler the tree, the 
 eolor of your shirt." 
 
 " lift us distin;:uish," said Denvs, 
 rf)lorin^ ; " it is jK-rmitted to trenihle 
 /nr II I'rii'tiii." 
 
 (itninl, for answer, tiling hi.s arms 
 round Denvs's neek in silence. 
 
 •• Look licre," whined the stout 
 .'ioldiiT, artWted hy this little f^ish of 
 nature ami youth, " was evcrau;;ht so 
 like a wonuin ? I love thee, little 
 milkso|), ^o to. Goo<l ! Ik-IioUI him 
 on his knees now. What new ca- 
 price is this 7 " 
 
 " O Denys, ouf^ht we not to rc- 
 Mvn thanks to Him who has saved 
 lv>th our lives a;,'ainst such fearful 
 odds '. " And Gerard kneeleil and 
 prayeil aloud. And presently he 
 ♦ound Denys kiieelinjr quiet lx;side 
 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 beam- 
 
 " (irMxl Denys," said he, " IleuTcQ 
 will rewaril thy piety." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! 1 did it out of |>oliie- 
 ness," said the Frenchman. " It 
 was to please tliee, little one. Cost 
 e^al ; 't was well and orderly praveil, 
 and ediliej mo to the core while it 
 lastetl. A bi>hop liad scarce handlcil 
 the mutter better ; .so now our even 
 ^on^' 1)0 sun^, and the suint.s enlisted 
 with us — inarchuns." 
 
 Kre they had taken two »tcn«, ho 
 «lup|>ed. " By tlie bv, the cub I " 
 
 " O no, no ! " ciictl (Jeranl. 
 
 " You are right. It is late ; wc 
 have lost time climbing tiees and 
 tumbling otl' 'em, and swiMining, and 
 vomiting, and praying, and the bruto 
 is heaivy to carry ; ami, now I think 
 on 't, we shall have |mpa after it 
 next ; these licars make such a coil 
 aliout the old cub ; what is this ? 
 You are wuuiided I vou are wound- 
 ed ! " 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " He is wouniled, miserable that I 
 am." 
 
 " Be calm, Denys. I am not 
 tt)uchcd, I ftrl no pain anyuhcre." 
 
 " You '. yt>u only feci when another 
 is hurt," cried Denys, with great em«)- 
 tion ; and, throwin;; himself on his 
 kmrs, he c.vamincd Gerard's leg with 
 glistening eyes. 
 
 " Quick !'<|uick ! Wforc it stiffens," 
 he cried, and hurried him on. 
 
 " Who makes the coil alxtut noth- 
 ing now ; " intjuired Gerard, comj»os- 
 edlv. 
 
 r)enys'3 n-ply was a very indirect 
 one. 
 
 " Be plea-scd 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. Briclly, I have 
 a bad tongue and a bud heart." 
 
 " Denvs ! " 
 
 '• Plait-il ? " 
 
 " You lie." 
 
 " You arc very good to say so, lit'
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 93 
 
 tie one, and I am eternally obliged 
 to you," mumbled the remorseful 
 Denys. 
 
 Ere they had walked many fur- 
 longs, the muscles of the wounded 
 leg contracted and stiftened, till pres- 
 ently Gerard could only just put his 
 too to the ground, and tliat 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 af- 
 ternoon, and the nights were now 
 frosty, and cold and hunger ill com- 
 panions, and that it would be unrea- 
 sonable to lose heart, a certain great 
 personage 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 cross-bow and belts, 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 Dus- 
 seldorf, but on the road they had come. 
 
 Gerard lay aching and smarting, 
 and, to him, Kome, 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 
 Scvenbergen-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 l;he 
 midst of pain and irritation of the 
 nerv-es 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 some- 
 thing struck a tree hard by, and quiv- 
 srod in it. 
 
 He looked, it was an arrow. 
 
 He started to his feet. Several mis.' 
 siles 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 loudei* shouts and cries arose, 
 mingled with shrieks and groans, and 
 above all strange and terrible soundi 
 like fierce claps of thunder, bellowing 
 loud, and then dying oft" in cracking 
 echoes ; and red tongues of flame 
 shot out ever and anon among the 
 trees, and clouds of sul])hurous smoke 
 came drifting over his head, and aR 
 was still. 
 
 Gerard was struck with awe. 
 " What will become of Denys ? " he 
 cried. " 0, why did you leave mel 
 O Denys, my friend, 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 1 " 
 
 " No. ' ^Vhat battle 1 " 
 
 " The bloody battle of men, or 
 fiends, that raged in the wood a 
 while agone " ; and with this he de- 
 scribed 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 imagination. 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 leaj'ning." 
 
 " What, then, you believe me not ? 
 when I tell you the arrows whizzed 
 over my head, and the combateVTild 
 shouted, and — "
 
 'J 4 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THt IIKAUTH. 
 
 " May tho f«iil I'u'nds fly nway with 
 lu" if I Ulifvi- II wnrtl of it." 
 
 (ivninl t<M<k lii.H iiriii, and quietly 
 jMjiiitol to II trir r|i)Sf hy. 
 
 "Why, it Itxik* liki- — it is — a 
 liroiui urri>w, uh I live " ; und he went 
 (Insc and louki-d up ut it. 
 
 •' It cnnu- out of the battle. I 
 hranl it. iiini .saw it." 
 
 '• All Kii;;li.Hh iirrow." 
 
 '• llow know you tlmt ? " 
 
 '• Mjirry, hy itit h-nt^th. Tho Knp- 
 lisli Imiwiiu'Ii draw th<' Ixtw to I he ear, 
 othrfH only to the ri^ht hnast. Ileniv 
 th»- Kn;,'li>h Iooho a thnv Coot jthufl, 
 und (hit is one of iheni, fierdiliou 
 s«i/.e them ! Well, if thi.s it not f:lH- 
 mour, then: hius lnvn a triHe of a hattle ; 
 and if there hiut Imiii a hattle in so 
 ridieulou.t a nluee for a buttle a.t thit, 
 why, then, 't it no hutine.st of niinr, for 
 my diik<' hath no i|iianrel lunalM>ut.t ; 
 .S4) li't 't to Im'iI," siuil the profcssinnal ; 
 ami with thit he seniix-d to;;ither n 
 hrjiit of ieavi-s, ami made (ieranl lie 
 on It, hit axe hy hi.t siile ; he then lay 
 down U'tide him, with one hand on 
 hit arbalett, and drew the lN<ar«kin 
 over them hair iiiwanl. Thi-y were 
 s<M>n lut wann tut liNi.tt, und fa.t| 
 a.s|er|i. 
 
 Hut lonir Ufiire the dawn (ieranl 
 NNokc hi.s eomradc. 
 
 • What t^hall I do, Deny.t ? I .lie 
 I famine." 
 
 " I)o ' why Ko to sleon a|;nin, in- 
 rontinent ; i|iii dort dine. 
 
 •' Hut I tell you I am too hunpry 
 to sl«H"j>," .snapiM'd (ieranl. 
 
 " L»t ut mandi. then," rrpliwl 
 Denys, with patrmal indulp-ncc. 
 
 lie had a brief paroxysm of yawns ; 
 then made a .small bundle of In-ars' 
 cars, roilint: them up in a strip of 
 the .skin, eiit for the i)urj>o.sc ; nnd 
 they tonk the road. 
 
 (ierard leaned on hi.s axe, and, 
 nro|)]H'<l by Denys on the other side, 
 liolilijed alon;r, not without sif^hs. 
 
 " I hate pain," said Gerard, vi- 
 ciously. 
 
 " Therein you show judgment," rc- 
 f".!e>l ]iapa. smoothly. 
 
 It WU5 a clear, starlight night ; and 
 
 (toon the moon, risin^r, revealc*! the end 
 of the wood at no j^reat di.staiiee ; 
 
 Iilea.sant sijcht, »ine« I>u.sMld«jrf they 
 :new was but a short leu;jue further 
 
 At the ed;;e of the wood they rame 
 uj)on somethin;; so mysterious that 
 they stop|M-4l to ^u/.e at it lufon- po- 
 in^; up to it. Two white pillars roue 
 in the air, distant a few paces from 
 each i>thfr , and U-tween them st<MM'. 
 many tigurvit that looked like human 
 foniis. 
 
 " I go no further till I know what 
 this i.H," said (ierard, in an agitated 
 whis|Kr ; " an* they eihgies of iho 
 .saints, for men to pniy to on tho 
 n>ad, or live robU-rs waiting to 
 shoot down honest travellem ? nay, 
 living men they eannot lie, for they 
 stand on nothing that I .*ee. O 
 Denys, let us turn baek till duybn-nk; 
 thit is no mortal si^ht." 
 
 Denys halted and jKH-n'il Ion;; and 
 kef Illy. " They are nun," said he, at 
 last, (ieranl was for turning hack 
 all the more. 
 
 " Hut men that will never hurt nn, 
 nor we them. I^Mik not to their feet 
 for that they stand on ! " 
 
 " When- then, i' the name of all the 
 saints ' " 
 
 " I<<Mik over their heads!" said 
 D<-nys, gravely. 
 
 Following this dinx-tion, Gemrd 
 pn-sently di»cerne<I the outline of a 
 dark wiHMlen U'am passing from pil- 
 lar to pillar ; and, as the pair got 
 nearer, walking now on tiptoe, one 
 by one durk. snake-like cords came 
 out in the iiutonli^ht, each jx-ndent 
 from the U-am to a dead man, and 
 tight as wire. 
 
 Now, as they came under this awful 
 monument of crime and wh'>lesal<" 
 vengiance, o light air swept by ; and 
 several of the corp-ses swung, or 
 gently gyrateil, and every ropecreake*!. 
 CJerard shudih-red at this ghastly 
 salute. So thoroiighlv had the giU 
 hot witli 'Ha sickening loud .seized and 
 held their eyes, that it was but now 
 they jK-rccived a tire right under- 
 neath, and a living figure sitting 
 huddled over it. lli« axe lav bcsido
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 95 
 
 him, the briftht blade shining red in 
 the glow, lie was asleep. 
 
 Gerard started, but Dcnys only 
 whispered, " Courage, comrade, here 
 is a fire." 
 
 "Ay! 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 prepared ; dur- 
 ing which the prudent Gerard seized 
 the man's axe, and sat down tight 
 on it, grasping his own, and exam- 
 ining the sleeper. There was noth- 
 ing 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 peculiarity was — this 
 clown watching under a laden gal- 
 lows. What for? 
 
 Deuys, if he felt curious, would 
 not show it ; he took out two bears' 
 ears from his bundle, »nd, running 
 sticks through them, began to toast 
 them. 
 
 " 'T will 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 
 thau a lean stomach." 
 
 " Unhappy man ! " 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 
 naught 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. " O, how 
 they creak ! and who is this man, 
 I winder ? what an ill-favored 
 churl ' " 
 
 Denys examined him like a con- 
 noisseur looking at a picture ; and in 
 due course delivered judgment. " I 
 take him to be of the refuse of that 
 company whereof these (pointing 
 carelessly upward) were the cream, 
 and so ran their heads into dan- 
 ger." 
 
 " At that rate, why not stun him 
 before he wakes ? " and Gerard fid- 
 geted where he sat. 
 
 Denys opened his eyes with humor- 
 ous sm-prise. " For one who sets up 
 for a milksop you have the readiest 
 hand. Why should two stun one ? 
 tush ! he wakes ; note now what he 
 says at waking, and tell me." 
 
 These last words were hardly whis- 
 pered when the watcher opened his 
 eyes. At sight of the fire made up, 
 and two strangers eying him keenly, 
 he stared, and there was a s ^vere and 
 pretty succcj^ful effort to be calm ; 
 stiil a perceptible tremor ran all over 
 hun. Soon he manned himself, and 
 said gniffly, " Good morrow." 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 counte- 
 nance again directly. Denys smiled 
 grimly at this bit of by-play. 
 
 " Good morrow ! " said Gerard qui- 
 etly, keeping 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 '11 go fetch it " ; and he 
 arose with a cheerful and obliging 
 countenance, and was retiring. 
 
 Denys caught up his cross-bow, and 
 levelled it at his head. The man fell 
 on his knees. 
 
 Denys lowered his weapon, and 
 pointed him back to his place. lie 
 rose and went back slowly and m^-
 
 96 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 BtCfldily, like one disjointed, and sick 
 at heart as the mouse that the eat lets 
 go a little wny, and then durtd and 
 replaces. 
 
 " Sit down, friend," said Dcnys, 
 primly, in French. 
 
 The man obevcd finger and tone, 
 though he knew not a word of 
 French. 
 
 " Tell him the (ire is not hig enough 
 for more than three. He will take my 
 meaning." 
 
 This being eommnnieated by Ge- 
 nird, tlie man grinned ; ever since 
 Denys s|)oke he had seemed great- 
 ly relieved. " I wist not ye were 
 strangers," said he to (jerard. 
 
 Denys cut a piece of bear's ear, ami 
 offered it with grace to him lie had 
 just levelled cross-bow at. 
 
 lie took it calndy, 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 ((Jerard 
 gras])ed his a.\c ready to brain him), 
 and pnxluceil a leathern Untie hold- 
 ing tull two gallons. He put it to 
 his mouth, and dnink their healths, 
 then hnmli'd it to Gerard ; he passed 
 it untotiilud to Denys. 
 
 " Mort de ma vicl " cried the sol- 
 dier, " it is Uhcnish wine, and fit for 
 tlie gullet of an archbishop. Here 's 
 to thee, thou prince of good fel- 
 lows, wishing thee a short life and 
 a merry one! Come, Gerard, sujd 
 sup ! Pshaw, never heed them, man ! 
 they heed not thee. Natheless, did 
 I hang over such a skin of Uhcnish 
 as this, and three churls sat l)cneath 
 a draining it and offered rac not 
 a drop, I 'd soon be down among 
 them.' 
 
 " Dcnys ! Dcnys ! " 
 
 " My spirit would cut the cord, and 
 womp would come my lx)dy 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 cars, and 
 was running from the place, when his 
 eyes fell on the watcher's axe. The 
 tangible danger brought him hack. 
 
 He sat down again r>n thv ax-- wiik 
 his fingers in his ears. 
 
 "Courage, I'ami, lediablcest mort! " 
 shouted Denys, gayly, and offered him 
 a piece of la-ar's ear, jiut it right un- 
 der his no.se »is he stoj>{)e(l his ears. 
 Gerard tumeil his head away with 
 loathing. " Wine ! " he gas[>ed. 
 " 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 wanned and strength- 
 eiK-tl his heart ; but eouM not check 
 his tremors whenever a gust of wind 
 came. As for Denys and the olher, 
 they feastcfl recklessly, and plied the 
 iKjttle unceasingly, and drank healths 
 ami caroused beneath that creaking 
 scjuilchre and its ghastly tenants. 
 
 " Ask him how tiny came here," 
 said Denys, with his mouth full, and 
 ])ointing up without looking. 
 
 Un this question iK'ing inteq»retcd 
 to the watcher, he replied that trea.son 
 had Iteeii their end, dialK>licai trea- 
 son and priestcraft. He then, l>eing 
 rendere<l communicative by drink, 
 delivereil a lou^' prosy narrative, the 
 purjiort of which wius as follows. 
 I'hese honest gentlemen, who now 
 dangled here so miscrablv, were all 
 stout men and true, and lived in the 
 forest" by their wits. Their indepen- 
 dence and thriving state excited the 
 jealousy and liatnd of a large portion 
 of mankind ; and many attem|)ts were 
 made on their lives and liliertics ; 
 these the Virgin and their patron 
 saints, coupled with their individual 
 skill and courage, constantly baffled. 
 But yester-cve a party of merchants 
 came slowly on their mules from 
 Dusseldorf. 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 ! the merchants were no mer- 
 chants at all, but soldiers of more 
 than one nation, in the pay of the 
 Archbishop of Cologne ; haubergeong 
 had they beneath their gowns, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 97 
 
 weapons of all Borts at hand ; nathe- 
 less, the honest men fought bravely 
 and pressed the traitors hard, when 
 lo ! horsemen, that had been planted 
 in ambush many hours before, gal- 
 loped up, and with these new diaboli- 
 cal 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. Ho 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 Con- 
 rad, my bosom friend) ; I mean this 
 one right overhead in the chicken-toed 
 shoon : you were always carrying 
 talc, j'C 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 talebearers ; strangers, 
 I drink to you." And so he went 
 down the whole string, indicating 
 with the neck of the bottle like a 
 showman with his pole, and giving a 
 neat description of each, which, though 
 pithy, was invariably false ; for the 
 showman had no real eye for charac- 
 ter, and had misunderstood every one 
 of these people. 
 
 " Enough palaver ! " cried Denys. 
 " Marchons ! Give me his axe : now 
 tell him he 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 1 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 ray 
 bosom, still gi'asping the haft of my 
 knife." 
 
 " It is a new attitude to walk in ; 
 but please thyself." 
 
 And in that strange and mixed at- 
 titude 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 tbe watch-tower at 
 Dusseldorf 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, glooinily : " You may as well 
 slay me out of hand as take me 
 any nearer the gates of Dusseldorf 
 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." Gerai'd acquiesced as a 
 matter of course. His horror of a 
 criminal did not in the least 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 crimi- 
 nals but in self-defence, except, by the 
 by, 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 1 
 
 " Here affe t\vo batzen, friend." 
 " And the wine, the good Rlieit 
 ish 1 " 
 
 " Did you give aught for it ? " 
 " Ay ! the peril of my life." 
 " Hum ! what say you, Denys 1 " 
 " I say it was worth its weight in 
 gold. Here, lad, here be silver gro9«
 
 98 
 
 mi: CLOISTER AM) TIIK IlKAKTH. 
 
 chcn. one for even- acorn on that pnl- 
 l«)w.-«-trif , ami liere U one mori' for 
 thie — wlio wilt dotibtlcM be tlicrv 
 ill duo •«»-a-<oii." 
 
 'I'lic inuu took the coins, but «tiU 
 lin;;<riHl. 
 
 •■ Well, what now ? " rrie<l ficrard. 
 »ti<> thuti^'ht him nhdiiufully ovi-rpuid 
 iilreadv. " Dost swk the hide off 
 i)ur iMjnes ? " 
 
 " Nay, pood sirs ; bat yon hare 
 M-en ti>-nipht how parlous a life ii 
 mine. Yc l>c trtio men, and your 
 pniver!* avail ; pivc me then a stniall 
 in lie oCa prayer, an "t please you ; for 
 I know not one." 
 
 tJeranl'.H eholer ))cpan to rise at the 
 1 i,'«)ti'.tieal roj^tie ; nion'ovt-r. erer 
 itinec hi4 wound, he hud felt pu^t.H of 
 irritalMlity. Ilowevi-r, he hit hi.i lip, 
 iind !• liil, ■■ Then* po two wonl.H to 
 tliiit hiir^'ain ; tell me tip*t, is it tnic 
 what men dnyof you Khenioh thieves, 
 ihiit ve do munler innocent and un- 
 n.'.'«i'<tin:; travcllrrs as well aa rob 
 them ' " 
 
 The otlier an»wertil,»iHlkily, " They 
 vou eull thieve.s are not to blame for 
 that ; the fuult lies with the law." 
 
 '• (Iriunerey ! so 't is the law's fault 
 tliat ill men bn-ak it 1 " 
 
 •■ I nu-an not st> ; but the law in 
 this land slays an lioni>st man an' if 
 he ilo but steal. What follows ' he 
 would l>e pitiful, but is di."»eourB^iMl 
 tlien-from ; pity j;ains him no pity, 
 and doubles his |MTil ; an he but rut 
 a piir^e. his life is forfeit ; therefore 
 eutteth he the thmat to Uxit, to save 
 his own neck ; «lead men tell no ta\v». 
 I'ray. then, for the jMjor soul who by 
 bhx)dy laws is driven to kill or else Ik> 
 slau;;i)tered ; were there less of this 
 uurejusonable (jibbotin;: on the high- 
 road, there should Iw less enforced 
 cuttinfj of throaLs in dark^woods, my 
 masters." 
 
 " Fewer words had served," replied 
 Gerard, coldly ; " I asked a quesition, 
 I am answereil " ; and, suddenly doff- 
 ing his bonnet : — 
 
 " ' Obsecro Deum omnipotenlnn, ut, 
 qua cruce jam pendent isti quindecim 
 
 liitronea furra et knmlcidir, in iti homtd 
 Jit fur ft lairo lu pr/inuirni r/uum eili^ 
 $imf, ftm puUica talutr, i/i hoiu>rrm jutU 
 iMi CM tit gloria, in tttemum, Amen.' 
 
 " And to pood day." 
 
 TIh- pn'Cfly outlaw was satisfied at 
 last. " Tlwt is Latin," he miittentl, 
 •' and jnore than I bargained for." So 
 indecii it was. 
 
 And he returned to his busincM 
 with a mind at ea.so. The friends 
 |M>ndere«l in »ilenee the many creotM 
 of the last few hours. 
 
 At last (iernrd saiil, thoughtfully, 
 " That she-boar saved both our lire* 
 — bv (ioil's will." 
 
 "t.ike enough," replic<l Dcnys; 
 " and. talking of that, it was luekjr 
 we did not dawdle over our supper.' 
 
 •• What nu^an you ' " 
 
 " I mean they arx- not all hanprd ; 
 I saw a n-fuse of seven «>r eight as 
 black as ink around our fire." 
 
 " When ' when ' " 
 
 " Ere we had left it five minutes." 
 
 *' (}o»xl Heavens! And you said 
 not a wonl." 
 
 •' It woulil but have worried you, 
 and had set our friend a l<M>king hack, 
 and mayhiip temt>tcd him to get his 
 skull st>lit. All other danger was 
 over; tney could not sec us, we were 
 out of the moonshine, anil, indeed, just 
 turning a corner; ah! there is the 
 sun ; and lu-n' are the gates of Dus- 
 .seldorf Courage, I'anii, Ic diabic cat 
 mort." 
 
 " My head ! my head ! " was all 
 poor ( icrard could reply. 
 
 " So many shocks, emotions, pains, 
 horrors, aildcd to the wound, his first, 
 had tried his youthful IhxIv and sensi- 
 tive nature too severely. 
 
 It wa.9 noon of the same <lay. 
 
 In a bedroom of" The Silver Lion " 
 the rugged Denys sat anxious, watch- 
 ing his young friend. 
 
 And he lay raging with fever, de- 
 lirious at intervals, and one word for- 
 ever on his lips : — 
 
 " Margaret ! — Margaret ! — Mar- 
 garet ! "
 
 THE CLOTSTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 It was the afternoon of the next 
 iav. Gerard was no longer li<;:ht- 
 Jieaded, but very irritable, and full of 
 f mcies ; 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 twink- 
 ling 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 get- 
 ting 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- 
 colored hose and pointed shoes, with 
 a sword by his side in a morocco scab- 
 bard, a rutf 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 fol- 
 lowed at his heels with a basket, 
 where phials, lint, and surgical tools 
 rather courted than shunned observa- 
 tion. The old gentleman came softly 
 to the bedside, and said mildly and 
 solto voce, " How is 't with thee, m}- 
 son ? " 
 
 Gerard answered, gratefully, that his 
 wound gave him little pain now ; but 
 his throat was parched and his head 
 heavy. 
 
 "A wound? they told me not of 
 that. Let me see it. Ay, ay, a good 
 clean liite. The mastiff" had sound 
 teeth that took this out, I warrant 
 me " ; and the good doctor's sympathy 
 seemed to run off to the (piadruped he 
 had conjured, — his jackal. 
 
 " This must be cauterized forthwith, 
 
 or we shall have you starting back 
 from water, and turning soiuersaiilts 
 in bed under our hands. 'T is 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, " 't was 
 no dog, but a bear." 
 
 " A bear ! young man ? " remon- 
 strated the senior, severely ; " think 
 what you say ; 't is ill jesting with 
 the man of art who brings his gray 
 hairs and long study to heal you. A 
 bear, quotha ! 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 't was a dog, 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 
 run devious, biting each manly leg, 
 and laying its wearer low but for mc 
 and my learned brethren, who still 
 stay the mischief with knife and cau- 
 tery." 
 
 " Alas, sir ! when said I 't was a 
 bear's jaw 1 I said, ' A bear ' : it 
 was his paw, now." 
 
 " And why didst not tell me that 
 at once ? " 
 
 " Because you kept telling me in- 
 stead." 
 
 " 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 excrescences 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 direct poi- 
 son. Y' hnd better have been bitten 
 by a cur, whatever you may say, than 
 gored by bull or stag, or scratched by 
 bear. However, shalt have a good 
 biting cataplasm for thy leg ; mean- 
 time, keep we the body cool : put out 
 thy tongue ! good ! — fever. Let me 
 feel thy pulse ; good ! fever. I ordain 
 phlebotomy, and on the instant"
 
 100 
 
 TIIR CI.OISTKR AND IIIi: Ili:.M;TH 
 
 "Phlcholomy! llmt is l.lofMlli'tting : 
 hnin|)h ? Well, no iiiiittir, if 't is 
 sure to euro inc ; for I will not lie 
 idle here." Tliu donor let iiini know 
 that |ililel)otomy was infallible ; esja-- 
 ciidly ill this ease. 
 
 " Hans, ISO feteh the thinffs need- 
 ful ; and I will entertain the patient 
 meantime with re.Tsons." 
 
 The man of art then explained to 
 Gerard that in disease the hlood lie- 
 comes hot and distemjiered, and more 
 or less poisonous ; hut, a jtortion of 
 this uidiealthy liiiidd removed. Nature 
 is lain to ereate a purer tiuid to fdl its 
 plaee. Bleedin;:, tlierefore, heinj; both 
 a eooler and a piiritier, was a sjieeifie 
 in all diM'ases, fc»r all diseases are fe- 
 brile, whatever empiries mi;,'ht say. 
 
 " But thii\k not," said he, warndy, 
 " that it sulliees to bleed : any paltry 
 barber ean ot)on a vein (th4>u;:li not 
 nil can elose it Ofjain). The art is to 
 know what vein to empty for wliat 
 disease. T'other day they hrou^dit 
 me one tormented with earaehe. I 
 let him blood in the ri^dit thi;;h, and 
 away Hew his earaehe. Hy the by, he 
 has dietl sinee then. Aiunher came 
 with the t(H)thaehe. I bled him l>c- 
 hind the ear, antl relieved him in a 
 jiffy. lie is also sinee dead, as it 
 naj)pens. I bled our bailiff between 
 the thund) and forefinfrcr for rheuma- 
 tism. I'resently he comes to mc 
 with a headache and ilnimminp in 
 the ears, and liolds out liis hand over 
 the basin ; but I smiled at his folly, 
 and bled him in tlie left ankle, sore 
 ajrainst his will, and m.nde his head 
 as lifiht as a nut." 
 
 Diver;:in<r, then, from the immediate 
 theme, after the manner of enthusi- 
 asts, the reverend teacher proceeded 
 thus : — 
 
 " Know, younp man, that two 
 selioolsof art contend at this moment 
 throufxhout Europe. The Arabian, 
 whose ancient oracles are Avicenna, 
 Rhazcs, Alhuc.izis, and its revivers 
 arc Chauliac and Lanfranc ; and the 
 Greek school, whose modern cham- 
 
 Kions are Bessarion, Platinus, and 
 larsilius Ficinus, but whose pristine 
 
 ' doctors were medicine's very oracleg, 
 I rhiL'bus, Chiron, vKsculapius, and 
 his sons I'odaliniis and Mat haon, 
 I'vtba^roras, Democritus, I'ni.xa^oraa 
 w)ii> invented the arteries, and Dioctes 
 ' qui jirimus urime aninnim ditiit. 
 I All these taught orally. Then came 
 I HipjKM-rates, the eighteenth from 
 I .Kseulapius, and of him we have 
 'manuscripts; to him we owe " the 
 vital principle." lie also invented 
 the bandage, and tapped for water on 
 the clic-st ; and above all he dissected, 
 yet only (|uadrupcds, for the hnital 
 prcjuiliccs of the pagan vulgar with- 
 held the human iMxly from the knife 
 of .science. Him folhtwcd 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 Itodies, and not 
 Aristotle, nor any Grecian man," 
 objected Gerard, hund)ly. 
 
 " Child ! of course he gave us the 
 thing; luit Aristotle did n-orc, ho 
 gave us the name of the thing. But 
 young men will still l>c talking. The 
 next great light was (Jalen ; lie stud- 
 ied at Alexandria, then the home of 
 science. He, justly malecontent with 
 quadnipeds, dissected apes, as com- 
 ing nearer to man, and tiled like a 
 Trojan. Then came 'I'hcophilus, who 
 gave us tlic nenes, the lacteal ves- 
 sels, and the pia mater." 
 
 This worried Gerard. "I cannot 
 lie still and hear it said that mortal 
 man bestowed the parts w hich Adam 
 our father took from Him who made 
 him of the clay, and us his sons. ' 
 
 " AVas ever such perversity 1 " said 
 the doctor, his cholcr rising. " Who 
 is tlie real donor of a thing to man? 
 he who plants it secretly in the dark 
 recesses of man's body, or the learned 
 wight who reveals it to his intelli- 
 gence, and so enriches his mind with 
 the knowledge of it ? Comprehen- 
 sion is your only true possession. 
 Are you .answered ? " 
 
 " i am put to silence, sir." 
 " And that is better still ; for gar- 
 i ruloiis patients arc ill to cure, espo- 
 I cially in fever ; I say, then, that Eris.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 101 
 
 rratus gave us the cerebral nerves and 
 Ihe milk vessels ; nay, more, he was 
 the inventor of lithotomy, whatever 
 you may say. 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 ; 't is weil. 
 Arabians, quotha ! 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 concur- 
 rent light of their own ? for their dem- 
 igod, and camel-driver, Mahound, im- 
 postor in science as in religion, had 
 strictly forbidden them anatoin}^ even 
 of the lower animals, the which he 
 who severeth from medicine " tol- 
 lit solem e mundo," as Tally quoth. 
 Nay, wonder not at my fervor, good 
 youth. Where the general weal 
 stands in jeopardy, a little warmth 
 is civic, humane, and honorable ; now 
 there is settled of late in this town a 
 pestilent Arabist, a mere empiric, who, 
 despising anatomy, and scarce know- 
 ing 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 pos- 
 ture, in came Denys with the lemons, 
 and stood surprised. " What sport 
 is toward ? " said he, raising his 
 brows. 
 
 Gerard colored a little, and told him 
 the learned doctor was going to phle- 
 botomize him and cauterize him ; that 
 was all. 
 
 "Ay! indeed; and yon imp, Avhat 
 bloweth he hot coals for ? " 
 
 " What should it be for," said the 
 doctor to Gerard, "but to cauterize 
 the vein when opened, and the poison- 
 ous blood let free ? 'T is the only safe 
 way. Avicenna, indeed, recommends 
 a ligature of the vein ; but how 't is 
 to be done he saith 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.' " 
 
 " O, I see now what 't is 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 burning, but of cautery ; 
 to be sure 't is all one, but cautery 
 sounds not so fearful as burning." 
 
 " Imbecile ! 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 ! * 
 and so they burn the wick at t'other 
 end too. They bleed the bled. Now, 
 at fever's heels comes desperate weak- 
 ness ; then the man needs all his blood 
 to live ; but tliese prickers and burn- 
 ers, having no forethought, recking 
 naught 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 A-ery 
 blood his hurt had spared him to bat- 
 tle that weakness withal ; and so he 
 dies exhausted. Hundreds have I seen 
 so scratched and pricked out of the 
 world, Gerard, and tall fellows too ; 
 but lo ! 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 Bra- 
 bant but for my most lucky mischance, 
 lack of chirurgery "? The frost choked 
 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. Seeing them 
 thus distraught in bleeding of the 
 bleeding soldier, I place no trust in
 
 102 
 
 THE CLOISTKF: ANT) TIIK IIKARTFI, 
 
 them ; fur wliat slays a veteran may 
 wi'll lay a iiiilk-aiid-watc'r Ixjurj^eois 
 low." 
 
 " This soiiiids like common sense," 
 (ii;;lii'<l (lerard, lan;:ui(lly, "but no 
 nii<l ti> rai>.e your voice »o ; I was not 
 horn deaf, and just now I liear 
 acutely." 
 
 " Common sense ! very common 
 sense incleed," shouted the had lis- 
 teiH r ; ■' w liy, this is a xojdier ; a hrute 
 whose husincss is to kill men, not cure 
 them." He added, in very tolerable 
 French, " \\\>c l>e to yon, uidenmed 
 iniiM, if you tome U'tween a physician 
 and his ]uitient ! and wi>e lie to you, 
 iiii^;;nided youth, if you listen to tliat 
 mill of hjiMid ! " 
 
 ".Much ohli;;u4l," said Denys, with 
 m<M-k ]>oliteness ; " hut I am n true 
 man, and would roh no man of his 
 name. I do .somewhat in the way of 
 hJiMMlin^, hut not worth mentioii in 
 this i)rescnce. For one I slav, vou 
 slay a >.core ; and for one s|i«M>iifuI of 
 hlood 1 draw, ynii spill a tuhful. The 
 world is still ).'ullcd hy show.s. We 
 soldiers vaj)or with lonj; swords, and 
 even in war lH';;et two f<H's for every 
 one we kill ; hut you sm<M>th (gowns- 
 men with soft phrases and hare l)od- 
 kins, 't is vou that thin mankind." 
 
 " A sick-chaniU-r is no place for 
 jestinp," cried the physician. 
 
 " No, diH'tor, nor for hawlinj;," .said 
 the jiatient, peevishly. 
 
 " Come, yoiin;; man," sai<l the .sen- 
 ior, kindly ; "1)0 rea.sonahle ! C'uili- 
 het in sua arte credendum est. My 
 whole life has heen ^iven to this art. 
 I stndii'd at MontjK'lier, the (irst 
 school in France, and hy consinpience 
 in Europe. There learned I Driri- 
 mancy, Scatomancy, I'atholo'_'y, The- 
 rapeusis, and, {greater than them all, 
 Anatomy. For there we disci])les of 
 Hippocrates and (Jalen had opiM)rtu- 
 iiities those Lircat ancients never knew, 
 (iood hy, quadrupeds and ajn-s and 
 Pau'anism and .Mohammedanism ; we 
 ItouL'ht of the chtirch-wardens, we 
 sh<M)k the jrallows; we iiiKlid the sex- 
 ton's work o' <lark iiiirlits, ]»netrated 
 witli love of science and our kind; all 
 
 the authorities had their orders from 
 I'aris to wink ; and tliey winked 
 (iixls iif Olympus, how they winked! 
 The ;:racious kin;; assisted u^ ; he sent 
 us twice a vcar a livin;; criminal con- 
 demne<l to die, and said, ' Deal ve with 
 him iLs scit'iice asks : dissect hirii alive, 
 if ye tliink tit.' " 
 
 " Hy the liver of Herod, and Nero'* 
 Itowels. he 'II make me hlnsli for the 
 land that Inirc me, an' if he prais<'S it 
 any mon," shouted Denys, at the top 
 of his voice. 
 
 Civrard ^'avc a little squawk, and 
 j)Ut his fuiirers in his ears ; hut siieed- 
 dy tlrew them lait, and shouteti an- 
 prily anil as loudlv, " Vou ^'reat, roar- 
 in;:, I'lasphemin;; Villi of liiL-han, hold 
 your noi.sy ton^'ue ! " 
 
 Denys summoned a contrite look. 
 
 " Tush, slight man," said the di>c- 
 tor, with calm contempt, and vihrat«.d 
 a hand over him as in this up> men 
 nniiwe a |M>inier do;; down-charpe, 
 then lloweil majestic on. " We fcI- 
 <|(>m, or never, dis.s<eted the li\,n(j 
 eriminal, except iti part. We mostly 
 iiUM-ulated them with such di.seusea a.s 
 the barren time aflorded, .seleetinp, of 
 course, the mon- iiitirestinu ones." 
 
 " That means the foulest," whis- 
 jRTed Denys, meekly. 
 
 " The.se we watched through all 
 their stages to maturity." 
 
 " Meanin;; the death of the poor 
 rof^ne," whisju-rcd Denys, meekly. 
 
 " And now, my p<xir sufTcrcr, who 
 In-st merits your confidence, this hon- 
 est soldier with his youth, his i;rno- 
 rance and his jirejudiccs, or a K^ay- 
 Uanl liiden with the gathered wis- 
 dom of a;:es ? '' 
 
 " That is," cried Denys, impa- 
 tiently, "will you believe what a jack- 
 daw in a long trown has heard from a 
 starlin;; in a Ion;; gown, who heard it 
 from a jay-{)ie, wlio heard it from a 
 magj)ie, who heard it from a popin- 
 jay '. or will you believe wliat I, a man 
 with natiL'ht to gain by looking awrv' 
 nor speaking false, have seen, — not 
 heard with the ears which arc given 
 us to ;:ull us, but seen with these sen- 
 tinels mine cyne, seen, seen, — to wit,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 103 
 
 that fevered and blooded men die, that 
 fevered men not blooded live? stay, 
 who sent for this sangsue! Did 
 you ? " 
 
 "Not I. I thought you had." 
 
 " Nay," explained the doctor, " the 
 good landlord told me one was ' down ' 
 in his house ; so I said to mj-self, ' A 
 stranger, and in need of my art,' and 
 came incontinently." 
 
 " It was the act of a good Chris- 
 tian, sir." 
 
 " Of a good bloodhound," cried 
 Denys, contemptuously. " \VTiat, art 
 thou so green as not to know tliat all 
 these landlords are in league with 
 certain of their fellow-citizens, who 
 pay them toll on each booty ? What- 
 ever you pay this ancient for stealing 
 your life-blood, of that the landlord 
 takes his third for betraying you 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 his un- 
 dertaker, 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 his under- 
 taker, and then he would get the black 
 thirds. Say I sooth, old Rouge et 
 Noir ? dites ! " 
 
 " Denys, Denys, who taught you 
 to think so ill of man 1 " 
 
 " Mine eyes, that are not to be 
 gulled by what men say, seeing this 
 many a year what they do, in all the 
 lands I travel." 
 
 The doctoi-, with some address, made 
 use of these last words to escape the 
 personal question. " I too have eyes 
 as well as thou, and go not by tradi- 
 tion 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. 'T was but t'other 
 day I healed one threatened with lep- 
 rosy ; I but bled him at the tip of the 
 nose. I cured last year a quartan 
 ague ; how ? bled its forefinger. Our 
 cure lost his memory. I brought it 
 him back on the point of my lance ; 
 I bled him behind the ear. I bled a 
 5* 
 
 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 empirics 
 proclaim every six years or so, but 
 the good, honest, Byzantine pest, — I 
 blooded an alderman freely, and cau- 
 terized the S}Tnptomatic 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." 
 
 " ray poor ears ! " sighed Gerard. 
 
 " And am I fallen so low that one 
 of your presence and speech ri I'-ets 
 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 arque- 
 busses came and put them down ? " 
 
 " You foul-mouthed old charlatan," 
 cried Denys, " the arbalest is shoul- 
 dered by taller men than ever stood 
 in Rhenish hose, and even now it 
 kills as many more than your noisy, 
 stinking arquebuss, as the lancet does 
 than all our toys together. Go to ! 
 He was no fool who first called you 
 " leeches." Sangsues ! va ! " 
 
 Gerard groaned. " By the Holy 
 Virgin, I wish you were both at Jeri- 
 cho, bellowing ! " 
 
 " Thank you, comrade. Then I '11 
 bark no more, but at need I '11 bite. 
 If he has a lance, I have a sword ; if 
 he bleeds you, I '11 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 danger- 
 ous. 
 
 Gerard sighed wearily. " Now, as 
 all this is about me, give me leave to 
 say a word." 
 
 " Ay ! let the young man choose 
 life or death for himself." 
 
 Gerard then indirectly rebuked his
 
 104 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THK UKAKTH. 
 
 noisy counsellors \>y contrast and cx- 
 ttn)|ilc. He .s|i4)ke witli iin|>arnllcled 
 culiiini'ss, swi-ftnuss, and ;;i.-iitlcncss. 
 And these were the words of tierard 
 tlie son of Kli : " 1 douht not you both 
 mean me well ; hut you assassiiuitc 
 nie U'tween you. Calmness and (juiet 
 an* everything to mc ; hut you are 
 like two dojfs jjrowlin;; over a Ikhk'. 
 
 " And, in sooth, lx)ne I should Ik.-, 
 did this u|)r(mr last Inn;,'." 
 
 There was a dead silence, broken 
 onlv hy the silverj- voice of (ierard, 
 as lie lay tran<iuil, and (;a7.ed calm- 
 ly at the ceiling, and trickled into 
 words. 
 
 " First, venerable sir, I thank you 
 for coming; to see ine, whether from 
 humaiiitv, or in the way of honest 
 gain ; all trades must live. 
 
 " Your learnin).', reverend sir, sccm.s 
 great, to mc at least, and for your cx- 
 |»eriem-c, your age voucheth it. 
 
 " You say you have bled many, 
 and of these many, many have not 
 dieil thereafter, but lived, and done 
 well. I must needs Ijclievo you." 
 
 The physician Iwwcd. Dcnys 
 grunted. 
 
 "Others you say you have bled, 
 and — they arc dead. I must needs 
 believe you. 
 
 " Denys knows few things com- 
 I)ared with you, but he knows them 
 well, lie is a nnm not given to con- 
 jecture. This I myself have noted. 
 lie siiys he has seen the fevere<l and 
 bliKMled for the most part <lic; the 
 fevered and not blootled live. I must 
 needs l)clievc him. 
 
 " Here, then, all is doubt. 
 
 " But thi.s much is certain ; if I be 
 bled, I must pay yon a fee, and !« 
 burnt and excruciated with u hot 
 iron, who am no felon. 
 
 " I'ay 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 
 iti a sick-room; but 't would seem 
 men eannot argue medicine without 
 iiciic and raiseil 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 ailord to 
 lay out blood and money in jihleliot- 
 omv and cautery." 
 
 The old physician had naturally a 
 hot tenji»er ; he luwl often during this 
 battle of words mastered it with difli- 
 culty, and now it mastered him. The 
 most iligniticd course was silence ; he 
 saw this, and dn-w him.self uji and 
 maile loftily for the d<H)r, followed 
 close by his little Imy and big basket. 
 
 But at the door he chokeil, he 
 swelled, he burst. He whirled and 
 came back oiM-n-mouthed, and the lit- 
 tle bov and liig basket had to whisk 
 >emii-ireularly not to la' run down, 
 for </«• tninimis non curat Mtiliciua, — 
 even when not in a rage. 
 
 " Ah ! you nject my skill, yoa 
 sconi 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 ! " 
 And away he stamped. 
 
 But on reaching the door he whirled 
 and came back ; his wicker tail twirl- 
 ing round after him like a cat's. 
 
 " In twelve hours at furthest yon 
 will \x- in the secondary stage of 
 fever. Your head will sjilit ; your 
 carotids will thump. Aha ! and let 
 but a ;)in fall, you will jump to the 
 ceiling. Then send for me, — and 
 I "11 not come." He departed. But 
 at the door-handle gathered fury, 
 wheele<l, and came flying with pale, 
 terror-stricken l>oy ami wicker tail 
 whiskinj; after him. " Next will come 
 —CK AMI'S of the STOMACH. 
 Aha ! 
 
 "Then — BILIOUS VOMIT. 
 Aha! 
 
 "Then — COLD SWEAT, and 
 DEADLY STUl'OR. 
 
 " Then— CONFUSION OF ALL 
 THE SENSES. 
 
 " Then — BLOODY VOMIT. 
 
 "And after that nothing can save 
 you, not even I ; and if I conld I 
 would not, and so farewell ! " 
 
 Even Denys changed color at 
 threats so fervent and precise; bnt
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 105 
 
 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 
 wliiskinff train. 
 
 " And after that — MADNESS ! 
 
 " And after that — BLACK VOM- 
 IT ! 
 
 " And then — CONVULSIONS ! 
 
 " And then — THAT CESSA- 
 TION OF ALL VITAL FUNC- 
 TIONS THE VULGAK CALL 
 ' DEATH,' for which thank your 
 own Satanic folly and insolence ; fare- 
 well." 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 you died ; felo 
 de se ! felo de se ! Farewell." 
 
 Gerard sprang to his feet on the 
 bed by some supernatural gymnastic 
 power excitement lent him, and, see- 
 ing him so moved, the vindictive ora- 
 tor came back at him fiercer than 
 ever, to launch some master-threat 
 the world has unhappily lost ; for as 
 he came with his whisking train, and 
 shaking his fist, Gerard hurled the 
 bolster furiously in his foce 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 speci- 
 mens, the smaller howling. But soon 
 the doctor's face filled with horror, 
 and he uttered a far louder and un- 
 earthly screech, and kicked and strug- 
 gled 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. Strug- 
 gling wildly but vainly to get out of 
 the basket, he I'olled yelling over with 
 it sideways, and lo ! a great hissing ; 
 then the humane Gerard ran and 
 
 ^VTenched off the tight basket, not 
 wathout a struggle. The doctor lay 
 on his face groaning, handsomely 
 singed with his own chafer, and 
 slaked a moment too late by his own. 
 villanous compounds ; which, how- 
 ever, being as various and even beau- 
 tiful in color as they wci"e odious in 
 taste, had strangely diversified his 
 gray robe, and painted it more gaudy 
 than neat. 
 
 Gerard and Denys raised him up 
 and consoled him. " Courage, man, 
 't is but cautery ; balm of Gilead ; 
 why, you recommended it but now to 
 my comrade here." 
 
 The physician replied only by a 
 look of concentrated spite, and went 
 out in dead silence, thrusting his 
 stomach forth before him in the droll- 
 est way. The boy followed him next 
 moment, but in that slight inter- 
 val he left off M'hining, burst in a 
 grin, and conveyed to the culprits 
 by an unrefined gesture his accu- 
 rate comprehension of and rapturous 
 though compressed joy at his mas- 
 ter's disaster. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 The worthy physician went home 
 and told his housekeeper he was in 
 agony from " a bad burn." Those 
 w^ere the words. For in phlogis- 
 tic, as in other tilings, we cauter- 
 ize our neighbor's digits, but burn 
 our own fingers. His housekeeper 
 applied some old woman's remedy, 
 mild as milk. He submitted like a 
 lamb to her experience : his sole ob- 
 ject 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 magis- 
 trate that they, being strangers and 
 indebted to him, meditated instaiit 
 fiiglit from the township. 
 
 Alas ! it was his unlucky day- His 
 sincere desire and honest endeavor 
 to perjure himself were baffled by a
 
 lOG 
 
 TH1-: CLOISTER AND THK IIKARTH. 
 
 circunistnncc he had nc\-er foreseen 
 iior indeed thoiij,dit possible. 
 
 He iiad sjiokeii tin- truth. 
 
 And IN AN AFFIDAVIT! 
 
 The ortieiTs, on reaeliinj: the Silver 
 Lion, found the birds were flown. 
 
 They went down to the river, and, 
 from intelli>,'enie they received there, 
 started up the hank in hot pursuit. 
 
 'J'his tenij)(ir:iry e>e:ipe the friends 
 owcil to Deny.^'s ;,'Ood .sense and nbser- 
 viition. After ii peal of luu;,'hter that 
 it wa.s a eordial to hear, iind after 
 venting his watchword three times, 
 he turned short ^;rave, ami tohl Ge- 
 rard Dusseldorf was nf) place for them. 
 "That old fellow," said he. "went 
 riff unnaturally silent for such a bah- 
 bler ; we are stran;,'ers here ; the Ixtilijf 
 is his J'riiHil ; in five minutes we shall 
 lie in a ilun;;eon for a.ssaultinp a 
 Dusseldorf di;;nity ; arc you stronjj 
 enoui^h to hobble to the water's edf^o >. 
 it is hard by. Once tliere, you have 
 hut to lie down in a lK>at instead of a 
 lied ; and what is the odds '. " 
 
 " The odds, Deiivs ? untold, and 
 nil in favor of the lioat. I pine for 
 Home ; for Kome is my road to Sev- 
 cnlK'r;;en ; and then we shall lie in 
 the lM)at, hut ox the lihine, the fa- 
 mous Kliinc ; the cool, refreshin>: 
 Khinc. I feel its brt-ezes cominij; the 
 very si;:ht will cure a little ho{>-o'- 
 my-thumb fever like mine. Away ! 
 away ! " 
 
 Findin;r his exritahle friend in this 
 mood, Denys settled hastily with the 
 landlord, and they hurried to the 
 river. On inipiiry, they found to their 
 distnay that the public boat was pone 
 this half-hour, and no other would 
 start that day, l)einfr afternoon, liy 
 dint, however, of asking a great many 
 questions, and eolleetinfr a crow(l, 
 they obtained an otter of a private 
 lH)at from an old man and his two 
 sons. 
 
 This was duly ridiculed by a by- 
 stander. " The current is too strong 
 for three oars." 
 
 " Then my comrade and I will help 
 row," said the invalid. 
 
 " No nce<l," said the old man. 
 " Bless your silly heart, lie owns 
 t'other boat." 
 
 There was a powerful breeze right 
 astern ; the boatmen set a broad sail, 
 and, rowing also, went oft" at a spank- 
 ing rate. 
 
 "Are ve Uttir, la<l, for the nver 
 breeze ? '^ 
 
 '• Much Utter. Rut, indeetl, the 
 diK'tor did me giiod." 
 
 " The diKtor i Why, you would 
 none of his cures." 
 
 " No, but I mean — you will say I 
 am naught, — but knocking the old 
 ftK)l down — somehow — it soothed 
 me." 
 
 " Amiable dove ! how thy little 
 character opens more and more every 
 day, like a rosebud. 1 read thee all 
 wrong at first." 
 
 " Nay, Denys, mistake me not, 
 neither. I trust I had Ixjrne with hi.4 
 idle threats, though in sooth his voice 
 went through my poor ears; hut he 
 was an intiilcl, or luxt door to one, 
 and such I have U'tn taught to abhor. 
 Did he not as good ns say we owed 
 our inwanl parts to men with long 
 Greek names, and not to Ilim whoso 
 name is but a syllable, but whose 
 hand is over all the earth ? I'agan I " 
 
 " So you knocked him down forth- 
 with, — like a good (""hristian." 
 
 " Now, Di'uys, you will still 1h' 
 jesting. Take not an ill man's part ! 
 Had it lieen a thnnderlK)lt from 
 heaven, he had nu't but his due ; vet 
 he took but a sorry bolster from t^is 
 Weak arm." 
 
 " What weak arm ? " inquired 
 Denys, with twinkling eyes. " I have 
 lived among anns, and, by Samson's 
 hairy pow, never saw I one more like 
 a catapult. The bolster wrapjx^i 
 round his nose, and the two ends 
 ki.vsed behind his head, and his fore- 
 head resounded, and had he been 
 Goliah, or Julius C;esar, instead of an 
 old quacksalver, down he had gone. 
 St. Denys guard me from such fee- 
 ble opjKjsites as thou ! and, above all, 
 from their weak amis — thou diaboli 
 cal young hypocrite."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 107 
 
 The river took many turns, and 
 this sometimes brought the wind on 
 their side instead of ri<;-ht astern. 
 Then they all moved to the weather 
 side to prevent the boat hcelint; 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 naviga- 
 tion. 
 
 They sailed merrily on, little con- 
 scious that they were pursued by 
 a whole posse of constables, 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 remem- 
 bered that this was a very good way 
 to Rome, but not to Burgundy. " O 
 Denys," said he, with an almost 
 alarmed look, " this is not your 
 road." 
 
 " I know it," said Denys, quietly. 
 " But what can I do ? I cannot leave 
 thee till the fever leaves thee : and 
 't is on thee still ; for thou art both 
 red and white in turns ; I have watched 
 thee : I must e'en go on to Cologne, 
 I doubt, and theii strike across." 
 
 " Thank Heaven," said Gerard, 
 joyfully. He added eagerly, with a 
 little touch of self-deception, " 'T were 
 a sin to be so near Cologne, and not 
 see it. O man, it is a vast and 
 ancient city, such as I have often 
 dreamed of, but ne'er had the good 
 hick 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 
 grace, and sacked by Attila the bar- 
 barous, and afterwards sore defaced 
 by the Norman Lothaire. And it has 
 a church for every week in the year, 
 forbye chapels and churches innumer- 
 able 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 Gasper frankincense, and 
 Balthazar the l)lack 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 colors, 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 bare- 
 headed ; but he of ^thiop ebony, and 
 bearetli a golden crown : and in the 
 midst our Blessed Lady in virgin sil- 
 ver, with Christ in her arms ; and at 
 the comers, in golden branches, four 
 goodly waxen tapers to burn night 
 and day. Holy eyes have watched 
 and renewed that light unceasingly 
 for ages, and holy eyes shall watch 
 them in scvcula. I tell thee, Denys, 
 the oldest song, the oldest Flemish or 
 German legend, foulid 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 ! " cried 
 Denys. " TNHiat 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. 
 'T is odds but some of them are wea- 
 ried of their estate by this time." 
 
 " Tush, Denys ! " said Gerard ; 
 " why wilt thou, being good, suA 
 make thyself seem evil 'i If thy wish-
 
 108 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND Till: IIKAIJTH. 
 
 inj» cap be on, prnv that wc may meet 
 the imaiifst slii- of' all those wise vir- 
 ifins in the next world ; ami, to that 
 end, let us reven-nee their holv dust 
 in this one. And then there is the 
 ihureh of the MaeeaU-es, and the eal- 
 ilron in which thev and their niotlier 
 Soloniona were liuiled hy a wicked 
 kin^' for refusin;; to eat swine's Hcsli." 
 
 " () iiereniptory kin;; ! anil pi;;- 
 iieaded Nliiccuhces ! I had eaten hiieon 
 with my i)ork, licvcr than chan{,'e 
 |>la< cs at the fire with my meat." 
 
 " What scnrvv words arc these ? it 
 was their faith.' 
 
 " Nay, bridle thy eholer, and tell 
 me, are there nau;;ht but ehurehes in 
 this thy so vaunted city t For I 
 atleet rather Sir Kiii<;ht than Sir 
 Priest." 
 
 " Ay, marry, there is an university 
 near a hundred years old ; nnd there 
 is a market-place, no fairer in the 
 world ; and at the four sides of it 
 houses f,'reat as palaces ; and there is 
 a stu[)endous senate-house all covered 
 with imiii,'es, 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 f " 
 
 " A rare one. He slew a lion in 
 fair combat, with nau^rht but his cloak 
 and a short sword. He thrust the 
 cloak in the l)rute's mouth, and cut 
 his spine in twain, and there is the 
 man's effi;ry 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." 
 
 " .^^arry ! three tall fellows. I 
 would like well to sup with them all 
 to-ni;;ht." 
 
 " So would not I," said Gerard, 
 dryly. 
 
 " But tell me," said Denys, with 
 some surprise, " when wast thou in 
 Coloirne ? " 
 
 " Xever, but in the spirit. I prattle 
 with the pood monks by the way, and 
 thev tell me all the notable things, 
 botli old and new." 
 
 " Ay, ay, have not I seen your 
 nose \mder their very cowls ? But 
 when I sjK-ak of matters that are out 
 of sipht, my words they arc small, 
 and the thinp it was bip; ; now thy 
 words be as biy; or bijjt;er than the 
 things ; art a good limner with thy 
 ton;.'ue ; I have saiil it: anil, for a 
 saint, iLs ready with hand, or steel, or 
 Ijolster, — a.s any pcxjr sinner livin;;; 
 and so, shall I tell thee which of all 
 these thiii;;s thou hast descrii)ed draws 
 me to Cologne ! " 
 
 " Av, Denys." 
 
 " Thou, and thou only ; no dead 
 saint, but my living friend and com- 
 rade true ; 't is thou alone drawest 
 Denys of Burgundy to Cologne." 
 
 (Jerard hung his head. 
 
 At this juncture one of the younger 
 boatmen suildi-idy in(|uircd what was 
 amiss with '' little turui[i-face " ! 
 
 His young nc|)hew thus described 
 hail just come aft grave as a judge, 
 and burst out crying in the midst 
 without more ado. On this |ihcnome- 
 non, so sharply delined, he was sub- 
 jected to many interrogatories, some 
 coaxiiigly uttered, some not. Had 
 he hurt himself/ had he overate 
 himself ? wa.s he frightened '. was he 
 cold '. was he sick .' was he an 
 idiot ? 
 
 To all and each he uttered the same 
 reply, which Knglish writers render 
 thus, oh ! oh ! oli ! and French writ- 
 ers thus, hi ! hi ! hi ! So tixed arc 
 Fiction's phonetics. 
 
 " Who can tell what ails tha pee- 
 vish brat ! " snarled the young boat- 
 man, imj»aticntly. " Rather lo<jk this 
 way, and tell ine whom be these af- 
 ter! " 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 stem, 
 whispering, and casting glances alter- 
 nately at their passengers and the 
 pedestrians. 
 
 The sequel may show they would 
 have employed speculation better in 
 trying to fathom the turnip-face mys- 
 tery, — I beg pardon of my age, I
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 109 
 
 mean " the deep mind of dauntless in- 
 fancy." 
 
 " If 't is as I doubt," whispered 
 one of the young men, " why not 
 give them a squeak for tlieir lives ; 
 let us make for the west bank." 
 
 The old man objected stoutly. 
 " What," said he, " run our heads 
 into trouble for strangers ? arc ye 
 mad 1 Nay, let us rather cross to the 
 east side : still side with the strong 
 arm ! that is my rede. What say 
 you, Werter ? " 
 
 " I say, please yourselves." 
 
 What age and youth could not de- 
 cide 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 leeward, and the 
 next moment they saw nothing, but 
 felt the Rhine : the cold and rushing 
 Rhine. 
 
 " Turnip-face " had drawn the plug. 
 
 Gerard could swim like a duck ; but 
 the best swimmer, canted out of a 
 boat capsized, must sink ere he can 
 svnm. The dark Avater bubbled loud- 
 ly over his head, and then he came up 
 almost blind and deaf for a moment ; 
 the next he saw the black boat bot- 
 tom uppei-most, and figures clinging 
 to it ; he shook his head like a water- 
 dog and made for it by a sort of un- 
 thinking 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. 
 
 Things good and evil balance them- 
 selves in a remarkable manner ; and 
 
 almost universally. The steel bow 
 attached to the arbalestrier's back, and 
 carried above his head, had sunk him. 
 That verj' steel bow, owing to that 
 very position, could not escape Ge- 
 rard's hands, one of which grasped it, 
 and the other went between the bow 
 and the cord, which was as good. 
 The next moment Dcnjs, by means 
 of his cross-bow, was hoisted with so 
 eager a jerk that half his body 
 bobbed up out of water. 
 
 " Now, grip me not ! 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 desired movement. " Hand on 
 my shoulder ! slap the water with the 
 other hand ! No — with a downward 
 motion : so. Do nothing more llian 
 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 uj) 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 importance 
 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 furnish- 
 ing one a novel incident. Owing to 
 the force of the current they slanted 
 considerably, and, when they had cov- 
 ered near a hundred yards, Denys 
 murmured, xineasily, " How much 
 more of it ? " 
 
 " Courage," mumbled Gerard. 
 " Wliatever a duck knows, a Dutch- 
 man knows ; art safe as in a 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 an- 
 other from head to foot, as if eyes 
 could devour, then by one impulse 
 flung each an arm round the other's
 
 no 
 
 THE CLOISTF.n AND IHi; HKAKTII. 
 
 neck, and punted tlicrc witli hetirts 
 too lull to spiak. And nt tliis sacrctl 
 moment life was swi-et us heuven to 
 botli ; sweetest, |ier)tups, to tlie poor 
 exiled lover, whi> hud just saved his 
 friend. () joy, to whosi- hei;;ht what 
 [KHt has yit soared, or ever tried to 
 ^uar ' To save a htitnan life; and 
 lliat life u loved one. Sneh moments 
 are worth livine; for, uv, three.score 
 years and ten. And then, calmer, 
 they took hands, and so walked alon^ 
 tile hank like a pair of sweethearts, 
 scarce knowiii;,' or earinj^ whither 
 they went. 
 
 The l)oat jK-ople were all safe on 
 the lute concave, now convex, craft, 
 llerr Turnip-face, the "Inverter of 
 thing's," Ik'ui;,' in the middle. All 
 this fracas seemecl not to have es- 
 sentially deran;;ed his habits. At 
 least he was j;reetiny: when he shot 
 our friends into the Khine, and j^cet- 
 in^ when they j,'ot out again. 
 
 " Shall we wait till they right the 
 boat ? " 
 
 " No, Denys, our fare is paid ; wc 
 owe them min;;ht. Let us on, and 
 briskly." 
 
 Denys assented, observin;; that they 
 coulil walk all the way to Colo;;ne on 
 this bank. 
 
 " I fare not to Cologne," was the 
 calm reply. 
 
 " Why, wjiither then ? " 
 
 " T«) Hurgundy." 
 
 " 'i'o Burgundy ? Ah, no ! that is 
 too good to be sooth." 
 
 •' Sooth 't is ; and .sense into the 
 bargain. What niatters it to me 
 how I go to Kome ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; you but say so to 
 pleasure me. The cimnge is too 
 sudden ; and think me not so ill- 
 hearted as to take you at your 
 word. Also did I not sec your 
 eyes sparkle at the wonders of Co- 
 logne '. — the churches, the images, 
 the u'lics — " 
 
 " IIow dull art then, Denys ! that 
 was when we were to enjoy them to- 
 gether. Churches ; I shall see plenty, 
 go Romeward how I will. The bones 
 
 of saint.s and martyrs ; alas ! the world 
 is full of them : but a (riciid like thee, 
 where on earth's face ^hall I tind an- 
 other f No, I will not turn thee further 
 from the road that leads to thy dear 
 home and her that pines for thw. 
 Neither will I rob myself of thee by 
 leavin;,' thee. Since I ilrew tlii-e out 
 of Kliino I love thee better than I 
 did. Thou art my pearl ; I tished 
 thee, and must keep thee. So gain- 
 say roe not, or thou wilt bring biu-k 
 my fever ; but crv courage, and lead 
 on ; and hey for hurgundy !" 
 
 Denys gave a jovful caper. " Cour- 
 age ! va i)our la Hourgognc. Oh ! 
 soyez tnuxpiille ! cctte lois il est 
 bien de'ciilcmcnt mort, ce coquin lu." 
 And they tunied their backs on tho 
 Rhino. 
 
 On this tlecision making itself clear, 
 across the Ivliine there was a commo- 
 tion in the little party that had been 
 watching the discussion, and the 
 friends had not taken nuiiiy steps 
 ere a voice came to them over the 
 water. " HALT ! " 
 
 Gerard turned, and saw one of those 
 four holding out a badge of otHce and 
 a i)arcliment sli|>. Ilis heart saiik ; 
 for he was a giK)d 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 indudeil. He was a 
 soldier, and took a military view of 
 the situation. Superior force o\>- 
 j)osed ; river l)Ctween ; rear open ; 
 why, 'twas retreat made ea.sy. 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," said 
 he, " and then, being out of sight, 
 quick step." 
 
 They sauntered off. 
 
 " Halt, in the bailiffs name ! " cried 
 a voice from the shore. 
 
 Denys turned round, and ostenta- 
 tiously snapped his fingers at the 
 bailiff", and proceeded. 
 
 " Halt ! in the archbishop's name."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Denys snapped his fingers at his 
 grace, and proceeded. 
 
 " Halt ! in the emperor's name." 
 
 Denys snapped his lingers 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 in- 
 quired what on earth had become 
 of Gerard's fever. " I begin to 
 miss it sadly," said he, dryly. 
 
 " I dropped it in Rhine, I trow," 
 was the reply. 
 
 Presently they came to a little vil- 
 lage, and here Denys purchased a loaf 
 and a huge bottle of Khenish 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 age ; though 
 the co-operation of the public was al- 
 most null, at all events upon the Con- 
 tinent. The innkeepers were every- 
 where under close surveillance as to 
 their travellers, for whose acts they 
 were even in some degree responsible, 
 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 
 threshed ; for the heap of straw on 
 one side the threshing-floor was al- 
 most as high as the unthreshed 
 corn on the other. 
 
 " Here be two royal beds," said 
 Denys, " which shall we lie on, the 
 mow or the straw ? " 
 
 " The straw for me," said Gerard. 
 
 They sat on the heap, and ate theil 
 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 fronj 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 
 two. 
 
 In the morning he sat up 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 seh'-defence went to sleep 
 again. 
 
 Poor fellow, in his hard life he had 
 been often driven to this manceuvre. 
 At high noon he was waked by Ge- 
 rard moving, and found him sitting 
 up, with the straw smoking round him 
 like a dunghill. Animal heat vtrsiis 
 moisture. Gerard called him " a lazy 
 loon." He quietly grinned.
 
 112 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK IIKARTH. 
 
 They set out, and the first thinp 
 Dcnyt) Jill was to fxirv Gerard his 
 nrhalest, etc., and mount a high tree 
 on the road. '• ( 'oast clear to the next 
 vilUij^c," said he, and on they went. 
 
 On drawing Uiar tlie vilhige Denys 
 halteil, and suddenly inijuired of Ge- 
 rard how lie felt. 
 
 " What ! ean you not see ? I feel 
 as if Kwmc was no farther than yon 
 hamlet." 
 
 " But thy body, lad ; thy skin ? " 
 
 " Neither hot nor cold ; and yester- 
 day 't was iiot one while and cold an- 
 other. But what I cannot get rid of 
 is this tiresome leg." 
 
 " Im grand malhenr ! Many of 
 my comrades have found no siieii 
 ditKenlty." 
 
 " Ah ! there it goes again ; itclies 
 consumedly." 
 
 " Unhaj)py youth," said Denys, 
 solemnly, " the sum of thy troubles 
 is this : thy fever is gone, and thy 
 wound is — iiealing. Sith so it is,'' 
 added he, indulgently, "I shall tell 
 thee a little piece of newa I had oth- 
 erwise withheld." 
 
 " What is 't ? " asked Gerard, 
 sparkling with enriositv. 
 
 " TIIK IlUK AND CRY IS OUT 
 AFTER US, AND UN FLEET 
 HORSES." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Gerard was staggered by this 
 sndden communieution ; and his color 
 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 v>hirl and come tearing at a 
 multitude of hunters, and perhaps 
 bore you. Gerard then set his teeih 
 and looked battle. But the next mo- 
 ment his countenance fell, and he said 
 plaintively, " And my axe is in 
 Rhine." 
 
 They consulted togctlier. Pm 
 dence bade them avoid that village: 
 hunger said, " Buy food." 
 
 Hunger spoke loudest. Prudence 
 most lonvincinglv. They settled to 
 strike across the helds. 
 
 As they went, the very eyes of the 
 j)air betrayed the ditl'crence in their 
 minds ; so quick and outward were 
 those of Denys, so ruminating and in- 
 ward (icraid's. 
 
 " Halt at this haystack," said the 
 latter ; " now tell me by what clew 
 are these following us ; they know us 
 not." 
 
 " Why, by description, sure : sim- 
 jilcton, they have got our habit and 
 arms and faces to the letter, and writ 
 out fair by the town clerk, I warrant 
 ye." 
 
 " I guessed as much. Well, then, 
 I 'II confound their description and 
 them too. (Jive me thy huti' jerkin. 
 Keep thou my pjirse, 't is large and 
 noticeable. Now take thou my long 
 hair, and twist it under my l)onnet. 
 Saiil I twist it otf ? Now move not for 
 thy life." He ran olV, and Denys 
 passed two mortal hours of utter 
 wretchedness. He wanted to be do- 
 ing, and instead of that he was pas- 
 sive. He was out of his part, and 
 became in some respects his own op- 
 posite, so narrow arc our strongest 
 qualities. He had as many misgiv- 
 ings and feeble fears for Gerard, ab- 
 sent and left to his ownTFesourecs, as 
 any old grandam for her boy pet 
 when out of sight ; only it broke out 
 in violence instead of wailing. " O, 
 if they touch but a hair of his heatl, 
 I '11 burn their village to the ground, 
 and shoot them down like vermin by 
 the light of their own ruin ! May 
 Satan twist my neck and fry my soul 
 but I '11 cut every male throat, young 
 or old, that has the ill luck but to 
 look on and see my dear comrade 
 harmed ! " And so after the first hour 
 he went on, mixing rage with tender- 
 ness and good with ill, and, above 
 all, vomiting language to hear which 
 one might really wonder Heaven did 
 not strike him dead. Nor, while I
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 113 
 
 sacrifice perfect truth of portraiture to 
 decency by thinniug those expletives 
 with which his talk was garnished, or 
 rather measled, do I aim to conceal 
 from my readers the broad fact that 
 this Burgundian soldier was, on the 
 surface, what we humble civilians 
 call a bit of a blackguard. 
 
 At last, just as he had determined, 
 spite of orders, to go into the village, 
 and rescue his comrade or share his 
 fate, Gerard pounced upon him from 
 behind the hedge, having made a com- 
 plete circuit. 
 
 " Embrace me ! " cried Denys. 
 "Ah! drole ! " (angrily.) " Polis- 
 son ! " (tenderly.) "You have made 
 me pass an ill quarter of an hour. 
 Enfm te voila ; soupons ; as I live, a 
 sausage as big as one's leg, a loaf, 
 and a galopin hotel ! " 
 
 " Ay, lad, but what is in my wallet ? 
 divine that ! " 
 
 " Nay, I know not ; a dead cat ! " 
 
 "Monster! no. Fire." 
 
 " Then pull it forth ere it nips thee ; 
 'tis a marvellous unwholesome lodger 
 in a man's shirt-tail, is your whoreson 
 fire." 
 
 " Nay, this is tame fire, and here is 
 his cage," — and Gerard produced a 
 flint and tinder-box ; item, brim- 
 stone matches ; item, two short but 
 thick candles, with rush wicks (the 
 only ones then known), — and eyed 
 them all like a doting parent. 
 
 Over their meal he told his story. 
 
 " On leaving you first, I cut a staff; 
 for I said ' In their description will 
 be no staflF, and every little furthers 
 confusion.' Then what did 11 O, 
 then I thought." 
 
 " I still leave that to the last," re- 
 marked Denys, with his mouth brim- 
 ful. 
 
 " It is as well, perhaps. Then I 
 bent and hobbled painfully with my 
 stick as one worn out. Then I doffed 
 my good shoon and bestowed them 
 in my wallet, and soiled my feet in 
 a kennel, and so into their village." 
 
 " Young man," said Denys, solemn- 
 ly, " experience hath been niggardly 
 
 to thee, but Nature is filling the gap 
 by degrees ; I have watched her at 
 her work with interest ; en avant ! " 
 
 " But or ever I wend to the first 
 homestead, what should pass me full 
 gallop but a pursuivant, brave as 
 a popinjay, with a tin trump, and 
 parchments thereto attached. At 
 the village cross he dismounts, doffs 
 his bonnet to the cross, blows his 
 horn, and there fixes a goodly parch- 
 ment." 
 
 " Our description," shouted Denys, 
 with a rattling oath. " Why was not 
 I within shot of the knave ? Didst 
 not shake in thy shoon ? " 
 
 "For a minute; but by good luck 
 the priest was abroad, and of all ihe 
 frieze jerkins and striped fardingales 
 that gathered round the well, not one, 
 as it chanced, could read, but only 
 levelled their eyes on 't and thrust 
 forth their noses." 
 
 " Like venison stationed sniffing 
 up at a scarlet rag. Methinks I see 
 the boovs. Forward ! " 
 
 " Then up hobbled I, and with 
 feigned labor spelled out the writ- 
 ing aloud, the folk hanging on my 
 words." 
 
 " We shall hang on something bet- 
 ter wind-proof," said Denys, going 
 suddenly into a great passion ; " 't was 
 foolhardy." 
 
 Gerard wore a lofty expression. 
 " Poor Denys," said he, patronizing- 
 ly ; " dost really think I read it forth 
 as writ 1 Nay, I embellished it." 
 
 " Anan 1 " 
 
 " I drew the two ends farther 
 apart." 
 
 " Comment ? " 
 
 " I heightened you and lowered 
 me." 
 
 " Plait-il ? " 
 
 " Well, then, — Denys, you are a 
 veteran, you know. How often have 
 I heard you say if? " 
 
 " And who gainsays it ? Twelve 
 years' hard service, mort du diable ! " 
 
 " And in age you are eight-and- 
 twenty." 
 
 " On St. Denys his day " (doffing 
 his cap).
 
 114 
 
 TIIK CLOISTER AND THK HEARTH. 
 
 "Well, then, I read you forth to 
 the folk 11 veteran." 
 
 " And 1, kinf,' a veteran, tell you 
 truth is not to Ik- spoken at all times, 
 far loss read out to a man's foes." 
 
 " Patience ! I made you out a real 
 veteran, the veteran of painters and 
 minstrels." 
 
 " Gramcrcy," said the veteran, pee- 
 vishly. "Small is my pain, "iour 
 minstrels are liars and knaves and 
 sots ; and the t,'reatest va^'abonils yu- 
 ing." 
 
 " Except those whoso deeds they 
 chant." 
 
 " Granted," said Denys, with con- 
 temptuous indirterencc. The sly Ge- 
 rard liad ;,'i)t him out of his depth. 
 
 " To tell the n-al trutii," continued 
 Gerard, " I painted you to those 
 boors partly from the Dus'^cldorf 
 parchment, but mainly from a sketch 
 — of a veteran — l)y llnl)ert Van 
 Kyck. His sister .M:irt,Mrct, my most 
 dear friend, sliuwed it mc oft. Thus 
 I dwelt nuicli on thine arbalest, and 
 thy sword, also on my axe, which 
 I thifu^ht was deep in Hhine, but 
 lo ! 't was on that parchment all the 
 time." 
 
 Denys winked, but irresolutely, 
 his sense of humor being somewhat 
 impeded by his ire. 
 
 " Thy great, hideous beard I kept 
 religiously, being thy friend, and 
 divining, by thy handiing it from 
 morn till night, that tiiou art proud 
 on 't. Well-a-ilay, of what cannot 
 men make shift to be proud ? Hut, 
 though I plucked not a single bristle, 
 1 snowed upon them all, and thy 
 sunny locks I did i)roperly grizzle ; 
 and somewhat curbed tliy stitf neck 
 and the j)ikestatf in thy backbone. 
 Why, how now, veteran ! thine eyes 
 have vanished wholly. One would 
 say thy crow's-feet had stamped them 
 into thy head, and shut both windows 
 on 'em', for naught is visible where 
 peepers were eftsoon." 
 
 " They have but ste])ped in a-doors 
 to ponder thy unparalleled knavery ; 
 thou fox in gooseskin ! Forward ! " 
 
 " Well, then, in this ray pictured 
 
 veteran's hand I set — what 1 di« 
 vine ! " 
 
 " Who can divine thee, fathomless 
 impostor! What was 't ? l\\ i eh?" 
 
 " A tender stripling." 
 
 " Sapling, thou wouldst say." 
 
 " No ; no saj)ling, that is, metaphor 
 apart ; but a ilowny stripling, a ten- 
 der innocent, of about thirteen. My 
 years had skipped away from me, — • 
 to thee, I trow ; but what of that .' 
 have not good comrades all in com- 
 mon ? say." 
 
 " Parbleu ! " 
 
 " This done, I bought all these 
 kickshaws, and could liardly get the 
 merchant t(} look at me or reckon the 
 change, for ])eering o'er my head 
 after the veteran and his cub. (Four 
 golden angels reward, Denys ! ! !) So 
 then I went through the town, and 
 prudently came round a league to 
 you. You can go to the village, too, 
 as you like ; what hitulers '. they will 
 cluster about you crving, ' Young 
 iiuin, have you seen a Veteran on the 
 road, an old hoary sinner of a .sol- 
 dier with a cross-bow on his rogue's 
 back, and a little scrubby boy in 's 
 hand ? ' " 
 
 Denys gave a squeak and rolled in 
 the loose hay, seeing wliich Gerard 
 hummed the okl French rhyme : — 
 
 " Un bon vieillarJ — a, 
 El un jeune muutard — a," 
 
 ami laughed almost as lustily as the 
 other. For wit tells not always by 
 its merit, but its circumstance. A 
 very gentle stroke of humor makes 
 the heart dance with gayety, when it 
 brings some solid advantage with it, 
 or relieves some pressing care. 
 
 Nay, I do not doubt that, could you 
 save Nestor's life with a pnn, or mere 
 jingle of words, 
 " Nestor would swear the jest was laughable." 
 
 This trinmjih, however, did not 
 long shut their c'ves to the peril that 
 still environed them. Uj)on reflection, 
 they can-ied each a bundle of hay to 
 a deep ditch hard by, and there lay 
 till nightfall, and then Denys pro
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 115 
 
 posed a night march. They started 
 about ten o'clock, and walked all 
 night barefooted. It was a dismal 
 night, dark as pitch, and blowing 
 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 their natural horror 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 Dusseldorf. But they still 
 trudged on. Presently they came to 
 a huge building. 
 
 " Courage ! " 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 XXIX. 
 
 Here 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 mechan- 
 ism 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 illu- 
 minated finely, but could not write so 
 beautifully as Gerard. Comparing 
 their acquirements with the earnest- 
 ness and simplicity of an age in which 
 accomplishments implied a true natu- 
 ral bent. Youth and Age soon became 
 like brothers, and Gerard was pressed 
 hard to stay all night. He consulted 
 Denys, who assented with a rueful 
 shrug. 
 
 Gerard told his old new friend 
 whither he wa^ going, and described 
 
 their late adventure, softening down 
 the bolster. 
 
 " Alack ! " 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 
 roisterers, whence his soul might take 
 harm even did his body escape ; and 
 to manage each day's journey so as to 
 lie at some peaceful monastery ; then 
 suddenly breaking off and looking as 
 sharp as a needle at Gerard, he asked 
 him how long since he had been shriv- 
 en 1 Gerard colored up and replied 
 feebly : — 
 
 " Better than a fortnight." 
 
 " And thou an exorcist ! No won- 
 der perils have overtaken thee. Come, 
 thou mnst be assoilcd out of hand." 
 
 " Yes, father," said Gerard, " and 
 with all mine heart " ; and was sink- 
 ing down to his knees, with his hands 
 joined, but the monk stopped him 
 half fretfully: — 
 
 " Not to me ! not to me ! not to 
 me! I am as fidl 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 
 arc for the use of the church, and 
 surely that sanctifies the pains and 
 labor spent on them f " 
 
 " That is just what the Devil has 
 been whispering in mine car 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 coimted gracious and no sin. 
 O, 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
 
 116 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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. So 
 now go confess thy little trumpery 
 sins, ])ar(lonable in youth and secular- 
 ity, and leave me to mine, sweet to 
 me as honey, and to be expiated in 
 proportion." 
 
 Gerard bowed his head, but could 
 not help saying, " Where shall I find 
 a confessor more holy and clement ? " 
 
 " In each of the.se cells," rc])lied 
 tlic monk, simply (they were now in 
 the corridor) ; "there, go to Brother 
 Anselm, yonder." 
 
 Gerard followed the monk's direc- 
 tion and made for a cell ; but tlie 
 doors were pretty close to one anoth- 
 er, and it seems he mistook ; for just 
 as he was about to tap he heard his 
 old friend crying to him in an agitat- 
 ed whisper, " Nay ! nay ! nay ! " He 
 turned, and there was the monk at 
 his cell-door in a strange state of 
 anxiety, going up and down, and 
 beating the air double-handed, like a 
 bottom sawyer. Gerard really thou^'ht 
 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 
 proclaimed. He looked back inquir- 
 ingly, 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 regal les ; and 
 often he looked up and said to 
 himself, " Well-a-day, the sands how 
 s\vift 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 Ge- 
 rard, in confessing to him and reply- 
 ing to his gentle though searching 
 questions, could not help thinking, 
 " Here is a head ! O dear ! O dear ! 
 
 I wonder whether you will let me 
 draw it when I have done cunfcssing." 
 And so his own head got confused, 
 and he forjjot a crime or two. How- 
 ever, he did not lower tlie bolstering 
 this tinu- ; nor was he so uncandid as 
 to detract from the paj^an character 
 of the bolstered. 
 
 The penance inflicted was this : he 
 was to enter the convent church, and, 
 prostrating himself, 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 mortifica- 
 tion performed, Gerard returned, and 
 found Fatlier Anselm spreading plas- 
 ter. 
 
 " After the soul the body," said he ; 
 " know that I am the chirurj^con here, 
 for want of a better. This is goitig 
 on thy leg to cool it, not to burn it, 
 the saints forbid ! " 
 
 During the operation, the monastic 
 leech, who had naturally been inter- 
 ested by the Dusseldorf branch of Ge- 
 rard's confession, rather sided with 
 Denys upon " bleeding." " We Ben- 
 edictines seldom let blood nowa- 
 days ; the lay leeches say 't is from 
 timidity and want of skill : but, in 
 sooth, we have long found that sim- , 
 pies will cure most of the ills that can 
 be cured at all. Besides, they never 
 kill in capable hands ; and other rem- 
 edies slay like thunderbolts. As for 
 the blood, the Vulgate 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. 
 Moreover, 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 traditions, 
 still search and trj^ the virtues of those 
 plants the good God hath strewed 
 this earth with, some to feed men's 
 bodies, some to heal them. Only in 
 desperate ills we mix heavenly with
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 117 
 
 earthly \'irtue. We steep the hair or 
 the l)ones of some dead saint in the 
 medicine, and thus work marvellous 
 cures." 
 
 " Think you, father, it is along of 
 the reliques ? for Peter a Floris, a 
 learned leech and no pagan, denies it 
 stoutly." 
 
 " What knows Peter h, Floris ? 
 And what know I ? I take not on 
 me to say we can command the saints, 
 and, will they nill they, can draw cor- 
 poral virttic from their blest remains. 
 But I see that the patient drinking 
 thus in fiiith is often bettered as by a 
 charm. Doubtless faith in the recip- 
 ient is for much in all these cures. 
 But so 't was 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 touclied 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. Ha-.'e, 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 on 
 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 't will 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 Avas 
 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 ! " 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 forever. 
 There is nothing but meeting and 
 parting in this sorrowful world. 
 Well-a-day ! well-a-day ! " This pen- 
 sive mood Mas interrupted by a young 
 monk who came for him and took 
 him to the refectory ; 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 knowledge, and marked out the 
 route, noting all the religious houses 
 on or near that road, and this they 
 gave Gerard. Then supper, and af- 
 ter it the old monk carried Gerard to 
 his cell, and they had an eager chat, 
 and the friar incidentally revealed the 
 cause of his pantomime in the corri- 
 dor. " Ye had Avellnigh fallen into 
 Jerome's clutches. Yon was his 
 cell." 
 
 " Is Father Jerome an ill man, 
 then ? " 
 
 " An ill man ? " and the friar 
 crossed liimself; "a saint, an ancho- 
 rite, the very pillar of this house. He 
 had sent ye barefoot to Lorctto. Nay, 
 I forgot, y' are bound for Italy ; the 
 spitefiU old — saint upon earth had 
 sent ye to Canterbury or Compo.stella. 
 But Jerome Avas born old and with a 
 cowl ; Anselm and I were boys once, 
 and Avicked beyond anything you can 
 imagine (Gerard Avore a somcAvhat 
 incredulous look) ; this keeps us hum- 
 ble more or less, and makes us reason- 
 ably lenient to youth and hot blood." 
 
 Then, at Gerard's earnest request, 
 one more heaA'enly strain upon the 
 psalterion, and so to bed, the troubled 
 spirit calmed, and the sore heart 
 soothed. 
 
 I haA-e described in full this day, 
 marked only by contrast, a day that 
 came like oil on AA'aves after so many 
 passions and perils^ — because it must
 
 118 
 
 Tin-: CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Btand in this nnrrativcns the represen- 
 tative of inaiiy Mich (lavs whirh now 
 suc-cet'<ktl to it. l""or our travelli-rs 
 on thi'ir weary way ix|)tTiin<ciI that 
 which most o( my reailirs will find in 
 tho l(»nj;iTJoiirncy of life, viz. tliat stir- 
 riii;; fvint.s are not evi-nly distrihutt'd 
 ovtT the whole road, Init tome hy tits 
 ami start.s, and, a.« it were, in clusters. 
 To some extent this may he lietau.se 
 they draw one another i>y links more 
 or le>s siditle. lint there is more in it 
 than that. It hapin-ns so. Life is an 
 intermittent fever. Now nil narra- 
 tors, whether of history or fiction, 
 are com|ielled to .slur these harren 
 ixirtions of time, — or else line trunks. 
 The ]iraetiee, however, tends to );ive 
 the niij^'uarded reader a wnm;; arith- 
 nietieal impression, which there is a 
 jmrtii'idar rea.soii for avoiding: in these 
 pa^'es as far as jjtissihle. 1 invite, 
 therefore, your inteliiKcnee to my aid, 
 and ask you to try antl realize that, 
 allhon)^h there were no more vivid ail- 
 ventnres for a Ion;; while, oirt? day's 
 march succccdeil another ; one mon- 
 astery after another fed and lodpi-d 
 them ;:ratis with a welcome always 
 charitahlc, sometimes p-nial ; and 
 thou;,di they met no enemy hut win- 
 ter and rou;:h weather, antaj.'onists 
 not always eontemptihle, yet they 
 trnd;,'ed over a much larf;er tract 
 of territory than tiiat their passa^^c 
 throu^rh which I have tle.serilK-d so 
 minutely. And .so the i>air, Gerard 
 lironzetl in tlie face ami travel-stainetl 
 from head tt> foot, ami Denys with his 
 shoes in tatters, stitV and footsore Ujth 
 of them, drew near the Burgundian 
 frontier. 
 
 CI1.VPTER XXX. 
 
 Gerakd was almost as eap;cr for 
 tliis promised land as Denys ; for the 
 latter constantly chanted its praises, 
 and at every little annoyance showed 
 him " they did things better in Bur- 
 gundy " ; and ahove all played on his 
 foible by guaranteeing clean bed- 
 clothes at the inns of that polished 
 
 nation. " I ask no more," the Hol- 
 lander would say ; " to think that 1 
 have not lain once in a nakcil ImmI 
 sinee 1 left home ! When I lot»k at 
 their linen, instead of dotHng hab- 
 it and hose, it is mine eyes and nose 
 I would fain W shut of." 
 
 Denys carried his love of country 
 so far as to walk twenty lfag"es in 
 sIkhvs that hail exi)l<>d«d, rather ihati 
 buy of a fiirman churl, \\ho would 
 thrt)w all manner tif obstacles in a 
 customer's wav, — his incivility, his 
 dinner, his iMxIy. 
 
 Towards sunset they foimd them- 
 selves at e<iual distances fnmt a little 
 town and a monastery ; only the lat- 
 ter was otV the road. Denys was for 
 the inn, Geranl for the convent. 
 Denys gave way, but on condition 
 that, onie in Hurgiindy, they shoultl 
 always stt>p at an inn. Gerard con- 
 sented to this the more readily that 
 his chart, with its list of convents, 
 curled here. So they tnrneil otl' the 
 roail. Ami now (Jeranl asked with 
 suq)risc whence this sudden aversion 
 to ])laces that had fed and lodgetl them 
 gratis so often. The soldier hemmed 
 and hawetl at first ; but at bust his 
 wrongs burst forth. It came out that 
 this was no sudden aversion, but an 
 ancient and abiding horror, which ho 
 had suppressed till now, but with in- 
 finite dirticulty anrl out of politeness: 
 " I saw they hatl put powilcr in vour 
 drink," said he, " so I forbore tlicm. 
 However, In-ing the last, why not 
 ea.sc my miml f Know, then, I have 
 Inx'n like a fish out of water in all 
 those great dungeons. You straight- 
 way levant with some t)ld shaveling: 
 so you see not my purgatory." 
 
 " Forgive me ! I have been selfish." 
 
 " Ay, ay, I forgive thee, little one ; 
 't is not thy fault ; art not the first 
 fool that has been priest-rid, and monk- 
 bit. But I Tl not forgive them my 
 miser}-." Then, al)out a century 
 before Henry VIII. 's commissioners, 
 he delivered his indictment. These 
 gloomy piles were all built alike. 
 Inns differed, but here all was monot- 
 ony. Great gate, little gate, so many
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 119 
 
 steps and then a gloomy cloister. 
 Here the dortour, there the great cold 
 refectory, where you nmst sit mum- 
 chance, or at least inaudible, he who 
 liked to speak his mind out; "and 
 then," said he, " nobody is a man 
 here, but all are slaves, and of what ? 
 of a peevish, tinkling bell, that never 
 sleeps. An 't were a trumpet now, 
 aye sounding alarums, 't would n't 
 freeze a man's heart so. Tinkle, 
 tinkle, tinkle, and you must sit to 
 meat with maybe no stomach for food. 
 Ere 30ur meat settles in your stomach, 
 tinkle, tinkle, and ye must to church 
 with maybe 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 contrived to shut them, 
 some uneasy imp of darkness has got 
 to the bell-rope, and tinkle, tinkle, it 
 behooves you say a prayer in the dark, 
 whether you know one or not. If 
 they heard the sort of prayers I mut- 
 ter when they break my rest with their 
 tinkle ! Well, you drop off again 
 and get about an eyeful of sleep ; lo, 
 it is tinkle, tinkle, for matins." 
 
 " And the only clapper you love is 
 a woman's," put in Gerard, half con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Because there is some music in 
 that, even Avhen 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 Avipe my 
 knife on the cloth to save time, then 
 't is, " Wipe thy knife dirty on the 
 bread, and clean upon the cloth ! " 
 O, small of soul ! these little peevish 
 pedantries fall chill upon good-fellow- 
 ship, like wee icicles a melting down 
 from strawen eaves." 
 
 " I hold cleanliness no pedantry," 
 said Gerard. " Shouldst learn better 
 manners once for all." 
 
 " Nay. 'T is they who lack man- 
 ners. They stop a fellow's mouth at 
 every word." 
 
 " At every other word, you mean ; 
 every obscene or blasphemous one." 
 
 " Exaggerator, go to ! 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 ! what befell 1 " 
 
 " Marry, this. ' Blaspheme not ! ' 
 quoth the bourreau. ' Plait-il ? ' saj 
 I. Does n'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 
 feult." 
 
 " Well, all the world ought to speak 
 French. What avail so many jargons 
 except to put a frontier atA\:.Kt men's 
 hearts ? " 
 
 " Rut what said he?" 
 
 " What signifies it what a fool 
 says ■? " 
 
 " 0, 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 
 hut my "consigne" or watchword.' 
 ' O, then, it is just a custom ? ' said 
 he. I, not driving the old fox, and 
 thinking to clear myself, said, ' Ay, 
 it was.' ' Then that is ten times 
 worse,' said he. ' 'T will bring him 
 about your cars one of these days. He 
 still comes where he hears his name 
 often called.' Observe ! no gratitude 
 for the information 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 arc 
 broke on the wheel ; ' a savoir/ 
 murder, rape, and pillage." 
 
 " And is 't not true t " 
 
 " True or not, it was ill manners,' 
 replied Denys, guardedly. " And so 
 says this courteous host of mine, 
 ' Being the foes of mankind, why
 
 120 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND T!IE HEARTH. 
 
 make ciu'inics of psod spirits into the 
 biirpain, by still sjKJUtiii;; the names 
 of evil OIKS f ' nnd a lot more sttift'." 
 
 " Well, l)iit Denys, wlietlier yon 
 hearken his rede, or sli^'ht it, where- 
 fore blame a man for raising his voice 
 to save yonr sonl ! " 
 
 " Uow ran his voice save my soul, 
 when he keeps turning of his ' T's ' 
 into ' B's ' f " 
 
 Ueranl was sta^rfrercil ; ere he couUI 
 recover at this thumlerbolt of (Jal- 
 licisni, Denys went triunii)hant otf at 1 
 a tangent, and stigmatized idl monks \ 
 as liypocrites. " Do bnt look «t them, j 
 how they creep about and cannot eye 
 yon like honest men." 
 
 " Nay," said (Jerard, e:iger1y, " that 
 modest, downcast ga/e is j)art of their 
 discipline ; 't is ' cnstodia (Kidornm.' " 
 
 " ('ussed toads eating hoc hiu- hor- 
 uni > No snch thing ; just so looks a 
 cut purse. Can't meet a true man's 
 eye. DofV cowl, monk, and l>chold, 
 a thief; don cowl, thief, ami lo, a 
 monk. Tell nic not they will ever U- 
 able to look (Jod Almights in the 
 fiice, when tiny can't even look a true 
 man in the face down here. Ah, here 
 it is, black as ink! into the well we 
 go, eonnadc. Mise'ricorde, there goes 
 the tinkle already. "F is the best of 
 tinkles though ; 't is for dinner : stay, 
 listen ! I thought so ; the wolf in 
 my stomach cried ' Amen ! ' " This 
 last statement he confirmed with two 
 oaths, and marched like a victorious 
 gamecock into the convent, thinking 
 l>y (teranl's silence he hail convinced 
 him, and not dreaming how profound- 
 ly he had disgusted him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 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, etc. 
 
 Gerard caught this, and timidly of- 
 fered his senices. There wa? a hesi- 
 
 tation which he mistook. " Nny, not 
 for hire, my lord-:, j.ut for love, and aa 
 a trilling return for many a good 
 ni;:ht's lodging the brethren of your 
 order have bestowed on me, a |K»or 
 wayfarer." 
 
 A monk smilctl approvingly ; but 
 hinte<l that the late brother wa'* an 
 excellent ])enman, and his work could 
 not be continued but by a iTUister. 
 Cierard, on this, da-w from his wallet 
 with some trepidation a vellum deed, 
 the back of which he hml cleaned and 
 written u|K>n 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 Ixnding 
 his knee .so as just to toiuh in nass- 
 ing the fifth stcji and the teutli, or 
 last, [>resentcd it to the prior with 
 comments. Instantly a dozen know- 
 ini; eyes were fixed on it, and a buzz 
 of voices was heani ; and sotjn (jrcrard 
 saw the jtrior point more than once, 
 and the monk came back, looking as 
 proud as I'unch, with a savory crus- 
 tadc rval, or game-pie gravied and 
 spiced, for (Jerard, and a silver grace 
 cup full of rich pimentuin. This lat- 
 ter Gerard took, ami Ixjwing low, first 
 to the distant prior, then to his own 
 company, ipialled, 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 
 Ken as rutle and ignorant as his 
 brothers, Sybrandt and Comclis. 
 " But 't is passing strange how yoa 
 could know," said he. 
 
 " You drank with the cup in both 
 hands," said two monks, speaking 
 together. 
 
 The voices had for some time been 
 loudish round a table at the bottom 
 of the hall ; but presently came a 
 burst of mirth so obstreperous 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 cheek 
 burned with shame : for in tho heart
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 121 
 
 of the unruly merriment his ear had 
 caught the word " courage ! " and the 
 trumpet tones oi" Denys of Burgundy. 
 
 Soon Gerard was installed in fen 
 Werter's cell, with wax-lights, and 
 a little frame that could be set at 
 any angle, and all the materials of 
 caligraphy. The work, however, was 
 too much for one evening. Then 
 came the question, how could he ask 
 Denys, the monk-hater, to stay lon- 
 ger ? However, he told him, and of- 
 fered 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 '11 pass the time as I may." 
 
 Gerard's work was vastly admired ; 
 they agreed that the records of the 
 monastery had gained by poor Wer- 
 ter's death. The sub-prior forced a 
 rix-doUar on Gerard, and several 
 brushes and colors out of the convent 
 stock, wiiich was very large. He re- 
 sumed his march warm at heart ; for 
 this was of good omen ; since it was 
 on the pen he relied to make his for- 
 tune and recover his well-beloved. 
 " Come, Denys," said he, good-hn- 
 moredly, " 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 mo- 
 ment to hear even you call my bene- 
 factors ' hypocrites.' " 
 
 " I recant," says Denys. 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you ! Good 
 Denys." 
 
 " I was a scumlous vagabond." 
 
 " Nay, nay, say not so neither ! " 
 
 " But we soldiers are rude and 
 hasty. I give myself the lie, and I 
 offer those I misunderstood all my 
 esteem. 'T is unjust that thousands 
 should be defamed for the hypocrisy 
 of a few." 
 
 " Now are you reasonable. You 
 have pondered what I said 1 " 
 
 " Nay, it is their own doing." 
 
 Gerard crowed a little ; we all like 
 to be proved in the right ; and was all 
 attention when Denys offered to re- 
 late how his conversion was effected. 
 
 " Well, then, at dinner the first day, 
 
 a young monk beside me did open his 
 jaws and laughed right out most mu- 
 sically. ' 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 adminis- 
 tered my consigne. ' Heaven forbid ! ' 
 says he. I stared. For the dog 
 looked as sad as Solomon : a better 
 mime saw you never, even at a Mys- 
 tery. ' I see war is no sharpener of 
 the wits,' said he. ' What are the 
 clergy for but to fight the foul fiend 1 
 and what else are monks for ? 
 
 " The fiend being dead, 
 The friars are sped." 
 
 You may plough up the convents, and 
 we poor monks shall have naught to 
 do — but turn soldiers, and so bring 
 him to life again.' Then there was a 
 great laugh at my expense. ' Well, 
 you arc the monk for me,' said I. 
 'And you arc the cross-bow-man for 
 me,' quo' he. ' And I '11 be bound you 
 could tell us tales of the war should 
 make our hair stand on end.' ' Ex- 
 cusez ! the barber has put that out of 
 question,' quoth I, and then I had the 
 laugh." 
 
 " What wretched ribaldry ! " ob- 
 served Gerard, pensively. 
 
 The candid Denys at once admitted 
 he had seen merrier jests hatched with 
 less cackle. " 'T was a great matter 
 to have got rid of hypocrisy. ' So,' 
 said I, ' I can give you the chaire de 
 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 ta- 
 ken to a cell instead of the great dor- 
 tour, and strictly foi'biddcn 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 par- 
 lor, 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, tho
 
 122 
 
 THE CLOISTEH AND THK HEARTH. 
 
 tna.Ht, tlu'3<-it, the wintM-iip haii gont> 
 riiiiml, mill .>«iiiii- huil tilavt'il cunU, — 
 vsith u t,'i>r;,'v«mH \imK. vhUvtv Saint 
 'riicrrtH, ami Saint C'atharinr, etc., 
 l..-.li/tii«'<l with u«>l<l, Mifxnl fi)r the 
 (iMir i|iu-.nx, and Mark, whiti\ ^Tay. 
 mill c rutrhitl friunt for tin* I'mir 
 kriiivivn; uiitl hu<i -(taki-il t\'.- "■ >■' 
 ri»taiii'^, swcarini; liko tnx)|' 
 thcv lont. Ami how alMuit i 
 a iifv monk hiwl Aloh-n out, l>ut lt<4>i 
 !»■ )>iin ami othrm Inn-n a.« c-annily 
 fiillowid into tlic ^anli-n, ami ixvn to 
 tliriKt hii hnml into the ivv ami out 
 with a ri>|ic-la<liiiT. Witli thi< In- 
 liail run np on tlic wall, wliiiii wai 
 till fo«t hro.iii, yet not >mi niinhly hut 
 what a ru<vt kirtic huil |m>ii|m-<I up 
 fruin till- iititiT world a.t ({uick. ai* h<* ; 
 ami K<> to liillin:; nnd <-iMiinK ; that 
 thit >itiinti<in had ^tnirk him a.<« ratlu-r 
 t'l-iim.* thmi rrcle.sia.^tiral, and drawn 
 I'rnni him the appmpriato rommrnt 
 of a ■' tncw ! " The monk^ had 
 ioini*d the mew^ieal rhonin. and the 
 lay vi»itor shrieki-*!, an<i l»e»«n non? 
 di-. ointitetl ; but Alwlani only criwi, 
 " NVImt, are ye thire. ve jealoui 
 miauling knaves ' ye •diall ratenvatd 
 to som.' tune to-morrow ni;:ht. I '11 
 fit evi-ry man-jark of ye with a far- 
 diiii;drtle." That this brutal thn-at 
 had nvoneileii him to stay anotlier 
 day — at (ieranl's request. 
 
 (lerard uroaimi 
 
 .Mrantime. unable to diwonrert no 
 bra/en a niunk. and thu demois^dlc 
 U'^intiinj; to whimper, they haii 
 danced caterwaulinK in a circle, then 
 l)f>towed a solemn l)ene<iiction on the 
 two walitliiwers. and off to the par- 
 lor, where they found a pair Ivinij 
 dead <lriink, and other two ntTin-tion- 
 ate to tears. That they had strai;;ht- 
 way carrieti otV the inanimate, antl 
 dniirtjinl off the lovinij and lachry- 
 mose, kicked them all merrily each 
 into hi.s cell, 
 
 " And lo shut up la measureless content." 
 
 Gerard wiv< disp:usti'<l : and ."^aid so. 
 
 .Deny.^ chuckled, and proceeded to 
 
 tell him how the next d:iy lie and the 
 
 young muuks hod drawn the fish- 
 
 poml.* and secrrted much pike, rmrp^ 
 tench, and e<-l fur their own u**: ; and 
 how in the deaii of ni^'ht ho had brm 
 taken shmdesit by crooked wayit into 
 the chaficl, a (;ho«tlike placr, brin|( 
 dark, nnd then <lown some otepit into 
 a cry|>t In-low the chapel floor, where 
 suddenly paraiiis4> had burtt on him. 
 
 •■ "V is lien- the holy fathers retire lo 
 j>ray." put in (ieranl. 
 
 " Not alwav*," said IVnys ; " wax 
 candles by tlnj lioxen wen- li^htiii, 
 and princely cheer ; til"te«Mi soufM 
 mai;jre, with mar»elli)u« twatipi of 
 %enisi)n, ;,'roii!M", and hare in tltcin, 
 and twenty dillerent fishes (U'ini; ^f^- 
 day), cooke<l with wondntiis art, and 
 each he U-twecn two buxom laiis<v, 
 and each la.s.s iM-twecn two lads with 
 a cowl ; all but me : and to think I 
 had to woo by intcqinner. I doubt the 
 knave put in three words for himself 
 ami one for me : if he did n't, hanj; 
 him for a fool. And some of tho 
 weaker ress«'ls were novices, and not 
 wont to hold f;o<Mi wine : had to bo 
 coaxed en* they would put it to their 
 white t«"ctli : inais elles «'y faisaient ; 
 and ihi- story and the ji-st nnd tho 
 cup went riiiind (by the by, they hail 
 rta;;onH made to simulate brevia- 
 rit"!*); nnd a monk touche<l tho cit- 
 teni, nnd sant; dittica with a roiro 
 tunable a.s a lark in sprini;. The 
 jiosiw ilid turn the faces of the wo- 
 men-folk bricht n.Ml nt first : but 
 elles .s'y foi.saient." Here Gerard cx- 
 plo«led. 
 
 " MLserable wretches! Comipteri 
 of youth ! rervcrters of innocence ! 
 but for your In-inj; there, Denys, who 
 have been taught no l»etter, O, would 
 (ifKi the church ha<l fallen on tho 
 whole pane ! Impious, alx>minnblc 
 hy|)ocrites ! " 
 
 " Hy|)Ocrites ? " cried Denys, with 
 nnfeijrned surprise. " Why, that is 
 what I 'clept them ere I knew them, 
 and you withstoo<l me. Nay, they 
 are sinners ; all <;oo<l felbtwsan' that : 
 but, by St. Denys his helmeteil skull, 
 no hypocrites, but rij^ht jolly roaring 
 blailes." 
 
 " Denys," said Gerard, solemnly,*
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 123 
 
 "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." 
 
 " Mise'ricorde ! " whispered Denys. 
 
 " Ay, more," said Gerard, lowering 
 his voice almost to a whisper, "celes- 
 tial sounds have issued from the pur- 
 lieus of that very crypt you turned 
 into a tavern. Voices of the dead 
 holding unearthly communion have 
 chilled the ear of midnight, and at 
 times, Denys, the faithful in their 
 nightly watches have even heard mu- 
 sic 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 ! 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. Ge- 
 rard valued it deeply as a remem- 
 brance of home ; he turned pale at 
 first but to think he had so nearly 
 lost it, and, to Denys's infinite amuse- 
 ment, not only gave a piece of money 
 to the lay brother, but kissed the 
 mule's nose. 
 
 " I '11 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 nee- 
 dle and thread, sewed it with feminine 
 dexterity to his doublet, and his mind 
 and heart and soul were away to 
 Sevcnbergen. 
 
 They reached the promised land, 
 and Denys, who was in high spirits, 
 doffed his bonnet to all the females, 
 who courtesied 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 
 BurguniUan 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. " 0, I see. ' lei 
 on logo a pied et a 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 
 CR:feDIT; CE BONHOMME EST 
 MORT, LES MAUVAIS PAL 
 EURS L'ONT TUE." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 They met the landlord in the pas 
 sage. 
 
 " 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 courtesied 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 is a polite 
 nation ; the trouble of sitting down ? 
 That will I, ^^hh singular patience ; 
 and presently the labor 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 do- 
 ing '? ordering supper for only two 1 " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " What, can we sup without waiting 
 for forty more ? Burgimdy forever ! "
 
 124 
 
 THE CLOISTF.n AND THi; IIKAHTir. 
 
 " Aha ! Coiiraprc, canmrade. Txj 
 diii— " 
 
 " CVst convfini." 
 
 Thf saliqiii- law sccim-d not to have 
 IK'iK'tnUi'd to Fnufli inns. In this 
 OIK', at Iwist, wimple ami kirtlc ni^iutl 
 siii»ri'nK' ; doublets and iioso were ti-w 
 in miniluT and fcehlo in act. The 
 landlord himself wandered t)l>je«tless, 
 eternally takin;; otl" his rap to folk for 
 want of thought ; and the wonun, as 
 they nasiied him in turn, thrust him 
 quietly luside without lookinj; at him, 
 as we remtive a live twi>; in hnstlin;; 
 throu;,di a wiMjd. 
 
 A mai<l hroii^ht in sup[H>r, and the 
 mistress followed her einjity-handed. 
 
 " Fall to, my masters," said she, 
 cheerily, "y'have hut one enemv 
 here, and he lies under your knife. ' 
 (I shrewdly susp«et this of fonnu- 
 la.) 
 
 They fell to. Tlic mistress drew 
 her eliair a little towards the tahle, 
 and |)rovided eom|)anv as well as 
 meat ; yossi|H-d ;jenialiv with tluin 
 like old aei|uaintiine<-s ; liut, this form 
 jjone throu;;h, the busy dame was 
 8<M)n olf, ami sent in her dau;;hter, 
 n l>eautiful ymm^' woman of al)out 
 twenty, who took the vaeant seat. 
 She was not ipiite so hroad antl j,'enial 
 as the eliler, hut ;^'ntle ami eheerfid, 
 anil showed a womanly tenderness 
 for (lerard on learninp: the distanee 
 the poor lK>y ha<l come and had to 
 po. She stiiyed nearly half an hour, 
 and, when she lefl them, Gerard said, 
 " This an inn 1 Why, it is like 
 homo." 
 
 " Qui tit Frani^ois il fit courtois." 
 said Denys, bursting with gratified 
 pride. 
 
 " Courteous ? nay, Christian ; to 
 welcome us like liomc guests and old 
 friends, — us vagrants, liere to-day and 
 gone to-morrow. But, indeed, who 
 better merits pity and kindness than 
 the worn traveller far from his folk ! 
 Hola ! hero 's another." 
 
 The new-comer was the chamber- 
 maid, a woman of about twenty-five, 
 with a cocked nose, a large, laughing 
 mouth, and a sparkling black eye. 
 
 and a bare arm, very stoat, but no| 
 very shapely. 
 
 The moment she came in, one of the 
 travellers passed a somewhat free jest 
 on her; the next, the whole eom|Niny 
 were roaring at his e.\|K.'n.se, so swift- 
 ly had her practised tongue done his 
 business ; even as, in a pa.ssage of 
 amis between u novice and a master 
 offence, foils clash, — novice jiinked. 
 On this another, and then another, 
 must break a lance with her ; but 
 Marion stuck her great arms u])on 
 her haunches, and held the wholo 
 room in play. This country girl pos- 
 ses.sed in jK-rfeetion that rude and 
 ready humor which looks mean and 
 vulgar on paper, but carries all In'toro 
 it spoken : not wit's rapier, its blud- 
 geon. Nature hail <ione much for her 
 in this way, and daily practii-o in an 
 inn the rest. 
 
 Yet shiUl she not bo photographed 
 by me, but fivbly indicated ; for it 
 was just four hundre<l years ago ; 
 the raillery was coars*.'. slie returned 
 every stroke in kind, and. though a 
 virtuous woman, said things with- 
 out winking which no decent man 
 of our day would say even among 
 men. 
 
 (lerard .sat gaping with astonish- 
 ment. This was to him almost a new 
 variety of " that interesting si^'cies," 
 homo. He whispered Denys, " Now 
 I sec why yo\i Frenchmen say ' a 
 woman's tongtie is her sword ' " : just 
 then slic levelletl am)ther as.sailant; 
 and the chivalrous Denys, to console 
 and support the " weaker vessel," tho 
 iron kettle among the clay pots, ad- 
 ministered his consigne, " Courage, 
 m'amic,-le — " etc. 
 
 She turned on him directly. " How 
 can /le \>c dead as long as there is an 
 archer left alive? (General laughter 
 at her ally's expense.) 
 
 " It is ' washing-tlay,' my maatcrs," 
 said she, ^vith sudden gravity. 
 
 " Apres ? "\Vc travellers cannot 
 strip and go bare while you w:ush our 
 clothes," objected a peevish old I'ellow 
 by the fireside, who had kept mum- 
 chaucc during the raillcrj, but crcjU
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 125 
 
 out into the sunshine of common- 
 phices. 
 
 "I iiiracd not your way, ancient 
 niiin," replied Marion, superciliously, 
 'lint, since yon ask me" (here she 
 ■scanned him slowly from head to foot), 
 " I trow you might take a turn in the 
 tub, clothes and all, and no harm 
 done" (laughter). "But what I 
 spoke for, I thought — this young 
 I sire — might like his beard starched." 
 ' Poor Gerard's turn had come ; his 
 chin crop was thiu 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 
 pard." As You Like It. 
 
 Gerard bore the Amazonian satire 
 mighty calmly. He had little per- 
 sonal vanity. " Nay, ' Chambriere,' " 
 said he, with a smile, " mine is all 
 unworthy your pains ; take you this 
 fair growth in hand ! " and he pointed 
 to Denys's vegetable. 
 
 " O, time for that when I s.tarch 
 the bosoms." 
 
 Whilst they wei-e all shouting over 
 this palpable hit, the mistress re- 
 turned, and, in no mpre time than it 
 took her to cross the flireshold, did 
 our Amazon turn to a seeming Ma- 
 donna, meek and mild. 
 
 Mistresses are wonderful subjuga- 
 tors. Their like, I think, breathes not 
 on the globe. Housemaids, decide ! 
 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- 
 humoredly, " if you laid me an egg ev- 
 ery time you cackle, ' Les Trois Pois- 
 sons ' would never lack an omelet." 
 
 " Now, dame," said Gerard, " what 
 is to pay ■? " 
 
 " What for 1 " 
 
 " Our supper." 
 
 " Where is the hurry ? cannot you 
 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, vulgo scores ; intel- 
 ligible 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 alto- 
 gether, 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 kn«w. 
 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 Thi-ee 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," she added, dryly, 
 " an I were ten years younger, I 'd as 
 lieve not meet that face on a dark 
 night too far from home." 
 
 Gerard started. Denys laughed, 
 " Why, dame, I would but sip the 
 night dew oft" the flower ; and you 
 need n't take ten years off, nor ten 
 days, to be worth risking a scratched 
 face for." 
 
 " There, our mistress," said Marion, 
 wlio had just come in, " said I not 
 t'other day, you could make a fool 
 of them still, an' if you were properly 
 minded 1 " 
 
 " I dare say ye did : it sounds like 
 some daft wench's speech." 
 
 " Dame," said Gerard, " this is 
 wonderful." 
 
 " What ? O no, no, that is no 
 wonder at all. Why, I have been
 
 ll-'G 
 
 I Hi: CLOlSTKk AM) Mil; liKAl:iH 
 
 liere nil my lifo ■ nml rcndinj; faces 
 is the first tliin;^ u (^irl picks up in ati 
 iiiii." 
 
 Marion. " And fryinjr fjrgs the 
 second; no, tillin;j lies; trying egjfs 
 is till' tliinl, tliou;.'h." 
 
 J'/ti Mistresn. " And holding; her 
 ton;;ue the last, and inixlesty the day 
 niter never at all." 
 
 Marion. " Alack ! Talk of my 
 ton;;ue. IJut 1 say no more. She 
 under whose win;,' I live now deals 
 the Mow. I 'm S|H.-tl — 't is hut a 
 ehandK-rmaid >;one. Catch what 'h 
 left on 't ! " and she Kta;:;;en.d ami 
 .sank hark wards on to the handsomest 
 fellow in the room, which haji|)i-ned 
 to he (Jerard. 
 
 " Tic ! — tie ! " crie<l he, iHwishly ; 
 " then-, don't Ik.- stupid! tliat is too 
 heavy a jest for mc. Sec yt>u not I 
 uin talking; to the mistress ? " 
 
 Marion resumed her ela.ifi( ity with 
 a ^'rimace ; made two little lM)und.H 
 into the middle of the floor, ami there 
 turned a pirouette. " Tlure, mis- 
 tress," said she, '■ I jrivt- in, 't is you 
 that rii;,'ns supreme with the men ; 
 leastways with male childnn." 
 
 " Youn;; num." said the mistress, 
 " this trirl is not so stupid as her <le- 
 portment ; in readin;; of faces and 
 fryin;,' of omelets there we are t'reat. 
 'T would be hard if wc failed at these 
 arts, since they arc abuut all we do 
 know." 
 
 " Vou do not quite take mc, dame," 
 said (icranl. " That honesty in a 
 face should shine forth to your cx- 
 perienecil eye, that seems reasona- 
 l>le ; hut how, hy hK)kin;: on Denys 
 here, could you learn his one little 
 foihle, his insanity, his miserahle mu- 
 lierosity ? " Poor Gerard got angrier 
 the more he tliouirht of it. 
 
 " liis mule — his what ? " (crossing 
 herself with suj)erstitious awe at the 
 poly.-iyllahle.) 
 
 " Nay, 't is hut the word I was 
 fain to invent for him." 
 
 " Invi-nt .' Wluit, can a child like 
 vou make other words than grow in 
 liurgundy by nature ? Take heed 
 what ve do ! why, we are overrun 
 
 with them already, cspwially bad 
 ones. Lord, the.se U- times ! I l<M>k 
 to hear of a new thistle invented next.*' 
 
 " lint, dame, 1 found language too 
 poor to jiaint him. I was fain to in- 
 vent. Vou know Necessity is the 
 mother of — " 
 
 " Ay ! av, that is old enough, o' 
 conscience. 
 
 •• Well, then, dame, mulierosc — • 
 that means wrnpjKd up, body ami 
 soul, in women. So, prithee, tell me; 
 how did yim iver deteet the noo<lle's 
 nmlierosity ! " 
 
 "Alas! gocnl youth, you nnikc a 
 mountain of n mole-hill. W'v that 
 are women Ik- notice-takers ; and out 
 of the tail of our eye see more than 
 most nun can glaring through a 
 prosjK'ct glass. Whiles I move to 
 and fro doing this and that, my 
 glance is still on my guests, and 1 u.d 
 n<»tice that this soldier's eyes were 
 never f>ff the women-folk ; my daugh- 
 ter, or Marion, or ev«n an old woman 
 like mc, all was ^old to him . i.nd 
 there a sat glowering; (> you foolish, 
 foolish man ! Now t/on still turned 
 to the s|K-aker, her or him, and that 
 is ctmimon 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 l)card. 
 lie is what-«r-ye-call-'cm-oser than 
 ere an archer in the duke's body- 
 guard. He is more wrapjK-d up in 
 one single Dutch lass, ealled Mar- 
 garet, than I am in the whole bundle 
 of yc, brown and fair." 
 
 " Man alive, that is just the con- 
 trary," said the hostess. " Youm 
 is the banc, and hisn the cure. Cling 
 vou still to Margaret, mv dear. I 
 hope she is an honest girl. ' 
 
 " Dame, she is an angel." 
 
 " Ay, ay, they arc nil that till better 
 acquainted. I 'd as lievc have her no 
 more than lujucst, and then she will 
 serve to keep you out of worse com- 
 pany. As for you, soldier, there is 
 trouble in store for you. Your eyes 
 were never made for the good of your 
 soul."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 127 
 
 "Nor of his pouch eitKer," said 
 Marion, striking in, " and his Hps 
 thcr will sip the dew, as he calls it, 
 off many a bramble-bush." 
 
 " Overmuch clack ! Marion ; over- 
 much clack." 
 
 " Ods bodikins, mistress ; ye did n't 
 hire me to be one o' your three fishes, 
 did ye 1 " and Marion sulked thirty 
 seconds. 
 
 " Is that the way to speak to our 
 mistress "? " remonstrated the land- 
 lord, 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 1 " 
 
 " You can crow as loud as you like, 
 my man, — out o' doors. But the 
 hen means to rule the roost." 
 
 " I know a by-word to that tunc," 
 said Gerard. 
 
 " Do yc, now ? out wi' 't then." 
 
 " ' Ferame veut, en toute saison, 
 Estradame en sa maison.' " 
 
 " I never heard it afore : but 't is as 
 sooth as gospel. Ay they that set 
 these by-words a rolling had eyes and 
 tongues, and tongues and eyes. Be- 
 fore 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. 0, it is too 
 late now. I 've changed my mind." 
 
 " All the better for some poor fel- 
 low," suggested Denys. 
 
 And now the arrival of the young 
 mistiness, 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 sen-ants in the 
 outer ring, and tell stories till bed- 
 time. And Gerard in his turn told a 
 tremendous one out of his repertory, 
 a MS. collection of " acts of the 
 saints," and made them all shudder 
 deliciously ; hut soon after began to 
 nod ; exhausted by the effort, I should 
 s«y. The young mistress saw, and 
 G* 
 
 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 -svhite beds, ami 
 bade liim choose. " Either is para 
 disc," said he. " I '11 take this one, 
 Do you know, I have not lain in a 
 naked bed once since I left my home 
 in Holland." 
 
 " Alack ! poor soul ! " said she ; 
 " well, then, the sooner my fiax and 
 your down (he! he!) come together, 
 the better; so — allons ! " and she 
 held out her cheek as businesslike as 
 if it had been her liand for a fee. 
 
 " Allons ? what does that mean ? " 
 
 "It means 'good night.' Alioin! 
 What, don't they salute the chaiu jcr- 
 niaid in your part ? " 
 
 " 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 wo- 
 men." 
 
 " They must be strange women if 
 they do not think you strange fools 
 then. Here is a coil. Why, all the 
 old greasy graybeards that lie at our 
 inn do kiss us chambermaids ; faugh ! 
 and what have we poor wretches to 
 set on t'other side the corapt, but now 
 and then a nice young — 1 Alack ! 
 time flies, chambermaids can't be 
 spared long in the nursery ; so how 
 is 't to be ? " 
 
 " An 't please you, arrange with my 
 comrade for both. He is mulierose ; 
 I am not." 
 
 " Nay, 't is the curb he will want, 
 not the spur. Well, well ! you shall 
 to bed without paying the usual toll ; 
 and 0, but 't is sweet to fall in with 
 a young man who can withstand these 
 ancient ill customs, and gainsay bra- 
 zen hussies. Shalt have thy reward." 
 
 " Thank you ! But what are you 
 doing with my bed ? " 
 
 " Me ■? 0, only taking off these 
 sheets, and going to put on the pair 
 the drunken miller slept in last night." 
 
 " O no, no ! You cniel, blacfc 
 hearted thing. There ! there ! "
 
 198 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE llEABTH. 
 
 " A 1« bonne hciire ! What will 
 not |M.T>>*'ViTun<'e ft!e<-t • Hut note 
 now the t'nl^^ur<llll■!4H of a Iiinil «\i>tirli. 
 I (uriil not tor 't n tuttton. I uiii iltiiil 
 sick of tliikt K|K>rt iht^ five vrar^. Hut 
 vou di'iiivtl iiic ; Ku thiMi forthwith I 
 iM-hoovfil tu huvo it ; lieliWc hful ;;one 
 through tire and wator for 't. Ala.-*, 
 youiii; sir, wc wonu-n nro kittle cattle, 
 
 Ixtor jierverse t'xult ; exfU'ks u«, and 
 Leep u.t in our plaee, Ravuir, at ami's 
 Icni,'th ; and i«o jjo»h| nii;ht ! " 
 
 At the dut>r »\to tunie<l and »aid, 
 with a rtJiiipleto rhan;;o of tunc and 
 ntiinner: "The Virjjiu (;uanl thv 
 lie. III. mill the holy K\anpdist.H wateli 
 till- lied where Iu'h u |i«>or yoiiiii,' wan- 
 derer far front home ! Amen ! " 
 
 And the next moment he heard her 
 run tearing down the stair*, and !Mw>n 
 a peal of hiu;;hter from the lallo Im"- 
 travetl her wheri-alM)ut.t. 
 
 '• Now tli.it in A rlnirarter," Miid 
 (Jerard, profoundly ; and yawned over 
 the diHCovery. 
 
 In u very few ininute<i ho wa'* in a 
 dry hath of cold, rlean linen, incx- 
 
 |)res!»il>ly n'fn'.thinj; to him after no 
 on^; di^iiMC ; then came a deliciuus 
 glow ; and then — S€vcnl)or(,fcn. 
 
 In the mominp ricrard awoke infi- 
 nitely refnslied, and wiLs for ri-iinp. 
 but fouml himjtflf a dose prisoner. 
 Hit linen hmi vanishetl. Now thi.4 
 was paralysi.* ; for the ni;;htcown i.t 
 a nceiit institution. In (ierord'mfn- 
 tury, and indit^l long after, men did 
 not play fiu<t and lixise with clean 
 sheet.s (when they could pet them), 
 but crept into them clothed with — 
 their innocence, like Adam ; out of 
 l)od they socm to have taken most 
 after his eldest son. 
 
 Geranl bewailed his captivity to 
 Donys ; but that instant the door 
 opened, and in sailed Marion with 
 their linen, newly washe<l and ironc<l, 
 on her two arms, :ind set it down on 
 the table. 
 
 " O you good girl," cried Ge- 
 ninl. 
 
 " Alack ! have you found me out 
 at last ? " 
 
 ' " Yc9 indeed. Is this another nm 
 torn T " 
 
 " Nay, not to take them unbidden ; 
 but at night we aye i|iK>ntion travel- 
 Urn, are they for linen washed. Ko 1 
 came in to you ; but \ou were both 
 MOund. Then oaiil 1 to the little mi* 
 tierts. ' Im ! where is the nense of 
 wuking wcarie<l men. t' H.«k them is 
 Charlet the (ireat dead, and would 
 they liever carrj' foul linen or clean, 
 e»|M>cially this one with a hkin like 
 cream.' ' An<l *o he ha*. I declare,' 
 said the young mistreAS." 
 
 " That witH me," remarked iJenys^ 
 with the air of a commentator. 
 
 " Guess once more, and you 'II hit 
 the mark." 
 
 " Notice him not, Marion ; he i« an 
 
 impudent fellow ; and I am sure we 
 
 cunnot )x< ^.'rateful enough for your 
 
 and I am sorry I ever nv 
 
 — an^ thing _\ ou fancied yoa 
 
 " (), nrv ye then" f " .«aid I'cwpiegle. 
 " I take that to mean you would fain 
 bru«h the moniing <lew oil', as your 
 ba.'tliful companion cullit it ; well, 
 then, excuse me. 't is ruttomnry, but 
 not pruilcnt. I decline. Quitn with 
 you, lad." 
 
 "Stop! stop!" cried Dcnys, as 
 she was making otT \ictorioiis, " I am 
 curious to know how many of ye were 
 here bust ni^'bt a feasting your eye* 
 on us twain." 
 
 " 'T was so satisfactory a feast as 
 we were n't half a minute ovrr't. 
 Who ' whv, the big mistress, the little 
 mistn-ss, Janet, and me, and the whole 
 j>ossc comitatus, on tiptcje. We mo<l- 
 c.stly make our rounds, the la.st thing, 
 not to get burned down ; and in pro- 
 digious numl)cr3. Somehow that niak- 
 eth us Ixilder, especially vslicre urehers 
 lie scattered al)out." 
 
 " Why did not you tell mc 1 I 'd 
 have lain awake." 
 
 " Beau sire, the saying goes that 
 the goo<l and the ill arc all one while 
 their lids are closed. So we said, 
 ' Here is one who will serve God liesj 
 asleep. Break not his rest ! ' "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 129 
 
 " She is funny,'" said Gerard, dic- 
 tatoi-ially. 
 
 " I must be either that or knav- 
 isK." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Because ' The Three Fish ' pay 
 me to be funny. You will eat before 
 you part ? Good ! then I '11 go see 
 the meat be fit for such worshipful 
 teeth." 
 
 " Denys ! " 
 
 " What is your 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 you would make of yourself." 
 
 They broke their fist, settled their 
 score, and said farewell. Then it 
 was they found Marion had not exag- 
 gerated the " custom of the coun- 
 try." 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 
 landlord ; and the cry was " Come 
 back, the sooner the better." 
 
 " 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 shop- 
 keeper was in the doonvay, but wide 
 awake. He received Denys Avith a 
 bow down to the ground. The cus- 
 tomer was soon fitted and followed to 
 the street, and dismissed with grace- 
 ful salutes from the doorstep. 
 
 The friends agreed it was Ely- 
 sium to deal with such a shoemaker 
 as this. " Not but what my German 
 shoes have lasted well enough," said 
 Gerard the just. 
 
 Outside the town was a pebbled 
 walk. 
 
 " This is to keep the bui'ghcrs' 
 feet dry, a 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. " 0, 
 how sweet ! " said he. " Mercy ! what 
 is this ? A gibbet ; and, ugh, two 
 skeletons thereon ! O, Denys, what 
 a sorry sight to woo by ! " 
 
 " Nay," said Denys, " a comforta- 
 ble sight ; for every rogue i' the air 
 there is one the less afoot." 
 
 A little farther on they came to 
 two pillars, and between these was a 
 huge wheel closely studded with iron 
 prongs ; and entangled in these were 
 bones and fragments of cloth misera- 
 bly dispersed over the wheel. 
 
 Gerard hid his face in his hands. 
 " O, to think those patches and bones 
 are all that is left of a man ! of one 
 who was what we are now." 
 
 " Excusez ! a thing that went on 
 two legs and stole ; arc we no more 
 than that ? " 
 
 " How know ye lie stole ? Have 
 true men never suffered death and 
 torture too ? " 
 
 " None of my kith ever found the 
 way to the gilibet, I know." 
 
 " The better their luck. Prithee 
 how died the saints ? " 
 
 " Hard. But not in Bui-gundy." 
 
 " Ye massacred them wholesale at 
 Lyons, and that is on Burgundy's 
 threshold. To you the gibbet proves 
 the crime, because you read not 
 story. Alas ! had you stood on Cal- 
 vary that bloody day we sigh for to 
 this hour, I tremble to think you had 
 perhaps shouted for joy at the gibbet 
 builded there ; for the cross was but the 
 Roman gallows. Father Martin says." 
 
 " The blaspheming old hound ! " 
 
 " O fie ! fie ! a holy and a book- 
 learned man. Ay, Denys, y' had read 
 them that suffered there by the bare 
 light of the gibbet. ' Drive in the 
 nails!' y' had cried: 'drive in the 
 spear ! Here be three malefactors, 
 three " roues." Yet of those little 
 thi'ce one was the first Christian 
 saint, and another was the Savioui 
 of the world which gibbeted him."
 
 130 
 
 Till. ( l.olsTKR AND TlIK IIKAKTH. 
 
 I)fnv!« iLssiircil him on hi* honor, 
 tln'v iiian.ii;<'l tJiiii;;t UtiiT in Hiir- 
 
 Jjlllltlv. Ill- ili|i|r<l tiM), uftiT pnifitUllil 
 
 rf(l«Tti<>t), that tho h<»rn>n( (frninl 
 hnil iilliiilfil tu liuil inun- thiin oi)< <^ 
 iiiiuK' hill) cHT*i' and Rwcur with tm 
 wlii-n iolil hv the cimm\ (-iirt! in L 
 n.r " • !■ ■ •■ ij„[ 
 
 tl, luitiitn. 
 
 »i..; .....:.. M-' 
 
 lie ma viv, k-t u» d 
 
 or at h-a^t !Mirc • i 
 
 hut ncc huw all tiilc.-> guihci A» tlt> V 
 
 roll!" 
 
 Thm 111" ri " ' liti, nml nil in 
 II inonimt tn 'li iru. " !)<) 
 
 vo not lilush ; , .-• ■■■:h vnur Uwik- 
 rraft on your unlrttrrnl tricml, nntl 
 throw ihMt in hit cyi-s, rvt-ninj; tho 
 MointJt with thr<«' rvntilc* • " 
 
 Thru stuilili'tily he nvovcrv«l hi* 
 poo<l • humor. " Smiv your hrart 
 bPAtfl for vonnin, lW-1 for thr rurrion 
 crow* ! tlii'v In' 11-1 K'>*>'1 vi-nniu i" 
 thi-v : would \v ii-ml th«-in to linl -n 
 IxtIi-si, |H)or [)ri"tty ipopjK-t.t ' \\\ 
 thrse l>c thoir InnliT : thi> i>anc» o| 
 huujjiT wouhl jjniiw thi-m Ai-ail l»ut 
 for cold cutpttnto liun^ up hcrv ntui 
 thcri'."" 
 
 (icnird, who hud for some tiinr 
 iimiiitaimd ii doiul silrnii', inforniod 
 him tho suhjix-t wa.s rIoM-d U'twot-n 
 thi in nnd forovor. " There arc 
 thing's," .Huid ho, " in which our 
 htiirt.'' ."K-om wide n» the jioloi nsun- 
 dir, nnd oke our hondt. Hut I lovo 
 thi'o donrly nil tho snnu\" ho adde«l, 
 with intinito }:r:iro nnd tondernosi. 
 
 Towards nltornoon thoy hoard a 
 faint wnilin;; noi.so on nhoud ; it irrcw 
 distinctor as thoy pn>oix-<lotl. Ileinp 
 fast walkers thoy wwn ran»c up with 
 its cause ; a s«-orc of pikoinon, ao- 
 conipanied by several i-on.'<tahlcs, wore 
 man liiui; nlont:, and in ndvanre of 
 them wiLs a herd of animals they 
 were driving;. These creatures, in 
 numlK-r rather more than a hundrcil, 
 were of vario\is a^es ; only very few 
 were downritrht old ; tho males were 
 dowmast and silent. It was the 
 females from whom all the outcry 
 came. In other words, the animals 
 
 thus driven nlon^; at the law n {loint 
 won" men anil «omi-n. 
 
 ■•(iixmI Heaven!" criitl (ierard. 
 
 " Wlcit a hnmi of them ! Hut ittav, 
 
 Mir. !v ull tho!*o children cannot fw 
 
 why, thoro «n- mtuir in nrm«. 
 
 • !i earth \» thin. l)cny<i f " 
 
 Mted liim to ask that 
 wiih the had;^'. " Thi» 
 ; hero a ciul <|uestion 
 ijvd n*ply." 
 
 tit up to the officer, and, 
 ri'iiioviii^- lit« cap. a civililv which was 
 immediately rvtumoil, iiniil, " For Our 
 I^idy's .sake. "lir. what do yc with 
 ihi^c [KMir folk ' " 
 
 ■■ Nay, what i« that to you, my 
 lad ' " n<plie<i thu funetionar}', *u>- 
 picioosly. 
 
 " Master, I 'm a mrunircr, and 
 athimt for knowled;^-." 
 
 " Tlinl is another matter. What 
 ore we iloiiii; ' ahem. Whv. wc — 
 !»-» hear, .Iiuijuos • Hero is a 
 r srckt to know what wc arc 
 and the two machinm were 
 lici^lrd that there ithould U> a man 
 who did not know somethin;; thcv 
 ha[iiM-ned to know. In ail ap*s, this 
 hius tickletl. However, the chuckle 
 was hrief, and m<MlorBto<l hy their 
 native courtesy, and theotlicial turned 
 to (ierard airnin. " What arc wo 
 doint; ' hum ! " and now he he«itated, 
 not Iroin any doiiht as to what he 
 wai iloinp, hut iM-cnuse ho was hunt- 
 in;; for a sin;;le wonl that should con- 
 vey the matter. 
 
 "Co que nous faisons, mon parn ? 
 — Mais — .lam — NOUS TKANS- 
 VASONS." 
 
 " You divan t ' that should mean 
 you pour from one vessel to an- 
 other. 
 
 " Precisely." He explained that 
 last year the town of Charmes had 
 l»oen sore thinned hy a jHstilence, 
 whole houses emptieil and trades 
 short of hands. Much ailo to p-t in 
 the rye, and the fla.x half spoiled. 
 So the bailiff nnd aldermen had 
 written to the iltikc's >e<T>'fary ; nnd 
 the duke he sent far and wide to 
 know what town was too full. " Thai
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 131 
 
 are we," had the baillie of Toul writ 
 back. " Tlien 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 fatlier of his people, 
 and will not let the duchy he weak- 
 ened, nor its fair towns laid waste, 
 by sword nor pestilence ; but meets 
 the one with pike and arbalest (touch- 
 ing his cap to the sergeant and Denys 
 alternately), and t'other with policy? 
 LONG LIVE THE DUKE ! " 
 
 The pikemen, of course, M'cre not 
 to be outdone in loyalty ; so they 
 shouted with stentorian lungs, 
 " LONG LIVE THE DUKE ! " 
 Then the decanted ones, partly be- 
 cause loyalty was a non-reasoning 
 sentiment in those days, partly, per- 
 haps, because they feared some fur- 
 ther ill consequence should they 
 alone be mute, raised a feeble, trem- 
 ulous shout, " Long live the Duke ! " 
 
 But, at this, insulted nature re- 
 belled. 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 ! 
 the air filled in a moment with avo- 
 manly 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 tlie sergeant, 
 and they marched again, but mutter- 
 ing and cursing. 
 
 " Ah, the ugly sound ! " said the 
 civilian, wincing. " Les malheur- 
 eux ! " cried he, ruefully ; for where is 
 the single man can hear the sudden 
 agony of a multitude and not be 
 moved ? " Les ingrats ! They are 
 going whence they were de trop to 
 wiiore 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 Burgun- 
 iy." 
 
 " Come away," whispered Gerard, 
 
 trembling ; " come away," and the 
 friends strode fonvard. 
 
 AVhen 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, sonic 
 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 color of a lemon. Man alive, 
 take not other folk's troubles to 
 heart ! 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 arc wolves. Poor 
 things ! Poor things ! Ah, Denys ! 
 Denys ! with looking on their grief 
 mine ovati comes home to me. Well- 
 a-day ! Ah, well-a-day ! " 
 
 " Ay, now you 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 Imd never 
 been in it." 
 
 " Me'chant, va ! they are but going 
 from one village to another, a mule's 
 journey ! whilst thou — there, no 
 more. Courage, camarade, le diable 
 est mort." 
 
 Gerard shook his head very doubt- 
 fully, but kept silence for about a mile 
 and then he said thoughtfully, " Ay, 
 Denys, but then I am sustained by 
 book-learning. These are simple folk
 
 U: 
 
 TIIK OLOISTKK AND THK HEAKTIL 
 
 that likfly thoni;lit their villajrc waa 
 the world : now what is this f inuro 
 wirpiii;,'. (', t is u swift wiirlil ! 
 Hinii|>h ' A littlo K>ri tliat liiith 
 l.ri)Lc her |iipkiii. Now iiiay I huii;; 
 <n one of your i:ihJx'ts hut 1 'II dry 
 -omeJxHly's tears " ; and ho |inun<vd 
 siviiirily u|K)n this little niariyr. Iiki> 
 I kilo on a chirk, hut with nion- 
 ^-ineriius intentions. It wits a pn-tty 
 little lass of alxnit twilvo ; the teani 
 were mining' down her two j>omdies, 
 and her palms liftol to heaven in 
 that utter. thou;,'h teinixirary, th-si*- 
 i.itioii, which attetiiis calamity at 
 I\vel\e ; and at her feet the fatal cause, 
 u hrokeii |M)t, worth, say the lifthof a 
 mtMh-rn farthing. 
 
 '* What, hiust hroken thy jMJt, little 
 one f " said (.ieranl, acting intvnsciit 
 >ymi)alhy. 
 
 ■' lle'las ! Ik'I i;ar* ; as yon U-hold " ; 
 and the hands came down iVoin the 
 sk\ and iMith txiinted nt the rraKmeiit.s. 
 A statuette of iwlversitv. 
 
 " And you weep no f'or that ? " 
 
 " Needs I must, bcl fian. My 
 tnnnuny will massacre me. Do they 
 not already " (with a fn-sh hurst of 
 ■wo<-) " c-CH'all me •KJ-Jcan-net-on 
 C-t'-Cas.setout ? It wanted hut this, 
 that I should hreak my ptnir pot. 
 Ilelas ! fallnit-il done, Mere du 
 Dicu > " 
 
 " Courage, little love." said (Je- 
 rnrd : " 't is not thy heart lie;* hroken ; 
 nioney will S4>on mcnci \f>l». See 
 now, here is a piece of silver, and 
 there, M-aree o stone's throw off, is a 
 potter ; take the hit of silver to him, 
 and huy i^nother pot. and tlic copjKr 
 the potter will ;:ive thee, keep that to 
 play with thy conirades." 
 
 'i'he little mind took in nil this, 
 and smiles U";:an to strupjjlc with 
 the tears ; hut spasms are like waves, 
 they cannot po down the verv ino- 
 njcnt the wind of trouble is lulled. 
 So Dcnys thou;:ht well to brinp up 
 his R-serve of consolation. " Cou- 
 raixe. ma inie, lo diahle est mort ! " 
 cried that inventive warrior, irayly. 
 Gerard shru;r;;ed his .^lloulders at 
 8uch a way of cheering a little girl. 
 
 " What a flo« thiog 
 U a lulc- with uae ttrlof ! " 
 
 saiil he. 
 
 The little prl's f.ice hroko intfl 
 warm sunshine. 
 
 "O the pmhI news! O the K*x»d 
 news ! " she san^j out with such heart- 
 felt joy it went ot!" into a honey «tl 
 whine ; even as our nuy old tunes 
 ha\e a pathos underneath. "So 
 then," .said she, " they will no lon;;er 
 l)e ahle to thn-atcn us little >rirU with 
 him. MAKING Ol'U LiVKS A 
 nrUDKN ! " And .she Umnded off 
 •' to tell Nanette," she .said. 
 
 There is a theory that everything 
 ha.s its counterimrt ; if true, Denys, it 
 would seem, hatl found the mind his 
 consi^ne fitted. 
 
 While he wils roarini; with laugh- 
 ter at its unexiKcted success and 
 (ieranls luna/.emcnt, a little hand 
 pulled his jerkin, and a little face 
 iK-i-jK-d round his waist. ('urii>sity 
 was now the dominant passion in 
 that small hut vivid countenance. 
 
 " I'^t-co tot c|ui I'a tut5, Ijcuu sol- 
 dnt ? " 
 
 " Oui, mn mie." sniil Denys, as 
 jrruffly as ever he could, ri;.'htly di-i'm- 
 in;; this would smack of su|M'niatural 
 puissance to owners of liell-liko 
 trebles. " C'est moi. C^ vaut uno 
 jtetitc cinbra<sadc — j>as ! " 
 
 " Je crois U-n. Aie ! aie ! " 
 
 " Qu'as-tu '. " 
 
 " Cti pi(|ue ! r'a pique ! " 
 
 " Quel tlommojj^e ! je vais la cou- 
 por." 
 
 '• Nenni, cc n'est rien ; ct plaque 
 t'as tue IV in<*chnnt. T'es fi{?reinent 
 l>eau, tout d'meme, toi ; t'es ben 
 miex que ma p-ande sMi-ur." 
 
 " Will you not kiss inc too, mil 
 mie 1 " said (Jerard. 
 
 " Je ne deman<le par micx. Tiens, 
 tiens, tiens ! c'est donlce cellc-ci. 
 Ah ! que j'aimons les hommcs ! Dcs 
 fames, 911 nc ni'aurait jamais donntf 
 I'arjan blanr. plntot <,"* m'aurait ri 
 an ne«. Cost si ]>ou do chose, li-s 
 fames. Serviteur. l»caulx sires ! Bon 
 voia^ ; ct n'oubliez point lu Jeaa 
 neton ! "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 133 
 
 " Adieu, petit cccur," 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 blow- 
 ing them kisses with little May-morn- 
 ing face. 
 
 " Come on," cried Gerard, lustily. 
 " I shall win to Kome yet. Holy St. 
 Bavon, what a sunbeam of innocence 
 hath shot across our bloodthirsty 
 road ! Forget thee, little Jeanneton ? 
 not likely, amidst all this slobbering 
 and gibbeting and decanting. Come 
 on, thou laggard ! forward ! " 
 
 " Dost call this marching ? " re- 
 monstrated Denys ; " why, we shall 
 walk o'er Christmas day and never 
 see it." 
 
 At the next town they came to, 
 suddenly an arbalestricr 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 com- 
 ing 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 Bur- 
 gundy. " 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 ! but will he be so good, 
 so kind ? " 
 
 The soldier, vrith a torrent of blas- 
 phemy, informed 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 inkhom 
 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, whoj" 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 
 finger execute such rare penmanship. 
 
 Denys, pi-oud of his friend's skill, 
 let him alone, till presently the writ- 
 er's face worked, and soon the scald- 
 ing tears began to run down his 
 young checks one after another, on 
 the paper where he was then writing 
 comfort, comfort. Then Denys rude- 
 ly repulsed the curious, and asked his 
 comrade, with a faltering voice, wheth- 
 er 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 gras])ing each 
 other, to signify f^irewell. By the by, 
 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. 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 Avife than I 
 hope to make thee a husband, God 
 willing." 
 
 On second thoughts, I believe there 
 was something more than bitterness 
 in this. For his mind, young but in- 
 tense, had been bent many hours in
 
 13-1 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK IIKARTII. 
 
 every 'Iny ii{K>n Si-venlxTRen and 
 Ter;^ni, iiiul ft|»eculiiteil «iii every 
 ehiiiii,'e of t't'eliii;: iiiiil eireiuii'«tunec 
 tliiit til-' exili" iiii;.'tit liriii;,' iitxiut. 
 
 (ierunl now (itlin'<l immey to tlie 
 solilier. lie lie.sitateil, l>iit decliin il 
 it. " No, ni) ! art ruinrade of my 
 eoiiiniile ; and miiy — (etc. ) — hut 
 fliv love for llie wench toiiehe.n me. 
 I ll l.r.iik iinotlier Jxittlu iit tliy ehiir;,i', 
 ikii tlioii wilt, und .so cry (juit-H. 
 
 " Well Haid,eoiunide,"crieiI Deny.-*. 
 " Iliidst tukeii money, I had iiivite<l 
 tlice to walk in the eoiirt-yard and 
 erojt.H .Hwordn with me. 
 
 " Wher«'n|M>n I had cut thy (u>mb 
 for tii<-e," retorteil the other. 
 
 " lliul-it done thy endeavor, drulc, I 
 doiilit noU 
 
 Tin y drank the new IxittU-, »h<Kik 
 liand.H, adlu-n'<l to eu.stom, and iMirteil 
 un o|)[M>site route.t. 
 
 Tliis dehiy, liowever, somewhat put 
 out Deuvs'sealeulatioris, and evenm;; 
 surprised them ere they reaeh*-*! a lit- 
 tle town he wat makin:: for. when- 
 was a famous hotid. However, they 
 fell in with a road>«iile aulnr^e, and 
 peny.s, sc«-in;; a huxom K'\r\ at the 
 door, «aid, " Tliis s<vn»s a decent 
 inn," ^nd leil the way into the kiteh- 
 en. They ordered sujifK-r, to whieh 
 no olijeetion was raised, only the 
 laiidlonl reipie^ted them to pay for it 
 In-forehand. It was not an uncom- 
 mon proposal in any part of the 
 world. Mill it v»as not universal, 
 and Dcnys was uettleil, and ilashed 
 his hand sonu-what ostentatiously in- 
 to his pur>e, and pulled out a p)ld 
 an;.'el. " Count n>e the clian;;e, and 
 .speedily," said he. " Vou tavern- 
 keepers are more likely to rob me 
 than I you." 
 
 While the supper was proparinj;, 
 Deuys disappeared, and was eventu- 
 ally found by (ierard in the yard, 
 lu'lpiui: Manun, his jilump but not 
 bri;,'ht decoy-thiek, to draw water, 
 and pourin<r extrava^rant compli- 
 ments into her dullish ear. Gerard 
 <:runted and returned to table, but 
 Denys did not come in for a good 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 " ITp-hill work at tlic end of • 
 marcii," said lie, shru;,';;in;j his shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " What mattent that to you ' "i»aid 
 (ierard, ilryl v. *' The mad do;; bite* 
 all the worlil." 
 
 •' Kxauuerator. You know I hito 
 but the fairer half. Well, here comes 
 sui'iK-r ; that is J>otter worth bitinjj." 
 
 l)urin;; sup|HT, the ^irl kept con- 
 stantly comiii;.' in aiul out and l<M)k- 
 iui; |H)int-blank at them, esiK-«-ially 
 at Denys; an*l at last, in leaning 
 over him to remove a di*h, dropiie<l 
 a word in his ear, and he replie<l 
 with a niMl. 
 
 As MM)n as .Hupper was clearetl 
 awav, Denvs rose ami strolled to the 
 d<Mir, tellin;,' (ierard the sullen fair 
 had relented, and ^'iveu him a little 
 remleivous in the stable-yard. 
 
 lieranl su;x«'-'*ted that the cow- 
 house would have Ikm-ii a more aj>- 
 nropriate liKality. " I hhiill po to 
 UmI, then," said ho. a little cnnsly. 
 " Where is the landlonl ' out at t\m 
 time of ni;:ht ' no nialter. I know 
 our HMim. Shall you Ik-Ioii;,'. |)ray '■ " 
 
 " Not I. I fr''ud;r»' Iciivin;; the fir« 
 and thee. But what can I ilo ' there 
 arc two S4»rts of invitations a Hur- 
 pindian never declines." 
 
 Denvs found a ti;rure seateil by the 
 well. It was Man(»n ; but instead <»f 
 rt-eeivini; him as he tlK)u;rht he had a 
 ri>;ht toexjKvt. iomin;; by invitation, 
 all she did was to sob. He asked her 
 what ailed her ' She soblx><l. Could 
 he do anythint; for her ' She soblicii. 
 
 The i;ood-nature<l Denys, drivetj to 
 his wit's enil. whieh was no ^'reat dis- 
 tance, prr>tl"ered the custom of tho 
 countrv by way of eousolaticm. She 
 repulsed him roujrhly. " Is thi.s a tinjo 
 for f(X)linK f " said she, and sobbed. 
 
 " You seem to think so," said 
 Denys, waxiiiL' wroth. Hut the next 
 moment he added, tenderly, " And I 
 who could never l)ear to see Injauty in 
 distress." 
 
 " It is not for myself." 
 
 " Who then ? your sweetheart ' " 
 
 " Oh, que nenni. My sweetheart ia 
 not on earth now ; and to think I
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 135 
 
 have not an ecu to buy masses for his 
 soul " ; and in tliis 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 ? Art mad 1 " 
 
 " No. I am not mad. 'T is you 
 that were mad to open your purse be- 
 fore 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 gave me cour- 
 age ! "What matters it if they kill 
 me, since he is dead '? Soldier, the 
 landlord is out." 
 
 "O, is he?" 
 
 " What, do landlords leave their 
 taverns at this time of night ? also see 
 what a tempest ! We are sheltered 
 here, but t'other side it blows a hur- 
 ricane." 
 
 Denys said nothing. 
 
 " He is gone to fetch the band." 
 
 " The band ! what band ? " 
 
 " Those who will cut your throat 
 and take your gold. Wretched man, 
 to go and shake gold in an innkeep- 
 er's face ! " 
 
 The blow came so unexpectedly, it 
 staggered even Denys, accustomed as 
 he was to sudden perils. He mut- 
 tered a single word, but in it a vol- 
 ume. 
 
 " Gerard ! " 
 
 " Gerard ! What is that ? 0, 't is 
 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 they shall not. Fly with 
 us." 
 
 " 'T will avail me naught ; one of 
 the band will be sent to kill me. 
 
 They are sworn to slay all m'Iio be 
 tray them." 
 
 " I '11 take thee to my native place, 
 full thirty leagues from hence, and 
 put thee under my o\\ti mother's 
 wing, ere they shall hurt a hair o' thy 
 head. But lirst Gerard. Stay thou 
 here whilst I fetch him." 
 
 As he was darting off, tlie giil 
 seized him convulsively, and with all 
 the iron strength excitement lends to 
 women. " Stay me not ! for pity's 
 sake," he cried ; " 't is life or death." 
 
 " 'Sh ! — 'sh ! " whispered the girl, 
 shutting his mouth hard with her 
 hand, and putting her pale lips close 
 to liim, and her eyes, tliat seemed to 
 turn backwards, straining towards 
 some indistinct sound. 
 
 He listened. 
 
 He heard footsteps, many footsteps ; 
 and no voices. She whispered in his 
 ear " They ake come," and trem- 
 bled like a leaf. 
 
 Denj's 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 1 " said he, in a hol- 
 low whisper. 
 
 " Hush ! " 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 whis- 
 pers passed between them ? 
 
 " Seven." 
 
 " How armed ? " 
 
 " 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's blood froze at this cynical 
 advice. " Poor creature, you know 
 not a soldier's heart." 
 
 He pvit his head in his hands a 
 moment, and a hundred thoughts of 
 dangers baffled whirled through his 
 brain. 
 
 " Listen, girl ! There is one chance
 
 136 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND TIIK UKARTH. 
 
 for oar lives, if thou wilt but be true 
 to ut. Kill) til the town ; tu the 
 nriiri->t tii\<Tii, tkinl tell the tlrst sol- 
 dier tliin- iliat 11 >oliliir hen- is sore 
 lieset, liut iirineil, uiid hi.4 life to In' 
 Biivni if they «iil but run. Then to 
 the builitr But Jintt to the .soMiers. 
 Niiv, not a word, but buM me, m»o«I 
 la.ss, nnd Hy ! iiien'it lives liauK oil 
 thy liefU." 
 
 She kiltinl up her p<\vn id run. 
 lie eame round to the roud with her ; 
 saw luT ero-tt thf road erint'in^j with 
 fear, then i,'liiie away, tlien tuni iulti 
 an envt shadow, then luelt away in 
 the stonn. 
 
 Aiiil now he must t;et to Geranl. 
 Hut how ' lie had to run the ^nunt- 
 ht of the whole liand. lie u-sked 
 himself what \va.s the worst thin^ 
 they could <lo ' for he had learnitl 
 in war that an eni-my does, not what 
 vou ho|>o he will do, but what you 
 lii>]M> he will not do. " Attaek me wt 
 I enter the kitehen ! Then I must 
 not i:i\e them time." 
 
 .Iii-it !i> Iw ilrew near to the latch, a 
 terrible tlioui;ht eros.,e<l him. " Sup- 
 |iose they luul already dealt with 
 (leranl. Why, then," thoujjht he, 
 "naught i.s left but to kill, and l>e 
 killinl '■ ; and he strun;: his Ikjw, and 
 walked rapidly into the kitehen. 
 There wen* seven liideous faees seated 
 round the fin-, and the landlord pour- 
 in;; them out neat lirantly, blood's 
 lorerunner in every ape. 
 
 " What ? company ! " cric<l Denys, 
 ^'avly ; " one mmute, mv lads, ami 
 1 'il be with you " ; and lie snatehe<l 
 up a lij:hteii candle oft' the table, 
 o|KMied the door that led to the 
 staircase, and went up it halloin;;. 
 " What, Gerard ! whither ha.st thou 
 skulked to ? " There was no answer. 
 He lialloe<l louder, " Gerard, where 
 art thou ? " 
 
 .Vfter a moment, in which Dcnys 
 lived an hour in a;.'ony, a i>ccvish, 
 lialfinarticulate noise issued from the 
 room at the head of the little stairs. 
 Dcnys burst in, and there was Gerard 
 fislcep. 
 
 " Thank God ' " he said, in a chok- 
 
 ing voice ; then be^an to sinj; lood, 
 untuneful ditties. Cieranl put hi* 
 tin;;ers into his ears ; Imt pres^-utly 
 he .«aw in I)en_\.i'» I'arc a hurnir that 
 contrasted strunp.-ly with tlii.^ sudden 
 merriment. 
 
 " What ailii thev ! " said he, sitting 
 up aiul staring;. 
 
 " Hush ! " oaid Dcnys, luid hiit 
 hand s(Mike even more plainly than 
 his |i|M. •• Listen li> nte. ' 
 
 Deny.H then |Hiintin;r si(;TiificnntIy 
 to the door, to nhow (ieranl sluirp 
 earn wen- listenin;; hanl by, euntin- 
 U(>4l his Konp aloiul, but under cover 
 of it threw in hhort muttered svlU* 
 bles. 
 
 " (Our lives are in peril.) 
 
 " (Thieves.) 
 
 "(Thy th.ublet.) 
 
 " (Thv .sword.) 
 
 " Aid.' 
 
 " Cuming. 
 
 " Put t)ft* time." Then aloud : — 
 
 " Well, now, wilt have t'other bot- 
 tle • l^^ay nav.] " 
 
 " No, iu<t I. 
 
 " But I tell thw then> arc half a 
 dozen jolly fellows. (Tired.) " 
 
 " Ay, but I am tiK) wcaric<l," said 
 (Jerard. " (io thou." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! " Tlien lie went to 
 the door and called out cheerfully, 
 " Landlord, the youn;; milksop will 
 not rist'. Give those honest fellows 
 t'other l)ottlc. 1 will pay for 't in the 
 inonunp." 
 
 lie heard a brutal and fierce 
 chuckle. 
 
 Ilavinjr thus by observation made 
 sure the kitchen drwjr was shut, and 
 the miscreants were not actually lis- 
 tenin;;. he examined the chamber 
 door closely ; then quietly shut it, 
 but did not l>olt it, and went and in- 
 spected the window. 
 
 It wa.s to<j small to pot out of, and 
 yet a thick bar of iron hail lieen 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:. 
 
 Dcnys proaned ; " The beasts are 
 in the shambles."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 137 
 
 But would the thieves attack them 
 while they were awake ? Probahly 
 not. 
 
 Not to throw away this their best 
 chance, the poor souls now made a 
 series of desperate efforts to con^'erse 
 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, sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 And Denys begged Gerard's for- 
 giveness for bringing him out of his 
 way for this. Gerard forgave him. 
 
 " I would fear them less, Gerard, 
 but 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 bat- 
 tle. I shall kill that man to-night, 
 or he will kill me. I think somehow 
 't is he will kill me." 
 
 " Saints forbid ! Shoot him at the 
 door! What avails his strength 
 against your weapon ? " 
 
 " I 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 sigh showed him 
 that half the door-post turned out- 
 ward 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. Yet it was but a 
 little hour ; and the to^vn was a 
 leagi;e distant. And some of the 
 voices in the kitchen became angry 
 and impatient. 
 
 " They will not wait much longer," 
 said Denys, " and we have no chance 
 at all unless we surprise them." 
 
 " I yn\l 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 ! a sword-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 dixw the short 
 curtains at the head. 
 
 Meantime Gerard was on his knees. 
 Denys looked i-ound and saw him. 
 
 "Ah!" said Denys, "above all, 
 pray them to forgive me for bringing 
 you into this guetapens ! " 
 
 And now they grasped hands and 
 looked in one another's eyes ; O, such 
 a look ! Denys's hand was cold, and 
 Gerard's warm. 
 
 They took their posts. 
 
 Denys blew out the candle. 
 
 " We must keep silence now." 
 
 But in the teiTible 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." 
 
 " Prav that it may be the Abbot." 
 " Yes". Why ? " 
 
 "If he comes alone I can make 
 sure of him." 
 
 " Denvs ! " 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
 " I fear I shall go mad, if they do 
 not come soon." 
 
 "Shall I feign sleep? Shall I 
 snore ? " 
 
 " Will that — ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Do then, and God have mercy on 
 us ! " 
 
 Denys snored at intenals. 
 
 There was a scuffling of feet heard 
 in the kitchen, and then all was still. 
 
 Denys snored agnin ; then took 
 up his position beliind the door.
 
 138 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK UKAFtTII. 
 
 But ho, or tlicy, who hail (Irnwn 
 till- lot, .scfniiil ili-ttrminc4l tu ntn no 
 r<M>li>ti ri.'ki. Nothiii),; WiU atU'tIlp^ 
 t»l in II hurry. 
 
 \Vlu'i\ tliiv wi'rr nlmoit ritJint><l 
 uitli t'olil and wnitint; tor tlir ut- 
 tiii'k, till' <l<Mir on till' Ntuir!) o|>vnitl 
 sottly and clusotl u^pun. Nutliiu); 
 nion-. 
 
 There waa another hiUTDwinjj ni- 
 Ifncc. 
 
 Thin ft •«inu'lc lij;ht foot.ttcp on the 
 Ktnir* ; lunl nntiiiii;; inort". 
 
 Tht-n 11 li^lu crrpt utulrr tlio diK>r ; 
 iiiul nothing; murt- 
 
 l'ri'S4Mitly there was a p-nth' MTutrh- 
 in^. not hiiir m> loud lui ii niouHc's, 
 lUld the liilM- dlH^^•^lo^t o|«'ni'd hy 
 d<'urii's and lett a |KT|i«-ndii-ular «|ia('e, 
 throu^ch wliiili the li^;ht stniunid in. 
 'I'he diMir, hail it Urn liulted, would 
 now liavv hunir l>y the luirv tip of the 
 ImiU, whiih wont into the n-ul door- 
 IMist. hut, a* it Wtt.*, it Jtwunj: gently 
 <i|M-n ot° it.selt*. It o|><<ned inwurds, ko 
 Pcins <lid not rait*' hit «to«-»-Im)w 
 iVoiii the ^jrouiid, but njerely ^jnuiiR-d 
 his da;:>,'er. 
 
 The eandle wn.s hehl un, nnd shiid- 
 eil from U'hind hy n nuin s hand. 
 
 He wa.s ins|H-«-tin^ the U'd.s fn)rn 
 the thre.sjiold, sati.-fieil that lii.s vie- 
 tiuis were hnth in U-d. 
 
 The man glided into the Apartment. 
 Hut at the tirst step somelhin;; in the 
 ]M>sition of the eu])lM»ird nnd ehnir 
 made him uneasy. Me venturwl no 
 farther, hut put the eandle on the 
 floor and st<M>jH'd to jner under the 
 ehuir ; hut, a.s he .stoo|H'd, nn iron 
 hand praspi-d hi.s shoulder, nnd a 
 dap>^er was driven .so fiereely throu;:h 
 hi.s neck that the point came out at 
 his pullet. There was a terrible 
 hiecouph, but no erv, nnd half a 
 do/en silent stroke.s followi-d in swift 
 succession, each a death-blow, ami 
 the assassin was laid noiselessly on 
 tiie fl<x)r. 
 
 Denys closc«l the door, bolte<l it 
 pently, drew the post to, and, even 
 while he was doinp it, whis|>ered Ge- 
 rard to brinp a chair. It was dune. 
 
 " Help me M't him up.' 
 
 '■ Dead' " 
 
 •• I'arhleu ! •* 
 
 •• What for * " 
 
 " Friphten them ' «i.i:ii time" 
 
 Kvcn while sayinp thi-.. Deny* hnil 
 whitiiMNi n piwv of Ntrinp round the 
 deail man's ne«'k and tied him to tho 
 chair, and there the pha-stly tljj'uro 
 »at, fruntinp the door. 
 
 " Denyn, I run do l«« ttir. Saints 
 forpivi- me I " 
 
 " What ' Ik? quick, then, we Imvo 
 not many moments." 
 
 An<l Deny.* pot hi* cros»-bow 
 n-ady, nnd, tearinp off hi.s straw 
 mattrcM.s, rean-d it Ufore him, anti i»ro- 
 |uin-<l to shiMit the moment the (l<M>r 
 .should o|ien, for he had no ho|N- any 
 more would come sinply, when they 
 found tlie tirst did not return. 
 
 While ihuH employed, (ierani wo* 
 bu.sy alM>ut the !U'at(.tl ci>q)so, and, to 
 his amazement, Denys saw a lumi- 
 nous plow .tpreudinp rapidly over the 
 white face. 
 
 (ierard blew out the candle. And 
 on thi.s the coqisi-'s face xhonc still 
 more like a plow-wonn's head. 
 
 Denvs shook in hi.H bhoes, aiul hiii 
 teitli chnttc'red. 
 
 " What in Hcjiven's name is this ? " 
 he whisjK'red. 
 
 " Hush ! 't is but phosj)honis. 
 lint 't will Bene." 
 
 " Away ! tliey will snriirisc thee." 
 
 In fact unwusy niuttcrinps were 
 lu-anl lielow, and at last a deep voice 
 sai<l, " What nuikcs him .so lonp 1 ia 
 the dn")le rilliup tht in ? " 
 
 It was their comrade they suspect- 
 e<l, then, not the enemy. Soon a 
 step came softly but rapidly up tho 
 stairs ; the door was pently trie<l. 
 
 When this resisted, which waa 
 clearly not ex|KTted, the sham post 
 was very cautiously moved, an<l an 
 eye, no doubt, ]»ee[)e<l fhrouph the 
 ajK^rturc ; for there was a howl of 
 dismay, and the man was heard to 
 stumble back and burst into the 
 kitchen, where a Habel of voices rose 
 directly on his return.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 139 
 
 Gerard ran to the dead thief, and 
 began to work on him aj^ain. 
 
 " Back, madman ! " whispered 
 Den^s. 
 
 " Nay, nay. I know these igno- 
 rant brutes. They will not venture 
 here awhile. I can make him ten 
 times more fearful." 
 
 " At least close that opening ! 
 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 
 perhaps strange use, and one unparal- 
 leled 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 re- 
 vealed ; 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 quar- 
 relling and disputing loudly, and 
 now without disguise. 
 
 The steps that led do^\'n to the 
 kitchen were fifteen, but they were 
 nearly perpendicular ; there was, 
 therefore, in point of fact, no distance 
 betM'een 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 tliis 
 cursed house than go again into a 
 room that is full of fiends." 
 
 " Art drunk, or mad 1 or a cow- 
 ard 1 " said another. 
 
 " Call me a coward, I '11 give thee 
 my dagger's point, and send thee 
 where Pierre sits o' fire forever." 
 
 " Come, no quarrelling when work 
 is afoot," roared a tremendous diapa- 
 son, " or I '11 brain ye both with my 
 
 fist, and send ye where v/e 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 con- 
 tinued some time, and then there was 
 a dead silence. 
 
 " Look out, Gerard." 
 
 "Ay. What will they do next?" 
 
 " We shall soon know." 
 
 " 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 
 can't aftbrd 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 
 bodj', by the soul's action be stnmg 
 up to start and quiver. The sudden 
 ray shot keen and pure into that 
 shamble. 
 
 Its calm, cold, silvery soul trav- 
 ersed the apartment in a stream of no 
 great volume, for the window was 
 narrow. 
 
 After the first tremor, Gerard whis- 
 pered, " Courage, Denys ! God's eye 
 is on us 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 between them, waited 
 panting to kill and be killed. Nor 
 did the moonlight deaden that liorri 
 ble corpse-light. If anything, it add- 
 ed to its ghastliness ; for the body 
 sat at the edge of the moonbeam, 
 which cut sharp across the shoulder
 
 110 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THK HfcnRTH. 
 
 nnd tho our, niul hiviiuhI Muc and | 
 ^lia'<tly iukI iitiiuktiinil liv tiii' nide of 
 that liiri'l K^»w III wliiili lilt' I'lU-u nml 
 (vcH ami i<t'[|i «liunr liurrilily. Hut 
 l)cii\!t diind not hxik tliut wiiv. | 
 
 'i'iu* iniHiii drow ii Imxid Htri|M< nf 
 li^ht lUTiHt tiio duor, uml on that hi.s 
 lyi'* wore kIu^"*' I'nawntly ho whi»- I 
 |KTi'd, " (Jcrnrd ! " | 
 
 (JtTard looked and raiwd hi?" swonl. 
 
 Ariltrly ll'» llicv ii;ld llstriictl. thoy 
 had hiard of late no .sound i>n the 
 *lJiir. Vft thenj — on tho dtM»r|M>iit, ' 
 at tho od;;o of tho stream of intMui- 
 li;;ht, wero tho ti|Hi of the fln^^ent uf 
 a hand. I 
 
 The nniN t;i><*(*?iH'd. I 
 
 I'n-.Hi'ntly they lM<;;an to rrawl and 
 erawi down towards the U)lt, l)iit 
 with inlinile Mlowne.H<« and eaulion. 
 Ill so doini; tliey ere|it into the moon- 
 lii;lit. I'lie lutual motion \\-a.t im|MT- 
 i<'|>tilile, luit Klowly, iiloMly the tin- 
 pT^t eaine out whiter and whiter; Imt 
 the haml JN'tween the moin knuekleit 
 and the wri^t remained dark. l)ony» 
 ^lowly raised his enxs-lnjw. 
 
 lie" levelled it. lie t.M.k a Ion;;. ' 
 Ht«-ady aim. j 
 
 (ierard |ial|>itate<l. At Inst the I 
 en>ss.lM>w twim;.'i-d. The hand was 
 instantly nailed, with a Ktern jar, to 
 the (juiverin>; door|K(st. There wiw j 
 a (ten-am of anguish. "Cut," whi.s- | 
 pend Denys eajjerly, am! (ierard'H j 
 uplifted .sword de.seendinl and oev- I 
 ered tho wrist with two swift Mows. 
 A Uxiy sank down moaning out- 
 side. 
 
 The hand remained inside, immov- 
 nl)le, with 1)Io(hI trieklin^ from it 
 down the wall. Tho (iereo Indt, 
 .slightly harU'd, had ^one through it, 
 nnd ilee|) iiitt> the real doorjKJSt. 
 
 " Two," said Denys, with terrible 
 eynieism. 
 
 He strung his ctoss-Uow, nnd kneeled 
 l>ehind his cover again 
 
 " The next will l»e the Ahhot." 
 
 The wounded man nioviil, and pres- 
 ently crawled ilown to his compan- 
 ions un the stairs, nnd the kitchen 
 door was shut. 
 
 There nothing was licanl noir bol 
 low mutteriii;^. The l.Kt iiieideiil 
 had revealed the mortal i liarailer of 
 tin- we.i|ioiis Used l>v llie lH-Nii';.'»-d. 
 
 " I liegin to think the AMhii's 
 stomarh is nut »o gn-ut a.s liis ImmIv," 
 said Denys. 
 
 Tho words were s«'arc*'ly oiu of hia 
 mouth, when the fidlowing events 
 hapfM'Ur^l in a rouple of se<-onds. 
 riie kitehen d<>or was o|m-ii<s1 rough- 
 1>, a heavy hut lu'tive man darted up 
 t)ie steps without any manner of di»- 
 guiiH>, and a single |Hinderous hlow 
 s<-iit tho door, not only oil' its liing(>«, 
 hut riglit across the PMim on to l)c- 
 nys's fortitieation, which it struck so 
 ruili'ly us nearly to lay him flat. And 
 in the diMirwiiy stood a co|<i<i<4us with 
 a glittering axo. 
 
 Ilo saw the dead man with the 
 moon's Idiio light on half his face, 
 ami the n-d liglit on the other half 
 and inside his chapfalhn jaws : he 
 stan-d, his arms fell, his knees 
 kiKN-kiHl together, and ho crouched 
 with horror. 
 
 * LA MOUT ! " he mc<l in tone* 
 of terror, and turned and tied. In 
 which act Denys startt-d up and shot 
 him thr<iii::h iMith jaws, lie sprang 
 with one iMiiind into the kitchen, and 
 there leannl on his axe, sjiitting IiIimmI 
 and ti-etli and ciirse.s. 
 
 Di-nys strung his how-, nnd |)ut his 
 hand into his lireast. 
 
 He drew it out dismayed. 
 
 " My last l>olt is gone," he groamil. 
 
 " Hut we have our swords, and you 
 have slain the giant." 
 
 " No, (Jerard," said Denys, gravely, 
 " I have not. And the worst is, I 
 have w(Minded him. F(m>| ! to shoot 
 at a retreating lion. He liad never 
 fiued thy linmliwork again hul for 
 my medilling." 
 
 " Ha ! to your guard ! I hear them 
 o|M'n the door." 
 
 Then Denvs, depres.sed hy the one 
 error he ha<i committed in all this 
 fearful night, felt convinced liis likst 
 hour had come. He <lrew his sword, 
 hut like one do<jmed. But what is 
 this? a rc«<l light flickers on the ceil-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 141 
 
 ing. Gerard flew to the window and 
 looked out. There were men with 
 torches, and breastplates gleaminfj 
 red. " We are saved ! Armed men ! " 
 And he dashed his sword through the 
 window, shouting " Quick ! quick ! 
 we are sore pressed." 
 
 " Back ! " yelled Denys ; " they 
 come ! strike none but him ! " 
 
 That very moment the Abbot and 
 two men with naked weaj^ons rushed 
 into the room. Even as they came 
 the outer door was hammered fierce- 
 ly, 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 tre- 
 mendous 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. Deriys went stag- 
 gering back, covered Avith blood. 
 Gerard had rushed in like lightning, 
 and, just as the axe turned to de- 
 scend on him, drove his sword so 
 fiercely through the giant's body that 
 the very hilt sounded on his ribs Uke 
 the blow of a pugilist, and Denys, 
 staggering back to help his friend, 
 saw a steel point come out of the Ab- 
 bot 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 the 
 giant's back. " Stand firm now ! " 
 and he pushed the cold steel through 
 
 I and through the giant and out at his 
 breast. 
 
 Thus horribly spitted on both sides, 
 the Abbot gave a violent shudder, and 
 his heels hammered the ground con- 
 vulsively. His lips, fast turning blue, 
 opened wide and deep, and he cried, 
 "LA MORT! — LA MORT! — 
 LA MORT ! ! " the first time in a 
 roar of despair, and then twice in a 
 horror-stricken whisper never to be 
 forgotten. 
 
 Just then the street door was 
 forced. 
 
 Suddenly the Abbot's arms Avhirled 
 like windmills, and his huge body 
 wrenched wildly and can-icd them to 
 the doorway, twisting their wrists, and 
 nearly throwing them off" their legs. 
 
 " He '11 vdn clear yet," cried Denys : 
 " out steel ! and in again ! " 
 
 They tore out their smoking swords, 
 but, ere they could stab again, the 
 Abbot leaped full five feet high, and 
 fell with a tremendous crash against 
 the door below, carri'ing it away with 
 him like a sheet of paper, and through 
 the aperture the glare of torches burst 
 on the awestruck 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 see the 
 lock forced out of the socket and 
 half a dozen mailed archers burst in 
 upon them. On 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 vnih 
 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 
 fell on their knees directly, and the 
 archers bound them, while, above, the 
 rescued ones still stood like statues 
 rooted to the spot, their dripping
 
 It J 
 
 THK <L()!STER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 iword.t cxtcmlifl in the ml tnrrhlitfht, 
 exiMTtiii;; tln'ir iiuloinitntile ciu'iiiv to 
 loHii Imi'k oil thrill us wuiuicrt'ull^ lu 
 he liml troiii". 
 
 ClIAl'inU XXXIII. 
 
 *' WiiKur. Ih? the true men • " 
 
 " Men- \m' we. (.j«mI blej*.i you all ! 
 (iimI lilcst you ! " 
 
 'I luT»' win a ni<h to the «tair*. ami 
 hiiir a iloien hnnl hut tm-mlly linmi* 
 wi-ro hohl out nml ^,'TIt■^|>«1| thriti 
 \tannly. " Y' have navetl our li*' 
 Imlt," crietl Denvn, " y' have »a\ 
 our livj'.H thi< iii^hl." 
 
 A wild pti^ht nut the eyes of the 
 n\<M-ur<l |>iiir. 'I'hiTtMiin Harini; with 
 tonlieji, the j;liltiTiu^ hrrjtttjtluti's «>f 
 the nnlur*, their liroiuni hwi-^. the 
 white <he»k< of the l)uun<l thieve*, 
 nml the hiecilin;; t;iitnt. whove ileail 
 ImmIv tluMe hanl men left lyin^ there 
 ill it.H own t'ore. 
 
 (•eranl went roiiiul tlienn-her», nn<l 
 took them eneh t>v the hninl with 
 ((li.Hteiiini; eyeit, nml on thi* tluv nil 
 kivM-il him ; un<l tlii!i time hi> ki.4.He<l 
 them in return. 'I'Ik-ii he i«ni<l to one 
 hanil>ome nreher of hit own nee, 
 " Tritluv, goo«l .Mihlier, have an eye 
 to me. A ittran^ri" ilmw^ineM ovcr- 
 eonies me. I.,»t no one rut my thn)at 
 while I sU-*'\t, — for pity's nake." 
 
 The nreher |tri)mis«'«( with a lnu(;h, 
 for he thought (Ji-rnnl wiuh ji-stin^; ; 
 anil the latter went off into a iKvp 
 Hleep nimost immediately. 
 
 Deiiys wa.H .«iiriiri.*e<l at thi<, hut diil 
 not interfen-, for it .-(uitiil his immedi- 
 ate puqiose. A couple of arehers 
 were insi)cetin^: the AI>lH»t'.s Ixxly, 
 tiirninj; it half over with their feet, 
 and iiKiuirin); " whirh of the two had 
 flunj: this eiionnnus roiruedown from 
 an umK-r .story like that ; they woul<l 
 fain Iiavo the triek of his ann." 
 
 Denys at first pishecl ami pshawed, 
 but dared not play the l>ra;:gart, for 
 he said to himself, " That youns; 
 Ta^rabond will break in and say 't was 
 the finjxer of Heaven, ami no mortal 
 arm, or some sueh stuff, and make 
 
 ' me look like a fiK>l." Hut now, w» 
 in^ (ierurd uneoiiM-iou<, be Kuddmly 
 ^ave thin re«]uire(l information. 
 I " Well then, you -n-e, tomrndir*, I 
 had run my NWiml through tlii« one 
 up to the hilt, and one or two muro 
 of 'em eame buzzing nlMiut me ; mt it 
 Iwhoovwl me have my »wor<l or die ; 
 M> I ju«t put my foot acaiiixt hi^ 
 Ktomach, i;:ive a tup with my hand 
 and a tpriiit; with my fiMit, ami »eni 
 him tlyin^ to kingdom emne t Ho 
 di(*<l in the air, ami hit earrion rulled 
 in anion;,'*! you without ecreinony ; 
 \<>u jump, I warmnt me. Hut 
 M-s and pillage! what avail* 
 praKim;; of tlM'.>te trilles ontr they 
 are p>ne by • buvon.H, eamaraden, 
 btivoiiit." 
 
 The nn-hent n-markrd that it was 
 ea«y lo say " buvon.H " wlu-n- n<» iii|- 
 uor wa.4, but not m> ea.HV to do it. 
 
 " Nay, I 'II noon find ye li(|uor. 
 My no<ie hath a natural alacrity at 
 MTntin^' out the wine. You follow 
 tne, and I my iiom- ; brin;j a t«)nh ! " 
 And they leil the ro«)m, and, findini; 
 a ihort Hi;;lit of stone step*, tleseenu- 
 ed them, nml enten-*! a hiTKV, low. 
 damp eellar. 
 
 It .tmelt r|os4> and dank ; ami tho 
 walls wen- inenist«'d here and there 
 with what se«'me<| robweb<t, but 
 prove«l to \h' >.alt|N'tre that had iMtzetl 
 out of the damp stoiK-* and crvstal- 
 liiwl. ^ 
 
 " <) the fine mouldy smell," sjiid 
 Denys. " In sueh plaeen still lurks 
 the ^ixmI wine ; advam-c thy torch. 
 Diable ! what i.s that in tho cor- 
 ner f A pile of rags ? No ; 't ia • 
 man." 
 
 They pathen-il round with the torch, 
 and lo ! a fi^rure crouched on a heap 
 in the comer, pale aa a.she.s and shiv- 
 erintr. 
 
 " Why, it is the landlord," said 
 Denys. 
 
 " Get np, thou craven heart ! " 
 shouted one of the archers. 
 
 " Why, man, the thieves are bound, 
 and we are dry that bound them. 
 I'p ! and show us thj wine ; for do 
 bottles see I here."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 143 
 
 " What, be the rascals bound ? " 
 stammered the pale landlord ; " ;?ood 
 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 ! What girl"? Ah ! 
 Curse her, traitress ! " 
 
 " Well," interposed the other arch- 
 er, " the girl is not here but gone 
 on to the bailiff'. So let the burgh- 
 ers settle whether this craven be 
 guilty or no, for we cauglit 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 wc do." 
 
 " Alas, sir ! " 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 tace ? Therefore hold 
 him, comrades ; a prisoner can draw 
 wine an' if his hands be not bound." 
 
 The landlord offered no objection ; 
 but on the contrary said he would 
 with pleasure show them where his 
 little stock of win^ 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 ! " 
 
 " What is 't ■? " 
 
 " Here be bottles in this corner ; 
 advance thy light." 
 
 The torchbearerwcnt towards him. 
 He had just taken off his scabbard and 
 7 
 
 was probing the heap the landlord had 
 just been crouched upon. 
 
 " Kay, 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. 
 
 Deuys threw it on the floor : it 
 rattled. 
 
 " There is naught there but the 
 bones of the house," said the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " Just now 't was nothing. Now 
 that wc have found something, 'tis 
 nothing but bones. Here 's another. 
 Humph ! 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 Philijjpe, held th ■ bone to 
 the light, and turned it round and 
 round. 
 
 " Well 1 " said Denys. 
 
 " Well, if this was a field of battle 
 I should say 't was the shank-bone of 
 a man ; no more, no less. But 't is n't 
 a battle-field, nor a churchyard ; 't is 
 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 cbinc is a missing, 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 thi'ust 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 
 f\incics are these ! The bones are 
 bones of beeves and sheep and kid, 
 and not, as you think, of men and 
 women. Holy saints preserve us ! " 
 
 " Hold thy peace ! thy words are 
 air. Thou hast 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 conir^des, and
 
 Ill 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THK HKAKTH. 
 
 fuunil tlicir Umcs picked an clean 
 hy thv irows as tlu-se, I doubt, have 
 licvM \>y tlue und thy niati-.s. Men 
 and women, Huid-tt thou ! And, 
 piithif, when npuke I a word of 
 wonifn'rt l>«nes? Woiddst make a 
 child susjH'Ct thei' ? Field of l>iittle. 
 < otr.rnde ! Was not this house a 
 lield of liattle half an hour ajjonc ? | 
 Dni;,' him v\t>M' tn me, let me rend hii* 
 liKe ; nf)w then, w hat is thist, thou 
 kimve f " and ho thrust a small ob- 
 ject suddeidv in his face. 
 
 " Alus ! I Vnow not." 
 
 " Well, I woultl not swear neither ; 
 liut it is too like the thuml>-lK)nc of a 
 man's hutxl ; mates, my tlesli erct-ps. 
 Churchyard ! how know I tl>is is not 
 one ? " 
 
 And he now dnw his sword out of 
 the srnbbiiril, and U-^an to rake the 
 hc;i|) »)f earth and l>n)ken crockery 
 ami liones out on the Hoor. 
 
 The landlonl assured him he but 
 wasted his time. " Wc jioor inn- 
 ke«'i)crs arc »;nneni," said he, " wc 
 j^ive short ni'-asure. and baptize the 
 wine ; we are fain to do these thinj^'s ; 
 tlio laws are no iinjust t'> us; but we 
 are not assassins. How couhl wc 
 nrtonl to kill our customers? Mav 
 heaven's li^htninj; strike me dead If 
 there lie any bones there but siich as 
 have lH"en usc<l for meat. 'T is the 
 kitchen wench llin^s them here ; I 
 swear by ('io<rs holy njothcr, bv holy 
 Paul, by holy Dominie, and bcnys 
 my i>atn)n saint — nh ! " 
 
 Denys held out a l)one under his 
 eye in deail silence. It was a Ikjiic no 
 man, however i),'nt>rant, liowevcr ly- 
 iuir, could confouiul with those of 
 s-liiej) or oxen. The sight of it 
 .shut the lyin;; lips and palsied the 
 heartless heart. 
 
 The landlord's hair rose visibly on 
 his head like spikes, and his knees 
 jravc way as if his limbs had Iwcn 
 stnick from umlor him. Rut the 
 archers dragf^d him fiercely up, and 
 kept him erect under the torch, staring 
 fascinated at the dead skull, which, 
 white as the living cheek opi>osed, 
 but no whiter, glared back again at 
 
 itH murtlenr, whose j)ale liiw now 
 ojiencd, and oiK-nitl, but could utter 
 no sounil. 
 
 " Ah ! " said iKuys, solemidy, and 
 trembling now with rage, •■ look on 
 the sockets out of which thou hast 
 jiickcd the eyes, and let them blast 
 thine eyes, that crows shall jiick out 
 ere this week shall end. Now, hold 
 thou that while I s^^'andi on. Hold it, 
 I say, or here I n>b the gallows — " 
 and he threatened the inuiking wntch 
 with Ids naketi sword, tdl with a groan 
 he took the skull and held it, almost 
 fainting. 
 
 O that every munlercr and con- 
 triver of murtfer couhl 8<'C him, sick 
 and staggering with terror, and with 
 his hair on eiul, holding the cold 
 skull, and ficling that his own head 
 woulil soon lie like it. And S'hui the 
 luap was M-attcn-d, aiitl, alas ! not 
 one nor twf), but many sktdls were 
 brought to light, the culprit moan- 
 ing at each discovery. 
 
 Smhlenly Denys uttered a stranj:© 
 erv tif ilistrcss to come fnmj so l>old 
 ' and hard a man, and held up to 
 the torch a nntss of human hair, it 
 was long, glossy, and gohlen. A wo- 
 man's iHiuttiful hair. At the sight of 
 it the archers instirutively shook iho 
 craven wretch in their hamls ; and ho 
 whined. 
 
 " I have a little sister with hair just 
 so fair pnd shining as this," gnljinl 
 Denys. " Jesu ! if it should \k hers ! 
 There, quick, take my swonl and dag- 
 ger, and keep them from my hand, lest 
 I strike him dead and wrong the gib- 
 lK"t. And thou, jxior innocent victim, 
 on whose head this niost lovely hair 
 did grow, hear me swear thus, on 
 Ix-nded knee, never to leave this man 
 till I see him broken to nieces on the 
 wheel, even for thy sake. ' 
 
 He rose from his knee. " Ay, had 
 he as many lives as here !« hairs, I 'd 
 have them all, by God! " Ami he jmt 
 the hair into his K)Som. Then, in a 
 sudflen fury, seized the landlord fierce- 
 ly by the neck, and forceri him to his 
 kiK-es ; and foot on head ground his 
 face savagely among the Ixines of his
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEAKTH. 
 
 145 
 
 victims, where they lay thickest ; and 
 the assassin first yelled, then whined 
 and whimpered, 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 ! " He passed it through 
 the eyes of a skull alternately, 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 deposi- 
 tion. 
 
 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 hor- 
 rible collar. But Denys caine pant- 
 ing after, and in a few fiery words 
 soon made all clear. 
 
 " Bind him like the rest," said the 
 aklernaan, sternly. " I count him the 
 blackest of them all." 
 
 While his hands were being bound, 
 the poor wretch begged piteously that 
 " the skull might be taken from 
 him." 
 
 " Humph ! " 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. 'T is 
 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 up stairs, 
 one we trundled down dead, the rest 
 are bound before you." 
 
 " Good ! 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 doorpost by a cross-bow bolt." 
 
 " Good ! " said the clerk. He 
 whispered his master, " What a 
 goodly show will the ' pieces de con- 
 viction ' make ! " and with this he 
 wrote them down, enumerating them 
 in separate squeaks as he penned 
 them. Skulls, — Bones, — A wo- 
 man's hair, — A thief's hand, — 1 
 axe, — 2 carcasses, — 1 cross-boAV bolt. 
 This done, he itched to search the 
 cellar himself ; there might be other 
 invaluable morsels of evidence, au 
 ear, or even an ear-ring. The alder- 
 man assenting, he caught up a torch, 
 and was hurrying thither when an 
 accident stopped him, and indeed car- 
 ried him a step or two in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 The constables had gone up the 
 narrow stair in single file. 
 
 But the head constable no sooner 
 saw the phosphorescent corpse seated 
 by the bedside than he stood stupe- 
 fied ; and next he began to shake like 
 one in an ague, and, teiTor gaining 
 on him more and more, he uttered a 
 sort of howl and recoiled swiftly. For- 
 getting the steps in his recoil, he tum- 
 bled over backward on his nearest com- 
 panion ; but he, shaken by the shout 
 of dismay, and catching a glimpse of 
 something horrid, was already stag* 
 gering back, and in no condition to 
 sustain the head constable, who, like 
 most head constables, was a ponder- 
 ous 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 there he lay, 
 kicking and waving his torch, ap- 
 parently in triumph, but really in 
 convulsion, sense and wind being 
 driven out together by the concussion.
 
 14C 
 
 TUF. CLOISTKU AND TllK HKARTII. 
 
 Di-tiys cxpliuiieil, and util-ixii to nc 
 ri>iii|iuii_v hi* worship. " So be it,' 
 
 " What is to do now, in Heaven's 
 name ' " rrie<l the nidennun, siartint; 
 up with eon.iiderulilu uhinn. Hut 
 cxphu 
 y hi* 
 Biiid the hitter. Hi* in<n picked them 
 .selve* ruefully up, and tlie alderniiiu 
 put hiniM.df tit their head, and ex- 
 KMiiiird the premise."! aU)ve and lielow. 
 Ah fur the pri.soner*, their internifjm- 
 tory w&t iMi<it|Mjne<l till they could bo 
 eoiifronted with tlie itervant. 
 
 IJrfor*- dawn, the thievet, alive nnd 
 di-ad, and all the niirs and evidences 
 ol crime and retrihiition, were *wept 
 away into the law's net, and the inn 
 was silent, and alinoHl deserted, 
 'i'lii-n' reinaine<i hut one eunstahle, 
 nnd Deny* an<l ( ierard, the latter 
 ■tdl sleepinj; heavily. 
 
 CHAl'TKK XXXIV. 
 
 GrnARD awoke, and found Deny* 
 watehin;; him with some anxiety. 
 
 •' It in you for sleepin;; ! Why, 't is 
 hijjh noon." 
 
 " It wo* a hlt-sse*! sleep," said CJe- 
 rard ; " niethink* Heaven sent it me. 
 It hath put a.* it wer\" a veil lictwi-i-n 
 me and that awful ni^ht. To think 
 that you ami I sit hen- alive and well. 
 How terrihlc a dream I swm to have 
 had ! " 
 
 " Ay, lad, that is the wi.*o way to 
 look at ihe^e thinpi ; when once thev 
 are joi.st, why, they are iln^ams, shad- 
 ows. Hn-ak thy fast, and then thou 
 \%ilt think no mi>n! on 't. Mort-over, 
 I pnuni.Hed to hrin;: the«> on to the 
 town liy n(M>n, and take thee to his 
 worship." 
 
 " What for ' " 
 
 " He would put questions to thee ; 
 hy the same token he was for waking; 
 th«Y to that end, hut I withstoo<l him 
 earnestly, and vowixl to bring thee to 
 him in the mominp." 
 
 " Thou shall not break troth for 
 mo." 
 
 « leranl then sopped some rye bread 
 in red wine, and ate it to break his 
 
 fast ; then went with Dcnys OTer thc 
 scene of combat, and came back 
 shuddering, and finally took the rood 
 with hi* friend, and k<pt jK-ering 
 throu^di the hetlj^es, and expecting 
 suildcn attacks unrca.sonably, till 
 thcv reached the little H)wn. Denys 
 took him to '• The White Hart." 
 
 " No fear of cutthroat* here," said 
 he. " I know the landionl this many 
 a year. He is a bur^^e**, and liM>k-t to 
 lie biiilitT. 'T is here I wa* makini; 
 for vt-steret'n. But we lost lime, and 
 nij;f>t o"crt<H>k u* — and — " 
 
 " And vou saw a woman at the 
 door, antf would lie wi.M-r than la 
 ■leanneton ; she told us they were 
 nauclit." 
 
 " Why, what savi>«l our liven, if not 
 a woman ' Ay, and risked her own 
 to do it." 
 
 " This i* true. Deny*, on<l, though 
 women are nothini; to me, I Ion;; to 
 thank this |MM>r k\t\, ami rrward liar; 
 ay, thou;;h I shan* every «loit in my 
 purse with her. Do not vou ? " 
 
 •■ rnrbleu ! " 
 
 " Where shall we find her » " 
 
 " Mnyhap the alderman will tell US. 
 We mu*t t'o to him lir«t." 
 
 The alderman n'reivcfl them with 
 a most sin;;ular and inexplicable ex- 
 pression of countenanec. Howcrer, 
 after a moment'* retle<-tion, he wore a 
 grim smile, and finally priKfe<led to 
 put interrotrntories to (Ierard, and 
 tiM>k ilown the answers. This done, 
 he told them that they must stay in 
 the town till the thieves were tried, 
 and U' at hand to give evidence, on 
 iM-ril of fine and imprisonment. They 
 I(Nike<i very blank at this. 
 
 " However," .said he, " 't will not 
 1)0 long, the culprits having Ikh-u 
 taken red-hande<l.' He lulded, " And 
 you know, in any case, you could 
 not leave thc place this week." 
 
 Denvs stand at this remark, and 
 Gerani smiled at w hat he thought the 
 simplicity of the f)ld gintleman in 
 tireaining that a provincial town of 
 Burgundy had attraction to detain 
 him from Rome and Margaret. 
 
 He now went to that which wm
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 147 
 
 nearest both their hearts. "Your 
 worship," said he, " wc cannot find 
 our benefactress in the town." 
 
 " Nay, but who is your benefac- 
 tress ? " 
 
 " Who ■? wliy, the good girl that 
 came to you by night, and saved our 
 lives at peril of her own. O sir, our 
 hearts burn within us to thank and 
 bless her ; where is she ? " 
 
 " 0, she is in prison." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " In prison, sir ; good lack, for what 
 misdeed "? " 
 
 " Well, she is a witness, and may 
 be a necessary one." 
 
 " Why, Messire Bailiff," put in 
 Denj'S, " you lay not all your wit- 
 nesses by the heels, I trow.' 
 
 The alderman, pleased at being 
 called bailiff, became communicative. 
 " In a case of blood we detain all tes- 
 timony that is hke to give us leg-bail, 
 and so defeat justice, and that is why 
 r/c 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 shall undo 
 it afore Sunday, or try. Could you 
 see yon wench now, you should find 
 her a blubbering at Iiaving 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. But, now I think on 't, there 
 were other reasons for laying this one 
 by the heels. Hand me those deposi- 
 tions, young sir." And he put on his 
 glasses. " Ay ! she was impUcated ; 
 she was one of the band." 
 
 A loud disclaimer burst from Denys 
 and Gerard at once. 
 
 " No need to deave me," said the 
 alderman. " Here 't is in black and 
 white. 'Jean Hardy (that is one of 
 the thieves), being questioned, coiv 
 fessed that,' — humph ] Ay, here 't is. 
 ' And that the girl Manon was the 
 decoy, and her svi'eetheart was Georges 
 
 Vipont, one of the band ; and hanged 
 last month ; and that she had i)een 
 deject ever since, and had openly 
 blamed the band for his death, say- 
 ing, if they had not been rank cow- 
 ards, he had never been taken, and it 
 is his opinion she did but betray them 
 out of very spite, and — ' " 
 
 " His opinion ! " cried Gerard, indig- 
 nantly, " what signifies the opinion 
 of a cutthroat, burning to be revenged 
 on her who has delivered him to jus- 
 tice ? And, an you go to that, what 
 avails liis testimony ? Is a thief never 
 a liar ? Is he not aye a liar i and 
 here a motive to lie ? Revenge, why, 
 't is the strongest of all the passions. 
 And O sir, what madness to question 
 a detected felon and listen to him ly- 
 ing away an honest life, — as if he 
 were a true man swearing in open 
 day, with his true hand on the Gospel 
 laid ! " 
 
 " Young man," said the alderman, 
 " restrain thy heat in presence of au- 
 thority ! I find by your tongue you 
 are a stranger. Know then that in 
 this land we question all the world. 
 We are not so weak as to hope to get 
 at the trutli by sliutting either our left 
 car or our right." 
 
 " And so you would listen to Satan 
 belying the saints ! " 
 
 " Ta ! ta ! The law meddles but 
 with men and women, and these can- 
 not 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 ta- 
 ken it in, we do winnow and sift it. 
 And who told you I had swallowed 
 the thief's story whole like fair 
 water 1 Not so. I did but credit so 
 much on 't as was home out by better 
 proof." 
 
 " Better proof ?" and Gerard looked 
 blank. " Why, who but the thieves 
 would breathe a word against her 7 " 
 " Marry, herself" 
 " Herself, sir ? what, did you ques- 
 tion her too ? " 
 
 " I tell you we question all the 
 world. Here is her deposition ; can 
 you read ? — Read it yourself, then."
 
 148 
 
 THE CLOISTEH AND TlIK HKAUTH. 
 
 OiTftnl Kxiktil at Di-nys, and rc«I 
 Iiiin 
 
 MA NO N 'S I ) K r( ) S 1 r I O N. 
 
 " I am ft native of Kpiiiol. I Kft 
 m_v iiativr pUu-o twci yi'urs u^jo iKfiiiiHo 
 I was iinfortuiiati' ; 1 could not like 
 the iiiiiii tluy Imde inc. So my fatJur 
 tnit mo. I mil away (n>m my fiitlirr. 
 1 wi'iit to Rfnico. I li'ft siTviiv 
 lu-caus*' tho niistrt'SH \va.i jraloiis of 
 me. Thf n-ason tlu-y j;nvo for tuni- 
 iin; me off wiw, iHOftust." I witt saufy. 
 Lust yrar I >ttiHHl in the market-|iIaoc 
 to N- liired with other irirln. The 
 lamllnnl of " The Fair Star" liired 
 me. I was eleven months with him. 
 A youn-; man eourted me. I loveil 
 him. I found out that travellers cnnic 
 and never went away au'ain. I told 
 my lover. He hade me hold my jHiiee. 
 lie threateni'il me. I found my lover 
 « ;is ofie of a haufl of thieves. When 
 tr.ivellers were to U' n)lilKd, the land- 
 lord went out and told the hand to 
 eoine. Then I wept and jirayctl for 
 the travellers' ttouls. I never tohl. 
 A month nj;o my lover «lie<l. 
 
 " The soldier put me in mind of 
 my lover. He was lK-ard>il like him 
 1 had lost. I cannot tell whether 1 
 should have interfend, if he had no 
 beard. 1 am sorry I told now." 
 
 The pa|K.'r almost dropjK?il from 
 Gerard's hand.s. Now, for the first 
 time, he saw th.it Manon's life wn.s in 
 mortal daiiirer. lie knew the do^rvjed 
 law, and the iloi;i,'»'d nii-n that exe- 
 cuted it. He thnnv himM.-lf suddenly 
 on his knees at the alderman's leet. 
 " i) sir ! think of the ditVerenee U-- 
 tween tli«).se cruel men and this poor 
 Weak woman ! Could yon have the 
 heart to semi her to the same death 
 ivith them ; could you have the heart 
 to condemn us to look on and sec 
 lior slau;;htered. who, hut that she 
 ri.-.ked her life for oui-s, had not now 
 Inen in jeopardy ? Alas, sir! show 
 me and my comrade some pity, if 
 vou have none for her, iM)or soul ! 
 I)eny3 and I be true men, and you 
 will rend our hearts if you kill that 
 poor simple yirl. What can w« do ? 
 
 What is left for us to do, then, but cot 
 our throats at hi r ;;«llows' fiM>t f " 
 
 The alderman was tou;:h. but mor 
 tal ; the jirayers and a::itation of 
 (ieranl tir>t a->tounded, then touehed 
 
 I him. He showed it in a curious way. 
 
 i He iK'canie pecvisli and fretful. 
 
 i " Then', p-t up, do," said he. " I 
 
 i doubt whether anylMHly would say ns 
 manv words for me. What ho ! 
 
 I Daniel ! ^o fetch the town clerk." 
 
 I Anil, on thikt fiiin'tionary enterinf; 
 
 ' from an adjoinini; rtHiiii, " Here is a 
 foolish lad fretting aUiut yon h\t\. 
 Can we stn-teh a |MMnt ' wiy we ad- 
 mit her to bear witness, and i|UC»tioii 
 
 ', her favorably." 
 
 The town clerk Wiis one of your 
 " imiM>ssibility " men. 
 
 " Say, sir, we cannot «lo that; (the 
 was not conceriii.-«l in this business. 
 Had she Urn acce.s.Hory, we ini;;ht 
 have ortered her u |>ardon to U-ar wit- 
 nesw." 
 
 (JeranI burst in. "But she did 
 U'tti-r. IiMtead of U-in;; acivssory, 
 she stayed the irinie : and she prof- 
 fered hi'rs«-lf as witness by running 
 hither with the tale." 
 
 " Tush, yoiin;; man, 't i.* a matter 
 of law." The alderman and the 
 clerk then had a Ion;; discussion, the 
 one maintainin;;, the other denyini;, 
 that she st(MMl as fair in law ns if she 
 IumI U'cn acces.sory to the attempt on 
 our travellers' lives. Ami this was 
 lucky for Manon ; for the aldcnnan, 
 irritated by the clerk rviteratin;; that 
 he could not do this, and could not 
 that, and could not do t'other, said 
 " he would show him he <wi/f/ do any- 
 thing; he chose." And he had Ma- 
 non out, and, ii[>on the landlord of 
 the " White Hart " l)ein;; her bonds- 
 man, and Denys depositinjr five 
 >;old pieci>s with him, and the pirl 
 promisin;;, not without some c<tiixinjj 
 from Denys, to attend ns a witness, 
 he lil>erated her, but cased his con- 
 science by tell in;; her in bus oirn 
 terms his reason for this leniency. 
 
 " The town had to buy a new ropo 
 for everyl)oJy han^red, and pii»sent it 
 to the bourrcau, or else compound
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 149 
 
 with him in money ; and she was 
 not, in his opinion, worth this mu- 
 nicipal 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 favor, 
 followed her, hurrahing and encourag- 
 ing her, till, finding herself backed by 
 numbers, she plucked up heart. The 
 landlord, too, saw at a glance that her 
 presence in the inn would draw cus- 
 tom, 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 rip- 
 ple, up and down, down and up, up 
 and down. Bidding the landlord be 
 very kind to her, and keep her a pris- 
 oner without letting her feel it, the 
 friends went out ; and lo ! 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 indescribable 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 fur it them- 
 selves. The mob had not the quick 
 intelligence to be at once struck with 
 
 this stem meeting ; but at last a wo- 
 man cried, "Look at your work, ye 
 dogs ! " 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 how they 
 looked on the bier, and envied those 
 whom they had sent before them on 
 the dark road they were going upon 
 themselves ! And the two men Avho 
 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 remains of those 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 somewhat by 
 the example of Gerard, followed the 
 bones bareheaded, and saw them de- 
 posited with the prayers of the church 
 in hallowed ground. 
 
 After the funeral rites Gerard 
 stepped respectfully up to the cure, 
 and offered to buy a mass for their 
 soids. 
 
 Gerard, son of Catherine, always 
 looked at two sides of a penny ; and 
 he tried to purchase this mass a trifle 
 under the usual temis, on account of 
 the pitiable circumstances. But the 
 good cure' gently but adi'oitly parried 
 his ingenuity, and blandly sci'ewed 
 him up to the market price. 
 
 In the course of the business they 
 discovered a similarity of sentimetits. 
 Piety and worldly prudence are not 
 very rare companions ; still it is un-
 
 150 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND Till: llKAimi. 
 
 usual to rarry hotli so far as these 
 two iiu'U ili<l. Tlii'ir rollision in the 
 ))ra\LT inarki-t led to mutual esteem, 
 as when kiiij^ht eiicountereil kiii;;ht 
 worthy of his steel. Moreover, tiie 
 ptod eure loved a hit of (jossiji, ami, 
 liiidiii;; his customer was one of those 
 who had fouu'ht the thieves at Dorn- 
 fi)ri»t, W(juld have him into his parlor 
 and hear the whole from his own li|W. | 
 And his heart warmed to (ierard,and 
 he saiil, " God was j,'ood to thee. I I 
 thank him for 't with all my soul. 
 Thou art a j^ot lad." lie added, 
 dryly, " Sliotildst have told mi> this | 
 tale in the churehyard. 1 tloiiht I ] 
 had t,'iven thee the mass for love. I 
 However," saiil he (the thermometer 
 Budilenly falling,'), " 't is ill luek to k" 
 hark upon a har^^ain. IJut 1 '11 i 
 hroaeh a lM>ttle of my old Medoc for I 
 thee; and few he the jjuests I would 
 do that for." The eure' went to his 
 euphoanl, and, while he j;ro|K'd for the 
 ehoiee hottle, he muttered to himself, 
 " At their old trieks a;,'ain ! " 
 
 " riaitil ! " said Gerard. 
 
 " I saiil uau'fht. Ay, here 'tis." 
 
 " Nay, your reverence. You surely 
 spoke ; you said, ' At their old tricks 
 again.'" 
 
 " Said I so, in sooth ? " and his rev- 
 erence smiled. He then proceeded to 
 broach the wine, and tilled a cup for 
 each. Then he put a loj; of wood on 
 the tire, for stoves were none in Bnr- 
 pundy. " And so I saiil, ' At their 
 old tricks ! ' did I ? Come, sip the 
 good wine, and, whilst it lasts, story 
 for story, 1 care not if I tell you a 
 little taie." 
 
 Gerard's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Thou lovest a story ? " 
 
 " As my life." 
 
 " Nay, hut raise not thine expecta- 
 tions too high, neither. 'T is but a 
 foolish tritle compared with thine ad- 
 vcuturcs. 
 
 THE CURE'S TALE. 
 
 " Once upon a time, then, in the 
 Kingdom of France and in the Duchy 
 of Burgundy, and not a day's journey 
 
 from the town where we now sit a sip. 
 ping of old .Meiloe, there liveii — a 
 cure. I say he lived ; hut barely. 
 The parish w;us small, the parishioners 
 greetly, and never gave their curc^ u 
 doit more than he could compel. 'I'ho 
 lU'arer they brought him to a diseni- 
 iMiilied s|)irit by meagre diet, tiie ImKu^ 
 should Ix- his ])ravers in their behalf. 
 I know not if tdis wils their creed, 
 but their practice gave it color. 
 
 " At last he pickled a nxl for them. 
 
 " One day the richi-st fanner in the 
 ]>lace hiul twins to bapti/e. The cun5 
 wius had to the christening diimer ni 
 usual ; but, ere lu' wmild iiapti/e the 
 children, he demanded, not the christ- 
 ening fees only, but the burial fees. 
 ' Saints defend us, parson,' cried the 
 mother ; ' talk not of burying. I never 
 did see children liker to live.' ' Xor 
 I,' said the eun-, ' the jjraise be to 
 (lod. Natheless, they are sure U) die ; 
 Ix-ing sons of Adam, as well as <>{ 
 thee, dame. But, die when they wi I, 
 'twill cost them nothing, the burial 
 fees being paid and entered in this 
 lxx)k.' ' For all that, 't will cost 
 them something,' (luoth the miller, 
 the greatest wag in the place, and as 
 big a kmivo as any; for which was 
 the biggest Ciod knoweth, but no 
 mortal man, not even the hangman. 
 
 * Miller, I tell thee nay,' (juo' the cun?. 
 
 * Parson, I tell you ay,' quo' the mill- 
 er. ' 'T will cost tiiem 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 tlic next parishioner's 
 child, and the next after, and all, had 
 to pay each his burial fee, or lose his 
 place in heaven, discontent did secret- 
 ly 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 fdl on 
 the poor cure. Came to him at din- 
 ner-time a summons to the epi.scopal 
 palace, to bring the parish books and 
 answer certain ch.irges. Then the 
 cure guessed where the shoe pinched. 
 He left his food on the board; for
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 151 
 
 email 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 cure', right 
 humbly, ' doth the parish allege many 
 things against me, or this one only ' ' 
 ' In sooth, but this one,' said the 
 bishop, and softened a little. ' First, 
 monseigneur, I acknowledge the fact.' 
 ' 'T is well,' quoth the bishop ; ' that 
 saves time and trouble. Now to your 
 excuse, if excuse there be.' ' Mon- 
 seigneur, I have been cure of that 
 parish seven years, and fifty chil- 
 dren 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 't was always 
 so, and, on probing the matter, it 
 came out that, of those born at Dom- 
 fornt, all but here and there one did 
 go and get hanged at Aix. But this 
 was to defraud, not their cure only, 
 but the entire Church of her dues, 
 since " pendards " pay no funeral fees, 
 being buried in air. Thereupon, know- 
 ing by sad experience their greed, 
 and how they grudge the Church every 
 sou, I laid 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 
 naught.' Then the bishop laughed till 
 the tears ran down, and questioned 
 the churchwarden, and he was fain to 
 confess that too many of the parish 
 did come to an unlucky end at Aix. 
 ' Then,' said the bishop, ' I do ap- 
 prove the act for myself and my suc- 
 cessors ; and so be it ever, till they 
 mend their manners and die in their 
 beds.' And the next day came the 
 ringleaders, crestfallen, to the cure and 
 said, ' Parson, yc 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 cure 
 alive ; and at Uist he shifted him to 
 a decent parish, where he can oft'er a 
 glass of old ^Medoc to sucli as are 
 worthy of it. Their name it is not 
 legion." 
 
 A light broke in upon Gerard ; his 
 countenance showed it. 
 
 " Ay ! " said his host, " I am that 
 cure ; so now thou canst guess why I 
 said, 'At their old tricks.' My life 
 on 't, they have wheedled my succes- 
 sor into remitting those funeral fees. 
 You are well out of that parish ; and 
 so am I." 
 
 The cure's little niece burst in, 
 " Uncle, the weighing : — la ! a stran- 
 ger ! " 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 fonvard 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, liither come in dole and 
 care ! " 
 
 The child was weighed, and yelled 
 as if the scale had been the font. 
 
 " Courage, 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," said the poor woman. 
 She hushed her ponderling against 
 her bosom, and stood aloof watching, 
 whilst another woman brought her 
 child to scale. 
 
 But presently a loud, dictatorial 
 voice was heard. " Way there, make 
 way for the seigneur ! " 
 
 The small folk parted on both
 
 152 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 sidefl, like waves ploiiKhod }>y n lonlly 
 giillcv, utid ill iimrclu-<l, in );i)r;;i'<)iis 
 attire, ills ("aj) iii|orm-<l with a iVallicr 
 with a tiipii/. at its ruot, his jtrkiii 
 richly fiirntl, satin ilouhlt-t, n-d hi^e-, 
 shoes iiko .-katc-s, (liainuiid - hiited 
 swurd in velvet 8cal)liard, and hawk 
 on his wrist, '" the lord of thi- manor." 
 Ilf lliin;,' himself into the muIivs as if 
 he wa.s lonl of the zodiac as well as 
 the manor ; whereat the hawk hal- 
 uMi-ed and ilu|>{)ed, but stuck ; then 
 winked. 
 
 While the sexton heaved in the 
 fjreit weights, the cure' told (lernrd, 
 " .M V lord had Ikh-u sick unto ileath, 
 and vowed lii> wi'i;;ht in hread and 
 cheese to the poor, the Church taking 
 her tenth." 
 
 " I'ennit me, my lord ; if your lord- 
 »hi|) continues to press with your 
 lordship's start" on the other scale, you 
 will diiturli the Imlancc." 
 
 His lordship ;;rinned and removed 
 his start', and leaned on it. The cure' 
 politely but Hrmly objected to that 
 t<;o. 
 
 " Mille dialiles ! what nm I lo do 
 with it, then ? " crietl the other. 
 
 '• l)ei>;ii ti> hold it out so, my lord, 
 wide of l)otli scales." 
 
 When my lord did this, and so fell 
 into the tni|) he had laid for holy 
 Church, the ^ood cure whispered to 
 (Jerard, " Cretensis incidit in I'reten- 
 s<.-m ! " which I take to mean. Dia- 
 mond cut diamond. lie then said 
 with an ol)^e<piious air, " If that vour 
 lorlsliip ^rrnilires Heaven full wui;;ht, 
 you mi;;ht set the hawk on your lack- 
 ey, and so save a jK^uniL" 
 
 " (Jramercy for thy rede, cun?," 
 cried the j,'reat man, reproachfully. 
 " Shall I for one sorrv ]K)und gnidi:e 
 my ])0or fowl the iK'nefit of holy 
 Church > I 'd as lievc the Devil 
 should have me and all my house as 
 her, any day i' the year." 
 
 " Sweet is atfection," whispered the 
 cnn?. 
 
 " Between a bird and a brute," 
 whispered Gerard. 
 
 " Tush ! " and the, cure looked ter- 
 rified. 
 
 The soipneur's weight wa."» booka& 
 and Heaven, I trust and U-lieve, did 
 not wei;;h his gratitude in the buUuice 
 of the sanctuary. 
 
 For my uidcarned reader is not to 
 sup|H»e there was anything the least 
 ecientric in the man, or his gratitude 
 to the (fiver of health and all goiMl 
 gil't.s. .Men look forward to death 
 and back u|Min pa>t ^ieknos witli<lif- 
 ferent eyes. Here, when men ilrivc a 
 bargain, thev strive to get the sunny 
 side of it ; it matters not one straw 
 whether it is with man or Heaven they 
 are barpiining. In this resjK'ct we 
 are the same now, at iMittom, as we 
 werv" four hundred \ears ago ; only in 
 those days we tlid it a grain or two 
 more naively, ami that naivete shono 
 out more palpably, U-t-ause, in ihat 
 ruile age, IxMly i)revailing over mind, 
 all sentiments took material forms. 
 Man repcnti'd with scoiirgi-s, pray.'il 
 by JM-ad, liriU-d the saint.s witli w<l\ 
 taiMT, put tish into the IkmIv to sa* e- 
 tity the soul, .sojourned in cold w.ier 
 for em[>iro over the emotions, nd 
 thanked Go<l for returning health in 1 
 cwt. '2 stone 7 lb. 3 oz. 1 dwt. of bread 
 and cheese. 
 
 Whilst I have l)ccn preaching, who 
 prea<h so randy and so ill, the good 
 iiiTv has been soliciting the lord of 
 the minor to stej) into the church, 
 and give order what shall Im- done 
 with his great-great-grandfather. 
 
 " < )ds IxHlikins ! what, have you 
 dug him up / 
 
 " Nay, my lord, he never was bu- 
 rial." 
 
 " What, the old diet was true after 
 all ? " 
 
 " So true, that the workmen this 
 very day fmnd a skeleton erect in 
 the pillar they are repairing. I had 
 sent to my lord at once, but I knew 
 he would lie here." 
 
 " It is he ! 'T is he ! " .said his de- 
 scendant, quickening his pace. " Let 
 us go see the old bov. This youth \» 
 a stranger, I think. '^ 
 
 (rerard bowed. 
 
 " Know then, that my great-g^ea^ 
 oraudfather held his head high, and,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 153 
 
 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 gi'eat-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 STOM- 
 ACH.' Peste ! " and, even while 
 speaking, his lordship parried adroit- 
 ly with his stick a skidl that came 
 hopping at him, bowled hy 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 lord- 
 ship hurled tlie 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. 
 
 " these pernicious brats ! " cried 
 the cure'. " The workmen cannot go 
 to their nonemete 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 de- 
 fend us ! the jerkin has been re- 
 moved." 
 
 The poor cure's worst misgivings 
 were realized ; the rising generation 
 of plebeians had played the mischief 
 with the haught}^ 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 '11 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, 't is your will 
 his bones be laid in hallowed earth, 
 and masses said for his poor prideful 
 soul 1 " 
 
 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, an- 
 cestor " ; and he sauntered off, whis- 
 tling to his hawk and caressing it. 
 
 His reverence looked ruefully after 
 him. 
 
 " Cretensis incidit in Cretensem," 
 said he, sorrowfully. " I thought I 
 had him safe for a dozen masses. 
 Yet I blame him not, but that young 
 ne'er-do-weel which did trundle his 
 ancestor's skull at us ; for who could 
 venerate his great- groat -grandsire, 
 and play football with his head? 
 Well, it behooves us to be better Cliris- 
 tians than he is." So they gathered 
 the bones reverently, and the cure 
 locked them up, and forbade the work- 
 men, who now entered the church, to 
 close up the pillar, till he siiould re- 
 cover 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 curious- 
 ly moulded and colored to the life, 
 eyes and all. Gerard's eye fell at 
 once on this, and he expressed the 
 liveliest admiration. The cure as- 
 sented. Then Gerard asked, " Could 
 the saint have loved hawking ? " 
 
 The cure laughed at his simplicity. 
 " Nay, 't is 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, rev- 
 erend sir, were I 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 
 the cure. " But que voulez-vous *?
 
 154 
 
 Tin: CLOISTLR AND THK IIKARTH. 
 
 the saints nro (lcl)onair, ami liavc been 
 flesh thfinsilvfs. and know niiin's 
 frailty ami ulisurditv. 'T !•* the liish- 
 oj> of Avignon sent this onu." 
 
 " What, du biithupd hawk in this 
 country 1 " 
 
 " <)m; and all. Every noble |K'rson 
 hawks, and lives with hawk on wrist. 
 Why, my lord al)lK)t hard by, and his 
 lonUhip' that lui-s just parted from 
 us, had a two years' feud as to where 
 they should piit their hawks down on 
 that very altar there. Kaeh elainied 
 the ri;;ht hami of the altar fur his 
 bird." 
 
 " What de8c<Tation ! " 
 
 " Nay ! nay ! thou knowcst we 
 make them dot!" iMith ^,'Iove and hawk 
 f') take the l>le.-.seil Kuehari>t. Their 
 jewelled gloves will they j;ive to a 
 servant or simple Christian to hoM ; 
 but their Inloved hawks they will put 
 down on no placx> icus than tliu al- 
 tar." 
 
 (ierard im|uin-d how the battle uf 
 the hawks ended. 
 
 " Why, the al>l>ot be yirldeil, iH the 
 Chureh vields to laym«n. lie s»-arehed 
 amii'iit V>uks, and found that the left 
 hand wa^ the more honorable, U-in;; 
 in truth theri;;ht hand, sinee the altar 
 is east, but looks westward, iso he 
 pave my lord the soi-<lisant rijiht 
 hand, and eonteiited liimself with tlie 
 real ri;;hl band ; and even so may the 
 Chureh .^till outwit the lay nobles and 
 their arro;;anetf, saving your pres- 
 cnee." 
 
 " Nay, sir, I honor the Chureh. I 
 am eonvent-brtHi, and owe all 1 have 
 ond am to holy Chureh." 
 
 "Ah, that aecounts for my sudden 
 likin;; to thee. Art a ^rracious yotJth. 
 Come and sec me whenever thou 
 wilt." 
 
 (Jerard took this as n hint that he 
 mijxht t^G now. It jumped witii his 
 own wish, for lie was eurioiis to hear 
 what Denys had seen and done all this 
 time. He maile his n-verence and 
 walked out of tlic ehurch, but was 
 no sooner clear of it than he set off 
 to run with all his mij^lit ; and, tear- 
 ing round a corner, ran into a large 
 
 stomach, whose owner elutehod him 
 to keep hims<-lf steady under the 
 shiH'k, but did not n-leiLse liis hold 
 on rv<faining his ei{uilibrium. 
 
 " lA,'t p>, nnui," saiil (Jerard. 
 
 " Not »o. You are my jirisoncr." 
 
 " I'ri.soner t " 
 
 " Av." 
 
 " What for, in Heaven's name 1 " 
 
 " What for? Whv, sorcery." 
 
 "SOUCKUY?" ' 
 
 " Soreerv." 
 
 CHAl'TKll XXXVI. 
 
 The culprits were condemne<l to 
 stand pinioned in the inarket-pliu'O 
 for two hours, that, should any pi-r- 
 .sons reeo;,'iiize them or anv of them 
 as guilty of other erimes, tliey mif;hl 
 deiMKM- to that etVeet at the trial. 
 
 riiey stocMl, however, the whole |>c- 
 riiMl, and no one advanced anything 
 fnsh a^piinst tbeni. This was tho 
 le>s remarkiible that they were night 
 birds, vampires who preyed in ilio 
 (lark on weary travellers, mostly 
 strangt-rs. 
 
 Hut, just as they were l)eing taken 
 down, a fearful scream was heard in 
 the crowd, and a woman {>ointed at 
 •»iie of them, with eyes almost start- 
 ing from their .sockets ; but ere she 
 coulil s|»eak she fainted away. 
 
 Thru men and women crowded 
 round her, partly to aid her, partly 
 from curiosity. When she iN-gaii to 
 rei-over, they fell to conjectures. 
 
 " 'T was at him she i)ointed." 
 
 " Nay, 't was at this one." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said another, " 't was 
 at yon ban^'dog with the hair hung 
 rountl his neck." 
 
 All further conjecture was cut 
 short. The j>oor creature no sooner 
 recovered her senses than she flew at 
 the landlord like a lioness. " Mv 
 child! Man! man! (iivc me back 
 my child." And she geizc<l the glossy 
 golden hair that the officers had htmg 
 round his neck, ami tore it from his 
 neck, and covered it with kisses ; then, 
 her poor confused mind clearing, she
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 155 
 
 saw even by this token that her lost 
 girl was dead, and sank suddenly 
 down shrieking and sobbing so 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 ! " 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 ? 
 would you be so mad as rob the wheel, 
 and give the vennin an easy 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 pru- 
 dently carried the accused back to 
 jail. 
 
 The mob hooted them and the 
 prisoners indiscriminately. Denys 
 saw the latter safely lodged, then made 
 for the " White Hart," where he ex- 
 pected to find Gerard. 
 
 On the way he saw two girls work- 
 ing at a first-Hoor 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 Ge- 
 rard, who, meantime, was carried oflT 
 to jail, but on the way suddenly 
 stopped, having now somewhat re- 
 covered his presence of mind, and 
 demanded to know by whose authority 
 he was arrested. " By the vicc-bail- 
 lie's," said the constable. 
 
 " The vice-baillie ! Alas ! what 
 have I, a stranger, done to offend a 
 vice-baillie ? For this charge of sor- 
 cery must be a blind. No sorcerer 
 am I, but a poor lad far from his 
 home." 
 
 This vague shift disgusted the offi- 
 cer. " Show liim the capias, Jacques," 
 said he. 
 
 Jacques held out the writ in both 
 hands, about a yard and a half from 
 Gerard's eye ; and at the same mo- 
 ment the large constable suddenly 
 pinned him ; both officers were on 
 tenter-hooks lest the prisoner should 
 grab the document, to which they at- 
 tached a superstitious 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-bailift' 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 you to that, Jacques 1 " 
 
 " Impossible. We have no orders 
 to take him before his worship. Read 
 the writ ! " 
 
 " Nay, but, good, kind fellows, what 
 harm can it be .' I will give ye each 
 an mi." 
 
 " Jacques, what say you to that ? " 
 
 " Humph ? I say we have no orders 
 not to take him to his worship. Read 
 the writ ! " 
 
 " Then say we take him to prison 
 round by his worship." 
 
 It was agreed. They got the mon- 
 ey, and bade Gerard observe they 
 were doing him a favor. He saw 
 they wanted a little gratitude as well 
 as much silver. He tried to satisfy 
 /A is 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 
 M'hat he had done to offend since he 
 left that very room with Manon and 
 Denys. 
 
 " Naught that I know of," said the 
 alderman. 
 
 On the writ being shown him, he 
 told Gerard he had signed it at day 
 break. " I get old, and my memory 
 faileth me : a discussing of the girl, I
 
 lOG 
 
 Tin: CLOISTKK AND TllK ilKAUIlI. 
 
 i|uito forpot your own offence : hut I 
 niaenilHT now. All is well. Vou 
 urc 111' I i-oinmitti'il for sori-ory. Stay ! 
 ere vou i,'o to jail, you mIiuII lu-ar what 
 your lucu.sor says ; run and tVitli liini, 
 you." 
 
 Tho man lould not fiinl the aiTti.sor 
 all at oiirc ; .so the ahhrniau, ^ettiu;; 
 inipatitiit, tol<l(ierar>l the main ehar;;c | 
 wa-H that he hail set n ileail UmIv a j 
 huniiii^ with <lialM)!ieal lin-, that i 
 llauitd, hut iliil not n)nNUine. " Anil 
 if 't is true, youii;; man, 1 'm .sorry ! 
 for thiv, f..r thou wilt itsHureilly burn 
 with tire of h<mm1 pino lo;js in the 
 iiiarket-|>la(-e of Neufeha.steau." 
 
 •■ () Hir, for pity'.H sake let me have 
 speech with his reverence the cure." 
 
 The ulilernian ailvised (iernnl 
 n;;ainst it. " The Church was hnnler 
 upon sorcerers than was the corjxjra- 
 tifti." 
 
 " Hut, »ir, I am iniXM-eni," said 
 (leraril, hetw«vn snarling and whin- 
 
 " O, ifyou — ihiHK — you arc innocent 
 — oflher, yo with him to the curd! 
 hut see he 'scajn; you not. Iiunjcont, 
 ipiotha ' " 
 
 They found the cur\'' in his douhlet, 
 npairin;; a wheelh.irrow. (ierard 
 tolil him all, and a|>|H'ale4l pitemis- 
 Iv to him. "Just for usinjj a lit- 
 tle phosphorus — in self-defence — 
 a;:aiust cutthroats they are K"'n>r 'o 
 hail;;." 
 
 It Wivs lucky for our ma;;ician that 
 he had already told his talc in full to 
 the cure : for thus that shrewd jht- 
 soua^> had hold of the stick at the 
 ri;;lit cud. The corporation held it 
 liy the ferule. His rcven-me looked 
 exceediu;,'ly ^rave, and said : " I must 
 iliic.-<tion you privately on this unto- 
 ward business. ' He t<M)k him into a 
 private room, and hatle the otlicx-r stand 
 outside and j^uard the door, and l>e 
 rcaily to come if called. The hi^ 
 constable stootl outside the door, (juak- 
 iii::, and exjH*ctiui; to see the nnjin tly 
 away and leave a stink of brimstone. 
 Instantly they were alone, the cure 
 I'uloikcil his countenance, and was 
 bimself again. 
 
 " Shew mo the trick on 't," Mid 
 he, all curiosity. 
 
 " I cannot, sir, unless the roum be 
 ilarkeii.'d " 
 
 The cure speedily close«l out the 
 liyht with a woo«len shutter. " Now 
 then." 
 
 " But on what shall I put it f " baid 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Mere is no dea«l face. 'T was 
 that made it look m) dire." The cure 
 ^roiH-d alxiut the ro4im. " ( J<mk1 ; hero 
 is an ima;;e; 't is my imtrun iiaint." 
 
 " I leaven forbid! fhat were pro- 
 fanation." 
 
 " I'shaw ! 't will riili olV, — will 't 
 not f " 
 
 " Av, hut it yiKvs a;;ain><t me to tako 
 such iiU-rty with a sain.," objei-ted 
 the sorcerer. 
 
 " Fiddlestick ! " naid nie divine. 
 
 " To Ih! sun- my ,i'.i(iin^ it ou his 
 holiness will shov your rcvervncu it 
 is no Satanic art." 
 
 " Mavhap 't was for that I did pro- 
 yn>M' it, ' saiil the cun*, subtly. 
 
 Thus eiicourai;ed, (Jcrard fired the 
 eyes and nostrils of the ima:.'e, and 
 made the cure jump. Tlu-n li^hieil up 
 the hair in patches, and .set the whole 
 fa«v shining like a irlow-wonn's. 
 
 " Hy 'r lady," shi>uted the cnn5, 
 'l is stran;re, and small my wonder 
 that they look you for a nui;.'ician, 
 seeing' a dead face thus f\re<l. Now 
 come thy ways with me ! " 
 
 He put on his irray irown and irreat 
 hat, ami in a few minutes they found 
 themselves in pres«-ncc of thi- alder- 
 man. By his side, {M)is4inin^ his 
 mind, sto<Ml the ttccus<>r, — a siii(;ular 
 tiiriire in red ho>e and red shoes, a 
 black p>wn with blue hands, and a 
 cocke<l hat. 
 
 After saluting the alderman, tho 
 cure turned to this j)ersonatrc nnd 
 said ^cKxl-hiimore<lly : " So, Manpis, 
 at thy work apain, hahbling away 
 honest men's lives ! Come, your 
 worship, this is the old tale; two of 
 a trade can never a;:rtr. Here is 
 Maniris, who professes sorcery, and 
 would sell him.self to Satan to-ni^'ht, 
 but that Sutan i^i not so weak as buji
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 157 
 
 what he can have gratis ; this Man- 
 gis, who would be a sorcerer, hut is 
 only a quacksalver, accuses of magic 
 a true lad, who did but use in self- 
 det'ence a secret of chemistry well 
 known to me and to all churchmen." 
 
 " But he is no churchman, to dab- 
 ble in such mysteries," objected the 
 alderman. 
 
 " He is more churchman than lay- 
 man, being convent-bred, and in the 
 lesser orders," said the ready cure. 
 " Therefore, sorcerer, withdraw thy 
 plaint without more words." 
 
 " That will I not, your reverence," 
 replied Mangis, stoutly. " 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 peas- 
 ants when their cattle and their hens 
 are possessed, and at what time of 
 the moon to plant r3-e, and what days 
 in each month arc 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 ma- 
 gicians, 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 1 " 
 
 " Why, tlieir 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 expiatoiy 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 't is our 
 custom in this land, when we have 
 slain the innocent by hearkening false 
 knaves like thee, not to blame our 
 
 credulous cars, but the false tongue 
 that gulled them. Wherefore bethink 
 thee that, at a word from me to my 
 lord bishop, thou 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 cure' pointed to Mangis 
 with his staff. 
 
 " That is true, i' fegs," said the al- 
 derman, " for red and black be the 
 foul fiendy's colors." 
 
 By this time the white sorcerer's 
 cheek was as colorless as his dress 
 was fiery. Indeed, the contrast 
 amounted to pictorial. He stam- 
 mered out, " I respect holy Church 
 and her will ; he shall fire the church- 
 yard, and all in it, for me; I do with- 
 draw 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 ac- 
 cused had received the chemical sub- 
 stance from holy Church, and had 
 restored it her by giving it all to him. 
 
 " Then 't is in good hands " was 
 the reply ; " young man, you are 
 free. Let me have your reverence's 
 prayers." 
 
 " Doubt it not ! Humph ? Vice- 
 baillie, the town owes me four silver 
 francs this three months and more." 
 
 " They shall be paid, cure, ay, ere 
 the week be out." 
 
 On this good understanding Cliurch 
 and State parted. As soon as he was 
 in the street, Gerard caught the 
 priest's hand, and kissed it. 
 
 " O sir ! O your reverence ; you 
 have saved me from the fiery stake. 
 What can I say, what do 1 what — " 
 
 " Naught, foolish lad. Bounty re- 
 wards itself. Natheless — Humph? 
 — I wish I had done 't without leas- 
 ing. It ill becomes my function to 
 utter falsehoods." 
 
 " Falsehood, sir 1 " Gerard wa« 
 mystified.
 
 158 
 
 THE CLOlSTi;i; ANH THK IIKAKTH. 
 
 " Didst not hoar me »a_v thou hailst 
 (jiveii IMC thiit suiiu- phosphorus i 
 "r will cost iiiL' a l'ortiii;;(it's in-nuiu'c, 
 thiit liu'ht woril." The curu si;;hcd, 
 mill his eye iwiiikU'd cuniiiii;rly. 
 
 " Niiv. iiiiv," rrii'd (icnml, i-iij^itIv. 
 " Now, Hciiviii Corbiil ! 'I'liat wiLs no 
 fiilsihood, fathiT ; wrll you kmw tin- 
 I»hosplu)rus wius yours, is yours."' 
 And hf thrust tlie Injttlo into the 
 cunfn hand. " Uut, alas, 't is too 
 j)oor a i;it't ; will you not take from 
 inv |>urso somewhat for holy Cliun-h ' 
 and now ho lu-ld out his purso with 
 ^liitcniiii; ryes. 
 
 " Niiy," said the other, l>nis(iui'ly, 
 and put his hands (piiikly Uhind 
 hiiii. "not a doit. Fie! ho! art 
 pnii|Hr ct fxul. Come thou rather 
 eaoli day at n<><in antl take thy diet 
 with me; fur my heart w:inns to 
 tlietr " ; and he went off very adruptly 
 with his hands l)cliind him. 
 
 They itelie<|. 
 
 Hilt they iielied in vain. 
 
 Where there 'a a lieart there 's n 
 Kuliitun. 
 
 (Jerard went hastily to the inn to 
 relieve Deiiys of the anxiety so loutf 
 and mysterious an al>sencc must 
 have eiiused him. He found him 
 seated at his ease, jdaviny dice with 
 two VDunj; ladies whose manners 
 were unreserved and eomplexi»>n 
 l.iKh. 
 
 Cerard was hurt. " \ ouhliez 
 iKiint la Jeaiincton ! " said he, color- 
 ing' III). 
 
 " What of lier ' " said Denys, 
 payly rattling; the dice. 
 
 " She said, ' Lc jh.'U ijue sont les 
 femmcs.' " 
 
 " * ), ilid slic ? and what say you to 
 that, mosdomoiselles >. " 
 
 " We say that none run women 
 down but such as are too old, or too 
 ill-favored, or too witless, to please 
 them." 
 
 " Witless, quotha. Wi.se men have 
 not folly enou'jh to please them, nor 
 madness enoui:h to desire to piea.sc 
 them," said (ierard, loftily ; " but 't is 
 to my conirade I speak, uot to you, 
 
 you brazen toads, that mate to ft<M 
 with man at tirsc si^lit." 
 
 " I'reaih away, eoinnide. Flinp • 
 by-word or two at our heads. Know, 
 1,'irls, that h« is a viTy .Solomon for 
 by-words. Metliiiiks he was brought 
 up bv hand on 'em ! " 
 
 " be thv frieniLship a by-wonl ! " 
 retorted derard. " The friend.>hip 
 that melts to naught at (>ight of « 
 farthinirnlc." 
 
 •' .Malhi'ureux ! " crietl Dcnyn ; " I 
 s|H-ak but iK-Uetd and thou answcrcflt 
 da^'prs." 
 
 " WouM I i-ould ! " wa-H the reply. 
 " Adieu." 
 
 " What a little sava,'e ! " said one 
 of the >;irls. 
 
 Cierard o[>one<l the door ami put in 
 his head : " I have thou;:ht of u by- 
 word," said he, spitefully : — 
 
 " ' Qui h»nl* MncnM rt i\r% 
 II muum va |«uvrtrtr».' 
 
 There." And, having deliven-d this 
 thiinderUdt of antique wisdom, he 
 slammed the ilcxir viciously, ere any 
 of them could retort. 
 
 And now. k-iny somewhat ex- 
 hausted by his anxieties, lie went to 
 the bar for a morsel of bn-ad and a 
 cup of wine. The landlord would 
 sell nothin<; less than a pint lM)ttle. 
 " Well, then, ho would have a lK>ttle " ; 
 but, when lie came to compare the 
 contents of the Uittle with its size, 
 irreat was the discrepancy. On this 
 he examined the l»ottle keenly, and 
 found that the i;lass was thin where 
 the Utttle tapi-retl, but toward* the 
 lM>ttom unnaturally thick. He pointed 
 tlii'* out at once. 
 
 The landlord answcn-d sniKrcil- 
 iously that he did not make iMJttlcs, 
 and Wiis nowise accountable for their 
 shap«". 
 
 " That we will see presently," said 
 Gerard. " I will Uike this thy pint to 
 the vice-bailiff." 
 
 " Nay. nay, for Heaven's sake," 
 cried the landlord, chan;:in<; his tone 
 at once. " 1 love to content my cus- 
 tomers. If by chance this pint be 
 short, we will charge it and its fel-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 159 
 
 tow 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, smack- 
 eth strongly after 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. 
 Whatever masterful robbery is done 
 here is done upon the poorest 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, witli small 
 profits, quick returns ; and neither to 
 cheat nor to 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 quar- 
 tered on me, how can 1 but lose by 
 their custom ? Two sous per day is 
 tJieir pay, and they cat two sous' 
 worth, and drink into the bargain. 
 The pardoners are my good friends, 
 but palmers and pilgrims, what think 
 you I gain by them ? marry, a loss. 
 Minstrels and jongleurs draw custom, 
 and so claim to pay no score except 
 for liquor. By the secular monks I 
 neither gain nor lose, but the black 
 and gray friars have made vow of 
 poverty, but not of famine ; eat like 
 wolves and give the poor host naught 
 but their prayers, and mayhap 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. The}' come not to us : 
 indeed, we could not find seats and 
 vessels for such a crowd as cat 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 
 ])lace. How can we vie with them 1 
 They grow it. We buy it of the 
 grower. The coroner's 'quests wc 
 have still, and these would bring 
 goodly profit, but the meat is aye 
 gone ere the mouths bo full." 
 
 " You should make better pro- 
 vision," suggested his hearer. 
 
 " The law will not let us. Wc are 
 forbidden to go into the market for 
 the first hour. So, when we arrive, 
 the burghers have 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 wc 
 bribe them." 
 
 " Courage ! " said Gerard, kindly, 
 " the shoe pinches every trader some- 
 where." 
 
 "Ay, but not as it pinches us. 
 Our shoe is trod all o' one side as 
 well as pinches us larac. 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 1 In our 
 own stable, eating his head off at our 
 cost. Nay, we may keep the travel- 
 ler himself; but where? In jail? 
 Nay, in our own good house, and 
 there must we lodge and feed him 
 gratis, and so fling good silver after 
 bad ? mercy ; no : let him go with a 
 wanion. Our honestest customers are 
 the thieves. Would to Heaven there 
 were more of them ! They look not 
 too close into the shape of the cana- 
 kin, nor into the host's reckoning ; 
 with them and with their purses 't is 
 lightly come and lightly go. Also 
 they spend freely, not knowing but 
 each carouse may be their last. But 
 the thief-takers, instead of profiting 
 by this fair example, are forever rob- 
 bing the poor host. When noble or 
 honest travellers descend at our door, 
 come the provost's men, pretending
 
 ICO 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 to 8iispoct till-Ill, iiinl iKiiiiindin^ to 
 81'arcli thrill mill tlioir iia|>er.s ; to 
 siivo wliicli ollViici> the host iiuist 
 blecil wiiic mill meat. Then come 
 the exeise to examine all voiir 
 wei^jhts and mca.Hure'*. You must 
 «toj) their iiioutlw with meat ami 
 wine. T<»\vn exei.>ie ; Toval exri-n- ; 
 imrliiiiiuiit excis*', — a swarm of them, 
 ami all with a wolf in their .stomacln 
 ami II siM)ii;jf ill their ^'ullet--. Monks, 
 friiir^, pilj;rims, iialmcrs, fioliliers, e.x- 
 eisfincn, iirovost-mirshaU and men, 
 ami mere had dclitorji, how can the 
 • White Hurt' hutt inrainst all the.ie ? 
 Cuttiii;; no throats in selfdefenee as 
 do your ' Swans ' and ' Ko.se.s ' and 
 'Hoar'.s Heads ' and ' Red Lions ' and 
 ' Ka;;lr.s,' your Moons, Stars, ami 
 Moons, how ean the ' White Mart ' 
 ^ive a pint of wine for a pint ^ and 
 eviT\ tiling risen s<». Why, lad, not u 
 |)Ound of hread I sell hut costs me 
 tlirei) p)od eoppi-r dcniers, twelve 
 to the sou ; and each pint of wine, 
 l>oii;,'lit hy the tun, costs me four 
 dcniers ; every sack of charcoal two 
 ^ous, and jjoiie in a day. A pair of 
 pirtriil;;es five sous. What think vou 
 of that ? Heard one ever the like ! 
 live sous for two little beasts all 
 Imjiic and feather f A pair of pigeons, 
 thirty dcniers. 'T is ruination ! ! ! 
 For we may not raise our nrieen with 
 the market. O no I I Ull thee the 
 shoo is trod all o' one side as well as 
 j)inches the water into our eyn. Wc 
 may char^je naui;lit for mustard, ]yc\y- 
 piT, salt, or tircwiiod. Think you we 
 p't them for naii;,'lit ? Camllo is a 
 sou the ]M)und. Salt five sous the 
 stone, pej»per four sous the jKmml, 
 mustard twenty deniers the pint; 
 dwiiulleth it on the spit with no 
 cost to me hut loss of weight ? Why, 
 what think you I pay my cook ? But 
 vou >li:ill never iruess. A HUN- 
 DKKl) SO IS A YKAR, AS I AM 
 A LIVIX(; SINNER. 
 
 " And my waiter thirty sons, be- 
 sides his per(|uisites. He is a hantle 
 richer than I am. And then to be 
 insulted as well as pilla^^ed. Last 
 Smidav I went to church. It is a 
 
 place I trouble not often. Did n'l 
 the cure lash the hotel k-eptTS I I 
 jrrant you he hit all the tiades, cxcvpl 
 the one that is a by-word for louiio- 
 ness, and pride, and sloth, to wit, 
 the cler;;y. But, mind you, ho 
 stri|>cit the other lav estates wiili n 
 feather, but us hotcl-ke»'|HTs with n 
 neat's pi/./.le ; pmIU-s.s for tliis, ami- 
 lcs.s fur that, and most pxlless of all 
 for o[>eniii;; our «l<K>rs durin;; muss. 
 Whv, the law forces us to ojH-n at 
 all hours to travellers from another 
 town, stopniii;;, halting', or pa.ssing ; 
 those Ikj tlie words. They can fino 
 us licfore the bailifT if we refuse 
 them, mass or no nia.ss ; and, say a 
 tuwiioinan .should creep in with the 
 true travellers, are we to blume ? 
 They all vow they arc tired way- 
 farers ; and can I ki-n every face in 
 a pi^-at town like this f So, jf wo 
 resjiect the law, our \nn)r souls are 
 to sutler ; and, if we resin-ct it not, 
 our iMior lank purses must bK>c<l at 
 two holes, tine liud loss of custom." 
 A man s|H-akin^ of himself in f^'D- 
 eral is " a babblin;; bn>ok " ; of his 
 wronjpi, " a shining river." 
 
 " Libitur Pt lKb«tur In omne volabilit 
 luvutu." 
 
 So, luckily for my readers, though 
 not for all concerned, this injured 
 orator was arrested in mid - canrr. 
 Another man burst in upon his 
 wn>n;;s with all the advantajjc of a 
 nveiit wron;; ; a wron;j red-hot. It 
 was Denys cursinj; and swearin;^, and 
 cry i 111; that he was robU-d. 
 
 " Dill those hussies pass this way ? 
 who are they ? where do they bide ? 
 They have ta'en my purse and tiftirn 
 golden piecta ; raise the hue uikI cry ! 
 ah, traitresses ! vii)crs ! These inns 
 are all truetajK-ns.' 
 
 " There now," cried the landlord to 
 Gerard. 
 
 Gerard implored liim to be calm, 
 and say how it had U-fallcn. 
 
 " First one went out on some pre- 
 tence ; then after a while the other 
 went to fetch her back ; and, neither 
 returning, I clapiwd hand to ]>urs«
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 161 
 
 and found it empty ; the ungrateful 
 creatures, I M'as letting them win it 
 in a gallop ; but loaded dice were not 
 quick enough, they must chaw it all 
 in a lump." 
 
 Gerard was for going at once to 
 the alderman and setting 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 clew 
 to occasional thieves that work hon- 
 estly at their needles till some gull 
 comes and tempts them with an easy 
 booty, and then they pluck him." 
 
 " Come away," cried Denys, furious- 
 ly. " I knew what use a bourgeois 
 would be to me at a pinch " ; and he 
 marched off in a rage. " They are 
 clear of the town ere this," said Ge- 
 rard. " Speak no more on 't if you 
 prize my friendship. I have five 
 pieces with the bailiff, and ten I left 
 ■s\-ith Marion, luckily, or these trai- 
 tresses had feathered their nest with my 
 last plume. What dost gape for so t 
 Nay, I do ill to vent my choler on 
 thee ; I '11 tell tliee all. Art Aviser 
 than I ? " " What saidst thou at the 
 door 1 " " No matter. Well, then, I 
 did offer marriage to that Marion." 
 
 Gerard was dumfoundered. 
 
 " What 1 you offered her what ? " 
 
 " Marriage. Is that such a mighty 
 strange thing to offer a wench ? " 
 
 " 'T is a strange thin^ 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 
 cliaff. I knew I could not get her by 
 fair means, so I was fain to try foul. 
 ' 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 so. On the contrary she — 
 Art a disrespectful young monkey. 
 Know that here, not being Holland or 
 
 any other barbarous state, courtesy 
 begets courtesy. Says she, a coloring 
 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 7 who ? ' 
 
 " ' T'other.' 
 
 " ' What other ? ' 
 
 " ' Why, he that was not too late.' 
 0, 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 bat- 
 tle ? their tongues are in too great a 
 hurry. Says she, ' I love him not ; 
 not to say love him ; but 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, roundabout, as they always 
 say these things, and with ' nay ' for 
 'ay.' 'I hope you will be happy to- 
 gether,' 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 ad- 
 vice, and that was to leave part of my 
 money witli the young mistress. Then, 
 when bad company had cleaned me 
 out, I should have some to travel back 
 with, said she. I said I 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.' ' O, the Devil is 
 not so black as he is painted,' said I. 
 ' I '11 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 ; 1 
 never saw but one I could love as well 
 as I love thee. But the ancients must 
 surely know ; and they held women 
 cheap. " Levins quid fcemina," said 
 they, which is but la Jeanneton's 
 tune in Latin, "Le pen que sont les 
 femmes." Also do but see how the 
 graybeards of our ovra day speak of
 
 162 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 them, hcinj; no longer bliiidetl by do- 
 Bin-; this ahhTnmn, to wit." 
 
 " ( ) iiDvico of iiovicrs," crifd Dcnys, 
 " not to have sii'ii why that ohl fool 
 niilH so on the |>oor thiii;,'s ! One 
 ihiv. out of tlie millions of women he 
 liiaekcns. one did prefer some other 
 iiiiin to him ; for whieh solitary piei-e 
 of had taste, and ten to one 't wua 
 irooil tivstc, lie doth iKSputter enu- 
 tioTi's fainr half, therehy proving' 
 what ' le jKii que sont lis hommes." 
 
 " I si'o won>en have a shrewd ehani- 
 pion in thi-e," saiti (ierard, with a 
 smile ; hut the next monu-nt inijuired 
 j:ra%cly why he had not told him all 
 this iK-fon-. 
 
 Dfiiys j,'rinne<l. " Had the jfirl 
 said ' ay,' why, thi-n I had told thee 
 straight. Hut 't is ii rule with ns 
 Holdiers never to puhlish our defeats ; 
 t is niueh if after uieh eheek wc claim 
 not a victory. " 
 
 " Now that is true," saiil fJeranl, 
 " Yoiiii;; as I am, I hafe .stvn this ; 
 that, after every ^nat hattle, the ^;en- 
 crals on hoth sidi's >jo to the nearest 
 chureli, and siii^ eai-h a 'l"e Deuni for 
 the victory ; methiuks a Te Martem, 
 or Te Helionam, or Te Meniiriuiii, 
 Mercury U-inj; tho p)d of lies, were 
 mi>rc littiiii;." 
 
 " I'a-s si liOte," .saiil Dcnys, npprov- 
 in;;lv. " n:L>t a i;ooil eye : <-ttn>t sec 
 a steeple hy daylight. So now tell 
 me how thuu hast fared in this town 
 all day " 
 
 " Come," said (Jcrard, " 't is well 
 thou hn.st asked me : for else I had 
 never toM thee " He then related in 
 full how he had hccii arrested, ami hy 
 w!iat a providential circumstance he 
 had e.-ica[)cd lonp imprisonment or 
 s])cedy conrtaj^ration. 
 
 His narrative produced an effect he 
 little expected or desired. " I am a 
 tniitor," cricil Dcnys. " I left thee 
 in a stran;;e j)laee to ti;rlit thine own 
 battles, wliile 1 shook the dice with 
 those jades. Now take thou this 
 sword and pass it through my body 
 forthwith." 
 
 " What for, in Heaven's name 1 " 
 inquired Gerard. 
 
 " For an example," ronre<l Dcnjt 
 " For a warning' to all false loons thai 
 profess friendship and di>;;racc it." 
 
 "(), very well," said (Jerard. 
 " Yes. Not a had notion. WIm.to 
 will vou have it ? " 
 
 " llere, throu(;h my lieort ; that in, 
 where other nun have a heart, hut 1 
 none, or h Satanic false one." 
 
 (ierard made a motion to run him 
 through, and tluii^' his arms round 
 his nirk instead. " 1 know no way 
 to thy heart but thi.s, thou great sillj 
 tiling'." 
 
 I^enys uttered an exclamation, 
 then hiippd him waniily, — and, 
 (|uite overi-oiiie by this sudden turn of 
 youthful atVectiuii and native ^raw, 
 ^julped out ill a broken voice : " Uaile.st 
 on women — and art — like them — 
 with thy pretty ways. Thy mother's 
 milk is' in thee still. Satan would 
 love theo, or — le l)on Dieu would 
 kick him out of hell for .shaming it. 
 (live me thv hand ! (live me thv 
 hand! .May " (a trtmendous oath) " If 
 I let thee out of my sipht till Italy." 
 
 And so the stanch friends wettJ 
 more than rcconcilctl after their short 
 titr. 
 
 The next day the thieves were tried. 
 The pieces de conviction were reduced 
 in number, tf> the jrreat cha;,'riii of tho 
 little cli'rk, by the intennent of tho 
 Ixines. Hut there was still a pretty 
 show. A thiefs hand stnick otV 11a- 
 jrrante delicto; a munlered woman's 
 hair ; the AblK)t's axe, and other tools 
 of crime. The skulls, &c. were sworn 
 to by the constables who liad found 
 them. Kvidence was lax in that aj^ 
 and j)lace. They all confessed but 
 the landlord ; an<i Manon was called 
 to brinp the crime home to him. Her 
 evidence was conclusive. He inndc a 
 I vain attempt to shake her credibility 
 by drawing: from her that her own 
 sweetheart had been one of the panp, 
 and that she had held her tonpue so 
 lonp as he was alive. The public 
 prosecutor came to the aid of his wit- 
 ness, and elicited that a knife had 
 been held to her throat, and her own 
 sweetheart sworn with solemn oath*
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 163 
 
 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 sentence was 
 pronounced. 
 
 As for poor Manon, she became 
 the subject of universal criticism. 
 Nor did opinion any longer run dead 
 in her favor ; it divided into two 
 broad currents. And, strange to re- 
 late, the majority of her own sex took 
 her part, and the males were but 
 equally divided ; which hardly hap- 
 
 f)ens once in a hundred years. Per- 
 laps some lady will explain the phe- 
 nomenon. As for me, I am a lit- 
 tle shy of explaining things I don't 
 understand ; it has become so com- 
 mon. Meantime, had she been a 
 lover of notoriety, she would have 
 been happy, for the town talked of 
 nothing but her. The poor girl, how- 
 ever, had but one wish ; to escape the 
 crowd that followed her, and hide her 
 head somewhere where she could cry 
 over her "pcndard," whom all these 
 proceedings brought vividly back to 
 her affectionate remembrance. 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 interspersed with oc- 
 casional 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. " Nevermore 
 will I be a servant in an inn. I '11 go 
 to my mother." 
 
 The landlord consoled and coaxed 
 her ; and she became calmer, but none 
 the less determined against his pro- 
 posal. 
 
 The landlord left her. But erelong 
 he returned and made her another 
 proposal. Would she be his wife, 
 and landlady of the " White Hart " 1 
 
 " You do ill to mock me," said she, 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 "Nay, sweetheart. I mock thee 
 not. 1 am too old for sorry jests. 
 Say you the word, and you 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 tor- 
 rent, 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 liangs on me like 
 lead." 
 
 Her betrothed's eye brightened at 
 this housewifely 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 for- 
 tune all this bright pewter was to be 
 hers. 
 
 And this mighty furbishing up of 
 pewter reminds me that justice re- 
 quires 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 e^'idence. Now there are in every 
 great nation about three persons ca- 
 pable 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
 
 IGl 
 
 TIIK Cl.olsrKK AM) IHK HF.ARXn. 
 
 :Li illiir 's " My 
 
 •n r!. It of hi* 
 
 u.i, 1 4." 
 
 (j.twi-«ii thf w<irU.i "jealous of mo " 
 and " the n-a.'«oit," Munuii hail fiaul, 
 " Mv iua."itiT wa'» aye ml my fufU ; m> 
 I ii>li| mv miitriMji, and nuiil I winiM 
 
 tnut. II 
 
 wiirJi 
 
 hotl «ttt«l ll»i' rtii.'H.ii liu'v >,'avf .i/i*r- 
 
 rh'-n I wiM no lon;^T 
 
 III." Anil M> 
 
 I (ion. 
 
 i ;,. . ,-.ii<nt !»u(Ti-nil, 
 
 otic i|iMV4 nowailrt_\4 in 
 
 ■ r .iinl other ri'|«»rt.t. by 
 
 ■ n of the <|ii«':«tion. 
 
 ' what lU-tutUly ww 
 
 wtnh, i 
 thiTe t. . 
 un nil I 
 
 in iiiitiiy a 
 
 till- l.<«»IMI 
 
 the U\r 
 For iii^t . 
 .Haiil — 
 
 Vhe AUUrmaH. " Come, now, 
 nhoiiM vou have intrrfrretl if thi* nol- 
 ili.r \\\\ hiiJ no Ui\r>l ' " 
 
 .l/'i'on. " How cull I tell what I 
 $Ko»lil han* done * " 
 
 Now this wtt.i merrly ■ icn^ihlc 
 antwiT to a njon^tnuK i|m»:<tion ni> 
 miu'i-trnte hiul a riirlit to put. Hut, 
 under the conilensiii^ |' i i i 
 
 her «;»iMli"«l with a >■ 
 ment of a very dam.i^ „ 
 tor. 
 
 Kinollv !«hc hod ftaid. " I am aor- 
 rr 1 tuld, if I am to be honpxl fur 
 it." 
 
 Thit ' ' ' ' i-ondonictl ut floprm, ] 
 |i. 14!*, : a.* far oa p»>*»ihlo 
 
 0\<- tuti. :... > i:r.* 
 
 WhiLnt Maooo and I were cleanin}^, 
 
 • SinrUIr WM a rinif^ ; ami mmpUlnr^t 
 tii the raan»irT th»t In lh« o|>craHc plajr of 
 i;»b Koy h« \\tui a muUituJo of mere worU 
 t.) uttiT lietwwn the aoog*. " Cut, my boy, 
 cut I " sail! the manaffvr On this, rox et p. 
 n. cut Scott, and diMibtlcn many ot hU cuu 
 woulil not have di*oro>litc«l the ondenaen of 
 fTi.lcnc«. But niily ouc nf hii ma«ter-itroke« 
 hxi rvachetl posterity. Ills n>-'l'xliaus oriraiu 
 had t»«n taxed with thi» senteno^ ■ " Raah- 
 leiicb U my coasin ; but, for what reaaoa I 
 C4nn'H dirlne, he is my bitt<Tv»t enemy."' 
 Tbi« he ron«len»eU and delivcrx'-l Iho* : — 
 ■■ U;\«hlei«h is my cousin, but for what reasoo 
 I cannot dirlne." 
 
 ■■' ' ii>i;, I niy i »t<»r, 
 
 1 W.iit il. :id, 
 
 I ... . .ih our trii;. . . .;icin 
 
 aside into the liiir. 
 
 He then oddresHwl Denvn with coo- 
 sideruhle lolemnity. " VVe arr old 
 a(i)uiiintan(i'?«, an<l vou want not for 
 
 riil. 
 
 .. . ... . — . .... ...An ; 
 
 the inn 14 ti> tii;;ht. She 
 
 to be mv ehamlaTTiiaid. 
 
 1 Ita^i half a min<( to marry Iter. 
 
 Wluit think yuu f slioJl I aay (h« 
 
 W<Jpl ' " 
 
 Deny* in nrply mervly o|i€ned hia 
 eyi"!* «!■'•• "■'>• --(Dnithmenl. 
 
 Th" .rnitl tu (ieranl with 
 
 n halt . ixik. 
 
 " Nay. »»r,' itoid (Jcrnnl. " I am 
 too yount; to advise my srnion and 
 betters." 
 
 " No matter. I<it us hear your 
 thonyht." 
 
 " Well, sir, it was said of a Rood 
 wid- by the aneienCa, ' U-ne <|UA< latuil, 
 larnc vi.\it,' that i*. she ts the benl 
 wife that is least talke<l of, but bera 
 ' male i|u<i9 pntuit ' were aa near the 
 mark. Th«-refun*. an you la-ar tho 
 ' ' !l, why not elub purse* 
 nml ni<', ami ronvey her 
 ithadowrj' 'I'lun may- 
 hap some rustieal ta-rson in her own 
 plaif may la; bniUKnt ti» wive her." 
 
 " Why so many wonls • " aaid 
 I)enra. " This old fox is not the aaa 
 J. • ' • . Iw." 
 
 H your advier, — is it ' " 
 
 s.; llonl. t«stily. " Well, then 
 
 we sh.-\U soon know who is the fool, 
 vou or me, for I have s|M>ken to her, aa 
 It hnp|a-ns ; and, whot is more, she baa 
 said ay, and she us polishing; the AtLg- 
 ons at this mf>ment." 
 
 " Oho ! " .snid I)eny,<. dryly, " 't waa 
 nn onibu-M-ado. Well, in that caae, 
 my advice is, run for the notary, tic 
 the n<K)«;, and let n.s thn>o tirink the 
 bride's health till we sec »ix aota a 
 tipplinp." 
 
 •' And shall. Ay. now you utter 
 sense." 
 
 In ten minutes a civil roarriag« waa
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 165 
 
 effected up stairs before a notary and 
 his clerk and our two friends. 
 
 In ten minutes more the white hind, 
 dead sick of sechision, had taken her 
 place witliin the bar, and was senang 
 out liquids, and bustling, and her col- 
 or rising a little. 
 
 In six minutes more she soundly 
 rated a careless senant-girl for carry- 
 ing a nipperkin of wine awry and 
 spilling good liquor. 
 
 During the evening she received 
 across the bar eight offers of mar- 
 riage, 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 boun- 
 teous fate. They heard the proposals 
 made one after another, and uninven- 
 tive Manon's invariable answer : " Ser- 
 vitcur ; you ai-e 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 
 " quse patuit," i. e. who has become 
 the town talk. 
 
 But Dcnys scarce noticed the 
 spouse's triumph over him, he was so 
 occupied with his owni 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 in- 
 to the deep-meditating and much-puz- 
 zled pupil of antiquity, whispered, 
 " Le pen que sont les hommes." 
 
 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 cure farewell in- 
 stead, and sought and received his 
 blessing. About noon the travellers 
 got clear of the town. Just outside 
 the south gate they passed the gal- 
 lows ; it had eight tenants, the skele- 
 ton of Manon's late wept and now 
 being fadt 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, wth every bone in his 
 body broken to pieces. 
 
 Gerard averted his head and hur- 
 ried by. Denys lingered, and crowed 
 over liis dead foes. " Times are 
 changed, my lads, since we two sat 
 shaking in the cold awaiting you 
 seven to come and cut our throats." 
 
 " Fie, Denys ! Death squares all 
 reckonings. Prithee pass on without 
 another word, if you prize my respect 
 a groat." 
 
 To this earnest remonstrance De- 
 nys yielded. He even said, thought- 
 fully, " You have been better brought 
 up than I." 
 
 About three in the afternoon they 
 reached a little town with the people 
 buzzing in knots. The wolves, 
 starved by the cold, had entered, and 
 eaten two grown-up persons over- 
 night in the main street ; so some 
 were blaming the eaten ; " none but 
 fools or knaves are about after night- 
 fall " ; others the law for not protect- 
 ing the town, and others the corpo- 
 ration for not enforcing what laws 
 there were. 
 
 " Bah ! this is nothing to us," said 
 Denys, and was for resuming their 
 march. 
 
 " Ay, but 't is," remonstrated Ge- 
 rard. 
 
 " Wliat, are we the pair they 
 ate ? " 
 
 " No, but we may be the next 
 pair." 
 
 " Ay, neighbor," said an ancient 
 man, " 't is the town's fiiult 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, some- 
 what derisively, " what made him 
 fancy rush dips would scare away 
 empty wolves '? Why, mutton-fat is 
 all their joy." 
 
 " 'T is not the fat, vain ninn, but 
 the light. All ill tilings hate light ;
 
 166 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND TUE HEARTH. 
 
 especially wolvrs and tho imp* that 
 lurk, I wii'ti, ihiiUt their fur. Kx- 
 luuplc : I'arit rity stanil.H in u wo<j<l 
 like, iimi the wulves do howl around 
 it all ni;,'ht ; yet of Uu* ycant wolvw 
 come hut little in the .itnt't.*. For 
 why ' in that hur;;h the watchmen do 
 thunder at eaeli door that i» dark, 
 and make th«' weiry wi;;ht ri.-n- ond 
 li;;lit. 'T is my .son telN nje. He n 
 a, t'n-al voyager, my son Nicholas." 
 
 In further explanation he assurwl 
 them thot, previously to that onli- 
 niuu-e, no city hail l»efn worse infe?n- 
 ed with wolvei tliiin I'aris ; a troop 
 h.id iMiidly assaultid the town in 
 I42i>, and in 141"* th-y had eaten 
 fourteen |HTsoni in a single month 
 between .Monlmartre and the ^'ate St. 
 Antoine, ami that not a winter month 
 even, hut SeptemlK-r ; ami as for the 
 d.-atl which ni:.'htly lay in i' 
 lain in midni;.'ht hrawls, . 
 Uilte<l. the wolvel hud Used : . 
 thi'in, and to irruh up th" fresli uravi-a 
 in the churchyard i and tear out the 
 bodies. 
 
 Here ft thouirhtful citizen iiU(;i;oiit- 
 ed that probably the wolves had U-en 
 liridNd of late in I'.iris, not by 
 candle li/ht.s, but owiii;; to the Kn;;- 
 lish having; lieen driven out of the 
 kini;dom of France. " For those 
 F.nt'lish bo very wolven tlicm.solvcs 
 for fien-i'nes^s and i:T\-c<liness. What 
 inarrel, then, that nndcr tlM-ir nilc our 
 iiei;;hl»ors of France should \»' wolf- 
 catcu ' " This lo;:ic wils too suitcil 
 to the time and place not to !»• rr- 
 ci'ivcd with ai-elamalion. But the 
 oltl man st<MMl his ground. " I p-ant 
 ye those islamlers are wolves ; but 
 two-le'.:i;ed ones, and little apt to 
 favor their four-fixitnl cou.-ins. One 
 jrreedy thin::, lovcth it another ' I 
 trow not. Hy the .same token, an<l 
 this too I have from my l»oy, Nicole, 
 Sir Wolf dare not show his nose in 
 lA>ndon city, though 't is smaller 
 than Paris, and thick w<Hids hard by 
 the north wall, ami therein prcat 
 store of deer and wild txjars rife as 
 tiles at midsummer." 
 
 " Sir," said Gerard. " you seem 
 
 conversant with wild hcaj<ts, prithee 
 adviv my coinrnde here and iiir ; wo 
 Would not wa-ste time on the rooii, on* 
 if we may (^o forwanl to the amst 
 town with reasonable safety." 
 
 " Young man, I know 't were an 
 idle risk. It lacks but an hour of 
 dusk, and you must pa.ss ni;:li a woo«I 
 where lurk .s<ime thou.sands of thov 
 halfstarve«l vennin, rank cowanls 
 sin);le, but in gn-at bands t>old as 
 lions. Wherefore I r»'<lc jou sojourn 
 here the ni;rht, and journey on b^ 
 times. Hy the duwu the vermin will 
 lie linnl out with roaring and mm- 
 pa;;inK' : and mayhap will have tilUtl 
 their lank bellies with tle>h of my 
 pxMl neiKhbura here, ttie untcachable 
 fmds ! " 
 
 Civnird ho|>cil not ; and asked 
 could he recommend them to a guo«) 
 inn ' 
 
 " Humph ^ there is the ' Tete 
 d'Or.' Mv .•r,.,,i,l.u..;hter kn-p* it. 
 She is a in ' not so knavish 
 
 as mmt h": -. ami her houM 
 
 indiirerrnt t lean.'' 
 
 " Hey for the ' TCicd'Or,'" Ktmck 
 in Denvs, decide<l br his iiieriulicable 
 foible. ' 
 
 On the way to it, fJerard inquired 
 of his companion what " a inijauri^o " 
 was. 
 
 Denvs laughed nt his ijnioroncc. 
 " Not fcnow what a mijaun-e is ! why, 
 nil the world knows that. It is 
 neither more nor less than a mijau- 
 nie." 
 I As they enten-*! the " Tete d'Or" 
 thev met a voun;; lady richly drps,scd, 
 wit)i the velvet cha|»cron on her head 
 which was confinol by law to the no- 
 bility. Thev nnlionnetetl ami luiitcd 
 low, and she courtesii>d, but fixi-*! 
 her eye on vacancv the while, which 
 had a curious, rat)ier than a (rcnial 
 effect. However, nobility was not so 
 unassumini; in tho.se days ns it is 
 now ; .10 they were little ,«nry>rised. 
 But the next minute supper was 
 ! serve<l, and lo ! in came this prin- 
 cess and can-i-tl the f^xise. 
 
 " Holy St. B:ivon I " crietl Gerard. 
 " 'T was the landlady all the while.*
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 167 
 
 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, can'ing not 
 for the sake of others but herself, 
 i. e. to display her hands. 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 crea- 
 tion of no great general merit ; but 
 it has the eye of a hawk for affec- 
 tation. It is called " a boy." And 
 Gerard was but a boy still in some 
 things, swift to sec and to loathe affec- 
 tation. So Denys sat casting sheep's 
 eyes, and Gerard daggers, at one co- 
 median. 
 
 Presently, in the midst of her 
 rainauderies, she gave a loud shriek 
 and bounded out of her chair like 
 hare from form, and ran backwards 
 out of the room, uttering little screams 
 and holding her fardingale tight 
 down to her ankles with both hands. 
 And, as she scuttled out at 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 princi- 
 pal yell, now stood irresolute awhile, 
 then sat down laughing. The tender 
 Denys, to whom a woman's coward- 
 ice, being a sexual trait, seemed a 
 lovely and pleasant thing, said he 
 would go comfort her and bring her 
 back. 
 
 " Nay, nay, nay ! for pity's sake 
 let her bide ! " cried Gerard, earnestly. 
 " O blessed mouse ! 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 
 '.laughtily whether he really thought 
 8 
 
 that "grimaciere" was afraid of a 
 mouse. 
 
 " Ay. She screamed hearty." 
 " Where is the coquette that cannot 
 scream to the life 1 These she-tav- 
 ern-keepers do still ape the nobles. 
 Some princess or duchess had lain 
 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 kno^vn 
 the mijaurcc 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 u-ith these " singcries." " All 
 the world is so sick of her h.-nids, that 
 her very kinsfolk will not venture 
 themselves anigh them." He con- 
 cluded ^vith something like a sigh, 
 " The ' Tete d'Or " was a thriv-ing 
 hostelry under my old chum htrgood 
 father ; but she is digging its grave 
 tooth and nail." " Tooth and nail ? 
 good ! a right merry conceit and a 
 true," said Gerard. But the right 
 meny conceit was an inadvertence as 
 pure as snow, and the stout burgher 
 went to his grave and never, never 
 knew what he had done ; for just then 
 attention was attracted by Denys re- 
 turning pompously. He inspected 
 the apartment minutely, and with a 
 high official air ; he also looked sol- 
 emnly 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, quite gone. 
 
 " The enemy has retreated, bag and 
 baggage," said Denys ; and handed 
 in the trembling fair, who, sitting 
 down, apologized to her guests for 
 her foolish fears, with so much ear- 
 nestness, grace, and seeming self-ccn- 
 tempt, that, but for a sour grin on his 
 neighbor's face, Gerard would have 
 j been taken in as all the other strqyi*
 
 168 
 
 THK CLOISTKK ANI» lUt llhAKril. 
 
 gcrs were. Dinner cndol, the younj; 
 laniilatiy Ixj^t-d an \m;\\*uuc friur 
 at lar ri^ht Imntl tn say ^jnwe. Ilf 
 dflivi-n-il II lotufijih one. The mo- 
 ment hu tift;an, ahc clttp|»c<l her white 
 huixU piuusly to^'ther, uml held them 
 up joine«l li»r mortals to admire ; 't is 
 an excellent |m)'«o for ta|)cr white tin- 
 i^T* ; and ia.st her ev*"!* upward to- 
 wards lieaven, and lelt as tluuikful 
 to it o-H a iniku'pie diH.>2t while cuttiiif; 
 otl' with yonr thimMi-. 
 
 Alter •iipiM.T the two friends went 
 to the utrect door ami eyiil the mar- 
 ket plot'o. The nustre-is joined tli 
 and pointe<l out the town hall 
 lx)roiiyh jail, St. ('athorine's Chu;. ... 
 lie. This wa-s courti-tfus, to tuiy the 
 least. Hut the true cause mhjh n- 
 vealed it.self ; the fair hand was |H>ked 
 riirht under their eyw every time im 
 i.l'i . t wa.s indirated ; aiil 
 >•■■ I It like a hasili-ik, ami 
 
 Ik l-uiich of tietthit. The Mi.. ■ >, 
 
 the tr.ivell.T-i, few in niimUT, drew 
 rouiiil the ;;reat niarin;; tin-, and, 
 oinittiiii; to (^i on the »pit, wcro 
 fn)/.en lichind thou;;h roo-stoii in front 
 For, if the (termaii stovi-s wer« 
 prt'ssively hot, the Kn-neh ttall 
 
 mnnj;er wero hitterly eolil, and. ii! 
 
 all, stormy. In (Jermnny nun sat 
 bareheaded roiiml the stove and tixik 
 off their upper clothes, hut in Bur- 
 pundy they kept on their hats, 
 and out on their wannest furs, t' 
 round the ;;nat o|H'n i himnevpl i 
 at whicii the external air ni.sned i.... 
 oiisly from do*)r and ill-tittini; window. 
 However, it si-oms their meiliievol 
 hacks wero broad enough to l»>ar it ; 
 for they made thom.selve.s not only 
 comfortahio but merry, nntl l>n)ke 
 harmle-s.s jests over each other in turn. 
 For instance, Dcnys'.s new .sIiik-.s, 
 thou:;h not in dinrt communication, 
 had this d.iy exploded with twin-like 
 sympathy and unanimity. " Where 
 do yon buy your shoon, soldier ? " 
 asked one. 
 
 Denys looked nskant at Gerard, 
 and, not likint; the theme, shook it 
 otf. •■ I f:ather 'em ort' the trees by 
 the roadside," said he. surlily. 
 
 " Then you pulicnsi th-^w too 
 ripi'," .said the ho!»te4.'', who wo-s onlj 
 u fool e.xtenially. 
 
 " Ay, rotten ripe," observed aootb- 
 er, in.s|>ectiiu: them. 
 
 Uerarti said nothin;:, but pointed 
 the cirrulur satire bv {Mintomime. He 
 slyly put out Uktli his fct- 1, one after 
 another, under Uenys'.s eye. with 
 their (rennan shoi-^t, on which u hun- 
 dretl leagues of travel had produced 
 no elTect. They itevme«l hewn out of 
 a riH'k. 
 
 At thi-H, " I 'II twi.st the smooth 
 ts neck that .sold na- mine," 
 ■ d Denys, ill hu;^- wrath, and 
 ..:.,irinetl the threat with siinjular 
 oaths pi>culiar to the niediievol mili- 
 tary. The landlady put her finders 
 in her ears, thereby exhibitint; the 
 hand in a fre^h attitude. " TuH mo 
 ■1 he ha.s done his orisoiM, some- 
 r..ud she, mincinuly- Ami af- 
 .. . ..i.it they fell to tellmj; stories. 
 
 (icrard, when his turn came, told 
 the adventure of Denys and (.ieriird 
 at the inn in Domfomt, and so well 
 that the hearers were rapt into swoct 
 ion of the very cxi>tence of rai- 
 and hamls. Hut this made her 
 .. i . uneasy, and she had n-course to 
 her t'rniid coup. This mi^directed 
 genius hail for a twelvemonth past 
 praetis<'d yawning, and could do it 
 now at any moment so naturally a.< 
 t all creation (;apin(r, could all 
 >n have seen her. Bv this 
 ii[..iiis she ijot in all her cliarms. 
 For tir^t she sIiowinI her Irrth, then, 
 out of pkkI brettlinj;, you know, 
 closed her mouth with throe taper 
 fingers. So, the moment (Jeranl'a 
 story trot t<K) interesting: and ahrtorb- 
 inp, she tiimwl to and made yawns, 
 and " croix siir lalxjuchc." 
 
 This was all very fine ; but Gerard 
 was an artist, and artist.s arr chilled 
 by papinjr auditors. He bore up 
 a;:ainst the yawns a lonp time ; but, 
 finding they came froiu n Iwttomlcss 
 reservoir, lost both heart and temper, 
 and. sudilonly rising in mid-narrative. 
 said, '■ But I weary our hostess, and 
 I am tired myself; so pxxl night I "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 169 
 
 whipped a candle off the dresser, 
 ■wliispercd Denys, " I cannot stand 
 her," and marched to bed in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 The mijauree colored and bit her 
 lips. She had not intended her by- 
 phiy for Gerard's eye ; and she saw 
 in a moment she had been rude, and 
 silly, and publicly rebuked. She sat 
 witti cheek on fire, and a little natu- 
 ral water in her eyes, and looked 
 ten times comelier, and more wo- 
 manly 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 mijaure'e, and invited 
 her in the most flattering terms to 
 gamble with him. She started from 
 her revery, looked him down into the 
 earth's centre ^^^th chilling dignity, 
 and consented, for she remembered 
 all in a moment what a show of hands 
 gambling admitted. 
 
 The soldier and the mijauree rat- 
 tled 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 bum to pay 
 debts of honor, partly to admire the 
 play of her little knuckles peeping 
 between their soft white cushions. 
 Denys proposed a compromise. 
 " Three silver francs I win of you, 
 fair hostess. Give me now three 
 kisses of this wliite hand, and we '11 
 e'en cry quits." 
 
 " You are malapert," said the lady, 
 with a toss of her head ; " besides, 
 they are so dirty. See ! they are 
 like ink " ; and, to con^^nce 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 
 obsen'ant warrior he was, seized them, 
 and mumbled them. 
 
 Finding him so appreciative of her 
 charm, she said timidly, " AVill you 
 do me a kindness, good soldier ? " 
 
 " A thousand, fair hostess, an you 
 will." 
 
 " Nay, I ask but one. 'T is 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 thinking on 't. AVilt tell 
 him that — to pleasure me ? " 
 
 " Ay, I '11 tell the j'oung savage. 
 But he is not worthy of your conde- 
 scension, 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 dcs mijanrees.' 
 He has a good, honest, and right 
 comely face. Any way, I would not 
 guest of mine should tlunk me unman- 
 nerly, 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 af- 
 fections 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. 1 . 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 ' mi- 
 jaure'es ' by night as well as day ? " 
 
 " But I tell thee, novice, thou hast 
 conquered her; trust to my experi- 
 ence ; 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 ; 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 hovt
 
 170 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 A sniilicr unJcr«tcxxl friendship and 
 cnnuiriMlcric. Italv wiw now out of 
 tlic (|iic?ttion. FiiU- Imil providt-^l U-t- 
 tcr; and tliu liliiid jiidu Forttini- had 
 KMiilcd on nuTit for ontf. The 
 " Htud of (lold " had U'vn a pros- 
 p<Tou» inn ; wonl<l Ik: a;^iiin with a 
 man at tin ht-ad. A po«Hl pncnd 
 hiid farsi^htfil plan*, hut was al- 
 ways n-ady to ahandon tlu-in. should 
 Home hrilliant ailvanta^.'v oiler, and 
 to rrap the full harvrst of tho unfori-- 
 Boon ; 't was <hirtly hy this trait jrriat 
 IcadtTH dtfiati'd little onM ; for theso 
 latti-r rould do nothin;; not cut and 
 drii-d U-forfhand. 
 
 " Sorry friemlship, that would 
 marry n>o to a mljuunv," interposed 
 (Jerard, yawning. 
 
 " Coinradi-, U- n-nsonahle ; 'tis not 
 the fn.skiest shivp that fills down the 
 clitT. All creatures must have their 
 Hin^;, soon or late, and why not a 
 woman ? What more frivolous than 
 • kitten ? What graver than a rat ' " 
 
 " Hast a cxmI eye for nature, I)e- 
 nys," said (icranl, " that I pr<M-laim." 
 
 " A U'tter for thine interest, ht>y. 
 Trust, then, to me ; these little doves, 
 they are my stmly <lay ami ni>;ht ; 
 happy the mnn whose wife taketh her 
 flint; In-fore weillixk ; and who trip- 
 jHlh up the altar-steps instead of 
 down em. Marria;,'e it alwavs 
 chanj;eth them for U-tter or el.s<' (ut 
 worse. Whv, (ierard, she is honest 
 when all is done ; and he is no man, 
 nor half a man, that cannot mould 
 any honest la.ss like a hit of warm 
 wax, and she aye In-side him at bed 
 and iMtiird. I tell thee in one month 
 thou w ilt make of this co<iuettc the 
 mutron the most solK-r in the town, 
 and of all its wives the one most ilo- 
 cile and submissive. Why, she is half 
 tamed already. Nine in ten meek and 
 mihl ones had jrrntly hated thee like 
 poison all their lives for woundinjj 
 of their hidden pride. IJut she for an 
 artront proffers affection. By Joshua 
 his huple, a generous la.ss, and void of 
 petty malice. When thou wast pone 
 she sat a thinkinj; and sf>oke not. A 
 sure siijn of love in one of her sex ; 
 
 for of all thin;,'9 else thcv Rpeak era 
 they think. Also her voire did sink 
 exetvdin;; low in dis«-oursinf; of the*, 
 and munnured sweetly ; another in- 
 fallible »ii;n. The Uilt hath struok 
 and rankles in her. O, In- jovful ! 
 Art silent * I soe 't is setth-<(. I 
 shall i^ alone to Hemiremont, alone 
 and sad. Hut, pilliit^v and |>oleaxes ! 
 what care I for that, since my dear 
 coinrnih" will stay hen-, luudlonl of 
 the ' Tete (lOr," and safe from all the 
 storms of life ' Wilt think of me, 
 (i<-ranl, now and thm by thy warm 
 tire, — of me cum|H-<l on some windjr 
 heath, or lyinj: in wet tn*nches, or 
 wouinh'd on the fiehl and far fn>tn 
 comfort ' Nay " (and this he said in 
 a manner trulv noble), " not comfort- 
 less. Ki>r cold, or wet, or blewlinj;, 
 't will still wann my heart to lie on 
 my hack and think that I have placed 
 mv dear friend and comrade true in 
 the ' Tete d'Or," far from a soldier's 
 ills." 
 
 "I let you nin on, dear Denrs." 
 said (Jerard, .softly, " liocau.so at each 
 word vou show me the tnasure of a 
 j;ood heart. But now, U-think thcc, 
 my troth is pliphtt-*! there when- my 
 heart it clinpi-th. You so leal, would 
 you make me disloyal f " 
 
 " Perdition seize me, but I forgot 
 that," saiil I)i-iiys. 
 
 " No more then, but hie thee to lioil, 
 pood Deny*. Next to Margaret I 
 love thee best on earth, anil value thy 
 ' cii'ur d'or ' far more than a ilozen of 
 these ' Tctes d'()r.' So prithee call 
 me at the first blush of rosy-finpered 
 mom, and let 's away ere the woman 
 with the hands In- stirring." 
 
 They rose with the dawn, and 
 broke their fast by the kitchen fire. 
 
 Denys inquired of the girl whether 
 the mistress was about. 
 
 " Nay ; but she hath risen from her 
 bed ; by the same token I am carrv- 
 ing her this to clean her withal '' ; 
 and she filled a mug with boiling wa- 
 ter, and took it up stairs. 
 
 " Behold," said Gerard, " the very 
 elements must Im? warmed to suit her 
 skin ; what had the saints said which
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 171 
 
 prill chose the coWest pool ? Away, 
 ere she come down and catch us." 
 
 They paid the score, and left the 
 " Tote' d'Or," while its mistress was 
 washinfr her hands. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Outside the town they found the 
 snow fresh trampled hy 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 scur- 
 rying under our window and howling 
 and whining for man's flesh in yon 
 market-place. But no fat burgher did 
 pity the poor vagabones, and drop 
 out o' window." 
 
 Gerard smiled, but with an air of 
 abstraction. 
 
 And they plodded on in silence. 
 
 " What dost meditate so pro- 
 foundly ? " 
 
 " Thy goodness." 
 
 Denys was anything but pleased at 
 this answer. Amongst his oddities 
 you may have observed that he could 
 stand a great deal of real imperti- 
 nence, he was so good-humored, but 
 would fire up now and then where 
 not even the shadow of a ground for 
 anger existed. 
 
 " A civil question merits a civil re- 
 ply," said he, very dryly. 
 
 " Alas, I meant no other," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Then why pretend you were 
 thinking of my goodness, when you 
 know I have no goodness under my 
 skin 1 " 
 
 " Had another said this, I had an- 
 swered ' Thou liest.' But to thee I 
 say : ' Hast no eye for men's quali- 
 ties, but only for women's.' And, 
 once more, I do defy thy unreason- 
 rtble choler, and say I was think- 
 ing on thy goodness of overnight. 
 Wouldst have wedded me to the 
 * Tete d'Or,' or rather to the 'tete de 
 
 veau dovce,' and left thyself soli- 
 tary." 
 
 " O, are ye there, lad ? " said De- 
 nys, recovering his good-humor in a 
 moment. " Well, but, to speak sooth, 
 I meant that not for goodness, but 
 for friendship and tfue 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 tnier 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 ; von skittish lass had 
 nursed thee tenderly, and all had 
 been well. Blade I had in hand to 
 do 't, but, remembering 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 virtu- 
 ous resolution when the path of duty 
 lay so clear. 
 
 Gerard raised his eyebrows with 
 astonishment at this monstrous but 
 thoroughly characteristic revelation ; 
 however, this new and delicate point 
 of friendship was never discussed, 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 neighbor's mule," 
 shouted Denys. 
 
 Gerard turned round. " And how 
 know ye 't is not his own, pray ? " 
 
 " O blind ! Because he rides it 
 with no discretion." 
 
 And in truth the man came gal- 
 loping like a fury. But what aston- 
 ished 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 between the pedes- 
 trians like a four-legged table on cast- 
 ers. 
 
 " I trow ye are from the ' Tete 
 d'Or.' " 
 
 They assented. " Which of ye is 
 the younger ? "
 
 172 
 
 THE CLOISTKH AND THK UKAKTH. 
 
 " He thiit wo-s fxirn thn later," sai'l 
 DtnvH, winking at his Loiiipaniou. 
 
 •' (Jraimrtv tor the m-ws. ' 
 
 " Come, ilivino tht-n ! " 
 
 " Ami dliall. Thy Itcanl is rip*- ; 
 thy fellow'it i* ^jrwn ; ho ithnll l>c tho 
 viiiin^tT : hori', yoiinpsttT." Aiul he 
 helfl him out a pa|)cr paikct. " Yc 
 lift this ut the ' Tetc d'Or," and our 
 niHtri'SH M-uiU it yc." 
 
 " Nay. j:<xi<l ffi'low, mcthink.H I left 
 niiuijht." And (icrard fi-lt his jjouch, 
 etc. 
 
 " Would ve make our huri^rjis n 
 liar," iiaid the rustic, n-pniurhfully ; 
 " and I >hnll have n<* |MttirlMiin- ' " 
 (otill iiioro reprouchfully) "and came 
 ventrr u tcrrc." 
 
 " Nay, thou shalt hnvo pourlK)irv," 
 and hi> ^ave him a umall ruin. 
 
 " A la iMjniic lu'uri'," crinl tho 
 clown, ami hin foaturoji lioanu"«l with 
 di.spn>iK>rtionato joy. " The Vir^jin 
 pt> with yo ; come up, .Icnny ! " and 
 l.iic k hf went " Htuniai h to earth," as 
 hi.H nation i* |)loitscd to call it. 
 
 Ciorard un<lid tho packet ; it vraa 
 a)M)ut six inchoiH Mjuarc, and intido it \ 
 ho found another pncket, which ron- i 
 tiiin<Ml a packet, and .ho on. At tho | 
 fourth he hurled the whole thin^; in- ! 
 to the snow. Denys took it out an I 
 n-huki-d Ui* jH'tulance. Me excu»e<l 
 hims<-lf on the ground of hating af- 
 ftrtation. 
 
 Denys atti^tol " ' the ^n'at toe of 
 the little d.iuuhlor of Ilerodiaa ' 
 there was no alVcction here, hut only 
 woman's fjoo*' *'•• DoulitlcsH the 
 wrii})s contained soiuethinj; which, out 
 of delicacy, or her box'-s lovely cun- 
 ning, she would not her hind sliouM 
 8C0 her lH'-*tow on a younj^ man ; thy 
 garter, to wit." 
 
 " I wear none." 
 
 '• IKt own thi^n ; or a lock of her 
 hiiir. What is this ? A piece of raw 
 silk fresh from the worm. Well, of 
 all the love-tokens ! " 
 
 " Now who hut thee ever dreamed 
 that she is so nau;:ht as send me love- 
 tokens ? 1 saw uo harm in her, — 
 barrin<; her hands." 
 
 " Stay, hero u something hard 
 
 lurking in thii soft nest. Come forth, 
 I say, little nostlini; ! .Saiiiti* and pike- 
 stavos ! look at this ! " 
 
 It was a gold rinir. with a great 
 amethyst glowing and >parklin{,', full- 
 eoloretl, hut pure as ervstid. 
 
 " How lovely ! " said Gerard, in- 
 no<nt»ily. 
 
 " And heri' is something writ ; hmmI 
 it thou ! I read not so glih as some, 
 wlun I know not the matter boforo- 
 hanil." 
 
 GemnJ took the paper. " 'T i« a 
 [io«y ; and fairly enough writ." Ho 
 read the linos, lilushing like a girL 
 They wcn> very naive, and may bo 
 thus Knglished : — 
 
 " Youth, with ttir« mjr h«»rt U flnlde. 
 Cm* l«<rk • ■ " ■■ •- 1 '•••■ M-i|^' ! 
 Wilt no* • 
 Of hir «li • .-pe. 
 
 Oft tho W..C, . , -1 ohi. 
 
 Come b*ck tu ' the llnlJc u( RulJ.' " 
 
 " Tho little dove ! " purn-d DenT*. 
 
 " The i,Teat owl ! To go and rmk 
 her giMwl name thus. However, 
 thank Heaven she has played this 
 prank with an honest lad that will 
 ne'er exjtosc her fcdly. But O the 
 niTversene-'<s ! Could she not liestow 
 her nauseousncHs on thw ? " Denyi 
 sighed and shrn;,'t'<'<l. — " *^'n thee 
 that art as ri|)C for folly as herself." 
 
 Denys confes*4Ml that his young 
 friend had haq>o<l his very thought. 
 'T was passinir stranire to him that a 
 damsel with eyes in her hcail should 
 pass by a man, and U-stow her lUfi-c- 
 tions on a tMiy. Still ho could not 
 but recognize in this the Ixjunty of 
 Nature. Hoys wore human brings, 
 after all, and, but for this (xrasional 
 caprice of women, their lot would l>e 
 too terrible ; they would !« out of the 
 sun altogether, blighted, and never 
 come to anything ; since onlv the 
 fair coulil make a man out of such 
 unpromising materials as a Iwy. 
 Gerard interrupted this flattering dis- 
 course to iK-g the warrior-philrjsopher's 
 ncc»'ptAnce of the lady's rint;. lie re- 
 fused it flatly, and insisted on (ic- 
 rard ^:oin^ back to the " Tote d'Ur" 
 at once, ring and all, like a man, and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 173 
 
 not letting a poor girl hold out her 
 arms to him in vain. 
 
 " Her hands, yon mean." 
 
 " Her hand, with the " Tete d'Or " 
 in it." 
 
 Failing in this, he was for putting 
 the ring on his friend's finger. Ge- 
 rard declined. " I wear a ring al- 
 ready." 
 
 " What, that sorry gimcrack ? why, 
 'tis pewter, or tin at best; and this 
 virgin gold, forbye the jewel." 
 
 " Ay, but 't was Margaret gave me 
 this one ; and I value it above rubies. 
 I '11 neither part with it nor give it a 
 rival " ; and he kissed the base metal, 
 and bade it fear naught. 
 
 " 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, he had consented very readily, 
 for sovereign qualities were univer- 
 sally 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 tjiought that each step 
 was taking him farther from her. " I 
 am no general lover, Denys. There 
 is room in my heart for one sweet- 
 heart and for one friend. I am far 
 from my dear mistress ; and my 
 friend, a few leagues more and I must 
 lose him too. O let me drink thy 
 friendship pure while I may, and not 
 dilute with any of these stupid fe- 
 males." 
 
 " And shalt, honey-pot, and shalt," 
 says Denys, kindly. " But as to my 
 leaving thee at Remiremont, reckon 
 thou not on that ! For " (three con- 
 secutive 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 
 generall}'^, and on go you and I to- 
 gether to the sea." 
 
 " Denys ! Denys ! " 
 
 " Denys not me ! 'T is settled. 
 
 Gainsay me not ! or I '11 go with thee 
 to Rome. Why not"? his Holiness 
 the pope hath ever some little merry 
 pleasant war toward, and a Burgun- 
 dian 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 com- 
 pany with thee, great is my courage. 
 I have found the saying of the an- 
 cients true, that better is a bright 
 comrade on the weary road than a 
 horse Utter ; and, dear brother, when 
 I do think of what we have done and 
 suffered together ! Savest my life 
 from the bear, and from yet more sav- 
 age 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 ! Had I my 
 will, I 'd never, never, never, never 
 part with my Denys on this side the 
 grave. Well-a-day ! 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. I '11 go with thee to Rome. 
 There is my hand on it." 
 
 " Think what you say ! 'T is im- 
 possible. 'T is too selfish of me." 
 
 " I tell thee 't is settled. No power 
 can change me. At Remiremont I 
 borrow ten pieces of my uncle, and 
 on we go : 't is 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 sweet- 
 hearts, till a company of mounted 
 soldiers, about fifty in number, rose 
 to siglit on the brow of a hill. 
 
 " See the banner of Burgundy,"
 
 174 
 
 THE CLOISTEK AND THK IlKAKTH. 
 
 Buid Denys, joyfully. " I shall look 
 out for n comrmle among these." 
 
 "ilow gorgeous is the stAiidnrd in 
 the sun I" Kuid Gerard; "and how 
 lirave are the lenders with velvet and 
 feathers, and steel breastplates like 
 glassy mirrors I" 
 
 W lu-ii th<'V came near enough to 
 distinguish faces, Denys uttered an 
 exclamation : " Why, 'tis the IJa*- 
 tard of Hurgiinily, as I live. Nay, 
 then, there is fighting afoot, sinee he 
 is out ; a palUnt leader, Gerard, 
 rates his life no higher than a private 
 soliiiiT's, and a S4)ldiiT's no higher 
 than a tomtit's; and that is the ea|>- 
 tain for me." 
 
 '• And see, l)enj-«, the very mules, 
 with their great hraw frontlets and 
 tr;ip])ings, .seent proud to earrv them ; 
 no uonder men itch to In; soldiers " ; 
 ami in the mid->t of this iniUM-cnt ad- 
 miration the troop roiae up with 
 them. 
 
 " Halt ! " crii-d a stentorian voiee. 
 The tn)op halti*<I. The iia.^tard of 
 Hiirgundy In-iit his brow glo<imily on 
 Denys " How now, arbalestrier f how 
 eomes it thy f.u-e is tnrne«i south- 
 wiiril, when every good hand and 
 heart is hurrying northward ! 
 
 Denys replied resjKvtfully that he 
 was going on leave, after .•«omc years 
 of ser>iee, to sec his kindred at llc- 
 miremont. 
 
 " Good. But this is not the time' 
 for 't ; the duehy is disturl>etl. Ho ! 
 bring that dead soldier's mule to the 
 front ; and thou mount her and for- 
 ward with us to Flanders." 
 
 " So jilease your Highness," said 
 Denys, linnly, "that may not l>e. 
 My iiDine is elosc nt liand. I have not 
 seen it these tlirce years, and, above 
 all, I have this jwor youth in charge ; 
 whom I may not, cannot, leave till I 
 sec him shipped for Rome." 
 
 "Dost bandy words with me?" 
 said the chief, with amazement, turn- 
 ing f\ist 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 haml the tighter, and looked 
 defiance. 
 
 At tliis the Bastard roared, "Jar- 
 nae, ilismoiint six of thy archers, and 
 shf)ot me this white-livered cur dead 
 where he stands, — for an example." 
 
 The young (""ount ile Jarnac, sec- 
 ond in command, gave the onkr, and 
 the men dismounted to exi-cuic it. 
 
 " Strip him naked," Hai<l the Iia.4- 
 tanl, in the cold tone of military busi- 
 ness, " and put his arms and acroutn'- 
 ments on the spare mule. We 'II 
 maybe (Ind some clown worthier to 
 wear them." 
 
 Denys gn>aned aloud, " Am I to bo 
 shanie<l as well its slaiti ? " 
 
 " U nay ! nay ! nay ! " cried Gc- 
 ninl, awaking from the stu|>or into 
 which this tli(indcrlx>It of tyratmv hiul 
 tliniwn him. " He shall go witfi yii 
 on the instant. I 'd licvcr part widi 
 him forever than sec a hair ol his deaf 
 head harmed. O sir, O my lor I, 
 give a jKMir boy but a minute to I id 
 his «>nly friend farewell ! he will go 
 with you. I swear he shall go with 
 you." 
 
 The stem leader nfxlded a Cfdd, 
 contemptuous ass4.'nt. " Thou, Jar- 
 nac, stay with them, and bring him 
 on alive or dead, — forward ! " And 
 he n\sumed the manh, 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 an- 
 other haggnnlly. O what a lf>ok ! 
 
 And after this mute interchange of 
 anguish they spoke hurriedly, for the 
 moments were flying by. 
 
 " Thou grx'st to Holland ; thou 
 knowest where she bides. Tell her 
 all. She will be kind to thee for my 
 sake." 
 
 " O, sorry tale that I shall carry 
 her ! For God's sake, go back to the 
 ' Tetc d'Or.' I am mad." 
 
 "Hush! Let me think: have I 
 naught to say to thee, Denys ? my 
 head ! my hisid ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I have it. Make for the 
 Rhine, Gerard ! Strasbourg. 'T is 
 but a step. And down the oorrcnt ta
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 175 
 
 Rotterdam. Margaret is there : I go 
 thither. I'll tell her thou art com- 
 ing-. Wc shall all be together." 
 
 " My lads, haste ye, or you will get 
 us into trouble," said the count, firm- 
 ly, but not harshly now. 
 
 " O sir, one moment ! one little 
 moment ! " panted Gerard. 
 
 " Cursed be the land I was born in ; 
 cursed be the race of man, and he 
 that made them what they are ! " 
 screamed Denys. 
 
 " Hush ! Denys, hush ! blaspheme 
 not ! O God, forgive him, he wots not 
 what he says. Be patient, Denys, — 
 be patient ! though we meet no more 
 on e^irth, 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 one another in a close 
 embrace. They kissed one another 
 again and again, speechless, and the 
 tears rained down their cheeks. And 
 the Count Jarnac looked on amazed, 
 but the rougher soldiers, to whom 
 comrade was a sacred name, looked 
 on with some pity in their hard faces. 
 Then, at a sign;xl from Jarnac, with 
 kind force and words of rude consola- 
 tion, 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 ids 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 struggle he got his 
 breath again ; and now began to see 
 his own misfortune; yet not all at 
 once to realize it, so sudden and 
 numbing was the stroke. He stag- 
 gored on, but scarce feelmg or caring 
 whither he was going ; and every now 
 £nd 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. 'T is scarce five 
 minutes since we were so happy, walk- 
 ing handed, faring to Rome together, 
 and we admired them and their gay 
 banners and helmets, — hearts of 
 hell ! " 
 
 All nature seemed to stare now as 
 lonely as himself. Not a creature in 
 sight. No color but white. He, the 
 ghost of his former self, wandered 
 alone among the ghosts of trees and 
 fields and hedges. Desolate ! deso- 
 late ! desolate ! All was desolate. 
 
 He knelt and gathered a little snow. 
 " Nay, I dream not ; for this is si.uw : 
 cold as the world's heart. It is 
 bloody, too : what may that mean ? 
 Fool 1 't is 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 arc 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 joyful 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 favorites, in velvet 
 and furs and feathers ; and four or five 
 armed retainers in buff jerkins. 
 
 They swept gayly by. 
 
 Gerard never looked at them after 
 they were gone by. Certain gay shad- 
 ows had come and passed ; that was 
 all. He was like one in a dream. 
 But he was rudely wakened ; sudden- 
 ly a voice in front of him cried 
 harshly, " Stand and deliver ! " 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
 
 17(5 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hiii j)Otroml at him. But another, 
 Ifc.ss .•.aiii.'uiiiiirv. iiitcTpo«*-<l. " Ho nut 
 IK) Uiiniy ! Ami l>v nut tiiou .so mail! 
 lA»>k yoiKlir ! " 
 
 (icranl l<>ok(><l, and warrc a liiin- 
 (Ircil yiiril.-< olV tin- iKibJcinan ninl \u» 
 fricinl.H liatl hiiltitl, an<l ml on ihi-ir 
 liorHf.H looking at tin- lawless act, too 
 })ri>uil to do tlicir own dirty work, hut 
 not t<M> |irouil to nap the fruit, and 
 watch \vt>t tlu'ir a^rnt.-* nhouid rob 
 thi'ni of unothiT man';* money. 
 
 'I'ho niildiT M-nant then, (^mmI- 
 naturt-d fill«»w, xhowcd (itnird n-si-st- 
 ancf wiu vain ; n-mindi-d him rom- 
 inoii thifvi'.s often tiM»k the life as well 
 a.s (he |iur>te, anil a.H>ured him it ^o^t 
 II mint to Ik- a (^Mitleman ; his master 
 had lost money at play o%enii^,'ht, 
 and wiLs ^>in;; to visit his leman, luid 
 •u must take money where he saw it. 
 
 " TluTefort', p<rk1 youth, consider 
 that we rol) not for ourselvej*, and de- 
 liver u.s that fat purse at thy pinlle 
 witliKiit more ado, nor put us to the 
 ruin of slittiii;; thy thruut and taking 
 It all the Siune." 
 
 " This knave is ri>;ht," said Ge- 
 rard, ealmly, aloud, hut to hiins«'lf. 
 " I oiiiiht not to tlinj; away my lifu ; 
 Margaret wmild Ik' so horry. Take, 
 then, the poor man's purse to the rich 
 man's jMiiieh ; and with it this: tell 
 him I jiray the Il>dy Trinity eaih 
 coin in it may hum his hand, and 
 freeze his heart, and blast hiii soul 
 forever. Bep>ne, and leave me to my 
 sorrow ! " He tlunj; them the punk-. 
 
 They nxle away muttering ; lor his 
 words jjriekfsl them a little, — a very 
 little; and he stajrp-reil on. jKjnnile.ss 
 now as Well as frienilii-ss, till he 
 came to the »h1;;c of a wood. Then, 
 thou;;h his heart could hardly feel 
 this second blow, his ju(i;,'ment did ; 
 and he bc>;an to ask himself what 
 Wivs the u.<c fT'^inc: farther. He sat 
 down on the hard mad, and ran his 
 nails into his hair, anil tried to think 
 for the best, — a task all the more dif- 
 ficult that a .«trange drowsiness was 
 5tealinj; over him. Konie he could 
 never reach without money. Denys 
 had »aid, ' Go to Strasbourg, and 
 
 down the Rhine home." lie would 
 oImv Denys. Hut how f,'et to Strm*^ 
 bour,: without money ? 
 
 'I'hen suddenly .■^•enicd to ring in 
 his eur.s : — 
 
 " Oyt thf world prore hanh and cuU, 
 CoiiM t>«ck to the lledar of ruUI." 
 
 *' And if I do I must po iw her ser- 
 vant ; I who am Marumn-t't. I nm 
 aweary, aweary. I will sleep, and 
 dream all i* as it was. Ah me, how 
 happy Were we an hour airone ! wo 
 little knew how hajipy. There i^ a 
 hou.M.* ; the owner well to do. What 
 if I told him my wronjr, and prayed 
 his aid to ntrieve mv purse, and so 
 to Hliiiic. Find ! is he not a man 
 like the rest ' He would .worn mc 
 and trample me lower. Denvs 
 cursed the race of men. That wilf I 
 never; but O, I '^in to loathe and 
 dread them. Nay, here will I lie till 
 sunset ; then dnrklini; cnn-p into this 
 rich man's bam, and take by stealth 
 a draii;;lit of milk or a handful o' 
 pruin to ke«p liody and soul to;:elher. 
 Gixl, who hath s«.tn the rich rob roc, 
 will iieradventure forjfivc me. ThcjT 
 say t is ill sleipinjj on the snow. 
 Death steals on such sle«>jK'nt with 
 maflled fitt and honey breath. Hut 
 what can I ' I am aweary, aweary. 
 Shall this Ix- the wikkI where lie the 
 wolves yon old man sjKike of ? I 
 must e'en trust them : they are not 
 men ; and I am so aweary." 
 
 He crawled to the roadside, and 
 .stretched out his limbs on tho enuw 
 with a dei'p siph. 
 
 " Ah, ti-ar not thine hair so ! tcar- 
 eth mv heart to si-c thee ! " 
 
 " hiar — fiaret. Never sec me 
 more. Poor Mar — ga — ret." 
 
 And the too tender heart wa.<i still 
 ' And the constant lover, and friend 
 I of antique mould, lay silent on the 
 I snow ; in peril from the weather, in 
 
 IM?ril from wild l>oasts, in peril from 
 iun;,'er, friendless and penniless, in a 
 I stran;:e laud, and not half-way t4 
 i Rome,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVni. 
 
 Rude travel is enticing to us Eng- 
 lish. And so are its records, even 
 tliough 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 person- 
 ages 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 favorites, and the whole storj' 
 was in every mouth, and the Seven- 
 bcrgans in that state of hot, undis- 
 criminating irritation which accompa- 
 nies popular sympathy. 
 
 So Jorian Ketel went off in dud- 
 geon, and repented him of his good 
 deed. This sort of penitence is not 
 rare, and has the merit of being sin- 
 cere. Dierich Brower, who was dis- 
 covered at " The Three Kings," mak- 
 ing a chatterbox drunk in order to 
 worm out of him the whereabouts of 
 Martin Wittcnhaagen, was actually 
 taken and flung into a horse-pond, 
 and threatened with worse usage 
 should he ever show his face in the 
 burgh again ; and finally, municipal 
 jealousy being roused, the burgomas- 
 ter of Sevenbergen sent a formal mis- 
 sive to the burgomaster of Tergou, re- 
 minding 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 townfolk. 
 
 The wily Ghysbrccht, suppressing 
 his rage at this remonstrance, sent 
 back a civil message to say that the 
 person he had followed to Sevenber- 
 gen was a Tergovan, one Gerard, and 
 that he had stolen the tovm records ; 
 that Gerard having escaped into for- 
 eign parts, and probably taken the 
 
 documents with him, the whole m^« 
 ter was at an end. 
 
 Thus he made a virtue of neces- 
 sity. But in reality his calmness was 
 but a veil ; baffled at Sevenbergen, he 
 turned his views elsewhere ; he set his 
 emissaries to leam 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 neighborhood ; 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 Ghysbrccht 
 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 f;imily at Tergou, which, 
 but for his violent interference, might 
 in time have cemented its diiference 
 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 Sybrandt had 
 in banishing Gerard, and though, for 
 fear of making more mischief still, 
 she never told her mother, yet there 
 were times 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, suc- 
 ceeded so far as to impose upon their 
 father and Giles ; but the demure sat- 
 isfaction that lay at their bottom could 
 not escape these feminine eyes, — 
 
 " That, noting all, seemed naught to note." 
 
 Thus mistrust and suspicion sat at 
 the table, poor substitutes for Gerard's 
 intelligent face, that had brightened
 
 178 
 
 THK CLOISTEK ANl» TMK HKAHTH. 
 
 t^ wholo circle, unoW'n-wl till it 
 
 Will u'"!!.- As tur the i»|i| tii><«irr, hi« 
 
 I '-fii wouiiiKmI I>v lu.t Mm's 
 
 ■ , uml »o 111- i<t>r*' "fitHy 
 
 llj', .nil 'llll 111* l«'?lt II' 
 
 ( iiT.ir<r<i inline ; tiut 
 S; irt;UI clonk N ■••■"■ 
 ; Miij nt hiH 
 .1:1 Ml ty ht' iirvrr 
 
 ■' ll I l>ut kiH'w wli.f*' til. !».» i-, 
 lui'l that hi* lifv nml ht-allh iin> 111 u» 
 • I I r. umall wuiiM \n- n 
 I he say ; hiu! then u 
 
 A...,..l follttw. I riiliiiot h<.| > 
 
 ill;;, that, if (icrunl hii<l kjmiumI tho 
 tli«»r lu.tt then ivml wwlkul in. then- 
 woiilii have tMi-n iimny tcart and rni- 
 brni-fit fur him, anti fow rv|>mnihc», or 
 iiont'. 
 
 Oiu< thinj; took ihcolil cnu]il(< i|iiili> 
 l>y Miir|>rit<'. — |>tiMi>ify. Kn- (ii-runl 
 linil l"iii ;:>iii>' 11 \\' I k, hit nilvi'iitiiroi 
 wvrr in csitn iiiniitli ; nnil, to innki- 
 miitt«T!« wurxf, iho |M)|>uUr symiiothy 
 fJiclnnMl itvlf wnrinly on tho »iilo of 
 the I'lMT*. nml n;;iiiiitt (ivrnnl"-* crur! 
 ininnt.H nml that old hu\v)i<Miy, the 
 hiir^uiniiHtcr, " who inn^t |>ut hit iiom* 
 into n hu.HincA5 that nowi.M.* conccnutl 
 hini." 
 
 " Mother," snid Kate, " it i* all 
 over the town that Mar;;nret ii down 
 with n fi-ver, — n hiirninj; fever ; her 
 father feam her sadly." 
 
 '• Maru'ant ' what Mar;,'arrt ' " in- 
 quired Catherine, witli a treaelieroii!) 
 as-tiiinption nf calmncsa and inditfcr- 
 enee. 
 
 ■• () motlier! whom •ihonlil I in<>nn ' 
 Why. (Jemrd's Marjjaret." 
 
 " CJerard's Mnr;raret ! " serrained 
 Catherine ; " how (lare yon .say .^iirh 
 a wonl to me ' And I n-de you never ' 
 mention that hussy '.s name in this ' 
 house that she has laid hare. She is j 
 the niin of my jxior l>ov, the flower 
 of all my tlin-k. She is the eau.se that 
 he is not a lioly priest in the midst of 
 us, but is roaming the world, and I 
 a desolate, hroken-liearted mother. ' 
 There, ilo not cry, ray pirl, I <lo ill to 
 speak harsh to you. But, f ) Kate, 1 
 you know- not what passes in a ; 
 
 I inother'H heart. I licnr tip ln-fon- jro« 
 
 ' nil ; It Uhoo*)-!! me »wnllow my fean ; 
 
 hut at iii;;lit I m-v him in my drt-am*, 
 
 and •lill Mune tn>uhle or other near 
 
 ' iime« he in U>n\ liv wild 
 
 .< r timet he in ill I he han«U 
 
 ■■ ■' ■'■■•- 1 I > U|>- 
 
 that 
 
 r.mp. 
 
 (', w hfii 1 rviiifiiilifr that, while I 
 
 •tt h<'r»' in eomfurt. |H'rhn|M my iioor 
 
 ti Miine wivnt'e plurt', 
 
 that jjirl ; iherr. her 
 
 ■ ■.. .,...,,. . ..li^lMine to me. 1 trvni- 
 
 hie nil ov«r when I hear it." 
 
 " I 'II m>t «ay anything, nor do tnr- 
 
 thintr. ti> j;rieve you wor-M-. inothrr." 
 
 .Haiti Kate, tenderly ; hut »he "li^hrd. 
 
 I She w ho<M' nnme was mi fien-elv 
 
 inierdietett in thi.n hou.n; wnn inueK 
 
 !>|«>ki *' ■• ' -M-n pitied, elri'where. 
 
 All ^ I wat sorry for her, 
 
 and ( "ii-n nml maiden<t eaMt 
 
 many n pit_\ 111^ clanee. n.'» they pn.fKtl, 
 at the little wjmlow where the U-autv 
 of the \illni;e lay "dyini; for love' 
 In this familiar phrHM- thev under- 
 rated Imt tfiirit nml un<u-lfi<hnc)i]i. 
 (ieranl wnn not deml. nml ^hc wm 
 too loyal herM-lf to dotiht hi* con- 
 stniiev. Her father wim dear to her 
 and )ielple.<i.* ; ami, hut for tiodily 
 wi-nknejw, all her love fi>r (Jeranl 
 would not have kept her fmm doinij 
 her iluties. though .she mi;;ht have 
 piiu' alxiut them with droo{>inp head 
 and hen\y heart. Hut physical and 
 mental excitement had hniujjht on 
 an atliuk of fever m> violent that 
 nothing hut vouth and eimstitution 
 saviil licr. The malady left her at 
 last, hut in that tcrrihie utate of l>o<li- 
 ly weaknes.s in which the patient feels 
 life a luinlen. 
 
 Then it is that love and friendship 
 by the l)0<lside arc mortal nn^'els. w itfi 
 comfort in their voices and healinj; in 
 their jialms. 
 
 Hut this poor jrirl hail to come 
 back to life and vifror how she could 
 Many days she lay alone, and the 
 heavy hours rolled like leaden wavca 
 over her. In her enfoeblcfl state ex 
 istence seemed a bunlen, and life a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 179 
 
 thing gone by. She could not try 
 her best to get well. Gerai'd was 
 gone. She had not him to get well 
 for. Often she 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 servant; 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 of 
 both were kind and friendly. Mar- 
 garet tried to raise herself in the bed, 
 but the old lady placed a hand very 
 gently on her. 
 
 "Lie still, sweetheart; we came 
 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 1 " 
 
 " Nay, madam, I know you, though 
 I never saw you before : you arc the 
 demoiselle Van Eyck, and this is 
 Richt Heynes. Gerard has oft spoken 
 of you, and of your goodness to him. 
 Madam, he has no friend like you 
 near him now " ; and at this thought 
 she lay back, and the tears welled out 
 of her eyes in a moment. 
 
 The good-natured Kicht Heynes 
 began to cry for company ; but her 
 mistress scolded her. " ^Vell, 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 in- 
 terest her. Ere she had been there 
 an hour, she had Margaret's head ly- 
 ing on her shoulder instead of on the 
 pillow, and Margaret's soft eyes dwell- 
 ing on her with gentle gratitude. 
 
 " Ah', this is hair," said the old 
 lady, running her fingers through it. 
 " Come and look at it, Richt ! " 
 
 Richt came and handled it, and 
 
 praised it unaffectedly. The poof 
 girl that owned it was not quite out 
 of the reach of flattery ; owing doubt- 
 less to not being dead. 
 
 '■ In sooth, madam, I did use to 
 think it hideous : but lie praised it, 
 and ever since then I have been al- 
 most 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 Richt came nearly every 
 day until their patient was convales- 
 cent : and she improved rapidly un- 
 der their hands. Richt 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 tell- 
 ing her she had friends to live for. 
 
 Martin Wittcnhaagen went straight 
 to Rotterdam, 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 Rotter- 
 dam, 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 hunting, and, contrary to all 
 court precedents, commenced the con- 
 versation, — 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 is one trait they 
 hare in common ; they are mightily 
 inclined to be affable "to men of very 
 low estate. These do not vie wih 
 them in anything whatever, so jeal- 
 ousy cannot creep in ; and they 
 amuse them by their bluntness and
 
 180 
 
 THE CLOlSTKIt AND TRK UKAKTH. 
 
 novfltr, anil n-fn«h the pour tiling 
 with II tuiK h >'( iiiiturr, — m raritv in 
 courts. S«i I'hilip llic (mmmI iviiu'd ill 
 
 hi* hoFM? mill I'livt' Murtin bIiikkI a i What v\m' ' " 
 
 ••<), ihc huntc«l U<ar will turn M 
 bar. 'T i.* his ri^ht ; atxl I holtl hiiq 
 lfs.4 than man that ^udt;va it 
 
 ■ t' It. ' 
 
 M 
 
 1 hr (hike rfnieiiit»Ti"<l 
 •It iM-rfivtly, anil wiw trr.t 
 
 i.liu.MHl |i> tnkr a i-hi-t-rl'iii \ 
 If rouhl atFiTil tn ni>t hu 
 
 M 
 
 hv 
 I t)u> 
 
 Uin tin' om- hit. '11 
 
 hiH Mttj«-<l_v of (trrar 
 
 ill the rhiin-h, hi« m 
 
 till- (iiwiT, ami ihr 
 
 whii h tlirv K<it hint 
 
 <li-tiiiN i>f the hunt: un>l, ulittiitr h<- 
 
 txhl It Ix'itcr than I have, or iho ilnk-- 
 
 huil not hrunl mi inaiiy K"" 
 
 UN you hu\i', riTtuiii it ii i 
 
 »"ik'» U'"' ■■"> wrapt ii|> ii' ■' ' 
 
 u iiuiiiImt of roiirlKr^ 
 
 nil mill intiTruptt'tl M 
 
 liki' a ('<i<ttcrnioni;«-r, aiiil ihri-nlciutl, 
 
 only liulf in jo^tt, to rut ofT the next 
 
 hriul thiit xhouhl roinc iM'twit-n him 
 
 mill a itihmI <itory ; and whi-n Martin 
 
 luul <|4)iii\ ho rri»-«l out : — 
 
 " St. I.iiki- ! what sjxirt j^ooth on in 
 thin inini' rurliloin ! ay, in my own 
 \v(hm|h, and I >t«i' it not. You hnM' 
 fiJlowH have all the luck." An<l In* 
 wnn indi;;iiant at tho |tartinliiy of 
 Kortiinr. " I..O, you now ! thin wa.* a 
 timii'hiint," naiil he. " / ni-viT liait 
 tlir lurk tu Ih> at a iiinn-hunt." 
 
 " Mv luck wa.« none .to irn^nt," rr- 
 plird SLirtiii, hluntly ; " I was on the 
 wroiii; siiU'of thf tloj;*' noM'^." 
 
 " Ah ! so you wen- : I forgot that." 
 And n>yaltv wa.s niorv nt-onrilitl to 
 its lot. ■• \Vlmt would vou tlirn ' " 
 
 '• A frci- piirdoii. vour iii;;hnc»s, for 
 mys«lf and (itnird. 
 
 " For what ' " 
 
 "For prison-hronkinjj." 
 
 " Go to : thf hird w ill fly from the 
 cajje. 'T is instinct. Bisidi-s, coop 
 a younjj man up for lovin;: a youn>; 
 wimmn ' those l)tir;;oniastors must 
 l>e VI lid of common sonso. What 
 d-so ' 
 
 " For striking down the burgo- 
 maatei." 
 
 ■ • " •■ .M'U." 
 
 i — «Aid 
 
 Martin, ••ap-rlv. 
 
 '■ Ay ! but ( can't hare mv blood- 
 ' U, my ticniitiful blo<x(hound«, 
 Kill to' — " 
 
 • ', no! Thcjr were not 
 
 \'' d«>tj«, tlwn ? " 
 
 " 'I'ho ranpT'n." 
 
 " Oh ! Well, I am rcrr iorry for 
 
 him, hut, a* I wait »ayin(;. I can't 
 
 hnvo niy old ituldiom sacrificrd to hi* 
 
 !h. Thou »lialt have thy 
 
 .;.. . j..>or ftorard ' " 
 "And jMMir ( iiTurd too, for thjr 
 «ak<'. And tiioro, Irll thi>u thin bur- 
 KomoAtcr hi« tloiii^< mixlikc mc : thii 
 i« to Mt nil for a kin(;, not a huri;o- 
 miutrr. I II have no king" in lIoW 
 land but ono. Hid him l>o more 
 humble, or, by St. .Iinlr, ] 'II han|; 
 him Im Ion- bin omii dinir, n.t I hanp^l 
 the burpima'^ter of wbai'i tho-namr, 
 
 — iMunc town or other in Flaiidcri it 
 wiu : no, 't wiiA Mimewhere in Itrnliant 
 
 — no mutter — 1 han^tnl him, I rv- 
 momUr that much — for oppri»itinu 
 |>oor folk." 
 
 The duke then iMfkoneil his 
 ohani-eUor. a i»un.y old follow that 
 nxle like a Hack, and bade him write 
 out a frev |>anlon for Murtin and one 
 ( ieranl. 
 
 This prociou* document wa.« drawn 
 up in form, and .«i(rne«l next day, and 
 .Nlnrtin hastened homo with it. 
 
 Mnr;;an't had left her l>c<l some 
 days, and was sitting pale and jH-nsivo 
 by the firrside, when he burst in, war- 
 ing the parchment and crying: "A 
 free j)anion, ^'irl, for (Jcrard as well 
 as mc ! S«'nd for him back when you 
 will ; all the bur;:oina.sters on earth 
 darv^n't lay a fintror on him." 
 
 She tliished all over with joy, and 
 her hands trembled with eagerness a* 
 she took the parchment and devoured
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 181 
 
 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 con- 
 sult 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 pil- 
 lager 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 even- 
 ing 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 XXXIX. 
 
 Some arc old in heart at forty, 
 i!ome are young at eighty. Margaret 
 Van Eyck's heart was an evergreen. 
 She loved her young namesake with 
 youthful ardor. Nor was this new 
 sentiment a mere caprice ; she was 
 quick at reading character, and saw 
 in Margaret Brandt that which in one 
 of her own sex goes far with an intel- 
 ligent woman, — genuineness. But, 
 besides 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. 
 
 I thought on Darien's deserts pale, 
 Where Death bestrides the evening gale, 
 How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
 And fenceless faced the deadly dew. 
 I thought on Quariana's cliff, 
 Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 
 Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 
 Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
 And when his side an arrow found, 
 I sucked the Indian's veuomej wound. 
 These thoughts like torrents rushed along 
 To sweep away my purpose strong." 
 
 Observe ! this assassin's hand is 
 stayed by memory, not of benefits re- 
 ceived, but benefits conferred. 
 
 Now Margaret Van Eyck had been 
 wonderfully 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 for 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 parchment that had brought them 
 there, she gave up her own views with- 
 out a murmur. 
 
 " Sweetheart," said she, " I did de- 
 sire 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 ! you see my very 
 thoughts." And the young woman 
 hung her head a moment, 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 ol(]
 
 !82 
 
 Tin: cLOisiKU and thk iitAurn. 
 
 liuly. "IIiTo was this Hans Meni- 
 ViU'^ with iiir to-day ; he is poinj; to It- 
 aly, j.'irl, no hitiT than next week, 
 ' to im|)rove iiis huml,' he says. Not 
 hctbre 't was needed, I do assure 
 yon." 
 
 " Hilt how is lie to find niv Ge- 
 rard < " 
 
 " Whv, he knows yonr Gerard, 
 <hiid. riiey have siipiK-d lu-re more 
 than once, and were like hand and 
 |;love. Now, as his business is the 
 *.anie as Gerard's — " 
 
 " What, he is a painter then ? " 
 
 " lie passes fur one. He will visit 
 tlie same places as (ierard, and, s(H>n 
 or late, Iw mnst fall in with him. 
 Wherefore, jret you ti Ion;,' letter writ- 
 ten, anil eopy out this pardon iiit<) it, 
 and I 'II answer for the inesseiij^er. 
 In si.\ months at farthest Gerard 
 shall ^'et it, and, when he .shall j;et it, 
 then will \w kiss it, and |)Ut it in his 
 Ijosom, anilcoiin- flyiniL' home. What 
 are you sniilin;: at ? and now what 
 makes your elieeks so red ? and 
 what you are smotherin;: me for, I 
 eaiiiiot think ; yes ! ha|i|>y days arc 
 eoiniii;; to my little jK-arl." 
 
 Meantime, Martin sat in the kitch- 
 en, with the hiack-jack l>efore him 
 antl Uieht Ih-ynes s|)inniiig beside 
 him ; and, wow ! but she pumjR-d 
 him that ni;;lit. 
 
 This Han.'* Memliii;,' was an old 
 pupil of Jan Van I'.yck and his sister. 
 He was a painter, notwithstanding: 
 Mar^raret's sneer, and a ^'ood soul 
 cnon;:h, with one fault. He loved the 
 " ni|>perkin, caiiakin, and the brown 
 bowl " more than tliey deserve. This 
 sin^^ular penchant kept him from 
 amassing fortune, and was the cause 
 that he often came to MarL'aret Van 
 Eyck for a meal, and sometimes for a 
 jrroat. But this fravc her a claim on 
 him, and she knew he would not tri- 
 fle witli any commission she should 
 intnist to him. 
 
 The letter was duly written, and 
 left with Margaret Van Eyck ; and, 
 the following week, sure enough, 
 Hans Memlii)g returned from Flan- 
 
 ders. Margaivt ^'an Eyck gave him 
 the letter, and a piire of gold towards 
 his travelling e.\f>en.ses. He scemod 
 in a litirrv to Iw off. 
 
 " All the Utter," said the old art- 
 ist ; " he will Iw the sooner in Italy." 
 
 Hut as there are horses who burn 
 and rage to start, and after the first 
 vard or two want the whip, so all this 
 linrry cooled into iiiactifjti when Hans 
 got as far as the principal hostelry of 
 Tergou, and saw two of his lKX)n 
 companions sitting in the bay-win- 
 dow. He wtiit in for a parting glass 
 with them ; but. when he offered to 
 
 1>ay, they would not hear of it. No: 
 le was going a long journey ; they 
 I would treiit him ; everybody must 
 I treat him, the landlord and all. 
 
 It resulted from this treatment that 
 , his tongue got as loo.se as if the wine 
 I had Ikcii oil, and he rontided to the 
 convivial crt-w that he was gt)ing to 
 show the Italians how to paint ; next 
 he sang his exploits in battle, for lie 
 had haiiclled a pike ; and his amorous 
 successes with females, not j)resent to 
 opfKJse their version of the incidents. 
 In short, " pleiuis rimaruni erat : liiir 
 illuc (litHuebat " ; and, among the 
 miscellaneous matters that oo7.ed out, 
 he must blab that he was intrusted 
 with a letter to a townsman <»f theirs, 
 one (ierard, a good fellow; he add- 
 ed, " You are all good fellows " ; and, 
 to impress his eulogy, slapped Sy- 
 brandt on the back so heartily as to 
 drive the breath out of his body. 
 
 Sybrandt got round the table to 
 avoid this mu.sciilar 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. 
 
 " Mv brother Gerard is never in 
 Italy.'' 
 
 " Ye lie, ye cur," roared Hans, tak- 
 ing instantly the irascible turn, and 
 not being clear enough to sec that he 
 who now sat opposite to 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 yc 
 this? There, read me that 8upei>
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 183 
 
 Bcription ! " and he flung down a let- 
 ter on the table. 
 
 Sybrandt took it np, and examined 
 it gravely ; but eventually laid it 
 down, with tue remark that he could 
 not read. However, one of the com- 
 pany, by some immense fortuity, 
 could read ; and, proud of so rare an 
 accomplishment took it and read it 
 out : " To Gerard Eliassoen, of Ter- 
 gou. These by the hand of the trusty 
 Hans Memling, with all speed." 
 
 " 'T is excellently well writ," said 
 the reader, examining every letter. 
 
 "Ay," said Hans, bombastically, 
 " and small wonder : 't is writ by a 
 famous hand ; by Margaret, sister of 
 Jan Van Eyck. Blessed and hon- 
 ored be his memory ! 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 Cornells. 
 
 They put their heads together 
 over the news. Italy was an im- 
 mense distance off. If they could 
 only keep him there ? 
 
 " Keep him there ? Nothing would 
 keep him long from his Margaret." 
 
 " Curse her ! " said Sybrandt. 
 " "VVhy did n't she die when she was 
 about it ? " 
 
 " She die ? She would outlive the 
 pest to vex us." And Comelis was 
 wroth at her selfishness in not dying, 
 to oblige. 
 
 These two black sheep kept putting 
 their heads together, and tainting 
 each other worse and worse, till at 
 last their coiTupt 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 stand-still. But presently, as if 
 Satan had come between the two 
 heads, and whispered into the right 
 car of one and the left of the other si- 
 multaneously, they both burst out, — 
 
 " THE BtJRGOMASTEll ! " 
 
 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 GcJrard 1 " said 
 he, eagerly. 
 
 Then they told him about the letter 
 and Hans Memling. He listened 
 with restless eye. " Who writ the 
 letter 1 " 
 
 " Margaret Van Eyck," was the re- 
 ply ; 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 writ- 
 ten by Margaret Van Eyck while 
 treating \vith the burgh for her house. 
 " Was it writ like this ? " 
 
 " Yes. 'T is the same writing," 
 said Sybrandt, boldly. 
 
 " Good. And now what would ye 
 of me ? " said Ghysbrecht, with beat- 
 ing heart, but a carelessness so well 
 feigned that it staggered them. They 
 fumbled with their bonnets, and stam- 
 mered 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 substitute 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 bur- 
 gomaster and suspicion that this one 
 was as great a rogue as themselves, 
 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
 
 184 
 
 Tin: cLoisTKH anh iiii; iii.Ainii. 
 
 fjuiik, coupKd witli his caution, found i 
 wonis thu-. ; " It is my iluty to aid '< 
 tin; tiii/.iiis that lannot write. Hut 
 for their inattir 1 will not be rcsjKjn- 
 sihlo. Tell lue, then, what I sliuJI 
 writo." 
 
 '• Snniethiht' aU>nt this Marj;nri-t." 
 " A_v, ay ! that slu" i.s fiil.M', that >ho 
 is ntarrieii to anotlu-r, I 'II pi l>ail." 
 
 "Nay, hurp)ina.>.ti.T, nay! not for 
 all the worM ! " rriwl Sybmndt ; 
 " (ioraril would not Udirve it, or but 
 nni- half, nml tlu-n \iv would conic 
 haik to .s«H\ Say that !*he ist dend." 
 
 •• iVad ! what, at licr u>,'0 ? will he 
 rndit that ' " 
 
 '■ S<M>nir than the other. Why, she 
 tnii ntiirlif ilcail ; m> it is not to say a 
 d<>wuri;:ht lie, after all." 
 
 " Iluiii|ih ' And you think that 
 will keep him in Italy ? " 
 
 " We are nure of it, — are we not, 
 Conielis f " 
 
 " Ay," .said f'ornelis, " our (Jcrnnl 
 uill never leave Italy, now he i* then-. 
 It was always his dream !•> j;vt there, 
 lie would tome baek for his Marj:a- 
 II t, but not for us. What eares he 
 tor us ^ IIedes|iis<-s his own family ; 
 nlwavs did." 
 
 " 'Vhis would \>c a bitter pill to 
 him," said the old hy|>«>» rite. " It 
 will Ik- for his ptxHl in the en<l," rc- 
 jdii'<l the younpone. 
 
 •' What avails Famine wetlding 
 Thirst ' " said ("omelis. 
 
 " And the ^Tief you are prrparinc 
 furhim soei)«)lly > " (ihvsbrecht spoke 
 sarrastieally, but faste<l his own ven- 
 j^eanee all the time. 
 
 " (), a lie is not like a blow with a 
 eurtal axe. It hticks no He^h, and 
 breaks no Ixincs." 
 
 "A eurtal a.\e ? " said Sybrandt ; 
 " no, nor even like a strokt- with a 
 cud;:el." And he shot a sly enven- 
 omeil jrlunec at the burgoma.stcr's 
 I Token no.-io. 
 
 (Jhysbreiht's face darkene<l with ire 
 when this ailder's tongue struck his 
 wountl. But it told, as intended ; the 
 old imin bristled with hate. 
 
 '• Well," said he, " tell me what to 
 write for you, and I must write it : 
 
 but, take notice, you Ix-ar the blame 
 if au;,'lit turns anii-». Not the hand 
 which writes, but the ton;;ue which 
 tlictates, doth the dee«l." 
 
 Tho brothers assented wamdj, 
 sneering within. Ghysbrecht then 
 dn-w his inkhorn towards him, and 
 Inid the siM'«inun of Mariraret Van 
 Ky«k's writinjj Infore him, and made 
 sonie in<|uirics as to the hizeaiul shaj>c 
 of the letter; when an unlookid-for 
 interruption ix-cumtl ; Jorian Ketel 
 burst hiLstily into the nK>m, and looked 
 vc.mhI at not hndinc him alone. 
 
 " Thou fu-«-st I have matter on 
 hand, >;o<mI fellow." 
 
 " Ay, but this is prave. 1 bring 
 (jo<>»l news, but "t is not for every 
 ear." 
 
 The bur^t)nuister rose, and drew 
 Jorian iLsiile into the endirasure of 
 his deep window, and then the broth- 
 ers heard th»-m eonvers*' in low but 
 ea^cr tones. It ended by (ihysbreeht 
 sending Jorian out to saddle his mule, 
 lie then aildnss4i| the black sheep 
 with a sudden coldness that amazed 
 them : — 
 
 " I prize the peace of hoiischohU ; 
 but this is not a thirty to U- done in n 
 hum* ; we will see al«>ut it, we will 
 
 SCI'.'' 
 
 " Hut, burgomaster, the man will 
 U' t;one. It will l»e too late." 
 
 " Where is he * " 
 
 " At the hostelry, drinking:." 
 
 " Well, ke» I) him drinkinj; ! Wc 
 will s<H?, we wdl s<e." And he .sent 
 them off discomtited. 
 
 To explain oil this we must rctro- 
 prade a step. This vert- mominp, 
 then, Mar^'aret Brandt had met Jo- 
 rian Ketel near her own door. He 
 Itas.sed her with a scowl. 'I'his struck 
 icr, and she rememl>ere<l him. 
 
 " Stay," said she. " Ves ! it is the 
 po«>d man who sarcd him. O, why 
 hare you not Iteen near me since 1 
 Ami why have you not come for the 
 parchments ? Was it not true about 
 the hundred crowns ! " 
 
 Jorian j:ave a snort ; but. secinp 
 her face that looked so candid, began
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 185 
 
 to tliink there might be some mistake. 
 He told her lie liad come, and how he 
 had been received. 
 
 " Alas ! " said she, " I knew naught 
 of this. Hay at Death's door." She 
 then invited him to follow her, and 
 took him into the garden and showed 
 him the spot where the parchments 
 were buried. " Martin was for tak- 
 ing 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 ! " cried Jorian, 
 eagerly. " But stay ! 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 man. 
 
 The burgomaster jogged along to- 
 wards Sevenbergen, with Jorian strid- 
 ing beside him, giving him assurance 
 that in an hour's time the missing 
 parchments would be in his hand. 
 
 " Ah ! master ! " said he, " lucky 
 for us it was n'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 vou 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 steal- 
 ing, Gerard all over.. What he want- 
 ed least, and any poor Christian in 
 the house wanted most, that went 
 first. jMother was a notable woman, 
 so, if she did but look round, away 
 flew her tliimble. Father lived by 
 
 cordwaining, so about sunrise Jack 
 went diligently off with his awl, his 
 wax, and his twine. After that, make 
 your bread how you could ! One 
 day I heard my mother tell him to 
 his face he was enough to corrupt 
 half a dozen other children : and he 
 only cocked his eye at her, and next 
 minute away with the nurslini^'s 
 shoe off his very foot. Now this Ge- 
 rard 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 my- 
 self 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 '11 be sworn " ; 
 and he led him into the garden. 
 " There, master, if a face is to be be- 
 lieved, here they lie ; and see, the 
 mould is 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 ! 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.
 
 IHG 
 
 THK CLOISTKR AND Till: IIKARTII. 
 
 " Treason ! trrnrhfry ! " he cried. 
 " V«m knew of this." 
 
 " Knew wliat, master, in Heaven's 
 nann" i " 
 
 ■■ ("aitifr, yon knew there was 
 another one worth all these twice 
 tol.l." 
 
 " 'T is faIsM?," cried Jorian, nia<le 
 su.spicious l>v the otiier's suspicion. | 
 " "r is a triclc to roh nie of v\y hun- j 
 (ire«l crowns. ( ), I know you, bnr>;o- 
 niastcr." And Jorian was ready to 
 whinijR'r. 
 
 A Mieliow voice fell on them lx>th 
 like oil ii|ion the waves. " No, (;o<m1 
 man, it is not false, nor yet is it <|uitc 
 true ; there was another jMirchinent." 
 
 " There, there, there ! Where is 
 it? " 
 
 " Hut," continued Mar;;an't, calm- 
 ly, " it was n<Jt a town re< ord (so you 
 have piineil your huiulred crowns, 
 j;o<mI man) ; it wa.s hut a i)rivate deed 
 hctwccii the liur;;omastcr ncre and my 
 grandfather Flor — " 
 
 " Ihish, hu>h ! " 
 
 " — is Hramlt." 
 
 *• When- is it, ;,'irl ? that is all we 
 want to know." 
 
 " Have patience, and I shall tell 
 you. (Jcrard read the title of it, and 
 )ic said, ' This is as inuih yours as 
 the hurnoma-ster's," and he put it 
 ajiart, to and it with me at his 
 leisure." 
 
 "It is in the house, then?" said 
 the bur^^oraastcr, recovering his calm- 
 nes.s. 
 
 " No, sir," said Mar;,'aret, pravely, 
 " it is not." Then, in a voice that 
 faltered suddenly, " You hunted — 
 mv jioor (Jerard — so hard — and so 
 close, — that you j:ave him — no time 
 — to think of au;:ht — hut his life — 
 and his <:rief. The parchment was 
 ill his l)o<om, and he hath ta'en it 
 with him." 
 
 •• Whither, whither? " 
 
 " Ask me no more, sir. WHiat 
 ripht is yours to ([uc-tion me thus ? 
 It was for your sake, ;,'ood man, I put 
 force upon my heart, and came out 
 here, and Iwre to sjieak at all to this 
 bard old man. For, when I think of 
 
 the misery he has brought on him ana 
 me, the syjht of him is more than I 
 can Uar " ; and she JC'^^ e an involun- 
 tary shudder, and went slowly in, 
 with her hand to her head, crying 
 bitterly. 
 
 Kemorsc for the past and dread for 
 the future, — the slow, hut, as he 
 now felt, the inevitable future, — 
 avarice and fear, all tu^.'geil in one 
 short moment at (ihysliri-«ht's tough 
 heart. He hung his head, and his 
 arms fell listless by his sides. A 
 coarse chuckle made him start round, 
 and there stcMxl Martin Witteiihaa- 
 gen leaning on his l»ow, and snivring 
 froni ear to ear. At sight of the man 
 and his grinning face, Uhysbretht's 
 worst pa.><.>>ions awoke. 
 
 " Ho ! attack him, seize him, traitor 
 ami thief!" cried he. "Dog, thou 
 shalt pay for all." 
 
 Martin, without a word, calndy 
 thrust the duke's iiardon under (ihys- 
 brecht's nose. lie looked, and hud 
 not a word tr) say. Martin followed 
 uji his advantjige. 
 
 " The duke and I are soldiers. Ho 
 won't let vou greasy burghers trample 
 on an old comrade. He bode mo 
 carrv vou a message too." 
 
 " rlie duke send a message to nie ? " 
 
 " Av ! I told him of your master- 
 ful doings, of your imprisoning Ge- 
 rard for loving a girl ; and says he : 
 ' Tell him this is to be a king, not n 
 burgomaster. I '11 have no kings in 
 Holland but one. Hid him lie moro 
 humble, or I '11 hang him at his own 
 floor'" ((Jhysbrecht trembled. He 
 tluiught the iluke caj)able of the deed?) 
 " ' as I hanged the burgomaster o/ 
 Thingemliob.' The duke could not 
 mind which of you he had hung, or 
 in what nart : such trifles stick not in 
 a sohlier s memory ; but he was sure 
 he had hanged one of you for grind- 
 ing ])Oor folk, — ' and I 'm the man to 
 hang another,' r|uoth the good duke." 
 
 These rcfieatetl insults from so 
 mean a man, coupled with his invul- 
 nerability, shielded as he was by the 
 duke, drove the choleric old man into 
 a fit of impotent fury; he shook hia
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 187 
 
 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 
 foiled himself up in eye and form like 
 3l rattlesnake about to strike, and 
 ipat furiously upon Martin's doublet. 
 
 The thick-skinned soldier treated 
 Ihis ebullition with genuine contempt. 
 " Here 's a venomous old toad ! 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 oldgoat's- 
 skin bag full o' rotten bones." 
 
 " My mule ! my mule ! " screamed 
 Ghysbrecht. 
 
 Jorian helped the old man up, trem- 
 bling in every joint. Once in the 
 saddle, he seemed to gather in a mo- 
 ment unnatural vigor ; and the figure 
 that went flying to Tergou was truly 
 weird-like and terrible, — so old and 
 wizened the face, so white and rever- 
 end the streaming hair, so baleful 
 the eye, so fierce the fury which 
 shook the bent frame that went spur- 
 ring like mad ; while the quavering 
 voice yelled, " I '11 make their hearts 
 ache. I '11 make their hearts ache. 
 I '11 make their hearts ache. I '11 
 make their hearts ache. All of them. 
 All! — all!— all!" 
 
 The black sheep sat disconsolate 
 amidst the convivial crew, and eyed 
 Hans Mending's wallet. For more 
 ease he had taken it oflT, 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 leaimed 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 sud- 
 denly in the doorway, and gave them 
 a wink. 
 
 They went out to him. " Come to 
 the burgomaster with all speed," said 
 he. 
 
 They found Ghysbrecht seated at a 
 table, pale and agitated. Before him 
 lay Margaret Van Eyck's handwrit- 
 ing. "I have written Avhat you de- 
 sired," said he. " Now for the super- 
 scription. What were the words 1 
 did ye see ? " 
 
 " We cannot read," said Cornells. 
 
 " Then is all this labor lost," cried 
 Ghysbrecht, angrily. " Dolts ! " 
 
 "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 Meraling, with all 
 speed.' " 
 
 " ' 'T is well. Now, how was the 
 letter folded ? how big was it '? " 
 
 " Longer than that one, and not 
 so long as this." 
 
 '"T is well. Where is he?" 
 
 " 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 
 Stadthouse, 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 late ! " they cried ; " too 
 late ! He is gone." 
 
 " Gone ? How long ? " 
 
 " Scarce five minutes. Cursed 
 chance ! " 
 
 " You must go back to the burgo- 
 master at once," said Dierich Brower. 
 
 " To what end ? " 
 
 " No matter, come " ; and he hur 
 ried them to the Stadthouse. 
 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten was not 
 the man to accept a defeat. " Well,"
 
 188 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THK HKAKTII. 
 
 aaid he, on hearing the ill ncw.s, " nip- 
 p«)sc he is j,'onc. Is he inuuutcd 1 " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then whnt hinders you to come 
 np wiili hitii ' 
 
 •' IJut what avails cominp up with 
 him f there arc no hostelries on the 
 roail he is j.'one." 
 
 •■ K«x>ls ! " said (Jhyshroeht, " is there 
 no way of eniptyiti^,' a man's jxH-kets 
 l>ut li<|iior and .slfi^ht-of -hand f " 
 
 A nifaniiitj l<K)k that juLssed Ih.-- 
 twicii (;iiysl)reeht and Diiriih aided 
 thi- hroihrrs' cuinprehension. 'I'hey 
 t liiia;:ed rulor, and lost all zeal for 
 llu- hiisinirss. 
 
 " No ! no ! we don't hntc our 
 iirotlur. We won't ^<'t ourselves 
 hun;,'<;(l to sjiitf him," saiil Syhrandt ; 
 " tliat would Ik; a tool's trick." 
 
 llaii^'edf" crii'd Ghyshreoht. 
 • Am I not the hnrp>ma.ster ? How- 
 can ye \m han;:cd ' I sw how 't is ; 
 ye fear to tackle one man, iK-inj; two : 
 hearts of hare, that ye aru ! O why 
 cannot 1 W youn^ a^ain '. I 'd do it 
 iiini;le-hand»'d." 
 
 The old man now threw off all dis- 
 puise, and .showed tluin his heart 
 was in this deed. He then flattered 
 and U'soupht, and jtrred them idter- 
 nately, hut he found no elo(|uence 
 eoulii move them to an action, how- 
 ever dishonorahle, which was at- 
 tended with danp^-r. At last he 
 oi>ene<l a drawer, and showed thera a 
 pde of silver coins. 
 
 " Change hut those letters for me," 
 he said, " and each of you shall 
 tiirust one hand into this drawer, 
 and take away as many of them as you 
 can hold." 
 
 The effect was mapical. Their 
 eves glittered with desire. Their 
 whole Injdics seemed to swell, and 
 rise into male energy. 
 
 " Swear it, then," said Syhrandt. 
 
 " I swear it." 
 
 " No ; on the crucifix." 
 
 Ghysbrecht swore upon the cru- 
 cifix. 
 
 The next minute the brothers were 
 on the road, in pursuit of Hans 
 Mcmling. They came in sight of 
 
 him about two lesgues from Tcrpou | 
 but, though they knew he had no 
 wea|X)n but his stall, they were too 
 
 r)ru<lent to venture on him in day- 
 ight ; so they fell back. 
 
 Hut biing now thriv leagues and 
 more from the town, ami on a gra»»y 
 road, — sun down, moon not vet up, 
 — honest Hans suddenly fcjund him- 
 .self attacked Itofore and behind at 
 once by men with u|)lifted knivex, 
 whi» crie<l in loud, though somewhat 
 shaky voices, " SlJind and deliver! " 
 
 'i'he attack was so sudden, and so 
 well planned, that Hans was dis- 
 mayed. " Slay me not, good fel- 
 lows," he crii'<l. " I am but a po<jr 
 num. and ye shall have my all." 
 
 " So be it, then. Live ! But empty 
 the wallet." 
 
 " There is naught in my wallet, 
 good friends, but one letter." 
 
 " That wo shall see," said Sy- 
 hrandt, who was the one in front. 
 " Well, it IS a letter." 
 
 " Take it not froiu me, I pray you. 
 'T is worth naught, and the good 
 dame wouhl fret that writ it." 
 
 " Theri'," Rai«l Syhrandt, " take 
 back thy letter : and now empty thy 
 pouch. Come, tarry not ! " 
 
 Hut by this time Hans had recov- 
 ered his confu.sjon : and, from a cer- 
 tain flutter in Syhrandt, and hard 
 breathing of Comelis, aide*! by an 
 inde.>icribablc consciousness, felt sure 
 the pair he hail to deal with were no 
 heroes. He pretemled to fumble for 
 his money ; then suddenly thrust his 
 staff fiercely into Sybrandt's face and 
 drove him staggering, and lent Cor- 
 nelia a back-handed slash on the ear 
 that sent him twirling like a weather- 
 cock 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 ! Come on ! " 
 
 It was a plain invitation, yet they 
 misunderstood it so utterly as to take 
 to their heels, with Hans after them, 
 he shouting, " Stop thieves ! " anti 
 they howling with fear and pain as 
 they ran.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 189 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A CHANGE came over Margaret 
 Brandt. She went about her house- 
 hold duties like one in a dream. If 
 Peter did but speak a little qviickly to 
 her, she started, and fixed two ter- 
 rified 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 out- 
 side her own house in daylight. 
 When she went to Tergou, it was 
 after dusk, and she returned before 
 daybreak. She would not even go to 
 matins. At last, Peter, unobservant 
 as he was, noticed it, and asked her 
 the reason. 
 
 " The folk all looked at me so." 
 
 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 expostu- 
 lated 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 ? " 
 
 " I come oftener than I deserve " ; 
 and she sighed deeply. 
 
 " There, Richt is bawling for you," 
 said Margaret Van Eyck; "go, 
 child ! — what on earth can it be 1 " 
 
 Turning possibilities over in her 
 mind, she thought Margaret must be 
 mortified at the contempt with which 
 she was treated by Gerard's fami- 
 ly. " I will take them to task for 
 it, — at least, such of them as are 
 women " ; and, the very next day, she 
 put on her hood and cloak, and, fol- 
 lowed by Richt, went to the hosier's 
 house. Catherine received her with 
 much respect, and thanked her, with 
 teacs, for her kindness to Grcrard. 
 
 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 her- 
 self used to be thwarted, she got pro- 
 voked, and at last went out hastily 
 with an abrupt and mutilated courte- 
 sy, which Catherine returned with an 
 air rather of defiance than obeisance. 
 Outside the door Margaret Van Eyck 
 found Richt conversing with a pale 
 girl on crutches. Margaret Van Eyck 
 was pushing by them with heightened 
 color and a scornful toss, intended 
 for the whole family, when suddenly 
 a little delicate hand glided timid- 
 ly into hers, and, looking round, she 
 saw two dovelikc eyes, \vith the water 
 in them, that sought hers gratefully 
 and at the same time imploringly. 
 The old lady read this wonderful 
 look, complex as it was, and down 
 went her choler. She stooped 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 stu- 
 pid, 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 good 
 
 opinion so hastily formed of her. She 
 
 waited a better opportunity, and told 
 
 her mother Avhat she liad learned from 
 
 Richt Heynes, that Margaret had shed 
 
 her very blood for Gerard in the wood. 
 
 " See, mother, how she loves him." 
 
 " Who would not love him ? " 
 
 " O mother, think of it 1 Pool 
 
 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."
 
 190 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEAUTH. 
 
 Tliis was a point pained ; but 
 when Kate tried to follow it up she 
 was stopj)ed short. 
 
 Ai)imt a niDiith after tliis, a soldier 
 of the Dalt^etty trihe, retiiriiinp from 
 serviee in liurpuiidy, hroupht a letter 
 one cvenin;,' to the hosier's house. He 
 was away on husiness, hut the rest of 
 the family sat at sup|>er. The soldier 
 laid the letter on the tahle by Cath- 
 erine, and, refusing all guerdon for 
 bringing it, went ort' to Sevcnbcr- 
 gen. 
 
 The letter wii-s unfolded and spread 
 out; and, euriously enough, though 
 not one of them eould read, they 
 eould all tc'll it was Licrard's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 " And your firther must be away," 
 cried Catherine. " Are ye not 
 ashamed of yourselves ? not one 
 that eaii read your brother's let- 
 ter '. " 
 
 Hilt, although the words were to 
 them what hiirogly])liies arc to us, 
 there was something in the letter 
 they eould read. There is an art 
 can s[K'ak without words ; unfettiTed 
 bv the jieninau's limits, it can steal 
 through the eye into the heart and 
 brain alike of the learned and un- 
 learned ; and it can cross a frontier 
 <ir a sea, yet lose nothing, it is at 
 the mercy of no translator ; for it 
 writes an universal language. 
 
 When, therefore, they saw the 
 sketch of two hands grasping each 
 other, which (lerard had drawn with 
 his pencil In'twi-en the two short 
 ]iaragraphs of which his letter con- 
 sistcil, they read it, and it went 
 straight to their hearts. 
 
 (ierard was bidding them farewell. 
 
 As the}' gazed on that simple 
 sketch, in every turn and line of 
 which they recognized his manner, 
 (ierard seemed present, and bidding 
 them farewell. 
 
 The women wept over it till they 
 eould see it no longer. 
 
 Giles said, " Poor Gerard ! " in a 
 lower voice than seemed to belong to 
 
 lillU. 
 
 Even Conielis and Sybrandt felt a 
 
 momentary remorse, and iat silent 
 and gloomy. 
 
 But how to get the words read to 
 them. They were loath to show 
 their ignorance and their emotion 
 to a stranger. 
 
 "The Dame Van Eyck ? " said 
 Kate, timidlv. 
 
 " And so 1 will, Kate. She has a 
 go<jd heart. She loves Gerard, too. 
 She will be glad to hear of him. 1 
 was short with her when she came 
 here ; but I w ill make my submis- 
 sion, and then she will tell me what 
 my j)oor child says to me." 
 
 She was soon at Margaret Van 
 Eyik's house. Kicht took her into a 
 n)om, 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 ro.se and courteously luado 
 way for the visitor. 
 
 " Thank you, young lady ; the win- 
 ter nights are cold, and ymir stove is 
 a treat." Catherine then, while warm- 
 ing her hands, inspccte<l her compan- 
 ion furtivelv from head to foot, lioth 
 inclusive. The young [K-rson wore an 
 ordinary wimple, but her gtjwn was 
 trimmed with fur, which w;us, in these 
 (lays, almost a sign of siij)erior rank 
 or wealth. But what most struck 
 Catherine was the candor and mod- 
 esty of the face. She felt sure of 
 symjiathy from so good a counte- 
 nance, and K'gan to gossip. 
 
 " 2sow, what think you brings mo 
 here, young lady ? It is a letter; a 
 letter from my poor lK)y that is far 
 aw.ay 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 ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can ye, now 1 It is much to 
 your credit, my dear. I dare say 
 she won't be long ; but every min- 
 ute is an hour to a poor, longing 
 mother." 
 
 " I will read it to you." 
 
 " Bless you, my dear ; bless you ! " 
 
 In her unfeigned eagerness shp
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 191 
 
 never noticed the suppressed eager- 
 ness with whicli the hand was slowly 
 put out to take the letter. She did 
 not see the tremor witli which the 
 fingers closed on it. 
 
 " Come, then, read it to me, prithee. 
 I am wearying for it." 
 
 " The lirst woi'ds are, ' To my 
 honored parents.' " 
 
 " Ay ! and he always did lionor us, 
 ])oor soul." 
 
 " ' God and his saints have you in 
 his holy keeping, and bless you by 
 night and by day. Your one harsh 
 deed is forgotten ; your years 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 fare- 
 well.' " 
 
 " Ay, go on ; bless you, girl ; j'ou 
 give me sorry comfort. Still 't is 
 comfort." 
 
 " ' To my brothers Cornelis and 
 Sybrandt : — Be content; you will 
 see me no more ! ' " 
 
 " What does that mean ? Ah ! " 
 
 " ' To my sister Kate. Little angel 
 of my father's house, be kind to 
 htr — ' Ah!" 
 
 " That is Margaret Brandt, my 
 dear, — his sweetheart, poor soul. 
 I 've not been kind to her, my 
 dear. Forgive me, Gerard ! " 
 
 " ' — for poor Gerard's sake ; since 
 grief to her is death — to — me — ' 
 Ah ! " And nature, resenting the poor 
 girl's struggle for unnatural compo- 
 sure, suddenly gave way, and she 
 sank from her chair and lay insen- 
 sible, with the letter in her hand, and 
 her head on Catherine's knees. 
 
 CHAPTER XLT. 
 
 Experienced women are not 
 
 frightened when a woman faints, 
 
 nor do they hastily attribute it to 
 
 anything but phvsical causes, which 
 
 "9 
 
 they have often seen produce it 
 Catherine bustled about; laid the 
 girl down with her head on the floor 
 quite flat, opened the window, and un- 
 loosed 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 Richt 
 came and found Margaret lying quite 
 flat, and Catherine beating her hands. 
 
 " my poor girl ! What have you 
 done to her ? " 
 
 " Me ? " said Catherine, angrily. 
 
 " What has happened, then ? " 
 
 " Nothing, madam ; nothing more 
 than is natural in her situation." 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck colored 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 ? was it not you and your 
 husband that kept them apart ; and 
 now he is gone to Italy all alone. 
 Situation indeed ? You have broken 
 her heart amongst you." 
 
 " Why, madam ? Who is it then, 
 in Heaven's name ? 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 soft- 
 ened, " now you have seen lier, per- 
 haps 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 ! trouble behind 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 'II
 
 l'J2 
 
 Tin: CI.dlSlKlC AND THK UKAIMH. 
 
 lio s\si>in. Slio ii toniiiii; to. What, 
 BwetllHurt ' U- not nfcartl, none ore 
 here ttiit Iricnil.s." 
 
 Tin y sfiititl lier in an «usv-<hnir. 
 Ah tlu: (•t)l<»r wiu cnt-piiiK buck to her 
 fmo anil lii)s, {'atherino tlruw Mar- 
 ^^art't Van Kyrk uiiidc. 
 
 " la »hi' -Htayinjj with you, if you 
 |>l«'ii.se ! " 
 
 " No, tnnilani." 
 
 " I W(ju|il n't Ift licr (;<> Imck to 
 SevetilMrjjiii tf)-ni;jht, then." 
 
 " That is as she plea.se.s. She ittill 
 rffuses to hiile tlie ni^ht." 
 
 " Ay, but you are ohier than .she i.s ; 
 Miu iiin lual^f her. There, she i.s be- 
 1,'inniiij,' to nt)tice." t'ntherine then 
 iiiit her mouth to Mar;,'aret Van j 
 liyek's ear for lialf a nioinei\t ; it ilid j 
 not .strni time enough tn wlii.sjHT a 
 won!, far le.-s a M-ntinei'. IJut on i 
 ^*ome topirs fi'iiiules can thi.-sli com- 1 
 munieation to female liki; li^htnin;;, 
 or lhou;;ht it-^lf. 
 
 The uUl Ituly started and whi.spirvil 
 bai-k : — 
 
 " It 'a false ! it is a calumny ! it \a 
 monstrous ! Look at her fncc. It i» 
 lilasiiliemy to aceusc sueh a face." 
 
 •• I'ut !' tut ! tut ! " said the otiicr, 
 " you mi;;ht as well .say this is not 
 inV hand. I oupht to know ; and I 
 tell yo it is so." 
 
 Then, much to Marpnn-t Van 
 Kyek's surprise, she went up to the 
 ;:irl, and, takin;: her n>un<l tlic neck, 
 kissiil her wannlv. " I sutVered for 
 (lernrd, and you .slud your bloml for 
 him, I <lo hear ; his own wonls show 
 ine I have Inen to blame, the very 
 words you have read to mc. Ay, 
 (Jeranl, my ehilil, I have held al<M)f 
 ritini her. But I '11 make it up to her, 
 <>iui> I lK';:in. You are my dani;htcr 
 from this hour." 
 
 Another warm embnu-e scale<l this 
 hasty compact, and the woman of im- 
 pulse was tronc. 
 
 Mnrjjnret lay back in her chair, and 
 a feeble smile stole over her face. Ge- 
 rard's mother had kissed her, and 
 called her dau^'hter ; l»ut the next 
 moment she saw her old friend look- 
 ing at her with a vexed air. 
 
 " I wonder you let ih it wonuui 
 kiss vou." 
 
 " Ilis mother ! " miirniure«l Mftr- 
 paret, half reproachfidly. 
 
 " Mother or no mother, you would 
 not let her touch vou if you knew 
 what she whis]RTC(i in my ear about 
 you." 
 
 " Alxmt me ? " said Marpirct, 
 faintly. 
 
 " Av, alK>ut you, whom she never 
 saw till tiHuipht." The old lady was 
 pHKcedinp, with .M)me hesitation and 
 choice of lan;;ua;:e, to make .Marj^a- 
 ret share her indi;;milion, when an 
 uidiMiked-for interruption closed her 
 lips. 
 
 The youiiR wonmn slid from her 
 chair to her knees, ami lK'j;an to pray 
 jiiteously to her for |>ardon. From the 
 words and the manner of |Miiiteniv a 
 by-stander wiuild have ^athereil she 
 had inflii'tcd soiiie <Tiirl wronp, some 
 intolerable insult, uiM>n her venerable 
 friend. 
 
 ( iiArrr.K xi.ii. 
 
 The little partv at the hosier's 
 house sat at table discussing; the 
 n-cent event, when their mother re- 
 turned, and, casting; a piercing glance 
 nil roiiiul the little circle, laid the let 
 ter Hat on the table. She n-neatcd 
 every word of it by memory, lollow- 
 in;; the lines with her lin;rer, to 
 cheat herself and hearers into the 
 notion that she cinild read the words, 
 or nearly. Then, suddenly liftinf; 
 her head, she cast another keen look 
 on Conielis and Sybnmdt ; their 
 eyes fril. 
 
 <»n this the storm that had long 
 Ueti brewiu;; Iturst on their heads. 
 
 Catherine seemed to swell like an 
 anpry hen rurtlinfr her feathers, and 
 out of her mouth came a Hlione and 
 Saone of wisdom and twaddle, of 
 f^reat and mean in\e(tive, such as 
 no male that ever was liorn could 
 utter in one current, ami not many 
 women. 
 
 The following is u fair, though a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 193 
 
 Bmall 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. You 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 '? Avork 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 arc 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 yc 
 came from : ye don't take after 3'our 
 father, and yc are no more like me 
 than a wasp is to an ant : sure yc 
 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 afflict- 
 ed ; but often, wlien 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 j^ou will ! for 
 you can be no worse in His eyes that 
 made both Kate and Giles, and in 
 mine that suftered for them, poor dar- 
 lings, as I did for you, you paltry, un- 
 feeling, treasonable curs ! No, 1 will 
 not hush, my daughter ; they have 
 flUed 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 
 find wouldn't see too much, and bit- 
 ten 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 fllled the cup too 
 full. And where got ye all this 
 money ? For the 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 so swelled, Cornelis. Sloth and 
 greed are ill mated, my masters. 
 Lovers of money must sweat or steal. 
 Well, if you robbed any poor soul of 
 it, it was some woman, I 'il 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 your gear if 
 ever it comes to be yourn. I liave 
 watched you, my lads, this while. 
 You have spent a groat to-day be- 
 tween you. And I spend scarce a 
 groat a week, and keep you all, good 
 and bad. No ! give up waiting for 
 the shoes that will maybe walk be- 
 hind your coffin ; for this shop and 
 this house shall never be yourn. Ge- 
 rard is our heir ; poor Gerard whom 
 you have banished and done your 
 best to kill ; after that never call me 
 mother again ! 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 you left the seed, — the 
 seed that shall outgrow you, and out- 
 live you. Margaret Brandt is quick, 
 and it is Gerard's, and what is Ge- 
 rard's is mine ; and I have prayed the 
 saints it may be a boy ; and it will — 
 it must. Kate, when I found it wns 
 so, my bowels yearned over her child 
 unborn as if it had been my own. He 
 is our heir. He Avill outlive us. You 
 will not ; for a bad heart in a carcass 
 is like tlic 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 Sev»
 
 191 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE IIEAKTir. 
 
 cnberpen. We will Ixirrow Peter 
 Hii\>ki'ns's (lift iiini ^'u i nmtbrt <io- 
 riiril'.s wife iimler hur liurdcii. She 
 is liis wife. Who is Ghvshrecht Van 
 Swieteii ! Cuii he come hetween a 
 couple niiii the iilliir, utiil siiiuler those 
 that (lod and the priest make one? 
 She is niv ihui;;hter, and I am as 
 proud of her a> I am of you, Kate, 
 almost : and us for you, keep out of 
 my wav awhile ; for you arc like the 
 hiaek (lojj ill my eyes." 
 
 Cornelis and Syhrandt took the 
 hint and slunk out, aehing with re- 
 morse an<l imj>enitenee and hate. 
 'J'hey avoiiicd her I've a.-< much as 
 ever they eould ; and for many davs 
 pile never .sjMjke a word, nootl, had, or 
 inilitlerent, to either of thein. Liber- 
 ai-frut animum suum. 
 
 ClIAl'TKU XLllI. 
 
 C vTiiEniNE wim n trood housewife, 
 who seldom left home for a iluy, and 
 then one thin;: or another always 
 went amiss. She was keenly eon- 
 seioiis of this, and, watehiii;; for a 
 slaek tide in thin;rs domestic, put otV 
 her visit to Seveuher^en from day to 
 ilay, and one afternoon that it really 
 could have hit-n manaj;ed, I'eter liuy- 
 skens's mule wits out of the way. 
 
 At last one day Kli asked her, lic- 
 fure all the family, whether it wa.s true 
 .she had thoujj;lit of visitiii;; Mar;;aret 
 Brandt. 
 
 " Av, my man." 
 
 " Then I do forhid you." 
 
 " O, <lo vou ? " 
 
 "I do."" 
 
 " Then there is no more to be said, 
 I supiH)sc," said she, coloring. 
 
 " Not a word," rcplie<l Kli, sternly. 
 
 When she was alone with her 
 da>ii:hter she was very severe, not 
 upon l'",li, but upon herself. 
 
 " lieiiooved mc rather ;xo thither like 
 a eat at a robin. But iliis was me all 
 over, 1 am like a silly hen that can 
 lay no e^r.u: without cackling', and < on- 
 vciiini: all the house to rob her ou 't. 
 
 Next time you and I are after nu^ht 
 the least amiss, let 's do 't in Heaven's 
 name then and there, and not tuko 
 time to think about it, far less talk; 
 so then, if they take us to task we 
 can say, alack, we knew nauj;ht ; wo 
 thought no ill; now, who'd ever? 
 and so forth. I''or two i)ins I 'd go 
 thither in all their teeth.' 
 
 Dehanee so wild and picturesque 
 staj.'i,'ered Kate. " Nay, mother ; with 
 patience father will come r<jund." 
 
 " And so will Michaelmns ; but 
 when '. and I was so U-nt on you see- 
 in;,' the ^'irl. Then we coulil have 
 put our heads to;:etlKT about her. 
 .^aj what they will, there is no jud;;- 
 in;; body or beast but l)y the eye. 
 And were I to have fifty more sons 
 I 'd ne'er thwart one of tlieni's fancy, 
 till such time a.s I had clapiied my 
 eyes ujMin her and .s<'en (piicKsands ; 
 say you, I should have ihou;:ht of 
 that Ufore «(Hidemnin;; (lerarrl his 
 fancv ; but there, life is a schtMd, nnd 
 the lesson ne'er done; we put down 
 one fault and take up t'other, and so 
 p> blundering: hen- nnd bluiidirinp 
 there, till we blunder into our ^'ravcs, 
 and there 's an end of us." 
 
 " .Mother," said Kate, timidly. 
 
 " Well, what is a comin;: now ? no 
 pood news thouj;h, by the look of you. 
 What on earth can make jioor wench 
 so scared ? " 
 
 " An avowal she hath to make," 
 faltered Kate, faintly. 
 
 " Now, there is a noble word for 
 ye," said Catherine, iiroiully. " Our 
 Cierard tau;,'ht thee tliat, I 'II po bail. 
 Come then, out with thy vowel." 
 
 " Well then, sooth to say, I have 
 seen her." 
 
 " Anan ? " 
 
 " And spoken with her to boot." 
 
 " And never told inc ? After this, 
 manels are dirt." 
 
 " ^lother, you were so hot a;,'ainst 
 her. I waited till I could tell you 
 without an;rerin;r you worse." 
 
 "Ay," said Catherine, half sadlv, 
 half bitterly, " like mother, like daugh- 
 ter ; cowanlif-e it is our bane. The 
 others I whiles bufiet ; or how would
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 195 
 
 the house fare? but did you, Kate, 
 ever have harsh word or look from 
 your poor mother, that you — 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 lirst and fore- 
 most when ever, and how ever, wond 
 you to Sevenbergen, wi' your poor 
 crutches, and I not know ? ' 
 
 " 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, dis- 
 putatively, " said I not 't was all un- 
 like my girl to seek her unbeknown to 
 ine ! Come now, for I 'm all agog." 
 
 " Then, thus 't was. It came to 
 my cars, 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 't was pre- 
 tended." 
 
 Catherine uttered a sigh that was 
 almost a moan. " Blacker than I 
 thought," she muttered fointly. 
 
 " 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' devils, and we whitened a 
 bit in moonshine. But next moment, 
 quo' I, ' You are Margaret ' ; ' And 
 you are Kate,' quo', she. Think 
 on 't." 
 
 " Did one ever ? — 'T was Gerard ! 
 He will have been talking backwards 
 and forwards of thee to her, and her 
 to thee." 
 
 In return for this, Kate bestowed 
 on Catherine one of the prettiest pres- 
 ents in nature, — the composite kiss ; 
 i. e. she imprinted on her cheek a sin- 
 gle kiss, which said : — 
 
 1. Quite correct. 
 
 2. Good, clever mother, for guess- 
 ing 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 ? would to Heaven he 
 were." 
 
 " Well, then, she is comely, and 
 wrongs her picture but little." 
 
 " Eh, dear ; liark to young folk-! I 
 am for good acts, not good looks. 
 Loves she my boy as he did ought to 
 be loved ? " 
 
 " Sevenbergen is fi\rther 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 cap- 
 tives' tower." 
 
 Catherine shook her head incredu- 
 lously. " The highest tower for miles ! 
 It is not feasible." 
 
 " 'T is sooth though. She and an 
 old man she brought found means and 
 wit to send him up a rope. There 
 't was dangling from his prison, and 
 our Giles went up it. When first I 
 saw it hang, I said, ' This is gla- 
 mour.' But when the frank lass's 
 arms came round me, and her bosom 
 did beat on mine, and her cheeks wet, 
 then said I, " 'T is not glamour ; 't is 
 love. For she is not like me, but 
 lusty and able ; and, dear heart, even 
 I, poor frail creature, do feel some- 
 times as I could move the world for 
 them I love ; I \oveyou, mother. And 
 she loves Gerard." 
 
 " God bless her for it ! God bless 
 her ! " 
 
 " But." 
 
 " But what. Iamb ? " 
 
 " Her love, is it for very certain 
 honest ■? 'T is 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."
 
 19G 
 
 THE CLOISTKK AND llIK IIKARTII. 
 
 " Ilumjih ! They liavc stood at th' 
 6ltnr to;,'«tlicT." 
 
 " Ay, hut they wiiit as they came, 
 maid and hachelor." 
 
 " The parson, snith he so ? " 
 
 " Nay, for iliat I kntnv not." 
 
 " Thi-n I 'II takr no man's word hut 
 his in sueh n taiij;led skein." After 
 some retleetion she aihled, " N'athi-- 
 less art ri>;ht, pirl, I 'II to Si'viiiUt- 
 ^ren alone. A wifu I am, hut not a 
 slave. We are all in the dark here, 
 and she holds theeh-w. I must <|ues- 
 tion her, and no one hy ; least of all 
 yon. I 'II n(tt take my lilv to a house 
 wi' a sj)ot, no, not to a palaec o' jj;old 
 and sijvir." 
 
 The more Catherine jjondcn-d this 
 eonviTsation, the more shi' felt drawn 
 towards Marpiret, ami nioreov»T " she 
 was all a;,'o;r " with curiosity, a jiotent 
 passion with us all, and nearly oin- 
 ni|)<jtent with those who, like Cathe- 
 rine, do not slaki' it with readinp. At 
 last, one fine day after dinner, she 
 whisprnd to Kate, " KtTj) the house 
 from t:oiTiix to picrt'S, an ye can " ; 
 and doiineil ln-r hcst kirtle ami hoixl, 
 and her scarlet clocked liose and her 
 new shcK's, and trud;.'cd hriskly otl' 
 to Sevenhergen, trouhling no man's 
 mule. 
 
 When she pot there she inquired 
 where Margaret Brandt lived. Tlic 
 first |R'rson she lusked shook his head, 
 ami said, " The name is strange to 
 me." She went a little farther and 
 asked a girl of alK)ut fiftirn who was 
 standing at a door. " Father," said 
 the girl, s|ieaking into the hou.sc, 
 " here is another after that miigician's 
 daunhter. " The man came out and 
 told Catherine I'cter Brandt's cottage 
 was just outside the town on the east 
 side. " You may sec the chimney 
 hence " ; and he pointed it out to her. 
 " But you will not hnd them there, 
 nother father nor daughter ; they 
 have left the town this week, bless 
 you." 
 
 " Say not so, good mnn, and me 
 walken all the way from Tergou." 
 
 " From Tergou ? then you must 
 ha' met the soldier." 
 
 "What soldier? ay, I did meet ■ 
 soldier." 
 
 " Well.thcti, yon soldier wius here 
 seeking that selfsame Margaret." 
 
 " iVy, and war n't a mad with us 
 Ikmiiusc she wjls gone ' " put in the 
 girl. " His long heard and her check 
 are no strangers, I warrant." 
 
 " Say no more tlutn ve know," said 
 Catherine, shaqdy. "You arcyounp 
 to take to .slandering your elders. 
 Stay ! tell me more ahout this archer, 
 good man." 
 
 " Nay, I know no more than that 
 he came hither .seiking Margaret 
 Brandt, ami I told him she and lier 
 father had made a moonlight flit 
 on 't this day sennight, and that 
 some thought the Devil had flown 
 away with them, heing magicians." 
 ' And,' says he, ' the Devil fly away 
 with tliiv for thy ill news ' ; that was 
 my thank.s. ' But I douht 't is a lie,' 
 said he. ' An you think so,' said I, 
 'goandsi-e.' 'I will,' said he, and 
 hurst out wi' a hantle o' gihherish, — 
 my wife thinks 'twas curses, — and 
 hied him to the cottage. Presently 
 hack a conies, and sings t'other 
 tune. ' You were right and I was 
 wrong,' says he, and shoves a silver 
 coin in my hantl. Show it the wife, 
 some of ye ; thi'n she '11 l)elieve mc. 
 I have been called a liar once to- 
 day." 
 
 " It needs not," said Catherine, 
 inspecting the coin all the same. 
 
 " And he sirmedfjuiet and saddikc, 
 did n't he now, wench ? " 
 
 " That a <lid," said the younp wo- 
 man, warmly ; " and, ilaine, he was 
 just as pretty a man as ever I claj)j)wl 
 eves on. Checks like a rose, and 
 shining licard, and eyes in his head 
 like sloes." 
 
 " I saw he was well bearded," said 
 Catherine ; " hut, for the rest, at my 
 age I scan them not as when I was 
 young and fofdish. But he seemed 
 right civil ; dofled his Umnet to me 
 a.s I had l>een a queen, and I did drop 
 him my best reverence, for manners 
 I lK\<ret manners. But little I wist he 
 1 had been her liyht o' love, and most
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 197 
 
 likely the— Who bakes for this 
 town ? " 
 
 The man, not being acquainted 
 with her, opened his e3'es at tliis 
 transition, swift and smooth. 
 
 " Well, dame, there be two ; John 
 Bush and Eric Donaldson, they both 
 bide in this street." 
 
 " Then, God be with you, good 
 
 Eeople," said she, and proceeded ; 
 ut 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. Did 
 n't believe they owed a copper in the 
 town." So Catherine got all the infor- 
 mation of that kind she wanted with 
 very little trouble. 
 
 " Can you tell me what sort this 
 Margaret was "? " 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." 
 
 " 'T is no small praise. A well- 
 looking lass, I am told ? " 
 
 " Why, whence come you, wife ? " 
 
 " From Tergou." 
 
 " 0, 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 Ter- 
 gou dejected. 
 
 Kate naet her outside the town with 
 beaming eyes. 
 
 " Well, Kate, lass, it is a happy 
 thing I went ; I am heart-broken. 
 Gerard has l)eeu sore abused. The 
 child is none of ourn, nor the mother 
 from this liour." 
 
 " Alas, mother, I fiithom not your 
 meaning." 
 
 "Ask me no more, girl, but never 
 mention her name to mc again. 
 That is all." 
 
 Kate acquiesced with a humble 
 sigh, and they went home together. 
 
 They found a soldier seated tran- 
 quilly by their fire. The moment 
 they entered the door, he rose, and 
 saluted them civilly. They stood and 
 looked at liini, Kate with some little 
 surprise, but Catherine with a great 
 deal, and with rising indignation. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Denys, placed in the middle of his 
 companions, lest he should be so mad 
 as attempt escape, was carried oif 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 now rave at heav- 
 en 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 out- 
 side the town, and the whole caval- 
 cade drew up and baited at the 
 " Tete d'Or." 
 
 The young landlady, though much 
 occupied with the count, and still more 
 with the Bastard, caught sight of 
 Denys, and asked hira somewhat 
 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 he/
 
 198 
 
 Tin: CLOISTKK AND THK MF.ARTH, 
 
 lieail. " I trow I have Ikitj soine- 
 wtiiit o\(T-kiiiil iilrt'iMlv," Miiil she, 
 nml turiit'd riulicr rctl. 
 " You will not i " 
 
 " ^"' ^" 
 
 " Then — " Anil la- [wund ii volU-y 
 
 of cursos and alm^e ii|k)ii Irt. 
 
 Slif ttiriic<i liLT liiu'k upon liitn nml 
 went otV whim]HTinir, and savin;; she 
 was not usttl to U' cursed at ; and 
 ordeR'd hir hind to saddle two 
 niuleii. 
 
 J)eny8 went north with his tnK)[), 
 mute and dnnipin;; over his saddle, 
 and, quite unknown to iiim, that 
 veracious youn;; lady made an eques- 
 trian toilet in only forty minutes, she 
 Ixinj; reallv in a hurry, and sj)urnd 
 away with lier ser^•ant in the o|)j)Osite 
 direction. 
 
 At dark, after a lont: march, the 
 HiL^tard ami his men reai-hed " the 
 White Hart." 'I'heir arrival cau-scd 
 a pnnli^'iou.H hustle, and it waj* oomo 
 time l)efon; Monon discovered her old 
 friend amonp »<) many. When .she 
 ilid, she showed it only l)y heightened 
 color. She diil not claim the ae(|uaint- 
 ancc. The jMK>r soul wjw already l)c- 
 pnninp to scorn 
 
 "The baac decrees by which the dlil oioend." 
 
 Denys .saw, hut could not smile. 
 The inn reminded him too much of 
 (rirard. 
 
 Kre the ni^'ht closeil the wind 
 c)ian;re<l. She looked into the room 
 and iK-ckoiu'd him with her finp>r. 
 lie rose sulkily, and his j^uard.-t with 
 him. 
 
 " Nay, I would speak a word to 
 tlioe in private." She drew him to a 
 corner of tlio room, and there asked 
 him, under her hrealh, would he do 
 her a kindness. 
 
 lie answered out loud, " No, he 
 would not, he was not in the vein to do 
 kindnesses to man or womaji. If he 
 did a kindness it slunild he to a dog ; 
 and nut that if ho could liclp it." 
 
 " Alas, good archer, I did you one 
 eftsoons, you and your pretty com- 
 ratle," .said Manon, humbly. 
 
 " You did, damo, you did ; well, 
 then, for liis sake, what is 't to ilo > " 
 
 " Thou knowest mv story. 1 had 
 U-en unfortunate. Now I am wor- 
 shipful. Hut a woman did cast him 
 in my teeth this day. And so 'twill 
 Ih- ever while he hangs there. I 
 would have him ta'cn down ; weJl-a- 
 da_N ! " 
 
 •■ With all n»y lieart." 
 
 " And none dare I ask hut thi-o. 
 Will do 't ' " 
 
 " Not I, even were I not a pris- 
 oner." 
 
 On this stern refusal the tender 
 Mamin sighed, and cla-sju-d her palms 
 togither des|»onilently. Deiiys told 
 her she need not fret. There wert) 
 soldiers of a lower stamp who would 
 not make two bites of such a cherry. 
 It was a mere uiatler of money ; if 'he 
 could tind two angols, he would tind 
 two sulilit i- to do the tlirtv work of 
 the " White llaiU" 
 
 This was not very palatable. How- 
 ever, reflecting that soldiers were ...rd* 
 of pa.s.'^agc, drinking here to night, 
 knocked on the head there tt>morrow, 
 she said, st)ftly, " Send them out to 
 me. liut prithee tell them that 't is 
 for one that is my frieticl ; let them 
 ju>t think 't is for me. 1 should sink 
 into th' earth ; times are changed." 
 
 Dcnys found warriors glad to win 
 an angel apiece so easily. He sent 
 them out, and, instantly dismissing 
 the subject with contempt, sat brood- 
 ing on his lost friend. 
 
 Manon and the warriors soon came 
 to a general understamling. But what 
 Were they to do with the l>o<ly when 
 taken down ? She murraurerl, " The 
 river is nigh the — the — j)lace." 
 
 " fling him in, eh ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; be not so cruel ! Could 
 yc not put him — gently — in — with 
 something weitrhty ? " 
 
 She must luive been thinking on 
 the subject in detail ; for she was not 
 one to whom ideas came quickly. 
 
 All was spceilily agrec(l, except the 
 time of payment. The mail-clad 
 itched for it, and sought it in ad- 
 vance. Manon demurred to that.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 199 
 
 What, did she doubt their word ? 
 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 for- 
 gotten her precept to Denys. 
 
 An hour later the disagreeable 
 relict of caterpillar 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 executing with mediajval na- 
 ivete the precept " Off wi' the auld 
 love," received a shock. They found 
 the market-place black with groups ; 
 it had been empty an hour ago. Con- 
 science smote them. This came of 
 meddling with the dead. However, 
 the bolder of the two, encouraged by 
 the darkness, stole forward alone, and 
 slyly mingled with a group ; he soon 
 returned to his companion, saying, in 
 a tone of reproach not strictly reason- 
 able : — 
 
 " Ye born fool, it is only a miracle." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Letters of fire on the church 
 wall had just inquired, with an ap- 
 pearance of genuine curiosity, why 
 there was no mass for the duke in this 
 time of trouble. The supernatural 
 expostulation had been seen by many, 
 and had gradually ftided, 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 sov- 
 ereign, invested freely in masses. By 
 "* this an old friend of ours, the cure, 
 profited in hard cash, for which he 
 9* 
 
 had a very pretty taste. But for this 
 I would not of course have deta^ined 
 you over so trite an occurrence 4s 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 imtil the sedition shall 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. 
 He told her. She took a bright view 
 of the case. Gerard was too hand- 
 some and well-behaved to come to 
 harm. The women, too, would al- 
 ways be 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, per- 
 haps 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 ar- 
 gument, 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 friend 
 was walking alone. 
 
 Foot-soldiers in small bodies, down 
 to twos and threes, were already on 
 the road, making lazily towards Flan- 
 ders, many of them penniless, but 
 passed from town to town by the bail- 
 iifs, with orders for food and lodging 
 on the innkeepers. 
 
 Anthony of Burgundy overtook 
 numbers of these, and gathered them 
 under his standard, 30 that he entered
 
 200 
 
 TlIK CLOISTER AND THK HKAHTH. 
 
 Flanders at the head of six hundred 
 iiiL'ii. ( )ii crossiim the I'roiitier he was 
 met hy his hrother Bahlwvu, witli 
 uieii, anus, and provisions ; he or- 
 fjani/ed liis wliole force, and marched 
 on in huttle array throu;;li several 
 towns, not only without impediment, 
 lint witli iXTvM acclamations. This 
 loMklty called forth comments not 
 altogether pracious. 
 
 " 'I'his relM-liion of ours is a hitc," 
 fjrow led a soldier called Simon, who 
 had elected himself Denys's comrade. 
 
 Denys said nothing:, hut made a 
 little vow to St. Mars to shoot this 
 ,\iithony of Hiir^uudy dead, should 
 the relK*llion, that had eo»t him Ge- 
 rard, prove no rehellion. 
 
 That afteriKM)!! they came in sij,'ht 
 of a stron;;ly fortified town ; and a 
 whisper went throu;:h the little army 
 tliat this was a disaffected place. 
 
 Hut, when they came in si;;ht, the 
 pn-at pate stood ojH'n, and the towers 
 that Hiuiked it on each side were 
 manneil with a sinple sentinel apiive. 
 So the atlvancinp fone somewhat 
 hroke their array and marched care- 
 lesslv. 
 
 When thoy were within a furlonp, 
 the drawhridpe across the moat rose 
 slowly anil cri-akinp till it stood verti- 
 cal apainst the fort, and, the very 
 moment it settled into this warlike 
 attitude, down rattled the portcullis 
 at the pate, and the towers and cur- 
 tains hristled with lances and cross- 
 Ijows. 
 
 A stem hum ran throuph the Bas- 
 tard's front nuik and spread to the 
 rear. 
 
 " Halt ! " cried he, and the word 
 went down the line, and they halted. 
 " Herald, to the pate ! " A pursui- 
 vant spurred out of the ranks, and, 
 haltinp twenty yards from the pate, 
 raised his huplc with his herald's thip 
 hanpinp down rouml it, and hlew a 
 summons. A tall tipvire in brazen 
 annor ajjpcarcd over the pate. A few 
 liery words passed between him and 
 the herald, which were not audible, 
 but their import clear, for the herald 
 blew a single keen and threatening 
 
 note at the walls, and camo pallopinX 
 back with war in his face. The Uoa- 
 tard movetl out of the line to ntect 
 him, and their heads had not In-en to 
 pettier two seconds ere he turned la 
 his saddle and shouted, '• rione«rs, to 
 the van ! " ami in a moment hedpwj 
 were levelled, and the force took the 
 hehl, and cncamiH-d just out of shot 
 froni the walls ; and away went 
 mounte<l officers tlyinp south, east, 
 and west, to the friendly towns, for 
 catapults, palisades, nuintelets, raw 
 hides, tarbarrels, i-arjM'iiters, provis- 
 ions, and all the nuitcrials fur a sicpc. 
 
 The bripht {H-rsjKCtive miphlilj 
 chwretl t)ne driMtpinp .soldier. At the 
 first clanp of the jKjrtcullis his eyes 
 briphtened and his tem|ile flushed ; 
 and when the herald came back with 
 battle in his e\e he saw it in a mo- 
 ment, and for tlie first time this many 
 days crieil, " Counjpe, tout Ic mondo, 
 le (liable est mort." 
 
 If that preat warrior heard, how he 
 must have grinned. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 The besiepers cncami)od a furlong 
 from the walls, and made mails, kej)! 
 their pikemen in camp ready for an 
 assault when j)racticable, and sent 
 forward their sap|H.'rs, pioneers, cata- 
 pultiers, and cross-lK>w-men. Theso 
 opened a siepe by filling the moat, 
 and mining or breaching the wall, 
 etc. And, a-s much of their work had 
 to be done under close fire of arrows, 
 nuarrels, bolts, .stones, and little nx-ks, 
 tne alK)ve artists " had need of a hun- 
 dred eyes," and acted in concert with 
 a vipiiancc, and an amount of indi- 
 vidual intelligence, daring, and skill, 
 that made a siepc very intiresting, 
 and even amusing, to lookers on. 
 
 The first tliinp they did was to ad- 
 vance their carjienters Ixhind 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 ; fur a strong forc«
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 201 
 
 of cross-bow-men, including Denys, 
 rolled their mantelets up and shot 
 over the workmen's heads at every 
 besieged who showed his nose, and at 
 every loop-hole, ai-row-slit, or other 
 aperture which commanded the par- 
 ticular spot the carpenters happened 
 to be upon. Covered by their con- 
 densed fire, these soon raised a high 
 palisade between them and the ordi- 
 nary missiles from the pierced ma- 
 sonry. 
 
 But the besieged expected this, and 
 ran out at night their hoards, or 
 wooden pent-houses on the top of the 
 curtains. The curtains were built 
 with square holes near the top to re- 
 ceive the beams that supported these 
 structures, the true defence of medi- 
 aeval 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 cur- 
 tain, or even through the sloping cren- 
 elets 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. Contemporaneously 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 be- 
 sieged. 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 ex- 
 cellent shots. These ended by earn- 
 ing him the esteem of an unseen 
 archer, who every now and then sent 
 a winged compliment quivering into 
 his mantelet. One came and stuck 
 witliin an inch of the narrow slit 
 through which Denys was squinting 
 at the moment. " Peste," cried he, 
 
 " you shoot well, my friend. Coma 
 forth and receive my congratulations ! 
 Shall merit such as thine hide its 
 head 1 Comrade, it is one of those 
 cursed Englishmen, with his hal^Il 
 shaft. I '11 not die till I 've had a snot 
 at London wall." 
 
 On the besieged's side was a figure 
 that soon attracted great notice by 
 promenading under fire. It was a tail 
 knight, clad in complete brass, and 
 carrying a light but prodigiously long 
 lance, with which he directed the 
 movements of the besieged. And, 
 when any disaster befell the besiegers, 
 this long knight and his tall lance 
 were pretty sure to be concerned in it. 
 
 My young readers will say, " Why 
 did not Denys shoot him 1 " 
 
 Denys did shoot him, every day 
 of his life ; other arbalestricrs 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 demoralized 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 armor. 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 spoilt 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 ? Poet with 
 his note-book may repeat, " Suave 
 etiam belli certamina magna tueri " ; 
 but the sentiment is hollow and savors 
 of cuckoo. You can't tueri anything 
 but a horrid row. He did n't say 
 " Suave etiam ingentem caliginem 
 tueri, per eampos instructam." 
 
 They managed better in the middle 
 ages.
 
 202 
 
 THE CLOISTKK AND THE HEAKTR 
 
 This sicfrc was a small affair : hut, I 
 Buc'h a.-( it was, a writrr or minstrel I 
 coulil str it, and turn an lioiu'st pon- 
 n_v i)y sinj,'inK it ; so far then the s|)ort I 
 w;ks ri-asonablf, and served an end. | 
 It was a bright day, dear, hut not 
 (|uite frosty. The efforts of the 
 iK'siegiuf; force were concentrated 
 af,'ainst a s|>nce of al><>ut two hundreil 
 and lifty yards, contjiinin^ two cur- 
 tains and two towers, one of which 
 was the square harliican ; the other 
 had a j)ointed roof that was huilt to 
 overlap, resting,' on a stone machico- 
 lade, and liy this mians a row of dan- 
 j^erous crenelets hetween the roof and 
 the masonry ^jrinned down at the 
 nearest assailants, and looke<l not very 
 unlike the grinders of a modern fri- 
 gate with each j)ort nearly closed. The 
 curtains were overlapiK-d with jK-nt- 
 houses, somewhat shattered hy the 
 mant;onels, trehuchets, and other 
 sliuginj; engines of the l)esie<rcrs. < )n 
 tho bcsie;;ers' edj^e of the moat was 
 what seemed at first si;;ht a f;ipintie 
 arsenal, longer than it was hroad, 
 pcojded hy human ants, and full of 
 Dusy, honest industry, and dis|)layinj; 
 all the various mcdianit al science of 
 the ajj'c in full ojKTation. Here the 
 lever at work, there the winch and 
 pulley, here the balance, there the cap- 
 stan. Kverywhere heaps of stones, 
 and piles of fiu^cines, and rows of fire- 
 barrels. Mantelets roliin<r, the ham- 
 mer tappiii;.' 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 indiffer- 
 ence to yropcrty, though on scientific 
 principles, and that among the tubs 
 full of arrows, and the tar-liarrels and 
 the beams, the fagots, and other uten- 
 sils, here and there a workman or a 
 soldier lay flatter than is usual in lim- 
 ited 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 ](0n& 
 house which they calU d " a cat " 
 might Ik- seen stealing towards tho 
 curtain and gradually filling up the 
 moat with fascines and nibbish, which 
 the workmen flung (jut at its mouth. 
 It was advanced by two .sets of ropes 
 ])assing round pulleys, an<l each 
 worked by a windlass at some distance 
 from the cat. The knight burnt tlie 
 first cat by flinging bhuing tar-barrels 
 on it. So the besiegers made the nH)f 
 of this one very steep, and covered it 
 with raw hides, and the tar-lmrrels 
 could not harm it. Then tho knight 
 made signs with his spear, and a little 
 trebuchet Uhind the walls U-gan 
 dropping stones just dear of the wall 
 into the moat, and at last they got tho 
 range, and a stone went dean through 
 the roof of the eat, and made an ugly 
 hole. 
 
 Hahlwyn of Burgundy saw this, 
 and, losing his temper, ordered tho 
 great catajiult that was battering tho 
 wood-work of the curtain opposite it 
 to Ik- turned and levelled slantwise 
 at this invulnerable knight. Denys 
 and his Knglishman went to dinner. 
 'I'hese two worthies, Uing eternally 
 on the watch for one another, had 
 made a sort of distant ac<iuaintancc, 
 and conversed by signs, especially on 
 a topic that in jHjjice or war maintains 
 the sanii' imjiortance. Sometimes I)c- 
 nys would put a piece of bread on 
 the top of his mantelet, and then tho 
 archer would hang something of the 
 kind t>ut hy a string ; or the order of 
 invitation would be reversed. Any 
 way, they always managed to dine to- 
 gether. 
 
 And now the engineers proceeded 
 to the unusual step of slinging fifty- 
 pound stones at an individual.* 
 
 This catapult was a scientific, sim- 
 ple, and beautiful engine, and very 
 ett'ective in vertical fire at the short 
 ranges of that ])criod. 
 
 Imagine a fir-tree cut down, and set 
 to turn round a horizontal axis on 
 lofty uprights, but not in equilibrio ; 
 
 * Type of tfie Knglisli press oombiniDg M 
 caDDonade a single autlior.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 203 
 
 throe fourths 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 but-end 
 just before the discharge pointed to- 
 wards the enemy. By means of a 
 powerful winch the long, tapering por- 
 tion of the tree was forced down to 
 the very ground, and fastened by a 
 bolt, and the stone placed in a sling 
 attached to the tree's nose. But this 
 process of course raised the but-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 
 do^vn, the long end went as furiously 
 round up, and at its highest elevation 
 flung the huge stone out of the sling 
 with a tremendous jerk. In this case 
 the huge mass so flung missed the 
 knight, but came dowii near him on 
 the pent-house, and went through it 
 like paper, making an awful gap in 
 roof and floor. Through the latter 
 fell out two inanimate 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 hun- 
 dred years, till cannon mocked those 
 oft-perturbed waters, and civilization 
 dried them. 
 
 "Aha! a good shot," cried Bald- 
 wyn of Burgundy. 
 
 The tall knight retired. The be- 
 siegers 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 enonnous 
 Turkish catapult made its appearance 
 on the platform, and, aided by the ele- 
 vation at which it was planted, flung 
 a twenty-pound stone two hundred 
 and forty yards in the air ; it bounded 
 after that, and 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 be- 
 siegers' wooden tower, supposed to be 
 out of shot. Sir Turk slung stones 
 cut with shai'p edges on purpose, and 
 sti'uck it repeatedly, and broke it in 
 several places. The besiegers turned 
 tsvo 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 cata- 
 pult, and, hitting it in the neighbor- 
 hood of the axis, knocked the whole 
 structure to pieces and sent the engi- 
 neers 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 English- 
 man. 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 eat 
 was covered with mattresses and raw 
 hides, and fast filling up the moat. 
 The knight 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 under- 
 mined the place, and underpinned it 
 with beams, and covered the beam? 
 thickly with grease and tar.
 
 204 
 
 Tin: {LOISTKI! AND THK MKAIM!!. 
 
 At brenk of >h\\ the moat was 
 filKil, mill till- \v(((i(l< n towir l>oi;nn to 
 iiin\f oil it-* wlii'i-ls towanis II part of 
 thr curtain on which two ratapults 
 wcTO aln-ailv itlayiiiir to lin-arh the 
 hoanls and rlear the way. "riiere 
 was soiiii'thinf^ awful aiid iiia^rical in 
 its ajipronch without visihli- a^fiicy, 
 for it was (Irivni hv internal rolK-rs 
 worked l>_v loverane. < >n the top wii.t 
 a piatfonn where sfjMxl the first ns- 
 saiiin;; party. i)rot«'cte<l in fnmt hv 
 the (lrawl»ri<li,'e of the turret, which 
 8to<M! vertical till lowered on to the 
 wall ; hut U'tter j>roteeted by ftdl 
 units of annor. The Ixsieire*! slun^ 
 at the tower, and struck it often, hut 
 in vain. It was well defendetl with 
 mattresses and hides, ami presently 
 was at the ed;;e of the moat. The 
 knight hnile tire the mine undcmeuth 
 it. 
 
 Then the Turkish en^rine flunu n 
 Rtoiie of half n liuiidreil-wei^'ht ri^ht 
 nmon^rst the kni^'ht.s, and carried two 
 away with it off the tower on to tlie 
 j.luin. One lay and writhed ; the oth- 
 er neither move<l nor spake. 
 
 Ami now the In'siei^in;; catapults 
 flun^,' hla/inj; tar-harrels, aiul lired the 
 hoariU on lK)th sides, and the lus.sailants 
 ran up the laddiTs lichind the tower, 
 and lowered the drawbridge on to the 
 haltered curtain, while the catapults in 
 concert tlun;: tur-harrels and tired the 
 adioinin^ works to disli>d;re the de- 
 fenders. The armed jnen on the plat- 
 form sj)ran); on the hrid;.'e. Iei| l>y 
 Baldwyn. The invulnerable knight 
 nnd his inen-at-arnis met them, and a 
 fearful combat ensued, in which many 
 a fi^rure w-ns set>n to fall headlong 
 down otV the narrow bridfje. Hut 
 fresh besiegers kept swarming up be- 
 hind the tower, and the besieged were 
 driven olV 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 undei7>inncrs gave way, 
 nnd the tower suddenly sank away 
 from the walls, tearing the draw- 
 bridge clear, and pouring the soldiers 
 oft" it against the mnsoniy, and on to 
 
 the dry moat. The lK'sieu«il uttered 
 a tii'rce >hont. and in a tiionient Kur* 
 rounded lialdwyn and hi.s fellows; 
 but, strange to say, offered them 
 (piarter. Wliile n party disarmed 
 and dis|)oscd of these, others lirwl the 
 turret in fifty j)liiccs wiih a sort of 
 hand grenades. At this work, who so 
 busy as the tall kiiiglit ' lie put lire- 
 bags on his long sj^-ar, and thrust 
 them into the doomed striictiiro late 
 so terrible. To do this he wu 
 obliged to .stand tin a projin-ting l)Oam 
 of the shattered hoard, holding on by 
 the hand of a pikeman to steady him- 
 .self, 'this pnivuked Denys ; he ran 
 out from his mantelet, ho|iin;,' to es- 
 cape notice in the confusion, and, lev- 
 elling his cross-l>ow, missed the knight 
 clean, but .sent his UAi into the brain 
 of the pikeman, and thr tall knight 
 fell heavily from the wall, laneo and 
 all. Denys j;a/.ed wdiiiUt- stnick ; 
 and, in that unlucky moment, sud- 
 denly he felt Ills arm liot, then cold, 
 and there was an Kngli.sh arrow 
 skewering it. 
 
 This episode wns unnoticed in • 
 much gn-ater matter. The knight, 
 his armor glittering in the morning 
 sun, fell headlon;.', but, turning as ho 
 neared the water, stnick it with a 
 slap that .sounded a mile off. 
 
 None ever thought to see him 
 again. Hut he fell iit the edge of 
 tlu- fa.sciiu's on which the turret stiKxl 
 all (-(Mked on one side, and his sjK-ar 
 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 submitted 
 like n lamb, but said nothing. 
 
 He was taken to Anthony's tent. 
 
 That worthy laughed at first sight 
 of his muddy armor. But presently, 
 frow-ning, said: "I marsxl, 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?" 
 
 "A hosier."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 205 
 
 " A what ? Then thy armor shall 
 bv stripped off, and thou shalt be tied 
 to a stake in front of the works, and 
 riddled with arrows for a warning to 
 traitoi-s." 
 
 " N — n — n — n — no ! duda — diida ^ 
 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 yon knaves ta'cn 
 him ? " 
 
 The warlike hosier nodded. 
 
 " Hang the fool ! " said Anthony, 
 peevishly. 
 
 The warlike hosier watched his 
 e/e, and, doffing his helmet, took out 
 of the lining an intercepted letter 
 from the duke, bidding the said An- 
 thony come to court immediately, 
 as he was to represent the court of 
 Burgundy at tiie court of England ; 
 was to go over and receive the Eng- 
 lish king's sister and conduct her to 
 her bridegroom, the Earl of Charo- 
 lois. 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 
 'aosier saw he longed to be off, and 
 jaid : " We '11 gega — gega — gega — 
 gega — give ye a thousand angels to 
 raise the siege." 
 
 " And Baldwyn ? " 
 
 " I '11 gega — gega — ^gega — gega — go 
 and send him with the money." 
 
 It was now dinner-time, and, a flag 
 of truce being hoisted on both sides, 
 the sham knight and the true one 
 dined together and came to a friendly 
 understanding. 
 
 " But what is your grievance, my 
 good friend 1 " 
 
 " Tuta— tuta— tuta -tuta— too much 
 taxes. " 
 
 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 Avas 
 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, 
 arbalestrier, mcthinks." 
 
 " 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 ser- 
 vice next day, and, though his wound 
 was no trifle, set out with a stout 
 heart to rejoin his friend in Hol- 
 land. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 " What make you here ? " 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 deliber- 
 ate 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." 
 
 "I do know all," replied Cathe- 
 rine, bitterly. " This morn I knew 
 naught." 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 brim- 
 stone," shouted Denys, who could 
 speak Flemish fluently. " Your own 
 servant bade me sit there till you
 
 206 
 
 lUK CLOISTKH AND TlIK UKAKTH. 
 
 camp, else I hml ne'er truiihled your 
 hearth. My iiiali-ioM on it, utul <iii 
 the chiirli-'h n^ol'-tree that ;,'reets uii 
 uiiotleiuliii;; strunjrer this way," and 
 lie stnule seowliiij; to the il(K>r. 
 
 " {)\\ ! oh ! " ejiiruhited Catherine, 
 friuhtened, and idso a little eoii- 
 seieiu-e-strieken ; and the virnp) wat 
 siiijilenly down and Imrst into tear^^. 
 Her dau;;hter followetl ituil ijuietly, 
 but without loss of time. 
 
 A slirewd writer, now unhappily 
 lost to ws, has somewhere the t'ollow- 
 inj; dialogue : — 
 
 Hfie. " I feel all a woman's weak- 
 ness." 
 
 Jfe. " Then you arc invincilile." 
 
 Denys, hy antieipation, eontirmed 
 that valualtle statement ; he stiKxl at 
 the iloor iookint; nufully at the haviH* 
 his thun<lerl>olt of eloquence had 
 made. 
 
 " Nay, wife," saiil he, " weep not 
 neither for a soldier's hii."*ty word. I 
 mean not all 1 .said. Why, your house 
 is your own, and what ritrht in it have 
 11 There now, I 'II ijo." 
 
 " What is to tlo ? " said a ^rave, 
 manly voice. It was Kli ; he had 
 come in from the shop. 
 
 " Here is a rntlian heen a seoldin;; 
 of your womrn-fulk and making them 
 cry," explained Denys. 
 
 " Little Kate, what is 't ? for ruffians 
 do not use fofidl themselves ruHiuns," 
 •aid Kli the soii-ilile. 
 
 Kre she could explain, — " Hold 
 your ton;rue, ^irl," saiil I'atln-rine ; 
 " Muriel bade him sat down, ami I 
 knew not that, and wyted on him ; 
 and he wa.s (join;; and leavin;; his 
 malison on us, root ami branch. I 
 was never so btrursed in all mv days, 
 oh ! r.h ! oh ! " 
 
 " You were both somewhat to 
 blame ; both vou and he," said Eli, 
 calmly. " Pfowcver, what the ser- 
 vant says the master should still 
 stand to. We keep not op«n house, 
 but yet we arc not jmor enoufrh to 
 pnidtre a scat at our iicarth in a cold 
 day to a wayfarer with an honest 
 face, and, a^ I think, a wounded 
 
 man. So end all malice, and sit J9 
 down ! " 
 
 " Woundetl ? " cried miither and 
 dau;.'hter, in a breath. 
 
 " Think you a soldier slinga hia 
 arm for s|>ort ? " 
 
 " Nay, 't is but an arrow," said 
 Denys, cheerfully. 
 
 " But an arrow ? " said Kate, with 
 concentrated horror. " Where were 
 our eves, mother ! " 
 
 " Kay, in froo<l sooth, a trifle. 
 Which however I will pray mcs- 
 dames to accept as an excuse for my 
 vivacity. 'T is these little foolish 
 tritlin^ wounds that fret a man, 
 worthy sir. Why, Untk ye now, 
 sweeter temper than ourCic-rard never 
 breathed, yet, when the U'ar did but 
 strike a piece no bigirer than a crown 
 out of his calf, he turned so hot and 
 choleric y' had saitl he wits no .son of 
 yours, but pit by the pM.d kni^'ht Sir 
 John reii|H.'r on his wife dame Mus- 
 tard. W ho is this ! a dwarf J your 
 servant. Master CJiles." 
 
 " Your sen ant, soldier," roared the 
 new-comer. Denys stariiil. He had 
 not counted on exchan^iinj; p-eeting8 
 with a |M-tanl. 
 
 Deiiys's words bail surpris»tl his 
 hosts, but banlly more than their 
 de|»ortment now did him. They all 
 thn-e came ireejiin^ u|i to where he 
 sat, and looked down into him with 
 their lips parted, as it he had Iteen 
 some stran;:e phenomenon. 
 
 And ^'rowin;,' agitation succectlcd 
 to ainH/ement. 
 
 •' Now hush ! " said Eli, " let none 
 speak but I. Yfiun^: man," saiil he, 
 j solemnly, " in (mmI's name, who arc 
 you, that know us thouj;h we know 
 you not. and that shake our hearts 
 speakin;: fr> us of — the absent — our 
 poor relieilious fson ! whom Heaven 
 for<;ive and bless." 
 
 " What, master," said Denys, low- 
 oring his voice, " hath lie not wTit to 
 you ! hath he not told you of me, 
 Denvs of Hurirundy ? " 
 
 " lie hath w rit but three lines, and 
 named not Denys of Burgundy, nor 
 any stranger."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 207 
 
 " Ay, I mind the long letter was to 
 his sweetheart, this Margaret, and she 
 has decamped, plague take her, and 
 how I am to find her Heaven knows." 
 
 " What, she is not your sweetheart, 
 then ? " 
 
 " "Wlio, dame ? an 't please you." 
 
 " Why, Margaret Brandt." 
 
 " How can my comrade's sweet- 
 heart be mine ? I know her not 
 from Noah's niece ; how should I '? 
 I never saw her." 
 
 " Whisht with this idle chat, Kate," 
 said Eli, impatiently, " and let the 
 young man answer me. How came 
 you to know Gerard, our son 1 Pri- 
 thee 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 loath at tirst ; consented presently. 
 Many a weary league wc trod to- 
 gether. 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 Sevenbergen 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 cutthroats, and crippled one 
 and slew two ; and your son did his 
 devoir like a man, and met the stout- 
 est 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 lis that son of a the 
 
 Lord Anthony of Burgundy, and his 
 men, making for Flanders, then in in- 
 surrection, tore us by force apart, 
 took me where I got some bi'oad 
 pieces in hand and a broad arrow in 
 
 my shoulder, and left ray jx)or Ge- 
 rard lonesome. At that sad parting, 
 soldier though I be, these eyes did 
 rain salt scalding tears, and so did 
 his, jjoor soul ! His last word to mo 
 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 thee 1 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 iieaped 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 suddenly out of her 
 body. 
 
 " Father ! " cried Kate, whose eye 
 was as quick as her affection. Dcnys 
 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 ! 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 minute, 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
 
 208 
 
 TIIK CLOISIKi; ANI> llli; HI AUlll. 
 
 lips. It WHS 111! nltoiit (Icninl, mid he 
 who sat there telliii(,' it them was 
 warm from ( ieranl, anil an actor with 
 him ill all these M-eiies. 
 
 The tlesh ami hloud around that 
 fireiiuivereii (or fiieir severed nienilH-r, 
 hearin;,' its 8tru;u,'le.s and periis. 
 
 I shall asiv my reaiicrs t<> rorali to 
 memory all they can of tierard's jour- 
 ney with Deiiys, and in their mind's 
 eye to see those very matters told hv 
 Ids comrade to an exile's fatlur, ali 
 Htoie outside, all fatlur within, and to 
 two jxHir women, an exile's mother 
 and a sisttT, who were all love and 
 pity ami tender anxiety l)oth outside 
 and in. Now wonlil you mind tios- 
 inii thi.s ImjoIv for a minute, and inak- 
 in;^ an etVort to realize ali this * It 
 will save us so inucli re[)ctitioii. 
 
 Then yon will not Ik- surprisc<l, 
 when I tell you that after a while 
 Ciles came softly and curled himself 
 Up l>efore the fire, and lay ^'luin^r at 
 the sjK-nker with a reverence almost 
 canine ; and that, when the roujjh 
 Boldier had unconsciously hut thor- 
 ou^'hiy iM'traytd hi-i U-tter (|ualitics, 
 ami alM)ve all hi-* rare alVection for 
 GeranI, Kate, thou;;h timorous as a 
 l)ird, stole her little liand into the 
 warrior's hu;,'e lirown jialm, where it 
 lay an instant like a teaspoonful of 
 cream spilt on a ]ilatter, tiien iiit)pe<l 
 the hall of his thuml> and sened for 
 aKardiometer. In other words, Kate 
 is just even to rival story-tellers, and 
 balances matters. Denys had to pay 
 a tax to his audience which I have 
 not. Wlienever Gerard was in too 
 much dan;:er, th^ female faces Ix- 
 came so white, and their ])oor little 
 throats fjurgled so, he was ohli;:ed in 
 ronimon humanity to spoil his n-cital. 
 Suspense is the soul of narrativp, and 
 thus dealt i;(ui;.'h-and-Tender of liur- 
 pundy, with his best suspenses. " Now, 
 dame, take not on till ye hear the 
 end ; Ma'amselle, let not your cheek 
 blanch so ; courage ! it looks ujjly ; 
 but vnu shall hear how we wond 
 throiiL'h. Had he miscarried, and I 
 at hand, would I be alive ? " 
 
 And I called Kate's little hand a 
 Kardiometer, or heart-measurer, Im> 
 cause it ^railuated emotion, and 
 iiinched by scale. At its Inst it wm 
 by no means a hit;h-pressure enj;inc. 
 Hut all is relative. Denys soon 
 learned the tender (^ninnt, and when 
 to water the sus|)onse, and extract the 
 thrill as far as ]M)ssible. On one oc- 
 casion only he cannily iixlcinnitied 
 his narrative for this drawback. Fall- 
 in;: jHrsonally into the Hhinc, and 
 siiikin;;, he ^ot |iinchcil, he, Denvs, to 
 his surprise and satisfaction. " Oho I " 
 thou^'ht he, and, on the j>rineiple of 
 the anatomists, " experimentum in 
 corjKire vili," kept himself a ipiarter 
 of an hour under water ; under pres- 
 sure all the time. And, even when 
 (ierard had ^ot hold of him, he was 
 loath to leave the river ; so, le.s.s con- 
 .s<ientioiis than I was, swam with Ge- 
 rard to the east bank first, and was 
 al)out to land, but detectid the otli- 
 cers and their intent, chaffed tla^m a 
 little space, treading water, then 
 turned and swam wearily all across, 
 and at last was obliged to },'et out, for 
 verv shame, or else acknf>wled;.'e him- 
 self' a pike ; so jwrmitti d himself to 
 land, exhausteil, — and the pressure 
 relaxed. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock, an un- 
 heard-of hour, but they took no note 
 of time this ni;:lit ; and Denys had 
 still much to tell them, when the d«x»r 
 was opened (luietly, ami in stole Cor- 
 nelis and Svbrandt, looking' hanplo^'. 
 They had tins ni;;ht U'cn drinking the 
 very' last drop of their mysterious 
 funds. 
 
 Catherine feared her husband would 
 rebuke them 1m Inie Denys ; but he only 
 l<x)ked sa<lly at them, and motioned 
 them to sit down quietly. 
 
 Denys it was who seemed discom- 
 posed. He knitted his brows and eyed 
 them thoughtfully and rather ^doom- 
 ily ; then turned to Catherine. 
 " What say you, dame ? th<i rest to- 
 morrow ! For I am somewhat weary 
 and it waxes late." " So l)e it," said 
 Eli. But, when Denys rose to go to
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 209 
 
 his inn he was instantly stopped by 
 Catherine. " And think yon to lie 
 from this house ? Gerard's room has 
 been got ready for you hours agone ; 
 the sheets I 'll not say much for, see- 
 ing I spun the flax and wove the 
 web." 
 
 " Then would I lie in them blind- 
 fold," was the gallant reply. " Ah, 
 dame, our poor Gerard was the one 
 for fine linen. He could hardly for- 
 give the honest Germans their coarse 
 flax, and, whene'er my traitors of 
 country-men did amiss, a would ex- 
 cuse them, saying, ' Well ! well ; 
 bons toiles sont en Bourgogne ' ; 
 that means ' there be good lenten 
 cloths in Burgundy.' But indeed 
 he beat all for by-words and cleanli- 
 ness." 
 
 " O Eli ! Eli ! doth not our son 
 come back to us at each word ? " 
 
 " 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 XLVin. 
 
 Dents took an opportunity next 
 day, and told mother and daughter 
 the rest, excusing himself character- 
 istically for not letting Cornells 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 mat- 
 ter, 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 
 faltering. But at last all merged 
 in the joyful hope and expectation 
 of Gerard's speedy return. In this 
 Denys confidently shared ; but re- 
 minded them that was no reason 
 
 why he should neglect 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 kind- 
 ly 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 
 anything was to be gained by leaving 
 this neighborhood to search for her. 
 " She must have told somebody whith- 
 er she 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 not ? " 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 so far, as one." 
 
 " That is sense," said Catherine 
 But she insisted on his going first tc» 
 the demoiselle Van Eyck. " She and 
 our Margaret Avere bosom friends. 
 She knows where the girl is gone, il 
 she Avill but tell us." Denys was for 
 going to her that instant, so Cathe- 
 rine, in a turn of the hand, made her- 
 self 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's'hands. " Gone ? Gone from 
 Sevenbergen and not told mel the 
 thankless girl ! " 
 
 This turn greatly surprised the 
 visitors. "What, you knew not? 
 when was she here last 1 " 
 
 " Maybe ten days agone. I had 
 ta'cn out my brushes, after so many 
 years, to paint her portrait. I did not 
 "do it, though, for reasons." 
 
 Catherine remarked it was " a most 
 strange thing she should go away, bag
 
 210 
 
 THK CLOISTKK AND TlIK IIKAICIH. 
 
 and hafrcn^, like tiiis, without with 
 jdiir Iciivr or hy your leave, whv or 
 whiTi-ri)ri-. W'us eviT uu^ht so uiito- 
 wuril ! just when all uur heart:) are 
 wiuin to her ; and here is Genird's 
 niate come from the ends o' the earth 
 with t-omti>rt for her from (Jerurd, 
 and <-an't find hrr, anil (ierard him- 
 self exiKHted. What to do 1 know 
 not. liut sure she is not parted like 
 this without a reaison. Can ye not 
 give us the elew, my pj*'d demoiselle ! 
 I'htluf now." 
 
 " I have it not to jfive," said the 
 elder hnly, rather jieevishly. 
 
 ■• 'I'luM I tan," .said Uiciit Heynts, 
 showin;,' herself in the doorway, with 
 color somewhat hei};hteiU'<l. 
 
 " So you have heen hearkening all 
 the time, eh '. " 
 
 " What are mv ears for, mistress ? " 
 
 " True. Well, throw us the lij;ht 
 of thv wi.sdoin on this dark matter." 
 
 " There is no darkness that I mx," 
 euid Hicht. " An<l the elew, whv, on 
 ye cull 't a two-ply twine, and the 
 ends on 't in this room e'en now, 
 ye Ml not l>c far out. U niistre.ss, I 
 wonder at your sitting there pre- 
 tendini;." 
 
 " Marry, come up ! " nnd the mis- 
 tress's cheek was now nearly as retl 
 as the sen ant's. " So 't was I drove 
 the f<K>li>h girl away." 
 
 " Vou did your sliarc, mistress. 
 What sort of greeting gave you her 
 last tiini' she eaine ' Think you 
 she eould miss to notice it, ami she 
 all friendle.ss ? And you said, ' I 
 have alten-d my mind nl)oHt jMiint- 
 ing 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." 
 
 " O, all our noson can follow our 
 henrtys bent, for that matter. Poor 
 joul ! She did come into the kitchen 
 to me. ' I am not to be painted 
 now,' said she, and tlic tears in her 
 eves. She said no nmre. But I 
 knew well what she did mean. I 
 had seen ye.'' 
 
 " Well," said Margaret Van Eyck, 
 
 " I do eonfe.ss so much, and I make 
 you the judge, mndani. Know that 
 these young girls oiii ilo nothing of 
 tiieir own heads, but are most apt at 
 mimicking aught their »weethi*nrt« 
 do. Now your Ueranl is reasonably 
 handy at many things, and among 
 the re.-.t at the illuminator's c^ft ; 
 and Margaret, she is his jiupil, and a 
 patient one; what mar%el ? having a 
 woman's eye for color, and eke a 
 h»ver to n|H'. 'T is a trick I despise 
 at heart ; for by it the great art of 
 color, which should be royal, aspir- 
 ing, and free, bt-eomes a poor slave to 
 the j>ett\ crafts of writing and print- 
 ing, and is fettered, imprisoned, and 
 nuide little, \mh\y and .soul, to match 
 the littleness of Uxiks, and go to 
 chur< h in a ri« h fiMil's |km ket. Nathc- 
 less, afVection rules us all, and, when 
 the |MKjr wench woulil bring me her 
 thoni-leaves, and lilies, and ivv, and 
 dewlK'rries, and ladybirds, and butter- 
 tly grubs, and all the .scum of Nature, 
 — stuck fiLst in gold-leaf like wasps 
 in a honey-jw)t, anil, withal, her diur- 
 nal liook, snowing she had jK»n.-<l an 
 hundred, or an hundred and fifty, oi 
 two hundred hours over each singular 
 page, certes I was wroth that nn im- 
 mortal soul and many hours of lalxir, 
 and much manuid skill, should Ijo 
 flung away on Nature's trash, leaves, 
 insects, grubs, and on barren letters ; 
 but, having l)owels, I diil ])crforce re- 
 strain, an<l, as it were, dam my In-t- 
 ter fielings, and looked kindly at tho 
 work to see how it might l>e bettered; 
 nnd said I, ' Sith Heaven for our sins 
 hath diMmieil us to spend time, nnd 
 soul, nnd color, on great letters ami lit- 
 tle luetics, omitting such small fry as 
 saints and heri>es, their acts and pas- 
 sions, why not present the scum nat- 
 urally ? ' ' I told luT ' the graj)e8 I 
 saw, walking abroad, did hang i' tho 
 air, not stick in a wall ; nnd cvcti 
 these in.sects,' quo' I, ' and Nature 
 his slime in general, pass not their 
 noxious lives wedged miserably in 
 metal prisons, like tlies in honcy-f)ots 
 and glue-pots, but do crawl or hover 
 at large, infesting air.' 'Ah! mj
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 2n 
 
 d'sar friend,' says she, 'I see now 
 whither you drive ; hut this ground is 
 gold, whereon we may not shade.' 
 ' Who says so ? ' quotli I. ' All 
 teachers of this craft,' says she ; and 
 (to make an end o' me at once, I 
 trow) ' Gerard himself!' ' That for 
 Gerard himself, ' quoth I, ' and all 
 the gang ; gi'e me a brush ! ' 
 
 " Then chose I, to shade her finiit 
 and reptiles, a color false in nature, 
 but true relatively to that monstrous 
 ground of glaring gold ; and in five 
 minutes out came a bunch of rasp- 
 berries, stalk and all, and a'most 
 flew in your mouth ; likewise a but- 
 terfly 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 ! ' " 
 
 " Did she now ? " 
 
 " The little love ! " observed Denys, 
 succeeding 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 Marga- 
 ret for model. Incidentally she even 
 revealed how girls are turned into 
 saints. " ' Thy hair is adorable,' said 
 I. ' Wliy, 't is red,' quo' she. ' Ay,' 
 quoth I, * but what a red ! how 
 brown ! 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 some- 
 what aspire that way (though not so 
 piously as Richt's), will I debase 
 a trifle, and somewhat enfeeble thy 
 chin. ' " 
 
 " Enfeeble her chin ? Alack? what 
 may that mean ? Ye go beyond me, 
 mistress." 
 
 " 'T is a resolute chin. Not a jot 
 too resolute for this wicked world; 
 
 but when ye come to a Madonna V 
 No, thank you." 
 
 " Well I never. A resolute chin." 
 
 Denys. " The darling ! " 
 
 " And now comes the rub. When 
 you told me she was — the way she 
 is, it gave me a shock ; I dropped my 
 bnishes. Was I going to turn a girl, 
 that could n't keep her lover at a dis- 
 tance, 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, sav- 
 ing 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. 'T was 
 foolish, maybe, but I could not help 
 it; yet am I sorrj." 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's lieart, and she so 
 fond of ye ? " 
 
 Margaret Van Eyck only sighed. 
 
 The Frisian girl, after biting her 
 lips impatiently a little while, turned 
 upon Catherine. " Why, dame, think 
 you 't was for that alone Margaret 
 and Peter hath left Sevenberg ? Nay." 
 
 " For what else, then 1 " 
 
 " What else ? Why, because Ge- 
 rard's people slight her so cruel. Who 
 would bide among hard-hearted folk 
 that ha' driven her lad t' Italy, and, 
 now he is gone, relent not, but face it 
 out, and ne'er come anigh her that is 
 left ? " 
 
 " Richt, I was going." 
 
 " O, ay, going, and going, and
 
 212 
 
 THE CLOISIKK AM) THi: HKAIMII. 
 
 poinp. Vo shoiilil lia' suiii lens or 
 elso (lone Tiiore. Hut with voiir worils 
 you iliii uplift liCT la-urt ntiil let it 
 (iowii wi' your deeds. ' 'I'licy Imve 
 iii'ver iM-en,' said the poor thin^ to 
 mo, with such a sif^h. Ay, here is 
 oite ran feel for her ; for I too am far 
 from my friends, and often, when first 
 I came to llollund, I did n^e to take 
 a hearty ery all to myself. Hut ten 
 times liever would I U; Hieht Ueynes, 
 with nau>;ht but the lea^'ui* atween 
 me atu! all my kith, than tx- ixs she is 
 r the midst of them that ou>;ht to 
 warm to her, and >et to fare as lone- 
 bome as I." 
 
 •' Alack, Iticht, I did go hut yes- 
 treen, and had f;one iR-fore, hut one 
 plaj^uy tiling: or t'other di<l still eome 
 and hinder me." 
 
 " Mistress, did au;:ht hinder yc 
 to eat your dinner any one of those 
 days ? I trow not. And, had vonr 
 heart Utn lus ^'o«k1 towards your own 
 tlesh and blootl lus 't wtt.s townnl.s your 
 ticsher's meat, nau^,'ht had jtn-vailcd 
 to ktvi) you from her that sat lonely, 
 awateliin;: the road for you and com- 
 fort, wi' your child's child a boating 
 'nealh her lM)soni." 
 
 Here this rutle yonnp woman was 
 int»rrupted by an incident not uncoin- 
 mnn in a domestic's bright existence. 
 The \'an Kyck had U-en nettled by the 
 attack on lier, but with duo tact had 
 gone into ambush. She now sprang 
 out of it. " Since you disres|K'ct my 
 guests, .<!ctk another place ! " 
 
 •' With nil my heart, said Richt, 
 stoutly. 
 
 " Nay, mistress," put in the good- 
 nnturcti Catherine. " True folk will 
 still sjK^ak out. Ilcr tongue is a 
 stinger." Here the water came into 
 the speaker's eyes by way of confirma- 
 tion. "Hut 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. Beshrcw the 
 wencli, she kens she is a good ser- 
 vant, and takes advantage. We poor 
 wretches which keep house must still 
 pay 'cm tiix for value. I had a gootl 
 servant oucc, when I was a young 
 
 'oman. Kh, dear, how she did ;;rin4 
 me down into the du>t ! In the tni. 
 by Heaven's mercy, she marrii^l the 
 baker, and I was my own woman 
 again. ' So,' said I, ' no mon- good 
 .servants shall come hither, a hector- 
 ing o" me.' I just get a fo<d and 
 learn her ; and, whenever slu- know- 
 eth her right hand fn>m her left, she 
 sauceth me ; then out I bundle her, 
 lurk and crop, and take another 
 dunce in her pLue. Dear heart, 't is 
 wiarisome, teaching a string of fool* 
 by ones ; but there, I am mistress"; 
 here she forgot that she was defend- 
 ing Hicht, and, turning rather spite- 
 fully u|>on her, added, " and you bo 
 mistress here, I trow." 
 
 " No more than that stool," said 
 the Van Eyck, loftily. " She is 
 neithi-r mistress nor servant, but 
 gone. She is dismissed the house, 
 anil there 's an end of htr. What, di(i 
 ye not hear me turn the saucy bag- 
 gage otV ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay. We all heard you," said 
 Hicht, with vast inditVercnce. 
 
 " Then hejir me," said Dcnys, 
 solemnly. 
 
 They all went round like things on 
 wheels, and fastened their eyes on 
 him. 
 
 " Ay, let us hear what the man 
 .'»ays," urged the hostess. " Men aro 
 fine fellows, with their great hoars« 
 voices." 
 
 " Mistress Richt,"8aid Denys, with 
 great dignity and ceremony, indeed, so 
 great as to verge on the absurd, " you 
 are turned otj'. If on a slight ac- 
 (|uaintance I might advise, I 'd say, 
 since you an> a ser>ant no more, be a 
 mistress, a (|uecn." 
 
 " ICa.sier said than done," n'j)Iied 
 Hicht, bluntly. 
 
 "Not a jot. You sec here one who 
 is a man, though but half an arbales- 
 trier, owing to that devilish Knglish- 
 man's arrow, in w hose 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 (f
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 213 
 
 mine ; but I capitulate to so many 
 virtues. You are beautiful, good- 
 hearted, and outspoken, and, above 
 all, 3-ou take the part of my she-com- 
 rade. Be then an arbalestriesse ! " 
 
 " And what the dickens is that ? " 
 inquired Richt. 
 
 " I mean, be the wife, mistress, and 
 queen of Denys of Burgundy, here 
 present ! " 
 
 A dead silence fell on all. 
 
 It did not last long though, and 
 was followed by a burst of unreason- 
 able indignation. 
 
 Catherine. " Well, did you ever ? " 
 
 Margaret. " Never, in all my born 
 days." 
 
 Catherine. " Before our very 
 faces." 
 
 Margaret. " Of all the absurdity 
 and insolence of this ridiculous 
 sex — " 
 
 Here Denys observed, somewhat 
 dryly, that the female to whom he had 
 addi'essed 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 Richt. 
 
 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 majesti- 
 cally. " Then look your fill, and 
 leap away." 
 
 This proposal led to a new and 
 most unexpected 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 
 ai-e beautiful so," cried she. " You 
 are inspired — with folly. What 
 matters that ? you are inspired. I 
 must take off" your head." And in a 
 moment she was at work with her 
 pencil. " Come out, hussy," she 
 screamed to Richt, " more in front 
 of him, and keep the fool inspired 
 and beautiful. 0, why had I not 
 this maniac for my good centurion ? 
 They went and brought me a brute 
 
 with a low forehead and a shapeless 
 beard." 
 
 Catherine stood and looked with 
 utter amazement at this pantomime, 
 and secretly resolved that her vener- 
 able hostess had been a disguised lu- 
 natic all this time, and was now busy 
 throwing off" the mask. As for Richt, 
 she was 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 nide and re- 
 bellious to one's poor old, afifectionate, 
 desolate mistress, without being utter- 
 ly heartless and savage, and a tram- 
 pier on arts. 
 
 On this Richt stopped, and pouted, 
 and looked like a little basilisk at the 
 inspired model who caused her woe. 
 He retorted with unshaken admira- 
 tion. The situation was at last dis- 
 solved by the artist's wrist becoming 
 cramped from disuse ; this was not, 
 however, until she had made a rough 
 but noble sketch. " I can work no 
 more at present," said she, sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 " 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; so then you will ail be 
 together." 
 
 " Well, but Richt," said Catherine, 
 laughing ; " she turned you off"." 
 
 " Boo, boo, boo ! " said Richt, con- 
 temptuously. " 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 I. 
 When that day doth come, 't will 
 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, 't will be all one" to 
 Richt Heynes." 
 
 And the plain speaker went her 
 way. But her words did not fall to 
 the ground. Neither of her femala
 
 214 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hearers could disguise from herself 
 that this blunt girl, solitiiry herself, 
 had jirobably read Margaret Brandt 
 aright, and that she had gone away 
 from Scvenbergen broken-hearted. 
 
 <Catlicrine and Dcnys bade the Van 
 Eyck adieu, and that same afternoon 
 Dcnys set out on a wild-goose chase. 
 His plan, like all great things, was 
 simple. He should go to a huudrcd 
 towns jind villages, and ask in each 
 after an old physician with a fair 
 daughter, and an old long-bow soldier. 
 He should inquire of the burgomas- 
 ters about all new-comers, and should 
 go to the fountains and watch the 
 women and girls as they came with 
 their ])i tellers 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 tbeir 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 scrib- 
 ble will see, and say, that men who 
 risk their lives habitually thirst for 
 exciting pleasures between the acts 
 of danger, and not for innocent tran- 
 quillity. 
 
 To this Denys was no exception. 
 His whole military life had been luilf 
 Sparta, half Capua. And he was too 
 good a soldier, and too good a liber- 
 tine, 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, pru- 
 dent, vigilant, indomitable, and hap- 
 py, though constantly disappointed, 
 as might have been expected. He 
 fiirted gigantically 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, etc." 
 
 And so we leave him on the tramp, 
 " Pilgrim of Friendship," as his poor 
 comrade was of Love. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 The good-hearted Catherine was 
 not happy. Not that she reproached 
 herself very deeply for not having 
 gone quickly enough to Sevcnbergen, 
 whither she was not bouiul to go at 
 all, except on the score of having ex- 
 cited fidse hopes in Margaret. But 
 she was in dismay when she reflected 
 that Gerard must reach home in an- 
 other month at furthest, more likely 
 in a week. And how should she tell 
 him she had not even kej)t an eye 
 upon his betrothed ? Then there was 
 the uncertainty as to the girl's fate ; 
 and this uncertainty sometimes took 
 a sickening form. 
 
 " O Kate," she groaned, " if she 
 should liavc gone and made herself 
 away." 
 
 " Mother, she would never be so 
 wicked." 
 
 " Ah, my lass, j^ou 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. Could n'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 be- 
 longs 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 ! " 
 
 " Monsters, and no less, to go
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 215 
 
 malcing such heaps o' canals just to 
 tempt the poor women in. They 
 know we shall not cut our throats, 
 hatin;; the sight 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. 
 Wily, look at me, the mother o' nine, 
 was n't I agog to make a hole in our 
 canal for the nonce ? " 
 
 " Nay, mother, I '11 never believe it 
 of you." 
 
 " Yc may, though. 'T was in the 
 first year of our keeping house to- 
 gether. Eli had n't found out my 
 weak stitches then, nor I his ; so we 
 made a rent, pulling contrariwise ; 
 had a quarrel. 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 ? 0, 
 how tenipting it did look ! Says I to 
 mj^sclf, ' 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 t'oth- 
 er part), 'and see him take on, and 
 O, but that will be sweet ! ' and I was 
 all a tiptoe and going in, only just 
 then I thought I would n't. I had a 
 new gown a making for one thing, 
 and hard noon finished. So I went 
 home instead, and what was Eli's 
 first word 1 ' Let yon flea stick i' the 
 wall, my lass,' says he. ' Not a word 
 of all I said t' anger thee was sooth, 
 but this : I love thee.' These were 
 his very words, I minded 'era, 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 
 10 
 
 John Bush made 'era, that was uncle 
 to him keeps the shop now. And 
 what was my grief to hers 1 ' 
 
 Little Kate hoped that Margaret 
 
 loved her father too ranch 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 raore 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 us to die when there 's a little 
 innocent a pulling at our hearts to 
 let un live, and feeding at our very 
 veins." 
 
 " Well, then, keep up a good heart, 
 mother." She added that very like- 
 ly all these fears were exaggerated. 
 SI'.c ended by solemnly entreating 
 her mother at all events not to per- 
 sist 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 unrea- 
 sonable, was met with clamor. 
 
 " Have you the cruelty to threaten 
 me with a girl ! ! ■? I want no more 
 girls while I have you. What use 
 would a lass be to me ? Can I set 
 her on my knee and see my Gerard 
 again as 1 can a boy ? I tell thee 't is 
 all settled." 
 
 " How may that be 1 " 
 
 " In my mind. And if I am to be 
 disappointed i' the end, 't is n't for 
 you to disappoint rae beforeliand, 
 telling me it is not to be a child, 
 but only a girl." 
 
 All these anxieties, and, if I may 
 be permitted, without disrespect to 
 the dead, to add, all this twaddle 
 that accompanied them, were short- 
 ly suspended by an incident that 
 struck nearer home, — made Tergou 
 furiously jealous of Catherine, and 
 Catherine weep. 
 
 Marched up to Eli's door a pageant
 
 216 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 brave to the eye of sense, and to the 
 vulgar judgment 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 liis 
 carcass with which and line his 
 pouch man has now and then dis- 
 posed of his soul ; still tlie horse was 
 the vainer brute of the two ; he was 
 far worse beflounced, bebonnctcd, and 
 bemantled than any fair lady rcg- 
 nantc crinolina. For the man, under 
 the color of a warming-pan, retained 
 nature's outline. Eat it was "subaudi 
 eqnum ! " Scarce &, pennyweight of 
 honest horseflesh to be seen. Our 
 crinoline spares the noble parts of 
 woman, and makes but the baser 
 parts gigantic; (why this preference'?) 
 but this poor animal from stem to 
 stern was swamped in finery. Ilis 
 cars 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 r^om to mince. Ilis 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 haber- 
 dashery, and his little front hoofs 
 peeped in and out like rats. 
 
 Yet did this compound, gorgeous 
 and irrational, represent power, ab- 
 solute power; it came straight from 
 a tournament at the duke's court, — 
 which, being on a progress, lay last 
 night at a neighboring town, — to 
 execute the behests of royalty. 
 
 " \VTiat ho ! " cried the upper half, 
 and on Eli emerging, with his wife 
 behind him, saluted them. " Peace 
 be with you, good people. Rejoice ! 
 I am come for your dwarf." 
 
 Eli looked amazed, and said noth- 
 ing. But Catherine screamed over 
 his shoulder, " You have mistook 
 your road, good man ; here abides 
 510 dwarf." 
 
 " Nay, wife, he means our Giles, 
 
 who is somewhat small of stature ; 
 why gainsay what gainsaid may not 
 be '? " 
 
 "Ay!" cried the pageant, "that 
 is he, and discourseth like the big 
 tabor." 
 
 " His breast is sound, for that mat- 
 ter," said Catherine, sharply. 
 
 " And prompt with his nst-, though 
 at long odds." 
 
 " Else how would the poor thing 
 keep his head in such a world as 
 this ? " 
 
 " 'T is well said, dame. Art as ready 
 with thy weapon as he ; art his mother, 
 likely. So bring him forth, and that 
 I)resently. See, they lead a stunted 
 mule for him. The duke hath need of 
 him, sore need ; we are clean out o' 
 dwarvcn ; and tiger-cats ; which may 
 not be, whiles earth them yielded. 
 Our last hop-o'-my-thumb tumbled 
 down the well t'other day." 
 
 " And think you I '11 let my darling 
 go to such an ill-guided house as 
 yon, where the reckless trollops of ser- 
 vants 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 abor- 
 tion 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 bell-man crying, 'Behold 
 the heads of hardy rebels, which, hav- 
 ing by good luck a misbegotten son, 
 did traitorously grudge him to the 
 duke, who is the true father of all his 
 folk, little or mickle ? ' " 
 
 " 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 heretofore." 
 
 "Avails not threatening our lives," 
 whimpered 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."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 217 
 
 Bat the male mind resisted this 
 rirushcr. 
 
 " 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 vic- 
 tory I know not ; but it was cut short 
 by a party wliom 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 '11 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 ! Why, 
 't is 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 morenecd of you to stay aside her 
 and comfort her ! " 
 
 " 0, 1 am not going to Rome. Not 
 such a fool. I sliall never be farther 
 than Rotterdam ; and I '11 often come 
 and see you ; 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 misbeget- 
 ting of thee, and ho ! you, — bring 
 hither his mule ! " 
 
 One of his retinue brought up the 
 dwarf mide. Giles refused it with 
 scorn. And, on being asked the rea- 
 son, said it was not just. " What, 
 would ye throw all in one scale ? 
 put mucklc to muckle, and little to 
 wee ? Besides, I hate and scorn 
 small things. I '11 go on the high- 
 est horse here, or not at all." 
 
 The pursiuvant cyid him attentive- 
 ly a moment, lie tiicn adopted a 
 
 courteous manner. "I shall study 
 your will in all things n'asonal)le. 
 (Dismount, Eric, yours is the hi'^licst 
 horse.) And if you would halt in the 
 town an hour or so, while you 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, " For- 
 bear, for he kicketh." " I '11 kick 
 him," said Giles. "Bring him close 
 beneath this window, and I '11 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, hold- 
 ing the other, descended as swift and 
 smooth as an oiled thunderbolt in a 
 groove ; and lighted astride his high 
 horse as unperceivcd by that animal 
 as a fly settling on him. 
 
 The official lifted his hands to 
 heaven in mawkish admiration. " 1 
 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 cred- 
 it to his folk. Catherine could not 
 speak, but clung to him with many 
 sobs and embraces ; and even through 
 the mist of tears her eyes detected in 
 a moment a little rent in his sleeve ho 
 had made getting out of window, 
 and she whipped out her needle and 
 mended it then and there, and het 
 tears fell on his arm tlie while, un- 
 heeded, — except by those untteshlj
 
 218 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 eyes with which they say the very air 
 is thronj^ed. 
 
 And so the dwarf mounted the hif^h 
 horse, and rode away complacent 
 with the old hand Iayinj» the court 
 butter on liis back with a trowel. 
 Little recked Perpusillus of two poor 
 silly females that sat by the bereaved 
 hearth, rocking themselves, and weep- 
 inf^, and discussing all his virtues, 
 and how his mind had opened lately, 
 and blind as two beetles to his faults, 
 who rode away from them jocund 
 and bold. 
 
 Ingentes animos angusto pcctore 
 versans. 
 
 Arrived at court he speedily be- 
 came a great favorite. 
 
 One strange propensity of his elec- 
 trified the palace ; but on account of 
 his small size, and for variety's sake, 
 and as a monster, he was indulged in 
 it. In a word, he was let speak the 
 truth. 
 
 It is an unpopular thing. 
 
 He made it an intolerable one. 
 
 Bawled it. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Margaret Brandt had always 
 held herself apart from Sevenbergcn ; 
 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 con- 
 cealed ! 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 sit- 
 uation, as my unlearned readers have 
 done, perhaps. Though not acquaint- 
 ed with the nice distinctions of the 
 contemporary law, she knew that be- 
 trothal was a marriage contract, and 
 oouiil no more be legally broken on 
 
 either side than any other compact 
 written and witnessed ; and that mar 
 riage with another party than the be- 
 trothed had been formally annulled 
 both by Church and State ; and tha' 
 betrothed couples often came togethef 
 without any further ceremony, and 
 their children were legitimate. 
 
 But what weighed down her simple 
 mediasval mind was this : that very 
 contract of betrothal was not forth- 
 coming. Instead of her keeping it, 
 Gerard had got it, and Gerard was 
 far, far away. She hated and de- 
 spised herself for the miserable over- 
 sight which had placed her at the 
 mercy of false opinion. 
 
 For though she had never heard of 
 Horace's famous couplet, Segnius 
 irritant, &c., she was iloratian by 
 the plain, hard, positive intelligeneo 
 which, strange to say, characterizes 
 the judgment of her sex, when feel- 
 ing happens not to blind it alto- 
 gether. She gauged the under- 
 standing of the world to a T. Her 
 marriage lines being out of sight, and 
 in Italy, would never prevail to bal- 
 ance her visible pregnancy, and the 
 sight of her child when born. What 
 sort of a talc was this to stop slan- 
 derous tongues ? "I have got my 
 marriage lines, but I cannot show 
 them you." What woman would be- 
 lieve 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 Marga- 
 ret, though by nature and by having 
 been early made mistress 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 fe^« 
 words ; I doubt if pages of descripi
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 219 
 
 tion from any man's pen could make 
 
 any human creature, except virtuous 
 women (and these need no such aid), 
 realize the anguish of a virtuous wo- 
 man foreseeing herself paraded as a 
 frail one. Had she been frail at 
 heart, she might have brazened it 
 out. But she had not that advan- 
 tage. 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 giv- 
 ing mechanical replies, suddenly her 
 cheek would bum like fire, and the 
 old man would ^vender what he had 
 said to discompose her. Nothing. 
 His words were less than air to her. 
 It was the ever present dread sent the 
 color of shame int» her burning cheek, 
 no matter what she seemed to be talk- 
 ing and thinking about. But both 
 shame and fear rose to a climax when 
 she came back that night from Mar- 
 garet Van Eyck's. Her condition 
 was discovered, and by persons of 
 her own sex. The old artist, se- 
 cluded like herself, might not betray 
 her ; but Catherine, a gossip in the 
 centre of a family, and a thick neigh- 
 borhood? One spark of hope re- 
 mained. Catherine had spoken kind- 
 ly, even lovingly. The situation 
 admitted no half course. Gerard's 
 mother thus aroused 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 neighborhood began to grow and 
 gnaw upon her till it became a v/ild 
 and passionate desire. But how per- 
 suade 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 slie felt that would be 
 
 the alternative. And now, between 
 her uncontrollable desire to fly and 
 hide and her invincible aversion to 
 speak out to a man, even to her fa- 
 ther, she vibrated in a suspense full 
 of lively torture. And presently be- 
 twixt tnese two came in one day the 
 fatal thought, "End all!" Things 
 foolishly worded are not always fool- 
 ish ; one of poor Catherine's bug- 
 bears, these numerous canals, did 
 sorely tempt this poor, fluctuating 
 girl. She stood on the bank one af- 
 ternoon, and eyed the calm deep wa- 
 ter. 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. 
 " selfish wretch," said she, " to 
 leave thy father. wicked wretch to 
 kill thy child, and make thy poor Ge- 
 rard lose all his pain and peril under- 
 taken for thy sight. I will tell father 
 all, ay, ere this sun shall set." 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, ir- 
 resolute way in which its young but 
 despotic mistress addressed that per- 
 son 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." 
 
 " 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,
 
 220 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 foolish girl, that would fain do well, 
 but have done ill, most ill, most un- 
 wisely, and now must bear the shame. 
 But, "father, I love you, with all my 
 faults, and will not you forgive my 
 follv, and still love your motherless 
 
 &'■■'■• " ,, . , 
 
 " That ye may count on, said 
 
 Peter, cheerfully. 
 
 " O no, smile not. For then how 
 can I speak and make you sad ? " 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? " . 
 
 " Father, disgrace is coming on this 
 house ; it is at the door. And I the 
 culprit. O father, turn your head 
 away. I — I — father, I have let Ge- 
 rard take away my marriage lines." 
 
 " Is that all ? 'T was an oversight. 
 'T was the deed of a madwoman." 
 
 " But, woe is me ! that is not the 
 worst." 
 
 Peter intemipted her. " The youth 
 is honest, and loves you dear. You 
 arc young. What is a year or two to 
 you * Gerard will assuredly come 
 "back and keep troth." 
 
 " And meantime know you what is 
 coming ? " 
 
 " 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 ! " muttered Peter, 
 but turned liis bead. 
 
 She trembled violently, and with 
 her cheeks on fire began to falter out, 
 "I did look on Gerard as my hus- 
 band, — we being betrothed, — and he 
 was in so sore danger, and I thought 
 I had killed him, and I — O, if you 
 were but my mother I might find 
 courage ; she would question me. 
 But you say not a word." 
 
 " Why, Margaret, what is all this 
 coil about? and why are thy cheeks 
 crimson, speaking to no stranger, but 
 to thy old father ? " 
 
 " Why are my cheeks on fire ? Be- 
 cause — because — Father, kill me ! 
 send me to heaven ! bid Martin shoot 
 me with his arrow ! And then the 
 gossips will come and tell you why I 
 blush so this day. And Uien, 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. " 'T is 
 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 
 naught. Not bide in Sevenbergen? 
 What need to bide a day, as it vexes 
 thee, and puts thee in a fever ; for fe- 
 vei'ed thou art, deny it not." 
 
 " What ! " cried Margaret, " would 
 you yield to go ho^cc, and — ask no 
 reason but my longing to be gone ? " 
 and, suddenly throwing herself on her 
 knees beside him, in a fervor of sup- 
 plication 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! 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 ? Is it I, whose life 
 hath been spent in searching Na- 
 ture's '^ 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 honor they deny me to the em- 
 pirics 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 al- 
 most wished she had had the courage 
 to tell him. 
 
 After a while nothing would con- 
 tent him but her taking a mcdica
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 221 
 
 ment he went and bron<i;ht 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 and baggage, and lodged above 
 a tailor's shop in the liredc-kirk 
 Siraet. 
 
 Only one person in Tergou knew 
 whither they were gone. 
 
 And it was not his cue to tell. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 Among strangers Margaret Brandt 
 was comparatively happy. And soon 
 a new and unexpected cause of con- 
 tent arose. A ci^dc 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 bat- 
 talion of bottles out of window, 
 and left it open ; beat up yolks of eggs 
 in neat Schiedam, and administered 
 it in small doses : followed this up 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 
 somewhat between a man and a pil- 
 low-case, and, being a voluble digni- 
 tary-, 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 in- 
 vested them all, but Margaret white- 
 maili'<l a part. The victory came 
 too late. The happy cxcitemcTit was 
 fat.il. 
 
 One evening, in bidding licr good 
 
 night, his voice seemed rather inar- 
 ticulate. 
 
 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 
 cheerfully confirmed her views. He 
 was for bleeding the patient. She 
 declined. " He was always against 
 bleeding," said she, " especially the 
 old." Peter lived, but was never the 
 same man again. His memory be- 
 came 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 ho other, 
 awaited his convalescence. Mi.-^ery 
 stared her in the face. She resolved to 
 go for advice and comfort to her cousin 
 William Johnstone, 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 sur- 
 prise, 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 hint. The woman took it, but not 
 as expected. 
 
 " 0, 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 cus- 
 tom o' the town," said the woman, 
 bouncing up. " But this I know ; 
 't is 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.
 
 222 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Your speech betrays you. 'T is 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 flout 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 an- 
 other 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 cus- 
 tom, it thinks with male intensity, 
 thinks just as 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 instructing Martin, set him 
 to play the lounging sentinel about 
 the street door, and tell the crocodile- 
 bitten that a great and aged learned 
 alchymist abode there, who in his 
 moments of recreation would some- 
 times amuse himself by curing mortal 
 diseases. 
 
 Patients soon came, and were re- 
 ceived 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, O 
 mysterious powers ! when they did 
 return, the drug or draught was al- 
 ways ready for them. Sometimes, 
 when it was a worshipful patient, she 
 would carefully 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 '? " Then it v/ould be either " I 
 am no reader," or, with admiration, 
 " Nay, mistress, naught can I make 
 on 't." 
 
 " Ay, but I can. 'T is sovereign. 
 Look on thyself as cured ! " If she 
 had the materials by her, and she 
 was too good an economist uut to 
 favor somewhat those medicines she 
 had in her own stock, she would some- 
 times 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 medi- 
 cine and minds full of faith, and hum- 
 bugged to their hearts' content. Popu- 
 lus vult 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-raonow," along with 
 such of her gold pieces as had sur- 
 vived the journey from Sevenbergen 
 and the expenses of housekeeping in 
 a strange place. And so she met cur- 
 rent expenses, and laid by for the rainy 
 day she saw coming, and mixed drugs 
 with simples, and vice with virtue. 
 On this 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 223 
 
 her child." But, lo and behold, cure 
 after cure was reported to her ; 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 sud- 
 •denly. But, though less supple, he 
 was 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, punctuality, accuracy, de- 
 epatch, and drunkenness. 
 
 He fell among " good fellows " ; 
 the blackguards 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 
 ambush, and getting rid of slops, 
 and taking good money in exchange, 
 struck him not as Science, but some- 
 thing 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 burgh- 
 ers." 
 
 When this revelation had had time 
 to leaven the city, his General, Doctor 
 Margaret, received a call from the 
 constables ; they took her, trembling 
 and begging subordinate machines to 
 forgive her, before the burgomaster ; 
 and by his side stood real physicians, 
 a terrible row, in long robes and 
 square caps, accusing her of practis- 
 ing 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 " para- 
 lyzed 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 
 Cftn I keep them ? Ah, good sirs, let 
 10* 
 
 a poor girl make her bread honestly ; 
 ye hinder them not to make it idly 
 and shamefully ; and, O 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 un- 
 derneath it. All which went to the 
 wrong address. Perhaps a female 
 bailiff might have yielded to such ar- 
 guments, and bade her practise medi- 
 cine and break laws till such time as 
 her child should be weaned, and no 
 longer. 
 
 " What have we to do with that 1 " 
 said the burgomaster, " save and ex- 
 cept 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 dis- 
 missed with the constables to pay 
 the fine, she turned at the door, and 
 courtesied, 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 im- 
 patient, 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 hel
 
 224 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THK IIKARTH. 
 
 arms went round them, and her rich 
 liair escaped atid 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 remained. And Martin Wit- 
 tcn!iaa;^en came in, and she could not 
 lift her head, but sij^hed but to him 
 what had befallen her, ending, " My 
 love his box is broken, and so mine 
 heart is 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 ? Whoever 
 it was should feel his arrow's point. 
 The curious attitude in whicii he 
 mu^t deliver the shaft never occurred 
 to him. 
 
 " Idle chat ! idle chat ! " moaned 
 Margaret, without lifting her brow 
 from the table. " When you have 
 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 Ids 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 ! forgive me that I 
 spake shrcwishly to thee." 
 
 Even while they were talking came 
 a male for advice. Margaret told 
 it the mayor had interfered and for- 
 bidden her to sell drugs. "But," 
 said she, " I will gladly iron and 
 starch your linen for you, 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, sadly. 
 
 Presently came a female to tell tho 
 symptoms of her sick child. Mar- 
 garet stopped it. 
 
 " We are forbidden by the bailiff to 
 sell drugs. But 1 will ghully wash, 
 iron, anil 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 ilenied med- 
 icine, made Doctor Margaret their 
 washerwoman. 
 
 " Now, Martin, you must help. 
 I '11 no more cats than can slay 
 mice." 
 
 " Mistress, tho stomach is not a 
 wanting for 't, but the head-piece, 
 worse luck." 
 
 " Oh ! 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 ve could 
 drive him into the tub. Come, off 
 doublet, and try." 
 
 " I am your man," said the brave 
 old soldier, stripping for the unwonted 
 toil. " I '11 risk my arm in soapsuds, 
 an you will risk your glory." 
 
 "■ My what ? " 
 
 " Your glory and honor as a — 
 washerwoman." 
 
 " Gramercy ! 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 re- 
 ])aired the " to-morrow box," and, as 
 she leaned over the glue, her tears 
 mixed with it, and she cemented her
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 225 
 
 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, bur- 
 lesquing Bibles, and making fun of 
 all things except fun. But when 
 mended it stood unreplenishcd. They 
 kept the weekly rent paid, and the 
 pot boiling, but no more. 
 
 And now came a concatenation. 
 Recommended from one to another, 
 Margaret washed for the mayor. 
 And, bringing home the clean lin- 
 en 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 symp- 
 toms as she had observed. But they 
 were too general. However, one gos- 
 sip would add one fact, and another 
 another. And Margaret pondered 
 them all. 
 
 At last one day she met the mayor 
 himself. He recognized her directly. 
 
 " AVTiy, you are the unlicensed doc- 
 tor." "I was," said she, "but now 
 I 'm your worship's washerwoman." 
 The dignitary colored, and said that 
 was rather a come-dowTi. 
 
 " 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 add- 
 ed, " 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 nanght. Her 
 ill is inscrutable. Oftc skilled wight 
 
 saith spleen ; another, liver ; another, 
 blood ; another, stomach ; and anoth- 
 er, that she is possessed ; and, in very 
 truth, she seems to have a demon ; 
 shunneth all company ; pineth alone ; 
 eateth no more victuals than miglit 
 diet a sparrow. Speaketh seldom, nor 
 hearkens them that speak, and wear- 
 eth thinner and paler and nearer and 
 nearer the grave, well-a-day ! " " Sir," 
 said Margaret, " an' if you take your 
 velvet doublet to half a dozen of 
 shops in Rotterdam, and speer is this 
 fine or 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 1 Be- 
 cause 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 enamored of some one evil, 
 and sceth it with his bat's eye in every 
 patient. Had they stayed at home, 
 and ne'er seen your daughter, they 
 had answered all the same, spleen, 
 blood, stomach, lungs, 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, giv- 
 ing way to the irritability of a breed- 
 ing 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 sit- 
 ting over. 
 
 Margaret came softly and sat be- 
 side her. "But 'tis one that will not 
 torment you." 
 
 " A woman ! " exclaimed the young 
 lady, with surprise and some cou' 
 tempt.
 
 226 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Tell her your symptoms." 
 
 " What for 1 You will be no 
 wiser." 
 
 " You will bo none the worse." 
 
 " Well, I have no stomach for food, 
 and no heart for anything. Now 
 cure me, and go." 
 
 " Patience awhile ! Your food, is 
 it tasteless like in your moulh 1 " 
 
 " Ay. How knew you that ? " 
 
 " Nay, I knew it not till you di<l 
 tell me. I trow you would be better 
 for a little good company." 
 
 " I trow not. What is their silly 
 chat to me 1 " 
 
 Here Margaret requested the father 
 to leave them alone ; and in his ab- 
 sence put some practical questions. 
 Then she reflected. 
 
 " When you wake i' the morning 
 you 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. 'T is 
 about two true lovers." 
 
 " I hate to hear of lovers," said the 
 girl ; " nevertheless canst tell me ; 
 t will be 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." 
 
 " You 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, 
 ])oor thing." 
 
 " Then give it me, for I am she." 
 
 " Nay, nay, that I '11 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 you promised me, and with a 
 good heart, for O, my own heart lies 
 heavy, — heavy as thine, sweet mis- 
 tress." 
 
 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.) " Como 
 again ! come often ! " 
 
 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 't is cur- 
 able." 
 
 " What is 't 1 the blood ? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The stomach ? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The liver ? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " The foul fiend ? " 
 
 '■ Nay." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 "Love." 
 
 " Love ? stuff, impossible ! She is 
 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 com« 
 mand her to tell me the caitiff's name 
 that hath by magic arts ensnared her 
 young affections." 
 
 " 0, how foolish be the wise I " said 
 Margaret ; " what, would ye go and 
 put her on her guard ? Nay, let us 
 work by art first ; and, if that fails,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 227 
 
 then *t will still be time for violence 
 and lolly." 
 
 Margaret then with some difficulty 
 prevailed on the mayor to take advan- 
 tage of its being Saturday, and pay 
 all liis 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 em- 
 ployer. Then Margaret, who had sat 
 close to the patient all the time, rose 
 and went out. The mayor followed 
 her. 
 
 " Sir, how call vou von black-haired 
 lad ? " 
 
 " That is Ulrich, my clerk." 
 
 " Well, then, 't is he." 
 
 " Now Heaven forbid ! a lad I took 
 out of the streets." 
 
 " Well, but your worship is an un- 
 derstanding man. You took him not 
 up without some merit of his." 
 
 " Merit ? not a jot ! I liked the 
 looks 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 since Adam." 
 
 " How know ye 't is he ? " 
 
 " I held her hand, and ■with my 
 finger did lightly touch her A\Tist ; 
 and, when the others came and went, 
 't was as if dogs and cats had fared 
 in and out. But at this Ulrich's 
 coming her pulse did leap, and her 
 eyes shine ; and, when he went, she 
 did sink back and sigh ; and 't was to 
 be seen the sun had gone out of the 
 room for her. Nay, burgomaster, look 
 not on me so scared ; no witch nor 
 magician I, but a poor girl that hath 
 been docile, and so bettered herself by 
 a great neglected leech's learning. I 
 tell ye all this hath been done before, 
 thousands of yea.TS ere we were born. 
 Now bide thou there till I come to 
 thee, and prithee, prithee, spoil not 
 good work wi' meddling " ; so she 
 went back, and asked her patient for 
 a lock of her hair. 
 
 " Take it," said she, more listlessly 
 than ever. 
 
 " Why, 't is a lass of marble. How 
 
 long do you count to be like that, 
 mistress ? " 
 
 " Till I am in my grave, sweet 
 Peggy." 
 
 " Who knows ? maybe in ten min- 
 utes you Avill be altogether as hot." 
 
 She ran into the shop, but speedily 
 returned to the mayor and said, " Good 
 news. He fancies her, and more than 
 a little. Now, how is 't to bo ? Will 
 you marry your child, or bury her ? for 
 there is no third way, sith shame and 
 love they do rend her virgin heart to 
 death." 
 
 The dignitary decided for the more 
 cheerful rite, and not without a strug- 
 gle; 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. So Doctor Margaret 
 said cheerfully, " Mistress, your lock 
 is gone, I have sold it." 
 
 " And who was so mad as to buy 
 such a thing 1 " inquired the young la- 
 dy, scornfully. 
 
 " 0, a black-haired laddie wi' white 
 teeth. They call him Ulrich." 
 
 The pale face reddened directly, — 
 brow and all. 
 
 " Says he, ' O sweet mistress, give 
 it me." I had told them all wliose 
 't was. ' Nay,' said I, ' selling is 
 my livelihood, not giving.' So he 
 offered me this, he offered me that, but 
 naught 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. Says he to me, when I 
 told him, ' O, an he loves her hair so 
 well, 't is odd but he loves the rest of 
 her. Well,' quoth he, ' 't is an honest 
 lad and a' shall have her, gien she wiU 
 but leave her sulks and consent.' So, 
 what say ye, mistress, — will you be 
 married to Ulrich, or buried in the 
 kirkyard ? " 
 
 " Father ! father ! " 
 
 " 'T is so, girl, speak thy mind." 
 
 "I — will — obey — my fatlier — 
 in all things," stammered the poor 
 girl, trying hard to maintain the
 
 228 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 advantageous position in which Mar- 1 
 fjarct had placed her. But nature, ; 
 and the joy and surprise, were too 
 strong even for a virgin's bashful cun- j 
 ning. She cast an eloquent look on | 
 them both, and sank at her father's j 
 knees, and begged his pardon, with \ 
 many sobs, for ha\-ing 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 digni- 
 tary was as happy as he thought to be 
 miserable ; so hard it is 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 ? Where on 
 earth is she ? " 
 
 Where was she 1 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-day ! " 
 
 Next time she met the dignitary, he 
 hemmed and hawed, and remarked 
 what a pity it was the law forbade him 
 to pay her who had cured his daugh- 
 ter. " However, when all is done, 
 't was not art, 't was but woman's 
 wit." 
 
 " Naught but that, burgomaster," 
 said Margaret, bitterly. " Pay the 
 men of art for not curing her ; all 
 the guerdon 1 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 ; 
 so pledge me your faith." 
 
 The dignitary promised pompously, 
 and felt all the patron. 
 
 Something must be done to fill 
 
 " to-morrow's " box. She hawked he» 
 initial letters and her iiluniiuatcd vel- 
 lums all about the town. Printing 
 had by this time dealt calligraj)hy in 
 black and white a terrible blow in 
 Holland and Germany. But somo 
 coi)ies of the printed books were usu- 
 ally illuminated and lettered. The 
 printers offered Margaret prices for 
 work in these two kinds. 
 
 " I '11 think on 't," said she. 
 
 She took down her diurnal book, 
 and calculated that the price of an 
 liour's work on those arts would be 
 about one fifth what she got for an 
 hour at the tub and mangle. " I 'II 
 starve first," said she; " what, pay a 
 craft and a mystery five times less 
 than a handicraft ! " 
 
 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. 
 
 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 neir 
 the merry crew with her pitcher, and 
 that was everj- day. Each sex has 
 its form of cruelty ; man's is more 
 brutal and terrible ; but shallow wo- 
 men, that have neither read nor suf- 
 I'cred, have an unmuscular barbarity 
 of their own (where no feeling of sex 
 steps in to overpower it). This defect, 
 intellectual, perhaps, rather than mor- 
 al, has been mitigated in our day by 
 books, especially by able works of fic- 
 tion ; for there are two roads to that 
 highest effort of intelligence. Pity : 
 Experience of sorrows, and Imagina- 
 tion, by which alone we realize 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 229 
 
 fell foul of the supposed victim. 
 Sometimes they affronted her to her 
 face. Oftener they talked at her back- 
 wards and forwards with a subtle skill 
 and perseverance which, " O that 
 they had bestowed on the arts," as 
 poor Ague-Cheek 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. For- 
 titude she had. But she had no true 
 fighting courage. She was a power- 
 ful young woman, rather tall, full, 
 and sym^metrical ; yet, had one of those 
 slips of girls slapped her face, the poor 
 fool's hands would have dropped pow- 
 erless, 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 1 
 She knew nothing of these girls, ex- 
 cept 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 so 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 triumph knew no 
 bounds, and they followed her half- 
 way home, casting barbed speeches. 
 
 After that exposure of weakness 
 the statue could be assumed no more. 
 So then she would stand timidly aloof 
 out of tongue-shot, till her young ty- 
 rants' pitchers were all filled, and they 
 gone, and then creep up with hers. 
 And one day she waited so long that 
 the font had ceased to flow. 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 erroneous. They 
 could not all flirt with that one man ; 
 so the outsiders indemnified them- 
 selves by talking at her the very mo- 
 ment she came up. 
 
 "Any news from foreign parts, 
 Jacqueline ? " 
 
 " 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 to take the fool's place." 
 
 " He '11 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. " O, flout 
 me not and show your ill-nature be- 
 fore 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, resist- 
 ance ; and, ere they could recover and 
 make mincemeat of her, she put her 
 pitcher quietly dowTi, 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 'ti.'^ a black shame."
 
 230 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Who spoke to her 1 Not I for 
 one." 
 
 " Nor I. I would not bemcan my- 
 self so far." 
 
 The man lauphed heartily at this 
 display of dignity. " Come, wife," 
 said he, " never lower thy flaf; 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 twos 
 across thy knee, and skelp 'em till 
 they cry Meculpee 1 " 
 
 " 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 1 
 You arc a buxom wife. They are a 
 bundle of thread-papers. You arc 
 fjiir and fresh : they have all the 
 Dutch rim under their bright eyes, 
 that comes of dwelling in eternal 
 swamps. There lies your crime. 
 Come, gi'e me thy pitcher, and, if 
 they flout me, shalt see me scrub 'em 
 all wi' my beard, till they squeak Ho- 
 ly Mother." The pitcher was soon 
 filled, and the soldier put it in Mar- 
 garet's hand. She murmured, "Thank 
 you kindly, brave soldier." 
 
 He patted her on the shoulder. 
 " Come, courage, brave wife ; the 
 divell is dead ! " 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 tvvo beaming eyes in 
 front of him, and two hands held out 
 clasped. 
 
 " Nay, nay, 't is naught," said he, 
 good-humoredly, mistaking. 
 
 " Denys ? " 
 
 " Well f — but — hallo ! How 
 know you my name is — " 
 
 " Denys of Burgundy ! " 
 
 " Why, ods-bodikins ! I know you 
 not, and you know me." 
 
 " By Gerard's letter. Crose-bow ! 
 
 beard ! handsome ! The divell it 
 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 ? Is he 
 in life? Is he well ? Is he coming ? 
 Is he come ? Why is he not here ? 
 Where have ye left him ? O tell me ! 
 prithee, prithee, prithee tell me ! " 
 
 " Ay, ay, but not here. O, ye are 
 all curiosity now, mesdames, eh f 
 Lass, I have been three months afoot 
 travelling all Holland to find ye, and 
 here you are. O, be joyful ! " and he 
 flung his cap in the air, and, seizing 
 both her hands, kissed them ardent- 
 Iv. " Ay, my pretty she-comrade, 
 i have found thee at last. I knew I 
 should. Shalt be flouted no more. 
 I '11 twist your necks at the first 
 word, ye little harlots. 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 cho- 
 rus. " She has gotten a man. She 
 has gotten a man at last. Hoo 1 hoc ! 
 hoo ! " 
 
 Margaret quickened her steps ; but 
 Denys took down his cross-bow, and 
 pretended to shoot them all dead : 
 they fled quadrivious, shrieking. 
 
 CHAPTER LU. 
 
 The reader already knows how 
 much these two had to tell one an- 
 other. It was a sweet yet bitter day 
 for Margaret, since it brought her a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 231 
 
 trne 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 hec- 
 tored 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 you, Denys. Good lack 
 to hear such ugly words come forth 
 so comely a head ; forbear, or I shall 
 he angry ; so be civil." Whereupon 
 Denys was upon his good behavior, 
 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 favorite she 
 had been, and would keep her dis- 
 tance; but could not forget her bene- 
 factress's past kindness. She then 
 told her briefly how many ways she 
 had battled for a living, and, in con- 
 clusion, 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 Richt. 
 The secret ran through Richt, as 
 through a cylinder, to Catherine. 
 
 " Ay, and is she turned that bitter 
 against us 1 " said that good woman. 
 " She stole our son from us, and now 
 she ffates us for not nmning into her 
 arms. Nathelcss it is a blessing she is 
 alive and no farther away than Rot- 
 terdam." 
 
 And so matters remained for a while, 
 and so they would have continued, | 
 
 but for an event which brought about 
 a meeting between Margaret and the 
 family of Gerard. 
 
 One day a letter came to Sevenber- 
 gen from Italy for Margaret Brandt. 
 The stranger who brought it, finding 
 she had gone away, left it with the 
 burgomaster, as the proper person to 
 whom to intrust it. Ghysbrecht took 
 it, and, after much deliberation, went 
 off with it himself to Rotterdam and 
 placed it in Margaret's hands. Her 
 surprise may be imagined. Ghys- 
 brecht — he who had sent his emissa- 
 ries and let loose his bloodhounds to 
 captiire Gerard — now to bring her 
 a letter from him ! However, she 
 thought not then of the motive of the 
 deed, but was soon all absorbed in 
 the missive. 
 
 It was a long, long letter ; a long 
 and eventful story. But of that pres- 
 ently. 
 
 The next day, by Margaret's desire, 
 Denys was journeying towards Ter- 
 gou. He bore a message from her to 
 the family of Gerard. She would see 
 them, would give them news of their 
 long-absent son. At how great a 
 strain upon her feelings it were vain 
 to tell ; but her love for Gerard pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 And this was the ^vritten message, 
 in the words of Gerard, which De- 
 nys gave to the assembled family. 
 
 " ' And, sweetheart, an' if these 
 lines should travel safe to thee, make 
 thou trial of my people's hearts withal. 
 Maybe they are somewhat turned to- 
 wards me, being far away. If 't is so 
 they will show it to thee, since now 
 to me they may not, Read, then, 
 this letter ! But I do strictly forbid 
 thee to let it from thy hand ; and if 
 they still hold aloof from thee, why, 
 then say naught, 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 hand- 
 ed round and inspected.
 
 232 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEAHTH. 
 
 " Well," paid Catherine, " that is 
 anotlier matter. I'ut iiiethinks 'tis 
 for her to eome to us, not wc to her." 
 
 " Alas, mother ! what odds docs 
 that make 1 " 
 
 " Mueh," said Eli. " Tell her wc 
 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 liatli 
 made here will seem to come in 
 adoors in one heap. But what could 
 I do, wife y We miist hear the news 
 of (ierard. 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 strong- 
 er than we, and brings our noses down 
 to the grindstone, the sly, cruel jade. 
 IJut never heed. We will hear the 
 letter ; and then let her go unblessed, 
 as she came unwelcome." 
 
 " Make your mind easy," said Cath- 
 erine. " She will not come at all." 
 And a tone of regret was visible. 
 
 Shortly after llichart, 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 mediajval society almost as visibly 
 as those in their staircases. 
 
 Admitted in due course to the fam- 
 ily council, he showed plainly, though 
 not discourteously, that his pride 
 was deeply wounded by their hav- 
 ing 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 an- 
 other ? " 
 
 This threw a considerable chill over 
 ilie old ])Cople. So little Kate put 
 in a word. " Vex not thyself, dear 
 Kichart. Mother says she will not 
 come." 
 
 " All the better, sweetheart. I fear 
 me, if slie do, I shall hie me back to 
 Amsterdam." 
 
 Here Denys popped his head in at 
 the door, and said, " She will be hero 
 at three on the great dial." 
 
 They all looked at one another in 
 silence. 
 
 CHAPTER LHI. 
 
 " Nay, llichart," 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 mother. Let her como 
 and read the letter of the poor boy 
 she hath b}- devilish arts bewitched, 
 and then let her go. Give mc your 
 words to show her no countenance 
 beyond decent and constrained civil- 
 ity ; 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 sjjirit little less 
 hostile. 
 
 When Denys brought word they 
 would not come to her, but would re- 
 ceive her, her lip curled, and she bade 
 him observe how in them every feel- 
 ing, however small, was larger than 
 the love for Gerard. " Well," said 
 she, " I have not that excuse ; so why 
 mimic the petty burgher's pride, the 
 pride of all unlettered folk. I will 
 go to them for Gerard's sake. O, 
 how I loathe them ! " 
 
 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 ma- 
 terial, but a glossy roan, or claret 
 color. Not an inch of pretentious 
 fur about her, but plain snow j 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 233 
 
 hair still peeped in two waves much 
 after the fashion which Maiy, Queen 
 of Scots, revived a century later ; but 
 instead of the silver net, which would 
 have ill become her present condition, 
 the rest of her head was covered with 
 a very small tight-fittinjij hood of dark 
 blue cloth, hemmed with silver. Her 
 shoes were red ; but the roan petti- 
 coat and hose prepared the spectator'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 "? " 
 
 " Well, she-general 1 " 
 
 " I must go home " (piteously). 
 
 " What, have ye left somewhat be- 
 hind 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. 
 
 Meanwhile they were all assembled, 
 and waiting her with a strange mix- 
 ture of feelings. 
 
 Mortification, curiosity, panting af- 
 fection, aversion to her who came to 
 gratify those feelings, yet another cu- 
 riosity to see what she was like, and 
 what there was in her to bewitch Ge- 
 rard, and make so much mischief. 
 
 At last Denys came alone, and 
 whispered, " The she-comrade is with- 
 out." 
 
 " Fetch her in," said Eli. " Now 
 whist, 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 out- 
 side, 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 re- 
 mained 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. 
 
 Cornelis and Sybrandt hated her 
 for it. Riehart thought it spoiled her 
 beauty. 
 
 It softened tlie women somewhat. 
 
 She took her letter out of her bosom, 
 and kissed it as if she had been alone ; 
 then disposed herself to read it ^vith 
 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, put- 
 ting 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 ! " and stood 
 at her shoulder like a sentinel ; but 
 this zealous manner of doing it re- 
 vealed to the company that he had 
 been ordered thither, and at that she 
 colored. 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 pre- 
 cious sound. It was a voice as of 
 a woman's bosom set speaking by 
 Heaven itself. 
 
 " 1 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 unlooked- 
 for and most tearful parting. There- 
 fore 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 ©ray for
 
 234 
 
 TIIK CLOISTKK AND Till; IIKAIIIM. 
 
 him (lay and night next after thee, 
 dearest. Friend more stanch and 
 lovin;^ had not David in Jonathan 
 than I in him. Be good to him tor 
 pour Gerard's sake." 
 
 At these words, which came quite 
 unex[K'ctedly to him, Denys leaned 
 his head on Margaret's high chair, 
 and groaned aloud. 
 
 She turned <}uiekly 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 horsehack, and had like to have 
 rill o'er me. And he drew rein at the 
 brow of the hill, and sent his armed 
 men hack to rob me. They robbed 
 me civilly enough, and took my purse 
 and the last copper, and rid gaylv 
 nway. I wandered stupid on, a friend- 
 less 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. 'T was ill done, and with score 
 of wolves hard by. Had I loved thee 
 as thou dost deserve, I had shown 
 more manhood. But, O sweet love, 
 the drowsiness that did crawl o'er me 
 desolate, and benumbed 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 ser\-ant-girl in her holi- 
 day suit. 'Are ye mad,' quoth she, 
 in seeming choler, ' to sleep in snow, 
 and nnder wolves' noscn ? 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?' But 
 I stared a.% 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 agonc, I 
 had said I am rich. Hut now 1 am 
 so poor as sure earth beareth on her 
 lK)som none poorer. An hour agono 
 I was rich in a friend, rich in money, 
 rich in hone and spirits of youth ; but 
 now the Bastard of Burgundy hath 
 Uiken my friend and another gentle- 
 man my nurse ; and I can neither 
 go forward to Rome nor back to her 
 1 left in Holland. I am poorest of 
 the poor.' ' Alack ! ' said the wench. 
 ' Natheless, an ye had Ixx-n rich ye 
 might ha' 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 i)oor, you are our man ; so como 
 wi' me.' '1 hen I went because she 
 bade me, and because I recketl not 
 now whither I went. And she took 
 me to a fine house hard by, and into 
 a noble 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 whis- 
 per. ' What, alone 1 ' said I. ' Alone ? 
 And which of us, think ye, would 
 eat out of the same dish with ye 1 
 Are we robljcrs o' the dead ? ' Then 
 she spcered where I was bom. ' At 
 Tergou,' said I. Says she : ' And, 
 when a gentleman dies in that coun- 
 try, 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 bet- 
 ter Christians.' So I behooved 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 so love good wine, 
 and women good, bad, or indiffer- 
 ent. The rich, strong ^vinc 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. ' 'T was un- 
 lucky to pass one. Naught was here 
 but her master's daili/ dinner.' ' He 
 had a good stomach, then,' said L
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 235 
 
 *Ay, lad, and a good heart. Least- 
 ways, 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, nib- 
 bling 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 
 hun would the law give me back my 
 purse. ' Law ! ' quoth he, — ' law, 
 there was none for the poor in Bur- 
 gundy. Why, 't was 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 slander- 
 ing 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 '11 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 
 the Rhine." 
 
 " 0, then he is coming home ! he is 
 coming home ! " shouted Denys, in- 
 terrupting the reader. She shook her 
 head gently at him, by way of re- 
 proof. 
 
 "I beg pardon, all the company," 
 said he, stiffly. 
 
 " 'T was a sore temptation ; but, 
 being a sen'ant, my stomach rose 
 against it. ' Nay, nay,' said I. She 
 told me I was %vrong. ' 'T was pride 
 out o' place; poor folk should help 
 one another; or who on earth 
 would ? ' I said if I could do aught 
 in return 't were well ; but for a free 
 gift, nay : I was overmuch beholden 
 already. Should I write a letter for 
 her 1 ' Nay, he is in the house at 
 
 E resent,' said she. ' Should I draw 
 er picture, and so earn my money ? ' 
 ' What, can yc 1 ' 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, colored at odd hours. 
 The other I did most hastily, and. 
 with little conscience, daub, for which 
 may Heaven forgive me ; but time was 
 short. They, poor things, knew no 
 better, and were most proud and joy- 
 ous ; and, both kissing me after their 
 country fashion, — 't was the hind that 
 was her sweetheart, — they did bid me 
 God-speed ; and I towards Rhine." 
 
 Margaret paused here, and gave 
 Denys the colored dra^ving to hand 
 round. It was eagerly examined by 
 the females on account of the costume, 
 which differed in some respects 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 rectangu- 
 lar point that descended the centre of 
 her forehead, and it met in two more 
 points over her bosom. She wore a 
 red kirtle vrith long sleeves, kilted 
 very high im 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 dia- 
 mond buckle to come. 
 
 Margaret continued : — 
 
 " But, O, how I missed my Denys 
 at every step ! often I sat down on the 
 road and groaned. And in the after- 
 noon it chanced that I did so set me 
 down where two roads met, and with 
 hea^y head in hand, and heavy heart, 
 did think of thee, my poor sweetheart, 
 and of my lost friend, and of the lit- 
 tle house at Tergou, where they all 
 loved me once ; though now it is 
 turned to hate." 
 
 Catherine. "Alas! that he will 
 think so." 
 
 Eli. '• Whist, wife ! " 
 
 "And I did sigh loud, and often.
 
 236 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 And me sighing so, one came carol- 
 ling lilic a bird adown t'other road. 
 ' Ay, chirp and chirp,' cried I, bittcrlj'. 
 ' Thou hast not lost sweetheart, and 
 friend, thy father's hearth, thy moth- 
 er'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]>ath to see what would make a man 
 so light-licartcd in this weary world ; 
 and io ! the songster was a hump- 
 backed cripple, ^vith a bloody bandage 
 o'er his eye, and both legs gone at the 
 knee." 
 
 " He ! he ! he ! he ! he ! " went Sy- 
 brandt, 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, 
 Sybrandt "? " remonstrated Catherine, 
 more mildly. "Is not our Kate af- 
 flicted? and is she not the most con- 
 tent of us all, and singeth like a 
 merle at times between her pains ? 
 But I am as bad as thou ; prithee read 
 on, Inss, and stop our babble wi' some- 
 what 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, you see." 
 
 Eli. " Whist, dame, whist ! " 
 
 " 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.' Then he believed me 
 none, and to melt me undid his 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 elee.' I saw and groaned for 
 
 him, and to excuse my.seif let himwoi 
 how I had been robbed of my la.sl 
 copper. Thereat he left whining all 
 in a moment, and said, in a big manly 
 voice, ' Then I '11 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 bis eye no 
 deeper than the bandage." 
 
 " Oh ! " ejaculated Margaret's hear- 
 ers, in a body. 
 
 " W^hereat, seeing me astonished, 
 he laughed in my face, and told me I 
 was not worth gulling, and offered 
 me his protection. ' My face was 
 prophetic,' he said. 'Of what?' 
 said I. ' 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 its adventurous life 
 had crammed the poor knave with 
 shrewdness 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 ; l)ut 
 think not of Holland again. Nay, 
 on to Augsburg and Nurnborg, 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 vagabonc, Germany 
 was made for us twain.' I bade him 
 make that good : how might one 
 country fit true men and knaves? 
 ' Why, thou novice,' said he, ' be- 
 cause 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 Nurn- 
 berg, we will reach it with full 
 pouches. I '11 learn ye the cul da
 
 TlIK CI>OISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 237 
 
 bois, an<l the cul de jatte, and hojv to 
 maund, and chant, and patter, and to 
 raise swcllinfrs, and paint sores and 
 ulcers on thy body would take in the 
 divell.' I told liim, shivering, I'd 
 liever die than shame myself and my 
 folk so." 
 
 FM. " Good lad ! good lad ! " 
 " Why, what shame was it for such 
 as I to turn beggar "? Beggary was 
 an ancient and most honorable mys- 
 tery. What did holy monks, and 
 bishops, and kings, when they would 
 win Heaven's smile ? why, wash the 
 feet of beggars, those favorites of the 
 saints. ' The saints were no fools,' 
 he told me. Then he did put out his 
 foot. ' Look at that, that was washed 
 by the greatest king alive, Louis of 
 France, the last holy Thursday that 
 was. And the next day, Friday, 
 clapped in the stocks by the warden 
 of a petty hamlet.' So I told him 
 my foot should walk between such 
 high honor 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 
 licad, I the fingers. And with that 
 ho set himself up like a judge, on a 
 lieap 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 ! ' said he, ' so is an 
 ox. Say, what canst do that Sir 
 Ox cannot ? ' I could write, I had 
 won a prize for it. ' Canst write as 
 fast as the printers ? ' quo' he, jeer- 
 ing. ' What else ? ' I could paint. 
 ' That was better.' I was like to 
 tear iv.y 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 
 iiire you from this moment.' ' What 
 to do 1 ' said I. ' Naught crooked, 
 Sir Candor,' says he. ' I will feed 
 tiioc 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 ho, ' 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 liis 
 wallet he brought flesh, fowl, and 
 pastry, a good dozen of spices lapped 
 in a flax paper, and wine fit for a 
 king. Ne'er feasted I better than out 
 of this beggar's wallet, now my mas- 
 ter. When we had well eaten I was 
 for going on. ' But,' said he, ' ser- 
 vants should not drive their masters 
 too liard, especially after feeding, for 
 then the body is for repose, and the 
 mind tiu'ns to contemplation ' ; 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. ' Could he do the 
 cul de jatte better than I ? ' said he, 
 and looked quite jealous like. I told 
 him nay, Lazarus was honest, though 
 a beggar, and fed daily of the crumbs 
 fiiU'n from a rich man's table, and the 
 dogs licked his sores. ' Servant,' 
 quo' he, ' 1 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 div- 
 cU's tail. I pra}^ Heaven thou mayst 
 prove to paint better than thou cuttest 
 wliids, 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's sores, being made with spear- 
 wort, or ratsbane, or biting acids, from 
 which all dogs, and even pigs, abhor. 
 My sores 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 
 lies, 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 wayside 
 inns, scarce a furlong apart. ' Halt,' 
 said my master. ' Their armories 
 arc sore faded, — all the hotter. Go 
 thou in ; shun the master ; board the 
 wife ; and Hatter her >nn sky-high, all
 
 238 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE UEARTH. 
 
 but the armories, and offer to color 
 tlieiii dirt cheap.' So I went in and 
 told tlie 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. ' Yc arc 
 all fingers and no tongue,' said he ; 
 ' I have made a scurvy bargain. 
 Come and hear me patter and flat- 
 ter.' 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 armo- 
 ries arc dull and faded. Say but the 
 word, and for a silver franc my ap- 
 prentice here, tlic cunningcst e'er I 
 nad, shall make them bright as ever.' 
 Whilst she liesitated, tlie rogue told 
 her he liad done it to a little inn liard 
 by, and now the inn's face was like 
 the stany firmament. 'D'ye hear 
 that, my man ? ' cries she. ' " The 
 Three Frogs " have been and paint- 
 ed up their armories ; shall " The 
 Four Hedgehogs " be outshone by 
 them ? ' 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 beanl and disguised 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 'cicatrices d'emprunt,' as 
 he called them, and all his infirmi- 
 ties, at 'The Four Hedgehogs,' 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 
 nuiater 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 Ciil de Jatte, be- 
 cause that was his lay at our first 
 meeting. And at the next town my 
 master, Cul de Jatte, bought me a 
 psaltery, and set 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, harmonious 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 
 Bcc, Gerard erst, of his young days 
 and home, and brought the water to 
 mine een. But, looking up, my mas- 
 ter's visage was as the face of a little 
 boy whipt soundly, or sipping foulest 
 medicine. ' Zounds, stop that belly- 
 ache blether,' quoth he, ' that will 
 ne'er wile a stiver out o' peasants' 
 purses; 'twill but sour the nurse's 
 milk, and gar the kinc 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 ? Hearken ! these 
 be the songs that glad the heart, and 
 fill the minstrel's purse.' And he 
 sung so blasphemous a stave, and eke 
 so 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 dcl)onair. 
 Held I the thunder, yon ribaldry had 
 been thy last, thou foul-mouthed 
 wretch.' 
 
 " ' Why, Bon Bcc, what is to do ? ' 
 quoth he. ' I have made an ill bar- 
 gain. O perverse heart, that turned 
 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, sulki- 
 ly, ' the first fire we light by the way- 
 side, clap thou on the music-box ! so 
 't will make our pot boil for tha 
 nonce; but with your 
 
 Oood people, let us peak and pine, 
 Cut tristful mujjs, and miaul and whm9 
 Thorough our noseu chants divine.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 239 
 
 never, never, never. Ye miiiht as 
 well go through Lorraine, crying, 
 Mulleygrubs, MuUeygrubs, who '11 
 huy my Mulleygrubs ? ' So we 
 fared on, bad friends. But I took 
 a thought, and prayed hi:n hum me 
 one of his 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, 
 () Margarrt, note the sly malice of 
 tlic Evil One ! Still to the scurviest 
 matter he weddeth the tunablcst 
 ditties." 
 
 Catherine. " That is true as Holy 
 Writ." 
 
 Si/lirandt. " How know you that, 
 mother ? " 
 
 Cornelis. " He ! he ! he ! " 
 
 Eli. " Whisht, ye uneasy wights, 
 and let me hear the boy. He is wiser 
 than ye; wiser than his years." 
 
 " ' What tomfoolery is this 1 ' said 
 he ; yet he yielded to mc, and soon I 
 
 farnercd three of his melodies ; but 
 wonld not let Cul de Jatte wot the 
 thing I meditated. ' Show not fools 
 nor bairns unfinished work,' saith the 
 by-word. And by this time 't was 
 night, and a little town at hand, where 
 we went each to his inn ; for mj^ mas- 
 ter would not yield to put oft' his rags 
 and other sores till morning ; nor I 
 to enter an inn with a tatterdemalion. 
 So we were to meet on the road at 
 peep of day. And, indeed, we still 
 lodged apart, meeting at mom and 
 
 fiarting at eve, outside each town we 
 ay at. And waking at midnight and 
 cogitating, good thoughts came down 
 to me, and sudden my heart was en- 
 lightened. I called to mind that my 
 Margaret had withstood the taking 
 of the burgomaster's purse. ' 'T is 
 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 morn- 
 11 
 
 ing sad, but hopeful. I felt lighter 
 for the purse being gone. My mas- 
 ter was at the gate becrutched. I 
 told him I 'd liever have seen him in 
 another disguise. ' Beggars must not 
 be clioosers,' said he. However, soon 
 he made me untruss him, for he felt 
 sadly. His head swam. I told him 
 forcefully to deform nature thus could 
 scarce 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 wors;.'. There 
 was water in a ditch hard by, not very 
 clear; but, the poor creature strug- 
 gling i)etween 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 1 ' said he. ' Why, 
 a real fit is the sorriest thing ; but 
 a stroke with a feather compared 
 with mine. Art still betters na- 
 ture.' ' But look, e'en now blood 
 trickleth from your nose,' said I. 
 ' Ay, ay, pricked my nostrils with 
 a straw.' ' But ye foamed at the 
 lips.' ' 0, 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 cul do bois 
 and other branches. To-day, own 
 mc prince of demoniacs, and indeed 
 of all good fellows.' Then, being 
 l)uffed up, he forgot yesterday's 
 grudge, and discoursed me freely of 
 beggars ; and gave me, who eftsoons 
 thought a beggar was a beggav, and 
 there an end, the names and qualitieu
 
 240 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 of full thirty sorts of masterful and 
 crafty mendicants in France and Ger- 
 many, and England, his three prov- 
 inces ; for so the poor, proud knave 
 yclept those kingdoms three ; -wherein 
 his throne it was the stocks, I ween. 
 And outside the next village one had 
 gone to dinner and left his wheel- 
 barrow. So says he : ' I '11 tie myself in 
 a knot, and shalt wheel me through ; 
 and what with my cripplcdom and 
 thy piety, a wheeling of thy poor old 
 dad, we '11 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, I '11 
 soil it a bit, and swear it is a chip of 
 the holy sepulchre ; and you wheeled 
 US both from Jerusalem.' Said 1 -. 
 ' Wheeling a pair o' lies, one stony, 
 one fleshly, may be work, and hard 
 work, but honest work 't is not. 
 'T is fumbling with his tail you wot 
 of. And,' said 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 mc of my real 
 father's face, the truest man in Hol- 
 land. He and I are ill friends now, 
 worse luck. But, though I otlend 
 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. ' 'T is well,' 
 said my master, gloomily ; ' I have 
 made a bad bargain.' Presently he 
 halts, and eyes a tree by the wayside. 
 ' Go spell me what is writ on yon 
 tree.' So T went, and there was 
 naught but a long square drawn in 
 outline. I told him so. ' So much 
 for thy monkish lore,' quoth he. A 
 little farther, and he sent me to read 
 a wall. There was naught but a cir- 
 cle scratched on the stone with the 
 point of nail or knife, and in the 
 circle two dots. I said so. Then 
 said he : ' Bon Bee, that square was 
 a warning. Some good Truand left 
 it, that came through this village 
 faring west} that means "danger- 
 
 ous." The circle with the two dots 
 was writ by another of our brother- 
 hood ; and it signifies as how the 
 writer, soit RoUin Trapu, soit Tri- 
 boulet, soit Catin Cul de bois.orAvhat 
 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, Eng- 
 land, and Germany ; and they arc 
 writ all 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 im- 
 prison infirmities, I to my tiring- 
 room.' And he popped bchiiV 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 flesh 
 my psaltery on this \'illage, 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, as I had 
 heard the minstrels of the country, 
 
 ' Qui vent ouir qui veut Savoir,' 
 
 some trash, I mind not what. And 
 soon the villagers, male and female, 
 thronged about me ; thereat I left 
 singing, and recited them to the psal- 
 tery a short but right merry tale out 
 of ' the lives of the saints,' which it 
 is my handbook of pleasant frag- 
 ments ; and, this ended, instantly 
 struck np 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 
 time. And with me whistling bright 
 and full this sprightly air, and mak- 
 ing the wires sIom' 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 ! 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE IIEARtH. 
 
 241 
 
 out of poverty' s pouch ; so broke off 
 and away ; yet could not ixct clear so 
 swift but both men and women did 
 slobber me sore, and smellcd all of 
 garlic. ' There, master,' said I, ' I 
 call that cleaving the divell in twain, 
 and keejiing his white half.' Said 
 he, ' Bon Bee, I have madt; a good 
 bargain.' Then he bade nie stay 
 where I was while he went to the 
 Holy Land. I stayed, and he leaped 
 the churchyard dike, and the sexton 
 was dig.ii'ing a grave, and my master 
 chaffered with him, and came back 
 with a knuckle bone. But why he 
 'clept a churchyard Iluly Lund, that I 
 learned not then, but after dinner. I 
 was coloring the armories of a little 
 inn ; and he sat l)y me most peace- 
 able, a cutting, and tiling, and polish- 
 ing bones sedately ; so 1 spccred was 
 not honest work sweet ? ' Jis rain- 
 water,' said he, mocking. ' What 
 was he a making V '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 vagabond And 
 now, sweet Margaret, thou secst our 
 manner of life foring Khineward. I 
 with the two arts I had least prized 
 or counted on for bread was welcome 
 everywhere ; too poor now to fear rob- 
 bers, yet able to keep both master and 
 man on the road. For at night I 
 often made a portraiture of the inn- 
 keeper or his dame, and so went 
 richer from an inn ; the which it is 
 the lot of few. But my master de- 
 spised this even way of life. ' I love 
 ups and downs,' said he. And ccrtes 
 he lacked them 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. The stont knave, 
 so whipt, did not a jot relent ; hut 
 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 meancd. 
 And at a town, whose name hath 
 slipped me, hut 't was on a fair river, 
 as we came to the foot of the bridge, he 
 halted and shuddered. ' Why, what 
 is the coil ? ' said I. ' O blind,' said 
 he, ' they are justifying there.' So 
 naught would serve him but take a 
 boat, and cross the river by water. 
 But 'twas out of the frying-pan, as 
 the word goeth. F'or the boatmen had 
 scarce told us the matter, and that it 
 was a man and a woman for steal- 
 ing ghized windows out of housen, 
 and that the man was Inmged at day- 
 break, and the quean to be drowned, 
 when lo ! they did fling her off the 
 bridge, and fell in the water not tar 
 from us. And oh ! Margaret, the 
 deadly splash ! It ringeth in mine 
 ears even now. But worse was com- 
 ing ; for, though tied, she came up 
 and cried ' Help ! help ! ' and I, for- 
 getting 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 bourreau's man, that waited in a 
 boat, came and entangled his hooked 
 pole in her long hair, and so thrust 
 her do^vn and ended her. O, 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 1 ' " 
 
 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. 
 
 Eli, softened by many tonclus in 
 the letter, and by the reader's woman- 
 ly graces, said kindly enough, " Take 
 thy time, lass. And methinks some 
 of ye might lind her a creepie to rest
 
 242 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 her foot, and she so near her own 
 tiouble." 
 
 " I 'd do more for her than that an 
 I durst," said Catherine. "Here, 
 ("ornelis," 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 ; 't is 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!' 
 said he, ' too late !' and gnashed his 
 teetli. Then I told him 'too late' 
 was the divell's favorite whisper in re- 
 pentant ears. Said I — 
 
 •The Lord is debonair, 
 Let sinners naught despair.' 
 
 * 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 cid- 
 l)rit 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 he:ir. I strolled on very 
 slowly, and often halting, and pres- 
 .ently lie came stumping up on one 
 leg, and that bandaged. I asked him 
 how he could contrive that, for 't was 
 masterly done. ' O, 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 
 pitclifork to go that way. ' 'T is yon 
 hum-house,' 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 
 jyridefid 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 farm-house 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. But, while 
 I doubted, there was a great noise, 
 and my master well cudgelled by the 
 farmer and his men, and 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 a jackass colt, and came roar- 
 ing after him, and downed him mo- 
 mently. 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 't was like a windmill crazed. 
 He fled adown the road. I followed 
 leisurely, and found him at dinner. 
 'Curse the quines,' said he. And 
 not a word all dinner-time but 'curse 
 the quines!' 
 
 "I said I must know who they were 
 before I would curse them. 
 
 "'Quines? 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 beg- 
 gars, unless they fake to boot, and 
 then they drown us out of hand that 
 moment, curse 'em!' We came to 
 Strasbourg. And I looked down 
 Rhine with longing heart. The 
 stream, how swift! It seemed run- 
 ning to clip Sevenbergen to its soft 
 bosom. With but a piece of timber 
 and an oar, I might drift at my ease 
 to thee, sleeuing vet gliding stilL
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 243 
 
 'T was a sore temptation. But the 
 fear of an ill welcome from my folk, 
 and of the neighbors' sneers, and the 
 hope of coming back to thee victori- 
 ous, not, as now I must, defeated and 
 shamed, and thee with nic, it did with- 
 hold 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 Augs- 
 burg." 
 
 "Alas, dame, alas. Good master 
 Eli, forgive me ! But I ne'er can win 
 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 pei'il enow, 
 sorrow enow ? Well-a-day ! 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 
 afeared she shall swoon." 
 
 " Nay, nay, fear me not," said 
 Margaret, feebly. " I will not be so 
 troublesome. Tliy 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 hack to her place, 
 and Margaret read on. " The Ger- 
 mans are fonder of armorials than 
 the French. So I found work every 
 day. And, whiles 1 wrought, my 
 master would leave me, and dotf his 
 raiment and don his rags, and other 
 infirmities, and cozen the world, which 
 he did clepe it ' plucking of the 
 geese': this done, would meet me 
 and demand half my earnings ; and 
 with resistless piercfhg eye ask me 
 would I be 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 be- 
 lied. Early in Germany we had a 
 (juarrel. I had seen him buy a skull 
 of a jailer's wife, and mighty zealous 
 a polishing it. Thought I, How can 
 he carry you memento, and not re- 
 pent, seeing where ends his way ? 
 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 pop- 
 ulus vult decipi.' " 
 
 Catherine. " O the goodly Latin ! " 
 Eli. " What ineaneth it 1 " 
 Catherine. " Nay, I know not ; but 
 't is Latin ; is 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 turn 
 him off. ' What would become of 
 him 1 He did so love honesty.' 
 ' Thou love honesty 1 ' said I. ' Ay,' 
 said he, ' not to enact it : the saints 
 forbid ! But to look on. 'T is so fair 
 a thing to look on. Alas, good Bon 
 Bee,' said he ; ' hadst starved perad- 
 venture 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 sim- 
 ple as thou ; He might cut my 
 throat for the money that is hid in 
 my belt ; "t is not much ; 't is not 
 much. With thee I walk at mine 
 ease; with a sharp I dare not go be- 
 fore in a narrow way. Alas ! forgive 
 me. Now I know where in thy bon- 
 net lurks the bee, I will ware his
 
 244 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE IIEAKTH. 
 
 sting; I will but pluck the secular 
 goose.' ' So he it,' said I. ' And ex- 
 ample was contagious ; he should be 
 a true man by then we reached Nurn- 
 berg. 'T was a long way to Nurn- 
 berg.' Seeing liim so humble, I said : 
 ' Well, dort" rags, and make thyself 
 decent; 'twill help me forget wliat 
 thou art.' And he did so ; and we 
 sat down to our noncmetc. Pres- 
 ently c;une by a reverend ]>almcr with 
 liat stuck round with cockle-shells 
 from Holy Land, and great rosary of 
 beads like eggs of teul, and sandals 
 for shoes. And he leaned aweary on 
 his long staff, and otlercd us a shell 
 apiece. My nuistcr would none. IJut 
 I, to set him a better example, took 
 one, and for it gave the ])oor jiilgrim 
 two batzen, and had his blessing. 
 And he was 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 ns 
 she fell to tearing her rags to threads. 
 The man sought an alms of us, and 
 told us his hard case. 'T was liis 
 wife, stark, raving nuid ; 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 hel]), 
 and had vowed six ]>ounds of Avax to 
 St. Anthony to lieal 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, ' Forbear ! forbear ! She 
 knoweth not what she doeth ' ; 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 vopper ? ' ' Why, a 
 trull that feigns madness That was 
 
 one of us, that sham maniac, and 
 wow but she did il cliunsily. I 
 blushed for her anil thee. Also 
 gavest two batzen for a shell from 
 Holy Land, that came no farther than 
 Normandy. I have culled them my- 
 self 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 ! ' cried Cul do 
 .Jatte ; ' one of us ! In PVance wo 
 call them " Coquillarts," but here 
 " Calmierers." liaiiest on me for 
 selling a false relic now and then, and 
 wastest tiiy earnings on such as sell 
 naught else. I tell thee, Bon Bee,' 
 said he, ' there is not one true relic on 
 earth's face. The saints died a thou- 
 sand years agone, and their bones 
 mixed with tlie dust ; but the trade in 
 relies, it is of yesterday ; and there 
 are forty thousand tramjis in Euroj)e 
 live by it, selling relies of forty or 
 fifty bodies ; O threadbare lie ! And 
 of the true cross enow to build C'o- 
 logne Minster. Why then may not 
 poor Cul de Jatte turn his ])enny with 
 the crowd ? Art but a scun'y, tyran- 
 nical servant to let thy j)oor nuistcr 
 from his share of the swag with .your 
 whorson ])ilgrims, ])almers, and friars, 
 black, gray, and crutchcd ; for all 
 these arc of our brotherhood, and of 
 our art, only masters they, and wo 
 but poor api)rcntices in guile.' For 
 his tongue was an ell anil a half. 
 
 " ' A truce to thy irreverend soph- 
 istries,' said I, ' and say what compa- 
 ny 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 hmce, and girded with a 
 great long sword, and in velvet doub- 
 let and leathern jerkin, the which 
 stuffs ne'er saw I Avedded afore on 
 mortal flesh, an3 a gay feather in his 
 lordly cap, and a couple of dead fowls 
 at liis back, the which, an the spark 
 had come by honestly, I am much 
 mistook. Him followed wives and
 
 THE CLOISIKK AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 245 
 
 babes on two lean horses, whose 
 flanks still rattled like parchment 
 drum, being beaten by kettles and 
 caldrons. Next an armed man a rid- 
 ing 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 new-born child ; and one poor 
 quean afoot scarce dragged herself 
 along, so near her time was she, yet 
 held two little ones by the hand, and 
 helplessly helped them on tlie 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 slioulders, swallow- 
 ing him so as he too went darkling, 
 led by his sweetheart three foot high. 
 When tliey were gone by, and we had 
 both laughed lustily, said I: 'Nathe- 
 less, 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 soul, 
 helping the weaker on the way.' " 
 
 Catherine. "Nay, nay, Margaret. 
 Why, wench, pluck up heart. Certes 
 thou art no Bohemian." 
 
 Kate. " Nay, mother, 't is not that, 
 I trow, but her dear father. And, 
 dear heart, why take notice to put 
 her to the blush ? " 
 
 Riclmrt " So I say." 
 
 " And he derided me. ' Why, 
 that is a" biltrcger," ' said 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 found them camped be- 
 tween two great trees on a common 
 by the wayside ; and they had lighted 
 a 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 urchin, turning 
 still the chain to keep the meat from 
 burning, and a gay spark with a 
 feather i:i his cap cut up a sheep ; 
 and another had spitted a leg of it on 
 a wooden stake ; and a Moman ended 
 chanticleer's pride with wringing of 
 his neck. And under the other tree 
 four rufflcrs played at cards, and 
 quarrelled, and no words sans oath ; 
 and of these lewd gamblers one had 
 cockles in his Iiat, and was my rever- 
 end pilgrim. And a female, young 
 and comely, and dressed like a l)ut- 
 terfly, sat and mended a heaj) of dirty 
 rags. And Cul de Jatte said : ' Yon 
 is the " vopper " ; and I looked incred- 
 ulous 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 't was still so with ' voppers ' 
 and their men in camj) ; they would 
 don their bravery though but for an 
 hour, and, with their tinsel, empire, 
 and the man durst not the least gain- 
 say the ' vopper,' or she would turn 
 him off at these times, as I my mas- 
 ter, 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, witlj
 
 246 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND HIE HEARTH. 
 
 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 neigliboring 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 gypsywise, but of the 
 roasters, and boilers, and vojipers, 
 and gamblers, no more noticed, no, 
 not for a single moment, than sheep 
 which droppeth her lamb in a field, 
 by travellers upon the way. Then 
 said I, ' Wliat of thy foul suspicions, 
 master ? ovcr-knavcry blinds the eye 
 as well as over-simplicity.' And he 
 laughed and said, ' Triumph, Bon 
 Bee, triumpli. 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 gypsy women have no more 
 shame imder their skins than a wolf 
 ruth, or a hare valor. And, Bon 
 Bee,' quoth he, ' I espy in thee a lam- 
 entable 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 
 naught. With them, and all they 
 had, 'twas lightly come and lightly 
 go ; and when we left them my mas- 
 ter said to me, ' This is thy first les- 
 son ; but to-night we shall lie at 
 Hamburg. Come with me to the 
 " rotboss " there, and I '11 show thee all 
 our folk and their lays, and especially 
 the " lossners," the " dutzers," " the 
 Bchleppers," " the gickisses," " the 
 sehwan felders," whom in England 
 we call " shiv^ering Jemmies," " the 
 
 siintvegers," " the schwiegers," " the 
 joncrs," " the sesscl-degers," " the 
 gcnsscherers," in France " marcan- 
 dicrs or rifodes," " the veranerins," 
 " the stabulers," with a few foreign- 
 ers like ourselves, such as " pietres," 
 " francniitoux," " polissons, ' " na- 
 lingreux," " traters," "rufflers," 
 " wiiipjalks," " dommerars," " glym- 
 merars," "jarkmcn," " patricos," 
 " swadders," " autem morts," " walk- 
 ing morts." ' — ' Enow,' cried I, stop- 
 ping him, ' art as glcesome as the 
 Evil One a counting of liis imps. I '11 
 jot down in my tablet all these caitiffs 
 and their accursed names, for knowl- 
 edge is knowledge. But go among 
 them, alive or dead, that will I not 
 with my good-will. Moreover,' said 
 I, ' what need 1 since I have a com- 
 panion in thee, who is all the knaves 
 on earth in one 1 ' and thought to 
 abash him ; but his face shone with 
 l)ride, and hand on breast lie did bow 
 low to me. ' If thy wit be scant, 
 good Bon Bee, thy manners are a 
 charm. I have made a good bar- 
 gain.' So he to the ' rotboss,' and I 
 to a decent inn, and sketched the 
 landlord's daughter by candlelight, 
 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 1 Be- 
 cause 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 mon- 
 astery, full of sores, which I showed 
 the passers-by. O Bon Bee, beauti- 
 fuller sores you never saw ; and it 
 rained coppers in my hat. Presently 
 the monks came home from some pro- 
 cession, and the convent dogs ran out 
 to meet them, curse the quiens ! ' 
 ' What, did they fall on thee and bite 
 thee, poor soul 1 ' ' Worse, worse, 
 ; dear Bon Bee. Had they bitten mo 
 : I had earned silver. But the great 
 idiots, being, as I think, puppies, or 
 j little better, fell on me where I sat, 
 I downed me, and fell a licking m^
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 247 
 
 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 such thing. But tell 
 me, since they bit thee not, but sport- 
 fully licked thee, what harm ? ' ' What 
 harm, noodle ? why, the sores came oif.' 
 ' How could that be ' ' ' How could 
 aught else be ? and them just fresli 
 put on.' Did I think he was so weak 
 as bite holes in his flesh with rats- 
 bane ? Nay, he was an artist, a paint- 
 er 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 up I jumped, and 
 shouted, " A miracle ! a miracle ! 
 The very dogs of this holy convent 
 be holy, and have cured me. Good 
 fathers," cried I, " whose day is 
 this ? " " St. 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 heads to- 
 gether ; but I have a quick ear, and 
 one did say " Caret miraculo monaste- 
 rium," which is Greek patter, I trow, 
 leastways it is no beggar's cant. 
 Finally, they bade the lay-brethreu 
 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 magis- 
 trate, 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 breth- 
 ren laid on. And what means yon 
 piece of monk's cant, I wonder ? ' 
 bo 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 
 ooon. Why, it means they are going 
 11* 
 
 , to work the miracle, my miracle, and 
 I gather all the grain 1 sowed. There- 
 : fore, these blows on their benefac- 
 • tor's shoulders : therefore is he that 
 I wrought their scurvy miracle driven 
 ' forth with stripes and threats.' ' O 
 cozening knaves ! ' 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 ser- 
 vant. ' He would put it to more 
 profit ' ; in railing on quiens. ' And, 
 as for those monks, there was One 
 Above.' ' Certes,' said I, ' there is 
 One Above. What then 1 ' ' Who 
 will call those shavelings to co apt, 
 one day,' quoth he. ' And all deceit- 
 ful men,' said I. At one that after- 
 noon 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 beg- 
 gars, and one of these was an old 
 favorite 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 of 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. 
 1 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 nar- 
 rowly by my master, and stammered 
 and faltered, and owned he had seen 
 nothing, but only carried blind Hans's 
 tale to the chief constable. ' This is 
 but hearsay,' said my master. ' Lo 
 ye now, here standeth Misfortune 
 backbit by Envy. But stand thou 
 forth, blind Envy, and vent thina 
 own lie.' And blind Hans behooved 
 to staud forth, sore against his will
 
 248 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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 be- 
 fell, 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 misfortu- 
 nate, 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 liis head, checked him 
 and said : ' Nay, Hans we know this 
 manjr years, and, be he blind or not, 
 he hath passed for blind so long, 't is 
 all one. Back to thy porch, good 
 Hans, and let the strange varlet leave 
 the town incontinent on pain of whip- 
 ping.' 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 Ger- 
 many 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 Cid de Jatte's 
 hair, and lo the upper gristle of both 
 ears was gone. ' How is this, knave 1 ' 
 quoth the burgomaster. My master 
 said, carelessly, he minded not pre- 
 cisely ; his had been a life of misfor- 
 tunes and losses. ' When a poor soul 
 has lost use of his leg, noble sirs, 
 these more trivial woes rest lightly in 
 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 measurement. ' 'T is 
 no bungling soldier's work, my mas- 
 ters,' said he, ' 't is oum.' 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. Wlierclurc I send 
 thee to prison for one month, and to 
 give a ilorin towards the new hall of 
 the guilds now a building, and to bo 
 wliipt 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 liim, 
 but the jailer denied me. But lin- 
 gering near the jail I heard a whistle, 
 and there was Cul de Jatte at a nar- 
 row 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 fare- 
 well. He seemed quite amazed ; but 
 soon his suspicious soul got the bet- 
 ter. That was not all mine errand. I 
 told him not all : the psaltery : ' Well, 
 Avhat of that ? ' 'T was not mine, but 
 his ; I would pay him the price of it. 
 ' Tlien throw me a rix dollar,' said he. 
 I counted out mj' 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 ; ' O Bon 
 Bee, Bon Bee, if I had found the 
 world like thee at starting, I liad put 
 my wit to better use, and I had not 
 lain here.' Then he whimpered 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, ^vith 
 many sighs, bade me God -speed. 
 Thus did my master, after often baf- 
 fling men's justice, fall by their in- 
 justice; for his lost ears proved, not 
 his guilt only, but of that guilt the 
 bitter punishment ; so the account 
 was even ; yet they for his chastise- 
 ment did chastise him. Natheless 
 he was a parlous rogue. Yet lie 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 249 
 
 must have run dry in time, like a 
 bif; trough, but these a little foun- 
 tain." 
 
 Richarl. " IIow pregnant liis re- 
 flections 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, light-hearted, for mine 
 honest Denys sweetened the air on 
 the way ; but poor Cul de Jatte poi- 
 soned it. The next day, passing a 
 grand house, out came on prancing 
 steeds a gentleman in brave attire 
 and two servants ; they overtook me. 
 The gentleman badj me halt. I 
 laughed in my sleeve ; for a few b;it- 
 zen were all my store. He bade me 
 doff my doublet and jerkin. Then I 
 chuckled no more. ' Betiiink you, 
 my lord,' said I, ' 't is winter. How 
 may a jjoor fellow go bare and live 1 ' 
 So he told me I shot mine arrow wide 
 of his thought ; and otf 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 a 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 
 
 Eart well, and help me save my 
 loodstained soul ! Be haughty and 
 choleric, as any noble ; and I will be 
 as humble as I may.' 1 said I would 
 do my best to play the noble. But 
 what shall I call him ? He bade me 
 call him naught 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 bow best I 
 might play the master, without being 
 run through the body all at one time 
 like his cousin. For 1 mistrusted sore 
 my spark's humility ; your Germaa 
 
 nobles being, to my knowledge, proud 
 as Lucifer, and choleric as fire. As 
 for the servants, they did slyly 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 unsuccessfully. Another 
 bounce, and the door swung inwards 
 with Giles arrayed in cloth of gold 
 sticking to it like a wasp. He land- 
 ed on the floor and was embraced; 
 but, on learning what was going on, 
 trumpeted that he would much liever 
 hear of Gerard than gossip. 
 
 Sybrandt pointed to a diminutive 
 chair. 
 
 Giles showed his sense of this ci- 
 vility by tearing the said Sybrandt out 
 of a very big one, and there ensconced 
 himself gorgeous and glowing. Sy- 
 brandt had to wedge himself into the 
 one which was too small for the mag- 
 nificent dwarf's soul, and Margaret 
 resumed. But as this part of the let- 
 ter 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 
 Munster to Murray, I skip the topog- 
 raphy, and hasten to that part where 
 it occurred to him to throw his letter 
 into a journal. The personal nar- 
 rative that intervened may be thus 
 condensed. 
 
 He s])oke but little at first to his 
 new companions, but listened to pick 
 up their characters. Neither his noble 
 servant nor his servants could read or 
 write ; and, as he often made entries 
 in his tablets, he impressed them with 
 some awe. One of his entries was 
 " Lo pen que sont les homraes." For 
 he found the surly innkeepers licked 
 the very ground before him now ; nor 
 did a sold 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 hum- 
 bly requested to present the inn with 
 , his armorial bearings, he consented
 
 250 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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-jjot, 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 his plebeian ser- 
 vants were insolent. But, this com- 
 ing to the notice of his noble one, he 
 forgot what he was doing penance 
 for, and drew his sword to cut off 
 their ears, heads included. But Ge- 
 /ard interposed and saved them, and 
 rebuked the count severely. And 
 finally they all understood one an- 
 other, and the superior mind obtained 
 i's 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 ravished with stories and 
 gongs, and set Ilerr Penitent & Co. 
 dancing with his whistle and psaltery. 
 For his own convenience he made 
 them ride and tie, and thus pushed 
 rapidly through the country, travel- 
 ling generally fifteen leagues a day. 
 
 Diary. 
 
 " 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. So the next lass I saw 
 a coming, I said to my servant lord : 
 " For further penance bow thy pride, 
 go meet yon base-born girl ; kiss thy 
 homicidal hand, and give it her, and 
 hold her in discourse as best ye may." 
 And my noble ser\^ant said, humbly, 
 " I shall obey my lord." And we drew 
 rein and watched while he went for- 
 ward, 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 doft" his bonnet to 
 them, as though they were empresses; 
 and he did so. And lo ! the lasses 
 drew up as stiff as hedge-stakes, and 
 moved not nor spake." 
 
 Denys. " Aie ! aie ! aie ! Pardon, 
 the company." 
 
 " This surprised me none ; for so 
 they did discountenance poor Denys. 
 And that whole day I wore in ex- 
 perimenting these German lasses ; 
 and 't was still the same. An ye 
 doft' 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 nei- 
 ther their hands in turn nor their ac- 
 quaintance 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." ("Arc you 
 fond of women, Denys ? ") And the 
 reader opened two great violet eyes 
 upon him with gentle surprise. 
 
 Denys. " Ahem ! He says so, she- 
 comrade. By Hannibal's lielmet 'tis 
 their fault, not mine. They will 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 
 throughout Germany the baser sort of 
 lasses wear for head-dress naught but 
 a 'crantz,' or wreath of roses, en- 
 circling their bare hair, as laurel 
 Cassar's ; and though of the worship- 
 ful 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 rosebuds are cut in 
 summer and laid then in great clay 
 pots, thus ordered : — first bay-salt,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 25i 
 
 then a row of buds, and over that 
 row bfiv-Siilt sprinkled ; then another 
 ' row of buds ])hieed 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 tit;ht, and 
 kept in cool cellar. And on Satur- 
 day 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 liouse, high or 
 low, withouten grudge , then solders 
 it up again. And such as of these 
 buds would full-blown roses make 
 put them in warm water a little 
 epace, 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 with the sum- 
 mer ; and onely their fair bodyes 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 goltl, brave in 
 itself, check by jowl with roses, is but 
 yellow earth. And it does the eye's 
 heart good to see these fair lieads 
 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 1 And 
 shouldst have had a picture here, but 
 for their superstition. 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 flies panic- 
 stricken. But, indeed, they are more 
 Buperstitious than the Sevenbergen 
 folk, which take thy father for a ma- 
 gician. Yet softly, sith at this mo- 
 ment I profit by this darkness of their 
 icinds; 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 mechani- 
 cal persons, and hoarse laughter at 
 dull jests of one of these party-col- 
 ored ' fools,' which are so rife in 
 Germany. But, O sorry wit, that is 
 driven to the ])Oor resource of pointed 
 car-caps, and a green and yellow 
 body. True wit, methinks, is of the 
 mind. We met in Burgundy an hon- 
 est wench, though over free for my 
 palate, a chambermaid, had made 
 havoc of all these zanies, droll by 
 brute force. O Digressor ! Well, 
 then I, to 1)0 rid of roaring rusticalls 
 and mindless jests, put my finger in 
 a glass and drew on the table a great 
 watery circle ; whereat the rusticalls 
 did look askant, like venison at a 
 cat ; and in that circle a smaller cir- 
 cle. The rusticalls held their peace ; 
 and beside these circles cabalistical 
 I laid down on the table solemnly 
 yon parchment deed I had out ol' 
 your house. The rusticalls held their 
 breath. Then did I look as glum «.» 
 might be, and muttered slowly thuj . 
 ' Videamus — quamdiu tu fictus m^l 
 to — vosque veri stulti — audebitiri — 
 in hac aula morari, strcpitantes it.; 
 — et olentes — ut dulcissimaj ncqu3- 
 am miser scribere.' They shook like 
 aspens, and stole away on tiptoe one 
 by one at first, then in a rush and 
 jostling, 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 travel- 
 ler's foes I dread those giants twain, 
 Sir Noise and eke Sir Stench. The 
 saints and martyrs forgive my pee- 
 vishness. 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, 
 O dear Margaret, looking on their 
 roses, which grew in summer, but 
 blew 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 bittel
 
 252 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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. 
 
 " January 2. — My servant, the 
 count, finding 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 apothe- 
 cary might envy. The stable is a 
 fair quadrangle, whereof three sides 
 filled with horses of all nations. Be- 
 fore 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 keej) his comb and rub- 
 bing clothes. Each rack was iron, 
 and each manger shining copper, and 
 each nag covered with a scarlet man- 
 tle, and above him his bridle and sad- 
 dle Ji'JDg, ready to gallop forth in a 
 min'ite ; and not less than three liun- 
 drc(J horses, whereof twelve scoie of 
 forc/q:n breed. And we returned to 
 our 'T.n full of admiration, and the 
 two varlets said sorrowfully, ' Why 
 were '.ve 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 un- 
 civil. Then I asked my servant, 
 knew he this prince '? Ay, did he, 
 and had often drank with him in a 
 m:u'ble chamber above the stable, 
 wliere, for table, was a curious and 
 artificial rock, and the drinking-ves- 
 sels 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 
 Bat nearest behooved to drain it. ' 'T is 
 well,' said I : ' now, for the penance. 
 
 whisper thou in yon prince's ear, thai 
 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, 
 ' 'T will 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. 'Ahis,' 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 playing the 
 business of drinking sad and silent, 
 but ever and anon cried loud and 
 dolefully, ' Sey te frolich ! Be merry.' 
 ''January 3. — Yesterday between 
 Nurnberg and Augsburg we parted 
 company. I gave my lord, late ser- 
 vant, back his brave clothes for 
 mine, but his horse he made me 
 keep, and five gold pieces, and said he 
 was still my debtor, his penance it 
 had been slight along of me, but prof- 
 itable. But his best word was this : 
 ' I see 't is more noble to be loved 
 than feared.' And then he did so 
 praise me as I blush to put on paper; 
 yet, poor fool, would fain tliou couldst 
 hear his words, but from some other 
 pen than mine. And the sei-vants 
 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 en- 
 chanted city. For a small coin one 
 took me a long way round to a famous 
 postern called der Einlasse. Here 
 stood two guardians 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 
 of a chain, but no hand seen nor 
 chain ; but 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 my- 
 self in a great building with a bri:lga 
 at my feet. This I rode over, m'i
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 253 
 
 presently came to a porter's lodsje, l 
 Nvhore one asked me again my name 
 and business, tlieii rang a beif, and a 
 great portcullis that barred the way | 
 began to rise, drawn by a wheel over- | 
 lic;id, and no hand seen. Behind the ' 
 portcullis was a thick, oaken door i 
 studded with steel. It opened with- 1 
 out hand, and I rode into a hall 
 as dark as pitch. Trembling there 
 awhile, a door o])ened, and showed nic I 
 a smaller hall lighted. I rode into ' 
 it : a tin goblet came down from the ' 
 ceiling by a little chain ; I put two 
 batzen into it, and it went up again. 
 Being gone, another thick door creaked 
 and oj)ened, and I rid through. It 
 closed on me with a tremendous clang, 
 and behold me in Augsburg city. I lay 
 at an inn called ' The Three Moors,' 
 over an hundred years old ; and this 
 jnorning, 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 gayly 
 painted, and all glazed, and the glass 
 so clean and burnished as 't is most 
 resplendent and rare ; and I, now first 
 seeing a great citie, did crow -with de- 
 light, and like cock on his ladder, and 
 at the tower foot was taken into cus- 
 tody for a spy ; for, whilst I watched 
 the city, the watchman had watched 
 me. The burgomaster received mc 
 courteously, and heard my story ; then 
 rebuked his officers. ' Could ye not 
 question him yourselves, or read in 
 his face ? This is to make our city 
 stink in stranger's report.' Then he 
 told me my curiosity was of a com- 
 mendable sort ; and, seeing I was a 
 craftsman and inquisitive, bade his 
 clerk take me among the guilds. God 
 bless the city where the very burgo- 
 master is cut of Solomon's cloth ! 
 
 " January 5. — Dear Margaret, it is 
 a noble city, and a kind mother to 
 arts. Here they cut in wood and 
 ivory, that 't is like spiders' work, 
 ind paint on glass, and sing angelical 
 
 harmonies. Writing of books ia quite 
 gone by : here be six printers. Yet 
 was I oftcred a bountiful wage to 
 write fairly a merchant's accounts, 
 one Fugger, a grand and wealthy 
 trader, and hath store of sliips, yet 
 his father was but a poo"" wei\vcr. 
 But here in commerce, her very gar 
 den, men swell like mushrooms 
 And he bought my horse of me, and 
 abated me not a jot, which way ot 
 dealing is not known in Holland. 
 But, O Margaret, the workmen of 
 all the guilds are so kind and brotherly 
 to one another, and to mc. Here, 
 methinks, I have found the true Ger- 
 man mind, loyal, frank, and kindly, 
 somewhat choleric \vithal, but naught 
 revengeful. Each mechanic wears a 
 sword. Tiie very weavers at the loom 
 sit girded with their weapons, and all 
 Germans on too slight occasion draw 
 them and fight ; but no treachery t 
 challenge first, then draw, and with 
 the edge only, mostly the face, not 
 with Sir Point ; for if in these com- 
 bats 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 stand- 
 ing 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 horseshoes, 
 and have done this fourscore years. 
 All stuffs they weave, and linen fine 
 as ours at home, or nearly, which 
 elsewhere in Europe vainly shall you 
 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
 
 254 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 them aa I saw women in France sow 
 rye, dribbling it in the furrow grain 
 by grain. And of tlieir strange me- 
 chanical skill take two examples. 
 For ending of exemplary rogues they 
 have a figure like a woman, seven feet 
 high, and called Jung Fran ; but lo ! a 
 spring is touched, she scizeth the poor 
 wretch with her iron arms, and, open- 
 ing herself, hales him inside her, and 
 there pierces him through and through 
 with two sore 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 Ger- 
 mans do set in the chimney a little 
 wuidmill, and the smoke, struggling 
 to wend past, turns it, and from the 
 mill a wire runs through the wall and 
 turns the spit on wheels ; beholding 
 which I dotted my bonnet to the men 
 of Augsburg, for who but these had 
 ere devised to bind ye so dark and 
 subtle a knave as Sir Smoke, and set 
 him to roast Dame Pullet "* 
 
 " This day, January 5, with three 
 craftsmen of the town, I painted a 
 pack of cards. They were for a sen- 
 ator in a hurry. I the diamonds. 
 My queen came forth with eyes like 
 spring violets, hair a golden brown, 
 and witching smile. My fellow-crafts- 
 men saw her, and put their arms 
 round my neck and hailed me master. 
 O noble Germans ! 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 Ge- 
 rard ; but no, she would not come like 
 again. Luck will not be bespoke. 
 happy rich man that hath got her ! 
 Fie ! fie ! Happy Gerard, that shall 
 have herself one day, and keep house 
 with her at Augsburg. 
 
 " Jannari) 8. — With my fellows, 
 and one Veit Stoss, a wood-carver, 
 and one Hafnagel, of the goldsmiths' 
 guild, and their wives and lasses, to 
 Hafuagel's cousin, a senator of this 
 
 free city, and his stupendous win& 
 vessel. It is ribi)ed like a ship, and 
 hath been eighteen months in liand, 
 and finished but now, and holds a 
 hundred and fifty hogsheads, and 
 standeth not, but licth ; yet even so 
 ye get not on his back withouten lad- 
 ders two, of thirty steps. And wc 
 sat about the miraculous mass, and 
 drank Khenish 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 drink- 
 ing of so many garausscs, lost his 
 footing and fell ott", glass in hand, 
 and broke an arm and a leg in the 
 midst of us. So scurvily ended our 
 drinking bout for this time. 
 
 "January 10. — This day started 
 for Venice with a company of mer- 
 chants, and among them him who 
 had desired me for his scrivener ; 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 us 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 on to Rome, for 
 man may not vie with iron. 
 
 " Imprimit una dies quantum non 
 scribitur anno. And, dearest, some- 
 thing tells me you and I shall end 
 our days at Augsburg, whence going, 
 I shall leave it all I can, — my bless- 
 ing. 
 
 "January 12. — My master affect- 
 cth me much, and now maketh me 
 sit with him in his horse-litter. A 
 grave, good man, of all respected, but 
 sad for the loss of a dear daughter, 
 and loveth my psaltery : not giddy- 
 paced ditties, but holy harmonies, such 
 as Cul de Jatte mad(! 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 attend- 
 ing on my good merchant, I consort 
 with such of our company as ar«
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 255 
 
 Italians, for 't is to Italy I wend, 
 and I am ill seen in Italian tonLCuc. 
 A conrteous and a sulttle people, at 
 meat delieate feeders, and cleanly; 
 love not to put their left hand in the 
 dish. They say Venice is the fjar- 
 den of Lomhardy, Lombardy the 
 garden of Italy, Italy of the world. 
 
 " Januari/ 16. — Stronp; ways and 
 steep, and the mountain t;;irls so p:ird- 
 ed up, as from their armpits to their 
 waist is but a handful. Of all the 
 parbs I yet have seen the most un- 
 lovely. 
 
 "January 18. — In the midst of 
 life we arc in death. dear Mar- 
 paret, I thought I had lost thee. Here 
 I lie in pain and dole, and shall write 
 ye that, which read you it in a ro- 
 mance ye should cry ' most improb- 
 able ! ' 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 wea- 
 ried 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 re- 
 turned, 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 do\m, and the wild 
 beasts afoot, and I bemoaned my 
 folly, also I was hungered. The 
 moon rose clear and bright exceed- 
 ingly, 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 ilour-barrels, but tar- 
 barrels, one or two, and the rest of 
 epirits Brantvein 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 tine 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 jjile 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. " O my poor boy ! those 
 black-haired ones do still scare me to 
 look on." 
 
 " I made my excuses in such Ital- 
 ian as I knew, and eking out by signs. 
 They grinned. ' I had lost my com- 
 pany.' They grinned. I was an 
 hungered. 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 ^vith 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 ! I 
 mumbled my bread, not to let them 
 see I feared them ; but 0, 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 a bed 
 and sleep, for I am faint with travel.' 
 They nodded and grinned their hor- 
 rible grin, and bade one light a lan- 
 tern and lead mc. He took me up
 
 256 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 a windinp: staircase, up, up, and I 
 saw no windows, but the wooden 
 w^alls were pierced like a barbican 
 tower, and methinks for the same 
 purpose, and throu<,di these slits I pot 
 glimpses of the sky, and thought, 
 ' Shall I e'er see thee again ? ' 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 filigree made 
 by angel craftsmen. My hope of 
 flight was gone. 
 
 " But now, those wild faces being 
 out of sight, I smiled at my fears : 
 what an' if they were ill men, would 
 it profit them to hurt me ? 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 a layer of straw at the 
 door, so as none could open on me 
 iniawares. And I laid my sword 
 ready to my hand. And said my 
 prayers for thee and me, and turned 
 to sleep. 
 
 " Below they drank and made 
 men-y. And hearing this gave me 
 confidence. Said I, ' Out of sight, 
 out of mind. Another hour and the 
 good Schiedam will make them for- 
 get that I am here.' And so I com- 
 posed 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 ; but I 
 woke with a start ; tlie 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 faW and break to 
 atoms deep, deep, below the very floor 
 of the mill. It had fallen into a well. 
 And so had I done, lying where it 
 lay." 
 
 Margaret shuddered, and put her 
 face in her hands. But speedily re- 
 sumed. 
 
 " I lay stupefied at first. Then hor- 
 ror 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 Mar- 
 garet ! ' And I took out of my 
 bosom, where they lie ever, our mar- 
 riage 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 thus ! ' " 
 
 Eli. " Whisht all ! Their marriage 
 lines ? Give her time ! But no word. 
 I can bear no chat. My poor lad ! " 
 
 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 taughtest me to 
 make a rope of straw. Mindest thou ? 
 The moment memory brought that 
 happy day back to me, I cried out 
 very loud : ' Margaret gi^es 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 fin- 
 gers trembled and delayed the task. 
 Whiles I wrought I heard a door 
 open below. That was a terrible
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK HEAUTH. 
 
 257 
 
 moment. Even as I twisted my rope 
 I ;rfit to the window and looked down 
 at the great arms of tlic mill cominjj; 
 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 sueh 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 tliat huge arm 
 of the mill whieh 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 ! ' did grip 
 with all my soul the woodwork of the 
 sail, ;md 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 tlie 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 
 tic 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 run- 
 ning to despatch me. Margaret, I 
 felt no fear, for now I had no hope. 
 I could neither run nor hide, so wild 
 the place, so bright the moon. I strug- 
 gled up, all agony and revenge, more 
 like some wounded wild beast than 
 
 your Gerard. Leaning on my sword- 
 hilt I hobbled round; and swift 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, ' think 
 you I '11 die alone, cowards, assassins ! 
 reckless fiends ! ' and at each word on 
 went a barrel pierced. But, O Mar- 
 garet ! the fire, fed by the spirits, sur- 
 prised mc ; it shot up and singed my 
 very hair, it went roaring up the side 
 of the mill, swift as falls the light- 
 ning ! and I yelled and laughed iu my 
 torture and despair, 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 as 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 out, 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 fearsome yell, and 
 dumb forever. 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 loop-hole, 
 and oozed blue in the moonlight 
 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 shook 
 my naked sword. ' Come down the 
 road I came,' I cried. ' But ye must 
 come one by one, and, as ye come, ye 
 die ujKjn my sword.' Some cursed 
 at that, but others wailed. For I had 
 them all at deadly vantage. And 
 doubtless with my smoke-grimed face
 
 258 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and fiendish raj^c I looked a demon. 
 And now there was a steady roar 
 inside the mill. The flame was going 
 up it as from furnace np its chimney. 
 The mill caught fire. Fire glimmered 
 through it. Tongues of flame dart- 
 ed through each loop-hole, 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 stiig- 
 gercd 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 all now 
 like pyramids of golden filigree, and 
 lace, cobweb fine, in the red firelight. 
 O, most beautiful ! 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 Avas strewn 
 witii 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 mc, 
 and scarce t\vo furlongs off. I hobbled 
 towards them. Ere I had gone far, 
 I heard a swift step behind me. I 
 turned. One had escaped ; how es- 
 caped, who can divine"? His sword 
 shone in the moonlight. I feared 
 him, methouglit the ghosts of all 
 
 those dead sat on that glittering 
 glaive. I put my other foot to tho 
 ground, maugre the anguish, and fled 
 towards the torches, moaning with 
 pain, and shouting for aid. But what 
 could I do 1 He gained on me. Be- 
 hooved me turn and fight. Dcnys 
 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, blaspheming. I turned, 
 and saw torches close at hand. Lo, 
 they fell to dancing up and down me- 
 thought, and the next — moment •■- 
 all — was — dark. I had — ah ! " 
 
 Catherine. "Here, help! wuier' 
 Stand aloof, you that be men ! " 
 
 Margaret had fain tod away. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 Whex she recovered, her head vras 
 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 encourage- 
 ment, 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 mankind had seen as yet, and, 
 as he thought, the beautifuUest, and 
 most moving, and smallest writ." 
 
 " Ay, good Master Giles," sighed 
 Margaret, feebly, "he was alive. But 
 how know I what hath since befallen 
 him "? O, why left he Holland to go 
 amongst strangers fierce as lions ? 
 And why did I not drive him from 
 mc sooner than part him from his
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 259 
 
 own fli'sh and blood ? Forgive me, 
 j-oii tliat are his mother ! " 
 
 And she gently removed Catherine's 
 arm, and made a feeble attempt to 
 slide otf tlie chair on to her knees, 
 which, after a brief struggle with su- 
 jjerior 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 tit to read anymore — and 
 — and loath to leave my comfort " : 
 and siic wreathed her other arm round 
 Catherine's neck. 
 
 " Read thou, Richart," said Eli ; 
 " thine eyes be younger than mine." 
 
 Richart took the letter. " Well," 
 said he, " such writing saw I never. 
 A Avriteth with a needle's point ; and 
 clear to boot. Why is lie not in my 
 counting-house at Amsterdam instead 
 of vagaboning it out j-onder ? " 
 
 " When I came to myself I was 
 seated in the litter, and my good mer- 
 chant holding of my hand. I bab- 
 bled I know not what, and then shud- 
 dered awhile in silence. He put a 
 horn of wine to my lips." 
 
 Cathcrinf. "Bless him ! bless him ! " 
 
 Eli. "Whist." 
 
 " And I told him what had befollen. 
 He would see my leg. It was sjjrained 
 sore, and swelled at the ankle ; and 
 all my points were broken, as I could 
 scarce keep up my hose ; and I said, 
 " Sir, I shall be but a burden to yon, 
 I doubt, and can make you no har- 
 mony now ; my poor psaltery, it is 
 broken " ; and I did grieve over my 
 broken music, companion of so many 
 weary leagues. But he patted me on 
 the check, and bade me not fret ; also 
 he did put up my leg on a pillow, and 
 tended mc like a kind father. 
 
 " Januanj 14 — I sit all day in the 
 litter, for we are pushing forward with 
 haste, and at night the good kind 
 merchant sendctli me to bed, and will 
 not let mc 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 humankind. | 
 
 O Margaret ! how strangely mixed 
 thej be, and how old I am by what I 
 was three months agone ! And lo ! 
 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 ! " 
 
 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, Avith 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 surreptitious creatures 
 now first exposed to observation were 
 babies' caps, and more than half fin- 
 ished, which told a tale. Horror I 
 they were like little monks' cowls in 
 shape and delicacy. 
 
 " Januari/ 12. — Laid up in the lit- 
 ter, and as good as blind, but, halting 
 to bait, Lombardy plains burst on me. 
 O Margaret ! a land flowing with 
 milk and honey ; all sloping plains, 
 goodly rivers, jocund meadows, de- 
 lectable orchards, and blooming gar- 
 dens ; and, though winter, looks 
 warmer than poor beloved Holland at 
 midsummer, and makes the wander- 
 er's face to shine, and his heart to 
 leap for joy to sec earth so kind and 
 smiling. Here be vines, cedars, ol- 
 ives, and cattle plenty, but three 
 goats to a slieep. 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 
 j)rettily 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, where« 
 at I did admire, being a stranger. 
 Passed over with us some countrj
 
 260 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEAKTIl. 
 
 folk. And, an old woman looking: at 
 a young wench, she did hide her face 
 with her hand, and held lier crucifix 
 out like knight his sword in tourney, 
 dreading the evil eye. 
 
 " January 15. — Safe at Venice. A 
 
 Elace whose strange and passing 
 eauty is well known to thee by re- 
 port of our mariners. Dost mind, 
 too, how Peter would oft fill our ears 
 withal, we handed beneath the table, 
 and he still discoursing of this sea- 
 enthroned and peerless citie, in shape 
 a bow, and its great canal and palaces 
 on piles, and its wateiy ways plied by 
 scores of gilded boats ; and that mar- 
 ket-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 passcrs-l)y, their habits and 
 their gestures, wherein they are su- 
 perfluous. 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 
 witli thee ; and what treasure so good 
 and enduring as knowledge? This 
 then have I, Sir Footsore, learned, 
 that each nation hath its proper wis- 
 dom, and its proper folly ; and me- 
 thinks, 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 o^vn folk on Wis- 
 dom'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, ' Kanstu 
 niecht sauffen und fresscn so kanstu 
 kienem hern wol dienen.' In England 
 the vulgar sort drink as deep, but the 
 
 worshipful hold excess in this a re- 
 proach, and drink a health or two for 
 courtesy, not gluttony, aiul still sugar 
 the wine. In their cups tlie Germans 
 use little mirth, or discourse, but ply 
 the business sadly, crying, ' Scyte fro- 
 lich ! ' The best of their drunken sport 
 is ' Kurlemurlehuft",' a way of drink- 
 ing with touching deftly of the glass 
 the beard, the table, in due turn, in- 
 termixed with whistlings and snap- 
 pings of the finger, so curiously or- 
 dered as 'tis a labor of Hercules, but 
 to the beholder right j)leasant and 
 mirthful. Their topers, by advice 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 
 't is a matter of religion to slur it, 
 and gloze it, and charge some inno- 
 cent disease therewith. Yet 't is 
 more a custom than very nature, for 
 their women come among the tip- 
 plers, and do but stand a moment, 
 and, as it were, kiss the wine-cup ; 
 and are indeed most temperate in eat- 
 ing and drinking, and, of all women, 
 modest and virtuous, and true spouses 
 and friends to their mates ; far be- 
 fore 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 Ter- 
 gou, not fiir from our door. One 
 came to the house and sought her 
 man. Says she, ' You '11 not find 
 him ; he asked my leave to go abroad 
 this afternoon, and I did give it 
 him.'" 
 
 Catherine. " 'T is sooth ! 't is sooth ! 
 T was 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 quarrel- 
 some, but 't is the liquor, not tho 
 mind ; for they are none revengeful. 
 And when thej have made a bad bar
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 261 
 
 gain drunk, they stand to it sober. 
 They licep their windows bright ; and 
 judge a man by his clothes. What- 
 ever fruit, or grain, or herb, grows by 
 the roadside, gather and cat. The 
 o\vner, seeing you, shall say, ' Art wel- 
 come, honest man.' But an ye pluck 
 a wayside gra])e, your very life is in 
 jeopardy. 'T is eating of that Heaven 
 gave to be drunken. The French arc 
 much fairer-spoken, and not nigli so 
 true-hearted. Sweet words cost them 
 naught. They call it ' payer en 
 blanche.' " 
 
 Denys. " Lcs coquins ! 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 but leave your scat, 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. " Gramcrcy ! that is 
 manners. France for me ! " 
 
 Penys rose and placed his hand 
 gracefully to his breastplate. 
 
 " Natheless, they say things in sport 
 which are not courteous, but shocking. 
 Le diable t'cmporte ! Allcz an diable ! 
 and so forth. But I trow they mean 
 not such dreadful wishes ; custom be- 
 like. Moderate in drinking, and mix 
 water with their wine, and sing and 
 dance over their cups, and are then 
 enchanting company. They arc cu- 
 rious not to drink in another man's 
 cup. In war the English gain the 
 better of them in the tield, but tlic 
 French are their masters in attack and 
 defence of cities; Avitness Orleans, 
 where they besieged their besiegers, 
 and hashed them sore with their 
 double and treble culverins ; and 
 many other sieges in this our cen- 
 tury. 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 decently, as other nations use. 
 
 The furniture in their inns is walnut, 
 in Germany only deal. French win- 
 dows are ill. The lower half is of 
 wood, and opens ; the upper half is 
 of glass, but fixed, so that the ser- 
 vant 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 liouscs are not glazed at all. 
 Once I saw a Frenchman pass a 
 church without unbonneting. Tins I 
 ne'er witnessed in Holland, Germany, 
 or Italy. At many inns they show the 
 traveller his sheets to give him assur- 
 ance they are clean, and warm tlicm at 
 the fire before liim, — a laudable cus- 
 tom. 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 thrust- 
 eth its nose into every platter, and its 
 finger into every pie. In France wor' 
 shipful men wear their hats and their 
 furs in-doors, and go abroad lighter 
 clad. 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 preach- 
 ers the women sit on their heels in 
 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 he red. I 
 lie not. The French bny minstrelsy, 
 but breed jests, and make their o-^vn 
 mirth. The Germans foster their set 
 fools with ear-caps, which move them 
 to laughter by simulating madness, 
 a calamity that asks pity, not laugh- 
 ter. In this particular I deem that 
 lighter nation wiser than th* graver 
 German. What sayest thou i Alas ! 
 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
 
 262 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 more cruelly there. Here the wheel 
 is common, and the fiery stake ; and 
 under this kinjj they drown men by 
 the score in Paris river, Seine yclept. 
 But the English are as peremptory in 
 hanging and drowiiing for a light 
 fault ; so travellers report. Finally, 
 a true-hearted Frenchman, when ye 
 chance on one, is a man as near per- 
 fect as earth affords ; and such a 
 man is my Denys, spite of his foul 
 mouth." 
 
 Denys. " My foul mouth ! Is that 
 so writ, Master Richart ? " 
 
 Ric.hart. " Ay, in sooth ; sec else." 
 
 Denys (inspecting ihe letter grave- 
 ly). " I read not the letter so." 
 
 Richart. " How then ? " 
 
 Denys. " Humph ! ahem ! why, just 
 the contrary." He added, " 'T is kittle 
 work perusing of these black scratches 
 men are agreed to take for words. 
 And I trow 't is still by guess you 
 clerks do go, worthy sir. My foul 
 mouth ■? This is the first time e'er I 
 heard on 't. Eh, mesdames ? " 
 
 But the females did not seize the 
 opportunity 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 sly 
 smile. Denys inspected their counte- 
 nances long and carefully ; and the 
 perusal was so satisfactory, 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 
 gestures. 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 
 bringing 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 fof 
 extortion's sake. The innkeepers 
 cringe and fawn and cheat, and, in 
 country places, murder you. Yet 
 will they give you clean sheets by 
 paying therefor. Delicate in eating, 
 and abhor from putting their hand in 
 the plate ; sooner will they 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 bi- 
 furcal dagger to hold the meat, while 
 his knife cuttcth it. But methinks 
 this, too, is to be wiser than Him 
 who made the hand so supple and 
 prehensile." 
 
 Eli. " I am of vour mind, my 
 lad." 
 
 " They are sore troubled with the 
 itch ; and ointment for it, unguento 
 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' Sun- 
 days ; and then ye can put your hand 
 i' the plate o' Thursday withouten 
 offence." 
 
 " Their bread is lovely white. 
 Their meats they spoil with sprin 
 kling cheese over them ; pen-ersity ! 
 Their salt is black ; without a lie. In 
 commerce these Venetians are mas- 
 ters of the earth and sea, and govern 
 their territories 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 
 to pay a tax to the State, which, not 
 content wth silk and spice and other 
 rich and honest freights, good store, 
 must trade in sin. Twenty thousand 
 of these Jezebels there be in Venice 
 and Candia, and about, pampered and 
 honored for bringing strangers to the 
 city, and many live in princely pal- 
 aces of their own. But herein mer
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 263 
 
 thinks the politic signers of Venice 
 forget what King David saitli, ' Ex- 
 cept the Lord keep the citic, tlie 
 watchman waketh but in vain.' 
 Also, in religion, they hang their 
 cloth according to the wind, siding 
 now with the Pope, now witli the 
 Turk, but ay with tlie god of traders, 
 mammon hight. Shall flower so can- 
 kered bloom to the Avorld's end ? But, 
 since I speak of flowers, this none 
 may deny them, that they are most 
 cunning in making roses and gilly- 
 flowers to blow unseasonably. In 
 summer they nip certain of the bud- 
 ding roses and water them not. Then 
 in winter they dig round these dis- 
 .■•.ouraged plants, and put in cloves ; 
 and so with great art rear sweet- 
 Gcented roses, and bring them to mar- 
 ket in January. And did first learn 
 this art of a cow. Buds she grazed 
 in summer, and they sprouted at 
 yule. Women have sat in the doc- 
 tors' chairs at their colleges. But 
 slic that sat in St. Peter's was a Ger- 
 man. Italy, too, for artful fountains 
 and figures that move by water and 
 enact life. And next for fountains is 
 Augsburg, where they harness the 
 foul knave Smoke to good Sir Spit, 
 and he tumeth stout Master Roast. 
 But lest any one place should vaunt, 
 two towns there be in Europe, which, 
 scorning giddy fountains, bring water 
 tame into pipes to every burgher's 
 door, and he filleth his vessels with 
 but turning of cock. One is Lon- 
 don, so watered this many a year by 
 pipes of a league from Paddington, a 
 neighboring city ; and the other is 
 the fair town of Lubeck. Also the 
 fierce English are reported to me wise 
 in that they will not share their lands 
 and flocks with wolves, but have fair- 
 ly driven those marauders into their 
 mountains. But neither in France, 
 nor Germany, nor Italy, is a way- 
 farer'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 
 jalousie. Their name for a cowardlv 
 12 
 
 assassin is ' a brave man,' and for an 
 harlot, ' a courteous jjcrson,' 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 doomsday ; and then gloze 
 foul faults with silken names who 
 can ! " 
 
 Eli (With a sigh). "He should 
 have been a priest, saving your pres- 
 ence, my poor lass." 
 
 "Go to, peevish writer; art tied 
 smarting by the leg, and may not see 
 the beauties of Venice; so thy pen 
 kicketh all around like a wicked 
 mule. 
 
 " January 16. — Sweetheart, I must 
 be brief and tell thee but a part of that 
 I have seen, for this day my jour- 
 nal ends. To-night it sail^ for thee, 
 and I unhappy, not with it, but to- 
 niurn-.v 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 foiu* 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 hundred 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 
 cro\vn a diamond and a chr}-soh'te, 
 each as big as an almond ; two golden 
 crowns and twelve golden stomachers 
 studded with jewels, from Constanti- 
 nople ; item, a monstrous sapphire ; 
 item, a great diamond given by a 
 French king ; item, a prodigious car- 
 buncle ; item, three unicorns' horns. 
 But what are these compared with 
 the sacred relics ? 
 
 " Dear Margaret, I stood and saw 
 the brazen chest that holds the body 
 of St. Mark tlie Evangelist. I saw 
 with these eyes, and handled, his ring
 
 264 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and his gospel •vvrittcn with his own 
 hand, and all my travels seemed 
 light; for who am I that I should 
 see sueh things ? Dear Margaret, his 
 sacred hody was first brought from 
 Alexandria by merchants in 810, and 
 then not prized as now ; for between 
 829, when this church was builded, 
 and 1094, the very place where it lay 
 was forgotten. The holy priests 
 fasted and prayed many days seeking 
 for light, and lo, the Evangelist's body 
 brake at midnight through the mar- 
 ble 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 monument while the world lasts. 
 After tiiat they showed me the Vir- 
 gin's chair ; it is of stone ; also her 
 picture, painted by St. Par.l, 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 Bap- 
 tist'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 lay his 
 head on, and I hold with them, by rea- 
 son our Lord never prcaclicd at Tyre. 
 Going hence they showed me the 
 state nursery for the children of those 
 aphrodisian dames, their favorites. 
 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 ftills 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 't is like to be mali corvi 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 cus- 
 tom; and sure no other town will 
 ever rob them of it, nor of this that 
 follows. On a great porphyry slab 
 in the piazza were three ghastly heads 
 rotting and tainting the air, and in 
 their hot summers like to take ven- 
 geance 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 so 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 ala- 
 baster, reared express to hang him, 
 and no other, for the least treason to 
 the state ; and there it stands in his 
 eye whispering him memento mori. 
 I pondered, and owned these signors 
 my masters, 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 enact- 
 ed last year, yet on the wall looks 
 innocent. Here two gentlefolks whis- 
 per 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 
 lieu of quartering it ; and at a mu- 
 tual 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 grov- 
 elling in mortal agony, and cursing 
 of one another and themselves, and 
 so concluded miserably, and the land, 
 for which they had lost their immor- 
 tal souls, went into another family. 
 And why not t it could not go into a 
 worse. 
 
 " But O sovereign wisdom of by- 
 words ! how tnie they put the finger 
 on each nation's, or particidar's, fault
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 265 
 
 'Quand Italie sera sans poison 
 lit France sans trahison 
 Et I'Augleterre jaiis guerre, 
 Lors sera le monde sans lerre.' " 
 
 Richurt cxpl;iiiK'<I this to Catherine, 
 then proceeded : " And after this they 
 took me to the quay, and presently 1 
 espied among the masts one /garland- 
 ed 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 mast- 
 head when they are courting a maid. 
 Oft had I scoffed at this, saying, ' So 
 then his wooing is the earth's con- 
 cern.' But now, so far from the Kot- 
 ter, that bunch at her masthead made 
 my heart leap with assurance of a 
 countryman. They carried me, and, 
 
 Margaret ! on the stern of that 
 Dutch hoy was writ in mucklc let- 
 ters, 
 
 RICHART ELLVSSOEN, AM- 
 STERDAM. 
 * Put me do^vn,' I said : ' for Our 
 Lady's sake put me down.' I sat on 
 the bank and looked, scarce believing 
 my eyes, and looked, and presently 
 fell to crying till 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 ! often I 
 have sat on his knee and rid on his 
 back. Kisses many he 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 vehemently, and 
 cried aloud, ' Why, wliy is not brother 
 Richart here, and not has name only ? ' 
 
 1 spake in Dutch, for my heart was 
 too fidl 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 ? The 
 
 t)Oor boy's — simple grief and brt)ther- 
 y love coming — so sudden — on mo, 
 they go through my lieart, and — I 
 
 cannot go on : sink me if I can eren 
 
 sec the words, 't is writ so fine." 
 
 Derii/s. " Courage, good Mastel 
 Richart ! Take your time. Here are 
 more eyne wet than yours. Ah, little 
 comrade ! 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, dryly, 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 com- 
 fortably to him ; and after a while 
 our Gerard found breath to say he 
 was worthy Master Richart's bruther. 
 Thereat was the good skipper all agog 
 to serve him." 
 
 Richart. " So ! so ! skipper ! Master 
 Richart aforesaid will be at thy Aved- 
 ding, and bring 's purse to boot." 
 
 Marrjaret. " Sir, he told Gerard of 
 his consort 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 you, 
 I think shame to hear them read 
 aloud, and ends with the lines I sent 
 to Mistress Kate, and they would 
 sound so harsh noiv and ungrateful." 
 
 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 naught ; a 
 had died o' hunger by the way but 
 for paint-brush and psaltery. Well- 
 a-day ! " 
 
 " Well," siud Eli, " he has got
 
 266 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEAKTH. 
 
 brush and music still. Besides, so 
 many men so many minds. \Vritin<i, 
 thof it had no sale in other parts, may 
 be merchandise at Rome." 
 
 " leather," said little Kate, " have 
 I your good leave to put in my word 
 'twixt mother and you ? " 
 
 " And welcome, little heart." 
 
 " Then, seems to me, painting and 
 music, close at hand, be stronger than 
 writing, but, being distant, naught to 
 compare ; for see what glamour writ- 
 ten paper hath done here but now. 
 Our Gerard, writing at Venice, hath 
 verily put his hand into this room at 
 Kottenlam, and turned all our hearts. 
 Ay, dear, dear Gerard, mcthinks thy 
 sjjirit hath rid hither on these thy 
 paper wings ; and, O dear father, 
 v.'hy not do as wc should do were he 
 here in the body ? " 
 
 " Kate," said Eli, " fear not ; Rich- 
 art and I will give him glamour for 
 glamour. Wc wHl write him a letter, 
 and send it to Rome by a sure hand 
 with money, and bid him home on 
 the instant." 
 
 Comelis and Sybrandt exchanged 
 a gloomy look. 
 
 "Ah, good father! And mean- 
 time ? " 
 
 " Well, meantime ? " 
 
 " Dear father, dear mother, what 
 can we do to pleasure the absent, but 
 be kind to his ])oor lass ; and her own 
 trouble afore her 1 " 
 
 " 'T is well ! " 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 1 " 
 
 " Our marriage lines, sir. His and 
 mine. Know you not we are be- 
 trothed ■? " 
 
 " Before witnesses ? " 
 
 " Ay, sure. My poor father and 
 Martin Wittenhaagen." 
 
 " This is the first I ever heard of it. 
 How came they in his hands ? 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." 
 
 " 'T is a good answer. Well, fool- 
 ish or no, y' are honest. I had shown 
 ye more respect at first, but I thought 
 y' had been his leman, and that is tho 
 "truth." 
 
 " God forbid, sir ! Dcnys, methink» 
 't is time for us to go. Give me my 
 letter, sir ! " 
 
 " Bide ye ! bide j'C ! be not so hot 
 for a word I Xatheless, wife, mcthinks 
 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 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 bloodhounds, to turn the scent 
 from her lad." 
 
 " Well, and if I did, 't was 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 Avould have 
 also shed her blood for Gerard in 
 danger. 
 
 Eli rose from his chair. " Wife," 
 said he, solemnly, " you will set an- 
 other chair at our table for every 
 meal ; also another plate and knife. 
 They ^\ill be for Margaret a Petet
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 267 
 
 She \vilV 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 walls I 
 am master, and my son's betrothed is 
 welcome." 
 
 Catherine bustled out to prepare 
 supper. Eli and Kichart sat down 
 and concocted a letter to bring Ge- 
 rard home. Richart promised it 
 should go by sea to Kome that very 
 week. Sybrandt and Cornells ex- 
 changed a gloomy wink, and stole 
 out. Margaret, seeing Giles deep in 
 meditation, for the dwarf's intelli- 
 gence had taken giant strides, asked 
 him to bring 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 Mar- 
 garet murmured the first pa^ ^ 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 rep- 
 resent. 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, Avith 
 drooping lashes. 
 
 " Get him home on the instant," 
 roared Giles. " I '11 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 liimself heard when 
 a do speak." 
 
 SijJirandt. " Wliich will get to him 
 first';" 
 
 Cornells (gloomilv). " Who can 
 tell .' " 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 About two months before this 
 scene in Eli's home, the natives of a 
 little maritime place between Naples 
 and Rome might be seen Hocking to 
 the sea-beach, with eyes cast seaward 
 at a ship that labored against a stiff 
 gale blowing dead on the shore. 
 
 At times she seemed likely to 
 weather the 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. 
 
 Non quia vexari quemquam est jucuiida vo- 
 
 luptas 
 Sed quibus ipse malis carcas quia cernera 
 
 suave est. 
 
 And the poor ship, though not sci- 
 entifically built for sailing, was ad- 
 mirably 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, laboring 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 ro]ies 
 as each thought fit, and cursing and 
 praying alternately. 
 
 The passengers were huddled to- 
 gether round the mast, some sitting, 
 some kneeling, some lying prostrate 
 and grasping the bulwarks as the 
 vessel rolled and pitched in the 
 mighty waves. One comely young 
 man whose ashy cheek, but com- 
 pressed 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. Mean- 
 time prayers and vows rose from the 
 ' trembling throng amidships, and, to
 
 268 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 hear them, it Ffcined there were al- 
 most as mail}' ;:<)(ls about a.s 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 
 l;uid.-.nien Polytheism raged. Even 
 iIkjsc who hy some strange clianee 
 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 Walsingliam ; 
 but a Genoese merchant vowed a 
 silver collar of four ]iouiids to Our 
 Lady of Loretto, and a Tu.sean noble 
 promised ten pounds of wax lights to 
 Our Lady of Havcnna ; and with a 
 similar rage for diversity they jjledged 
 tlu'mselves, not on the true Cross, but 
 on the tnie Cross in this, that, or the 
 other modern eity. 
 
 Suddenly, a more powerful gust 
 than usual catching the sail at a 
 disadvantage, the rotten shrouds gave 
 way, and the sail was toni out with 
 a loud crack and went down the wind 
 smaller and smaller, blacker and 
 blaekcr, and fluttered into the sea 
 half a mile otV 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 Compostello, 
 bareheaded, barefooted, with nothing 
 but a coat of mail on his naked 
 skin, if St. James would save him. 
 Others invoked Tliomas, 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 of , 
 
 what you vow. AVhy, if you sell «n 
 you have in the world by publie auc- 
 tion, 't will not buy his weight in 
 wa.x." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you fool," 
 said the vociferator. Then in a 
 whisj>er, — 
 
 " Think ye I am in earnest? Let 
 me but win safe to land, 1 '11 not give 
 him a rush dip." 
 
 Others lay flat and prayed to the 
 sea. " most mcrcifid sea ! O sea 
 most glorious ! O botintiful sea ! O 
 beautiful sea, be gentle, be kind, pre- 
 serve us in this hour of jieril." 
 
 And others wailed and moaned in 
 mere animal terror each time the ill- 
 fated ship rolled or pitehed more ter- 
 ribly than usual ; and she was now a 
 mere plaything in the arms of the 
 tremendous waves. 
 
 A Koman woman of the humbler 
 class sat with her eliild at her half- 
 bared breast, silent amid that wailing 
 throng, her eheek ashy pale, her eye 
 calm ; and her lips moved at times in 
 silent jirayer, but she never wept nor 
 lamented, nor bargained with the 
 goils. Whenever the shij) 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, nioribundo ? 
 Ay, there I do believe sat Antiquity 
 among those media;vals. Sixteen 
 hundred years had not tainted the 
 old Koman blood in her veins ; and 
 the instinct of a race she had jierhaps 
 scarce heard of taught her to die with 
 decent dignity. 
 
 A gigantic fiiar stood on the poop 
 with feet aj)art like the Colossus of 
 Rhodes, not so much defying as ig- 
 noring 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 simg sacristy instead of 
 a perishing ship. Gerai d got nearel
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 269 
 
 and nearer to liim, 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 gi- 
 gantic composure. Thus, even here, 
 two were found who maintained the 
 dignity of our race ; a woman, ten- 
 der, yet heroic, and a monk steeled by 
 religion against mortal fears. 
 
 And now, the sail being gone, the 
 sailors cut down the useless mast 
 a foot above the board, and it fell 
 with its remaining hamper over the 
 ship's side. This seemed to relieve 
 her a little. 
 
 But now the hull, no longer im- 
 pelled 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 
 amidships, pale as death. " Lighten 
 her," he cried. " Eling all overboard, 
 or we shall founder ere we strike, and 
 lose the one little chance we have of 
 life." While the sailors were ex- 
 ecuting this order, the captain, pale 
 himself, and surrounded by pale foces 
 that demanded to know their fate, 
 was talking as unlike an English 
 shipper in like peril as can well be 
 imagined. " Friends," said he, " last 
 night, when all was fair, — too ftiir, 
 alas ! — there came a globe of fire close 
 to the ship. When a pair of them 
 come it is good luck, and naught can 
 drown her that voyage. We mariners 
 call these fiery globes Castor and Pol- 
 lux. But if Castor come without Pol- 
 lux, or Pollux without Castor, she is 
 doomed. Therefore, like good Chris- 
 tians, prepai'C to die." 
 
 These words were received with a 
 loud wail. 
 
 To a trembling inquiry how long 
 they had to prepare, the captain re- 
 
 i)lied, " She may, or may not, last 
 lalf an hour ; over that, impossible ; 
 she leaks like a sieve ; bustle, men, 
 lighten her. 
 
 The poor passengers seized on 
 cverj'thing that was on deck and 
 flung it overboard. Presently they 
 laid hold of a heavy sack ; an old 
 man was lying on it, seasick. They 
 lugged it from under him. It rattled. 
 Two of them drew it to the side ; up 
 started the owner, and, with an un- 
 earthly shriek, pounced on it. " Holy 
 Moses ! what would you do ? 'T is 
 my all ; 't is 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 ; " 't is this Ebrew 
 wc 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 go- 
 ing to leap after it, and would, had it 
 floated. But it sank, and was gone 
 forever ; 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 sight. 
 Steer for that church, mate, and 
 you, friends, pray to the saint, who- 
 e'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 im- 
 movable, and flooded the deck. 
 
 Then, wild with superstitious terror, 
 some of them came round Gerard. 
 " Here is the cause of all," they 
 cried. " He has never invoked 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. "Rather call these 
 heathens, that lie a praying to the 
 sea. Friends, I do honor the saints, 
 — but I dare not pray to them 
 now, — there is no time — (Oh !) what
 
 270 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND IHK HEARTH. 
 
 avail me Dominic, and Thomas, and 
 Catherine '? Nearer God's throne 
 than these St. I'etcr sltteth ; and, ii' 
 I pray to him, it's odds but I shall 
 be drowned ere he lias time to plead 
 my cause with God. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 I must need go straight to Ilim 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 ! O sweet Jesus, jjitiful 
 Jesus, that didst walk Gcnnesaret 
 when Peter sank, and wept for Laz- 
 arus dead when the apostles' eyes 
 were dry, O save poor Gerard — for 
 dear Margaret's sake ! " 
 
 At this moment the sailors were 
 seen preparing to desert the sink- 
 ing sliip in the little boat, which 
 even at tliat epoch every ship car- 
 ried ; then there was a rush of ego- 
 tists, and thirty souls crowded into it. 
 llemained behind three who were be- 
 wildered, and two who were jjaralyzed, 
 with terror. The paralyzed sat like 
 heaps of wet rags, the bewildered ones 
 ran to and fro, and saw the thirty 
 egotists put off, but made no attempt 
 to join them ; only kept nmning 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 de- 
 tached from the mast. It washed 
 about the deck as the water came 
 slushing in from the sea, and pour- 
 ing 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. lie sat cross- 
 legged bemoaning his bag, and, when- 
 ever 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, hav- 
 ing shriven the whole ship, stood 
 calmly communing with his own spir- 
 it. And the Roman woman sat pale 
 
 and i)atient, only drawing her child 
 closer to her bosom as death came 
 nearer. 
 
 Gerard saw this, and it awakened 
 his manhood. " Sec ! see ! " he said, 
 " they have ta'cn the boat and left the 
 poor woman and her child to perish." 
 His heart soon set his wit work- 
 ing. 
 
 " Wife, I '11 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 the Virgin. He caught it 
 up in his arms, and, heedless of a wail 
 that issued from its worshijjpcr, like 
 a child robbed of its toy, ran aft with 
 it. " Come, wife," he cried. " I '11 
 lash thee and the child to this. 'T is 
 sore worm-eaten, but 't will servo." 
 
 She turned her great dark eye on 
 him and said a single word : — 
 "Thyself?!" 
 
 But with wonderful magnanimity 
 and tenderness. 
 
 " I am a man, and have no child to 
 take care of." 
 
 " Ah ! " 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 ! " And 
 he launched her on the surge, and 
 w^ith his oar kept her from being bat 
 tered against the ship. 
 
 A heavy hand fell on him ; a deep 
 sonorous voice sounded in his ear • 
 " 'T is well. Now come with me." 
 It vv^as the gigantic friar. 
 Gerard turned, and the friar took 
 two strides, and laid hold of the broken 
 mast. Gerard did the same, obeying 
 him instinctively. Between them,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 271 
 
 *fter a prodij^ions effort, they hoisted 
 up the remainder of the mast and 
 carried it oft". " Flinty it in," said 
 the friar, " and follow it." They 
 flung it in ; but one of the bewildered 
 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 mercilessly, and 
 blinded them, to help knock them 
 off. 
 
 Presently was heard a long, grating 
 noise ahead. The ship had struck : 
 and soon, after, she being stationary 
 now, they were hurled against her 
 with tremendous force. Their com- 
 panion's head struck against the up- 
 per part of the broken rudder with 
 a horrible crack, and was smashed 
 like a cocoanut by a sledge-hammer. 
 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 vircK Oavaroio ', oue moment they 
 saw nothing, and seemed down in a 
 mere basin of watery hills : the next 
 they caught glimpses of the shore 
 speckled 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 Grerard, 
 " wo are more than a hundred yards 
 from shore. Prithee, prithee, leave 
 not our faithful mast." 
 
 " My son." said the friar, " you 
 
 JO,* 
 
 speak prudently. But know that 1 
 have business of Holy Church on hand, 
 and may not waste time floating when 
 I can walk in her service. There, ] 
 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 walk." He left the mast 
 accordingly, and, extending his pow- 
 erful 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 baffleu 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 ingulfed him, 
 but had no power to harm him with- 
 out his 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 con- 
 sented 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
 
 272 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 so much from pallantry as from a 
 conviction tliiit it was idle to resist 
 Castor or I'ollux, whichever it was, 
 that had come for him in a ball of 
 <irc. 
 
 Nevertheless the sea broke up the 
 ship, and swept the poor captain and 
 all clear of the rest, and took him 
 safe ashore. Gerard had a principal 
 hand in pullin}^ him out of the water. 
 The disconsolate Hebrew landed on 
 another fragment, and, on touching 
 earth, otfered 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 in- 
 tentions, took to a hot fire. So then 
 he too retired from this shifting 
 scene. 
 
 As Gerard stood by the sea watch- 
 ing, with liorror and curiosity mixed, 
 his late companions wjujhed ashore, a 
 hand was laid lightly on his shoulder. 
 He turned. It was the Koman ma- 
 tron, 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 confemng 
 an honor 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 Eoman 
 matron thanking a modern from her 
 heart of hearts. 
 
 Next day, towards afternoon, Ge- 
 rard — t^vice 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 naufragia tutus. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 Gkrard 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," siud another. Uut the 
 main cry was, " What avails this 1 
 Scant is the Latin writ here now. 
 Can ye not write Greek >. " 
 
 " Ay, but not nigh so well aa 
 Latin.'' 
 
 " Then you shall never make your 
 bread at Home." 
 
 Gerard borrowed a beautiful Greek 
 manuscript at a high price, and went 
 home with a sad hole in his purse, 
 but none in his ccjurage. 
 
 In a fortnight he Jiad made vast 
 progress with the Greek character; 
 so then, to lose no time, he used to 
 work at it till noon, and hunt custom- 
 ers the rest of the day. 
 
 When he carried round a better 
 Greek specimen than any they pos- 
 sessed, the traders informed him that 
 Greek and Latin were alike unsala- 
 ble ; the city was thronged with works 
 from all Europe. He should havo 
 come last year. 
 
 Gerard bought a psaltery. 
 
 His landlady, pleased with his looks 
 and manners, used often to speak a 
 kind word in passing. One day she 
 made him dine with her, and some- 
 what to his surprise asked him what 
 had dashed his spirits. He told her. 
 She gave him her reading of the mat- 
 ter. " Those sly traders," she would 
 be bound, " had writers in their pay, 
 for whose work they received a noble 
 price and paid a sorrj' one. So no 
 wonder they blow cold on you. Mo- 
 thinks you write too well. How know 
 I that "? say you. Marrj' — marry, 
 because you lock not your door like 
 the churl Pietro, and women will be 
 curious. Ay, ay, you write too well 
 for them."
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 273 
 
 Gerard askocl an explanation. 
 
 " Wiiy," said she, " your good 
 ivork might put out the eyes of that 
 tiiey are selling." 
 
 Gerard sighed. " Alas ! dame, 
 you read folk on the ill side, and you 
 so kind and frank yourself." 
 
 " My dear little heart, these Ko- 
 mans are a subtle raee. Me ? I am 
 a Siennese, thanks to the Virgin." 
 
 " My mistake was leaving Augs- 
 burg," said Gerard. 
 
 " Augsburg? " said she, iiaughtily ; 
 " is that a place to even to l{ome ? I 
 never heard of it, for my part." 
 
 She then assured him tliat he should 
 make his fortune in spite of tne book- 
 sellers. " Seeing thee a stranger, 
 they lie to thee without sense or dis- 
 cretion. 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 cut- 
 ting and stabbing among rival fac- 
 tions, and vindictive eating of their 
 opposites' livers, minced and fried, 
 since Scribbling came in. Why, /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 
 %vriting night and day. But I '11 
 speak to Teresa ; she hears the gos- 
 sip of the court." 
 
 The next day she told him she had 
 seen Teresa, and had heard of five 
 more signors who were bitten with 
 the writing spider. Gerard took 
 down their names, and bought parch- 
 ment, and busied himself for some 
 days in preparing specimens. He 
 left one, with his name and address, 
 at each of these signors' 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 Kotterdam, and ar- 
 rested for curing without a license in* 
 stead of killing with one. 
 
 Gi3rard saw ruin staring him in the 
 face. 
 
 He spent the afternoon picking up 
 canzonets and mastering them. He 
 laid in playing cards to color, 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 pro- 
 visions. So Gerard's hostess speed- 
 ily detected him, and asked him if 
 he was not ashamed of himself; by 
 which brusque opening, having made 
 him blush and looked scared, 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 ; meantime I will feed you for 
 the love of Heaven." (Italian for 
 "gratis.") 
 
 " Nay, hostess," said Gerard, " my 
 purse is not yet quite void, and it 
 would add to my trouble an' if true 
 folk should lose their due by me." 
 
 " AVli}', you are as mad as your 
 neighbor Pietro, with his one bad 
 picture." 
 
 " Why, how know you 't is a bad 
 picture ? " 
 
 " 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 she told him more. Pietro had 
 come from Florence with money in 
 ills purse, and an unfinished picture ; 
 had taken her one unfurnished room, 
 opposite Gerard's, and furnished it 
 neatly. When his picture was fin- 
 ished, he received \isitors, 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 he had
 
 274 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 often taken it out with him to try 
 and sell, but had always brou<j:ht it 
 back ; and the last month she had 
 seen one morable after another f;o 
 out of his room, and now he wore 
 but one suit, and lay at night on a 
 great ehcst. 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 ? " 
 
 "Nay, sweet hostess, see you not 
 't is his poverty he would screen from 
 view 1 " 
 
 " And the more fool ho ! Arc all 
 our hearts as ill as his ? A might 
 give us a trial first, any way." 
 
 " How you speak of him. Why, 
 his case is mine ; and your country- 
 man to boot." 
 
 " 0, we Siennese love strangers. 
 His case yours? nay, 'tis just the 
 contran,-. You are the comeliest 
 youth ever lodged in this house ; hair 
 like gold : he is a dark, sour-visaged 
 loon. Besides, you know how to take 
 a woman on her better side ; but not 
 he. Natheless I wish he would not 
 starve to death in my house, to get 
 me a bad name. Any way, one 
 starveling is enough in any house. 
 You are from home, and it is for me, 
 which am the mistress here, to num- 
 ber your meals, — for me and the 
 Dutch wife, your mother, that is far 
 away : we two women shall settle 
 that matter. Mind thou thine own 
 business, being a man, and leave 
 cooking and the like to us, 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 '11 put you more 
 in mind of her before I have done 
 with you." And the honest soul 
 beamed with pleasure. 
 
 Gerard not being an egotist, nor 
 blinded by female partialities, saw his 
 
 own grief in poor, proud Pletro ; and 
 the more he thought of it. the more 
 he resolved to share his humble means 
 with that unlucky artist ; Pietro's sym- 
 pathy 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 
 received no answer. He knocked 
 again. A surly voice bade him en- 
 ter. 
 
 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 for striking the first comer was 
 rarely seen. 
 
 " Good Signor Pietro," said Gerard, 
 " forgive me that, weary of my own 
 solitude, I intrude on yours ; but I am 
 your nighest neighbor in this house, 
 and mcthinks your brother in fortune. 
 I am an artist too." 
 
 "You are a painter ? welcome, 
 signor. Sit down on my bed." 
 
 And Pietro jumped off and waved 
 him into the vacant throne with a 
 magnificent demonstration of cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 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, 
 mo seemcth an artist is one who 
 thinks, and paints his thought. Now 
 a caligraph but draws in black and 
 white the thoughts of another." 
 
 " 'T is 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 a sorry one."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 275 
 
 "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 ! 't is the good 
 dame," cried Gerard. " What ho, 
 hostess ! I am here in conversation 
 with Signor Fietro. I dare say he 
 ^•ill let me have my humble dinner 
 here." 
 
 The Italian bowed gravely. 
 
 The landlady brought in Gerard's 
 dinner, smoking and savory. She 
 put the dish down on the bed with a 
 face divested of all expression, and 
 went. 
 
 Gerard fell to But, ere he had 
 eirten many mouthfuls, lie 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 ; 't is not unsavory, 
 I promise you." 
 
 Pietro fixed his glittering eye on 
 him. 
 
 " What, good youth, thou a stran- 
 ger, and offerest me thy dinner ? " 
 
 " Why, see, 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 the window. 
 
 Then he turned, trembling with 
 mortification and ire, and said : " 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 ! His mother's milk cur- 
 dled in his veins \vith horror at such 
 impiety. 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 douc might pass in 
 
 a novel of thy countryman, Signor 
 Boccaccio; but 'twas not honest." 
 
 " Make that good ! " said the paint' 
 er, 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, and then reflected. 
 
 " 'T is well. I took thee for a fool, 
 so transparent was thine artifice. Fop 
 give me ! And prithee leave me ! 
 Thou seest how 't is with me. The 
 world hath soured me. I hate man- 
 kind. 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 Dutch- 
 men are hard bargainers. We are 
 the lads ' een eij scheeren,' that is ' to 
 shave an egg.' Therefore, 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, has- 
 tily, " ask me not that ; I have al- 
 ready misconducted myself enough 
 towards thee. I would not shed thy 
 blood." 
 
 " Saints forbid ! My blood 1 " 
 
 "Stranger," said Pietro, sullenly, 
 "irritated by repeated insults to my 
 
 ficture, which is my child, my heart, 
 did in a moment of rage make a sol- 
 emn vow to drive my dagger into the 
 next one that should flout it and the 
 labor and love that I have given to it." 
 " What, are all to be slain that will 
 not praise this picture ? " and he 
 looked at its back wth curiosity. 
 
 " Nay, nay ; if ye would but look 
 at it, and hold your parrot tongues. 
 But you will be talking. So I have 
 turned it to the wall forever. Would 
 I were dead, and buried in it for my 
 coflSn ! " 
 
 Gerard reflected. 
 
 "I accept the conditions. Show 
 t me the picture ! I can but hold my 
 I peace."
 
 276 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Pietro went and turned its face, and 
 put it in the best light the room af- 
 forded, and eoiled 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 ho had been at this game 
 half an hour, Pietro cried out queru- 
 lously and somewhat inconsistently : 
 " Well, have you not a word to say 
 about it?" 
 
 Gerard started. " I cry your mer- 
 cy ; I forgot there were three of us 
 here. Ay, I have much to say." And 
 he drew his sword. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " cried Pietro, jump- 
 ing in terror from his lair. " What 
 wouldst thou ? " 
 
 " Marry, defend myself against thy 
 bodkin, signor, and at due odds, t)e- 
 ing, as aforesaid, a Dutchman. There- 
 fore, hold aloof, while I deliver judg- 
 ment, or I will pin thee to the wall 
 like a cockchafer. ' 
 
 " 0, is that all? " said Pietro, greatly 
 relieved. " I feared you were going 
 to stab my poor picture with your 
 sword, stabbed already by so many 
 foul tongues." 
 
 Gerard "pursued criticism under 
 difficulties." Put himself in a posi- 
 tion of defence, with his sword's point 
 covering Pietro, and one eye glancing 
 aside at the picture. "First, signor, 
 I would have you know that, in the 
 mixing of certain colors, and in the 
 preparation of your oil, you Italians 
 arc 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 mar- 
 vellous profit in your next picture. 
 Meantime I see in this one the great 
 qualities of your nation. Verily, ye 
 
 are solis JUii. If we have color, you 
 have imagination. Mother of Heaven ! 
 an he hath not flung his inmiortal 
 soul upon the panel. One thing I go 
 by is this : it makes other pictures I 
 once admired seem drossy, earth-bom 
 things. The drapciy 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 see what I have 
 done." 
 
 " Humph ! This landscape it en- 
 lightens me. Henceforth I scorn 
 those little huddled landscapes that 
 did erst content me. Here is Nature's 
 very face ; a spacious plain, each dis- 
 tance marked, and every tree, house, 
 figiu-e, field, and river smaller and 
 less plain, by exquisite gradation, till 
 vision itself melts into distance. O 
 beautiful ! And the cunning rogue 
 hath hung his celestial figure in air 
 out of the way of his little world be- 
 low. Here, floating saints beneath 
 Heaven's purple canopy; there, far 
 doAvn, 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 
 unsold. But I tell thee in Ghent or 
 Bruges, or even in Rotterdam, they 
 would tear it out of thy hands. But 
 't is a common saying that a stran- 
 ger's eye sees clearest. Courage, Pie- 
 tro Vanucci ! 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 inmiortal, and thou, 
 that hast but a chest to sit on, art a 
 king in thy most royal art. Viva, U 
 maestro ! Viva ! " 
 
 At this xinexpected burst the paint- 
 er, with all the abandon of his na- 
 tion, flung himself on Gerard's neck. 
 " They said it was a maniac's dream," 
 he sobbed. 
 
 " Maniacs themselves ! no, idiots ! * 
 shouted Gerard.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 277 
 
 "Generons stranger! 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 Slip with me 1 " 
 
 "Ah! that I wQl. "Whither goest 
 thou ? " 
 
 " To order supper on the instant. 
 Wc Avill have the picture for third 
 man." 
 
 " I will invite it whiles thou art 
 gone. My poor picture, child of my 
 heart." 
 
 " Ah ! master ; 't will look on many 
 a supper after the worms have eaten 
 you and me." 
 
 " I hope so," said Pietro. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 About a week after this the two 
 friends sat working together, but not 
 in the same spirit. Pietro dashed fit- 
 fully at his, and did wonders in a few 
 minutes, and then did nothing ex- 
 cept abuse it ; then presently resumed 
 it in a fur}', 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 painting playing cards to boil 
 the pot. 
 
 When done, the indignant master 
 took up his picture to make his daily 
 tour in search of a customer. ' 
 
 Gerard begged him to take tlie 
 cards as well, and trj' to sell them. 
 He looked all the rattlesnake, 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 
 hiiTi thus employed, 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 1 " 
 
 " 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, my lodger ? and he never 
 told me a word of that. Art not 
 ashamed to look me in the face 1 " 
 
 " 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, dur- 
 ing which Gerard stood blushing like 
 a girl and scarce recognizing his own 
 performance, gratitude painted it so 
 fair. 
 
 "And to think thou shouldst ask 
 me to serv-e thy lodger, of whom I 
 knew naught but that he had thy 
 good word, Fiammina : and that 
 was enough for me. Dear youth, in 
 ser\'ing thee I ser\-e 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 Eter- 
 nal city. 
 
 Teresa smiled sadly at Gerard's 
 simplicity in lea\ang specimens of his 
 skill at the doors of the great. 
 
 " What ! " said she " without prom- 
 ising the servants a share, — without 
 even feeing them, — to let the signers
 
 278 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 see thy merchandise ! As well have 
 flung it into Tiber." 
 
 " Well - a - day !" sighed Gerard. 
 " Then how is an artist to find a 
 patron ? for artists are poor, not 
 rich." 
 
 " By going to some city nobler and 
 not so greedy as this," said Teresa. 
 "La corte Romaua uon vuole 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 
 returned with his picture, looking 
 black as thunder. Gerard exchanged 
 a glance with the landlady, and fol- 
 lowed him up stairs 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 spinning 
 and flying, and running all abroad. 
 Down went Gerard on his knees and 
 followed the maltreated innocents 
 directly, and transferred them tender- 
 ly to his purse. 
 
 " Shouldst rather smile at their ig- 
 norance, and put it to profit," said 
 he. 
 
 " And so I will," said Pietro, with 
 concentrated indignation. " The 
 brutes ! We ^vill paint a pack a day ; 
 we will set the whole city gambling 
 and ruining itself, while we live like 
 
 princes on its vices and Bttipiditr. 
 There was one of the queecig, though, 
 I had fain have kept back. T was 
 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." 
 
 Tiie 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 in- 
 terrupted 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 LVIII. 
 
 Gerard walked silently beside 
 Teresa, wondering in his 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 in- 
 formed 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 goldsmith'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 fiivor." 
 
 The goldsmith's wife complied in 
 one sense. She fixed her eyes on Ge- 
 rard's comely face, and could hardly 
 take them off again ; but her reply 
 was unsatisfactory. " Nay, I have no 
 use for a WTiter. Ah ! 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 withdrew.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 279 
 
 Clselia lived at some distance, and 
 when they reached her lioiisc 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 gold- 
 smith's wife, the excellent Olympia, 
 that you need a writer" (here she 
 took Gerard by the hand and led liim 
 fonvard) ; "1 have brought you a 
 beautiful one ; he saved my child from 
 the cruel waves. For Our Lady's sake, 
 look with favor on him." 
 
 " My good dame, my dear Ser," 
 said Claelia, " I have no use for a writ- 
 er; but, now you remind mc, 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 f " She added mildly, 
 " We will knock at every door at 
 Eome but you shall have justice." 
 
 " But, madama, I think we are 
 dogged. I noticed a man that follows 
 us, sometimes afar, sometimes close." 
 
 " I have seen it," said Teresa, cold- 
 ly; but her check colored faintly. 
 " It is my poor Lodovico." 
 
 She stopped and turned, and beck- 
 oned ■with her finger. 
 
 A figure approached them some- 
 what unwillingly. 
 
 When he came up, she gazed him 
 full in the face, and he looked sheep- 
 ish. 
 
 " Lodovico mio," said she, " know 
 this yoving 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 artifi- 
 cially, suddenly changed to an expres- 
 sion of heartfelt gratitude, and em- 
 braced Gerard warmly. 
 
 Yet, somehow, there was something 
 
 in the man's original manner, and his 
 having followed his wife by stealth, 
 that made Gerard uncomfortable un- 
 der this caress. However he said, 
 " We shall have your company, Ser 
 Lodovico 1 " 
 
 " No, signor," replied Lodovico, " I 
 go not on that side Tiber." 
 
 " Addio, then," said Teresa, signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " When shall you return home, Te- 
 resa mia ■? " 
 
 " When I have done my errand, 
 Lodovico." 
 
 They pursued their way in silence. 
 Teresa now wore a sad 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 Lucretia, Avho 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 ac- 
 counts 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 he now 1 " And Lucretia 
 cast an approving look on Gerard. 
 " Well, make your mind easy ; a Co- 
 lonna never wants for money. The 
 good father has only to say the word, 
 and the princes of his race will pour 
 a thousand pounds into his lap. And 
 such a confessor, dame ! the best in 
 Rome. His head 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
 
 280 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 left off confessing, he started out of 
 his dream, and s;iys he, a mustering 
 up a gloom, ' My erring sister, say 
 three paternosters and three ave Ma- 
 rias kneeling, and eat no butter nor 
 eggs next Wednesday, and pax vobis- 
 cum ! ' 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 calm- 
 ly brought this discursive lady back 
 to the point : " "Would she be so kind 
 as to go with this good youth to the 
 friar and speak for him 1 " 
 
 " Alack ! how can I leave my shop ? 
 And what needl 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 pai'chmcnt just came in 
 from Greece, as you could put one 
 cowl over the pair. His wench Ones- 
 ta 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," continued 
 Lucretia, "is to go to his lodgings 
 (my boy shall show them you), and 
 tell Onesta you came from me, and 
 you are a writer, and she will take 
 you up to him. If you put a piece 
 of silver in the wench's hand, 't will 
 do you no harm ; that stands to rea- 
 son." 
 
 " 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 
 ag-ainst all bunglers. Why, 't was 
 but t'other day, one brought him an 
 ill-carved crucifix. Says he : ' Is this 
 how you present " Salvator Mundi " 1 
 who died for you in mortal agony ; 
 and you go and grudge him careful 
 work. This slovenly gimcrack, a 
 crucifix'? But that it is a crucifix 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 keyhole ; s6 mind." 
 
 " Have no fears, niadama," said Te- 
 resa, 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 confi- 
 dence that he begged a respite. He 
 would rather not go to the friar to- 
 day ; would not to-morrow do as 
 well 1 
 
 " 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-bom, 
 fastidious friar," said Gerard. " Con- 
 sider, he has seen the handiwork of 
 all the writers in Italy, dear Dame 
 Teresa ; if you would but let me pre- 
 pare a better piece of work than yet I 
 have done, and then to-morrow I will 
 foce him with it." 
 
 " I consent," said Teresa. 
 
 They walked home together. 
 
 Not far from his own lodgings 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 up stairs, 
 and took the bond he had brought all 
 the way from Sevenbergen, and laid 
 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 
 overcame his deadly repugnance to 
 bad writing, and proceeded to deci- 
 pher the deed in spite of its detest- 
 able contractions. It appeared by 
 this deed that Ghysbreeht van Swie- 
 ten 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 im- 
 prudent and improper to destroy the 
 deed. On the contrary he vowed to 
 decipher every word at his leisure
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 281 
 
 He went down stairs, determined to 
 buy a small piece of vellum with his 
 half of the card money. 
 
 At the bottom of the stairs he 
 fouud the landlady and Teresa talk- 
 injr- At sight of him the former 
 cried : " Here he is. You are caught, 
 danna mia. See what she has bought 
 you ! " and \yhipped out from un- 
 der her apron the very skin of vellum 
 Gerard had longed for. 
 
 " Why, dame ! why, donna Te- 
 resa ! " And he was speecldess, with 
 pleasure and astonishment. 
 
 " Dear donna Teresa, there is not 
 a skin in all Home like it. How ever 
 came you to liit on this one ? 'T is 
 glamour." 
 
 " Alas, dear boy, did not thine eye 
 rest on it with desire 1 and didst thou 
 not sigh in turning away from it 1 
 and was it for Teresa to let thee want 
 the thing after that '? " 
 
 " What sagacity ! what goodness, 
 madania ! O dame, I never thought I 
 should possess this. What did you 
 pay for it 1 " 
 
 " I forget. Addio, Flimmina. Ad- 
 dio, Ser Gerard. Be happy, be pros- 
 perous, as you are good." And the 
 Roman matron glided away, while Ge- 
 rard was hesitating, and thinking 
 how to offer to pay so stately a crea- 
 ture 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 business and feed Ones- 
 ta, 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, antiq- 
 uity, and learning, lying about in 
 rich profusion and confusion. Manu- 
 scripts, pictures, canings in wood and 
 ivory, musical instniments ; and in 
 this glorious chaos sat the friar, por- 
 ing intently over an Arabian manu- 
 script. 
 
 lie 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 ! " And he threw 
 Gerard a piece of i)aper, and pointed 
 to an inkhorn. 
 
 " So jjlcase 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, awaiting his verdict. 
 
 When it came it staggered him. 
 For the verdict was, a Dominican 
 falling on his neck. 
 
 CHAPTER LDC. 
 
 Happy the man who has two chain- 
 cables, — Merit and Women. 
 
 that I, like Gerard, had a " chaino 
 des dames " to pull up by. 
 
 1 would be prose-laureate, or pro- 
 fessor of the spasmodic, or something, 
 in no time. En attendant, I will 
 sketch the Fra Colonna. 
 
 The true revivers of ancient learn- 
 ing and philosophy were two writers 
 of fiction, — Petrarch and Boccac- 
 cio. 
 
 Their labors 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 the elder Guarino ; and 
 early in the fifteenth Florence under 
 Cosmo de Medici was a nest of Pla- 
 tonists. These, headed by Gemistus 
 Pletho, a born Greek, began, about 
 A. D. 1440, to write down Aristotle. 
 For few minds are big enough to ba 
 just to great A without being unjust 
 to capital B.
 
 282 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Theodore Gaza defended that great 
 man with moderation ; George of 
 Trebizond with acerbity, and retorted 
 on Plato. Then Cardinal Bessarion, 
 another born Greek, resisted the said 
 George, and his idol, in a tract " Ad- 
 versus calurauiatorem Platonis." 
 
 Pugnacity, whether wise or not, is 
 a form of vitality. Bom without 
 controversial bile in so zealous an 
 epoch, Francesco Colonna, a young 
 nobleman of Florence, lived for the 
 arts. At twenty he turned Domini- 
 can friar. His object was quiet study. 
 He retired from idle company, and 
 faction fights, the humming 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 his- 
 tories. 
 
 He travelled many years in the 
 East, and returned laden with spoils ; 
 master of several choice MSS., and 
 versed in Greek and Latin, Hebrew 
 and Syriac. He found his country had 
 not stood still. Other lettered princes 
 besides Cosmo had sprung up. Alfon- 
 so, King of Naples, Nicholas d'Este, 
 Lionel d'Este, &c. Above all, his old 
 friend Thomas of Sarzana had been 
 made pope, and had lent a mighty 
 impulse to letters ; had accumulated 
 5,000 MSS. in the library of the Vat- 
 ican, and had set Poggio to translate 
 Diodorus Siculus and Xenophon's 
 Cyrop£cdia, Laurentius Valla to trans- 
 late Herodotus and Thucydides, The- 
 odore Gaza, Theophrastus, George of 
 Trebizond, Eusebius, and certain trea- 
 tises of Plato, etc., etc. 
 
 The monk found Plato and Aris- 
 totle under armistice, but Poggio and 
 Valla at loggerheads over verbs and 
 nouns, and on fire v,-iih odium philo- 
 logicum. 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 versatility. He knew 
 seven or eight languages, and a little 
 
 mathematics ; could write a bif, paint 
 a bit, model a bit, sing a bit, strum a 
 bit ; and could relish superior excel- 
 lence in all these branches. For this 
 last trait he desei-ved 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 such of them as are conceited as 
 well as stupid shall even parade, in- 
 stead 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 sim- 
 plicity, his scepticism was as naff as 
 his enthusiasm. He aflFected to look 
 on the religious ceremonies of his 
 day as his models, the heathen phi- 
 losophers, regarded the worship of 
 gods and departed heroes ; mum- 
 meries 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 re- 
 spected, out of respect for antiquity ; 
 though had he, Avith his turn of mind, 
 been a pagan and its contemporary, he 
 would have scorned it from his phiIo= 
 sophic 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," ob- 
 jected Gerard. " Fiddlestick about 
 being happy with me," said Fra Co- 
 lonna, " you must not be happy ; you 
 must be a man of the world : the 
 grand lesson I impress on the young 
 is, be a man of the world. Now 
 these Montcsini can pay you three 
 times as mucli as I can, and they shall 
 too, — by Jupiter." 
 
 And the friar clapped a terrific price
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 283 
 
 on Gerard's pen. It was acceded to 
 without a murmur. Much higher 
 prices were going for copying than au- 
 thorship ever obtained for centuries un- 
 der the printing-press. 
 
 Gerard had three hundred crowns 
 for Aristotle's treatise on rhetoric. 
 
 The great are mighty sweet upon 
 their pets, while the fancy lasts ; and 
 in the rage for Greek MSS. the hand- 
 some writer soon became a pet, and 
 nobles of both sexes caressed him like 
 a lapdog. 
 
 It would have turned a vain fel- 
 low's head ; but the canny Dutch- 
 man saw the steel hand beneath the 
 velvet glove, and did not presume. 
 Nevertheless it was a proud day for 
 him when he found himself seated 
 with Fra Colonna at the table of his 
 present employer. Cardinal Bessarion. 
 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, etc., instead of lying 
 flat. This electrified Gerard ; though 
 my readers have seen the dazzling 
 phenomenon without tumbling back- 
 wards 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 signoras and 
 signorinas fell upon them and gor- 
 mandized ; but the signors eyed them 
 with reasonable suspicion. 
 
 " But, dear father," objected Ge- 
 rard, " I see not the bifureal dag- 
 gers, with which men say his ex- 
 cellency 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 tempera, O 
 mores ! The ancients, reclining god- 
 like at their feasts, how had they 
 spurned such pedantries." 
 
 As soon as the ladies had disported 
 themselves among the sugar-plums, 
 the tables were suddenly removal, 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 an- 
 swer to which the cardinal fingered 
 his skull-cap as our late Iron Duke 
 his hat ; the company dispersed, and 
 Gerard had dined with a cardinal, 
 and one that had thrice just missed 
 being a pope. 
 
 But greater honor wa."? 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 instnmicnts 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, awe- 
 struck, yet half delighted at the 
 thought that his holiness would 
 handle his work and read it. 
 
 The papal inkstands were all glo- 
 rious externally, 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 cur- 
 tain. 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
 
 284 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the chink ran it against a cold steel 
 halbert. Two soldiers, armed cap-a- 
 pie, were holding their glittering 
 weapons crossed in a triangle. Ge- 
 rard drew swiftly back ; but in that 
 instant he heard the soft mnrmcr 
 of voices, and saw a group of per- 
 sons 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 anned, 
 bounced in, and glared at him. " 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 
 Signor in question. Gerard explained 
 the circumstances of time and space 
 that had deprived the Signor Plutarch 
 of the advantage of the spark's con- 
 versation. 
 
 " O, one of those old dead Greeks 
 they keep such a coil about." 
 
 " Ay, signor, 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 f 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, signor. But what 
 would they say who employ me, were 
 I to break oft' work ? " 
 
 " O, never heed that ; know you 
 not who I am ? I am Jacques Bona- 
 ventura, 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 how- 
 ever having acquired a habit of run- 
 ning into that little room, and finding 
 
 Gerard good company, often looked 
 in on him, and chattered ephemerali- 
 tics while Gerard wrote the immortal 
 lives. 
 
 One day he came, a changed and 
 moody man, and threw himself into a 
 chair, crying, " Ah, traitress ! trai- 
 tress ! " Gerard inquired what was 
 his ill. " Traitress ! traitress ! " was 
 the reply. Whereupon Gerard wrote 
 Plutarch. Then says Bonaventura; 
 " I am melancholy ; and for our La- 
 dy's sake read me a story out of Ser 
 Plutarcho, to soothe my bile : in all 
 that Greek is there naught about 
 lovers betrayed ? " 
 
 Gerard read him the life of Alexan- 
 der. 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 honored, 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 labor. His heart 
 never strayed an instant from her. 
 
 In his prosperity he did not forget 
 poor Pietro. He took the Fra Co- 
 lonna 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 postpone his return to Mar- 
 garet. Luxury had no charms for 
 the single-hearted one, when opposed 
 to love. 
 
 Jacques Bonaventura made him 
 acquainted with other gay young 
 fellows. They loved him, and sought 
 to entice him into vice, and other 
 expenses. But he begged humbly 
 to be excused. So he escaped that 
 temptation. But a greater Avas be- 
 hind.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 Fra Colonna had the run of the 
 pope's hbrarj', and soniotiincs left ort' 
 work at the same hour and walked 
 the city with Gerard ; on which occa- 
 sions the happy artist saw all tliin<;s 
 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 tlic 
 tomb of mighty Rome." He showed 
 Gerard that twenty or thirty feet of 
 the old triumphal arches were under- 
 ground, 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 gi- 
 gantic vestiges of antiquity that peeped 
 aboveground here and there, he ut- 
 tered 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 
 fair 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. 
 
 ' Ex pede Ilerculem ; ex ungue leonem.' •' 
 
 Gerard listened respectfully, but, 
 when the holy friar proceeded by 
 analogy to imply that the moral su- 
 periority of the heathen Romans was 
 proportionably grand, he resisted 
 atoutly. " Ilas then the world lost 
 
 by Christ his coming 1" said he; 
 but blushed, for he felt himself ro< 
 proaching his benefactor. 
 
 " Saints forbid ! " said the friar. 
 " 'T were heresy to say so." And, 
 having made this direct concession, 
 he jn-oceedcd gradually to evade it by 
 subtle circumlocution, and reached 
 the forbidden door by the spiral back 
 staircase. In the midst of all which 
 they 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 cu- 
 rious 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, 
 ignorance, 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 ! 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 demo- 
 niac 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 com- 
 pany ; " 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 spectators enough, and be- 
 gan. 
 
 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 la 
 not you then. Come out, Belial. 
 Come out, Tatzi. Come out, Ezra. 
 No : he trembles not. Come out, 
 Azymoth. Come out, Feriander. 
 Come out, Foletho. Come out. As.
 
 286 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 tyma. Come out, Ncbul. Aha ! 
 what, have I found yc ? 't is thou, 
 thou reptile : at thine old tricks. Let 
 us pray : — 
 
 " O God, we pray thee to drive the 
 foul fiend Ncbul out of this thy crea- 
 ture ; out of his hair, and his eyes, 
 out of his nose, out of his mouth, 
 out of his ears, out of his gums, out 
 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 rigor, sometimes address- 
 ing the man, and sometimes the fiend, 
 and they answered him in turn 
 through the same mouth, now say- 
 ing 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 con- 
 founded the victim and the culprit in 
 idea, by pitching into 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 char- 
 acter, dismissed him, and received 
 the compliments of the company. 
 
 " Good father," said Gerard, " how 
 yon have their names by heart. Our 
 northern priests have no such ex- 
 quisite 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 c* 
 periences ; concluding 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 an- 
 guish : " 'T is not thou that conquers 
 me. See that stone on the window- 
 sill. Know that the angel Gabriel 
 coming down to earth once lighted 
 on that stone : 't is that has done my 
 business." 
 
 The friar moaned. " And you be- 
 lieved him ? " 
 
 " Certes ! who but an infidel had 
 discredited a revelation so precise 1 " 
 
 " What, believe the father of lies ? 
 That is pushing credulity beyond the 
 age." 
 
 " O, a liar does not always lie." 
 
 " Ay, doth he whenever he tells an 
 improbable story to begin, and shows 
 you a holy relic ; arms you against 
 the Satanic host. Fiends (if any) be 
 not SO simple. Shouldst have an- 
 swered him out of antiquity : — 
 
 ' Timeo Danaos et dona fcrentcs.' 
 
 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 bhstered him with 
 a single touch of ' Socratic interroga- 
 tion.' What modem can parry the 
 weapons of antiquity 1 " 
 
 One afternoon, when Gerard had 
 finished his day's work, a fine lack- 
 ey came and demanded his attend- 
 ance at the palace Cesarini. Ho 
 went and was ushered into a noble 
 apartment ; 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 his 
 heels in that great room, and at last 
 he began to fret. " These nobles 
 think nothing of a poor fellow's
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 287 
 
 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 Ces- 
 arini. She came in talking rather 
 loudly and haughtily to her depend- 
 ants, but at sight of Gerard low- 
 ered her voice to a very feminine 
 tone, and said : " Are you the writer, 
 messer ^ " 
 
 " I am. signora." 
 
 " 'T is well." She then seated her- 
 self ; Gerard and her maids remained 
 standing. 
 
 " What is jour name, good 
 youth ? " 
 
 " Gerard, signora." 
 
 " Gerard ? body of Bacchus ! is 
 that the name of a human creature 1 " 
 
 " It is a Dutch name, signora. I 
 was bom at Tergou, in Holland." 
 
 " A harsh name, girls, for so well- 
 favored a youth ; what say you ? " 
 
 The maids assented warmly. 
 
 " Wlu\t did I send for him for "? " 
 inquired the lady, with lofty languor. 
 *'Ah, I remember. Be seated, Ser 
 Gerardo, and write me a letter to 
 Ercolc Orsini, my lover ; at least he 
 says so." 
 
 Gerard seated himself, took out 
 paper and ink, and looked up to the 
 princess for instructions. 
 
 She, seated on a much higher chair, 
 almost a throne, looked down at him 
 with eves equally inquiring. 
 
 " Well, Gerardo ? " 
 
 " I am ready, your excellence." 
 
 " Write then." 
 
 " I but await the words." 
 
 " And who, think you, is to pro- 
 vide them. ? " 
 
 " Who but your grace, whose letter 
 it is to be." 
 
 " Gramercy ! what, you writers, 
 find you not the words 1 What avails 
 your art without the words 1 doubt I 
 you arc an impostor, Gerardo." 
 
 " Nay, signora, I am none. I might 
 make %liift to put your highness's 
 s^jcech into gr.auiniar as well as writ- 
 ing. But I cannot interpret your 
 13 
 
 silence. Therefore speak what is in 
 your heart, and I will enipaper it be- 
 fore your eyes." 
 
 "But there is nothing in my heart. 
 And sometimes I think I have got no 
 heart." 
 
 " What is in your mind then ? " 
 
 " But there is nothing in my mind, 
 nor my head neither." 
 
 " Then why write at all ? " 
 
 " Wliy, indeed ? That is the first 
 word of sense either you or I have 
 spoken, Gerardo. Pestilence seize him! 
 why writeth he not first 7 then I could 
 say nay to this, and ay to that, with- 
 outen headache. Also is it a lady's 
 part to say the first word 1 " 
 
 " No, signora : the last." 
 
 " It is well spoken, Gerardo. Ha ! 
 ha ! 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 age. Money never yet 
 chilled zeal. Gerard, after getting a 
 gold ]iiece so cheap, felt bound to pull 
 her out of her difiicnlty, if the wit of 
 man might achieve it. " Siguurina," 
 said he, " these things are only hard 
 because folk attempt too much, arc 
 artificial and labor 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.' " 
 
 " Likely enough, wench. Now, 
 silence all, and let me think. He 
 pestered me to write, and I promised ; 
 so mine honor 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.
 
 288 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 She was so lovely and statuesque, 
 and looked so inspired with thoughts 
 celestial, as she sat tlius, impregnat- 
 ing herself with mendacity, that Ge- 
 rard forgot all, except art, and proceed- 
 ed eagerly to transfer that exquisite 
 profile to pa])er. 
 
 He had very nearly finished when 
 the fair statue turned brusquely round 
 and looked al him. 
 
 " Nay, signora," said he, a little 
 peevishly, " for Heaven's sake change 
 not your posture ; 't was perfect. See, 
 you arc nearly finished." 
 
 All eyes were instantly on the work, 
 and all tongues active. " How like ! 
 and done in a minute : nay, methinks 
 her highncss's chin is not quite 
 so — " 
 
 " 0, a touch will make that 
 right." 
 
 " What a pity 't is not colored. 
 I'm all for colors. Hang black aiul 
 white ! And her highness hath such 
 a lovely skin. Take away her skin 
 and half her beauty is lost." 
 
 " Peace. Can you color, Scr Gc- 
 rardo ? " 
 
 " Ay, signorina. I am a poor hand 
 at oils ; there shines my friend Pietro ; 
 but in this small v/ay I can tint you 
 to the life, if you have time to waste 
 on such vanity." 
 
 " Call you this vanity ? And 
 for time, it hangs on me like lead. 
 Send for your colors now, — quick, — 
 this moment, — for love of all the 
 saints." 
 
 "Nay, signorina, I must prepare 
 them. I could come at the same time 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " So be it. And you, Florctta, see 
 that he be admitted at all hours. 
 AJack ! leave my head ! leave my 
 head ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, signora ; I thought 
 to prepare it at home to receive the 
 colors. 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 creature, 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 signor's 
 name to me again ; else I '11 whip you 
 till the blood comes. You know how I 
 can lay on when I 'm roused." 
 
 " We do. We do." 
 
 " Then provoke me not to it " ; and 
 her eye ilashcd daggers, and she 
 turned to Gerard all instantaneous 
 honey. " Addio, il Gerar-do." And 
 Gerai'd bowed himself out of this vel- 
 vet tiger's den. 
 
 He came next day and colored her ; 
 and next he was set to make a por- 
 trait 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 j)ainting 
 this princess, whoso beauty and vanity 
 were prodigious, and candidates for a 
 ])ortrait of her numerous. Here the 
 thriving Gerard found a new and 
 fruitful source of income. 
 
 Margaret seemed nearer and near- 
 er. 
 
 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 
 ardor thrilled Gerard with the devo- 
 tion that now seemed to animate the 
 whole people, lately bent on earthly 
 joys. 
 
 Presently the pope came pacing 
 majestically at the head of his cardi- 
 nals, in a red hat, w^hite cloak, a cap- 
 uchin of red velvet, and riding a 
 lovely white Neapolitan barb capari- 
 soned with red velvet fringed and 
 tassellcd with gold ; a hundred horse- 
 men, armed cap-a-pie, rode behind 
 him with their lances erected, the but- 
 end resting on the man's thigh. The 
 cardinals went uncovered all but one, 
 de Medicis, Avho 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.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 289 
 
 Gerard and the friar now came 
 down, and, threading some by-strcets, 
 reached the portico of one of the sev- 
 en churches. It was hung witli 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 bar- 
 riers from the people; then a canon 
 read a Latin Bull, excommunicating 
 several persons by name, especially 
 such princes as were keeping the 
 Church out of any of her temporal pos- 
 sessions. 
 
 At this awful ceremony Gerard 
 trembled, and so did the people. But 
 two of the cardinals spoiled the effect 
 by laughing unresen'edly 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 liis 
 torch among them ; so did two cardi- 
 nals. 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 hurtling his holiness and suite 
 withdrew 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 prajnng. They rose, 
 and with great ceremony donned red 
 gloves. Then one of their number 
 kneeled, and ^vith 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 impres- 
 sion of a face. 
 
 It was the Verum icon, or true im- 
 pression of our Saviour's face, taken 
 at the very moment of his mortal 
 agony for us. Received as it was 
 without a grain of doul)t, 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 priests 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 ])roccssion of Flagellants flog- 
 ging their bare shoulders till the 
 blood ran streaming down ; but with- 
 out a sign of pain in their faces, and 
 many of them laughing and jesting 
 as they lashed. The by-standers 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 ef- 
 fective. Most of them were boys, 
 and a young woman took pity on one 
 fair urchin. " Alas ! dear child," 
 said she, " why wound thy white skin 
 so ? " " 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 ! The 
 young monkey : how knowcth he 
 that stranger is a sinner more than 
 he?" 
 
 " Father," said Gerard, " surely 
 tliis is not to our Lord's mind. He 
 was so pitiful." 
 
 " Our Lord," said the friar, cross- 
 ing himself. " What has he to do with 
 this ? This was a custom in Home 
 six hundred years before he was bom. 
 The boys used to go through the 
 streets at the Lupercalia, flogging 
 themselves. And the married wo- 
 men used to shove in, and try and get 
 a blow from the monkeys' scourges : 
 for these blows conferred fruitfulness, 
 — in those days. A foolish trick this 
 flagellation : but interesting to the 
 by-stander : reminds him of the grand 
 old heathen. We are so prone to 
 forget all we owe them." 
 
 Is^ext they got into one of the 
 seven churches, and saw the pope 
 give the mass. The ceremony was 
 imposing, but again spoiled by ttie 
 inconsistent conduct of the cardinals, 
 and other prelates, who sat about the
 
 290 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTn. 
 
 altar with their hats on, chattering 
 all thri>u;;h the iiulss like u fltM'k of 
 (fffse. 
 
 The cuchnrist in Iwth kinrls wiw 
 tcste<l liy an oltioial In-torc the jk>|>»> 
 wiiulil veiituro on it : an<l tlii* !*iir- 
 jiri'otl Uerard iR-joml nieaxure. 
 •• Who is that hasc man ' ami wluit 
 dotli he there ' " 
 
 " (), that is ' the Prepii-'te,' ami he 
 tastes the eueharist l>y way of Jirv- 
 raiition. This is the eountr)- for 
 jH.iHDn ; ami none full oftener by it 
 than the ix>or i>oi>es." 
 
 " Alas ! HO I have heard ; but after 
 the mirariiloiis elianj^e of the l)reiul 
 and wine to Christ his IkmIv iind 
 Mo<mI, jioison cannot remain ; ^'one 
 is the bread with all its projicrtiesand 
 accitlents ; p>ne is the wine." 
 
 " So says fiiith ; but experience 
 tells Another tale. K<-ores have died 
 in IihIv |>oiM»ned in the host." 
 
 " And I tell you, fnther, thiit. were 
 l»oth bread and wine eharp-«l with 
 din-st poison U'fon- his holiness had 
 e«iii>i< riitrd them, yit after con.sccra- 
 tioii I woui'l take them lH)ih \«ilhout 
 fear." 
 
 " So would I, liut for the fine 
 arts." 
 
 " What mean von 1 " 
 
 " Miirrv. that 1 woidd l>e as ready 
 to leave the world as thou, were it 
 ni>t for thos4' arts which beautify ex- 
 istence here Ik'Iow, and make it dear 
 to men of sense and education. No : 
 so lonj; as the Nine Mu.ses strew my 
 |);\th with roses of leaniinj; and art, 
 nic m:vv A|h(11o inspire with wistlom 
 nui] caution, that, knowing; the wiles 
 ^)t' my countrymen, I miiy eat j)oi- 
 son 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 threjid ; and I 
 am writinjr a l>ook, — heart and (.oul 
 in it, — ' The Dream of I'olifilo,' the 
 man of many arts. So name not 
 yoison to mc till that is finished and 
 cojiied." 
 
 And now the prcat Ix^lls of St. 
 John Lateran's were rung with a 
 cl;i.«h at short inten-als. and the peo- 
 
 ple hurried thither to fie« the beadl 
 of St. I'rtcr and St. I'aul. 
 
 (lerard and the friar p>t a cood 
 place in the church, and there was • 
 treat curtain, and, al^er lon(j and 
 breathless exiHctation of the iKxjple, 
 this curtain was drawn by jerks, and 
 at a height of al>out thirty ftrt were 
 two human heads with iM'urded faces, 
 that seemi-d alive. They were shown 
 no longer than the time to say an 
 Ave Maria, and then the curtain 
 drawn, liut they wen* shown in thi* 
 fashion three times. St. I'eter's rnm- 
 
 Iile.xion was |>ale, his face oval, his 
 >eard (;ray and forkeii, his head 
 crowned with a papal mitre. St. 
 I'ttul was darkskinneil, with a thick, 
 S()uare U-anl ; his face also and head 
 were more sijiiare and maMivc, and 
 full of n'.s<dution. 
 
 (ierard wa.s awe si nick. The friar 
 apfirovid after this fa.shion : — 
 
 "This exhibition of the ' imapi- 
 nes,' or waxen cfli^ies of herrx-s and 
 demij^txls, is a venerable custom, and 
 inciteth the vulijar to virtue by prat 
 and visilile exnmjdes." 
 
 " Wa.xtn ima^c^'s ' What, an- they 
 not the apostles them.selvcs embidmed, 
 or the like • " 
 
 The friar moane<l. 
 
 " They did not exist in the year 
 800. The treat old Konian families 
 alwavs produced at their funerals a 
 »eri«'s of these ' imagines,' thereby 
 tyinjT past and present history to- 
 pether, and showinp tin- popidace the 
 features of far-famed worthies. I 
 can conceive nothing mon> thrilling 
 or instructive. Hut then the ertipics 
 were portraits made during life or at 
 the hour I'f death. These of St. 
 I'aul and St. Peter arc moulded out 
 of pure fancy." 
 
 " Ah ! .say not so, father." 
 
 j " liut the worst is this humor of 
 
 showing them up on a shelf, and half 
 
 I in the dark, and by snatches, ami 
 
 I with the p(x>r mountebank trick of a 
 
 drawn curtain. 
 
 'Quodcnnque ostvndi.smihi sic incrcdoloj odL' 
 
 I Enough : the men of this day arc no!
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 291 
 
 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 
 modem Rome." 
 
 And, this idea having once taken 
 root, the good friar plunged and tore 
 through the crowd, and looked nei- 
 ther 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 Bonaven- 
 tura. That spark had come in, all 
 steel from head to toe ; doffed helmet, 
 puffed, and railed most scornfully on 
 a ridiculous ceremony at which he 
 and his soldiers had been compelled 
 to attend the pope ; to wit, the bless- 
 ing 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 
 venerable 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, kneel- 
 ing on one knee, presented it to his 
 holiness, who had seated himself, the 
 others standing. 
 
 His holiness inspected it with inter- 
 est. " 'T is excellently ^vrit," said he. 
 
 Gerard's heart beat with delight. 
 
 " Ah ! this Plutarch, he had a 
 
 wondrous art, Francesco. How each 
 character standeth out alive on his 
 page : how full of nature each, yet 
 how unlike his fellow ! " 
 
 Jacques Bonaventura. " Give me 
 the signor Boccaccio." 
 
 His Holiness. " An excellent nar- 
 rator, Capitano, and writeth exqui- 
 site Italian. But in spirit a thought 
 too monotonous. Monks and nuns 
 were never all unchaste : one or two 
 such stories were right pleasant and 
 diverting ; but five-score paint his 
 time falsely, and sadden the heart of 
 such as love mankind. Moreover, he 
 hath no skill at characters. Now this 
 Greek is supreme in that great art : 
 he carveth them with pen : and turn- 
 ing his page see 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 gar- 
 den of Boccaccio, and his little mill- 
 round of dishonest pleasures." 
 
 " Your holiness, they say, hath not 
 disdained to write a novel." 
 
 " My holiness hath done more fool- 
 ish things than one, whereof it re- 
 pents 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 dis- 
 charged. 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 generosi- 
 ty. Vouchsafe to give us your infal- 
 lible judgment on it ! " 
 
 " Gently, gently, good Francesco. 
 A pope's novels are not matters of 
 faith. I can but give yoti my sincere 
 impression. Well, then, the work in 
 question had, as far as I remember, 
 all the vices of Boccaccio, without 
 his choice Italian."
 
 292 
 
 THE CLOISTKR ANI> TIIK HKARTII- 
 
 Fra Culmma. " Voiir holincM in 
 known lor Kli^htinj; ^l-lnra.* Silvius «.h 
 other inrii never •ili^lileii him. I did 
 him injiistieo to make voo hi* jud;,'e. 
 I'tTlinjit >i)ur lioline.t.i will det-iilc njore 
 jii-tly lictwwn iheM- iwo buys, — 
 nix. lit |ilti«iiin;; the ln-a-tt*." 
 
 Ill'- 1"'!-' deniumtl In Hpeakinf; of 
 riiitiin li he hiid hriuhtened ti|> for n 
 nminent, nnd \u» v\v hod even Hitohed ; 
 hilt hill (fi'nrral iiinnner wan a.t un- 
 like what youthful femalet exixvl in 
 n |«>p<' AS vou ran eoneeive. I ean 
 only deiiTifx' it in Fn-n< h. Ix* ;.••••• 
 tillmniine liia-*'. A hii,'hhre<l 
 hi;,'hly eultiMiled j;entlenuiM, wh" ' 
 done, nnd nuid, and m-en, and known 
 cverythinj;, ond whov Uxlv wo-i 
 nearly woni ouL Hut douhle lan- 
 guor !iecnied to seize him at the fa- 
 ther's |>ro|ioi<il. 
 
 " My j»«H)r Fmnres<t>," liaid he, 
 " licthink thco that I have hnd a life 
 of contnivcmv, ond am «irk on 't, niek 
 Oil death. I'lutanh dn-w inc to thin 
 calm ntreat, ni>t divinity." 
 
 " Nay, l>ut, your liolines-t, for mo«l- 
 cnitinjj of strife bctwwn two hot 
 younj; bloodi. 
 
 " And know yon nature so ill aa 
 to think either of f}u>se hi>rh-mettle<l 
 youths will nrk what a poor old 
 |><)|>«' .loith ' " 
 
 '■ Oh ! your holines.<»," broke in Ge- 
 r!\rd, b!u.'*hin;; and ;jn.<t|)infj, *' sure, 
 here is one who will treasure your 
 words all his life as words from 
 heaven." 
 
 *' In that ca.se," ."aid the pope, " I 
 am fairly eau^jht. As Francesco here 
 would >ay, — 
 
 ' ovK tcTiv ooTK trr' amfft <A(v^pot.* 
 
 I came to taste that eltxjucnt heathen, 
 dear to me e'en as to thee, thou pay- 
 nim monk ; and I must talk divinity, 
 or something: next iloor to it. But 
 the youth hath a po^id and a winning 
 fiue. and writeth (Jreek like nn angel. 
 Well, then, my children, to compre- 
 hend the ways of the Church, wc 
 should still rise a little above the 
 
 earth, (inre the Churx-h if betwem 
 heaven and earth, and interpret* bfr- 
 twi.xt them. 
 
 " The qucfltion ii th<-n, n"f h«»w 
 vulvar nun fwi, luit li 
 Cri'utor u( man nnd ' 
 
 toward.* the lower ui •.- • ■..-, 
 
 if we an- too pmud to ,s<areh for it in 
 the lesMins of the ("hunh, the next 
 l>ett thin;; is to po to the moot aucicnl 
 hi.ttory of men nml animals." 
 
 t '<J<mmi, " HeriMlotus." 
 
 " Nay, nay ; in ihi^ mattrr Ilerodo- 
 
 •■• ■' but a mu'ihriiom. Finely were 
 
 I'd for ancient history, if wo 
 
 ted on your (in-<'k», who did 
 
 but write on the lost leaf of that great 
 
 Itook, Anti«|uity." 
 
 The friar ^Tonnecl. Here was a 
 t>op<- uttering; heresy n(;ainst his dcm- 
 
 Ipxls. 
 
 " 'T is the Vulrnte I s|itak of. 
 A history that handles nuittent three 
 thousand years befon< him pedants 
 call ' the Foiher of History.' ' 
 
 Cohrma. "O, the Vulj.'afe ' I cry 
 your lioline.M mercy. How yon 
 friKhtenetl hk". I quite forgot tbo 
 Vulgate." 
 
 •'Forgot it' art sure thou ever 
 readst it, Francest-o mio f " 
 
 " Not quite, your holincM. 'Tis • 
 pleasure I have long promised mv- 
 sclf, the first vacant monu-nt. Hith- 
 erto these grand old heathen have 
 left mc small time for n-treation." 
 
 //ij HiJinrM. " FirTtt then you will 
 find in (ienesis that (ickI, having^ 
 created the animals, dn-w a holy 
 plea-Hure, undeHnablc by us, from con- 
 templating of their U-auty. Was it 
 wonderful ' See their myriad forms ; 
 their lovely hair, and eyes, their 
 grace, and of some the fKjwer and 
 majesty ; the color 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 sjiared. 
 
 " And when the ark nnd its trem- 
 bling inmates tumbled solitary on 
 the world of water, then, .saith the 
 word : ' Go<l remembered Noah, and 
 the cattle thcU were vcith him in tJie ark'
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 293 
 
 " Thereafter God did write his rain- 
 bow in the sky as a bond that earth 
 should be flooded no more ; and be- 
 tween whom the bond ? between God 
 and man ? nay : between God and 
 man and every living creature of all 
 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. More- 
 over, he forbade to muzzle the ox that 
 trod out the com. ' Nay, let the 
 poor overwrought 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 rudely. Doth God care for 
 oxen ? Verily, had I been Peter, in- 
 stead of the humblest of his succes- 
 sors, I had answered him : ' Drop 
 thy theatrical poets, Paul, and read 
 the Scriptures : then shalt thou know 
 whether God careth only for men 
 and sparrows, or for all his creatures. 
 O Paul,' had I made bold to say, 
 ' think not to learn God by looking 
 into Paul's heart, nor any heart of 
 man, but study that which he hath 
 revealed concerning himself.' 
 
 " Thrice lie forbade the Jews to 
 boil the kid in his mother's milk ; not 
 that this is cruelty, but want of 
 thought and gentle sentiments, and 
 so paves the way for dowoiright cruel- 
 ty. A prophet riding on an ass did 
 meet an angel. Which of these two, 
 Paulo judice, had seen the heavenly 
 spirit ? marrj', the prophet. But it 
 was not so. The man, his vision 
 cloyed with sin, saw naught. 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 repentant Nineveh ? Be- 
 cause in that city were sixty thou- 
 sand children, besides much cattle. 
 
 " Profane history and vulgar ex- 
 perience 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 scor- 
 pions which kill 'Dominimi terraa' 
 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 four-footed 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 ben- 
 ediction of our four-footed friends, 
 which has revolted yon great the- 
 ological authority, the captain of the 
 pope's guards ; since here she incul- 
 cates humanity 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, you 
 mil please to receive, not as delivered 
 by the pope ex cathedra, but uttered 
 carelessly, in a free hour, by an aged 
 clcrgj-man. On that score you will 
 perhaps do well to entertain it with 
 some little consideration. For old 
 age must surely bring a man some- 
 what, in return for his digestion 
 (his 'dura puerorum iha,' eh, Fran- 
 cesco), which it carries away." 
 
 Such was the purport of the pope's 
 discourse ; but the manner high-bred, 
 languid, kindly, and free from all 
 tone of dictation. He seemed to be 
 gently probing the matter in concert 
 •\vith his hearers, not playing Sir 
 Oracle. At the bottom of all which 
 was doubtless a slight touch of hum- 
 bug, but the humbug that embellishes 
 lite ; and all sense of it was lost in the 
 subtle ItaUan grace of the thing.
 
 294 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " I seem to hear the oracle of Del- 
 plii," said Fni L'oloiiiia, ciitliusiiisti- 
 cally. 
 
 " I cull thnt ROod sense," shouted 
 Jaques Hoiiiiveiitura. 
 
 " () captiiiii, f;ood sense ! " said 
 Gerard, with a deep and tender re- 
 primcb. 
 
 The pope smiled on Gerard. 
 " Cavil not at words ; that was an 
 unlu-ard-ot° concession from a rival 
 theoiopan." 
 
 He then asked for all Geranl's 
 work, and took it away in his hand. 
 But, l>cfi)re uoin^, he ;;cntly jtullotl 
 Fra Colonna's ear, and luskcd him 
 whether he rcnicnil)Cred wlieii tluy 
 were s(lu><>ir»liows to^^ether. and 
 rol)lK-d tiie Vir;xin by tlie ri>adside 
 of the money dropped into her l»ox. 
 " You took a hat stick and applied 
 birdlime to the top, and drew the 
 money out through the chink, you 
 rof^ue," said his holino>s, severely. 
 
 " To cviry sitrnor his own honor," 
 replied Fra Colonna. " It was your 
 holincss's pood wit invented the ma- 
 noeuvre. 1 was but the humble in- 
 strument." 
 
 " It is well. Doubtless you know 
 't was sacrilepe." 
 
 " Of the first water ; but I did it 
 in such good company, it troubles mo 
 not." 
 
 " Humph ! I have not even that 
 poor consolation. What did wo spend 
 It in, dost mind ! " 
 
 " Can your holiness ask ? why, 
 supar-plums." 
 
 " What, all on 't '. " 
 
 " Every doit." 
 
 " These are delightful reminis- 
 cences, my Francesco. Alas ! I am 
 getting old. I shall not be here long. 
 And I am sorry for it, for thy sake. 
 They will go and bum thee when 
 I am gone. Art far more a heretic 
 than IIuss, whom I saw burned with 
 these eyes ; and O, he died like a 
 martyr." 
 
 " Ay, your holiness : but I believe 
 in the }K)pe, and Huss did not." 
 
 " Fox ! They will not burn thee ; 
 wood is too dear. Adieu, old play- 
 
 mate ; adieu, young gentlemen : aq 
 old man's blessing' Ik- on you." 
 
 T'hat afternoon tlie |)o|)e's secrctanr 
 broii^;ht Gerard a little bag : in it 
 Were severid gold jtiens. 
 
 He added them to his store. 
 
 Margaret seemed nearer and near- 
 er. 
 
 For some time post, too, it appeared 
 as if the fairies hml watched over him. 
 Ma.-*kets of choice pro\i.sioiis and 
 fruits were brougiit to his door by 
 |)orters who knew not* who had em- 
 ployed them, or atfectcd ignonincc ; 
 and (jne day cume a jewel in a letter, 
 but no words. 
 
 At this jioint the suspicions of liis 
 landlady broke tmt. " This is none 
 of my patrons, silly lH>y ; this is some 
 lady that hath fallen in love with thy 
 sweet face. Marry, I blame her 
 not." 
 
 CHAFTEU LXI. 
 
 The Princess Clalia ordered a full- 
 length |>ortrait of herself. Gerard 
 advised ner to employ his friend Pio- 
 tro Vanucci. 
 
 But she declined. " 'T will be 
 time to put a slight on Gerardo when 
 his work discontents me." Then Ge- 
 rard, who knew he was an excellent 
 draughtsman, but not so good a col- 
 orist, lagged her to stand to him as 
 a Roman statue. He showed her 
 how closely he could mimic marble on 
 I)aper. She consented at first ; but 
 demurred when this enthusiast ex- 
 plained to her that she must wear the 
 tunic, toga, and sandals of the an- 
 cients. 
 
 " Why, I had as lieve be presented 
 in my smock," said she, with medie- 
 val frankness. 
 
 "Alack ! signorina," said Gerard, 
 " you have surely never noted the an- 
 cient habit ; so free, so ample, so sim- 
 ple, 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 modem 
 guise.'
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 295 
 
 "What, can you flatter like the 
 rest, Gerardo ? 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, &c., 
 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. 
 
 Grcrard, hurrying along to this in- 
 terview, 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, any 
 way," 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, affect- 
 ing nonchalance, inquired how long 
 the printing-press had been in Rome. 
 The man said he beHeved there was 
 no such thing in the city. " O, 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," said the trader, 
 laughing, "it shot up there out of 
 Grermany. See the title-page ! " 
 
 Gerard took the Lactantius eagerly, 
 and saw the following : — 
 Opera et impensis Sweynheim et Pannartz 
 Alumnorum Joannis FuBt. 
 Impreasum Subiacis. a. d. 1465. 
 
 " Will ye buy, messer 1 See how 
 fair and even be the letters. Few are 
 left can write Uke that ; and scarce a 
 quarter of the price." 
 
 " I would fain have it," said Ge- 
 rard, sadly ; " but my heart -\vill 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 ! " And he 
 harried from the shop. 
 13* 
 
 " Dear Margaret," said he to him- 
 self, " 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 
 Clffilia. 
 
 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 foot, 
 fall could be heard. The room was 
 an antechamber to the princess's bou- 
 doir, for on one side there M'as no 
 door, but an ample curtain of gor- 
 geous tapestry. 
 
 Here Gerard was left alone till he 
 became quite uneasy, and doubted 
 whether the maid had not shown him 
 to the wrong place. 
 
 These doubts were agreeably dissi- 
 pated. 
 
 A light step came swiftly behind 
 the curtain ; 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 daugh- 
 ter. Toga, tunic, sandals ; nothing 
 was modem. And as for beauty, 
 that is of all times. 
 
 Gerard started up, and all the art- 
 ist in him flushed with pleasure. 
 
 " Oh ! " 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 delicious com- 
 placency 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, thou seest I have 
 made myself an antique monster for 
 thee." 
 
 " A monster 1 I doubt Fra Colonna
 
 296 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 would fall down nnd ndorc vonr high- 
 ness, si'ciii;: }ou so Imliitc-d. ' 
 
 *' Xiiy, 1 care not to be adored by 
 an old man. I would liever Ik: loved 
 by u young one : of my own choos- 
 ing." 
 
 (jcrard took out his pencils, ar- 
 ranged his canvius, which he had cov- 
 ered with stout papi-r, and set to 
 work ; and so absorln-d was he that he 
 had no mercy on his model. At hist, 
 after near an hour in one posture, 
 "(ierardo," said she, faintly, " I can 
 stand so no more, even for thee." 
 
 " Sit down and rest awhile, sig- 
 nora." 
 
 " I thank thee," said she ; and, 
 6inkin<; into a chair, turned pale and 
 siglied. 
 
 (ierard was alarmed, and saw also 
 he had been inconsiderate. lie tot)k 
 water from the fountain and was 
 alxiut to throw it in her face ; but 
 she ]>ut up a white hand dfj>n'<'ating- 
 Iv : " Nay, hold it to my brow with 
 tliinc hand ; prithee, do not tiing it 
 at n>e ! " 
 
 Gerard timidly and hesitating ap- 
 plied his wet hand to her brow. 
 
 " Ah ! " she sighed, " that is reviv- 
 ing. Again." 
 
 He applied it again. She thanked 
 him, and ivsked him to ring a little 
 hand-bell on the table. He did so, 
 and a maid came, and was sent to 
 Floretta with orders to bring a large 
 fan. 
 
 Floretta speedily came with the 
 fan. 
 
 She no sooner came near the prin- 
 cess, than that lady's hij;h-brcd nos- 
 trils suddenly expanded like a blood- 
 horse's. " Wretch ! " said she ; and, 
 rising up with a sudden return to vig- 
 or, seized Floretta with her left hand, 
 twisted it in her hair, and with the 
 right hand boxed her cars severely 
 three times. 
 
 Floretta screamed and blubbered, 
 but obtained no mercy. 
 
 The antique toga left quite disen- 
 gaged a bare arm, that now seemed 
 as powerful as it was beautiful : it 
 rose and fell like the piston of a mod- 
 
 ern steam-engino. and heavy slapg r» 
 soimcleil one after unotlur on Flo* 
 retta's shoulders ; the bust one ilrove 
 her sobbing and screaming thn>ugh 
 the curtain, and there she was heard 
 crying bitterly for some time after. 
 
 " Saints of lieaven ! " cried Ge- 
 rard, " what is amiss ? what hath sho 
 done ? " 
 
 " She knows ri^ht well. 'T is not 
 the first time. The nasty toad ! I '11 
 leani her to come to me stinking of 
 the musk-cat." 
 
 " Alas ! sitniora, 't was a small 
 fault, methinks." 
 
 " A small fault ? Nay, 't was o 
 foul fault." She added, with nr. 
 ama/.iiig sudden descent to humility 
 and sweetness : " Are you wroth with 
 me for tuating her, Gerar-do ? " 
 
 " Signora, it ill becomes mo to 
 school you ; but methinks such as 
 Heaven appoints to govern others 
 should govern themselves." 
 
 " That is true, Gerardo. How wise 
 you are, to l>c so young." She then 
 called the other maid, and gave her a 
 little purse. " Take that to Floretta, 
 and tell her ' the (Jerardo ' hath inter- 
 ceded for her; and so I must needs 
 forgive her. There, Gerardo." 
 
 Gerardo colored 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 
 somewhat breathed me. I 'II 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 
 say. This is sudden." 
 
 " Say your real mind. Say yoa 
 wish you were anywhere but here." 
 
 " iJay, 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 you were beating that poor lass.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK HKAIiTH. 
 
 297 
 
 f ou were awful, yet lovely. O, 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 fair- 
 er 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, signo- 
 ra." 
 
 " 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 some- 
 times : 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. You make me hate 
 them. You are ten times braver to 
 my eye ; and you are wise and schol- 
 arly, and never flatter and lie. I scorn 
 a man that lies. Gerai-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 trem- 
 bled with half-suppressed passion, and 
 her white hand stole timidly yet ear- 
 nestly do^vn Gerard's arm, till it rested 
 like a soft bird upon his wrist, and as 
 ready to fly away at a word. 
 
 Destitute of vanitv and experience, 
 wrapped up In his Margaret and his 
 art, Gerard had not seen this revela- 
 tion coming, though it had come by 
 regular and YJsible gradations. 
 
 He blushed all over. His innocent 
 admiration of the regal beauty tliat 
 besieged him did not for a moment 
 displace the absent Margaret's image. 
 Yet it was regal beauty, and woo- 
 ing with a grace and tenderness he 
 had never even figured in imagina- 
 tion. How to check her without 
 wounding her ? 
 
 He blushed and trembled. 
 
 The siren saw, and encouraged 
 him. " Poor Gerardo," she mur- 
 mured, " fear not ; none shall ever 
 harm thee under my wing. Wilt not 
 speak to me, Gerar-do mio ? " 
 
 " Signora ! " muttered Gerard, de- 
 precatingly. 
 
 At this moment his eye, lowered in 
 his 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 em- 
 ployed on Floretta. 
 
 He trembled and blushed. 
 
 " Alas ! " said the princess, " I 
 scare him. Am I then so very terri- 
 ble ? Is it my Roman robe 1 I '11 
 dofl" it, and habit me as when thou 
 first camest to me. Mindest thou ? 
 'T -was to write a letter to yon barren 
 knight Ercole d'Orsini. Shall I teU 
 thee ? 't was 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 ; lov- 
 est me not, I doubt, as I love thee. 
 Eighteen times, Gerardo. And each 
 time dearer to me. The day thou 
 comest not 't is night, not day, to 
 Claelia. Alas ! I speak for both. 
 Cruel boy, am I not worth a word ■? 
 Hast every day a princess at thy feet ? 
 Nay, prithee, prithee, speak to me, 
 Gerar-do." 
 
 " Signora," faltered Gerard, " what 
 can I say, that were not better left 
 unsaid? O evil day that ever I 
 came here. " 
 
 ' Ah, say not so. 'T was the bright- 
 est day ever shone on me ; or indeed
 
 298 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 on thee. I '11 make thee confess bo 
 much crclonp;, un^iratct'iil one." 
 
 " Your lii;^hncs.s," begun Gerard, 
 In a low, pleailinfi voice. 
 
 " Call me C'lalia, (ierar-do." 
 
 " Sigjiora, I am too youuf: and too 
 little wise to know how I ought to 
 speak to you, sons not to seem hlind 
 nor yet ungrateful. But thi.s I know, 
 I were both naiight and ungrateful, ! 
 and the worst foe e'er yon iiad, did 
 I take advantage of this mad fancy, j 
 Sure some ill spirit hath had ivave to 
 afflict you withal. For 't is all unnat- 
 ural that a princess adorned with every 
 grace should abase her atfections on u 
 churl." 
 
 The princess withdrew her hand 
 slowly from Gerard's wrist. 
 
 Yet as it passed lightly ovcrhi.s arm 
 it seemed to linger a moment at part- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yon fear the daggers of mv kins- 
 men," said she, half sadly, half con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " No more than I fear the bodkins 
 of your women," saitl (Jerard, haugh- 
 tily. " But I fear God and tiie saints, 
 and my own conscience." 
 
 " The truth, Gerard, the truth ! 
 Hypocrisy sits awkwanlly on thee. 
 Princesses, while they are young, arc 
 not desjjised for love of God, but of 
 some other woman. Tell me whom 
 thou lovest : and, if she is worthy thee, 
 I will forgive tiiee." 
 
 " No she in Italy, mwu my soul." 
 
 " Ah ! there is one somewhere, then. 
 Where ? where > " 
 
 " In Holland, my native country." 
 
 " Ah ! Marie dc Bourgogne is fair, 
 they say. Yet she is 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 forever 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, and stood opposite him, as beau- 
 tiful, but far more terrible than when 
 
 she slapped Floretta, for then he* 
 cheeks were red, but now they were 
 pale, and lier eyes full of concen- 
 trated I'ury. 
 
 " This to mv face, immannen>d 
 wretch 7 " she cried. " Was 1 bom to 
 l)e insulted, as well as sconicd, by 
 such as thou ? Beware ! We nobles 
 brook no rivals. Bethink thee wheth- 
 er is better, the love of a C'esarini, 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 nt)W ! " 
 
 He looked up at her with wonder 
 and awe, as she stood towering over 
 him in her Koman toga, ottering this 
 strange alternative. 
 
 Ho seemed to have affronted a god- 
 dess of antiquity ; he a poor puny 
 mortal. 
 
 He sighed deeply, but spoke not 
 
 Perhaps sometiiing in his decj) and 
 patient sigh touclud a tender chord 
 m that ungoverncd creature ; or per- 
 haps the time had come for one pas- 
 sion to ebb and anothi-r toflow. The 
 j)rincess sank languidly into a seat, and 
 the tears began to steal rapidly down 
 her checks. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " said Gerard. 
 " Weep not, sweet lady ; your tears 
 they do accuse me, and I am like to 
 weep for company. My kiml patn^n, 
 be yourself! you will live to see how 
 much Ijctter a friend I was to you 
 than I seemed." 
 
 " I see it now, Gcrardo," said the 
 princess. " Friend is the word : the 
 only word can ever piuss between us 
 twain. I was mad. Any other man 
 had ta'cn advantage of my folly. 
 You must teach me to be your friend 
 and nothing more." 
 
 Gerard hailed 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 lie 
 was 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.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 299 
 
 At last she addressed him calmly 
 ihus. " 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 pru- 
 dently or not. 
 
 The next day he was received with 
 marked distance, and the princess 
 stood before him literally like a stat- 
 ue, and, after a very short sitting, ex- 
 cused herself and dismissed him. Ge- 
 rard 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 
 who could do one little trick they 
 could not. The cavaliers in particu- 
 lar criticised his work with a mass of 
 ignorance and insolence combined 
 that made his cheeks burn. 
 
 The princess watched his face de- 
 murely vrith half-closed eyes, at each 
 sting the insects gave him ; and, 
 when they had fled, had her doors 
 closed against every one of them for 
 their pains. 
 
 The next day Gerard found her 
 alone : cold and silent. After stand- 
 ing to him so some time, she said, 
 " You treated my company with less 
 respect than became you." 
 
 " Did I, signora ? ' 
 
 " Did youl you fired up at the 
 comments they did you the honor to 
 make on your work." 
 
 " Nay, I said naught," observed Ge- 
 rard. 
 
 " 0, high looks speak as plain as 
 high words. Your cheeks were as 
 red as blood." 
 
 " I was nettled a moment at seeing 
 so much ignorance and ill-nature to- 
 gether. " 
 
 " Now it is me, their hostess, you 
 affront." 
 
 "Forgive me, signora, and acquit 
 me of design. It would ill become 
 me to affront tho kindest patron 
 
 and friend I hare in Rome, — but 
 one." 
 
 " How humble we are all of a sud- 
 den. In sooth, Ser Gerardo, you 
 are a capital feigner. You can insult 
 or truckle at will." 
 
 " Truckle ? to whom ? " 
 
 " To me, for me ; to one whom 
 you affronted for a base-born girl like 
 yourself, but whose patronage you 
 claim all the same." 
 
 Gerard rose and put his hand to 
 his heart. " These are biting words, 
 signora. Have I really deserved 
 them 1 " 
 
 " O, what are words to an adven- 
 turer like you 1 cold steel is all you 
 fear." 
 
 " 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 ad- 
 mires me, but you." 
 
 " I admire you too, signora. Your 
 friends may flatter you more ; but be- 
 lieve me they have not the eye to see 
 half your charms. Their babble yes- 
 terday showed me that. None admire 
 you more truly, or wish you 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 ! 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 Sev- 
 enbergen ; ah me, shall I e'er see 
 it again '? " 
 
 " 'T is 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
 
 300 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TIIK HKARTH. 
 
 when once he had finished her like* 
 rifss. Iii(I*<m1 ho now rcj^Tetted havinp 
 undertaken so lonj^ and laborious ii 
 ta.^k. 
 
 This resohition was shaken for a 
 mimient hy his next rtctption, whieh 
 was 111! j;entlcncss and kinilness. 
 
 After standiii;; to him some time in 
 her to^a, she said she was fatijjued, 
 and wanted his assistance in another 
 way : would he teach her to draw a 
 little f He sat down l)eside lier, and 
 taught her to make easy lines. He 
 found her wonderfully apt. He said 
 
 80. 
 
 " I had a teacher before thee, Ge- 
 rardo. Ay, and one as iiandsonie as 
 thyself" She then went to a drawer, 
 and lirou^'ht out several heads drawn 
 witii coiniilcte i;;noranee of the art, 
 hilt with threat patience and natural 
 talent. They were all heads of Ge- 
 rard, and full of sfiirit : and really not 
 unlike. One was his verj- image. 
 " There," said she. " Now, thou 
 secst who was my teacher." 
 
 " Not I, sin;iiorn." 
 
 " What, know you not who teaches 
 vs women to do all thinps ? 'T is 
 'x)ve, Cicrar-do. Love made me draw 
 because thou drawest, Gcrar-do. Ixive 
 jirints thine iniajje in my l)osom. My 
 finders touch the pen, and love sup- 
 jilies the want of art, and lo ! thy be- 
 loved features lie upon the paper." 
 
 Gerard opened his eyes with aston- 
 ishment at this return to an interdict- 
 ed topic. " () sif^nora, you promised 
 me to be friends and notliin;^ more." 
 
 She laii|fhed in his face. " How 
 simple you are ; who believes a wo- 
 man promising nonsense, impossibili- 
 ties .' Friendship, foolish boy, who 
 ever built that temple on red ashes ? 
 Nay, Gerardo," she added gloomily, 
 " bctAveen thee and me it must be love 
 or hate." 
 
 " Which you will, signora," said 
 Gerard, tirm'ly. " 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 leaves* me so, know 
 
 thy fate ; outside that i\oor arc armod 
 men who wait to ^lay thee at u word 
 from me." 
 
 " But vou will not sj)eak that word, 
 signora.'' 
 
 •■ That word I will speak. Nay, 
 more, 1 shall noi.se it abroad it wna 
 for proffering brutal love to me thou 
 wert slain ; and I will seinl a sjK'cial 
 messenger to Sevcnbergeii, a cunning 
 nies.senger, well taught his lesson 
 Thv Margaret shall know thee dead, 
 and think thee faithless ; now, go to 
 thy grave, a dog's. For a man thou 
 art not." 
 
 Cicrard turned {lale, and stood 
 diimbstricken. " God have mercy on 
 us Ixith." 
 
 " Nay, have thou mercy on her, 
 and on thyself She will never know 
 in Holland what thou dost in Home, 
 unless 1 he driven to tell her my tale. 
 Come, yield thee, (icrar-do mio : 
 w hat will it cost thee to say thou lov- 
 est mc ? I ask thee but to feign it 
 handsomely. Thou art young : die 
 not for the ])00t pleasure of denying a 
 lady what!" — the shadow of a heart. 
 Who will shed a tear (or thee '( 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 eloijuenco 
 the story of his love and Margaret's. 
 How he had bi'eii impri.>-oned, hunted 
 with bloodhounds for her, driven to 
 exile for her ; how she had shed her 
 blotKl for him, and now j>ined at 
 home. How he had walked through 
 Europe, environed by jierils, torn by 
 savage bnites, 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 
 rolx;, he clung to her, he made her 
 hear his pitiful story and Margaret's ; 
 he caught her hund, 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 
 remorse, swift and lasting, could come
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 801 
 
 of so deep a love betrayed, and so 
 false a love feigned, with mutual ha- 
 tred lurking at the bottom. 
 
 In such moments 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 ! " 
 
 " I will, I will." 
 
 " If you breathe a word of my folly, 
 it ynW be your last." 
 
 " Think not so poorly of me. You 
 are my benefactress once more. Is it 
 for me to slander you ? " 
 
 " 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. " Floretta," 
 said she, in a choked voice, " take 
 him safe out of the house through my 
 chamber and by the side poster." 
 
 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. 
 
 " Landlad}'," said he, " there is one 
 would pick a quarrel ■nnth me. What 
 is to be done ? " 
 
 " Strike him first, and at vantage ! 
 Get behind him ; and then draw." 
 
 " Alas, I lack your Italian courage. 
 To be serious, 't is a noble." 
 
 " 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 installed him there. 
 
 He had little to do now, and no 
 princess to draw, so he set himself 
 resolutely to read ihat deed of Floris 
 
 Brandt, from which he had hithert(? 
 been driven by the abominably bail 
 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 
 
 OWTl. 
 
 " Fool ! not to have read this be- 
 fore," 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 cutthroats 
 for me," said he ; " and 't is 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 spar- 
 kling. 
 
 " You are in luck, my young mas- 
 ter," said she. " All the fish run to 
 your net this day methinks. See 
 what a lackey hath brought to our 
 house ! 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 '11 keep mine between my 
 teeth." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " O, 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 ? for me 1 where 1 how ? 
 who brought it ? O dame ! " 
 
 "A stranger; a painter, with a 
 reddish face and an outlandish name ; 
 Anselmin, I trow."
 
 302 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HKARTH. 
 
 " Hans Ilcfrtlinp ? a friend of mine. 
 God bless him." 
 
 " Ay, that is it ; Anselniin. He 
 could seiiree S[)euk ii word, Imt a had 
 the wit to name thee ; and a put.s the 
 letter down, and a nods iind smile.s, 
 iind I noils and .sniile.s, and j^ives }iim 
 a |iint o' wine, and it went down him 
 like a sjxKinful." 
 
 " That is Hans, honest Hans. O 
 tlame, 1 am in luek today; but I de- 
 ser\'e it. For, I eare not if I tell yon, 
 I liave just overeoine a ^'reat tempta- 
 tion for dear Marpiret's sake." 
 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " Nay, I 'd have my tonpuc cut out 
 sooner than l»etray her, hut O, it myu 
 a tem|)tation. Ciratitiide pushinj; ine 
 wron;;. IJeauty almost divine pull- 
 inj; mc wron;; : eurses, rejipoache.s, 
 and, hardest of all to resist, j^entle 
 tears from eyes used to eommand. 
 Sure some saint heljK'd nic ; An- 
 thony klike. But my reward is 
 eomc." 
 
 " Ay, is it, lad ; and no farther off 
 than niv jweket. Ojme out, (Jerard's 
 reward'' ; and she brought alctterout 
 of lier capacious jKJcket. 
 
 Gerard threw his arms round her 
 ncek and luifrpcd her. " My l)cst 
 friend," .saiii he, "my second mother, 
 111 read it to you." 
 
 " Ay, do, do." 
 
 " Alas ! it is not from Margaret. 
 This is not her hand." And he 
 turnc<l it about. 
 
 " Ahuk, but nuiylw her bill is with- 
 in. The lasses are aye for j,diding 
 in their btils under cover of another 
 hand." 
 
 " True. Whose hand is this ? 
 sure I have seen it. I trow 't is my 
 dear friend the demoiselle Van Eyck. 
 O, then Margaret's bill will be in- 
 side." He tore it open. " Nay, 't is 
 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 licver send thee joyful 
 tidings. Know that Margaret Brandt 
 died in these arms on Thursday sen- 
 night last.' (What docs the doting 
 
 old woman mean by that?) * The 
 last word on hrr lips was " Gerard "; 
 she said, " Tell him 1 jirayed for him 
 at my last hour ; and bid him ])ray 
 for me." She ili(<l viry comfortable, 
 and 1 saw her laid in the earth, for 
 her father was u.seless, as you shall 
 know. So no more at ])resent from 
 her that is with sorrowing heart thy 
 loving friend and servant, 
 
 " • MAUu.vutT Van Eyck.' 
 
 " Av, that is her signature sure 
 enough. Now w hat 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 homo. But it is Uieht Heynes 
 I blame for humoring the old woman 
 aiul letting her do it ; as for the old 
 woman herself, she doti>s, she has lost 
 her head, she is fourscore. O my 
 heart, I 'm choking. For all that 
 she ought to Itc lockcil up, or her 
 hands tied. Say this had come to a 
 ff)ol ; say I was idiot enough to i>c- 
 lievc this ; know ye what 1 should 
 do ? nin to the top of the highest 
 church-tower in Rome and (ling my- 
 self ort" it, cursing God. Woman ! 
 woman ! what are you doing? " And 
 he seized her rudely by the shoulder. 
 " What are ye weeiiing for ? " he 
 cried, in a voice all unlike his own, 
 and loud and hoarse as a raven. 
 " Would ye scald me to death with 
 vour tears? She IkIIcvcs it. She 
 believes it. Ah I ah I ah! ah! ah! 
 ah ! 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 smirk- 
 ing ? I could kill myself for 't. Death 
 spares none," she sobbed, — "death 
 spares none." 
 
 Gerard staggered against the win- 
 dow-sill. " But God is master of 
 death," he groaned. " Or they have 
 taught me a lie. I begin to fear 
 there is no God, and the saints are 
 but dead bones, and bell is master of 
 the world. My pretty Margaret; 
 my sweet, my loving Margaret. The
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 303 
 
 best daughter, the truest lover ! the 
 pride of Holland ! the darling of the 
 world ! It is a lie. Where is this 
 caitiff Hans ■? I '11 hunt him round 
 the town. I '11 cram his murdering 
 falsehood down his throat." 
 
 And he seized his hat and ran fu- 
 riously about the streets for hours. 
 
 Towards sunset he came back 
 white as a ghost. He had not found 
 Heniling : but his poor mind had had 
 time to realize the woman's simple 
 words, that Death spares none. 
 
 He crept into the house, bent and 
 feeble as an old man, and refused all 
 footl. Nor would he speak, but sat, 
 white, with great staring eyes, mut- 
 tering at intervals, " There is no 
 God." 
 
 Alarmed both on his account and 
 on her own (for he looked a desper- 
 ate 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 confbling voices. 
 But he heeded them no more than the 
 chairs they sat on. Then the young- 
 er 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, Avith blood trick- 
 ling from his nostrils and ears. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 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 hair, as 
 long as a woman's. 
 
 The deadlier symptoms succeeded 
 one another 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 weiglit (she had been a pro- 
 fessional nurse), declared that his 
 3'outh 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. 
 
 He slept twelve hours. 
 
 The good soul rejoiced, and thanked 
 the Virgin on her knees. 
 
 He slept twenty-four hours. 
 
 His kind nurse began to doubt. At 
 the thirtieth hour she sent for the wo- 
 man 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 he 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 God Almighty 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 me curious 
 out. But they admitted only Fra 
 Colonna and his friend the gigantic 
 Fra Jerome. 
 
 These two relieved the women, and 
 sat silent; the former eying 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 en- 
 countered it hand to hand. 
 
 At last, I think it was about the 
 sixtieth hour of this strange sleep, the 
 landlady touched Fra Colonna with
 
 304 
 
 THE CLOISTKH AND THK HEARTH. 
 
 her elbow. He looked. Gerard liatl 
 
 opiMHil his t yes jut guntly as if he hail 
 ln't'II liut iloziiij^. 
 
 Hu stanil. 
 
 Ik- lirew himself uj) a little in l>ed. 
 
 He |>iit his hand tu his head, anil 
 found his hair was ^one. 
 
 He noticed his friend Colonna, and 
 smiled with pleasure. Hut in the 
 middle of smiling' his fm'e stojiped, 
 and was eonvuiseil in a moment with 
 an;,'uish nnsjH'akahle, an<l he uttert'd 
 a loud crv, and turned his faee to the 
 wall. 
 
 His ^ood landlady wept at this. 
 She had knowti what ii was to awake 
 iK-reaved. 
 
 Fra Jirnme recited canticles and 
 jirayers from his hreviary. 
 
 (Jeranl rolled hinise'lf in the bed- 
 clothes. 
 
 Fra Colonna went to liim, and, 
 whiin|KTin^, reminded him that all 
 wius not lost. The divine Muses were 
 immortal. He nnist transfer his af- 
 fection to them ; they would never 
 lietray him, nor fail him like crea- 
 tures of clay. The p3o<l, simple fa- 
 ther then hurrie<l away ; for he was 
 overcome by his emotion. 
 
 Fra Jerome remained behind. 
 " Yoiin;: man," said he, " the Muses 
 exist but in the brains of pa;;ans and 
 vi.sionaries. The Church alone fjives 
 rej)ose to the heart on earth, and haj>- 
 piness to the soul hereafter. Hath 
 earth deceiviMl thee, hath passion bro 
 ken thy heart after tearin^r it, the 
 Church oja-ns her anns ; consecrate 
 thy ;,'ifts to her ! The Church is 
 peace of mintl." 
 
 He spoke these words solemnly at 
 the door, and was gone as soon as 
 they were uttered. 
 
 " The Church ! " cried Gerard, ris- 
 ing furiously and sliakin;.' his fist af- 
 ter the friar. " Malediction on the 
 Church ! But for the Church I should 
 not lie broken here, and she lie cold 
 cold, cold, in Holland. O my Mar- 
 garet ! O my darling, my darling ! 
 And I must run from thee the few 
 months thou hadst to live. Cruel ! 
 cruel ! The monsters, they let her 
 
 die. Death cornea not without •ome 
 signs. These the blind, Kcllisli 
 wretches saw not, or recked not ; but 
 1 had seen them, 1 tiiat love her. <), 
 had I Ik-cu there, I had saveil her, I 
 had saved her. I<liot ! idiot ! to leavo 
 her for a moment." 
 
 He wejtt bitterly for a long time. 
 
 Then, suddenly bursting into rogo 
 aL'ain, he cried vehemently: "The 
 Church ! for whose sake I was driven 
 from her ; mv nudison Ih- on tho 
 Church ! and tfie hyjiocrites that name 
 it to my broken heart. Accursetl bo 
 the world! (;hysl)recht lives: Mar- 
 garet dies. Thieves, murderers, har- 
 lots, live forever. Only angels die. 
 Curse lifi'! curse death! and whoso- 
 ever made them what they are I " 
 
 The friar did not hear these mad 
 and wicked words ; but only the yell 
 of rage with which they were tiung 
 after him. 
 
 It was as well. For, if he had 
 heard them, he would have had his 
 late shipmatt- btirneil in the forum 
 with as littie hesitation as he would 
 have roasted a kid. 
 
 His olil landlady, w)io had accom- 
 
 1)anie<l Fra Colonna down the stair, 
 leard the raised voice, and returned 
 in some anxiety. 
 
 She found (Jerard putting on his 
 clothes and crA'ing. 
 
 She remonstrated. 
 
 " What avails my lying here ? " 
 said he, gloomilv, " Can I find hero 
 that which I seek ? " 
 
 •'Saints presene ns ! Is he dis- 
 traught again ' What .seek yc ? " 
 
 " Oblivion." 
 
 " Oblivion, my little heart ? O, 
 but v' arc young to talk so." 
 
 " Voung or old, what else have I to 
 live for 7" 
 
 He put on his licst clothes. 
 
 The good dame remonstrated. 
 " My pretty Gerard, know that it is 
 Tuesday, not Sunday." 
 
 " O, Tuesday is it ' I thought it 
 had been Saturday." 
 
 " Nay, thou hast slept long. Thou 
 never wcarest thy brave clothes on 
 working-days. Consider."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 305 
 
 "What I did, when she lived, I 
 did. Now I shall do whatever erst I 
 did not. The past is past. There 
 lies my hair, and with it my ways of 
 life. 1 have served one master as 
 well as I could. You see my reward. 
 Now I '11 serve another, and give him 
 a fair trial too." 
 
 " Alas ! " sighed the woman, turn- 
 ing pale, " what mean these dark 
 words '? and what new master is this 
 whose service thou wouldst try 1 " 
 
 " Satan." 
 
 And, with this horrible declaration 
 on his lips, 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 LXni. 
 
 A DARK 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 his self-de- 
 nial, 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 
 demoralized 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 excite- 
 ment 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 he had put by for 
 Margaret 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 thrusting gentle advice and warn- 
 ing 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 pa- 
 tience declined as the habits of jileas- 
 ure grew on him. So he gave up 
 that art, and took likenesses in col- 
 ors. 
 
 But this he neglected whenever the 
 idle rakes, his companions, came for 
 him. 
 
 And so he dived in foul waters, 
 seeking that sorry oyster-shell, obliv- 
 ion. 
 
 It is not my business to paint at 
 full length the scenes of coarse vice 
 in which this unhappy young man 
 now played a part. But it is my 
 business to impress the broad truth, 
 that he was a rake, a debauchee, and 
 a drunkard, and one of the wildest, 
 loosest, wickedest young men in 
 Rome. 
 
 They are no lovers of truth, nor of 
 mankind, who conceal or slur the 
 wickedness of the good, and so by 
 their want of candor 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 about him. His old land- 
 lady told Teresa he was going to the 
 bad, and prayed her to try and find 
 out where he was. 
 
 Teresa told her husband Lodovico 
 his sad story, and bade him look 
 about and see if he could discover 
 the young man's present abode. 
 " Shouldst remember his face, Lodo- 
 vico mio 1 " 
 
 " Teresa, a man in my way of life 
 never forgets a face, least of all a ben- 
 efactor's. But thou knowest I sel- 
 dom go abroad by daylight."
 
 806 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTTl. 
 
 Teresa sighed. " And how long is 
 it to he so, Ixjdovico f " 
 
 " Till some ravalior passes his 
 sword thr(iii;,'h me. They will not 
 let a poor (iliow like me take to any 
 honest trade." 
 
 Pietro Vanucci was one of those 
 who bear jjrospcrity worse than ad- 
 versity. 
 
 llavinp \yecn ipnominiously ejected 
 for lute hours by their old landlady, 
 and nieetinfj 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 grouiul his colors, and 
 was his jiupil, and alio his model, be- 
 ing a youth of rare beauty, and as 
 sharp as a needle. 
 
 Pietro had not quite forgotten old 
 times, and j)rotesscd a warm friend- 
 ship tor (ienird. 
 
 Cienird, 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 misanthrope, and an open 
 infidel. 
 
 And so they ran in couples, with 
 mighty little in common. O rare 
 phenomenon ! 
 
 One day when Gerard had under- 
 mined his healtli, 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 crea- 
 tures into Europe about three years 
 before. But they were new in Rome, 
 and nothing would content this beg- 
 gar 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 con- 
 tribute the loveliest, was to be crowned 
 with laurel and voted a public bene- 
 factor. Such was their reading of 
 * Vir bonus est quis ■? " They got a 
 
 splendid galley, and twelve buffaloca, 
 And ail the liljertines and their female 
 aeeompliees asseiniiled 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 provide 
 himself witli a farthingale. Com- 
 rades, the g(»od lad is hunting for a 
 beauty fit to take rank among these 
 jK'crless diunes. Consider the diffi- 
 culty, ladies, and be patient ! " 
 
 At last Gerard was seen at some 
 distance with a female in his hand. 
 
 " She is long enough," said one of 
 her sex, criticising her from afar. 
 
 " Gemini ! what steps she takes," 
 said another. " O, it is wise to 
 hurry into good eonjpany," was Pi- 
 etro's excuse. 
 
 But, when the pair came up, satire 
 was choked. 
 
 Gerard's companion was a j)eerlcs8 
 beauty ; she extinguished the boat- 
 load, as stars the rising sun. Tali, 
 but not too tall ; and straight as a 
 dart, yet supple as a young panther. 
 Her face a perfect oval, her forehead 
 white, her cheeks a rich olive with the 
 eloquent blood mantling J)eIow ; and 
 her glorious eyes fringed with long 
 thick silken eyelashes, that seemed 
 made to sweep up sensitive 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 ia 
 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 
 chere amie pulling his hair for it, 
 and the goddess giving him a little 
 kick, contemporaneously, he lay su- 
 pine : and the peerless creature frisked 
 over his body without deigning him a 
 look, and took her seat at the prow. 
 Pietro Vanucci sat in a sort of col- 
 lapse, glaring at her, and gaping with 
 his mouth open, like a dying codfish. 
 
 The drover spoke to {he buffaloes.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 307 
 
 the ropes tightened, and they moved 
 up stream. 
 
 " What think ye of this new beef, 
 mesdaraes ? " 
 
 " We ne'er saw monsters so vilely 
 ill-favored: 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 pres- 
 ent 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 gallant, and jumping ashore he drew 
 his sword, and, despite the remon- 
 strances of the drivers, went down 
 the dozen buffaloes goading them. 
 
 They snorted and whisked their 
 tails, and went no faster, at Avhich the 
 boat-load laughed loud 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 screamed and wrung 
 their hands, all but Gerard's fair. 
 She uttered something verj' like an 
 oath, and seizing the helm steered 
 the boat out, and the gallant came up 
 sputtering, griped the gunwale, and 
 was drawn in dripping. 
 
 He glared round him confusedly. 
 '' I understand not that," said he, a 
 little peevishly ; puzzled, and there- 
 fore it, would seem, discontented. At 
 which, finding he was by some strange 
 accident not slain, his doublet being 
 perforated, instead of his body, they be- 
 gan to laugh again louder than ever. 
 
 " What are ye cackling at ? " re- 
 monstrated the spark. " I desire to 
 know how 't is that one moment a 
 gentleman is out yonder a pricking of 
 
 African beef, and the next mo- 
 ment — " 
 
 Gerard's lady. " Disporting m 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 ? " 
 
 Ge)-ard's lady. " Ask Tiber ! Your 
 best way, signor, 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 
 compliments, the conduct of Pietro 
 Vanucci was peculiar. That signor 
 had left off staring, and gaping be- 
 wildered ; and now sat coiled up 
 snakelike, on a bench, his mouth muf- 
 fled, and two bright eyes fixed on the 
 lady, and tAvinkling and scintillating 
 most comically. 
 
 He did not appear to interest or 
 amuse her in return. Her glorious 
 eyes and eyelashes swept him calmly 
 at times, but scarce distinguished him 
 from the benches and things. 
 
 Presently the imanimity of the par- 
 ty suffered a momentary check. 
 
 Mortified by the attention the cava- 
 liers paid to Gerard's companion, the 
 ladies began to pick her to pieces 
 sotto 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 herself to over- 
 hear, and openly retaliate on her de- 
 tractors. 
 
 " There is not one of you that 
 wears nature's colors," said she. 
 " Look here," and she pointed rudely 
 in one's face. " This is the beauty 
 that is to be bought in every shop
 
 308 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK UKAHTH. 
 
 Here is ccrussa, here is stibium, and 
 here piir])missum. O, I know the 
 articles ; IjIlss you, I use tliem everv 
 day, — but not on n»y face, no tluink 
 you." 
 
 Here Vanucci's eyes twinkled them- 
 selves nearly out ot'si<^ht. 
 
 " Why, your lips are colored, and 
 the very veins in your forehead : not 
 a charm liut would come otl" with a 
 wet towel. And look at your j^reat 
 coarse black hair, like a liorse's tail, 
 dru>:;,'ed and stained to look like tow. 
 Ami then your bodies are ivs false as 
 vour heads and your cheeks, and your 
 liearts 1 trow. Look at your padded 
 bosoms, and your wooilen-heeled cho- 
 pines to rai.>»e your little stunted limbs 
 up and deceive the world. iSkinny 
 dwarfs ye are, cushioned and stiltitied 
 into great fat giants. Aha, nics- 
 dames, well is it said of you, grande 
 
 — di legui : grosse — di straci : ros.se 
 
 — di bettito : bianchc — di calcina." 
 This drew out a rejoinder. '• Avaunt, 
 
 vulgar toad, telling the men e\ery- 
 thing. Your coarse, ruddy checks 
 arc your own, and your little handful 
 of African hair. But w ho is padded 
 more. Why, you are shaped like a 
 fire-shovel." 
 
 " Ye lie, malnj)ert." 
 
 " O, the well-educated yoimg per- 
 son ! Where didst jjick her up, Ser 
 Gerard ? " 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Marcia," said 
 Gerard, awakened by the raised 
 trebles from a gloomy rcvery. " Be 
 not so insolent ! The grave shall 
 close over thy beauty, as it hath over 
 fairer than tliec." 
 
 " They began," said Marcia, petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 "Then be thou the first to leave 
 off." 
 
 "At thy request, my friend." She 
 then whispered Gerard : " It was only 
 to make you laugh : you are dis- 
 traught, you are sad. Judge whether 
 I care for the quips of these little 
 fools, or the admiration of these big 
 fools. Dear Signor Gerard, would I 
 were what they take me for! You 
 should not be so sad." Gerard sighed 
 
 deeply, and slKxjk his head. Bu^ 
 touched by the earnest young tones, 
 cares>cil the jet-black lock^, niuih as 
 one strokes ihe head ol an atlection- 
 ate dog. 
 
 At this moment a galley drifting 
 slowly down stream got cuiangled tor 
 an instant in their ropes : (or, the 
 river turning suddenly, they had t-hot 
 out into the stream: and this galley 
 came between them and the bank. 
 In it a lady of great beauty was 
 seated under a canojiy, with gal- 
 lants and dependants standing behind 
 her. 
 
 Gerard looked up at the interrup- 
 tion. It was the Princess Cltelia. 
 
 He c<jlored and withdrew his hand 
 from Marcia's head. 
 
 Marcia was all admiration. " Aha ! 
 ladies," saiil she, " here is a rival an' 
 ye will. Those cheeks were colored 
 by nature, — like mine." 
 
 " IVace, child! jK'ace!" said Ge- 
 rard. " Make not too free w ith the 
 great." 
 
 " Why, she heard me not. O Ser 
 Gerard, what a lovely creature ! " 
 
 Two of the fenniles had In-cn for 
 some time past putting their heads 
 together and castmg glances at Mar- 
 cia. 
 
 One of them now addressed her. 
 
 " Signorina, do you love al- 
 monds ? " 
 
 The speaker had a la])ful of them, 
 
 " Yes, I love them ; w hen I can 
 get them," said Marcia, jattishly, and 
 eying the fruit with ill-coneealed de- 
 sire ; " but yours is not the hand to 
 give me any, I trow." 
 
 " You arc much mistook," said the 
 other. " Here, catch !" 
 
 And suddenly threw a double hand- 
 ful into Marcia's lap. 
 
 Marcia brought her knees together 
 by an irresistible instinct. 
 
 "Aha! you are caught, my lad," 
 cried she of the nuts. " 'T is 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 shall fall between his hose.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 309 
 
 Confess, now, didst never wear far- 
 thingale ere to-day." 
 
 ■' Give me another handful, sweet- 
 heart, and I '11 tell thee." 
 
 " There ! I said he was too hand- 
 some for a woman." 
 
 " Ser Gerard, they have found me 
 out," observed the Epiciene, calmly 
 cracking- an almond. 
 
 The libertines vowed it was impos- 
 sible, 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. Ila ! 
 ha ! But oh, my little ladies, when 
 he lectured you and flung your 
 stibium, your cerussa, and your pur- 
 purissum back in jour faces, 't is 
 then I was like to burst ; a grinds my 
 colors. Ha ! ha ! he ! he ! ho ! ho ! " 
 
 " The little impostor ! Duck 
 him ! " 
 
 " What for, signors 1 " cried An- 
 drea, in dismay, and lost his rich car- 
 nation. 
 
 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." 
 
 " O what eyes ! and teeth ! " 
 
 "And what eyebrows and hair ! " 
 
 " And what lashes ! " 
 
 "And what a nose ! " 
 
 " The sweetest little ear in the 
 fvorld ! " 
 
 " And what health ! Touch but 
 his cheek with a pin the blood should 
 squirt." 
 
 " Who would be so cruel 1 " 
 
 " He is a rosebud washed in dew." 
 
 And they revenged themselves for 
 their beaux' admiration of her by lav- 
 ishing 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 Cla;li>= 
 had torn open his wound. 
 
 Scarce three months ago he had de- 
 clined the love of that peerless crea- 
 ture ; 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 Clielia, 
 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 com* 
 pany. 
 
 He hung over the boat in moody 
 silence. 
 
 And from that hour another phase 
 of his misery began, and grew upon 
 him. 
 
 Some wretched fools try to dro\vD 
 care in drink. 
 
 The fumes of intoxication vanish ; 
 the ine\'itablc care remains, and 
 must be faced at last, with an ach- 
 ing head, a disordered stomach, and 
 spirits artificially depressed. 
 
 Gerard's conduct had been of a 
 piece with these maniacs'. To sur- 
 vive his terrible blow he needed all 
 his forces, — his virtue, his health, his 
 habits of labor, and tiie calm sleep 
 that is labor's satellite, above all, his 
 piety. 
 
 Yet all these balms to wounded 
 hearts he flung away, and trusted to 
 moral intoxication. 
 
 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, in- 
 nocence fled, Margaret parted from 
 him by another gulf wider than tho 
 grave ! 
 
 The hot fit of despair passed awaj. 
 
 The cold fit of despair came on. 
 
 Then this miserable young man 
 spurned his gay companions and all 
 the world. 
 
 He wandered alone. He drauk
 
 310 
 
 TllK CLOISTER AND THE HEAKTH. 
 
 wino nliuio to stupefy himnclf; and 
 parulv/.c 11 moiiieiit the dark foes to 
 man that pn-vftl ujkhi his soul. He 
 waiii|rn-d alone luiiiilst the tenipk-fl of 
 f>M Koine, iin<l lay stony-i*ve<l, w<«- 
 Ix'^ono, anion;,' tlieir ruins, worse 
 wniketl than they. 
 
 I-ast of nil «amc the climax, to 
 \d»ieh solitiule, that ^'loonty yet fiLs- 
 einatin^ foe of niinil.s ilisesuw-d, pushes 
 the hopeless. 
 
 He wnnilered alone at ni;rht hy dark 
 streaiiiH, and ryitl them, and eyed 
 thiin, with derreusini; repu;:nanif. 
 There ^Jlided jx'ivee, |M'rhaps annihi- 
 lation. 
 
 What else wa-s left him ? 
 
 These dark six-lis have lioon broken 
 hy kind words, hy loving and eheerful 
 voiecs. 
 
 The humblest friend tlic afflicted 
 one jKW.sessc.s n>ay sjH-ak, or look, or 
 smile, a sunln-am l>ctwcen him and 
 that worst mailncsa (icranl now 
 I.rooded. 
 
 Where wivs Ten->a ' Where his 
 hearty, kind old landlady ' 
 
 They woiilii see l>y ihcir homely 
 hut swift intelliKonee ; they wonlil 
 see and save. 
 
 No: thev knew ntit where he was, 
 or whither he wa.-* ;:lidin^. 
 
 And is there no mortal eye upon 
 the poor wretch anil the dark roau he 
 
 is K"i"K ■ 
 
 Ves : one eye there is upon him, 
 watehinp his every movement ; fol- 
 lowin;;^ ijirn ahn^ad, tracking him 
 home. 
 
 And that eye is the eye of an ene- 
 my. 
 
 An enemy to the death. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 In an apartment richly furnished, 
 the floor covered with strit)cd and 
 ^potted skins of animals, a lady sat 
 with her arms extended before her, 
 and her h.inds half clenched. The 
 ajritation of her face corresponded with 
 
 this attituilo ; she was pole and red b^ 
 
 turns, und her foot restless. 
 
 I'resently the curtain waa drawn by 
 a domestic. 
 
 The lady's brow flushe<l. 
 
 The nuiitl said, in an awc-stmck 
 whisjM'r, " Altez/.a, the man i.s licrc." 
 
 The liuly biule her lulrnit him, and 
 snaCched up a little Idiuk musk and 
 put it on ; and in a m<mient her cf>lor 
 wi« ;:one, and the contrast bctwei-n 
 her bliuk mask and her marble ehcekii 
 was stran;;e and fearful. 
 
 A man entere<l, Iniwinp and »crat>- 
 ing. It was such a )i;,'ure as crowds 
 stH'm made of; short hair, roundish 
 head, plain, but decent clothes ; fea- 
 tures neither comely nor forbidding. 
 Xothini: to remark in him but a sin- 
 gularly restless eve. 
 
 After a profusion of bows, he stood 
 oi)|M>site tlie lady, and awaited her 
 plcasiinv 
 
 " They have told you for what you 
 w«'re wanted." 
 
 •' Yes, sijnora." 
 
 " Pill tlios*' wlu) spoke to you ngrco 
 a-H to what you arc to neeive ? " 
 
 " Yes, si^nora. 'Tis tlie full prii"o; 
 and piireha.sis the greater vemletta : 
 unless of your l)oncvolencc you chooso 
 to content yourself with the lesser." 
 
 " I understand vou not," said the 
 lady. 
 
 "Ah; this is the signora's first. 
 The Ics-ser vendetta, lady, is the death 
 of the IkmIv only. Wc watch our man 
 come out of a church ; or take him in 
 an innocent hour ; and fo <leal with 
 him. In the greater vendetta wc 
 watch him, and catch him hot from 
 some unrejaiitcd sin, and so slay his 
 soul as well as his bo<ly. But this 
 vendi'tta is not so run u])on now as it 
 was a few years ago." 
 
 " Man, silence mc his tongue, and 
 let his treasonable heart l)cat 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 alx)dc. From whom 
 shall I Icam these ? " 
 
 " From myself." 
 
 At this the man, with the first
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 311 
 
 symptoms of anxiety he had shown, 
 entreated her to be cautious, and 
 particular, in this part of the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Fear mc 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 stran- 
 ger, fair, and taller than thou art." 
 
 The bravo listened with all liis ears. 
 " It is enough," said he. " Stay, sig- 
 nora, haunteth he any secret place 
 where I may deal with him ? " 
 
 " My spy doth report me he hath 
 of late frequented the banks of Tiber 
 after dusk ; doubtless to meet his light 
 o' love, wlio calls me her rival ; even 
 there slay him ! and let 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 1 
 What are your weapons ? " 
 
 The bravo showed her a steel gaunt- 
 let. " We strike with such force we 
 needs must guard our hand. This is 
 our mallet." He then undid his doub- 
 let, 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 hand and 
 tried its jwint 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 't is 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 
 14 
 
 heart is black as soot. Say, do 1 
 not well to remove a traitor that slaa 
 ders me ? " 
 
 " The signora will settle that with 
 her confessor. I am but a tool in no- 
 ble hands ; like my stiletto." 
 
 The princess appeared not to heai* 
 the speaker. " O, how I could have 
 loved him ; to the death ; as now 1 
 hate him. Fool ! he will learn to tri- 
 fle 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 1 haste thee, re- 
 venge me." •' 
 
 " It is customary to pay half the 
 price beforehand, 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." 
 
 '' Vou will soon see me again, sig- 
 nora." 
 
 And he retired, bowing and scrap- 
 ing. 
 
 The princess, burning with jeal- 
 ousy, mortified pride, and dread of ex- 
 posure (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 sphinx : 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 befoi'e their age. 
 This was your true mediaeval. Proud, 
 amorous, vindictive, generous, foolisli, 
 cunning, impulsive, unprincipled ; and 
 ignorant as dirt. 
 
 Power is the curse of such a crea- 
 ture. 
 
 Forced to do her own crimes, the 
 weakness 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 wo- 
 man male instruments. And tbf
 
 312 
 
 THi: CLOISTKK AND TlIK UKAkTll. 
 
 effect is ns t<TTil)lc ns the coinJiiiiation 
 is uiinntiiral. 
 
 In this instniuo itwhrttcrl nn nssas- 
 ein's (h»^'(,'i'r lor a iKX>r forlorn wretch 
 just meditating suicide. 
 
 CllAl'lIIK LXV. 
 
 It han[M>ni'd two davs after the 
 K-eiie I (lavi- endeavorinf to descrihe, 
 tliat (icmrd, wnnderiiijj thn)u^h one 
 of the nuanest streets in Home, was 
 overtaken \>y a tliiindcr-stonii, and en- 
 tered a low hostelry. He eidltd fur 
 wine, and, the rain continuing, soon 
 drank himself into a lialf-stupiil con- 
 dition, and do7.('d with his head on 
 his hands and his hands u))on the 
 tnlile. 
 
 Ill course of time tlie riKnn U-iinn to 
 fill, and the noise of the rude jjuests to 
 wake him. 
 
 Then it was lie became cnn.scious 
 of two fi;jiin's near him, eonxcrsinfj in 
 A low voice. 
 
 One was a pardoner. The other by 
 his dress, clean but modest, ini;:lit 
 have p.is.stil for a decent tratle.-maii ; 
 h\\t the way he had slouched his hat 
 over his brows so ns to hiile all his 
 face except his beard showed he was 
 one of those who shun the eye of hon- 
 est men, and of the law. The pair 
 were drivini; a barj,'ain in the sin mar- 
 ket. And, by an arraii;;ement not 
 uncommon at that date, the- crime to 
 be for;;iven was yet to be committed, 
 — under the celestial contract. 
 
 He of the slouched hat was com- 
 plainintr of the price pardons had 
 reached. " If they po up any lii^rber, 
 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 
 
 ft crime the jh>im' hath (wt hi-^ (wet 
 a;;Hin»t, blame yourself, not me." 
 
 Then, to prove that crime of one 
 sort or another was within the means 
 of all liut the very seum of society, he 
 read out the scale from a written 
 parchment. 
 
 It was a curious list : but not one 
 that <ould Iw jirintcd in tbi> l>ook 
 And to mutilate it woubl be to mi.* 
 represent it. It is to lie foun<l in any 
 great library. Suffice it to say, that 
 murder of a layman was much clieaf*- 
 er than many crimes my lay readers 
 could (lit-ni light by comparison. 
 
 This told; and, by a little trifling 
 concession on each side, the bargain 
 wa.s closed, the monev handed over, 
 and the aspirant to Heaven's favor 
 forgiven Iwforehiinil for removing a 
 layman. The ]»rice for dis|>osing of a 
 clerk lH)re no projMirtion. 
 
 The woril " assassiiiiifion " was nev- 
 er once uttered by cither merchant. 
 
 All this buzzed in Gerard's ear. 
 But he never lifteil his head from the 
 tjible ; only listened stupidly. 
 
 However, when the parties rose and 
 .s«parated, he half raised his hca<l and 
 eyed with a scowl the retiring figure 
 of the jiurclmser. 
 
 "If Margaret was alive," muttered 
 he, " I 'd take thee by the throat and 
 throttle thee, thou cowardly slabber. 
 But she is dead, dead, deail. Die all 
 the world ; 't is naught to me : so 
 that I die iftnoni; the first." 
 
 When begot home there wn.";a man 
 in a slouched hat walking briskly to 
 and fro on the opposite side of the 
 way. 
 
 '• Why, there is that cur ai:ain," 
 thoughtVjerard. 
 
 But in his state of mind the cir- 
 cumstance made no impression what- 
 ever on him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 Two nights after this, Pieiro Va- 
 nucci and Andrea sat waiting suppcf 
 for Gerard. 
 
 The former grew peevish. It was
 
 thp: cloister and the hearth. 
 
 313 
 
 past nine o'clock. At last he sent 
 Andrea to Gerard's room on the des- 
 perate chance of his having come in 
 unobserved. Andrea shrugged his 
 shoulders and went. 
 
 He returned without Gerard, but 
 with a slip of paper. Andrea coidd 
 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 Vanuc- 
 ci looked on paper. 
 
 " That is for you, I trow," said he, 
 proud of his intelligence. 
 
 Piefro snatched it, and read it to 
 Andrea, with his satirical comments. 
 
 " ' Dear Pietro, dear Andrea, life is 
 too great a burden.' 
 
 " So 't is, my lad : hut that is no rea- 
 son for being abroad at supper-time. 
 Supper is not a burden. 
 
 " ' Wear my habits ! ' 
 
 " Said the poplar to the juniper-bush. 
 
 " ' And thou, Andrea, mine ame- 
 thyst ring ; and me in both your 
 hearts, a month or two.' 
 
 " Why, Andrea? 
 
 " ' For my body, ere this ye read, 
 it will lie in Tiber. Trouble not 
 to look for it. 'T is not worth the 
 pains. unhappy day that it was 
 born ; happy night that rids me of 
 it. 
 
 " ' Adieu ! adieu ! 
 " ' The broken-hearted Gerard.' " 
 
 " Here is a sorry jest of the peevish 
 rogue," said Pietro. But his pale 
 cheek and chattering teeth belied his 
 words. Andrea filled the house with 
 his cries. 
 
 " miserable day ! calamity 
 of calamities, Gerard, my friend, my 
 sweet patron ! Help, help ! He is 
 killing himself ! good people, help 
 me save him ! " And after alarming 
 all the house he ran into the street, 
 bareheaded, imploring all good Chris- 
 tians to help him save his friend. 
 
 A number of pei-sons soon col- 
 lected. 
 
 But poor Andrea could not animate 
 their sluggishness. Go down to the 
 river 1 No. It was not their busi- 
 
 ness. What part of the river 1 It 
 was a wild-goose chase. 
 
 It was not lucky to go down to the 
 river after sunset. Too many ghosts 
 walked those banks 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 young- 
 er ones. 
 
 The 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. 
 
 The lackey was a spy of the 
 Princess Chclia. 
 
 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 irreso- 
 lute at sight of them. 
 
 The man was bareheaded, and his 
 dripping hair glistened in the moon- 
 light : and at the next step they saw 
 his clothes were drenched with water. 
 
 " Here he is," cried one of the 
 young men, unacquainted with Ge- 
 rard's face and figure. 
 
 The stranger turned instantly and 
 fled. 
 
 They ran after him might and 
 main, Andrea leading, and the prin- 
 cess's lackey next. 
 
 Andrea gained on him ; but in a 
 moment he twisted up a naiTow alley, 
 Andrea shot by, unable to check him- 
 self; and the pursuers soon found 
 themselves in a labyrinth in which it 
 was vain to pursue a quick-footed fu- 
 gitive 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
 
 ai4 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THK HKAIITH. 
 
 where the nmii had stixxl, nnil utterly 
 coiifouii'li-d. For I'iciru had nssun-d 
 thcin llint the rii>:iti\-- had iK-itlur the 
 features nor the .stature of (ieranl. 
 
 " Are ye verily sure ' " ^aid thev. 
 " He had been in the river. Why, in 
 the .suint.s' nanieM, fled he ut our a|>- 
 [ironch i 
 
 I'heii said Vanueci : " Frii-ndx. ine- 
 thiiiks thi- ha> naught to do with him 
 we .s)-<'k. What .shiill we tlo, An- 
 dna ' " 
 
 Here the la( key j)ut in hi* wonl. 
 " Ixt us trark hint to the water's 
 8ide, to make sure. See, he hath 
 eoini- dripjtin;; nil tlie way." 
 
 This adviix' wii-s npiinivcd, and with 
 very little dithculty tliey trueki-il the 
 man's eourse. 
 
 Hut .soon they cneountenil n new 
 eni;:nia. 
 
 Thty had pone scnrn-ly fifty yiirils 
 ere the ilrops tumr«l ii«iiy from the 
 riMT, ami took tlu-m to the ^atc of n 
 lar^'e jjloomy buiidin);. It was » 
 mona-itery. 
 
 'I'liey stWMl irn'.solute U-fore it. and 
 pizi'd at the ilark ]iilf It fteemni to 
 tlirni to hiile some horrihie inysti-r}'. 
 
 Milt prrsently ATuin-a pave u shout. 
 " Here U" the drops u;,'ain," eried he. 
 "And this road leadeth to the river." 
 
 They n'sumed the eha.se; and Mxm 
 it Ixrame elenr the drops were now 
 K^adin;: them home. 'I he traek hc- 
 came wetter and wetter, and took 
 them to tlie TiU-r's idu'v. And there 
 on the i)ank a hueketfiil apfnared to 
 liave lieen di.sehanie«l from the stnain. 
 
 At first they sliouted, and thou(;hl 
 they had made a di.seovi-ry ; hut re- 
 fleetion showed tliem it nmounteti to 
 nothini:. Certainly a man had Inrn 
 in the water, and had ;;ot out of it in 
 fiafety ; hut tliiit nuui w;ui not Cierard. 
 Une said he knew a tishennan hard 
 by, that had nets and dm;,'S. Thev 
 found the fisher, and paid him lilicml- 
 ly to sink nets in the river l>elow the 
 plaee, and to draji it above and l)elow ; 
 anil promised liim gold should he 
 find the body. Then they ran vainly 
 up and down the river, which flowed 
 so calm uud voiceless, holding this 
 
 and a thou.tand more utranf^e 
 Suddenly Andrea, with n rry uf Itop^ 
 ran luiek to the liousi-. 
 
 llu retunicil in Ic9.s than lialf an 
 hour. 
 
 " No," he proanetl, nml wrung hlA 
 hands. 
 
 "What i« the hour?" a-skM ihc 
 luekcv. 
 
 " tour hours |)a.«t midnitrht." 
 
 " My pretty lad," Kuid the lackey, 
 itoli-mnly. " nay n mn.vs for thy friend's 
 itoui : lor ho is not among living 
 men." 
 
 The n>oniinjj broke. Worn ont 
 with futitrue, Andrea and Tietm went 
 home, lieart-siek. 
 
 The dayx rolled on, mute u Um 
 Tiber us to Cierard's fate. 
 
 CHAl'TKIi I.XVII. 
 
 It would indi-r«| have Uvn otranf^ 
 if. with sm h barn-n ilata a.t they |mj#- 
 sesMMJ, ihoso men eould havr n-ad iho 
 handwritin;: oti the river's Utnk. 
 
 For thrn- on that !^\t*>x nn event 
 had just o«-eiirre<l. whieh, take it al- 
 to;.i'fher. wits |ierhaps without a [»iir- 
 allel in the history of nuinkind, and 
 mav remain .«o to the i-nd of tune. 
 
 iiut it .shall lie told in a wry few 
 words, partly by me, |»artly by an 
 aetor in the .«n-ne. 
 
 (rerurd, then, after writinp his brief 
 adieu to I'ietro and Andn-a. had sto- 
 len down to the river nt ni;;btfall. 
 
 He had taken his measures with m 
 do;;mi! r\'s<dution not unomimon in 
 those who arc Iwni on 9elf-<le.st ruction. 
 He filled his jxKket.s with all the sil- 
 ver and <-opjHT he po-.,s<.>s.s«d, that he 
 mi^;ht .sink the surer ; and, so j)rovid- 
 ed, hurrietl to a part of the stream 
 that he had seen wb.s little frcrjuented. 
 
 There are some, es|>«cially women, 
 who look alK>ut to make sure there i» 
 somelKHly at hand. 
 
 But this nsolute wreteh looked 
 alM.>ut him to make sure there was no- 
 body. 
 
 And, to liis annoyoncG, he observed
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 31& 
 
 a single figure leaning against the 
 corner of an alley. So he affected to 
 stroll carelessly away; but returned 
 to the spot. 
 
 Lo ! the same figure emerged from 
 a side street and loitered about. 
 
 " Can he be watching me ? Can he 
 know what I am here for 1 " thought 
 Gerard. " Impossible." 
 
 He went briskly off, walked along 
 a street or two, made a detour, 
 and came back. 
 
 The man had vanished. But, lo ! 
 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 moon- 
 light a steel gauntlet in his sentinel's 
 hand. 
 
 Then he knew it was an assas- 
 sin. 
 
 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 sin- 
 gle stroke ! See, here is all I have " ; 
 and he forced his money into the 
 bravo's hands. " prithee ! prithee ! 
 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 him in the 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 1 am poor 
 and can't give ye gold 1 Useless 
 wretch, canst only strike a man be- 
 hind ; not look one in the face f 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 ! " 
 
 At the heavy plunge of his body in 
 the stream the bravo seemed to re- 
 cover from a stupor. He ran to the 
 bank and with a strange cry the 
 
 assassin plunged in after the self-dd 
 stroyer. 
 
 What followed will be related by 
 the assassin. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIII. 
 
 A woMAX has her own troubles as 
 a man has his. 
 
 And we male writers seldom do 
 more than indicate the griefs of the 
 other sex. The intelligence of the 
 female reader must come to our aid, 
 and fill up our cold outlines. So ] 
 have indicated, rather than described, 
 what Margaret Brandt went through 
 up to that eventful day, when she en- 
 tered 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 but little of Eli's 
 sudden favor : for this reserve she had 
 always a plausible reason ready ; and 
 never hinted at the true one, which 
 was 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 daugh- 
 ter at home. The former went to see 
 her every dav, 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 souj 
 about her, that knows anything about 
 anything. What avail a pair o' sol- 
 diers ? Why, that sort o' cattle
 
 316 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 should be puttcn out o' doors tlic first 
 at such an a time." 
 
 Need I say tliat tliis was a f,'rcat 
 comfort to Marj^aret f 
 
 Poor soul, slie was full of anxietj as 
 the time drew near. 
 
 She should die : and Gerard 
 away. 
 
 But things balance themselves. Ilcr 
 poverty, and her father's helplessness, 
 which had cost her such a struggle, 
 stood her in good stead now. 
 
 Adversity's iron hand had forced 
 her to battle the hvssitude that over- 
 powers the rich of her sex, and to la- 
 forever 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 siie lay weak as water, 
 but safe ; with a little face by her 
 side, and the heaven of maternity 
 opening on her. 
 
 " Why dost weep, sweetheart ? All 
 of a sudden .' " 
 
 " He is not here to see it." 
 
 " Ah, well, lass, he will be here ere 
 'tis weaned. Meantime, God hatli 
 been as good to thee as to e'er a wo- 
 man born : and do but bethink thee 
 it might have been a girl ; did n't my 
 very own Kate threaten me with one ? 
 and here we have got the l)onniest boy 
 in Holland, and a rare heavy one, the 
 saints be praised fur't." 
 
 " Ay, mother, I am l)ut a sorry un- 
 grateful wretch to weep. If only 
 Gerard were here to see it. 'T is 
 strange ; I bore him well enow to be ; 
 away from mc in my sorrow; but O, 
 it doth seem so hard he should not 
 share my joy. Prithee, prithee, come 
 to me, Gerard ! dear, dear Gerard ! " 
 And she stretched out her feeble arms. 
 
 Catherine bustled about, but avoid- 
 ed Margaret's eyes : for she could not 
 restrain her own tears at hearing her 
 own absent child thus earnestly ad- 
 dressed. 
 
 Presently turning round, she found 
 Margaret looking at her with a singu- 
 lar expression. " Heard you naught 1 " 
 
 " No, my lamb. What ? " 
 
 " I did cry on Gerard, but now." 
 " Ay, ay, sure 1 heard that." 
 " Well, he answered me." 
 " Tush, gill ; say not that." 
 " Mother, as sure as I lie here, with 
 his boy by mv side, his voice came 
 back to me, ' ^larguret ! ' So. Yet 
 nietiiou;,'ht 't was not his hajijiy voice. 
 Hut tliat might be the distance. All 
 vcjiees go otf satl-like at a distance. 
 Why art not happy, sweetheart? and 
 I so happy this night? Mother, I 
 seem never to have felt a pain or 
 known a care." And her sweet eyes 
 tiinii il and gloated on the little face 
 in silence. 
 
 That very night Gerard flung him- 
 self into the Tiln-r. Anil, that very 
 hour she heard him speak her name, 
 he cried aloud in death's jaws and 
 des|)air's, — 
 
 " Margaret ! " 
 
 Account for it those who can. I 
 cannot. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 In the guest-chamber of a Domin- 
 ican convent lay a single .stranger, 
 exhausted by successive and violent 
 fits of nausea, which hail at last sub- 
 sided, leaving him almost as weak as 
 Margaret lay that night in Holland. 
 
 A huge wood-fire burned on the 
 hearth, and beside it liung the pa- 
 tient's clothes. 
 
 A gigantic friar sat by his 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 touching the ground, and prayed 
 for him ; then rose and bade him fare- 
 well. " 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 God's gift. He bestowed 
 it on you again. Think on it ! Hast
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 317 
 
 tried the world and found its gall. 
 Now try the Church ! 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 was 
 a layman, with an eye as small and 
 restless as Friar Jerome's was calm 
 and majestic. 
 
 The man inquired earnestly how 
 he felt. 
 
 " Very, very weak. Where have 
 I seen you before, Messcr ? " 
 
 " None the worse for my gaunt- 
 let ? " inquired the other, M'ith con- 
 siderable 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, 
 't was you saved me ^ How 1 " 
 
 " Well, signor, 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 signor that saved my wife and 
 child upon the sea." 
 
 " It is Teresa's husband. And an 
 assassin ? ! ! 1 " 
 
 " 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 linger. 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 'Mar- 
 garet ! ' " 
 
 "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 
 from ? 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 fiill 
 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 he. ' 'T is one Gerard, 
 a fair youth from Holland.' ' The 
 same,' quo' I. Then said his rev- 
 erence, ' He hath friends among our 
 brethren. Leave him with us ! Char- 
 ity, it is our office.' " 
 
 " Also he told me they of the con- 
 vent 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 miscreant, eagerly. " I go." 
 And he retired on tiptoe, with a 
 promise to come every day. 
 
 Gerard lay with his eyes closed ; 
 not asleep, but deeply pondering. 
 
 Saved fi'om death by an assassin ! 
 
 Was not this the finger of Heaven 1 
 
 Of that Heaven he had insulted, 
 cursed, and defied. 
 
 He shuddered at his blasphemies. 
 He 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 full service. 
 
 Among them was one that seemed
 
 318 
 
 TIIK fl.oISTKi: AND 1111". IH.AKTIL 
 
 to hover al)Ovc the othirn, ami tower 
 towards Heaven ; ii sweet Ihiv's voiec, 
 full, pure, anjrelie. 
 
 lie elosed liis eyes and lisU-nwl. 
 The days oJ" his own hoyhiH)d tlowe<l 
 h;uk upon him in those swt<t, jiioiis 
 liarinonies. No eartlily druss there, 
 no (bill, ficrec j)assions, reiuUnj^ and 
 eorruptin;^ the soul. 
 
 I'eace ; f)eucc ; sweet, l>alniy i)onee. 
 
 " Ay," he sightnl, " the (Miiireh is 
 
 feaee of mind. Till I left her bosom 
 ne'er knew sorrow nor sin." 
 
 And the iK)or, torn, worn, creature 
 wej)!. 
 
 And, even ns he wept, there U-amed 
 on him the sweet and n-ven-nd faee 
 of one he had never thought to s<.'e 
 apain. It was the faee of Father 
 Anselm. 
 
 The pcMxl father had only rcaehcd 
 the eonviiit the ux^Ul More last. 
 Gerard reeoj.'ni/id him in a moment, 
 and cried to him : " t) Father An- 
 selm, you cured my wounded Innly 
 in .luliers ; now cure my hurt .soul in 
 Home! Alas, you cannot." 
 
 Anselm sat downi hy the l>cdside, 
 and, putting a (gentle hand on his 
 head, lirst calmed him with a soothing 
 word or two. 
 
 lie then (for he had learned how 
 Gerard came there) spoke to him 
 kindly hut solemnly, and made liim 
 feel his crime, and ur^ed him to re- 
 pentance, and jrratitudo to that Di- 
 vine Power which had thwarte<l his 
 will to save his soul. 
 
 " t\)me, my son," said he, " first 
 purge thy hosom of its load." 
 
 " Ah, father," said Gcranl, " in 
 Juliers I could ; then I was innocent ; 
 but now, impious monster that I am, 
 I dare !iot confess to you." 
 
 " Why not, my son ? Thinkcst 
 thou I have not sinned against 
 Heaven in my time, and deeply'? O 
 how deeply ! Come, poor laden soul, 
 pour forth thy grief, pour forth thy 
 iault, hold back naught ! Lie not 
 oppressed and crushed by hidden 
 Bins." 
 
 And soon Gerard was at Father 
 Anselm's knees confessing his every 
 
 sin with sighs and groans of pent 
 ten CO. 
 
 " Thy sins arc great, "."sjiid Ansclni. 
 " Thy temptation also \vas great, tcr- 
 riiily gnat. I must con-ult our gotnl 
 jirior." 
 
 'J'he g<Kxl Anselm ki>««cd his hiow, 
 and left him, to consult tlic 8U|KTior 
 as to his jtonancc. 
 
 An«l, lo! Gerard could i»rny now. 
 
 And he prayed with all liis heart. 
 
 The iihasc through whi«h this re- 
 markahle mind now passed nuiy bo 
 summed in a word, — renitcnec. 
 
 He turned with tt-rror and aversion 
 from the world, and U-ggi-il passion- 
 ately to remain in the convent. To 
 him, convent-nurtured, it was like a 
 bird returning, wovmded, wearied, to 
 its gentle nest. 
 
 He passed his novitiate in j»raytr, 
 aixl mortitication, and pioi:» reading, 
 and meditation. 
 
 The I'rincess Cltrlin'o sjiy went 
 home and told her thnt Gerard waa 
 certainly ilead, the manner of hi.-! death 
 unknown at jireseiit. 
 
 She si-eined literally stunned. 
 When, after a long time, »he found 
 breath to s|>eak at all, it was to be- 
 moan her lot, cursed with such ready 
 ! tools. " So soon," she sighed ; " seo 
 I how swift these monsters are to do ill 
 ! deeds. Thev come to us in our hot 
 1 bliK)d, and hrst femj»t us with their 
 venal daggers, tlien enact the mortal 
 deeds we ne'er had thought on but for 
 them." 
 
 Ere many hours had passed, her 
 ' pity for (ierard and hatred of his mur- 
 derer had risen to fever heat ; which 
 with this f(M)l was blfMxl heat. 
 
 " I'oor soul ! I cannot call theo 
 back to life. But he shall never liv« 
 that traitorously slew theo." 
 
 And she jmt armed men in ambush, 
 and ke{)t them on guanl all day, ready, 
 when Lodovico should come for his 
 money, to fall <m him in a certain an- 
 techaml>cr and hack him to pieces. 
 
 " Strike at his head," said she, " for 
 he wcareth a privy coat of mail ; and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 319 
 
 if he pocs hence alive your own heads 
 shall answer it." 
 
 And so she sat weeping her victim, 
 and ])ulling the strings of machines 
 to shed the blood of a second for hav- 
 ing been her machine to kill the 
 first. 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 One of the novice Gerard's self- 
 imposed penances was to receive Lo- 
 dovico kindly, feeling secretly as to a 
 slimy serpent. 
 
 Never was self-denial better be- 
 stowed ; and, like most rational pen- 
 ances, it soon became no penance at 
 all. At first the pride and compla- 
 cency -with which the assassin gazed 
 on the one life he had saved was 
 perhaps 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 plod- 
 ding labor was better for him than 
 the brief excitement of being hewn in 
 pieces by the Princess Clcelia's myr- 
 midons. His exile saved the uncon- 
 scious penitent from that fate ; and 
 the princess, balked of her revenge, 
 took to brooding, and fell into a pro- 
 found melancholy ; dismissed her con- 
 fessor, 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 
 U* 
 
 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 lit- 
 tle as he did the sea. He showed her 
 in a few words, all thunder and light- 
 ning, that she was the criminal of 
 criminals. 
 
 " Thou art the Devil, that with th.r 
 money hath tempted one man to slay 
 his fellow, and then, blinded with self- 
 love, instead of blaming and punish' 
 ing 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 overpow- 
 ered her, and so threatened her with 
 the Church's curse here and hereafter, 
 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. 
 
 " O 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 mean- 
 est servant, wend thou instant to Lo- 
 retto." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " O holy father, let me wear my 
 mask." 
 
 " Humph ! " 
 
 " O mercy ! Bethink ye ! My fea 
 tures are known through Italy.
 
 320 
 
 TlIK CLOISTER AN1> TIIK UKAIJTH. 
 
 " Ay. Bcnnty is a curse to most 
 of ye. Well, thou imiyst nin.sk thine 
 eve;* ; no more." 
 
 "Oii thi.s c-onces.sion she seized hi* 
 haiui, mill wns nliout to ki.vs it ; but 
 lie siiaiihetl it nulely from her. 
 
 " What woiilil ye'ilu ' That hnnti 
 luinilkil the emhiiri.>t hut an hour 
 ti;:oii(- : is it tit t'ur .sueli lU thuu to 
 touch it f 
 
 " Ah, no. But oh, rO not without 
 ^'ivin^ your jjenitent duu^^htcr your 
 hlr.s.siujj." 
 
 •■ Time enow to n-tk it when you 
 come haek from Ix>retto." 
 
 Thus that manellous mvurrenee 
 hv Titter's hank left its mark on all 
 the aetors, as jinxli^ries are said to do. 
 The a.ssassin, softeunl hy saviujj the 
 life he was j)aiil to take, tuniwl (nm\ 
 the stiletto to the jxirter's knot. The 
 j.riiuess went huntiKJt to lioretio, 
 wivpin^ her erime and wo^hin^ the 
 feet of l)a.-e-lmru men. 
 
 An<l (ieranl, carried from the Ti- 
 ber into that convent u suicide, now 
 |>iv<sed for a younj^ saint within it5 
 walls. 
 
 I>>vin>r but inex])criencetl eyes were 
 on him. 
 
 r|K)n n shorter pnthation than usu- 
 al, he was admitted to priests' orders. 
 
 Aiul soon after took the mona.'itic 
 vows, and bivnmc a friar of St. Domi- 
 nic. 
 
 l\vin;; to the world, the monk 
 iiarted with the very name hy which 
 lie liail lived in it, and so broke the 
 last link of association with earthly 
 feelin;;s. 
 
 Here Gerard endetl, ond Brother 
 Clement lM?gan. 
 
 CHAI'TER LXXI. 
 
 " As is the race of leaves, so is that 
 of men." And a preat man budded 
 unnoticed in a tailor's house at Rot- 
 terdam this year, and a lar;:c man 
 dropped to earth with preat eclat. 
 
 Philip, Duke of Burgundy, Earl of 
 
 Hollnnd, etc., rtr., lay nirk at Rrugva 
 Now pnu|>iTs jjot »i«k ut»l yot well, 
 im Natur« |deuM-«l, but wm- bclidcd 
 the rich in an a;;t> when, for our &lr. 
 Malady kdled, three fell by Dr. Ucm- 
 c»lv. 
 
 'rh<- duke'.i complaint, nanidrM 
 then, in now tliphtheriu. It is, and 
 wa.s, a «ery wenkeniu); malady, and 
 the duke was tdil : nt, nhoKVt\wT, Dr. 
 Kemed\ bled him. 
 
 The duke turned verv cold : woa> 
 derful ! 
 
 Then Dr. llenudv had rrrt»unic to 
 the nrcanii of m ii nee. 
 
 IIo ! This is prnve. Flay mc on 
 n}K- incontinent, and clap him to tb* 
 duke's breast ! " 
 
 Orticeni of utate ran, M'pinnviouj, 
 strkinp an a|i« to counteract th* 
 bloiMl-thiptty tomfoolery of the human 
 
 s|>«fie.s. 
 
 Terdititm ! The diil' «!i« 
 at*"*- Then< were bur 
 
 tit of 
 
 r.|«. 
 
 'I urk«. b"«>panl» : am 
 U-ast but the rifht one. 
 
 •• Why, there ushiI to be an ape 
 about," Miid one. " If 1 utand here. 
 I saw him." 
 
 So there u.stil ; but the ma.stiiT had 
 manpletl the spriphtly crraturr for 
 steidinp his »iup|N'r, and m> fultillrd 
 the human precept, " Soycat de votro 
 sitvle ! " 
 
 In this . : •• hal 
 
 ca.sl his tie-; md 
 
 not in vai;.. A ...,..;,.. ..^..; .^hot 
 into them. 
 
 ■' Herv is ihiM," said he, sotto toco. 
 " Surely lhi.< will scr*c ; 't i.s •!• 
 together a|)C-like, doublet and hoM 
 apart." 
 
 " Nay," said the chancellor, pee- 
 vishly, "the Princess Marie would 
 hanj; us. She doteth on tfii.i." 
 
 Now this was our friend Giles, 
 strutting, all uncons<MOii.s, in cloth of 
 gold. 
 
 Then Dr. Remedy grew impatient, 
 and batlc flay a dog. 
 
 "A dog is next best to an ape; 
 only it mast be a dog all of one 
 color." 
 
 So thcr flayed a liver-colored do£
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 321 
 
 and clapped it, yet palpitating, to 
 their sovereign's breast ; and he died. 
 
 Philip the Good, thus seientifically 
 disposed of, left thirty-one children ; 
 of whom one, somehow or another, 
 was legitimate, and reigned in his 
 stead. 
 
 The good duke provided for nine- 
 teen out of the other thirty ; the rest 
 shifted for themselves. 
 
 According to the Flemish chroni- 
 cle 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 distinc- 
 tion. 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 fa- 
 mous 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 half- 
 penny ^\■iser, 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 ! a human torch, lighted by fire 
 from heaven; and "fiat lux" thun- 
 ders from pole to pole. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 The Dominicans, or preaching fri- 
 urs, 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 Eng- 
 land, a rich and religious country, 
 where, under the name of the Black 
 Friars, they had once been para' 
 mount. 
 
 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, Ital- 
 ian, French, High and Low Dutch) 
 soon transpired, and he was destined 
 to travel and jjreach in England, cor- 
 responding with the Roman centre. 
 
 But Jerome, who had the superior's 
 ear, obstructed this design. 
 
 " Clement," said he, " has the milk 
 of the world still in his veins, its feel- 
 ings, its weaknesses ; 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 an- 
 cient wisdom, took Clement and 
 tried him. 
 
 One day he brought him to a field 
 Avhere the 3-oung men amused them- 
 selves at the games of the day ; ho 
 knew this to be a haunt of Clement's 
 late friends. 
 
 And sure enough erelong Pietro 
 Vanucci and Andrea passed by them, 
 and cast a careless glance on the two 
 friars. They did not recognize 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 Clement, trying him. 
 
 " No, brother : yet was it good fot 
 me to see them They remind me of 
 the sins I can never repent enough." 
 
 " It is well," said Jerome, and hi 
 made 4 cold report in Clement's la 
 yor.
 
 322 
 
 THK CLOISTER ANI» TIIK IIKARTIL 
 
 Then Jerome took Clement to mrxny | 
 deatli-heds. And then iiitu noisome 
 dunf^eons ; ])laee.s where the diirkni':*.'* 
 WHjj api>tilliii;r. imd the steneh hmth- 
 Bonie, iiestik'ntiid ; and men lookin;: 
 like wild kasts hiy eoiled in rairi and 
 filth and (K'sjiair. It tried his l)ody 
 hard ; hut tlie soul eolhrted all its 
 powers to eomlbrt suelwjHior wretehes 
 there as were not past eumfort. Anil 
 Clement shone in that trial. Jerome 
 re]>ortcd that Clement's sy^irit was 
 wiilin;,', hut his flesh was weak. 
 
 " Ciood ! " said Anselm ; " his flesh 
 is weak, hut his spirit is wiilinj;." 
 
 But there wiu a greaUT trial in 
 store. 
 
 I will deserilio it as it was seen hy 
 others. 
 
 One mominp a principal street in 
 Rome was crowded, and even the 
 avenues hlockeil up with heads. It 
 was an cxwution. No common crime 
 had bc9n done, and on no vulgar vic- 
 tim. 
 
 Tiie governor of Rome had iKvn 
 found in his hed at dayhreak sluiiffh- 
 teriii. His hand, raised ])rohahly in 
 self-defence, lay hy his side severeil at 
 the wrist ; his throat was cut, and his 
 tcmyiles bruised with some hlunt 
 instrument. The murder had l)cen 
 traced to his scnant, and wius to Ik- 
 expiated in kind this very morning. 
 
 Italian executions were not cniel 
 in general. Hut this murder was 
 thought to call for exact and bloody 
 retribution. 
 
 The criminal was brought to the 
 house of the murdered man, and fas- 
 tened for half an hour to its wall. 
 After this foretaste of legal vengeance 
 his left hand was struck ofi', like his 
 victim's. A new killed fowl wiis cut 
 open and fastened round the bleeding 
 stump ; with what view I really don't 
 know; but, by the look of it, some 
 mare's nest of the ]>oor dear doctors ; 
 and the murderer, thus mutilated and 
 bandaged, was hurried tu the scaflold : 
 and there a young friar was most 
 earnest and aftectionate in praying 
 with him, and for him, and holding 
 the crucifix close to his eyes. 
 
 Presently the execntioncr pulled 
 the friar roughlv on one side, and in 
 a moment felU'<^ the culprit with a 
 heavv mallet, and. falling on him, cut 
 bis tfirout from ear to car. 
 
 There was a cry of horror from the 
 crowd. 
 
 The young friar .<;wooni-d away. 
 A gigantic ini>nk str<><le forward, 
 and carried him otT like a child. 
 
 lirother Clement went hack to the 
 convent Kadly discouraged. He con- 
 fcssctl to the prior with tears of n-gret. 
 " Courage, son Clement," said the 
 prior. " A Dominican is not made 
 in a <lay. Thou shalf have another 
 trial. And I forbid thee to go to it 
 fasting." Clcmcjit l>owcd his head 
 in token of olK^diencc. He had not 
 long to wait. A roblicr was brought 
 to the scaflold ; a monster of villanr 
 and cruelty, who had killed men in 
 jaire wantonness, after robbing thera. 
 Clement imsscfl his last night in 
 prison with him, accompanied him to 
 the scaffold and then prayeil with 
 him and for him so earnestly that the 
 hanlened ruthan she<l tears and em- 
 braced him. Clement embraced him 
 tfK), though his tlesh ipiivered with 
 repugnance ; and held the crucifix 
 earnestly before his eyi-a. The man 
 was garroted, 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 rai.sed 
 his hatchet and quartered the Uulj 
 on the spot. And, O mysteriout 
 heart of man ! the people, who had 
 seen the living body robhtnl of life 
 with indirt'erencc, almost with satis- 
 faction, uttered a piteous cry at each 
 stroke of the axe upon his corpse 
 that could feci naught. Clement too 
 shuddered then, but stood firm, like 
 one of those rocks that vibrate but 
 cannot be thrown down. But sudden- 
 ly Jerome's voiie sounded in his car. 
 " Brother Clement, get thee on that 
 cart and ]»reaeh to the tx«plc. Nay, 
 (piickly ! strike with all thy force on 
 all this iron, while yet 't is hot. and 
 souls arc to be saved."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 323 
 
 Clement's color 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. 0, 
 that sea of heads ! His throat seemed 
 parched, his heart thumped, his voice 
 trembled. 
 
 By and by the greatness of the oc- 
 casion, the sight of the eager, up- 
 turned 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 gra- 
 dations of folly and crime, and warned 
 them solemnly not to put foot on the 
 first round of the fatal ladder. And 
 as alternately he thundered against 
 the shedders of blood, and moved the 
 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 al- 
 ready excited by the tragedy before 
 them. Jerome started like one who 
 goes to light a stick, and fires a 
 rocket. After a while Clement caught 
 his look of astonishment, and, seeing 
 no approbation in it, broke suddenly 
 oti' and joined him. 
 
 " It was my first endeavor," said 
 he, apologetically. " Your behest 
 came on me like a thunder-bolt. Was 
 I — ? Did I — ? O, correct me 
 and aid me with your experience, 
 brother Jerome." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Jerome, doubt- 
 fully. He added, rather sullenly 
 after long reflection, " Give the glory 
 to God, brother Clement ; my opinion 
 is thou art an orator born." 
 
 He reported the same at head- 
 quarters, half reluctantly. For he 
 was an honest friar, though a disa- 
 greeable one. 
 
 One Julio Antonelli was accused 
 of sacrilege ; three witnesses swore 
 ihey saw him come out of the church 
 
 whence the candlesticks were stolen, 
 and at the very time. Other wit- 
 nesses proved an alibi for him as 
 positively. Neither testimony could 
 be shaken. In this doubt Antonelli 
 was permitted the trial by water, hot 
 or cold. By the hot trial he must 
 put his bare arms 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 fa- 
 vored, was not so terrible as it 
 sounded. But the poor wretch had 
 not the nerve, and chose the cold or- 
 deal. And this gave Jerome another 
 opportunity of steeling Clement. An- 
 tonelli 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 his body. 
 
 He was then let down gently into 
 the stream, 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 happened 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 mer- 
 cy ; and, after the appointed prayers, 
 dismissed him, cleared of the charge. 
 
 During the experiment Clement 
 prayed earnestly 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 bo 
 compensated. 
 
 " For what? " 
 
 " For the pain, the dread, the suf- 
 focation. Poor soul, he liveth, but 
 hath tasted all the bitterness of death. 
 Yet he had done no ill." 
 
 " He is rewarded enough in that hi 
 is cleared of his fault"
 
 324 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 "But, bcinp innocent of the fault, 
 yet hath lie drunk ik-ath's cup, thouf,'h 
 not to the ilre^'s ; and his aecusera, 
 less innocent than he, do suffer 
 naupht." 
 
 Jerome replied somewhat sternly. 
 
 " It is not in this world men arc 
 really punished, brother Clement. 
 Unhiipiiy they who sin yet sufler not. 
 And ha|)py they who suffer such ills 
 as earth hath power to inflict; 'tis 
 counted to them above, ay, and a 
 huniired-t'old." 
 
 C'lemeiit bowed his head submis- 
 sively. 
 
 " Slay thy ^rood words not fall to 
 the f^round, but take root in my heart, 
 brother Jerome." 
 
 But the severest trial Clement un- 
 derwent at Jerome's hands was un- 
 5)remeditatcd. It came about thus, 
 lerome, in an in(lul;,'ent moment, 
 went with him to Fra Colonna, and 
 there " The Dream of I'olifilo" lay on 
 the table just cojiied fairly. The 
 poor author, in the pride of his heart, 
 pointed out a master-stroke in it. 
 
 " For ajres," said he, " fools have 
 been lavishing; ])0etic prai.se and amo- 
 rous compliment on mortal women, 
 mere creatures of earth, smacking 
 pal])ably of their origin ; Sirens at 
 the windows, where our Itoman wo- 
 men in particular have by lifelong 
 study learned the wily art to show 
 their one good feature, though but an 
 car or an eyelash, at a jalosy, and 
 hide all the rest ; Magpies at the 
 iloor, Capre n' i giardini, Angeli in 
 Strada, Sante in chiesa, Diavoii 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 slyest of them all ; and I lay you 
 the whole bundle of spice at the feet of 
 the only females worthy amorous in- 
 cense : to wit, the Nine Muses." 
 
 " By which goodly stratagem," said 
 Jerome, who had been turning the 
 pages ail this time, "you, a friar of 
 8t. Dominic, have produced an ob- 
 scene book." And bedashed Politilo 
 on the tabic. 
 
 " Obscene ? thou diiTourtPonj 
 monk ! " And the author ran round 
 the table, snatchetl I'olifiio away, 
 locketl him up, and, trembling with 
 nu)rtification, said ; " My Gerard, 
 pshaw ! brother What's-his-namc, 
 had not found I'olifilo obscene. Puris 
 omnia pura." 
 
 " Such as read your I'olifilo — 
 Heaven grant they m-.iy be few! — 
 will find him what I fiml him." 
 
 Poor ('olonna guljied down this 
 bitter j)ill as he might ; and luu) he 
 not been in his own lodgings, and a 
 highborn gentleman as well as a 
 scholar, there might have been a vul- 
 gar ([uarrel. As it was he made a 
 great effort, and turned the conversa- 
 tion to a beautiful chrysolite the 
 Cardinal Colonna had lent him; and, 
 while Clement handled it, enlarged 
 on its moral virtues: for he went the 
 whole length of his age as a worship- 
 jier of jewels. But .leromc ilid not, 
 and expostulated with him for believ- 
 ing that one dead stone could confer 
 valor on its wearer, another chastity, 
 another safety from poison, another 
 temperance. 
 
 " The experience of ages proves 
 they do," said Colonna. " As to tho 
 last virtue you have named, there sits 
 a living ])roof This Gcraid — 1 l)eg 
 pardon, brother Thingcmy — comes 
 from the north, wliere men drink like 
 fishes ; yet was he ever most abste- 
 mious. And why 1 Carried an ame- 
 thyst, the clearest and fullest-colored 
 e'er I saw on any but noble finger. 
 Where, in Heaven's name, is thine 
 amethyst? Show it this unbeliev- 
 er ! " 
 
 " And 't was that amethyst made 
 the boy temperate 7 " asked Jerome, 
 ironically. 
 
 " Certainly. "WTiy, what is the der- 
 ivation and meaning of amethyst ? a 
 negative and uir'^vto} to tipple. Go 
 to, names are but the signs of things. 
 A stone is not called a^uSvarof for 
 two thousand years out of mere sport 
 and abuse of language." 
 
 He then w^cnt through the prime 
 jewels, illustrating their moral proj)
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 325 
 
 erties, especially of the ruby, the sap- 
 phire, the emerald, and tlie opal, by 
 inecdotes out of grave historians. 
 
 " These be old wives' fables," said 
 Jerome, contemptuously. " Was ever 
 such credulity as thine ■? " 
 
 Now credulity is a reproach scep- 
 tics 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, mistaking his silence, 
 exhorted him to go a step further, and 
 give up from this day his vain pagan 
 lore, and study the lives of the saints. 
 
 " Blot out these heathen supersti- 
 tions from thy mind, brother, as 
 Christianity hath blotted them from 
 the earth." 
 
 And in this strain he proceed- 
 ed, repeating, incautiously, some cur- 
 rent but loose theological statements. 
 Then the smarting Polililo revenged 
 himself He flew out, and hurled a 
 mountain of crude miscellaneous lore 
 upon Jerome, of which, partly for 
 want of time, partly for lack of learn- 
 ing, I can reproduce but a few frag- 
 ments. 
 
 " The heathen blotted out 1 Why, 
 they hold four fifths of the world. 
 And what have we Christians invent- 
 ed without their aid 7 painting 1 
 sculpture? these are heathen arts, 
 and we but pygmies at them. What 
 modern mind can conceive and grave 
 so godlike forms as did the chief 
 Athenian sculptors and the Libyan 
 Licas, and Dinocrates of Macedon, 
 and Scopas, Timotheus, Leochares, 
 and Briaxis, Chares, Lysippus, and 
 the immortal three of Rhodes, that 
 wrought Laocoon from a single 
 block "? What prince hath the genius 
 to turn mountains into statues, as was 
 done at Bagistan, and projected at 
 Athos ? what town the soul to plant 
 a colossus of brass in the sea, for the 
 tallest ships to sail in and out between 
 liis legs ' Is it architecture we have 
 invented ? Why, here too we are but 
 children. Can we match for pure de- 
 bign 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 of Egypt, up 
 to whose portals men walked awe- 
 struck through avenues a mile long of 
 sphinxes, each as big as a Venetian 
 palace. And all these prodigies of 
 porphyry cut and polished like crys- 
 tal, 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, aqueducts, 
 viaducts ? 
 
 " Why, we have lost the art of mak- 
 ing 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 sepulchres of the 
 Indus and Ganges, Avhich outside arc 
 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 material things. True gentle- 
 ness was in the soul. 
 
 " Well, then," replied Colonna, 
 " in the world of mind what have we 
 discovered 1 Is it geometry 1 Is it 
 logic '? Nay, we are all pupils of Eu- 
 clid and Aristotle. Is it written char- 
 acters, an invention almost divine? 
 We no more invented it than Cad- 
 mus did. Is it poetry ? Homer hath 
 never been approached by us, nor 
 hath Virgil, nor Horace. Is it trage- 
 dy or comedy 1 Why, poets, actors, 
 theatres, all fiill to dust at our touch. 
 Have we succeeded in reviving them ? 
 Would you compare our little miser- 
 able 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)
 
 326 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 performed inside a marble mimele, 
 the audience a seated city, and the 
 poet a So|)hwK'S ! 
 
 " What then have we invented ? Is 
 it monotheism f Why, the learned, 
 and iihilosophieal anion;; the (i recks 
 and liomans held it ; even their more 
 inli;j:htened jHJCtsvvere monotheists in 
 their sleeves. 
 
 Zeu? tiTTiv ovpavo^, Ztv^ t« y>), Z«u? TOi 
 
 saith the Greek, and Lucan eeluK's 
 him : — 
 
 'Jupiter est quodcunque vides quocun<iue 
 moveria.' 
 
 " Their vul^rnr were polytheist.s ; 
 and what arc ours f ^^ e have not 
 invented ' invocation of the saints.' 
 Our sancti answer to their I):emones 
 and Divi, and the heathen used to 
 jjray their Divi or deified mortals to 
 intcreede with the hi;,'her divinity ; 
 but the ruder minds ainonj; them, 
 incapable of nice distinctions, wor- 
 shipjicd those lesser t:ods they should 
 have invoked. And so do the mob of 
 Christians in our day, following: the 
 heathen vul^rar by unbroken tradi- 
 tion. For in holy writ is no polythe- 
 ism of any sort or kind. 
 
 " We have not invented so much 
 as a form, or variety, of ]>olytheism. 
 Tnc pa^ran vul^^ar worshij)pcd all 
 sorts of deiticd mortals, and each had 
 his favorite to whom he prayed ten 
 times for once to the Omnipotent. 
 Our vul;:ar worsliip canonized mor- 
 tals, and each has his favorite, to 
 whom he prays ten times tor once to 
 God. Call you that invention ! In- 
 vention is confined to the East. 
 Among the ancient vulgar only the 
 mariners were monotheists ; they 
 worshipped Venus ; called her ' Stel- 
 la maris,' and ' Regina caelorum.' 
 Among our vulgar only the mariners 
 are monotheists ; they worship the 
 Virgin Marj% and call lier ' the Star 
 of the Sea,' and ' the Queen of 
 Heaven.' Call you theirs a new re- 
 ligion ? An old doublet with a new 
 button. Our vulgar make images, 
 and adore them, which is absurd ; 
 
 for adoration is the homage dnc from 
 a creature to a creator: now hero 
 mi\n is the creator ; so the statuoa 
 ought to wor>iiip him, and would, if 
 thiy had bruins efiougli to justify a 
 rat in \vor<hip|iing tlicin. Hut even 
 this abuse, though childi.>li enough to 
 be modern, is ivncient. Tiie i>agan 
 vulgar in these parts made their im- 
 ages, then knelt l)efore them, adorned 
 tiiem with flowers, offen-ii incenso to 
 them, lighted tapers iRfore them, car- 
 ried tiiem in vroee.vsion, and made 
 pilgrimages to them just to the small- 
 est tittle as we their imitators do." 
 
 Jerome here broke in impatiently, 
 and reminded him that the images 
 the most n-vend in Christendom 
 were nnide by no mortal hand, but 
 had dropt from heaven. 
 
 " Ay, ' cried Colonna, " such arc 
 the tutelary images of most great 
 Italian towns. I have examined 
 nineteen of them, an<l made draughts 
 of them. If they came from the sky, 
 our worst sculptors are our angels. 
 Hut my mind is easy on that score. 
 Ungainly statue or villanous daub 
 fell never } ct from heaven to smuggle 
 the bread out of capable workmen's 
 mouths. All this is pagan, and 
 arose thus. The Trojans had Orien- 
 tal imaginations, and feigned that 
 their Palladium, a woo<len statue 
 three cubits long, fell down from 
 heaven. The (ireeks took this fib 
 home among the spoils of Troy, and 
 soon it rained statues on all the Gre- 
 cian cities and their Latin ayycs. 
 And one of these Palladia gave S(^ 
 Paul tnnible at Ki)hesus ; 't was a 
 statue of Diana that fell down from 
 Jupiter : credat qui credere possit." 
 
 " What, would you cast your pro- 
 fane 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. Pe- 
 ter's Church ? " 
 
 " I have no profane doubts on the 
 matter, Jerome. This is the story of 
 Numa's shield, revived by theolo- 
 gians with an itch for fiction, but no
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 327 
 
 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 tem- 
 ple of Jupiter. Be just, swallow both 
 stories or neither. The ' Bocca della 
 Verita ' passes for a statue of the Vir- 
 gin, and convicted a woman of per- 
 jury 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 Bavium mon otlit amet tua carmina, 
 Mavi.' 
 
 " But indeed we owe all our Palladi- 
 uncula, and all our speaking, nodding, 
 winking, sweating, bleeding statues 
 to these poor abused heathens ; the 
 Athenian statues all sweated before 
 the battle of Chaeronea, so did the Ro- 
 man statues during Tully's consul- 
 ship, viz. the statue of Victory at 
 Capua, of Mars at Rome, and of 
 Apollo outside the gates. The Pal- 
 ladium itself was brought to Italy by 
 iEneas, 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 Veil assented with a nod to 
 go to Rome. Anthony'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 fingers, 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 
 Kegillum. 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 whet- 
 stone in two with his razor. 
 
 ' Qui Bavium uon odit amet tua carmina, 
 Mavi.' 
 
 " Kissing of images and the pope's 
 toe is Eastern Paganism. The 
 Egyptians had it of the Assyrians, 
 the Greeks of the Egyptians, the Ro- 
 mans 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 Mus- 
 sulmans, who, like you, profess to ab- 
 hor Heathenism, kiss the stone of the 
 Caaba ; a Pagan practice. 
 
 " The Priests of Baal kissed their 
 idols so. 
 
 " Tully tells us of a fair image of 
 Hercules at Agrigentum, whose chin 
 was worn by kissing. 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 tiieir 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 ! Pereant qui 
 ante nos nostra fecerint. 
 
 " Our infant baptism is Persian, 
 with the font, and the signing of the 
 child's brow. Our throwing three 
 handfuls of earth on the coftin, 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 refusing to han- 
 dle it. Our holy water is Pagan, and 
 all its uses. See, here is a Pagan 
 aspersorium. Could you tell it from 
 one of ours 1 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 ■vul- 
 gar, like ours, thought drops of it 
 falling on the body would wash out 
 sin ; and their men of sense, like 
 ours, smiled or sighed at such credu- 
 lity. What saith Ovid of this folljf 
 which hath outlived him "?
 
 828 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ' Ah nimium faciles, qui tristia crimina coedis 
 Fluminea tolli posse putetis aqua.' 
 
 Thou secst tlic heathen were not all 
 fools. No more arc we. Not all." 
 
 Fra Colonna uttered all this with 
 such volubility that his hearers could 
 not edjj:e in a word of remonstrance ; 
 and, not being interrupted in praising 
 his fiivoritcs, he recovered his good- 
 humor without any diminution of his 
 volubility. 
 
 " We celebrate the miraculous Con- 
 ception of the Virgin on the 2d of 
 February. The old Romans cele- 
 brated the miraculous Conception of 
 Juno on the 2d of February. Our 
 feast of All Saints is on the 2d No- 
 vember. The Festum Dei Mortis 
 was on the 2d November. Our Can- 
 dlemas is also an old Roman feast ; 
 neither the date nor the ceremony al- 
 tered 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 20th 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 re- 
 mains. Did we discover Purgatory ? 
 On the contrary all we really know 
 about it is from two treatises of Pla- 
 to, the Gorgias and the Phajdo, and 
 the sixth book of Virgil's ^neid." 
 
 " I take it from a holier source, St. 
 Gregory," said Jerome, sternly. 
 
 " Like enough," replied Colonna, 
 dryly. " But St. Gregory was not 
 so nice ; he took it from Virgil. 
 Some souls, saith Gregory, are jnirged 
 by fire, others by water, others by air. 
 
 " Says Virgil : — 
 
 ' Alire panduntur inanes, 
 SuspensjE ad veutos, aliis sub gurgite vasto 
 Infectam eluitur scelus, aut exuritur igni.' 
 
 But, j)eradventure, you think Pope 
 Gregory I. lived before Virgil, and 
 Virgil versified him. 
 
 " But the doctrine is Eastern, and 
 as much older than Plato as Plato 
 than Gregory. Our prayers for the 
 doad came from Asia with ^neas. 
 
 Ovid tells that, when he prayed for 
 the soul of Anchiscs, the custom was 
 strange in Italy. 
 
 ' Hunc morem /Ebaaas, pietatis idoneus auctor 
 Atlulit in terras, juste Latiue, tuas.' 
 
 The ' Biblicaa Sortes,' which I have 
 seen consulted on the altar, are a par- 
 ody on the ' Sortes Virgiliana).' Our 
 numerous altars in one church are 
 heathen ; the Jews, who are mono- 
 theists, have but one altar in a church. 
 But the I'agans had many, being pol- 
 ytheists. In the temj)le of Paphian 
 Venus were a hundred of them. 
 ' Ccntumque Sabtco thure calent arae.' 
 Our altars and our hundred lights 
 around St. Peter's tomb are Pagan. 
 ' Centum aras posuit vigilemque sa- 
 cra verat ignem.' We invent noth- 
 ing, not even numerically. Our very 
 Devil is the god Pan ; horns, and 
 hoofs, and all : but blackened. For 
 we cannot draw ; we can but daub 
 the figure of Antiquity with a little 
 sorry paint or soot. Our Moses hath 
 stolen the horns of Ammon ; our 
 Wolfgang tlie book of Saturn ; and 
 Janus bore the keys of Heaven before 
 St. Peter. All our really old Italian 
 bronzes of the Virgin and Child are 
 Vcnuscs and Cupids. So is the wood- 
 en 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 ! Cupid ! Cupid ! 
 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. Oracte, 
 which is a dunce-like corruption of 
 Mount Soracte, or St. Amphibolus, 
 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 329 
 
 nameless heathen, and ' praefectus Vi- 
 aruin,'or overseer of roads, (would he 
 ■were back to earth, and paganizing 
 of our Christian roads ! ) or as our 
 St Veronica of Benasco, which Ve- 
 ronica is a dunce-like corruption of 
 the * Veruni icon,' which this saint 
 brought into the Church. I wish it 
 may not be as unreal as the donor, or 
 as the eleven thousand virgins of Co- 
 logne 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 collected in one place and at one 
 time ? Do but bethink thee, Clement. 
 Not one of the great Eastern cities 
 of antiquity could collect eleven thou- 
 sand Pagan virgins at one time, far 
 less a puny Western city. Eleven 
 thousand Vhristiun vinjins in a little, 
 wee, Faynim city ! 
 
 'Quodcunque osteadis mihi sic iucredulus 
 odi.' 
 
 The simple sooth is this. The mar- 
 tyrs were two : the Breton Princess 
 herself, falsely called British, and her 
 maid Onesimilla, which is a Greek 
 name, Onesima, diminished. This 
 some fool did mispronounce undecim 
 mille, eleven thousand : loose tongue 
 found credulous ears, and so one fool 
 made manj- ; 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 
 Pagan acquaintance I found there. 
 The best fictions in the book are Ori- 
 ental, 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 tig- 
 meuts, they lack the Oriental plausi- 
 bility. 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, ami where to stop 1 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 never ex- 
 isted, 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 exist- 
 ence ere she can have a handkercher, 
 or an eye to take unicorns for angels. 
 Think you I believe that a brace of 
 lions turned sextons and helped An- 
 thony bury Paul of Thebes ? that 
 Patrick, a Scotch saint, stuck a goat's 
 beard on all the descendants of one 
 that oficnded him f 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 thiefs belly? 
 Would you have me give up the skil- 
 ful figments of antiquity for such old 
 wives' fables as these ? The ancients 
 lied about animals, too : but then they 
 lied logically ; we unreasonably. 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 turning 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 imita- 
 tores, servTim pecus. Believe you 
 ' the lives of the saints ' 1 that Paul 
 the Theban was the first hermit, and 
 Anthony the first Ctenobite ? Why, 
 Pythagoras was an Eremite, and un- 
 der 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 dicS 
 but mimic Diogenes, who, naked,
 
 330 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH- 
 
 embraced statues on which snow liad 
 fallen. The folly without the poetry. 
 Ape of an ape, — for Diogenes was 
 but a mimic therein of the Brahmins 
 and Indian gymnosophists. Nathe- 
 less, the children of tlii.s Francis bid 
 fair to j)elt us out of tlie Church with 
 their snowballs. Tell nie now, Clem- 
 ent, what habit is lovelier than the 
 vestments of our priests ? Well, wc 
 owe them all to Numa I'ompilius, ex- 
 cept the girdle and the stole, which arc 
 judaical. As for the amice and the 
 alb, they retain the very names they 
 bore in Numa's day. The ' pelt ' 
 worn by the canons comes from pri- 
 meval Paganism. 'T is a relic of those 
 rude times when the .sacrificing priests 
 wore the skins of tiie beasts with the 
 fur outward. Strij) 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 ! for the ton- 
 sure is as Pagan as the Muses." 
 
 " Take care what thou sayest," said 
 Jerome, sternly. " We know the very 
 year in which the Church did first or- 
 dain 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 his 
 Holiness. I am no biblical scholar. 
 The Latin of thy namesake Jerome is 
 a barrier I cannot overleap. ' Dixit 
 ad me Dominus Deus. Dixi ad Do- 
 minmn Deum.' No, thank you, holy 
 Jerome ; I can stand a good deal, but 
 I cannot stand thy Latin. Nay ; give 
 me the New Testament ! 'T is not 
 the Greek of Xenophon ; but 't is 
 Greek. And there be heathen sayings 
 in it too. F^or St. Paul was 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 etemitj 
 with the inspired text." 
 
 " Come forth, Clement, come 
 forth ! " said Jerome, rising ; " and 
 thou profane monk, know that, but 
 for the powerful house that u])holds 
 thee, thy accursed heresy should go 
 no further, for I would have thee 
 bunied 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. Burn- 
 ing of men's bodies for the opinions 
 of their souls is a ))urely Pagan cus- 
 tom, — as Pagan as incense, holy wa- 
 ter, a hundred altars in one church, 
 the tonsure, the cardinal's, or flamen's 
 hat, the word ' iiojie,' the — " 
 
 Here Jerome slammed the door. 
 
 But ere they could get clear of the 
 house a jalosy was flung oj)cn, and 
 the Paynim monk came out head and 
 shoulders, and overhung the street 
 shouting, 
 
 " ' Affecti suppliciis Cliristiani, genus homi- 
 num 
 Novffl superstitionis ac maleficse.'" 
 
 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. 
 
 " You will go no more to that heret- 
 ical 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. O, 't is 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 
 gire their teaching weight. Fra Co- 
 lonna cannot be corrected ; his family 
 is all-powerful in Rome. Pray we
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 331 
 
 the saints he blasphemes to enlighten 
 hira. 'T will not be the first time 
 they have returned good for evil. 
 Meantime thou art forbidden to con- 
 sort with him. From this day go 
 alone through the city ! Confess and 
 absolve sinners ! exorcise demons ! 
 comfort the sick ! terrify the impeni- 
 tent ! preach wherever men are gath- 
 ered and occasion serves ! and hold 
 no converse with the Fra Colonna ! " 
 
 Clement bowed his head. 
 
 Then the prior, at Jerome's request, 
 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 
 had 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 tak- 
 ing leave of him on his return to 
 Juliers. 
 
 Jerome, " Humph ! ITc obeyed, but 
 with regret, ay, with childish repin- 
 ing." 
 
 Anselm. " He shed a natural tear 
 at turning his back on a friend and a 
 benefactor. But he obeyed." 
 
 Now Anselm was one of your gen- 
 tle irrcsistibles. 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 tlic 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 his head in calm 
 submission. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXin. 
 
 A Catherine is not an unmixed 
 good in a strange Jiouse. The gov- 
 
 erning 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 tremen- 
 dous character. It has no discrimina- 
 tion. It sets everything to rights, 
 and everybody. Now many things 
 are the better for being set to rights. 
 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 further, and upset 
 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 use- 
 ful by going for a little walk. So far 
 so good. But she intimated further 
 that should the promenade extend 
 into the middle of next week all the 
 better. This was 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 de- 
 populators had no business in a house 
 with multipliers twain ? 
 
 The breastplate is no armor against 
 a female tongue : and Catherine ran 
 infinite pins and needles of speech
 
 332 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 'into their:. 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 honors of war : for lie had carried 
 off his baggage, a stool, and sat on it 
 in the air. 
 
 Warfjaret saw he was out in the 
 sun : but was not aware he was a 
 fixture in that luminar)-. She asked 
 for Denys. " Good, kind Dcnys ; he 
 will be right pleased to sec mc about 
 again." 
 
 Catherine, wiping a bowl with now 
 superlhious vigor, told her Denys was 
 gone to his friends in Burgundy. 
 " And high time. Hiis n't been 
 anigh them this three years, by all ac- 
 counts." 
 
 " What, gone without bidding me 
 forewcU ? " said Margaret, opening 
 two tender eyes like full-blown vio- 
 lets. 
 
 Catherine reddened. For this new 
 view of the matter set her conscience 
 pricking her. 
 
 But she gave a little toss, and said, 
 " O, 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 cor- 
 ner of her eye, and, without taking 
 a bit of open notice, slipped off and 
 lavished hospitality and tenderness 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 med- 
 dle wi' nobody here ; and nobody 
 meddles Avi' me." 
 
 " O you nasty, cross old wretch ! " 
 screamed Catherine, passing in a mo- 
 ment 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 re- 
 grets by a process at once simij'ie and 
 sovereign. 
 
 She took and washed the child. 
 
 From liead 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 pro- 
 ceeded, Margaret could not keep qui- 
 et. She hovered round the fortunate 
 performer. She nuist have an appar- 
 ent liand 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 tem])erature. 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 liow could a 
 cherub understand their ridiculous 
 pronunciation ? 
 
 " I wish you could wasli out that," 
 said she, fixing her eyes on the little 
 bov's hand. 
 
 '' What 1 " 
 
 " AVhat, have you not noticed ? on 
 his little finger." 
 
 Granny looked, and there was a lit- 
 tle brown mole. 
 
 " Eh ! but this is wonderful ! " she 
 cried. " Nature, my lass, y' are strong, 
 and meddlesome to boot. Ilast no- 
 ticed such a mark on some one else 1 
 Tell the truth, girl ! " 
 
 " What, on him ? Nay, mother, 
 not I." 
 
 " AVcll, then he has ; and on the 
 very spot. And you never noticed 
 that much. But, dear heart, I forgot ; 
 you hain't known him from child to 
 man as I have. I have had him hun- 
 dreds o' times on my knees, the same 
 as this, and washed him from top to 
 toe, in lu-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 moralized. She 
 differed from other busybodies in tliis.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 333 
 
 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 whirligig. Leastways, we 
 poor women, our lives are all cut up- 
 on one pattern. Was n't I for wash- 
 ing out my Gerard's mole in his 
 young days ? ' fie ! 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 't was 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 ! " 
 
 " "Wash it out ? " cried Margaret ; 
 " I would n't for all the world. Why 
 it is the sweetest bit in his little dar- 
 ling body. 1 '11 kiss it morn and 
 night till he that owned it first comes 
 back to us three. O, bless you, my 
 jewel of gold and silver, for being 
 marked like your own daddy, to com- 
 fort me." 
 
 And she kissed little Gerard's little 
 mole ; but she could not stop there ; 
 she presently had him sprawling on 
 her lap, and kissing his back all over 
 again and again, and seemed to wor- 
 ry him as a wolf a lamb ; Catherine 
 looking on and smiling. She had 
 seen a good many of these savage on- 
 slaughts 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 beads. 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 undress- 
 ing, and crowing and gambolling 
 with her first-born ; then swifter than 
 
 lightning 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 perpen- 
 dicular Alps, all rock, ice, and ever- 
 lasting 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 neighbors stand 
 leafless, lifeless, inhuman, sublime. 
 Elsewhere sweet commonplaces of na- 
 ture are apt to pass unnoticed ; but, 
 fronting the grim Alps, they soothe, 
 and even gently strike the mind by 
 contrast with their tremendous oppo- 
 sites. Such, in their way, are the two 
 halves of this story, rightly looked at ; 
 on the Italian side rugged adventure, 
 strong passion, blasphemy, vice, pen- 
 itence, 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 Grindelwald, 
 aspiring to the sky, from its little sun- 
 ny braes, so here is but a page between 
 " the Cloister and the Hearth." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 TuE new pope favored the Domin- 
 ican order. The convent received a 
 message from the Vatican, requiring 
 a capable friar to teach at the univer- 
 sity of Basle. Now Clement was the 
 very monk for this : well versed in 
 language, 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
 
 834 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 for tliree montlis, he was to preach on 
 the road. 
 
 He passed out of the northern gate 
 with his eyes lowei'ed, and the whole 
 man wrapped in pious contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 O, if we could paint a mind and its 
 story, what a walking fresco was this 
 barefooted friar ! 
 
 llojiefiil, happy love, bereavement, 
 despair, impiety, vice, suicide, re- 
 morse, religious despondency, peni- 
 tence, death to the world, resigna- 
 tion. 
 
 And all in twelve short months. 
 
 And now the traveller was on foot 
 again. But all was changed ; no per- 
 ilous adventures now. The very 
 thieves and robbers bowed to the 
 ground before liim, and, instead of 
 robbing him, forced stolen money on 
 him, and begged his prayers. 
 
 This journey, therefore, furnished 
 few picturesque incidents. I have, 
 however, some readers to think of, 
 who care little for melodrama, and 
 expect a quiet peep at what jiasses 
 inside a man. To such students 
 things undramatic are often vocal, 
 denoting the progress of a mind. 
 
 The tirst Sunday of Clement's jour- 
 ney was marked by this. He prayed 
 for the soul of Margaret. He had 
 never done so before. Not that her 
 eternal welfare was not deai-er 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 read- 
 ers : but not as on reflection they 
 horrified him who had uttered them. 
 For a long time during his novitiate 
 he was oppressed with religious de- 
 spair. He thought he must have 
 committed that sin against the Holy 
 Spirit which dooms the soul forever. 
 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 thei"e were good, 
 bad, and indifferent, in every convent) 
 had a pure and tender affection for 
 their younger brethren, which, in 
 truth, was not of this world. 
 
 Clement then, having preached on 
 Sunday morning in a small Italian 
 town, and being mightily carried on- 
 ward, was greatly encouraged ; and 
 that day a balmy sense of God's for- 
 giveness 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 annihilat- 
 ing the smaller ones. 
 
 During most of this journey, Clem- 
 ent rarely felt any spring of life with- 
 in him, but when he was in the pul- 
 pit. The other exee])tions were, when 
 he happened to relieve some fellow- 
 creature. 
 
 A young man was tarantula bit- 
 ten, or perliaps, like many more, fan- 
 cied it. Fancy or reality, he had been 
 for two days without sleep, and in 
 most extraordinary convulsions, leap- 
 ing, twisting, and beating the walls. 
 The village musicians had only ex- 
 cited 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 psal- 
 tery, and tried the patient with sooth- 
 ing 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. Ho 
 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 CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 335 
 
 The patient's face brightened amaz- 
 ingly. He marched about the room 
 on the light fantastic toe, enjoying it ; 
 and, when Clement's fingers ached 
 nearly oft" with playing it, he had the 
 satisfaction of seeing the young nnin 
 sink complacently to sleep to this lul- 
 laby, the strange creation of iiis own 
 mind ; for it seems he was no musi- 
 cian, and never composed a tune be- 
 fore or after. This sleep saved his 
 life. And Clement, after teaching 
 the tunc to another, in case it should 
 be wanted again, wcTit fonvard with 
 his heart a little warmer. On another 
 occa.sion he found a mob hauling 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 wa\', drew quietly near tlie pris- 
 oner and spoke to him in Italian ; Jio 
 answer. In French, German, Dutch ; 
 no answer. Then the man tried Clem- 
 ent 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 m}- country, anybody is welcome 
 to what grows on the highway. Con- 
 found 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 jiodesta would have 
 sent the dogged islander to prison : 
 but Clement mediated, and with some 
 difUculty made the prisoner compre- 
 hend that silkworms, and by conse- 
 quence mulberry leaves, were sacred, 
 being under the wing of the Sover- 
 eign, 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 opinion- 
 ativc islander turned the still vibrating 
 15 
 
 scale, by pulling out along purse, and 
 repeating his original theory, that 
 the whole question was mercantile. 
 " Quid damni ? " said he. " Die ; et 
 cito solvam." The podesta snuf!ed 
 the gold; fined him a ducat for the 
 Duke, about the value of the whole 
 tree ; and pouched the coin. 
 
 Tlie Englishman shook off his ire 
 the moment he was liberated, and 
 laughed heartily at the whole thing : 
 but was very grateful to Clement. 
 
 " You 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 Universi- 
 ty. My name it is Rolfe, my place 
 Betshanger. The man and the house 
 are both at your service. Come over 
 and stay till domesday. Wc sit down 
 forty to dinner every day at Betshan- 
 ger. One more or one less at the 
 board will not be seen. You shall 
 end your days with me and my heirs 
 if you will. Come now ! What an 
 Englishman 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 shrive 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 roadside, confessing the 
 last month's sins. 
 
 Finding him so ])ious a son of the 
 Church, Clement let him know he 
 was really coming to England. He 
 then asked him whether it was true 
 that cotmtry was overrun with Lol- 
 lards and WicklifRtes. 
 
 The other colored up a little. 
 " There be black sheep in every 
 land," said he. Then after some re- 
 flection he said, gravely : " Holy fa- 
 ther, hear the truth about these here-
 
 836 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 tics. None are better disposed to- 
 ward Holy Church than we English. 
 But we are ourselves, and by our- 
 selves. We love our own ways, and, 
 above all, our own tongue. The 
 Normans 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 utter God to plain English 
 folks in Latin, or in some French or 
 Italian lingo, like the bleating of a 
 sheep. Then come the fox Wickliff 
 and his crew, and read him out of 
 his own book in ])laiii 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 moth- 
 ers sowed in their cars 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 ; i)ut for the people in general. 
 Clavis ad corda Anglorum est lingua 
 matema." 
 
 " My son," said Clement, " blessed 
 be the hour I met thee ; for thy M'ords 
 are sober and wise. But, alas ! how 
 shall I learn your English tongue ? 
 No book have I." 
 
 " I would give you my book of 
 hours, father. 'T is in English and 
 Latin, cheek by jowl. But, then, 
 what would become of my poor soul, 
 wanting my ' hours ' in a strange 
 land ? Stay, you arc a holy man, 
 and I am an honest one ; let us make 
 a bargain ; you to ])ray for me every 
 day for two months, and I to give 
 you my book of hours. Here it is. 
 What say you to that ? " And his 
 eyes sparkled, and he was all on fire 
 with mercantility. 
 
 Clement smiled gently at this trait ; 
 and quietly detached a MS. from his 
 
 firdle, and showed him that it was in 
 latin and Italian. 
 " See, my son," said he, " Heaven 
 hath foreseen 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 no religious bargains." 
 
 The islander was delighted. " So 
 shall I learn the Italian tongue with- 
 out 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 con- 
 trary 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 sh.all." 
 And he grasped Clement's hand 
 warmly again ; and Clement kissed 
 him on the brow, and blessed him, 
 and they went eacli his way. 
 
 About a mile from where they 
 parted, Clement found two tired way- 
 farers 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 har- 
 nessed 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 weary crafts- 
 men, he looked back as on a dream 
 at the bitterness he had once felt to- 
 wards this machine. He looked 
 kindly down on them, and said, 
 softly : — 
 
 " Sweynheim ! " 
 
 The men started to their feet. 
 
 "Pannartz ! " 
 
 They scuttled into the wood, and 
 were seen no more. 
 
 Clement was amazed, and stood 
 puzzling himself. 
 
 Presently a face peeped from be- 
 hind 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." 
 
 " O superstition ! I know ye, as 
 all good workmen are known, — by
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 837 
 
 your works. Come hither and I will 
 tell yc." 
 
 They advanced gingerly from dif- 
 ferent sides ; each regulating his ad- 
 vance by the other's. 
 
 " My children," said Clement, " I 
 saw a" Lactantius in Rome, ])rintcd 
 by Sweynheim and Pannartz, dis- 
 ciples of Fust." 
 
 "D'ye hear that, Pannartz ■? our 
 work has s^otten to Rome already." 
 
 " By your blue eyes and tlaxen 
 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 ? " 
 
 The honest Germans were now as- 
 tonished that tiiey had suspected 
 magic in so simple a matter. 
 
 " The good father hath his wits 
 about him, that is all," said Pan- 
 nartz. 
 
 " 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 har- 
 ness but the bare halter." 
 
 This was done, and the animal im- 
 mediately lay down and rolled on his 
 back in the dust like a kitten. Whilst 
 he was thus employed, Clement as- 
 sured them he would rise np a new 
 mule. " His Creator hath taught 
 him this art to refresh himself, which 
 the nobler horse knoweth not. Now, 
 with regard to money, know that a 
 worthy Englishman hath intrusted 
 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 work- 
 men's eyes. They took the money 
 with heartfelt thanks. 
 
 " It is your nation we arc 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 im- 
 plored him to wait a little ; they had 
 no silver nor gold, but they had some- 
 thing 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 ! 'T is ' Augustine de civi- 
 tate Dei.' My sons, you carry here 
 the very wings of knowledge. O, 
 never abuse this great craft ! Print 
 no ill books ! They would fly abroad 
 countless as locusts, and lay 'waste 
 men's souls." 
 
 The workmen said they woul\ 
 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 ren- 
 contre with the past. He fell in with 
 one of those motley assemblages 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 bam 
 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 brotight a
 
 338 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 bucket half full of water, and put it 
 down at his feet. A female sen'ant 
 followed with two towels. And then 
 a woman came forward, and, crossing 
 htrself, 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 ettectual. Moreover, she handled 
 the friar's feet more delicately than 
 those do who are born to such of- 
 fices. 
 
 These penances were not uncom- 
 mon ; and Clement, though he had 
 little faith in this lorm of contrition, 
 received the services of the incognita 
 as a matter of course. But presently 
 she sighed deeply, and, with her heart- 
 felt sig4i and her head bent low over 
 her menial office, she seemed so bowed 
 with penitence, that he jiitied her, and 
 said, calmly but gently, " Can I 
 aught for your soul's weal, my daugh- 
 ter ? " 
 
 She shook her head with a f\iint 
 sob. " Naught, holy father, naught : 
 only to hear the sin of iier who is 
 most'unworthy to touch thy holy feet. 
 'T is part of my jjcnance to tell sin- 
 less 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 ! vou withdraw 3'our foot. Ah 
 me ! What shall I 'do ? All holy 
 things shrink from me." 
 
 " Culpa mea ! culpa mea ! " said 
 Clement, eagerly. " My daughter, it 
 was an unworthy movement of earth- 
 ly weakness, for which / shall do pen- 
 ance. Judge not the Church by her 
 feebler servants. Not her foot, but 
 her bosom, is offered to thee, repent- 
 ing truly. Take courage, then, and 
 purge thy conscience of his load." 
 
 On this the lady, in a trembling 
 whisjier, and hurriedly, and cringing 
 a little, as if she feared the Church 
 would strike lier bodily for what she 
 had done, made this confession. 
 
 " He was a stranger, and base-bom, 
 but beautiful as Spring, and wise be- 
 yond his years. 1 loved him. I had 
 not the prudence to conceal my love. 
 Nobles courted me. 1 ne'er thought 
 one of humble birth could reject me. 
 I showed him my heart ; {), shame of 
 my sex ! He drew back : yet he ad- 
 mired me, but innocently. He loved 
 another : and he was constant. I re- 
 sorted to a woman's wiles. They 
 availed not. I borrowed the wicked- 
 ness of men, and threatened his life, 
 and to tell his true lover he died false 
 to her. Ah ! you shrink ; your foot 
 trembles. Am I not a monster 1 
 Then he wept and prayed to me for 
 mercy; then my good angel helped 
 me ; 1 bade him leave Kome. Gerard, 
 Gerard, why did you not obey me^ 
 I thought he Avas 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. Trai- 
 tor and hy])ocrite, he had exposed mo 
 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 had ever cast 
 his name in my teeth. His poor body 
 is not found ; or I should kiss its 
 wounds ; and slay myself tipon it. 
 All around his very name seems si- 
 lent as the grave, to which this mur- 
 derous hand has sent him." (Clem- 
 ent's eye was drawn by her move- 
 ment. He recognized her shapely 
 arm, and soft white hand. ) " And O, 
 he was so young to die. A poor 
 thoughtless boy, that had fallen a vic- 
 tim to that bad woman's arts, and she 
 had made him tell her everything. 
 Monster of cruelty, what penance 
 can avail mel holy father, what 
 shall I do?" 
 
 Clement's lips moved in prjiyer,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 339 
 
 but he -was silent. He could not see 
 his duty clear. 
 
 Then she took his feet and bcr:;an to 
 dry them. She rested his foot upon 
 her soft arm, and pressed it with the 
 towel so jjently 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 1 " 
 
 " I ; quite as great a sinner as thou ; 
 though not in the same way. The 
 Devil has gins and snares, as well as 
 traps. But penitence softened my im- 
 pious heart, and then gratitude re- 
 moulded 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 ! un- 
 less 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 thorough- 
 ly dry your feet first : 't is 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, hum- 
 bly. But with a woman's evasive 
 pertinacity she wreathed one towel 
 swiftly round tlie foot she was drying, 
 and placed his other foot on the dry 
 napkin ; then obeyed his command. 
 
 And, as she bowed over the cruci- 
 fix, the low, solemn tones of the friar 
 fell upon her ear, and his words soon 
 made her whole body cjuiver with va- 
 rious emotions, in quick succession. 
 
 " My daughter, he you murdered, 
 — in intent — was one Gerard, a 
 Hollander. lie loved a creature, as 
 men should love none but their Re- 
 
 deemer and his Church. Heaven 
 chastised him. A letter came to 
 Rome. She Mas dead." 
 
 " Poor Gerard ! Poor Margaret ! " 
 moaned the penitent. 
 
 Clement's voice fiiltered at this a 
 moment. But soon, by a strong ef- 
 fort, 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 Ge- 
 rard. He plunged into vice, and 
 soiled his eternal jewel : those you 
 met him with were his daily compan- 
 ions : 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 not ; but 
 be sure neither he, nor am/ layman, 
 knows thy folly. This Gerard, rebel 
 against Heaven, Avas no traitor to 
 thee, unworthy." 
 
 The lady moaned like one in bod- 
 ily agony, and the crucifix began to 
 tremble in her trembling hands. 
 
 " Courage ! " said Clement. " Com- 
 fort 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 watching him. 
 It was a bravo." 
 
 " Holy saints ! " 
 
 " He begged the bravo to dispatch 
 him, he offered him all his money, to 
 slay him body and soul. The bravo 
 would not. Then this desperate sin- 
 ner, not softened even by that refusal, 
 flung himself into Tiber." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "And the assassin saved his life. 
 Thou hadst chosen for the task Lo- 
 dovico, husband of Teresa, whom this 
 Gerard had saved at sea, her and her 
 infant child." 
 
 " He lives ! he lives ! he lives I 1 
 um faint."
 
 340 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The friar took the crucifix from 
 her hands, fearing it might fall. A 
 shower of tears relieved her. The 
 friar gave her time ; then continued, 
 calmly : " Ay, he lives ; thanks to thee 
 and thy wickedness, guided to his 
 eternal good hy an almighty and all- 
 merciful hand. Thou art his greatest 
 earthly benefactor." 
 
 " Where is he 1 where 1 where? " 
 
 " 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. 
 O, shame ! Father, does he know 1 " 
 
 " All." 
 
 " 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 
 in the world, whence I so nearly 
 thrust him, poor soul ; the Caesare, 
 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 arc not his 
 confessor ? Yet you know all. That 
 gentle voice ! " 
 
 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 LXXV. 
 
 Clement sighed. He hegan to 
 doubt whether he had taken the 
 wisest course with a creature so pas- 
 sionate. 
 
 But, young as he was, he had al- 
 ready learned many lessons of eccle- 
 Biastical wisdom. For one thing he 
 
 had been taught to pause ; i e. in 
 certain difficulties, neither to do nor 
 to say anything, imtil the matter 
 should clear itself a little. 
 
 He therefore held his peace and 
 prayed for wisdom. 
 
 All he did was gently to withdraw 
 his foot. 
 
 But his 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 she lay quivering 
 at his feet. 
 
 " My daughter," said Clement, 
 gently, " take courage. Torment thy- 
 self no more about this Gerard, who 
 is not. As for me, I am brother 
 Clement, whom Heaven hath sent to 
 thee this day to comfort thee, and 
 help thee save thy soul. Thou hast 
 made me thy confessor. I claim, 
 then, thine obedience." 
 
 " yes," sobbed the penitent. 
 
 " Leave this pilgrimage, and in- 
 stant return to Rome. Penitence 
 abroad is little worth. There where 
 we live lie the temptations we must 
 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." 
 
 "I '11 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. Giv- 
 ing to them shalt lend to heaven 
 Marry a good son of the Church." 
 
 "Me ? I will never marrv."
 
 Till; CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 341 
 
 " Thou wilt marry within the year. 
 I do entreat and command tiiec to 
 marry one that feareth God. For 
 thou art very clay. Mated ill thou 
 shalt be naught. But wedding a 
 worthy husband thou mayest, Dei 
 gratia, live a pious princess, ay, and 
 die a saint." 
 
 "IV 
 
 " Thou." 
 
 He then desired her to rise and go 
 about the good work he had set her. 
 
 She rose to her knees, and, remov- 
 ing her mask, cast an eloquent look 
 upon him, then lowered her eyes 
 meekly. 
 
 " I will obey you as I would an an- 
 gel. How happy I am, yet unhappy ; 
 for O, 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." 
 
 " 'T is no penance to mc. Ah ! 
 you do not forgive me, if you will not 
 let me dry your poor feet." 
 
 " So be it then," said Clement, re- 
 signedly; and thought to himself, 
 "Levins quid fcemina." 
 
 But these weak creatures, that 
 gravitate towards the small, as heav- 
 enly bodies towards the great, have 
 yet their own flashes of angelic intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 When the princess had dried the 
 friar's feet, she looked at him Avith 
 tears in her beautiful eyes, and mur- 
 mured with singular tenderness and 
 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 lie 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 
 is 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 ; O, 
 
 fight thou on thine own side. Dos*- 
 thou remember all I bade thee ? " 
 
 " 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 havo 
 light to say to thee. So part we on 
 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 — 
 forever." 
 
 The monk caught her words, 
 though but faltered in a sigh. 
 
 " Forever "? " he cried aloud, with 
 sudden ardor. " Christians live ' for- 
 ever,' and love ' forever,' but they 
 never part ' forever.' 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 ' Forever.' Adieu — for 
 the little moment called ' a life ! ' 
 We part in trouble, we shall meet in 
 peace : we part creatures of clay, we 
 shall meet immortal spirits : wc part 
 in a world of sin and soiTow, 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. Tliere, in the turning 
 of an hourglass, 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 archan- 
 gels, 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 ever." 
 
 And so they parted. The monk 
 erect, his eyes turned heavenwards and 
 glowing with the sacred fire of zeal ;
 
 342 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 the princess slowly retiring and turn- 
 ing more than once to cast a lingering 
 glance of awe and tender regret on 
 that inspired figure. 
 
 She went home subdued and puri- 
 fied. Clement, in due course, reached 
 Basle, and entered on his duties, teach- 
 ing in the University, and preaching 
 in the town and neighborhood. He 
 led a life that can be comprised in 
 two words, — deep study and mortifi- 
 cation. My reader has already a peep 
 into his soul. At Basle he advanced 
 in holy zeal and knowledge. 
 
 The brethren of his order began to 
 see in him a descendant of the saints 
 and martyrs. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVI. 
 
 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 1 can't come and I 
 won't ; they have got Kate." So he 
 departed, and Catherine continued her 
 sentence : " There, child, I must 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 in- 
 structed Margaret what to do in each 
 coming emergency, and pressed mon- 
 ey upon her. Margaret declined it 
 with thanks. Catherine insisted, and 
 turned angry. Margaret made ex- 
 cuses, all so reasonable that Catherine 
 rejected them with calm contempt; to 
 her mind they lacked femininity. 
 " Come, out Avith your heart," said 
 she ; " and you and me parting ; and 
 mayhap shall never see one another's 
 face again." 
 
 " O mother, say not so." 
 
 " Alack, girl, I have seen it so 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 forever then : so out 
 wi' it" 
 
 " Well, then, mother, — I would 
 rather not have told you, — your 
 Cornelis must say to me, ' So you 
 are come to share with us, eh, mis- 
 tress ? ' these were his words. I told 
 him I Avould be very sorry." 
 
 " Beshrew his ill tongue ! What 
 signifies it ? He will never know." 
 
 " Most likely he woidd sooner or 
 later. But, whether or no, I will take 
 no grudged bounty from any family ; 
 unless I saw ray child starving, 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, 1 '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 partii'g 
 came, embraces and tears burst loi tli 
 on both sides. 
 
 When she was gone, the child cried 
 a good deal ; and, all attempts to paci- 
 fy him failing, Margaret suspected a 
 pin, and, searching between his clothes 
 and his skin, found a gold angel in- 
 commoding his backbone. 
 
 " There now, Gerard," said she to 
 the babe ; " I thought granny gave in 
 rather sudden." 
 
 She took the coin and wrapped it 
 in a piece of linen, and laid it at the 
 bottom of her box, bidding the infant 
 observe she could be at times as 
 resolute as granny herself. 
 
 Catherine 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. 
 
 Margaret was not without domes- 
 tic 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 bo
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 343 
 
 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. 
 
 Time wore on ; and no Grerard 
 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 revery, and sighed in silence. 
 And, while her heart was troubled, 
 her money was melting. And so it 
 was, that one day she found the cup- 
 board empty, and looked in her de- 
 pendants' faces ; and, at tlie 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 
 unfolded 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 was employed 
 by his 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 Margaret 
 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. 1. 
 
 " I flout thee not, fair mistress. 
 My princess charged me strictly, 
 ' Seek the best craftsmen ; but I 
 will no hard bargains ; make them 
 content with me, and me with 
 them.' " 
 
 The next minute Margaret was on 
 her knees kissing little Gerard in the 
 cradle, and showering four gold pieces 
 oil him again and again, and re- 
 lating the whole occurrence to liim 
 in very broken Dutch 
 15* 
 
 " And 0, what a good princess : 
 was n't she ? We will pray for her, 
 won't we, my lambkin, when we are 
 old enough 1 " 
 
 Martin came in furious. " They 
 will not change it. I trow they think 
 I stole it." 
 
 " I am beholden to thee," said Mar- 
 garet, 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 ot 
 which Martin sickened, and died after 
 an illness of nine days. 
 
 Nearly all her money went to bury 
 him decently. 
 
 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 gone. 
 
 Margaret would not allow any- 
 body 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 her- 
 self she must leave little Gerard in 
 charge of a neighbor. 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-colored youth, 
 called Luke Peterson, who looked fif- 
 teen, but was eighteen, came in, and 
 blushing, and twiddling his bonnet, 
 asked 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 seeV 
 more than I can weR ]iay." 
 
 " Not I," said Luke, wiu-mly. 
 Why, Mistress Margaret, I am your 
 neighbor, and I dft very well at the 
 coopering. I can carry your basket 
 for you before and after my day's 
 work, and welcome. You have no
 
 344 
 
 THE cloistp:r and the hearth. 
 
 need to pay me anythinj^. 'T is n'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 be- 
 tween us." 
 
 " O yes, you did, Mistress Mar- 
 garet. 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 '11 
 give you the pitcher, and keep the 
 bairn myself: and I carried the 
 pitcher home, and 3'ou 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 speak to 
 a body." 
 
 " I do mind now. Master Luke ; 
 and mcthinks 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, color- 
 ing faintly, " I would not put upon 
 good-nature. You are young, Mas- 
 ter 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 by Gerard's long, 
 and now most mysterious silence. 
 
 And then that mental torturer, Sus- 
 pense, began to tear her heavy heart 
 with his hot pincers, till she cried out 
 often and vehemently, " O that I 
 could know the worst ! " 
 
 While she was in this state, one day 
 she heard a heavy step mount the 
 Btair. She started and trembled; 
 
 " That is no step that I know. El 
 tidings ! " 
 
 The door opened, and an unexpect- 
 ed visitor, Eli, came in, looking grave 
 and kind. 
 
 Margaret eyed him in silence, and 
 with increasing agitation. 
 
 " Girl," said he, " the skipper is 
 come back." 
 
 " One word," gasped Margaret, " is 
 he alive ? " 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 The old man in a Aiintish voice 
 asked her for a morsel to eat ; he had 
 come fixsting. 
 
 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 naught 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 re- 
 tiring footsteps till they ceased. Then 
 she sank moaning down by the cra- 
 dle, and drew little Gerard tight to 
 her bosom. " O my poor fatherless 
 boy : my fatherless boy ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 345 
 
 Cnthcrine is wanted instantly at Rot- 
 terdam." 
 
 " 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 his 
 wife Catherine to come to me, for God 
 his love.' I didn't wait for day- 
 light." 
 
 " Holy Saints ! 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, tiniidlv. 
 
 " That I can," said Luke. " Why, 
 her babe is a dying. And she was so 
 wrapped up in it ! " 
 
 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 between Cornells and Sy- 
 brandt. Luckily for them, Catherine 
 did not see it. Her face was turned 
 towards her husband. " Now, Eli," 
 cried she, furiously, " if you say a 
 word against it, you and I shall quar- 
 rel, after all these years." 
 
 " Who gainsays thee, foolish wo- 
 man ? Quarrel with your own shad- 
 ow, while I go borrow Peter's mule 
 for ye." 
 
 "Bless thee, my good man ! Bless 
 thee ! 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 implor- 
 ingly in her face. 
 
 " Come, he is alive, thank God," 
 said Catherine, after scanning her ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 She looked at the failing child, and 
 
 then at the poor, hollow-eyed moth- 
 er alternately. " Lucky you sent for 
 me," said she. " The child is poi- 
 soned." 
 
 " Poisoned ! by whom ? " 
 
 " By you. You have been fret- 
 ting." 
 
 " 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 her- 
 self? 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." 
 
 " you cruel woman," cried Mar- 
 garet, 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 for- 
 get I am the most unhappy creature 
 beneath the sun." 
 
 " That you do not," was the I'etort, 
 " or he would not be the way he is." 
 
 " Mother ! " said Margaret, implor- 
 ingly- 
 
 " 'T is hard," replied Catherine, 
 relenting. " But bethink thee ; would 
 it not be harder to look down and see 
 his lovely wee face a looking up at 
 you out of a little coffin ? " 
 
 " O Jesu ! " 
 
 " And how could you face your 
 other troubles with your heart aye 
 full, and your lap empty ? " 
 
 " O mother, I consent to anything. 
 Only save my boy." 
 
 " That is a good lass. Trust to 
 me ! 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 misbehavior ; " he 
 loves me too well." 
 
 But Catherine was a match for them 
 both. As she came along she had ob-
 
 846 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 served a healthy younc: woman, sit- 
 ting outside her own door, with an 
 infant, hard by. She went and told 
 her the ease ; and would she nurse 
 the })ining child for the nonce, till she 
 had matters ready to wean him ? 
 
 The yoniif^ woman consented with 
 a smile, and i)opped her child into the 
 cradle, and came into Margaret's 
 house. She drop]>ed a courtesy, 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 paralyzed 
 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 wo- 
 man," 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 wo- 
 man's face. Out fie, for shame ! " 
 
 " Nay, wife," said the nurse. " Thank 
 Heaven, I have enough for my own 
 and for hers to boot. And prithee wy te 
 not on her ! Maybe the troubles o' 
 life ha' soured her own milL" 
 
 " And her heart into the bargain," 
 said the remorseless Catherine. 
 
 Margaret looked her full in the 
 face, and down went lier eyes. 
 
 " I know I ought to be very grate- 
 ful to you," sobbed Margaret, to the 
 nurse : then turned her head and 
 leaned away over the chair, not to 
 witness the intolerable sight of anoth- 
 er nursing her Gerard, and Gerard 
 drawing no distinction between this 
 new mother and her the banished one. 
 
 The nurce replied : " You are very 
 
 welcome, my poor woman. And so 
 are you. Mistress Catherine, which 
 are my townswoman, ajid know it 
 not." 
 
 " What, are ye from Tergou ? all 
 the better. But I cannot call your 
 face to mind." 
 
 " O, you know not me : my hus- 
 band and me, we are very humble 
 folk by you. But true Eli and his 
 wife are known of all the town, and 
 respected. So 1 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 
 fenor. 
 
 Catherine only laughed at this out- 
 burst. 
 
 " That is right," said she, " better 
 say it, as sit sly and think it. It is 
 very natural after all. Come, here is 
 your bundle o' comfort. Take and 
 hate that, if you 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 ! oh ! oh I oh ! 
 oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! " 
 
 " Ah ! well, one comfort, he is not 
 dead. This gives me light; some 
 other woman has got him away from 
 me ; like father, like son ; oh ! oh ! 
 oh ! oh ! oh ! " 
 
 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 short-lived 
 She was now altogether as eager to 
 wean little Gerard. It was dons •
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 347 
 
 and he rccoverwl health and vigor ; 
 and another trouble tell upon him di- 
 rectly, — teething. But here Cathe- 
 rine's experience was invaluable ; and 
 now, in the midst of her grief and anx- 
 iety about the father, Margaret had 
 moments of bliss, watching the son's 
 tiny teeth come through. " Teeth, 
 mother ? 1 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 whichever of 
 them was the fortunate discoverer. 
 
 Catherine gossiped with Joan, and 
 learned that she was the wife of Jo- 
 rian Ketel of Tergou, who had been 
 servant to Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, 
 but fallen out of favor, and come back 
 to Rotterdam, his native place. His 
 friends had got him the place of sex- 
 ton to the parish, and, what with that 
 and carpentering, he 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 his silence had 
 plunged them in. " Ay," said Joan, 
 " the world is full of trouble." One 
 day she said to Catherine : " It 's my 
 belief my man knows more about 
 your Gerard than anybody in these 
 parts : but he has got to be closer 
 than ever of late. Drop in some day 
 just afore sunset, and set him talking. 
 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. Gramer- 
 cy ! I married a man for the comfort 
 of the thing, not to be hided." 
 
 Catherine drojjped in. Jorian was 
 ready enough to tell her how he luul 
 befriended her son and perhaps saved 
 his life. But this was no news to 
 
 Catherine : and, the moment she be- 
 gan to cross-question him as to wheth- 
 er he could guess why her lost boy 
 neither came nor wrote, he cast a 
 grim look at his wife, who received 
 it with a calm air of stolid candor and 
 innocent unconsciousness; and his 
 answers became short and sullen. 
 " What should he know more than 
 another '? " and so on. He added, 
 after a pause : " Think you the burgo- 
 master takes such as me into his 
 secrets ? " 
 
 " O, then the burgomaster knows 
 something "? " said Catherine, sharp- 
 
 " Likely. What else should ? " 
 
 "I'll ask him." 
 
 " I would." 
 
 " And tell him you say he knows." 
 
 " 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 be- 
 came impenetrable as a hedgehog, and 
 almost as prickly. 
 
 His conduct caused both the poor 
 women agonies of mind ; alarm, and 
 irritated curiosity. Ghysbrecht was 
 for some cause Gerard's mortal ene- 
 my ; had stopped his marriage, im- 
 prisoned him, hunted him. And here 
 was his late servant, who, when off 
 his guard, had hinted that this enemy 
 had the clew to Gerard's silence. Af. 
 ter sifting Jorian 's every word and 
 look, all remained dark and myste- 
 rious. Then Catherine told Margaret 
 to go herself to him. "You are 
 young ; you are fiiir. You will, may- 
 be, get more out of him than I 
 could." 
 
 The conjecture was a reasonable 
 one. 
 
 Margaret went Avith her child in 
 her arms and tapped timidly at Jo- 
 rian's door just before sunset. " Come 
 in," said a sturdy voice. She en- 
 tered, 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 ? " inquired 
 Margaret, turning very red.
 
 348 
 
 thp: cloister and the hearth. 
 
 " You must excuse him," replied 
 Joan, rather coldly ; " he lays it to 
 your door that he is a poor man in- 
 stead of a rich one. It is something 
 about a piece of parchment. There 
 was one a missing, and he got naught 
 from the burgomaster all along 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. 'T is hard 
 for a poor man to be so near fortune 
 and lose it by those he has befriend- 
 ed. However, I tell him another 
 story. Says 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 ? " 
 
 " O, it is not for mc to drive the 
 good man out of his own house." 
 
 " Well, let mc kiss the bairn afore 
 ye go. He is not in fault any way, 
 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 returned home. 
 
 On the child's birthday, which oc- 
 curred soon after, Margaret did no 
 work ; but put on her 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 LXXVIII. 
 
 Some blackguard or other, I think 
 it was Sybrandt, said, " A lie is not 
 like a blow with a curtaJ axe." 
 
 True ; for we can predict in some 
 degree 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 hti- 
 man calcuhition. 
 
 Often in the every-day world a lie 
 has cost a life, or laid waste two or 
 three. 
 
 And so in this story, what tre- 
 mendous consequences of that one 
 heartless falsehood ! 
 
 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 jilace 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 be- 
 tween the black sheep was a caution 
 to traitors. Cornells had it on his 
 lips to say Gerard was most likely 
 alive. But he saw his mother look- 
 ing at him, and checked himself in 
 time. 
 
 Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, the other 
 partner in that lie, was now a fail- 
 ing man. He saw the period fast 
 approaching when all his wealth 
 would drop from his body, and his 
 misdeeds cling to his soul. 
 
 Too intelligent to deceive himself 
 entirely, he had never been free from 
 gusts of remorse. In taking Gerard's 
 letter to Margaret he had compound- 
 ed. " 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 owti 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 349 
 
 cause the dishonor of her who was 
 the daughter of one friend, the grand- 
 daughter of another, and whose land 
 he was keeping from her too. 
 
 These thoughts preying on hira 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 cure was an 
 honest man, and would have made 
 him disgorge. And with him Ava- 
 rice was an ingrained habit, Peni- 
 tence only a sentiment. 
 
 Matters were thus when one day, 
 returning from the town-hall to his 
 own house, he found a woman wait- 
 ing for him in the vestibule, with a 
 child in her amis. 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 sudden appearance and manner 
 startled him, and he could not con- 
 ceal his confusion. 
 
 " Where is my Gerard 1 " cried 
 she, her bosom heaving. " Is he 
 alive V 
 
 " For aught I know," stammered 
 Ghysbrecht. " I hope so, for your 
 sake. Prithee come into this room. 
 The scn'ants ! " 
 
 " 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 1 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 noth- 
 ing 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, "Woiild you be- 
 lieve those two knaves against a man 
 of worship 1 " 
 
 " What two knaves 1 " said she, 
 keenly. 
 
 He stammered : " Said ye not — 1 
 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 is 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. Look down on his in- 
 nocent face, and think of theirs ! " 
 
 " Woman, you torture me," sighed 
 Ghysbrecht, 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. 
 'T will melt thee more than any word 
 of mine. Saints of heaven ! what 
 can a poor desolate girl and her babe 
 have clone 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 implores 
 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 kneel- 
 injj mother, and started up, shrieking, 
 " Avaunt, ye pair of adders." 
 
 The stung soid gave the old limbs 
 a momentary vigor, and he walked 
 rapidly, wringing his hands and 
 clutching at his white hair. " Forget 
 those days ? I forget all else. O wo- 
 man, woman ! sleeping or waking, I 
 see but the faces of the dead, I hear 
 but the voices of the dead, and I shall
 
 350 
 
 tUE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 soon be amonj? the dead. There, 
 there, what is done is done. I am in 
 hell. I am in licli." 
 
 And unnatural force ended in pros- 
 tration. 
 
 He stapgcred, and, but for Marga- 
 ret, 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, run- 
 ning, and carried him away in a state 
 bordering on syncope. The last 
 Margaret saw of him was his old fur- 
 rowed face, white anil helpless as his 
 hair that hung down over the ser- 
 vant's elbow. 
 
 " Heaven forgive me," she said. 
 " I doubt 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 sus- 
 picion was confirmed that Ghysbrecht 
 did know something about Gerard. 
 " And who were the two knaves he 
 thought had done a good deed, and 
 told me ? O my Gerard, my poor 
 deserted babe, you and I arc 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 compelled to un- 
 fold Catherine's angel. But, strange 
 to say, as she came down stairs with 
 it in her hand, she found some loose 
 silver on the table, with a written 
 line : — 
 
 JFor fficrarlJ Ijis KUgfe. 
 
 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 
 email sum in silver found its way in- 
 to the house. Sometimes it lay on 
 the table. Once it was flung in 
 
 through the bedroom window in A 
 
 furse. Once it was at the bottom of 
 /uke's basket. He bad stoj)ped at 
 the j)ublic house to talk to a friend. 
 The giver or his agent was never de- 
 tected. Catherine disowned it. Mar- 
 garet Van Kyck swore she had no 
 hand in it. So did Eli. And Mar- 
 garet, whenever it came, used to say 
 to little Gerard : " O my poor desert- 
 ed child, ycju and I arc wading in 
 deep waters." 
 
 She applied at least half this mod- 
 est but useful sujijily to dressing the 
 little Gerard beyond his station in 
 life. "If it does come from* Gerard, 
 he sliall 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 grief, which had been some- 
 what allayed by Eli and Catherine 
 recognizing her betrothal, now re- 
 vived in full force ; others would not 
 look so favorably on her story. And 
 often she moaned over her boy's ille- 
 gitimacy. " Is it not enough for us 
 to be bereaved ? Must we be dishon- 
 ored too ? " 
 
 A change took place in Peter 
 Brandt. His mind, clouded for near- 
 ly two years, seemed now to be clear- 
 ing ; he had intervals of intelligence ; 
 and then he and Margaret used to 
 talk of Gerard till he wandered 
 again. But one day, returning after 
 an absence of some 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 joy- 
 fully from one to the other. 
 
 Peter smiled on her, and said 
 " Come, let me bless thee."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH 
 
 351 
 
 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 Marga- 
 ret, 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 sec 
 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 ! gone ! all 
 dark." 
 
 And he sank back, and asked feebly 
 where was Margaret. 
 
 " Dear father, I am by thy side. 
 O mother ! mother, what is this ? " 
 
 " I cannot see thee, and but a mo- 
 ment agone I saw all round the world. 
 Ay, ay. Well, I am ready. Is this 
 thy hand ? Bless thee, my child, 
 bless thee ! Weep not ! 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, j)lacidly, drifted 
 away from earth, like an infant sink- 
 ing to rest. The torch had flashed 
 up, before going out. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 She who had wept for poor old 
 Martin was not likely to bear this 
 blow so stoicall)' as the death of the old 
 is apt to be borne. In vain Cathe- 
 rine tried to console her with common- 
 places ; in vain told her it was a hap- 
 py release for him, and that, as he 
 himself had said, the tree was ripe. 
 But her worst failure was, when she 
 urged that there were now but two 
 mouths to feed, and one care the 
 less. 
 
 " Such cares are all the joys I 
 have," said Margaret. " They fill 
 my desolate heart, which now seems 
 void as well as waste. O empty 
 chair, my bosom it aches to see thee. 
 Poor old man, how could I love him 
 by halves ? I that did use 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 ray father. empty 
 chair ! O empty heart ! Well-a- 
 day ! well-a-day ! " 
 
 And the pious tears would not be 
 denied. 
 
 Then Catherine held her peace, 
 and hung her head. And one day 
 she made this confession, " 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 
 mouni the old man all one as thou 
 dost." 
 
 Then Margaret embraced her, and 
 this bit of true sympathy did her a lit- 
 tle good. The conmionplaces 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 ray own 
 daughter. Waste net thine youth 
 upon my son Gerard. Either he is 
 dead or he is a traitor. It cuts ray 
 heart to say it; but who can help 
 seeing it 1 Thy father is gone, and 
 I cannot always be aside thee. And 
 here is an honest lad that loves the«
 
 352 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 well this many a day. I 'd take him 
 and Coiiiibrt tofietla-r. Heaven hath 
 sent us these creatures to torment us 
 and conit'ort us and all; wc are just 
 nothing in the world without em." 
 Then, seeinjjj Marf^aret look utterly 
 perplexed, she went on to say, " Why, 
 sure you arc not so blind as not to 
 see it '. " 
 
 " What ? Who >. " 
 
 " Who but this Luke Peterson ? " 
 
 " What, our Luke i 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 caj)able workman, 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 dciirly," said she: "and I 
 make them to his mind. 'T is 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 ! 
 Why, girl. Fancy will not be bridled. 
 Bless you, I wormed it out of him 
 near a twelvemonth agone." 
 
 " O mother, and you Id him ? " 
 
 " Well, I thought of you. I said 
 to myself, ' If he is fool enough to be 
 her slave for nothing, all the better 
 for her. A lone woman is lost with- 
 out 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 Mcd me to tiie 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 pro- 
 tection, Luke Peterson met a cold re- 
 
 ception in the house where he had 
 hitherto iound a gentle and kind one. 
 And by and by, finding himself very 
 little s])oken to at all, and then sharp- 
 ly and irritably, the gieat, soft fellow 
 fell to whimpering, and asked Marga- 
 ret ])lump if he had done anything to 
 offend her. 
 
 " Nothing. I am to blame. I am 
 curst. If you will take my counsel, 
 you will ki-ep out of my way awliile." 
 
 " 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 
 tolil her I saw you were looking 
 towards kcr 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 Satur- 
 day night. And that is how the lads 
 in Rotterdam do court. If we sup 
 with a lass o' Saturdays, that 's woo- 
 ing." 
 
 "O, 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. 
 You 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 1 " She ended gently, but very 
 firmly : " You need not trouble your- 
 self to come here any more, Luke ; I 
 can cany my basket myself." 
 
 " O, very well," said Luke, and, 
 after sitting silent and stupid for a 
 little while, he rose, and said sadly to 
 Catherine, " Dame, I dare say I have 
 got the sack " ; and went out. 
 
 But the next Saturday Catherine 
 found him seated on the doorstep
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 353 
 
 blubbex-ing. He told her he had got 
 used to come there, and every other 
 place seemed strange. She went in 
 and told Margaret, arid 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 com- 
 municated to Luke, he hesitated. 
 " Pshaw ! " said Catherine, " prom- 
 ises are pie-crusts. Promise her all 
 the world, sooner than sit outside like 
 a fool, when a word will carry you 
 inside. Now you humor her in every- 
 thing, and then, if poor Gerard come 
 not home, and claim iier, you will be 
 sure to have her — in time. A lone 
 woman is aye to be tired out, thou 
 foolish boy." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 BROxnER Clement had taught 
 and preached in Basle more than a 
 twelvemonth, when one day Jerome 
 stood before him, dusty, with a tri- 
 umphant glance in his eye. 
 
 " Give the glory to God, brother 
 Clement ; thou canst now wend to 
 England with me." 
 
 " I am ready, brother Jerome ; and, 
 expecting thee these many months, 
 have in the intervals of teaching and 
 devotion studied the English tongue 
 somewhat closely." 
 
 " 'T was well thought of," said 
 Jerome. He then toUr him he had 
 but delayed till he could obtain ex- 
 traordinary powers from the Pope to 
 collect money for the Church's use in 
 England, and to hear confession in 
 all the secular monasteries. " So 
 now gird up thy loins, and let us go 
 forth and deal a good blow for the 
 Cliurch, and against the Francis- 
 cans." 
 
 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. Botli were able orators, but in 
 different styles. 
 
 Jerome's was noble and impassive, 
 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 win- 
 ning, it curled round the reason and 
 the heart. But it always rose with 
 the rising thought ; and so at times 
 Clement soared as far above Jerome 
 as his level speaking was below him. 
 Indeed, in these noble hearts he was 
 all that we have read of inspired 
 prophet or heathen orator : Vohemens 
 ut procella, excitatus ut torrens, in- 
 census ut fidmen, tonabat, fulgurabat, 
 et rapidis eloquential fluctibus cuncta 
 proruebat et pcrturbabat. 
 
 I would give literal specimens, but 
 for five objections : it is ditticult ; 
 time is short ; I have done it else- 
 where; an able imitator has since 
 done it better ; and similarity, a vir- 
 tue in peas, is a vice in books. 
 
 But (not to evade the matter en- 
 tirely) Clement 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 peo- 
 ple's vices. At one great town some 
 leagues from the Rhine, they mount- 
 ed the same pulpit in turn. Jerome 
 preached against vanity in dress, a 
 favorite theme of his. He was elo- 
 quent and satirical, and the people 
 listened with complacency. It was a 
 vice that they were little given to. 
 
 Clement preached against drunken- 
 ness. It was a besetting sin, and 
 sacred from preaching in these parts ; 
 for the clergy themselves were in- 
 fected with it, and popular prejudice 
 protected it. Clement delt it merci- 
 less blows out of Holy Writ and 
 worldly experience. A crime itself, 
 it was the nursing-mother of most 
 crimes, especially theft and murder.
 
 354 
 
 THK CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 He reminded them of a parricide that 
 had hitely hecn eomniittcd in their 
 town l)y an honest man in lifjuor, and 
 also liow a l)and of (huinkards liad 
 roasted one of their own comrades 
 alive at a neiphhorinj; village. " Yonr 
 last prince," said he, " is reported to 
 have died of apoj)lexy, but well you 
 know he died of drink ; ami of your 
 aldermen one perished miserably last 
 month dead drunk, sutfocated in a 
 puddle. Your children's hacks go 
 bare that you may till your bellies 
 with that which makes you the worst 
 of beasts, silly a.s 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 na- 
 tion, would sink to the bottom of 
 mankind did your women drink as 
 you do. And how long will they be 
 temperate, and, contrary to nature, 
 resist the example of their husbands 
 and fathers ? Vice ne'er yet stood 
 still. Ye must ameiul 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 mediaival 
 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 sec 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 dra- 
 matic in all their details that the 
 wives fell all to " ohing " and " ah- 
 ing," and " Eh, but that is a true 
 word." 
 
 This discourse caused quite an up- 
 roar. The hearers formed knots ; the 
 men were indign-ant; so the women 
 flattered them, and took their part 
 
 openly against the preacher. A mar- 
 rietl man had a right to a drop ; he 
 needed it, working for all the family. 
 And for their ])art they did not caro 
 to change their men for milksops. 
 
 The double faces ! That very even- 
 ing 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 
 otf their lu'ads, and kissing his frock, 
 and blessing hitn " for taking in 
 hand to mend their sots." 
 
 Jerome thought this sermon too 
 earthly. 
 
 " Drunkenness is not heresy, Clem- 
 ent, that a whole sermon should be 
 preached against it." 
 
 As they went on he found to his 
 surprise that Clement's semions sunk 
 into his hearers deeper than his own ; 
 made them listen, think, cry, and some- 
 times 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 ])uzzled 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 difier like keys, 
 or the fewer should the Church open 
 for God to pass in. And, certes, this 
 novice hath the key to these North- 
 ern 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 Avalk- 
 ing by the banks preaching, and 
 teaching, and confessing sinners in 
 the towns and villages ; and they 
 reached the to^vn 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 throuj^h 
 it barefoot, with his heart calm and
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH, 
 
 355 
 
 cold, his hands across his breast, and 
 his eyes bent meekly on the ground, 
 a true sou of Douiiuic and Holy 
 Church. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 " Eli," said Catherine, " answer 
 me one question like a man, and I Tl 
 ask no more to-day. What is worm- 
 wood 1 " 
 
 Eli looked a little helpless at this 
 sudden demand upon his faculties ; 
 but soon recovered enough to say it 
 was something that tasted main bit- 
 ter. 
 
 " 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 naught, 
 but waiting for thy shoes and mine." 
 Eli groaned. The slurft struck home. 
 
 " Methinks waiting for their best 
 friend's coffin, that and nothing to 
 do are enough to make them worse 
 than nature meant. Wliy not set 
 them up, somewhere, to give 'em a 
 chance ' " 
 
 Eli said he was Avilling, but afraid 
 they would drink and gamble their 
 very shelves away. 
 
 " Nay," said Catherine. " Dost 
 take me for a simpleton 1 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." 
 
 O self-deception ! The true mo- 
 tive 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 
 Builly out of order. However 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 1 " 
 
 " 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 soon 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, Margaret and 
 Catherine 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, etc. 
 
 Luke did not mind these jeors ; but 
 Kate minded them for him. 
 
 " Thou hast made the cart for me, 
 good Luke," said she. " 'T was 
 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 
 }'ou till my mistress says give over." 
 
 " Luke, if you obey Kate, you will 
 oblige me." 
 
 " Then I will obey Kate." 
 
 An honorable exception to popu- 
 lar humor was Jorian Ketel's wife. 
 " That is strength well laid out, to
 
 356 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND Till: HKARTII. 
 
 draw the weak. And her prayers 
 will be your fjucrdon : she is not lonjj 
 for this worlil : she sniilctli in ])ain." 
 These were the words of Joan. 
 
 Sinfjle-niinde<l Luke answered that 
 lie tlid not want the poor lass's 
 prayers ; he did it to please his mis- 
 tress, Mar;;aret. 
 
 After that Luke often pressed Mar- 
 garet to ^ive hira something to do — 
 witliont sueccss. 
 
 But one day, as if tired with his 
 iinj)ortunin;,', she turned on him, and 
 said with a look and aceent I should 
 in vain try to eonvey : — 
 
 " I'ind me my boy's father ! " 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXII. 
 
 " 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 nvelation Marj^aret's tears 
 benjan to How. 
 
 Lnke whimpered for com])any. 
 He liad tlie body of a man, but the 
 luart of a frirl. 
 
 " Prithee, weep not so, sweet mis- 
 tress," said he. " I 'd brinrj 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 sol- 
 emnly : " Luke, he is not dead. Dy- 
 ing men are known to have a strange 
 sight. And listen, Luke ! My poor 
 father, when he was a dying, and I, 
 simple fool, Avas 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, and I Avas yonder making a 
 sleeve, — said he, ' I see him! 1 see 
 him!' Just so. Not like a failing 
 man at all, but all o' fire. ' Sore 
 
 disfigured — on a great river — com* 
 ing this way.' 
 
 " Ah, Luke, if you were a woman, 
 and had the feeling fur me you think 
 you liave, you would pity me, and 
 find him for me. Take a thought ! 
 The father of my child ! " 
 
 " Alack, I would, if I knew how," 
 said Luke. " But how can I ? " 
 
 " Nay, of course you cannot. I am 
 mad to think it. Put O, 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 wiglits. 
 Let me think : fur my mind cannot 
 gallop like thine. On a great river? 
 Well, tlie Maas is a great river." 
 He ])ondercd on. 
 
 " Coming this way ? Then if 
 't was the Maas, he Avould have been 
 here by this time, so 't is not the 
 Maas. The Rhine is a great river, 
 greater than the Maas, and very long. 
 1 think it will be the Rhine." 
 
 "And so do I, Luke; for Dcnys 
 hade him come down the Rhine. 
 Put, even if it is, he may turn ofi' be- 
 fore he comes anigh his l)irthj)laee. 
 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 ! " 
 
 " What do we know ? " objected 
 Margaret, imploringly. 
 
 " Let me think again," said Luke. 
 " I cannot gallop." 
 
 The result of this meditation was 
 this. He knew a station about sixty 
 miles up the Rhine, where all the pub- 
 lic 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 passen- 
 gers, and ask if one Gterard 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."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 35? 
 
 " Good, kind, thoughtful Luke, I 
 will (how I have undervalued thee!). 
 But give me till supper-time to get it 
 wTit." 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 colored to her very brow. 
 " 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 : 't is not fair of me ; Love 
 maketh us to be all self." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Luke. " And if," 
 resumed he, in the same grave way, 
 " yon scapegrace shall 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 fol- 
 lowed it. But at last she faltered 
 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, fatherless. 
 O Luke, can he be so cruel '? " 
 
 "I trow not : but if ? " 
 
 " 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 bastard ; 
 and, of course, then we could both go 
 
 into any honest man's house tha4 
 would be troubled with us : and even 
 for thy goodness this day, I will — I 
 will — ne'er be so ungrateful as to go 
 past thy door to another man's." 
 
 " Ay, but will you come in at mine ? 
 Answer me that ! " 
 
 " 0, ask me not ! Some day, per- 
 haps, when my wounds leave bleed- 
 ing. Alas, I '11 try. If I don't fling 
 myself and my child into the Maas. 
 Do not go, Luke ! do not think of go- 
 ing ! 'T is 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, any way ; 
 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 Cathe- 
 rine'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 supersti- 
 tious age ; and Luke acted on the 
 dying man's dream, or vision, or illu- 
 sion, or whatever it was, much as we 
 should act on respectable information. 
 
 But Catherine was downright an- 
 gry when she heard of it. To send 
 the poor lad on such a wild-goose 
 chase ! " But you are like a many 
 more girls ; and, mark my words, by 
 the time you have worn that Luke 
 fairly out, and 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." 
 
 ©fje Cloister. 
 
 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 iu Low Dutch, now began to
 
 858 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 push on towards the cojist, anxious 
 to get to Eiij^laiid as soon as possi- 
 ble. 
 
 And, havinp: the stream with tlicm, 
 the friars wouhl in point of fact have 
 missed Luke by passinj^ him in full 
 stream hclow his station, but for the 
 incident which 1 am about to relate. 
 
 About twenty miles above the sta- 
 tion Luke wa.s makin;^ for, Clement 
 lauded to ])rea(h in a larj^e villaj^e ; 
 and, towards the end of the sermon, 
 he noticed a pray nun wcej)in<j. 
 
 lie spoke to her kindly, and asked 
 her what was her grief. " Nay," said 
 she, " 't is not for myself flow these 
 tears ; 't is for my lost friend. Thy 
 words reminded me of what she was, 
 and what she is, poor wretch. But 
 
 ion arc a Dominican, and 1 am a 
 "ranciscan nun." 
 
 " It matters little, my sister, if we 
 are both Christians, and if I can aid 
 thee aufiht." 
 
 The nun looked in liis face, and 
 said : " These are stran}j:e words, but 
 meihinks they are frood ; and thy 
 lips are O most elocpient. I will tell 
 thee our f^rief." 
 
 She then let him know that a youno; 
 nun, the darlinj; of the convent, and 
 her bosom friend, had been lured 
 away from her vows, and, after va- 
 rious gradations of sin, was actually 
 living in a small inn as chamber- 
 maid, in reality as a decoy, and was 
 known to be selling her favors to the 
 wealthier customers. She added, 
 " Anywhere else we might by kindly 
 violence force her away from perdi- 
 tion. But this innkeeper was the 
 sen-ant 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 
 hy brute force," said Clement. 
 
 While they were talking, Jerome 
 came up, and Clement persuaded him 
 to lie at the convent 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 jiromised her to try and 
 win l)ack her nun, Jerome objected, 
 aiul 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 fig- 
 ure 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 won- 
 ders ; but are dashed when they come 
 hand to hand with the sickening dif- 
 ficulties. But then, as their hearts 
 are steel, though their nerves are any- 
 thing but iron, they turn not back, 
 but, i)anting 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 con- 
 vent had supplied him, and made a 
 show of drinking it. 
 
 " Landlord," said he, " I hear 
 there is a fair chambermaid in thy 
 house." 
 
 " Ay, stranger, the buxomest in 
 Holland. But she gives not her com- 
 pany 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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 359 
 
 passed into the room where Janet 
 was seated plav-ing with a piece of 
 work, and laying it down every min- 
 ute to sing a mutilated fragment of a 
 song. For, in her mode of life, she 
 had not the patience to carry any- 
 thing out. 
 
 After a few words of greeting, the 
 disguised visitor asked her if they 
 coidd not be more private some- 
 where. « 
 
 " Why not ? " said she. And she 
 rose and smiled, and went tripping 
 before him. He followed, groaning 
 inwardly, and sore perplexed. 
 
 " There," said she. " Have no 
 fear ! Nobody 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- 
 ehuttcr carefully. 
 
 " What on earth is that for ? " 
 said Janet, in some uneasiness. 
 
 " Sweetheart," whispered the vis- 
 itor, with a mysterious air, " it is that 
 God may not see us." 
 
 "Madman," said Janet, "think 
 vou a wooden shutter can keep out 
 his eye 1 " 
 
 " Nay, I know not. Perchance he 
 has too much on hand to notice tis. 
 But I would not the saints and an- 
 gels should see us. Would you ? " 
 
 " My poor soul, hope not to es- 
 cape 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 pleas- 
 ant company in sooth." 
 
 " After all, girl, so that men see us 
 not, what signify God and the saints 
 seeing us ? Feel this chain ! 'T is 
 virgin gold. I shall cut two of these 
 heavy jinks otY" for thee." 
 
 " Ah ! now thy discourse is to the 
 point." And she handled the chain 
 greedily. " Why, 't is as massy as 
 the chain round the Virgin's neck at 
 the conv — " She did not finish the 
 word. 
 
 " Whisht ! whisht ! whisht ! 'T is 
 i(. And thou shalt have thy share 
 But betray me not." 
 16 
 
 " Monster ! " cried Janet, drawing 
 back from him with repugnance, 
 " what, rob the blessed Virgin of hei 
 chain, and give it to an — " 
 
 " You are none," cried Clement^ 
 exultingly, " or you had not recked 
 for that. ' Marv ! " 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah ! " 
 
 " Thy patron saint, whose chah? 
 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 debarrass himself of hi« 
 boots, and his hat, before the light 
 streamed in upon him. He then let 
 his cloak quietly fall, and stood be- 
 fore her, a Dominican friar, calm and 
 majestic as a statue, and held his cru- 
 cifix towering over her with a loving, 
 sad, and solemn look, that somehow 
 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 ! Are you happy ? " 
 
 " As happy as I shall be in hell." 
 
 " And they are not happy at the 
 convent ; they weep for you." 
 
 " For me ? " 
 
 " Day and night ; above all, the 
 sister Ursula." 
 
 " Poor Ursula ! " 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 ■? " 
 
 " Ah ! would I could ; but it is too 
 late." 
 
 " Satan avaunt," cried the monk, 
 sternly. " 'T is thy favorite tempta- 
 tion ; and thou, Marj^, listen not to 
 the enemy of man, belying God, and 
 whispering despair. I who come to 
 save thee have been a far greater sin- 
 ner 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 1 " 
 
 " 'T is their worthiness thou doubt-
 
 360 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 est 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 thou 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. Fran- 
 cis ! Why, the Franciscans and 
 Dominicans hate one another." 
 
 " Ay, my daughter ; but Francis 
 and Dominic love one another." 
 
 The recreant nun seemed struck 
 and aftected by this answer. 
 
 Clement now reminded her how 
 shocked she had been that the Vir- 
 gin should be robbed of her chain. 
 "But see now," said he, "the con- 
 vent and the Virgin too think ten 
 times more of their poor nun than 
 of golden chains ; for they freely 
 trusted tlicir chain to me a stranger, 
 that ])eradventure the sight of it 
 m'vj^ht touch their lost Mary and re- 
 mind her of their love." Finally he 
 showed her with such terrible sim- 
 plicity the end of her present course, 
 and on the other hand so revived her 
 dormant memories and better feel- 
 ings, that she kneeled sobbing at his 
 feet, and owned she had never known 
 happiness nor peace since she be- 
 trayed her vows ; and said she would 
 go back if he 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 shepherd bears a strayed lamb to 
 the fold. 
 
 But, when he iirged her to go at 
 once, up spi-ung a crop of those pro- 
 digiously petty difficulties that en- 
 tangle her sex, like silken nets, like 
 iron cobwebs. 
 
 He quietly swept them aside. 
 
 " But how can I walk beside thee 
 in this habit ? " 
 
 " I have brought thee gown and 
 cowl of thy holy order. Hide thy 
 bravery with them. And leave thj 
 shoes as I leave these " (pointing to 
 his horseman's boots). 
 
 She collected her jewels and orna- 
 ments. 
 
 " What are these for ? " inquired 
 Clement. 
 
 " To present to the convent, fa- 
 ther." 
 
 " 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 tliis cruci- 
 fix, and trample those devilish bau- 
 bles beneath thy feet." 
 
 She hesitated ; but soon threw 
 them down and trampled on them. 
 
 " Now open tlie window and fling 
 them out on that dunghill 'T is 
 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. Fran- 
 cis, we tarry in this vile place too 
 long." She followed him. 
 
 But they were not clear yet. 
 
 At first the landlord was so as- 
 tounded at seeing a black friar and 
 a gray 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 ! 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. " For- 
 bear," 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 imburied, 
 cursed by Rome, and his soul shall 
 roast in eternal fire." They shrank 
 back as if a flame had met them. 
 " And thou, — miserable pander 
 er ! — "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 361 
 
 He did not cud the sentence in 
 words, but seized the man by tlie 
 neck, and, stronj; as a lion in his mo- 
 ments of Jiot excitement, whirled 
 him furiously from the door and sent 
 hira all across the room, pitching 
 headforemost on to the stone floor; 
 then tore the door o{)en and carried 
 the screaming; nun out into tlic road. 
 " Hush! poor trembler," he gasped; 
 " they dare not molest thee on the 
 high-road. Away ! " 
 
 The landlord lay terrified, half 
 stunned, and bleeding ; and ]\Iary, 
 though slie often looked back appre- 
 hensively, saw no more of him. 
 
 On the road he bade her obseiTC 
 his impetuosity. 
 
 " Hitherto," said he, " we have 
 spoken of thy faults : now for mine. 
 My choler is ungovernable, furious. 
 It is by the grace of God I am not a 
 murderer. I repent the next mo- 
 ment ; but a moment too late is all 
 too late. Mar}^, had the churls laid 
 finger on thee, I should have scat- 
 tered their brains with my crucifix. 
 O, I know myself, go to ; and trem- 
 ble at myself. There lurketh a wild 
 beast beneath this black gown of 
 mine." 
 
 " Alas, father," said Mary, " were 
 you other 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 
 is certain. God chooseth well his 
 fleshly instruments ; and with im- 
 perfect hearts doeth liis perfect work. 
 Glorj- be to God ! " 
 
 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 
 siie had nothing to fear. It would 
 be the happiest day she had ever 
 spent. He then made her sit down 
 and compose hcrselt till he should 
 return, lie 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 imbounded. She 
 yielded at once to Clements earnest 
 request that the road of penitence 
 might be smoothed at first to this un- 
 stable wanderer, and, after some op- 
 position, she entered heartily into 
 his views as to her actual reception. 
 To give time for their little prepara- 
 tions Clement went slowly back, and, 
 seating liimsclf by Mary, soothed her, 
 and heard her confession. 
 
 " The abbess has granted me that 
 you shall proposeyour 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. 
 
 " 'T is 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 1 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 persons which need 
 no repentance? Now this convent 
 is not heaven ; nor the nuns angels ; 
 yet are there among them some angel- 
 ic spirits ; and these sing and exult 
 at thy return. And here methinks 
 comes one of them ; for I see her hi\ud 
 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 broth- 
 er 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 Khine, and England.
 
 362 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 This was the man for whom Mar- 
 garet's boy lay in wait with her letter. 
 
 tHijt lijtartlj. 
 
 And that letter was one of those 
 simple, toucliiiig ajipeals only her sex 
 can write to those wiio have used 
 them cruelly, and they love them. 
 She began by telling him of the birth 
 of the little boy, and the comfort he 
 iiad been to her in all the distress of 
 mind his long and strange silence had 
 caused her. She described the little 
 Gerard minutely, not forgetting the 
 mole on his little finger. " Know you 
 any one that hath the like on his ) If 
 you only saw him you could not 
 choose but be proud of him : all the 
 mothers in the street do envy me ; 
 but I the wives ; for thou comest not 
 to us. My own Gerard, some say 
 thou art dead. But, if thou wcrt dead, 
 how could I be alive 1 Others say 
 that thou whom I love so truly art 
 false. But this will I believe from no 
 lips but tliine. My father loved thee 
 well ; and as he lay a dying he thought 
 he saw thee on a great river, with thy 
 face tui'ncd toward thy Margaret, but 
 sore disfigured. Is 't so, perchance ? 
 Have cruel men scarred thy sweet 
 face 1 or hast thou lost one of thy 
 precious limbs 1 Why, then thou hast 
 the more need of me, and I shall love 
 thee not worse, — alas ! 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 ? 't is not so very 
 long agone, dear Gerard." 
 
 The letter continued in this strain, 
 and concluded without a word of re- 
 proach 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 fright- 
 en 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 Eliassoeu. Nor did thia 
 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 Eliassoeu ? " 
 
 " 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, ho 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 fatiier, one plain word, for 
 Heaven's sake. This Gerard Elias- 
 soeu of Tergou, — is he alive ? " 
 
 " Humph ! Why, certes, he that 
 went by that name is alive." 
 
 " Well, then, that is settled," said 
 Luke, dryly. But the next moment 
 he found it necessary to run out of 
 sight and blubber. 
 
 " 0, why did the Lord make any 
 women ? " said he to himself. " I 
 was content with the world till I fell 
 in love. Here his little finger is more 
 to her than my whole body, and he is 
 not dead. And here 1 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 land- 
 lord, with tears in his eyes, and 
 begged for work. The landlord de- 
 clined, said he had his own people. 
 
 " O, I seek not your money," said 
 Luke. " I only want some work to 
 keep me from breaking my heart 
 about another man's hiss." 
 
 " Good lad ! good lad," exploded 
 the landlord ; and found him lots of 
 ban-els to mend — on these terms. 
 And he coopered ■with fury in the in- 
 terval of the boats coming down the 
 Rhine. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXni. 
 
 Writing an earnest letter seldom 
 leaves the mind in statu quo. Marga-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 363 
 
 ret, in hers, vented her energy and 
 her fuitli in her dying father's vision, 
 or ilhision ; and when this was done, 
 and Luke gone, she wondered at her 
 credulity, and her conscienec pricked 
 her about Luke ; and Catherine came 
 and scokled her, and she paid the price 
 of false hopes, and elevation ofsj)irits, 
 by falling into deeper despondency. 
 She was found in this state by a 
 t^tanch friend she had lately made, — 
 Joan Ketel. This good woman came 
 iu 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 w^ith 
 some difficulty persuaded her to walk 
 out as far as Gouda, and consult the 
 hermit. They took some butter and 
 eggs, iu 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 wdien this went 
 off, leaving him weak, an awkward 
 syra])tom succeeded ; nothing, either 
 liquid or solid, 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 sup that ! " Alas ! 
 Gilt chicken-broth shared the fate of 
 the humbler viands, its predecessors. 
 Then the cure steeped the thumb of 
 St. Sergius in beef broth. Same re- 
 sult. Then Joan ran weeping to 
 Margaret to borrow some linen to 
 make his shroud. " Let me see him," 
 said Margaret. She came in and felt 
 his pulse, " Ah ! " 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 ? " 
 objected the mediajval wife. 
 
 " Do as thou art bid," said Marga- 
 ret, dryly, and left the room. 
 
 Joan somehow found herself doing 
 as she was bid. Margaret returned 
 with her apron full of a fla^vering 
 herb. She made a decoction, and 
 took it to the bedside ; and, before giv- 
 ing it to the patient, took a spoonftii 
 herself, and smacked her lips hypocl•i^ 
 ically. " That is fair," said he, with 
 a feeble attempt at humor. " Why, 
 't is sweet, and now 't is bitter." 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 yolk 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 win- 
 dow. 
 
 Margaret and Joan, then, reached 
 the hermit's cave, and placed their 
 present on the little platform. Mar- 
 garet 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 wliether ho 
 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 1 Then let us in to 
 help thee." 
 
 " Saints forbid ! Thine is a wo- 
 man's voice. Send me a holy friar ! " 
 
 They went back as they came. 
 Joan could not help saying, " Are
 
 864 
 
 THE CLOISTEU AND THK nEARTII, 
 
 women imps o' darkness then, that 
 they must not come aiiiyh a dying 
 bed ? " 
 
 But Margaret was too deeply de- 
 jected to say anytiiint;. Joan applied 
 rough consolation. But she was not 
 listened to till she said : " And .Ionian 
 will s])eak out erelong ; he is just on 
 the hoil. He is very grateful to thee, 
 believe it." 
 
 •' Seeing is believing," replied Mar- 
 garet, with (juiet hittemess. 
 
 " Not but what he thinks you might 
 have saved him with something more 
 out o' the common than you. ' A 
 man of my inches to be cured wi' 
 feverfew,' says he- ' Why, if there is 
 a sorry herb,' says he. ' Why, 1 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 mdced 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 1 " 
 
 " 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 per- 
 plexed. But least said is soonest 
 mended.' Yon is his favorite word ; 
 he comes back to it from a mile off." 
 
 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 ! " said Margaret. 
 " It was very good of him to go on 
 such an errand." 
 
 "He is one out of a hundred," re- 
 plied Catherine, warmly. 
 
 " Mother, do you think he would 
 be kind to little Gerard 1 " 
 
 " I am sure he would. So do yoa 
 be kinder to lilin when becomes back ! 
 Will ye now ? " 
 
 " Ay ! " 
 
 Cfje (Cloisttr. 
 
 BuoTHEK Clkmknt, 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 morning he started early, 
 and was in Ht)ttcrdam at noon. lie 
 made at once ftjr the port, not to keep 
 Jenjme waiting. 
 
 He observed several monks of his 
 order on the quay ; he went to them ; 
 but Jerome was not ainongst them. 
 He asked one of them whether Je- 
 rome had arrived. " Surely, brother," 
 ^^•as the re])ly. 
 
 " Prithee, where is he ? " 
 
 " Where 1 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 ! O Je- 
 rome ! Jerome ! " 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 aiul greeted him 
 with brotherly warmth, and gave hira 
 a letter Jerome bad 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 loath 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 jxiwer 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,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 365 
 
 Fasting, and Prayer are the sword, 
 spear, and shield of the soul. Fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 Clement was deeply shocked and 
 mortified at this contemptuous deser- 
 tion, 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 with- 
 drew abruptly, for he was cut to the 
 quick, and wanted to be alone. He 
 asked himself, was there some in- 
 curable fault in him, repulsive to so 
 true a son of Dominic ? Or was 
 Jerome himself devoid of that Chris- 
 tian Love which St. Paul had placed 
 above Faith itself ? Shipwrecked 
 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 fel- 
 low-traveller in Ciirist ; and to be 
 shaken off like dirt, the first oppor- 
 tunity, 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 Pe- 
 ter's cottage. A troop of noisy chil- 
 dren were playing about the door, 
 and the house had been repaired, and 
 a new out-house added. He turned 
 his head hastily away, not to disturb 
 the picture his memory treasured; 
 and went to the churchyard. 
 
 He sought among the tombstones 
 for Margaret's. He could not find 
 it. He could not believe they had 
 grudged her a tombstone, so searched 
 the churchyard all over again. 
 
 " (J ])overty ! stern poverty ! Poor 
 soul, thou wcrt 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 
 antl earnestly for the soul of her 
 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. 
 
 " Fourscore 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 erelong," 
 
 " My son, can you tell me where 
 Margaret lies 1 " 
 
 " 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 
 does n't lie here. Bless you, they 
 left this a longful wliile ago. Gone 
 in a moment, and the house empty. 
 What, is she dead ? 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 't was 
 Rotterdam. And gone there to die." 
 
 Clement sighed. 
 
 " 'T was 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 hur- 
 ried 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. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV. 
 
 The next day, Sunday, after mass, 
 was a bustling day at Catherine's
 
 366 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK IIKAKTH. 
 
 house in the Hoog Straet. 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 lainb 
 sucking a gilt sheep. Eli had come, 
 and brouglit them some more goods 
 from his 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 busi- 
 ness like wax. Their mother's quick 
 and ever-watchful car overheard this 
 resolution through an open window, 
 and she told Eli. The family supper 
 was to include Margai-et and lier boy, 
 and be a kind of inaugural 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 Commerce from Agriculture in 
 its narrowest form, — wild oats. So 
 Margaret had come over to help her 
 mother-in-law, and also to shake off 
 lier 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 arc all his chat; I shall be jeal- 
 ous. I told him you were to feast to- 
 day. But, lass, what a sermon in 
 the new kirk ! Preaching ? I never 
 heard it till this day." 
 
 "Would I had been there then," 
 said Margaret ; " for I am dried up 
 for want of dew from Heaven." 
 
 " ^Vhy, he preacheth again this af- 
 ternoon. But mayhap you are want- 
 ed here." 
 
 " Not she," said Catherine. " Come, 
 away ye go, if y' are minded." 
 
 "Indeed," said Margaret, " me- 
 thinks I should not be such a damper 
 at table if 1 could come to 't warm 
 from a good sermon." 
 
 " Then you must be brisk," ob- 
 served Joan. " See, the folk are 
 wending that way, and as I live there 
 goes the holy friar. O, bless us, and 
 
 save us, Margaret ; the liennit ! We 
 forgot." And this active woman 
 bmindod out of the house, and ran 
 across the road, and stoj)|X'd the friar. 
 She returned as (juickly. " There, 
 I was bent on seeing him nigh 
 hand." 
 
 " What said he to thee ? " 
 
 " Says he, ' My daughter, I will go 
 to him ere sunset, God willing.' The 
 sweetest voice. But, O my mis- 
 tresses, what thin cheeks for a young 
 man, and great eyes, not far from 
 your color, 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-white mutch- 
 es." 
 
 " There, take my handkerchief out 
 of the basket," said Catherine ; "you 
 cannot have the child, I want him lor 
 my poor Kate. It is one of her ill 
 days." 
 
 Margaret replied by taking tho 
 boy up stairs. She found Kate i^ 
 bed. 
 
 " How art thou, sweetheart ? Nay, 
 I need not ask. Thou art in sore 
 pain ; thou smilest so. See, I have 
 brought thee one thou 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 f " said Mar- 
 garet, answering a gesture of the suf- 
 fering 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 kirk," 
 said she, " to hear a beautiful preach- 
 er." 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 ! " 
 "Nay," said Kate, "prithee go; 
 and bring me back every word. Well- 
 a-day that I cannot go myself." And
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 367 
 
 the tears stooJ in the patient's eyes. 
 This docidfd Margaret, and she kissed 
 Kate, looised under her hishes at the 
 boy, and heaved a little sigii. 
 
 " I trow I must not," said she. 
 " I never could kiss him a little ; and 
 aiy father was dead against waking a 
 child by day or night. When 't is 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 proceeded ■with silent vigor. 
 
 " Now, Joan, them which help me 
 cook and ser\'e 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 ray Jorian hath got his 
 supper i' the air. He is digging 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 ? Rotterdam, that for 
 you ! " and Catherine snapped her 
 fingers at the capital. " Give us a 
 buss, hussy ! Now mind, Eli won't 
 wait supper for the Duke. Where- 
 fore, loiter not after your kirk 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. Cathe- 
 rine commented on the launch ; 
 " There, Joan, it is almost to me as if 
 I had just started my own daughter 
 for kirk, 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 '11 wed her to yon sim- 
 ple Luke, and there an end. What 's 
 one grandchild 7 " 
 16* 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 The sermon had begun when Mar. 
 garet 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 ^vindow 
 in the whole church was glazed ; the 
 rest were at present great jagged 
 openings in the outer walls. 
 
 But to-day all these uncouth imper- 
 fections made the church beautiful. 
 It was a glorious summer afternoon, 
 and the sunshine came broken into 
 marvellous forms through those irreg- 
 ular openings, and played bewitching 
 pranks upon so many broken sur- 
 faces. 
 
 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 be- 
 yond. 
 
 And nearly the whole central aisle 
 was checkered with light and shade 
 in broken outlines ; the shades seem- 
 ing cooler and more soothing than 
 ever shade was, and the lights like 
 patches of amber diamond, animat- 
 ed with heavenly fire. And above, 
 from west to east, the blue sky vault- 
 ed 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, ear- 
 nest voice of the preacher held them 
 mute. 
 
 Margaret stood spell-bound 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 liinguor crept over her at 
 the loveliness of the place and the 
 preacher's musical voice : and balmy 
 oil seemed to trickle over the waves
 
 368 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 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 ont 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 notliing essentially droll. 
 
 It was the sexton digging. 
 
 She found that out in a moment by 
 looking behind her, through the win- 
 dow, to whence the shadow came. 
 
 Now as she was looking at Jorian 
 Ketel digging, suddenly a tone of the 
 preacher's voice fell upon her ear and 
 her mind so distinctly, it seemed lit- 
 erally to strike her, and make her vi- 
 brate 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 effect- 
 ually. 
 
 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 elo- 
 quent period, the preacher stopped. 
 
 She almost sighed ; a soothing mu- 
 sic 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 fri- 
 ar'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 must ba 
 some terrible thing near her. No: 
 there was nothing ; she was the out- 
 side figure of the listening crowd. 
 
 At this moment the church fell in- 
 to commotion. Figures got up all 
 over the building, and craned for- 
 ward ; agitated faces by hundreds 
 gazed from the friar to Margaret, and 
 from Margaret to the friar. The 
 tui-ning to and fro of so many caps 
 made a loud rustle. Then came 
 shrieks of nciTOUs women, and buzz- 
 ing of men : and Margaret, seeing so 
 many eyes levelled at her, shrank ter- 
 rified behind the pillar, with one 
 scared, hurried glance at the preacher. 
 
 Momentary as that glance was, it 
 caught in that stricken face an ex- 
 pression 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 rec- 
 ollection of that look now made her 
 quiver from head to foot. 
 
 For that look was " RECOGNI- 
 TION." 
 
 The sermon, after wavering some 
 time, ended in a strain of exalted, 
 nay, feverish eloquence, that went far 
 to make the crowd forget the preach- 
 er's strange pause and ghastly glare.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 869 
 
 Margaret mingled hastily with the 
 crowd, and went out of the church 
 witli them. 
 
 They went tlieir way home. But 
 she turned at tlic door and went into 
 the churchyard, to Peter's grave. 
 Poor as she was, she had given iiim a 
 shib and a headstone. She sat down 
 on the slal), and kissed it. Then 
 thrcw her apron over her tliat no one 
 might distinguish her by lier hair. 
 
 "Father," slie said, " tliou hast of- 
 ten heard nic say I am wading in deep 
 w;iters; but now I begin to think 
 God only knows the bottc^n of them. 
 I '11 follow that friar round the world, 
 but 1 '11 sec him at arm's length. 
 And he shall tell me why lie looked 
 tov.-ards me like a dead man wakened : 
 and not a soul behind me. father, 
 you often praised me here : speak a 
 word for me f/irrc. For I am wading 
 in deep Avaters." 
 
 Ilcr father's tomb commanded a 
 side view of the church door. 
 
 ,Vnd on that tomb she sat, with her 
 face coAcred, waylaying the holy 
 preacher. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVI. 
 
 The cool church, checkered with 
 sunl)cains 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, filigrecd 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 
 nudtitude ; and he must tell them of 
 God's love : ]>oor souls, they heard 
 almost as little of it from the pul])it 
 then-a-days as the heathen nscd. He 
 told them the glad tidings of salva- 
 tion. The people hung upon his gen- 
 tle, earnest tpngue, 
 
 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 OAVTi body. But, on the other hand, 
 he did not entirely neglect those who 
 were in bad places. And presently, 
 warm with his theme, that none of all 
 that multitude might miss the joyful 
 tidings of Christ's love, he turned him 
 towards the south isle. 
 
 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 sunbeams, and glittering like the 
 gloriola of a saint, and her face glow- 
 ing doubly, in its own beauty, and 
 the sunsliine it was set in, — stood his 
 dead love. 
 
 She was leaning Very lightly against 
 a white column. She was listening 
 with tender, downcast lashes. 
 
 He had seen her listen so to him a 
 hundred times. 
 
 There was no change in her. This 
 was the blooming Margaret he had 
 lett : 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 van- 
 ish. 
 
 She remained. 
 
 All in a moment she was looking 
 at him, full. 
 
 Her own violet eyes ! ! 
 
 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
 
 370 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 as lightning, encountered his, and left 
 her couching and quivering with her 
 mind in a whirl, and him panting and 
 griping the pulpit convulsively. For 
 this glance of hers, though not rec- 
 ognition, was the startled, inquiring, 
 nameless, indescribable look that ])re- 
 cedes recognition. lie made a mighty 
 effort, and muttered something no- 
 body could understand : then feebly 
 resumed his discourse ; and stam- 
 mered and babbled on awhile, till by 
 degrees forcing himself, now she was 
 oiit 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 character- 
 istic 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 set- 
 tled on his mind with all the certain- 
 ty of a fact. And he felt he had 
 only to speak to the sexton (whom 
 to his great disgust he had seen work- 
 ing 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 sus- 
 pected the poor lad, whose life he had 
 saved, in this holy friar. The loss 
 of his shapely beai-d had wonderfully 
 altered the outline of his ftice.* This 
 had changed him even more than his 
 
 * Retro Vanucci and Andrea, did not rec- 
 ognize him without his beard. The fact is, 
 that the beard which has never known a 
 razor grows in a very picturesque and char- 
 acteristic form, and Ijecomes a feature in the 
 face ; so that its removal may in some cases 
 be an effectual disguise. 
 
 tonsure, his short hair sprinkled with 
 premature gray, and his cheeks 
 thinned and paled by fasts and 
 vigils. 
 
 " My son," said friar Clement, soft- 
 ly, " if you keep any memory of 
 those whom you lay in the earth, 
 prithee tell me is any Christian bu- 
 ried inside the church, near one of the 
 pillars 1 " 
 
 "Nay, father," said Jorian, "here 
 in the churchvard 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." 
 
 " O, that is another matter," said 
 Jorian ; " that was before my time ; 
 the vicar could tell you, likely : if so 
 be she was a gentlewoman, or at the 
 least rich enough to pay him his fee." 
 
 " Alas, my son, she was poor (and 
 paid a heavy 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, siUkily : " 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 proceeded to dig again, with a 
 certain vigor that showed his some- 
 what irritable temper was ruffled. 
 
 Clement gazed at him with a puz- 
 zled but gently reproachful eye ; for 
 the tone was rude, and the words un- 
 intelligible. 
 
 Good-natured, though crusty, Jo- 
 rian had not thrown up three spade- 
 fuls ere he became ashamed of it him- 
 self. " Why, what a base churl am 
 I to speak thus to thee, holy father;
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 371 
 
 ftnd thou a standing there, looking at 
 nic like a lamb. Aha ! I have it ; 
 't is Peter Brandt's grave you would 
 fain see, not Margaret's. He does 
 lie here, hard by the west door. 
 There, I '11 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 any- 
 body sitting on Peter's tomb. Still 
 less that she was watching for this 
 holy friar. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVII. 
 
 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 'cm 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, 
 naught came on 't. Margaret is still 
 wearying for her lad ; and Peter, he 
 lies as quiet as his neighbors ; 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 t " 
 
 " No more ; leastways, that he 
 owned to." 
 
 " Then you think Margaret is — is 
 alive 1 " 
 
 "Think? Why, I should be dead 
 else. Riddle me that." 
 
 " Alas, how can I ? You love 
 her 1 " 
 
 " 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 could n't ha' kept me alive. 
 Bless your heart, I could n't keep a 
 thing on my stomach ; nor doctors 
 could n't make me. My Joan says : 
 ' 'T is time to buy thee a shroud.' 
 ' I dare say, so 't is,' 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 fever- 
 few. A herb, quotha, 't is a weed ; 
 leastways it was a weed till it cured 
 me ; but now whene'er I pass my 
 bunch I doff bonnet, and says I : 
 ' My service t' ye.' Why, how now, 
 father, you look wondrous pale, and 
 now you are red ; and now you are 
 white! Why, what is the matter? 
 What in Heaven's name is the mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 " 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 consider- 
 able silence, said very gravely : "Fa- 
 ther, you have asked me many ques- 
 tions, and I have answered them 
 truly; now for our Lady's sake an- 
 swer me but two. Did you in very 
 sooth know one who loved this poor 
 lass ? Where ? " 
 
 Clement was on the point of re - 
 vealing himself, but he reniombcred 
 Jerome's letter, and shrank from, be-
 
 372 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 ing 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." 
 
 " O, 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 ! Foul 
 play ! " 
 
 " Fatlier," said Jorian, " I thank 
 Heaven for sending thee to me. Ay, 
 sit ye down ; ye do look like a ghost ; 
 ye "fast overmuch to be strong. My 
 mind misgives me ; methinks I hold 
 the clew 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 tliis mould " ; and he 
 clenched his teeth and raised bis long 
 spade above his head, and brought it 
 furiously down upon the heap several 
 times. " Foul play 1 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 puz- 
 zles out the scent, — go to. And I 
 do think you and I ha' got hold of 
 tAvo ends o' one stick, and a main foul 
 one." 
 
 Jorian then, after some of those 
 useless preliminaries men of his class 
 always deal in, came to the point of 
 his story. He had been emploj'ed by 
 the burgomaster of Tergou to repair 
 the fliooi 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 let- 
 ter, which Cornells and Sybrandt 
 were minded to convey into the place 
 of one that a certain Hans Hemling 
 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, 
 fliat kept me awake mostly all night. 
 Think on 't ! Next morning at peep 
 of day who should I see but my mas- 
 ters Cornells and Sybrandt come out 
 of their house, each with a black eye? 
 ' Oho,' says I, ' what, yon Hans hath 
 I)Ut his mark on ye ; well now I hope 
 that is all you have got for your 
 pains.' Didn't they make for the 
 burgomaster's house? I to my hid- 
 ing-place." 
 
 At this part of Jorian's revelation 
 the monk's nostril dilated, and his 
 restless eye showed the suspense 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 ; how- 
 ever, 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! And Sybrandt, 
 he had daubed his hand in something 
 sticky, I think 't was glue, and he 
 made shift to carry one or two pieces 
 away a sticking to the back of his 
 hand, he ! he ! he ! 'T is a sin to 
 laugh. So you 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 im- 
 mortal jewels in yon drawer. Well, 
 they got a handful of silver for them ; 
 the Devil had the worst o' yon bar- 
 gain. There, father, that is off my 
 mind ; often I longed to tell it some 
 one, but I durst not to the women ; 
 or Margaret would not have had a 
 friend left in the world ; for those 
 two black-hearted villains are the fa- 
 vorites. 'T is always so. Have not
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 373 
 
 the old folk just taken a brave new 
 shop for them in this very town, in 
 the Hoog Straet 1 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. O, 't is a tine world ! What, not 
 a word, holy father ? You sit there like 
 stone, and have not even a curse to be- 
 stow on them, the stony-hearted mis- 
 creants. What, was it not enough the 
 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 these years, and 
 sitting at the window looking adown 
 the street for Gerard ! and so con- 
 stant, so tender and true : my wife 
 says she is sure no woman ever loved 
 a man truer than she loves the lad 
 those villains have parted from her ; 
 and the day never passes but she 
 Avecps 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 Hol- 
 land ; and the sweet lass, that saved 
 my life, might be sitting with her 
 cheek upon her sweetheart's shoulder, 
 the happiest she in Holland in place 
 of the saddest ; O, I thirst for their 
 blood, the nasty, sneaking, lying, 
 cogging, cowardly, heartless, bowel- 
 less — How now ? ! " 
 
 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 
 lomlistoue, 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 Hoor 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 dilhculty ; 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, trem- 
 bling. 
 
 " 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 ? He has been 
 speaking to you ; deny it not." 
 
 " Girl, as I stand here, he asked 
 me whereabout you were buried in 
 this churchvard." 
 
 " Ah ? " ' 
 
 " I told him, nowhere, thank Heav- 
 en : you were alive and saving other 
 folk from the churchyard." 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " 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 writ- 
 ten by ? 0, by the demoiselle Van 
 Eyck. That was his way of it. But 
 I up and told him nay ; 't was neither 
 demoLselle nor dame that penned yon 
 lie, but Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, and 
 those foul knaves, Cornells and Sy- 
 brandt ; these changed the true letter 
 for one of their own ; I told him as 
 how I saw the whole villany done, 
 through a chink ; and now, if I have 
 not been and told you ! " 
 
 " O, cruel ! cruel ! But he lives. 
 The fear of fears is gone. Thank 
 God ! " 
 
 " Ay, lass ; and as for thine eno-
 
 374 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 mies, I Viflvd given them a dig. For 
 yon friar is friendly to Gerard, and he 
 is gone to Kli's house, nietliinks. For 
 I told him wiiere to find Gerard's ene- 
 mies and thine, and wow but he will 
 give them their lesson. If ever a man 
 was mad with rage, it 's yon. He 
 turned hhick 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." 
 
 " O Jorian, what have you done "^ " 
 cried Margaret. " Quick ! quick ! 
 help me thitfier, for the power is gone 
 all out of my body. You know him 
 not as I do. (), 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 Imrried along, he 
 asked her what on earth she meant ? 
 " I talk of this friar, and you answer 
 me of Gerard." 
 
 " Man, see you not, iJns is Gerard ! " 
 
 " This, Gerard ? what mean ye ? " 
 
 " I mean, yon friar is my l)oy's 
 father. I have waited for him long, 
 Jorian. Well, he is come to me at last. 
 And thank God for it. O my poor 
 child ! Quicker, Jorian, quicker ! " 
 
 " Why, thou art mad as he. Stay ! 
 By St. Bavon, yon ilxis Gerard's face : 
 'twas naught like it; yet somehow 
 't was it. Come on ! come on ! let me 
 see the end of this." 
 
 " The end 1 How many of us will 
 live to see that ? " 
 
 They hurried along in breathless 
 silence, till they reached Iloog Straet. 
 
 Then Jorian tried to reassure her. 
 "You are making your own trouble," 
 said he ; " who says he has gone 
 thither'? more likely to the convent 
 to weep and pray, poor soul. 
 cursed, cursed villains i " 
 
 " Did not you tell him where those 
 villains bide "? " 
 
 " Ay, that I did." 
 
 " Then quicker, O Jorian, quicker. 
 I sec the house. Thank CJod and all 
 the saints, I sliall be in time to calm 
 him. I know what I '11 say to him ; 
 Heaven forgive me. Poor Catherine ; 
 't is of her I think ; she has been a 
 mother to me." 
 
 Tlie 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 inside, like as of 
 some wild animal, and the friar burst 
 out, white and raging, and went tear- 
 ing down the street. 
 
 Margaret screamed, and sank faint- 
 ing on Jorian's arm. 
 
 Jorian shouted after him, " Stay, 
 madman, know thy friends." 
 
 But he was deaf, and went head- 
 long, shaking his clenched fists high, 
 high in the air. 
 
 " Help me in, good Jorian," 
 moaned Margaret, 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 Margaret and he stood on the 
 threshold. 
 
 What they saw there you shall soon 
 know. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVIII. 
 
 It was svtpper-tirae. Eli's family 
 were collected round the board : Mar- 
 garet only was missing. To Cath- 
 erine'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
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 375 
 
 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 sa- 
 vory that Eli gave way. " She will 
 eome if we begin," said he ; " they 
 always do. Come, sit ye down. Mis- 
 tress Joan ; y' are not here for a slave, 
 I trow, but a guest. There, I hear a 
 quick stej), — off covers, and fall to." 
 
 The covers were withdrawn, and 
 the knives brandished Then burst 
 into the room, not the expected Mar- 
 garet, but a Dominican friar, livid 
 with rage. 
 
 He was at the table in a moment, 
 in front of Cornclis and Sybrandt, 
 threw his tall body over the narrow 
 table, and, with two hands hovering 
 above their shrinking heads, like ea- 
 gles 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 
 thereafter ; doubly cursed be the 
 hands that changed those letters, and 
 be they struck off by the hangman's 
 knife, and handle hell-fire forever ; 
 thrice accursed be the cruel hearts 
 that did conceive that danmcd lie, to 
 part true love forever ; may tliey 
 sicken and wither on earth joyless, 
 loveless, hopeless ; and wither to dust 
 before their time ; and burn in eter- 
 nal lire." 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 Hung it down before his 
 father. 
 
 " Read that, thou hard old man 
 that didst imprison thy son, read, 
 and .see what monsters thou hast 
 brought into the world. The mem- 
 
 ory of my wrongs and hers dwell 
 with you all forever ! 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 
 Margaret'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 : " joy ! all here ; 
 no blood hath been shed. O you 
 cruel, cruel men ! 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 mo- 
 ment with her Avrongs reflected in 
 her sweet, pale face, started to his 
 feet in a transport of rage, and shout- 
 ed : " Stand clear, and let me get at 
 the traitors. I '11 hang for them." 
 And in a moment he whipped out 
 his short sword, and fell upon them. 
 " Fly ! " screamed Margaret, — 
 
 " fly ! " 
 
 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 notal)les are generally useless at 
 such a time ; and blood would cer- 
 tainly 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 tlic street. 
 
 They wei'e a furlong off', running 
 like hares. 
 
 He hacked down the board on 
 wliich their names were written, and
 
 376 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 bronf^ht it in doors, and flung it into 
 the ciiimncy-placc. 
 
 Catherine was sitting rocking her- 
 self witli lier apron over her head. 
 Joan liad run to her husband. Mar- 
 garet 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. " O 
 my poor children ! " she cried. " O 
 miserable mother ! 'T is a mercy 
 Kate was ill up stairs. There, I have 
 lived to thank God for that ! " she 
 cried, with a fresh burst of sobs. " It 
 would have killed her. He had bet- 
 ter have stayed in Italy, as come 
 home to curse his own flesh and blood, 
 and set us all by the cars." 
 
 " O, 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 un- 
 dermined me, and baffled wise sever- 
 ity. And you, Margaret, leave com- 
 forting her that ought rather to com- 
 fort 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 am 
 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 be- 
 side 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 
 a while : " Come, good folks," said 
 true Eli, in a broken voice, to Jorian 
 and Joan, " we arc in a little trouble, 
 as you see : but that is no i-eason you 
 should starve. For our Lady's sake, 
 fall to ; and add not to my grief the 
 reputation of a churl. What the 
 dickens ! " 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 re- 
 quest. Poor, simple, antique, hos- 
 pitable souls ! Jorian, whose appe- 
 tite, especially since his illness, was 
 very keen, was for acting on this 
 hospitable invitation ; but Joan whis- 
 pered a word in his car, and he in- 
 stantly drew back. " Nay, I '11 touch 
 no meat that holy Church hath 
 cursed." 
 
 " In sooth, I forgot," said Eli, apol- 
 ogetically. " My son, who was reared 
 at my table, hath cursed my victuals. 
 That seems strange. Well, what God 
 wills, man must bow to." 
 
 The supper was flung out into the 
 yard. 
 
 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 
 on tlie lowest step of the altar, in 
 an indescribable state of terror, mis- 
 ery, penitence, and self-abasement : 
 through all which struggled gleams 
 of joy that Margaret was alive. 
 
 Night fell and found him lying 
 there weeping and praying ; and 
 morning would have found him there 
 too ; but he suddenly remembered 
 that, absorbed in his own wrongs and 
 Margaret's, he had committed another 
 sin besides intemperate rage. He had 
 neglected a dying man. 
 
 He rose instantly, groaning at his 
 accumulated wickedness, and set out 
 to repair the omission. The weather 
 had changed ; it was raining hard, 
 and, when he got clear of the town, 
 he heard the wolves baying ; they 
 were on the foot. But Clement was 
 himself again, or nearly ; he thought 
 little of danger or discomfort, having 
 a shameful omission of religious duty 
 to repair : he w^nt stoutlj forward 
 through rain and darkness. 
 
 And, as he went, he often beat his 
 breast, and cried : " Mea Culpa ! 
 Mea Culpa ! "
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 377 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 What the sensitive mind, and ten- 
 der conscience, and loving licart, and 
 religious soul, went through even in 
 a few hours, under a situation so sud- 
 den and tremendous, is, perhaps, be- 
 yond the power of words to paint. 
 
 Fancy yourself the man ; and then 
 put yourself hi 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 hrst fierce tempest of the 
 soul had subsided. 
 
 After spending the night with the 
 dying hermit in giving and receiving 
 holy consolations, he set out, not for 
 Rotterdam, but for Tergou. He 
 went there to confront his fatal ene- 
 my the burgomaster, and, by means 
 of that parchment, whose history, 
 by the by, was itself a romance, to 
 make him disgorge, and give Marga- 
 ret her own. 
 
 Heated and dusty, he stopped at 
 the fountain, and there began to eat 
 his black bread and drink of the wa- 
 ter. 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 fhouglit of all, — the 
 tower, the wood, the letter. Then 
 he said in a low voice, " Pax vobis- 
 cnm ! " He trembled a little while he 
 said it. 
 
 T'he sick man welcomed him as ea- 
 gerly as his weak state permitted. 
 " Thank Heaven, thou art come in 
 time to absolve me from ray sins, fa- 
 
 ther, and pray for my soul, thou and 
 thy brethren." 
 
 "My son," said Clement, "before 
 absolution cometh confession. In 
 which act there must be no reserva- 
 tion, as thou vainest thy soul's weal. 
 Bethink thee, therefore, wherein thou 
 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 tiie 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 ap- 
 pearance 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 : " 'T is 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 1 " said Clement, somewhat se- 
 verely. 
 
 " Forgive me, father ! Why, sure- 
 ly, I to you. But I know not what 
 you call crimes." 
 
 " The seven deadly sins ; art thou 
 clear of them ? " 
 
 " Heaven forfend 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 mur. 
 der. 
 
 " I am quit of that one, any way. 
 How call you it ? " 
 
 " Avarice, my son." 
 
 " Avarice 1 'O, as to that, I have
 
 378 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 been a sarinp^ man all my day ; but I 
 hare k('j)t a good taljlc, and not alto- 
 fcether fbr<xottcn the poor. But, alas, 
 I am a great sinner. Mayliap the 
 next will cateli me. What is the 
 next ? " 
 
 " We have not yet done with this 
 one. Bethink thee, the Church is not 
 to be trifled with." 
 
 " Alas ! am I in a condition to 
 trifle with her now 1 Avarice 1 Ava- 
 rice ? " 
 
 He looked puzzled and innocent. 
 
 " Ilast thou ever robbed the father- 
 less ? " inquired the friar. 
 
 " Me ? robbed the fatherless 1 " 
 gasped Ghysbrecht ; " not that I 
 mind." 
 
 " Once more, my son, I am forced 
 to tell thee thou art trifling witli 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." 
 
 " O, leave me not ! leave me not ! " 
 shrieked the terrified old man. " The 
 Church knows all. I must have 
 robbed the fatherless. I will confess. 
 Who shall I begin with ? My memo- 
 ry 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 f " said he. 
 
 " Thi.i Church knows many things," 
 said Clement, coldly, " and by many 
 ways that arc dark to thee. Misera- 
 ble 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 death-bed, and die as I have 
 lived.' But God, kinder to thee than 
 thou art to thyself, sent to thee one 
 whom thou couldst not deceive. He 
 has tried thee ; he was patient with 
 thee, and warned thee not to trifle 
 with holy Chin-ch ; but all is in vain ; 
 thou canst not confess, for thou art 
 
 impenitent 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 Ghys- 
 Irrecht, in extremity of terror, caught 
 him by the frock. O holy man, mer- 
 cy ! stay. I will confess all, all. I 
 robbed my friend Floris. Alas, 
 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 could n t, 
 I could n't." 
 
 " Avarice, my son, avarice. Hap- 
 py for thee, 't is not too late." 
 
 " No. 1 will leave it her by will. 
 She will not have long to wait for it 
 now ; not above a month or two at 
 furthest." 
 
 " For which month's possession 
 thou wouldst damn thy soul forever. 
 Thou fool ! " 
 
 The sick man groaned, and prayed 
 the friar to be reasonable. The friar 
 firmly, but gently and jjcrsuasively, 
 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 was on his guard against 
 choler ; and, to conclude, he con- 
 cpiered 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 cer- 
 tain 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.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 379 
 
 This IS one. The other is told in 
 two words. 
 
 As soon as he was quite sure Mar- 
 garet had her own, and was a rich 
 woman — 
 
 He disappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XC. 
 
 It was 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 weep- 
 ing, she went to the convent to try 
 and soften Gerard, and lay the first 
 stone at least of reconciliation. It 
 was some time before she could make 
 the porter understand whom she was 
 seeking. Eventually she 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 savor ; 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. 
 Catlierine 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 ; you will, maybe, soften 
 him." 
 
 " 0, if you think I can do any good, 
 I '11 come," said Margaret, with a 
 weary sigh. 
 
 They found Eli and a carpenter 
 putting up another name in place of 
 Cornelis's and Sybrandt's, and what 
 should that name be but Margaret 
 Brandt's ? 
 
 With all her affection for ^largaret, 
 this went through poor Catherine like 
 .■\ knife. " The bane of one is anoth- 
 er's meat," said she. 
 
 " Can he make mc spend the mon- 
 
 ey unjustly '2 " replied Margaret, cold- 
 
 " You are a good soul," said Cathe- 
 rine. " Ay, so best, sith he is the 
 strongest." 
 
 The next day Giles dropped in, and 
 Catherine told the story all in favor 
 of the black sheep, and invited his 
 pity for them, anathematized 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 
 contempt, crowed with delight at the 
 return of his favorite. " I '11 show him," 
 said he, " what 't is 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 want- 
 ed," 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 colorless, 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 Marga- 
 ret shuddered violently, and turned 
 her head swiftly away not to see him. 
 
 A feeble voice issued from the 
 strange visitor's lips. " Good people, 
 a dying man hath come to ask your 
 forgiveness." 
 
 " Come to look on your work, you 
 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
 
 380 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 voice, " the sijjht of him jrave me a 
 turn, that is all. Prithee, let him say 
 his say, and go ; for he is the mur- 
 thcrer of me and mine." 
 
 " Alas," said Ghysbrccht, "lam too 
 foehlc to say it standing, and no one 
 biddeth me sit down." 
 
 Eli, who had followed him into the 
 house, interfered here, and said, half 
 sullenly, half apologetically : " Well, 
 burgomaster, 't is not our wont to 
 leave a visitor standing whiles we sit. 
 But, man, man, you have wrought us 
 too much ill." And the honest fel- 
 low's voice began to shake with an- 
 ger he fought hard to contain because 
 it was his own house. 
 
 Then Ghysbrccht found an advo- 
 cate in one who seldom spoke in vain 
 in that family. 
 
 It was little Kate. " Father, moth- 
 er," said she, "ray 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. 
 Ghysbrecht's attendants j)Ut 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 defrayed 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 Ava- 
 rice withheld me Pray, good peo- 
 ple, against temptation ! I was not 
 Dorn dishonest : yet you see." 
 
 "Well, to be sure," cried Cathe- 
 rine. " And you the burgomaster ! 
 Hast whipt good store of thieves in 
 thy day. However," said she, on 
 second thoughts, " 't is better lato 
 than never. What, Margaret ? art 
 deaf ' The good man liath jjrought 
 thee back thine own. Art a rich wo- 
 man. Alack, what a mountain o' 
 gold ! " 
 
 " Bid him keep land and gold, and 
 give mc back my Gerard, that he stole 
 from me with his treason," said 
 Margaret, with her head still averted. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Ghysbrccht ; " would 
 I could. What I can I have done. 
 Is it naught? It cost me a .sore 
 struggle ; and I rose from my last 
 bed to do it myself, lest some mis- 
 chance should come between her and 
 her rights." 
 
 " Old man," said Margaret, " since 
 thou, whose idol is self, 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, whose 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 sorrow that riches 
 cannot heal. Give her time, Ghys- 
 brccht ; 't is not in nature she should 
 forgive thee all. Her boy is father- 
 less ; and she is neither maid, wife, 
 nor widow ; and the blow fell but 
 two days syne that laid her heart a 
 bleeding." 
 
 A single heavy sob from Margaret 
 was the comment to these words. 
 
 " Therefore, give her time ! And, 
 ere thou diest, she will forgive thee 
 all, ay, even to pleasure me, that hap- 
 ly shall not be long behind thee, Ghys- 
 brccht. 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 ! " 
 
 Their little oracle had spoken : it 
 was enough. Eli even invited him to 
 break a manchet and drink a stoup of
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 381 
 
 vdne to give him heart for the jour- 
 
 TIL'V. 
 
 But Ghysbrecht declined, and said 
 what he had done was a cordial to 
 him. " Man seeth but a little way 
 before him, neighbor. Thi.s land I 
 clung so to, it was a bed of nettles to 
 me all the time. 'T is gone ; and I 
 feel happier and livelier like for the 
 loss on 't." 
 
 lie called his men, and they lifted 
 him into the litter. 
 
 When he was gone Catherine gloat- 
 ed over the money. She had never 
 seen so much together, and was al- 
 most angry with Margaret for " sit- 
 ting out there like an image." And 
 she dilated on the advantages of mon- 
 ey. 
 
 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 wonder- 
 ing eyes. Then suddenly wrung her 
 hands and cried with piercing anguish, 
 " Too Idte ! Too late ! " 
 
 And shook off her leaden despon- 
 dency only to go into strong hyster- 
 ics 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 ! Too late ! 
 
 CHAPTER XCI. 
 
 Not many days after this came 
 the news that Margaret Van Eyck 
 vas dead and buried. By a will 
 she had made a year before, she 
 left all her property, after her funeral 
 expenses and certain ])resents to 
 Kicht Heynes, to her dear daughter, 
 Margaret Brantlt, requesting her to 
 
 keep Richt as long as unmarried. 
 By this will Margaret inherited a fur- 
 nished house, and pictures and sketch- 
 es that in the present day would be a 
 fortune : among the pictures was one 
 she valued more than a gallery of oth- 
 ers. 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 en- 
 tirely by Margaret Van Eyck, but the 
 rest of the picture by Jan. The ac- 
 cessories were exquisitely finished, and 
 remain a marvel of skill to this day. 
 Margaret Brandt sent word to Richt 
 to stay in the house till such time as 
 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 pictiire " in the little cub- 
 boord " ; meaning the diptych. 
 
 The next thing was, Luke Peter- 
 son came home, and heard that Ge- 
 rard was a monk. 
 
 He was like to go mad with joy. 
 He came to Margaret and said : — 
 
 " Never heed, mistress. If he can- 
 not marry you, 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. 
 Aiid I have seen him. I've seen 
 him." 
 
 Luke was thoroughly puzzled. " I 
 '11 tell you what," said he; "I have 
 got a cousin a lawj'cr. I '11 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. O fie ! " 
 
 " That is done already without a 
 word from me." 
 
 " But not by such as seek my re- 
 spect. 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."
 
 382 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " 'T is your own fault, dear Luke, 
 for wooing me. 'J'hat is wliat lets nic 
 from being as kind to you as I desire. 
 Luke, my bonny lad, listen to mc. 
 I am rieh now ; I can make my 
 friends happy, though not my.self. 
 Look round the street, louk round the 
 parish. Tlieic is many a ([ueen in it, 
 fairer than 1 twice told, and not 
 spoiled with weejjing. Louk high, 
 and take your choice. Speak you to 
 the lass herself, and I '11 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 
 you were poor as 1 ; am poorer. No : 
 if you would liever be a frair's leman 
 than an honest man's wife, you are not 
 tlie woman I took you for ; so j)art 
 mc withoutcn malice : seek you your 
 comfort on you road, where never a 
 she did find it yet, and, for me, 1 '11 
 live and die a bachelor. Good even, 
 mistress." 
 
 "Farewell, dear Luke: and God 
 forgive you for saying thitt to me." 
 
 For some days Margaret dreaded, 
 almost as mucli as she desired, the 
 coming interview with Gerard. She 
 said to herself : " I wonder iiot he 
 keeps away awhile ; for so should I." 
 However, he woidd hear he was a 
 father ; and the desire to sec their boy 
 would overcome everything. " And," 
 said the poor girl to herself, " if so be 
 that meeting docs 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 ? What if he 
 had gone to some cold-blooded monks 
 his fellows, and they had told him 
 never to see her more 1 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 in- 
 dignation mingled at times with her 
 
 grief and a])prehension. " Can he hav^ 
 ever loved me ' To run from :ae 
 and his boy without a word ! Why, 
 this poor Luke thinks more of me 
 than he does." 
 
 While her mind was in this state, 
 Giles came roaring : "I 've hit thk 
 clout; ouu Gkkabd is Vicar of 
 
 GOUDA." 
 
 A very brief sketch of the dwarfs 
 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 cer- 
 tain 8th of June, when, swinging by 
 one hand along with the week's wash- 
 ing on a tight rope in the drying- 
 ground, something went crack inside 
 his head ; and lo ! intellectual powers 
 unchained. At court his shrewd- 
 ness and bluntness of speech, coupled 
 with his gigantic voice and his small 
 statme, made him a power : without 
 the last item I fear they would have 
 conducted liim to that unpopular 
 gymnasium, the gallows. The young 
 Duchess of Burgundy, and Marie the 
 heiress apjiarcnt, both petted him, as 
 great ladies have petted dwarfs in all 
 ages ; and the court poet melted but- 
 ter by the six-foot rule, and poured 
 enough of it down liis back to stew 
 Goliah in. He even amj)lified, versi- 
 fied, and enfeebled certain rough-and- 
 ready sentences dictated by Giles. 
 
 The centipcdal prolixity that result- 
 ed went to Eli by letter thus entitled, 
 
 " The high and puissant Princess Marie 
 of Bourgogne hor lytel jantilman hya 
 complayut of ye Coort, and 
 praise of a rusticall lyfe, versiflcated, and 
 
 empapyred 
 hy 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 challenged the duke's giant to a 
 trial of strength. This challenge 
 made the gravest grin and aroused 
 expectation. 
 
 Giles had a lofty pole planted
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 383 
 
 ready, and at the appointed hour 
 went up 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 rue- 
 fully 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 
 fixct. The dwarf was great at mount- 
 ing 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 '11 wrestle ye, my lad, if so be 
 you will let me blindfold your eyne." 
 
 The giant, smarting under defeat, 
 and thinking he could surely recover 
 it by this means, readily consented. 
 
 " Madam," said Giles, " see you 
 von blind Samson ? At a signal 
 from me he shall make me a low 
 obeisance, and unbonnet to me." 
 
 " How may that be, being blind- 
 ed ? " inquired a maid of honor. 
 
 " That is my affair." 
 
 " I 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 pre- 
 pared a little door in the wall, through 
 which he could pass, but not a giant, 
 and had colored 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. 
 
 17 
 
 icng limbs?, bic| bobrj, ivanttitij ictt, 
 Sp iree anti m^i ig bet an6 bet. 
 
 After this Giles became a Force. 
 
 He shall now speak for himself. 
 
 Finding Margaret unable to beheve 
 the good news, and sceptical as to the 
 affiiirs of holy Church being admin- 
 istered by dwarfs, he narrated as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " When the princess sent for me to 
 her bedroom as of custom, to keep 
 her out of languor, I came not mirth- 
 ful nor full of country diets, as is my 
 wont, but dull as lead. 
 
 " ' Why, what aileth thee 1 ' 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 honor, 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 1 ' 
 
 " I told her I was meditating and 
 what perplexed mc 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.' 
 
 " She said I was as keen as keen ; 
 but it became 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 stid ear- 
 nest. 
 
 " 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 Countess of Charo- 
 lois, who is now in heaven, worse 
 luck, you wi' your lute, and she wi'
 
 884 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THK IIKARTH. 
 
 liiT tnpcsfry, or the like, then; cnnie i 
 into _vf a fair youth, — with n letter! 
 rrnni II ]>niiiter liody, one Marjjnret 
 Van I\vck." 
 
 •• She snid tihe thou};ht »hc <lid. 
 ' Wiis it not ii tall youth, excctilinjjiy 
 comely ? ' 
 
 " ' Ay, ninilnni,' Haid I ; ' he was 
 my hrother.' 
 
 •' ■ Your hrotluT ' ' " sniil sihe, ami 
 •lid eye me like nil over. (What 
 lost smile at ?) 
 
 " So I told her all that i»a«.M<l k-- 
 tween her and (lerard, and how .she 
 wa.s for ^ivin;; him a hishoprie ; hut 
 the ^00*1 eountesH said, ' (Jeiitly, 
 Marie! He i.t too younp ' ; and 
 with that they did I'oth i)romise him 
 n livinj;. ' Yet,' said I, ' he hath Idtii 
 a priest a Ion;; while, and no livinf?. 
 llenre my hile.' 
 
 " ' Alius ! ' said she, ' 't is not l>y my 
 ;;o«td-will. For all this thou lia.st 
 said is sooth ; and more, I ilo reniem- 
 Imt, my dear mother said to me, 
 " See thou to it if I Ik? not h n." ' So 
 thin she eritil out. ' Ay, dear moth- 
 er, no word of thine shall ever full 
 to the f^round.' 
 
 " 1, seeing; her so ripe, paid quickly, 
 ' Madam, the Viear of (louda died 
 htst week." (For wlien ye seek fa- 
 vors of the ^reat, iH-hooves ye know 
 the viTy tiling- ye aim at.) 
 
 " ' Then thy hrother is viear of 
 (iouda," i|uo' she, ' so sun- as I am 
 heiR'ss of Hur^xundy and the Nether- 
 lands. Nay, thank me not, t'fX)d 
 (iiles,' (juo' she : ' hut my ;:ood moth- 
 er. And I do thank thee f«)r ;,'ivin>x 
 of me soniewhat to do for her mem- 
 ory.' And <liH'S n't she fall a wwp- 
 in;; for her mother / and does n't that 
 set me ofl' a snivelling for my ^'ood 
 jrothcr that I love so dear, and to 
 think that a poor little elf like me 
 could yet speak in the ear of princes, 
 anil make my beautiful brother vicar 
 ofGouda? ch, lass, it is a bonny 
 place, and a bonny manse, and haw- 
 thorn in every bush at sprinp-tide, 
 and dog-roses and eglantine in ev- 
 er>' summer-hedge. I know what the 
 poor fool affects, leave that to me." 
 
 The «lwarf U-gnn lii« narmtlTe 
 strutting to and frt> Uforr .Miir;;rtrct ; 
 hut he ended it in her arm*. I'nr she 
 eould not <-ontain herself, hut rnu(;ht 
 him, and emhmred him wnnnly. 
 "<> (iileit," she Hoid, hlu.ihin^', and 
 ki.«.Hin(; him. " I cannot kerp my 
 hand* off ih<v, thy l«>dy it in so little, 
 and thy heart so pn-at. Thou art 
 hi.H true friend. Hle.Hs thor ! bless 
 thiv ! blo.HS thir ! Now wc nhall see 
 him again. We have not s«'t eyes on 
 him since that terrible <lav." 
 
 "(irumcrey, but that in ittranpc," 
 said Giles. " MayU- he is ashamed 
 of having ctirsi-*! ihoM- two vagaUmcs, 
 U'ing our own flesh ami blood, worse 
 luck." 
 
 " Think you that is why he hides ? " 
 .said Margaret, eagerly. 
 
 *• Av, if he is hiding at nil. How- 
 ever, 1 'II cry him by bellman." 
 
 •' Nay, that might much offend 
 him." 
 
 '• What care I ' Is Gouda to go 
 vienrlcjis, an<l the manse in nettles 1 " 
 
 And, to Margant's sttret satisfac- 
 tion, Oiles hail the new vicar crii-d 
 in Rotterdam, ami the neighboring 
 towns. He easily [wrsuade*! Marga- 
 ret that, in a day or two, (ierard 
 would Iw sure to hear, and come to 
 his licnefice. She went to lo«»k at 
 his mnn.'ie, and thought how com- 
 fortable it might be made for him, 
 and how dearly she should love to do 
 it. 
 
 B«it the days rolled on, and Gc 
 rani came neither to Hotterdam nor 
 (touda. Ciiles was mortifie<l, Marga- 
 ret indignant nnd verv wretched. 
 She said to hcr.self : " Thinking mo 
 dead, he comes home, and now, be- 
 cause I am alive, he goes back to 
 Italy ; for that is where he has gone." 
 
 Joan advised her to consult ths 
 hermit of Gouda. 
 
 " Why, sure he is dead by this 
 time." 
 
 " Yon one, belike. But the cave 
 is never long void ; Gouda ne'er want* 
 a hermit." 
 
 But Margaret declined to go again 
 to Gouda on such an errand. " What
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 385 
 
 can he know, shut up in a cave ? less 
 than I, belike. Gerard hutli jrone back 
 t' Italy. He hates me for not being 
 dead." 
 
 Presently a Tergovian came in 
 with a word from Catherine that 
 Ghysbrccht 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 Richt 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 Clement. Ay, I saw him ; 
 and blessed be the day he entered my 
 house." 
 
 He then related in his own words 
 his interview with Clement. He told 
 her moreover that the friar had after- 
 wards acknowledged he came to Ter- 
 gou with the missing deed in his 
 bosom on purpose to make him dis- 
 gorge her land ; but that, finding him 
 disposed towards penitence, 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 ? " 
 
 To her question, whether he had 
 recognized him, he said : " I ne'er 
 suspected such a thing. 'T was only 
 when he had been three days with 
 me that he revealed himself. Listen 
 while I speak 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 cling- 
 eth to me still ' ; then I told him of 
 the letter I had writ at request of his 
 brethren, I whose place it was to 
 check them. Said I : " Yon letter 
 v/as writ to part true lovers, and, the 
 Devil aiding, it hath done the foul 
 work. Land and houses I can give 
 back ; but yon mischief is done for- 
 ever.' ' Nay,' quoth he, ' not forever ; 
 
 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 for- 
 give thee.' I stared at him ; and 
 then he said softly, but quavering 
 like : ' Ghysbrecht, look at me closer. 
 I am Gerard the son of Eli.' And I 
 looked, and looked, and at last, lo ! 
 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. 1 say not I forgive 
 thee without a struggle,' said he, 
 ' not being a saint. But these three 
 days thou hast spent in penitence I 
 have worn under thy roof in prayer; 
 and I do forgive thee.' Those were 
 his very words." 
 
 Margaret's teats 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. O girl, when 
 I think of his wrongs, and thine, and 
 how he hath avenged himself by sav- 
 ing 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, O burgomaster, 
 thou art an understanding man, now 
 help a poor woman, which hath for. 
 given thee her miserj'." 
 
 She then told him all that had be- 
 fallen. " And," said she, " tliey will 
 not keep the living for him forevex.
 
 386 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 He bids fair to lose that, ns well as 
 break all our hearts." 
 
 "Call my servant," cried the bur- 
 gomaster, with siuldcn viper. 
 
 lie sent him for a table and writing 
 materials, and dictated letters to the 
 burgoma.'^ters in all the ])rineii)al 
 towns in Holland, and one to a Prus- 
 sian authority, his friend. His clerk 
 and Margaret wrote them, and he 
 signed them. " There," said he, 
 " the matter shall In; desjiatched 
 throughout Holland by trusty couri- 
 ers ; and as far as Basic in Switzer- 
 land ; and fear not, but we will soon 
 have the vicar of Gouda to his \'il- 
 lage." 
 
 She went home animated with fresh 
 hopes, and aiciising herself of ingrat- 
 itude to Gerard. " I value my wealth 
 now," said she. 
 
 She also made a resolution never to 
 lilaine his conduct till she should 
 hear from his own lips his reasons. 
 
 Not long after her return from 
 Tergou, a fresh disaster befell. Cath- 
 erine, I must premise, had secret 
 interviews with the black sheep, the 
 wry day after they were e.xpelled ; 
 antl Cornells followed her to Tergou, 
 and lived tlure on secret contribu- 
 tions ; but Sybrandt chose to remain 
 in Rotterdam. Ere Catherine left, she 
 asked Margaret to lend her two gold 
 angels. " For," said she, " all mine 
 arc spent." Margaret was delight- 
 ed to lend them or give them ; but the 
 words were .scarce out of her mouth, 
 ere she eaiinht 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 herself up with her 
 boy. Now this money was to last 
 Sybrandt till his mother could make 
 some good excuse for visiting Rotter- 
 dam again ; and then she would 
 bring the idle dog some of her own 
 industrious scrapings. 
 
 But Sybrandt, having gold in his 
 pocket, thought it inexhaustible ; and, 
 being now under no shadow of re- 
 straint, led the life of a complete sot ; 
 until one afternoon, in a drunken 
 
 frolic, he dimlied on the roof of the 
 stable at the inn he was carousing in, 
 and proceided to walk along it, a feat 
 he had jxrformed many times when 
 .sober. But now his unsteady brain 
 made his legs unsteady, and he rolled 
 down the roof and fell with n loud 
 thwack on to a hori/oiital jialing, 
 where he hung a moment in a semi- 
 circle : then toppled over and lay 
 silent on the ground amidst roars of 
 laughter from his Itoon companions. 
 
 When they came to pick him up he 
 could not stand ; but fell down gig- 
 gling at each attemjit. 
 
 On this they went staggering and 
 roaring down the street with him, and 
 carried him, at great risk of another 
 fall, t() the ^ho]> in the Hoog Stract. 
 For he had babbled his own shame all 
 over the place. 
 
 As soon as he saw Margaret he 
 hiccoughed out : " Here is the doctor 
 that cures all hurts ; a boimy la.ss." 
 He also bade her observe he Iwre her 
 no nuilicc, for he was paying her a 
 visit, sore against his will. " Whertv 
 fore, j)rithce send away these drunk- 
 ards ; and let you and me liavc 
 t'other glass, to drown all unkind- 
 ncss." 
 
 All this time Margaret wa.s pale 
 and red by tunis at sight of her ene- 
 my and at his insolence. But one of 
 the men whispered what had hap- 
 pened, and a streaky something in 
 Sybrandt's face arrc>tcd her attention. 
 
 " And he cannot stand up, say 
 you ? " 
 
 " A could n't just now. Try, com- 
 rade ! Be a man now ! " 
 
 " I am a Utter man than thou," 
 roared Sybrandt. " 1 '11 stand uj> and 
 tight ye all for a crown." 
 
 He started to his feet, and instantly 
 rolled into his attendant's arms with 
 a piteous groan. He then l)cgan to 
 curse his boon companions, and de- 
 clare they had stolen away his legs. 
 " He could feel nothing below the 
 waist." 
 
 " Alas, poor wretch," said Marga 
 ret. She turned verv- gravely to the 
 men, and said: " lleava lim hero.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 387 
 
 And, if you have brouglit him to this, 
 go on your knees ; for you h;ivc 
 spoiled liiin for Ufe. He will never 
 walk again : his back is broken." 
 
 The drunken man caught these 
 words, and the foolish look of intoxi- 
 cation fled, and a glare of anguish 
 took its place. " The curse," he 
 groaned, — " the curse ! " 
 
 Margaret and Ilicht Heynes car- 
 ried him carefully, and laid him on 
 the softest bed. 
 
 " I must do as he would do," whis- 
 pered Margaret. " He was kind to 
 Ghysbrecht." 
 
 Her opinion was verified. Sy- 
 brandt's spine was fatally injured ; 
 and he lay groaning and helpless, fed 
 and tended by her ho had so deeply 
 injured. 
 
 The news was sent to Tergou, and 
 Catherine came over. 
 
 It was a terrible blow to her. More- 
 over she accused herself as the cause. 
 " O false wife, weak mother," she 
 cried. " I am rightly punished for my 
 treason to my poor Eli." 
 
 She sat for hours at a time by his 
 bedside, rocking herself in silence ; 
 and was never quite herself again ; 
 and the first gray 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 sutFering hound : 
 " sweet Margaret, O bonny Mar- 
 garet, for our Lady's sake, find Gerard, 
 and bid him take his curse oif me. 
 Thou art gentle, thou art good ; thou 
 wilt entreat for me, and ho will refuse 
 thee naught." Catherine shared his 
 belief that Gerard could cure him, 
 and joined her entreaties to his. Mar- 
 garet hardly needed this. The bur- 
 gomaster 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 looking very 
 thin, and spoke to him compassionate- 
 ly. 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, sor. 
 rowfuUy, " 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, savage- 
 ly, " 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 ! 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 '11 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," ob- 
 served Luke, prudently. 
 
 The slave of love was furnished 
 with money by his soft tyrant, and 
 wandered hither and thither, cooper- 
 ing and carpentering, and looking 
 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 Sy- 
 brandt improved in spirit but not in 
 body ; he was Margaret's pensioner 
 for life ; and a long-expected sorrow 
 fell npon 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 Avcre shaken, 
 and she lived in dread of some terri- 
 ble misfortune falling on Cornells. 
 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 Cornells into his house again : 
 and let her live awhile at Rotterdam. 
 
 " I have good daughters here," said
 
 388 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TIIP: ITEARTn. 
 
 she ; " liut Marjj^ant is so tender and ' 
 tliou^'htfiil, iiikI the little Gcnird, lie 
 16 my joy ; he jrrows lik«r liis lather 
 every day, and iiis prattk' elitvrs inv 
 heavy la-art ; and I do lovfchihln-n. 
 
 .'\n<l Kli, sturdy but kindly, con- 
 sented sorrowfully. 
 
 And the jR-ojileof (Jouda |Ktitioned 
 the duke lor a viear, a real viear. 
 " Ours eonicth never ni;,'h us," saitl 
 they, " this six months jiast : our 
 children they die unehristencd, and 
 our folk unhuried, except hy some 
 chance comer." Giles's inHuenec baf- 
 fled this just eoniplaiiit oiue ; but a 
 second petition was jirepand, and he 
 pave Mar;;aret little 1io|k; that the 
 present j)o>ition could be mainttiined 
 a single day. 
 
 So then Margaret went sorrowfidly 
 to the j)rctty manse to sec it for the 
 last time ere it should pjiss forever in- 
 to a stran;,'er's hands. 
 
 " I think he would have In'cn linj>- 
 j)y here," she said, and turned, heart- 
 sick, away. 
 
 On their return, Kieht Ilcynes 
 ])roposed to her to j,'o and consult the 
 hermit. 
 
 "What!" said Marpnret, "Joan 
 has been at you. She is the one tor 
 hermits. I 'II po, if 't is but to show 
 thee they know no more than we do." 
 And they went to the cave. 
 
 It was an excavation, jiartly notn- 
 ral, partly artificial, in a bank of 
 rock overprown by brambles. There 
 was a rouph stone door tm hinpes, 
 and a little window hiph up, and 
 two apertures, throuph 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 aper- 
 ture. 
 
 On the face of the rock this line 
 ■was cut ". — 
 
 gelir qui in Soinino nijru^ ab crbc fii^it. 
 
 Marparet obsencd to her compan- 
 ion that this was new since she was 
 here last. 
 
 " Ay," said Richt, " like enough," 
 
 and lo<iked up at it with nwc. Writing 
 even on pajn-r she thoupht no triflf ; 
 but on ro«k ! 
 
 She whis|MTed : " 'T is a far holier 
 liermit than the last; he u.st-d tocuina 
 iji the ti>wn now and then ; but thi« 
 one ne'er shows his face to mortal 
 num." 
 
 " And this is holiness ? " 
 
 " Av, sure." 
 
 " Then what n saint a dormotus 
 must 1)0 ! " 
 
 " Out, fie, ini"itrrss Would ye 
 even a Ix-a-st to a man ? " 
 
 " Come, Kii ht," said Morparct, 
 " my jMtor father tauplit me over- 
 much. So I will t'iMi sit here, nnd 
 look at the nianse once more. Go 
 thou forward and ({uestion thy ooli- 
 tary ; and tell me wliether yc pet 
 naupht or nonsense out of him ; for 
 't will Ik- one." 
 
 As Kielit drew near the cave, a 
 numUr of bird.t Hew out of it. She 
 pave a Uttle scream, and |M)inte<l to 
 the cave to show Marpimt they had 
 come thence. On this Marparet felt 
 sure then- was no hnmaii Uiiip in the 
 cave, anil pave tlu- matter no further 
 attention. She fell into a dw-p rcv- 
 erv' while liMikinp at the little manse. 
 
 She was startled from it by Uieht's 
 hand u]><>n her should<-r, and a faint 
 voice sayinp, " Ix-t us po home." 
 
 " You pot no answer at all, 
 Richt," said Marparet, calmly. 
 I " No, Marparet," said Richt, 
 ! desjtondently. And they retumeJ 
 
 home. 
 ' IVrhaps, after all, Marparet had 
 ' nourished some faint, secret hoj)c in 
 her heart, thouph her reo.'«n had re- 
 jected it ; for she certainly went home 
 more dejectedly. 
 
 Just as they entered Rotterdam, 
 Richt s.iid : ''Stay! O Marparet, 
 I am ill at deceit ; but 't is death to ut- 
 ter ill news to thee, I love tlueso dear." 
 
 " Speak out, sweetheart," said Mar- 
 paret. " I have pone throuph so 
 much, I am almost past feelinp any 
 fresh trouble." 
 
 " Marparet, the hermit did speak 
 to me."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 389 
 
 " 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, Richt ? " 
 
 "Alas ! Margaret, I told him thy 
 story, and I prayed him, for our La- 
 dy's sake, tell me where thy Gerard 
 is. And I waited long for an answer, 
 and presently a voice came like a trum- 
 pet : ' Pray for the soul of Gerard, the 
 son of Eli ! ' " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " 0, woe is me that I have this to 
 tell thee, sweet Margai'et! bethink 
 thee thou hast thy boy to live for j'ct." 
 
 " Let me go home," said Margaret, 
 faintly. 
 
 Passing down the Brede Kirk 
 S tract, they saw Joan at the door. 
 
 liicht 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 low- 
 est 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. 
 
 " O," 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, deprccatingly. " 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 proceeded to re- 
 late all the marvellous tales she had 
 heard of this hermit's sanctit}-. 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 candles are to burn before 
 his saint," whispered Richt, solemn- 
 ly- 
 
 " Ay, lass ; and to read his holy 
 books wi'. A neighbor o' mine saw 
 his 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." 
 
 " What like was liis hand, wife ? 
 Did you ask her ? " 
 
 " What is my tongue for, else 1 
 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 can- 
 dles." 
 
 "Ah, well," continued Joan, " poor 
 thing, I whiles think 't is best for her 
 to know the worst. And now she 
 hath gotten a voice from heaven, or 
 almost as good : and behooves 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, Mar- 
 garet, 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 Richt Heynes, rueful- 
 
 ly- 
 
 She had her gossip out with Joan, 
 and then went home. 
 
 She found Margaret seated cutting 
 out a pelisse of gray cloth, and a cape 
 to match. Little Gerard was stand- 
 ing at her side, inside her left arm, 
 eying the work, and making it more
 
 390 
 
 THE CLUISILK AND IlIK IIKAKTH. 
 
 ilifTicult by wTi;rj,'liiit,' about, and fin- 
 fri-rin;,' the iiriii wiili whii-d shf liolil 
 till- (lotli stt'uily ; to nil wliirh Ahc 
 Kuliiiiittc<l with iinpcrtiirljniile piiticnn- 
 ftn<l compiaci'iu-y. Fiincy n iiiuK- 
 wurkiiiiin so iMituii;;lf<i, ini|M-<lc<|, 
 \vnrrii'<l ! 
 
 " Ot 'a that, mammy ' " 
 
 " A pvlisM', my jii't." 
 
 " Ot 's a p'lissc ' " 
 
 "A trrwit frtx'k And thi« i« the 
 cape to 't." 
 
 "Ot 's it for' " 
 
 " To kivp liis NkIv fn>m tho cold ; 
 and the cuik- is for fiis !>houldept, or 
 to ^o over his licuil like the countr}' 
 folk. 'T i.s for a hcniiit." 
 
 " Ot "s a 'cnnit ? " 
 
 " A holy man that livc» in a cave 
 lill hv liimsclf" 
 
 " in di- dark ? " 
 
 " Av, whiles." 
 
 " Ofi ! " 
 
 In the mominp Richt wan !<ont to 
 tlic iR-miit with the |)idi.HM.< ami a 
 ptmnd of thick candles. 
 
 As she wa.s ijoin;: out of the iloor, 
 Mar;,'arct .-aid to her, " Saici you 
 whose son (icrard was ? " 
 
 " Nay, not I." 
 
 " 'riiink, f,'irl ! How could ho call 
 him tJcrard, son of Kli, if you had not 
 told him ? " 
 
 Hicht pcrsisti"*! she hail never men- 
 tioned him but as pl.ain Gerard. Hut 
 Mar;:an"t told her Hatlv she cflrt not 
 iK'lieve her; at which I{icht was af- 
 fronted, and went out with a little 
 toss of the head. However.she deter- 
 mined to question the hermit a^ain, 
 and did not doubt he would l)e more 
 liberal in his communication, when 
 he saw his nice new jielisse and the 
 candles. 
 
 She had not been pone lonp when 
 Giles came in with ill news. The liv- 
 ing of Gouda would be kept vacant 
 no longer. 
 
 Marfraret was preatly distressed at 
 this. "() (Jiles," said she, "ask for 
 another month. They will give thee 
 another month, maybe." 
 
 lie returned in an hour to tell her 
 he could not get a month. " They 
 
 have pivcn mo n wwk," *aid he. " Acd 
 what is a week ' " 
 
 " Druwninp lioitini rairh at siniw- 
 en," wiiji her reply. " A work f m hl- 
 
 tle Vkttk ' " 
 
 Kuht came b.i. '. '- - ' r errnml 
 out of tjiirits l|. 'JM'linetl 
 
 all funlier comtii St^i at 
 
 U-a.tl itx otMtinate »ilcnrL> might fnirijr 
 U' intcq»retwl. 
 
 The next day .Murtrnn't put Uichi 
 in charv'e of the fhop, und tli*Mp|icar«-<i 
 all day. So the next day, and mi 
 the next Nor wduM <the tell any 
 one when- »he had \»-vn. I'erhaiM 
 ithc wa.0 ashamed. The fact i* nno 
 Kpent all thoM' ilayii on one little HpoC 
 of pround. When thev ihoupht ner 
 dreamin;; nhe was apiilyinp to every 
 word thikt fell from Joan and Hieht 
 the whi.lr jK)wers ot a fur acutrr mind 
 tluin either of them |x»HHt«Mc«L 
 
 She went to work on a M-ale thai 
 never oceurre*! to eith«-r of th.-m. 8I10 
 wa.s determined to s«.t> the hennit. n'u\ 
 ipie^^tion him ftu-v to fm-i-. not liiioi.ph 
 a wall. Sle '. ;iii; « 
 
 cin-iiit ihe . .ive, 
 
 and look d>'V. .. .. •, hjr 
 
 the solitnrv . lii ' to 
 
 lio it she tound ni: :;ia<is 
 
 of brambles. After tcannp her i lothc* 
 and her hands and fet>t, ut that sho 
 wa-s »o«>n covered with IiIimhI, tl»c res. 
 olute, patient jjirl tof)k out her iiriiu 
 .lom and steadily »nif>j>»"d and c«it till 
 she maile a narn»w jmth through the 
 enemy. But .<k> .«lon- wa* the work 
 that she had to leave it half done. 
 The next <lay she ha<l her nci-Mor* 
 fn-sh p-otinil, and brou;cht a «harp 
 knife as well ; and irently, silentlv cut 
 herway to the r»K)fof the cave, "fht-re 
 .<*he mad"' an ambush of some of the 
 cut bnind)les, so that the j»as*rrs-bv 
 might not sec her, anil (-ouehed w ith 
 watchful eye till the hennit should 
 come out. She heard him move un- 
 derneath her. But he never left his 
 cell. She U-gnn to think it was true 
 that he only came out at nicht. The 
 next <lay she came early, and brought 
 a jerkin she was making for little 
 Gerard, and there she *at all day
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 391 
 
 working and watching with dogged 
 patience. 
 
 At four o'clock the birds began to 
 feed ; and a great many of the smaller 
 kinds came fluttering round the cave, 
 and one or two went in. But most 
 of them, taking a preliminary scat on 
 foe bushes, suddenly discovered Mar- 
 garet, and went oft" with an agitated 
 flirt of their little wings. And al- 
 though they sailed about in the air 
 they would not enter the cave. Pres- 
 ently, to encourage them, the hermit, 
 all unconscious of the cause of their 
 tremors, put out a thin white hand 
 with a few crunil)s in it. Margaret 
 laid down her work softl}' , and, gliding 
 her body forward like a snake, looked 
 down at it from above : it was but a 
 few fleet from her. It was as the wo- 
 man described it, a thin white hand. 
 
 Presently the other hand came out 
 with a piece of bread, and the two 
 hands together broke it and scattered 
 the crumbs. 
 
 But that other hand had hardly 
 been out two seconds ere the violet 
 eyes that were watching above di- 
 lated, 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 
 perhaps her long fast to-day, and the 
 agitation and sleeplessness of many 
 preceding days, contributed. 
 
 And there lay beauty, intelligence, 
 and constancy, pale 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 set. She was very cold. 
 
 She cried a little ; but 1 think it was 
 
 partly from the remains of physical 
 
 17* 
 
 weakness. And then she went home, 
 praying God and the saints to en- 
 lighten her and teach her what to do 
 for the best. 
 
 When she got home she was pale 
 and hysterical, and would say nothing 
 in answer to all their questions but 
 her fovorite word, " We are wading 
 in deep waters." 
 
 The night seemed to have done 
 wonders for her. 
 
 She came to Catherine who was 
 sitting sighing by the fireside, and 
 kissed her, and said, " Mother, what 
 would you like best in the world ? " 
 
 " Eh, dear," replied Catherine, 
 despondently. " I know naught that 
 would make me smile now ; 1 liave 
 parted from too many that were dear 
 to me. Gerard lost again as soon as 
 found. Kate in heaven ; and Sy- 
 brandt down for life." 
 
 " 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 I have ta'en 
 over many already from my boy for a 
 set of useless loons that were aye go- 
 ing to find him for me." 
 
 Catherine and Richt stared at her 
 a moment in silence ; and then out 
 burst a flood of questions, to none of 
 which would she give a reply. " 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 the clew to all. 
 I love you, dear mother ; but I '11 
 trust no woman's tongue. If I fail 
 this time, I '11 have none to blame but 
 Margaret Brandt." 
 
 A resolute woman is a very resolute 
 thing. And there was a deep, dogged 
 determination in Margaret's voice 
 and brow, that at once convinced 
 Catherine it would be idle to put any 
 more questions at that time. She 
 and Richt lost themselves in conjec- 
 tures ; and Catherine whispered 
 Richt : " Bide quiet ; then 't will leak 
 out " ; a shrewd piece of advice founds 
 ed on general observation.
 
 302 
 
 THE CLOISTKH AND THK IIKAKTH. 
 
 Within an hour rnthorino was on 
 the roiul to (jnuda in ii i-art with two 
 stout ^'irls to litlp lur, nml <ii»itf a 
 skf^c iirtilliTV of mops, and jMiils, and 
 brushes. Slie tame hack with hfi>;lit- 
 cncil color and soini-tliin;; of tin- old 
 sparkle in her eve, and kissed Mar- 
 garet with a silent warmth that sjKike 
 voltiines ; and at live in the morning 
 was oil a;;ain to Gouda. 
 
 That ni^lit as Hieht was in her 
 first sleep, a hand (gently jiresseil her 
 shoulder, and she awoke, and wu-s gi>- 
 in>; to sereani. 
 
 " Whisht," said Marjraret, ami put 
 her tiii;:er to her lips. 
 
 She then whispered. " Mists soft- 
 ly, lion thy habits, and come with 
 me ! " 
 
 When she came down, Margaret 
 l>ej.'j,'ed her to loose Dragon and hrinjj 
 him alonp. Now Dra^'on was a;;n'nt 
 mastirt", who had <;unrilfd Martjarvt 
 Van Kyek and Hieht, two lone wo- 
 men, for some years, and was devoted- 
 ly attached to the latter. 
 
 .Mar;.'arit and Hieht went out with 
 I)ra;;on walkinj; majestically Uhind 
 them. They came hack lony after 
 midnit;ht and retired to rest. 
 
 Catherine never knew. 
 
 Mar;rarct n-ai! her friends : she saw 
 tlie sturdy, faithful Frisian could hold 
 her tonjjue ; and Catherine could not. 
 Yet I am not sure she would have 
 trusted even Hieht, had her ner>-e 
 equalled her spirit : hut, with all her 
 darin;; and resolution, she was a ten- 
 der, timid wonmn, a little afniid of 
 the dark, very afraiil of l)cinjj alone 
 in it, and desperately afraid of wolves. 
 Now Drajxon could kill a wolf in a 
 brace of shakes ; but then Dratron 
 •would not go with her. but only with 
 Richt. So altogether she made one 
 confidante. 
 
 The next night they made another 
 moonlit^ht rcconnoissance ; and, os I 
 think, with some result. For not the 
 next night (it rained that ni^rht and 
 extinguished their couratrc), but the 
 next after, they took with them a com- 
 panion; the last in the world Hieht 
 Hemes would have thought of; yet 
 
 she iruve lier warm approval as kmni 
 a.s she wa.H told he was to |^ with 
 them. 
 
 Imagine how the^tc iitealthr a«sail- 
 unt.H trembletl and pant4Ml, when the 
 moment of action cumc : ima^tie, if 
 vou can, the tumult in Mur^'urvl's 
 l>reai(t, the thnlliiiL; Iio|k-^, chiising 
 and ehuced by iti<-keiiin^ feant ; the 
 ittranp-, and pcrhafi* un|>umlli;l<Nl 
 mixtun- of tender familiarity, and dis- 
 tant awe, with which a Itively, and 
 liigh-spiriti'd, but tender, ndoniic wo- 
 nian, wife in the eye of the Law, an<l 
 no wife in the eye of the Chun-h, 
 tremblin:;. blushing, paling, glowing, 
 shivering, -Hlole at ni;;ht, noi.M-le.s.H as 
 the tiew-, upon the hermit of (ioiida. 
 
 And tlie Htant aliovc scvmcd never 
 so bri''ht and culm. 
 
 CFIATTKH XCII. 
 
 \t:n. the hermit of Gouda was the 
 vicar of (fou<la, and knew it nut, so 
 absolute was his sivlu.Hion. 
 
 My n-oiier is aware r' '' *' mo- 
 ment the frenryof hi.f j d, 
 he was .seized with nm"t nig 
 Ikx'u U'trayeil into it. IJut iR-rhaiM 
 only those who have risen as nigh in 
 religious spirit os he had, an<l siidilen- 
 ly fallen, can n-alize the terror at 
 liims<'lf that to«»k j)ossession of liim. 
 He felt like one whom m lf-<<>nfidonco 
 had U'trayi-ti to the verv ed;:e of a 
 precipice. " Ah, goo«l .)erf>me," he 
 criefl, " how much l)etter you knew 
 me than I knew myself! How bitter 
 yet wholesome was your ailmoni- 
 tion ! " 
 
 Accust*>me<l to .search his own heart, 
 he saw at once that the true cause of 
 his fury was Margaret. " I love her 
 then better tlian Gwl," said he, de- 
 spairingly, " U'tter than the Church. 
 F rom such a love what can spring to 
 me, or to her ? " He shudilere«l at the 
 thought. " Let the strong battle 
 temptation ; 't is for the weak to flee. 
 And who is weaker than I hare 
 shown myself J What is mj pen>
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 393 
 
 tence, my religion ? A pack of cards 
 built by degrees into a fair-seeming 
 Btructure; and, lo ! 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 mas- 
 ter 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-deni- 
 er 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 
 tiiought he could make her comforta- 
 ble 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. 
 " 0, what will she think of mel " he 
 groaned. " Shall I not seem to her 
 of all creatures the most heartless, in- 
 human ? but so best : ay, better she 
 should liate 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 little or- 
 atory attached to his cell. It was the 
 peaceful 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 sol- 
 dier as he had been Satan's. When 
 Clement had shriven him and prayed 
 
 by him, he, in his turn, sought coun- 
 sel of one who was dying in so pious 
 a frame. The hermit advised him to 
 be his successor in this peaceful re- 
 treat. " His had been a hard fight 
 against the world, the flesh, and the 
 Devil, and he had never thoroughly 
 baflled them till he retired into the 
 citadel of Solitude." 
 
 These words, and the hermit's pious 
 and peaceful death, which speedily 
 followed, and set ixs it were the seal 
 of immortal truth on them, made a 
 deep impression upon Clement. Nor 
 in his case had the\' any prejudice to 
 combat ; the solitary recluse was still 
 profoundly revered in the Church, 
 whether immured as an anchorite, or 
 anchoress, in some cave or cell be- 
 longing 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 Ter- 
 gou ; had devoured their lives with 
 wonder and delight in the manuscripts 
 of the Vatican, and conversed ear- 
 nestly about them with the mendicant 
 friars of several nations. Before 
 Printing these friars were the great 
 circulators of those local annals and 
 biographies which accumulated in the 
 convents of every land. Then his 
 teacher, Jerome, had been three years 
 an anchorite on the heights of Camal- 
 doli, where for more than four centu- 
 ries the Thebaid had been revived ; 
 and Jerome, cold and curt on most 
 religious themes, was warm with en- 
 thusiasm 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 hud ended his 
 days there a hermit, and of many a 
 bishop and archbishop 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 
 Nipth, He told him too, with grim
 
 394 
 
 THE CLOISTER AXI> THE m'.ARTIL 
 
 dclifjlit, of thiir multifrtrioiu nusu-ri- 
 tics, anil how ciirli lurmit .-ft hiiiiM-lf 
 to tiinl wluro ho wiis wiaki'.Ht, ami iit- 
 tackttl himself without nuTiy or rv- 
 niission till tlu-ro, t-vi-n there, he was 
 stroiiKO-^'t. Ami how m.vi'ii tiinct in 
 the twiiity-foiir hours, in thumlcr, 
 rain, or snow, hy ilayli^jht. twili;;hk, 
 nioonliuht, or torihli;;ht, the soliiarii-s 
 Hocked (n>m dotant jxiintM, over 
 ru;r;:i.«l, jtri-cipitous ways, t<i worship 
 in the convent < hunli ; at matins, at 
 prinio, tierce, sexte, nones, vesjieni, 
 and coinjjlin. He even, under iu;;fr 
 questionint;, dcscrilK-*! to him the in-r- 
 ^;ons of famous anchorites he nad 
 Bun;; the Psalter and pruveil with 
 there ; the only intercourse tlieir vows 
 i'.Uowe<l, except with s|)i'eial jn-rmis- 
 bion. Moncata, Duke of ^loncata 
 and Cardova, and Hidalgo of Spnin, 
 who in the tlower of his youth hnd re- 
 tired thither from the |>oinps, vanitie.4, 
 and pleasures of the WDrld ; Father 
 John Haptist of N(»vara, who hail liij 
 unnios to hattle, hut w a> now a pri\ ate 
 soldier of Christ ; Cornelius, .Samuil, 
 and Sylvanus. This last, when the 
 preat Duchess de Medici obtained the 
 pofie's leave, hitherto nfuscd, to visit 
 Camaldoli, went tlown and met her at 
 the first wooden cross, anil there, sur- 
 rouniletl jus she wius with courtiers and 
 flatterers, remonstrated with her and 
 jH-rsuiidcd lier, and warncfl her, not to 
 jirofane that holy mountain, w here no 
 woman for so many centuries had 
 placed her foot ; and she, awed hy the 
 
 1)lacc and the man, retreated with all 
 icr captains, soldiers, courtiers, and 
 paiies, from tluit one hoary hermit. 
 At Basle Clement found fnsh mate- 
 rials, especially with German and 
 Enfjlish anchorites ; and he had even 
 prepared a " Catena Kremitamm " 
 from the year of our Lord 2.50, when 
 Paul of Thebes commenced his ninety 
 years of solitude, down to the year 
 1470. He called them Atufttonim 
 amici et animaUuin, i. e., 
 
 Friends of Angels .\nd Animals. 
 
 Thus, thou^rh in those days he never 
 thought to be a recluse, the road 
 
 wivs iMived, K> to nfirak : and wbfB 
 the ilNini; hermit of (iouda blnacd 
 the citadel of Solitude, where he 
 had fought the i;(.«m1 fi;:ht und won 
 it, and in\ited hiiu to lake un (he 
 l>n-u.->tplati' of faith, that now fell off 
 his own shrunken ImkIv, Clrnirnt 
 saiil within himx-lf : " Htnvon ilaclf 
 le«l my foot hither to thi.» end." It 
 struck him. lo<>, a.* no wmnlt roinci- 
 denc«\ that his patron. St. Itavon, 
 was a hermit, and nn austere one, • 
 cuira.H«iier • of iho solitary cvW. 
 
 Ah Mwn a« he wa« rrconrilctl to 
 (jhyshnvht Van Swieten, he went 
 eai^erly to his new bImmI*', praving 
 Heaven it mitrht not have licen 
 already <>c-rupied in thc-e tlin-o day*. 
 The fear W'as not vain ; tli<-M- famous 
 liens never wantr<l a htimun tenant 
 loni;. He found the rude <«tonr door 
 ajar ; then ho n«i««lc sun- ho wa« too 
 late ; he opene<l the door and went 
 .softly in. No ; the rt-ll wa.s vacant, 
 and tlure were the hermit's K^'»l 
 ivory crucifix, his jK-ns, ink. »«'«1«, 
 and memento mori. a skull ; his cilice 
 of hair, and anothrr of bristles ; his 
 well-worn shifpskin jd-lisM" and liood, 
 his hammer, clii>ol, and psaltenr, &c. 
 Men and women ha<l pas^t-d thmt 
 way, but none had ventunil to in- 
 trude, far less to steal. Faith and 
 simplicity had pmnled that keylcM 
 tlixtr more oecllr^•ly than the houMrs of 
 the laity wen- defendnl bv their pitct 
 like a mo<tem jail, am) thick iron 
 bars at every window, and the pentry 
 by m(»at, Imstion, chevaux-de-friso, 
 and jiortcullis. 
 
 As soon as Clement was fairly in 
 the cell there was a loud flap, and a 
 flutter, and down came a pnat brown 
 owl from a comer, and whirled out 
 of the window, driving the air cold 
 on Clement's face. He started, and 
 shuddered. 
 
 Was this scominp owl something 
 dialjolical, trying to deter him from 
 his soul's pood 1 On second thouphu, 
 mipht it not be .some poo«l spirit the 
 hermit had employed to k«-cp the cell 
 for him, perhaps the hermit himself ' 
 
 * " Loricatus," vide Docange, lo roce
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 395 
 
 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. 
 
 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 beset- 
 ting sin, and cursed his own broth- 
 ers. 
 
 lie 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 
 ermo, a desert in a desert, where holy 
 Jerome, hermit, and the Plutarch of 
 hermits, 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 iiomanus 
 could spare him from liis scanty com- 
 mons ; and subdivided that mouthful 
 with his friend, a raven ; and the hol- 
 low 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 des- 
 tina, 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 tlieir wasted bodies on the rock, 
 and the rock under their sleeping 
 bodies and their praying knee-;, all 
 came into his mind, and he said to 
 himself : " This sweet retreat is for 
 safety of the soul ; but what for pen- 
 ance ? Jesu aid me against faults to 
 come ; and, for the fault I rue, face 
 
 of man I will not sec for a twelve- 
 month and a day." lie had famous 
 precedents in his eyes even for this 
 last and unvisual severity. In tact 
 the original hermit of this very cell 
 was clearly under the same vow. 
 Hence the two apertures through 
 which he was spoken to and re- 
 plied. 
 
 Adopting, in other respects, the 
 uniform rule of hermits and ancho- 
 rites, 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 unceas- 
 ingly. He learned the psalter by 
 heart, and in all the intervals of de- 
 votion, not occupied by broken slum- 
 bers, 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 neighbors.? for the 
 hermit was to labor for himsrlf in 
 those cases only where his subsistence 
 depended on it. Now Clement's 
 modest needs were amply supplied by 
 the villagers. 
 
 On moonlight nights he would 
 steal out like a thief, and dig some 
 poor man's garden on the outskirts 
 of the \'illage. He made baskets 
 and dropped them slyly at humble 
 doors. 
 
 And, since he could do nothing 
 for the bodies of those who passed by 
 his cell in daytime, he went out in the 
 dead of the night with his hammer 
 and his chisel, and carved moral and 
 religious sentences all down the road 
 upon the sandstone rocks. " Who 
 knows 1 " said he, " often a chance 
 shaft striketh home. O sore heart, 
 comfort thou the poor and bereaved 
 with holy words of solace in their 
 native tongue ; for Ik said well : ' 'T is 
 clavis ad 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 Clem- 
 ent, " are they so wise, these Eastern
 
 396 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 monarchs, to cnpravc their warlike 
 fi-lorv iipon the niek, in:ikin<; a hlood 
 bubble endure so lonj,' as earth ; anil 
 shall I leave the reeks about me si- 
 lent on the Kinj; of plory, at whoso 
 w(jnl they were, and at wliose breath 
 they sliail be dust ? Nay, but these 
 stones shall speak to weary wayfarers 
 of eternal peace, and of the Lamb 
 whose frail and attiieted, yet ha|>py 
 servant worketh them anion},'." 
 
 Now at this time the insi)ired words 
 that have eonsoled the jjoor and the 
 atHieted for so many ajjes were not 
 yet printed in Duteli, so that these 
 sentences of i:oU\ from the holy 
 Evan<,'iiists came like fresli oraeles 
 from lieaven, or like the dew on 
 pareheil (lowers ; and the ]k>ot hennii's 
 written rocks softened a heart or two, 
 and sent the heavy laden singing' on 
 their way.* 
 
 These holy oraeles that seemed to 
 sprini; up around him like mapie, his 
 prudent answers throu;:li his window 
 to such as sought ghostly counsel, 
 and, above all, his invisibility, soon 
 gained him a ])rodipious reputation. 
 This was not diminished by the medi- 
 cal advice they now and then exiorled 
 from him, sore against his will, by 
 tears ami entreaties ; for, if the patients 
 pot well, they pave 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 " wo- 
 manish and weak." Sape, and worm- 
 wood, sion, hyssop, borape, spikenard, 
 dop's-tonpue, our Lady's mantle, 
 feverfew, and faith, and all in small 
 quantities except the last. 
 
 Then his abstinence, sure sipn of a 
 saint. The epps and milk thev 
 broupht him at first he refused with 
 horror. Know ye not the hermit's 
 rule is bread, or herbs, and water ? 
 Epps, they are birds in dispuise ; for 
 when the bird dicth then the epp 
 rotteth. As for milk, it is little better 
 
 ' It requires nowadays a strong effort of 
 the imagination to realize the effect on poor 
 people who had never seen them before of 
 Buch sentences as this, " Blessed are the poor," 
 
 than white blrKxl. And when tlicy 
 bruupht him t<H) much bread he re- 
 fund it. Then they used to press it 
 on him. " Nay, holy father ; give 
 the overplus to the |HM)r." 
 
 " You who po amonp the |K)or can 
 do that U-tter. Ls bread a thinp to 
 tlinp haphazard from an hermit's win- 
 dow '. " And to those who |HTsihted 
 after this: " 'i"o live on charity, yet 
 play Sir Hountitul, is to lie with tlio 
 ripht hand, (iivinp another's to the 
 jKKjr, I shoulil bepuile them of tlieir 
 thanks, and cluat thee the true piver. 
 Thus do thieves, whose boast it il 
 they bleed the rich into tin' lap of the 
 fMjor. Occa-sio avaritia- nomen juiu- 
 perum." 
 
 When nothinp else would convince 
 the p(M»d souls, this piece of Latin 
 always broupht them round. So 
 would a line of Virpil's yKneid. 
 
 'Jhis preat reputation of sanctity 
 was all external. Inside the cell was 
 a nuin who held the hermit of Gutida 
 ns cheap as dirt. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he. " I cannot <leccive 
 myself; I cannot deceive (iod'.s ani- 
 mals. See the little birds, how coy 
 they 1h' ! I feeil and fec<l them and 
 lonp for their friend>hip, yet will they 
 never come within, nor take my hand 
 by liphtinp on 't. For why ' No 
 Paul, no Henediet, no Ilnph of Lin- 
 coln, no Coluniba, no (iuthlae, bides 
 iti this cell. Hunted doe fiieth not 
 hither, for here is no Fruetuosus, 
 nor Aventinc, nor AllK-rt of Suabia : 
 nor e'en a pretty s(|uirrel cometh 
 from the wood hard by for the acorns 
 I have hoarded ; for here abideth no 
 Columbian. The very owl that was 
 here hath fled. They are not to be 
 deceived ; I have a I'ojjc's word for 
 that : Heaven rest his soul." 
 
 Clement had one advantape over 
 her whose imnpc in his heart he was 
 bent on destroying. 
 
 He had sufll-red and survived the 
 panp of bereavement ; and the mind 
 cannot quite rejK'at such anptiish. 
 Then he had built nj) a habit of look- 
 ing on her as dead. After that stranpe 
 scene in the church and churchyard
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 397 
 
 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 simi- 
 lar habit on, — to look on her as dead 
 to him. 
 
 And by severe subdivision of his 
 time and thoughts, by unceasing 
 prayers, and manual labor, he did, in 
 about three months, succeed in be- 
 numbing the earthly half of his 
 heart. 
 
 But, lo ! within a day or two of 
 this first symptom of mental peace 
 returning slowly, there descended up- 
 on his mind a horrible despondency. 
 
 AVords 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. " O, 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 darkness over Christian 
 souls in desert places had been sup- 
 pressed ; 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 melan- 
 choliam "; " they turn to gloomy mad- 
 ness." These two statements, were 
 they not one ? for the ancient fathers 
 never spoke with regret of the death 
 
 of the body. No, the hermits so lost 
 were perished souls, and the serpents 
 were diabolical * thoughts, the natural 
 brood of solitude. 
 
 St. Jerome went into the desert 
 with three companions ; one fled in the 
 first year ; two died : how ? The sin- 
 gle one that lasted was a gigantic 
 soul with an iron body. 
 
 The contemporary 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 souls had always 
 been lost in solitude for one gigantic 
 mind and iron body that survived this 
 terrible ordeal ? 
 
 The darkened recluse now cast his 
 despairing 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 un- 
 able to pray with true fervor. The 
 very system of mechanical supplica- 
 tion he had for months carried out so 
 severely by rule had rather checked 
 than fostered liis 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 psal- 
 tery, 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 ! " he cried. 
 " Saul had a saint 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 
 
 * The primitive writer was so interpreted 
 by others besides Clement ; and, in particu- 
 lar, by Peter of Blois, a divine of the twelfth 
 century, whose comment is noteworthy, as he 
 himself was a forty-year hermit.
 
 398 
 
 THK CLOISTKK AND TlIK IIKAHTIL 
 
 make the music to uplift that heart 
 to heaven ; it may not he." Ami he 
 grovelled on the earth, weeping and 
 tearing his hair. 
 
 Vertebutur ad melnncholiam. 
 
 CIIArTER xciir. 
 
 One day as he lay there, sighing 
 and groaning, praycrless, tuneless, 
 hopeless, a thought Hashed 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 (iod and 
 the nuigie 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 cauglit, not his sword, for he 
 had none, iiut peaceful lahor's hiimliler 
 weapon, his chisel, and worked with 
 it as if his soul depended on his arm. 
 
 They say that Michael Angelo in 
 the next generation used to cane 
 statues, not like our timid sculptors, 
 by modelling the work in clay, and 
 then setting a mechanic to ehi.sel it ; 
 but would seize the block, conceive 
 the image, antl at once with mallet 
 a!ul steel make the marble chips fly 
 like mad about him, and the ma.ss 
 sprout into form. Even so Clement 
 drew no lines to guide his hand. He 
 went to his memory for the grm-ious 
 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 't will but bum." 
 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 be- 
 holding crossed themselves and sus- 
 pected deviltries, and within, the holy 
 talismans one after another c.ime up- 
 on the walls, and the sparks and the 
 chips flew day and night, night and 
 
 d.iy, as the soldier of Solitude and of 
 the Church jilied, with si;:hs and 
 groans, his bliH^dlcss weapon between 
 working and lighting. 
 
 Kyric Elrnson. 
 Christe Elfeison. 
 
 Tov laiavav (rwrpiiltoy uiro TOvt iroiat qfitv.* 
 Sursnm rorda. t 
 
 Deits rrfwjium nnstmm et viiiiut. \ 
 Aipiits I)ii, ifui tUlis i)rr)tUa mundi, 
 
 miserere mihi. § 
 
 Snnrta Trinitas uniis iMis miserm 
 nobis. II 
 
 Ah tn/istiili<milnis J^rvioiium^ a ren- 
 titra irti, u dumitnlioiu- jHrjMlnii,^ 
 
 JJIxrii nus iJvmine. 
 
 Deits, ipii miro ardine Anifilimim min- 
 isteria, itc. (The whole collect.) ♦• 
 
 Qiirm (/nirrimits ad/utorem nisi te 
 Dumme, i/iti jirv jHntitis nosiria juate 
 irnsittris / ft 
 
 Sanrtr iMts, Sanrte foriis, Sunrte et 
 miserirors .SVi/f«j/or, amurie morti ne 
 tradiis nos. 
 
 And iindcrmnth the greiit <Tucifix, 
 which was fi.stcia'd to the wall, ho 
 graved this from Augustine : — 
 
 (iiiima Christiana, nspire rvdnera 
 jHiliiiitis, sariffuinrm niorlmtis, prftium 
 ri-thmjttiouis. — /fur t/wnita sint ciit/i- 
 tdtr, (t lu sliilira inrnilis vtstnr ainien- 
 dite, ul liittis riJiis fif/atur in corde, qui 
 pro volii.i Miisjixiis rst in mice. Nam, 
 si iMissio C 'liristi iid mi vioi ' 
 nihil ist tarn durum quod 
 imo tulirdur. 
 
 • Beat down Satan under our fecL 
 
 t I'p, n..arts ! 
 
 + O Ool, our refupp and strcnpth. 
 
 §0 Lamb of Clixl, that taki-st away the 
 sins of the world, have mercy upon me ! 
 
 II O Uoly Trinity, one Ood, have mercy up 
 on U9. 
 
 IT From the assaults of demons, from the 
 wrath to come, from everla.atinjr damnation, 
 I>eliver us, O Lord '. 
 
 ** See the English collect, St. Michael and 
 all Anpels. 
 
 ft Of whiim raay we seek succor, but ot 
 thi-o, O Lord, who fur our sins art just'y di-!- 
 pleased (and that torrent of prayer, the fob 
 lowing verae). 
 
 non a quo an-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 399 
 
 Which may be thus rendered : — 
 
 Christian soul, look on the ivounds 
 of the sujfering 0?ie, the blood of the dy- 
 ing One, the price paid for our redemp- 
 tion : These things, oh think how great 
 they be, and iveigh them in the balance of 
 thy mind: that He mau be wholly nailed 
 to thy heart, who for thee was all nailed 
 unto the cross. For do but call to mind 
 the sufferings of Christ, and there is 
 naught on earth too hard to endure with 
 composure. 
 
 Soothed a little, a very little, by 
 the sweet and pious words he was 
 raising all round him, and weighed 
 down with Avatching and working 
 night and day, Clement one morning 
 sank prostrate with fatigue ; and a 
 deep sleep overpowered him for many 
 hours. 
 
 Awaking quietly, he heard a little 
 cheep ; he opened his eyes, and, lo ! 
 upon his breviary, which was on a 
 low stool near his feet, ruffling 
 all his feathers with a single pull, 
 and smoothing them as sudden- 
 ly, and cocking his bill this way 
 and tljat with a vast display of cun- 
 ning purely imaginary, perched a 
 robin-redbreast. 
 
 Clement held his breath. 
 
 He half closed his eyes lest they 
 should frighten the airy guest. 
 
 Down came robin on the floor. 
 
 When there he went through his 
 pantomime of astuteness ; and then, 
 
 Eim, pim, pim, with three stiff little 
 ops, like a ball of worsted on verti- 
 cal wires, he was on the hermit's bare 
 foot. On this eminence he swelled, 
 and contracted again, with el)b and 
 flow of feathers ; but Clement lost 
 this, for he quite closed his eyes and 
 scarce drew his breath in fear of 
 frightening 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 lit- 
 tle wings, and the feathered busy- 
 body was on the breviary again. 
 Then Clement determined to try 
 
 and feed this pretty little fidget with- 
 out 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 slyly 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 hennit'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 camcdst 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 : — 
 
 Veni Creator Spiritus 
 Mentes tuorum visita 
 Imple supenm gratia 
 Quce tu creasti pectora 
 
 Accende lumen seiisibus 
 Mentes tuorum visita 
 Infrma nostri corporis 
 Virtute firmans perpetim. 
 
 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.
 
 400 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 And presently all was reversed ; 
 his cell seemed ilhiiiiinatcd 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 Hyin<: from 
 snow, and a parish full of Cains, 
 made friends one after another with 
 Abel, fast friends. And one keen 
 frosty night as he sanjr the praises of 
 God to liis tuneful psaltery, and his 
 hollow cave ranp forth the holy 
 psalmody upon the nifcht, as if that 
 cave itself was Tubal's sounding 
 shell, or David's harj), he heard a 
 clear whine, not unmclodious ; it be- 
 came louder and less in tune. He 
 ])eei)ed through the chinks of his rude 
 door, and there sat a great red wolf 
 moaning melodiously with his nose 
 high in the air. 
 
 Clement was rejoiced. "My sins 
 arc going," he cried, " and the crea- 
 tures of God are owning me one after 
 another." And in a burst of enthu- 
 siasm he struck up the laud : — " I'raise 
 Him all ye creatures of His ! 
 
 " Let everything that hath breath 
 praise the Lord." 
 
 And, all the time he sang, the wolf 
 bayed at iuter\als. 
 
 But above all he seemed now to be 
 drawing nearer to that celestial inter- 
 course which was the sign and the 
 bliss of the true hermit ; for he had 
 dreams about the saints and angels, 
 so vivid, they were more like visions. 
 He saw bright figures clad in woven 
 snow. They bent on him eyes love- 
 lier than those of the antelopes he 
 had seen at Konio, and fanned him 
 with broad wings lined like the rain- 
 bow, and their gentle voices bade 
 him speed upon his course. 
 
 He had not long enjoyed this fe- 
 licity, when his dreams began to take 
 another and a strange com])h'xion. 
 He wandered with Fra Colonna over 
 the relics of antir|ue nations, and the 
 friar was lame and had a staff, and this j 
 staff he waved over the mighty ruins, 
 and, were they Egyptian, Greek, or 
 Eoman, 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 cclip.sed 
 both Ap«jllo and his rival poured 
 forth their lays ; women, godlike in 
 form, and drajjcd like Minena, SMram 
 round the marble courts in volup- 
 tuous but easy and graceful dances. 
 Her sculptors carved away amidst 
 admiring j)Upils, and forms of super- 
 natural beauty grew out of Parian 
 marble in a fpiarter of an hour; and 
 grave jihilosojihers convcrse<l on high 
 and subtle matters, with youth listen- 
 ing reverently ; it wa.s a long time 
 ago. And still beneath all this won- 
 derful panorama a sort of suspicion 
 or expectation lurked in the dream- 
 er's mind. " This is a prologue, a 
 flourish, there is something beliind ; 
 something that means me no good, 
 something mysterious, awful." 
 
 And one night that the wizard Co- 
 lonna had tran.scended himself, he 
 jKiinted with his stick, and there waa 
 a swallowing up of many great ancient 
 cities, and the pair stood on a vast 
 sandy ]ilain with a huge crimson sun 
 sinking to rest. There were great 
 palm-trees ; and there were bulrush 
 liives, scare u 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 Gym- 
 nosophists." 
 
 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 sunk ; 
 and it got dusk, and the hives scarce 
 visible. And Colonna's figure be- 
 came shadowy and shaftelcss, but his 
 eyes glowed ten times brighter ; and 
 this thing all eyes spoke and said : 
 " Nay, let them be, a pack of fools .' 
 sec how dismal it all is." Then with
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 401 
 
 a sudden sprightliness : " But I hear I 
 one of them has a manuscript of Pe- ' 
 tronius, on papyrus ; I go to buy it, j 
 farewell forever, forever, forever." | 
 
 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 Avith sunshine, 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 
 thou 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 a 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 
 extinguish all the rest in a moment, 
 Stellas exortus uti setherius sol : for 
 she came glowing with two beauties 
 never before united, in angel's radi- 
 ance and 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 arti- 
 fice. From Anthony to Nicholas of 
 the Rock scarce a hermit that had 
 not been thus beset ; sometimes ^\-ith 
 gay voluptuous visions, sometimes 
 with lovely phantoms, warm, tangi- 
 ble, and womanly without, 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 co- 
 pious records of the hennits' tri- 
 umphs, and the weapons by which 
 they had conquered. 
 
 Domandmn est coi'pus; the body 
 must be tamed ; this had been their 
 watchword for twelve hundred years. 
 It was a tremendous war-cn,-; for 
 they called the earthly affections, as 
 well as appetites, body ; and crushed 
 the whole heart through the suffering 
 and mortified fiesh. 
 
 Clement then said to himself that 
 the great enemy of man had retired 
 but to spring with more efiect, and 
 had allowed him a few days of true 
 purity and joy only to put him ofi'his 
 guard against the soft blandishments 
 he was pouring over the soul, that 
 had survived the buffeting of his 
 black wings. He applied himself to 
 tame the body ; he shortened his 
 sleep, lengthened his prayers, and in- 
 creased his severe temperance to ab- 
 stinence. Hitherto, following the 
 ordinary rule, he had eaten only at 
 sunset. Now he ate but once in 
 forty-eight hours, drinking a Uttle wa- 
 ter every day. 
 
 On this the visions became more 
 distinct. 
 
 Then he flew to a famous antidote, 
 to " the grand febrifuge " of ancho- 
 rites, — 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, clear- 
 ing the bottom of the large stones, 
 made a hole 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 as- 
 sault, and entered the icy water. 
 
 It made him gasp and almost 
 shriek with the cold. It froze his 
 man-ow. " I shall die," he cried. " I 
 shall die ; but better this than fire 
 eternal." 
 
 And the next day he was so stiff in 
 all his joints he could not move, and
 
 402 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THK HEARTH. 
 
 he seemed one great ache. And even 
 in sleep lie tblt that his very hones 
 were like so many ra^'inf; teeth, till 
 the phantom he drcaileil came and 
 f^ave one ])itying smile, and all the 
 pain was gone. 
 
 Then, feeling that to go into the 
 icy water again, enf'eehled by fasts as 
 he was, might perhaps carry the guilt 
 of suicide, he scourged himself till the 
 hlood ran, and so lay down smarting. 
 
 And when exhaustion began to 
 blunt the smart down to a throb, 
 that moment the present wa.s away, 
 and the ])ast came smiling hack, lie 
 sat with Margaret at the Duke's feast, 
 the minstrels f)layed divinely, and 
 the ])ur])le fountains gushed. Youth 
 and love reigned in each heart, and 
 perfumed the very air. 
 
 Then the scene shifted, and tliey 
 stood at the altar together man and 
 wife. And no interruption 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 tliey 
 were really one." 
 
 Ami, 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 Cicrard Eliassoen, the 
 happy husband of the loveliest, and 
 best, and truest girl in Holland : all 
 the luippier 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 su- 
 pernatural foe, had now reduced him 
 nearly to a skeleton ; but still on 
 those aching bones hung flesh un- 
 subdued, and quivering with an 
 earthly passion ; so, however, he 
 thought ; " or why had ill spirits 
 Bueh a power over him ? " His opin- 
 ion was confirmed, when one day he 
 
 delected liimself sinking to slwp ac^ 
 ually with a feeling of coui]>lacency, 
 because now .Margaret would como 
 and he should t'eel no more pojn, and 
 the unreal would Ik- real, and the 
 real unreal for an liour. 
 
 On this he rose hastily with a cry 
 of dismay, aiul stri[)ping to the skin 
 climln'd \i\> to the brambles al)Ovc his 
 cave, anil flung liim>elfon them, and 
 rolleil on them writhing with the 
 |)ain : then he came into his den a 
 mass of gore, and lay nuianing for 
 hours ; till, out of shi-er exhaustion, 
 he fell into a deep and dreamless 
 sleep. 
 
 lie awoke to bodily jiain, and men- 
 tal exultation ; he had broken the 
 fatal spell. Yes, it was broken : 
 another and another day passeil, and 
 her inuige molested him no more. 
 Hut he caught himself sighing at his 
 victory. 
 
 The birds got tamer and tamer, they 
 jK'rched u])on his band. Two of them 
 let him gild their little claws. Eating 
 but once in two days, he had more to 
 give them. 
 
 His tranquillity wa.s not to last long. 
 
 A wonum's voice came in from tlie 
 outside, told him his own story in a 
 very few words, and asked him to tell 
 her where Gerard was to bo found. 
 
 He was so astounded he could only 
 sav, with ar^ instinct of sclf-<lefence, 
 " i'ray for the soul of (uranl, the son 
 of Eli ! " meaning that he was dead 
 to the world. And he sat wondering. 
 
 When the wonum was gone, he de- 
 termined, after an inward battle, to 
 risk being seen, and he peeped after 
 her to see who it could he : but he 
 took so many precautions, and sho 
 ran so quickly back to her friend, that 
 the road was clear. 
 
 " Satan ! " said he, directly. 
 
 And that night back came his vis- 
 ions of earthly love and hajipiness so 
 vividly, he could count every auburn 
 hair in Margaret's head, and sec 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";
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 403 
 
 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 ilung 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 imagina- 
 tion intermitted, as a master mind of 
 our day has shown that all things in- 
 termit,* 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 lamb's- 
 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 af- 
 ter he came 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, 
 " 'T is 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 
 a short rest. The stars were wonder- 
 ful. Heaven seemed a thousand times 
 larger as well as brighter than earth, 
 
 * Dr. Dickson, author of " Fallacies of the 
 Faculty,' ' etc. 
 
 t It is related of a mediieval 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." 
 
 and to look with a thousand eyes 
 instead of one. 
 
 " O, M'onderful," 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, wliich 
 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 stood with his hand upon the 
 ragged 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 start and tremble at noth- 
 ing 1 Either I did shut it, or the 
 fiend hath shut it after me to dis- 
 turb my happy soul. Retro Satha- 
 nas ! " 
 
 And he entered his cave rapidly, 
 and began with somewhat nen'ous ex- 
 pedition to light one of his largest ta- 
 pers. 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 shaded it with his 
 hand from behind, and threw the faint 
 light all round the cell. 
 
 In the farthest corner the outline of 
 the wall seemed broken. 
 
 He took a step towards the place 
 with his heart beating. 
 
 The candle at the same time get- 
 ting brighter, he saw it was the figure 
 of a woman. 
 
 Another step with his knees knock- 
 ing together. 
 
 It was Makgaret Brandt.
 
 404 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XCIV. 
 
 Her attitude was one to excite pity 
 ratlier than terror, in eyes not Mindcil 
 by a preconceived notion. Her li<>- 
 som was Hutterin;: like a bird, and the 
 red and white coniin;; ind KO'"tr '" 
 her checks, and she had her Uuud 
 ajjainst the wall by tlic instinct of 
 timid thinfjs, she trembled so; and 
 the marvelhnis mixefl ;,M/.e of iovi', 
 and pious awe, and pity, and teniler 
 memories, those |)urple eyes cast on 
 the emaciated and >;laring hermit, was 
 an event in nature. 
 
 "Aha!" he cried. "Thou art 
 come at last in tlesh and blood ; conic 
 to me as thou earnest to holy Antho- 
 ny. Hut 1 am ware of thee; I 
 thou;:ht thy wiles were not exhausted. 
 I am armed." With this he snatched 
 up his small crucili.Y and held it out 
 at her, astonished, and the candle in 
 the otiier hand, both crucitix and can- 
 dle shaking: violently, " Kxorci/.o tc." 
 
 " Ah, no ! " cried she, piteously ; 
 and put out two i)rctty de|)recatintr 
 palms. "AIiw, work nic no ill ! It 
 IS Marparct." 
 
 " Liar I " shouted the hermit. 
 " Mar^raret was fair, but not .so super- 
 natural fair as thou. Thou didst 
 shrink at that sacred nanie, thou 
 subtle hypocrite. In Nomine Dei 
 exorcizo vos." 
 
 "Ah, Jcsu ! " pasped Marparet, in 
 extremity of terror, " curse me not ! 
 I will go home. I thought / might 
 come. For very manhood iK-Latin 
 me not ! O Gerard, is it thus you j 
 and I meet after all, — after all ? " 
 
 And she cowered almost to her 
 knees, and sobbed with superstitious 
 fear and wounded affection. 
 
 Impregnated as he was with Satan- 
 ophobia, he might perhaps have ! 
 doubted still whether this distressed 
 creature, all woman and nature, was 
 not all art and tiend. But her spon- 
 taneous appeal to that sacred name 
 dissolved his chimera, and let him see 
 with his eyes, and hear with his 
 ears. 
 
 He uttered a cry of self-reproach, 
 
 and tried to raise her ; but what wltn 
 fasts, what with the oxrixiwering 
 emotion of a long solitude m» broken, 
 he could not. "What," he gus|K-<l, 
 shaking over lier, " and is it thou ' 
 And have I met thee with hard 
 words t Ala-s I " And tliey were l>uili 
 choked with emotion, and could not 
 sjH-ak for a while. 
 
 " I heed it not much," said Mar 
 garet, bravely, struggling with li. t 
 tears ; " you took me for another , 
 for a devil ; oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, sweet f^oul ! " And. 
 as soon lis he could s|Hak more than 
 a word at a time, b«> said : " I havi 
 licen mueli beset by the Kvil One 
 since I came here." 
 
 Margaret looked round with a 
 shuilder. " Like en<iw. Then () tak« 
 my hand, and let me lead thee from 
 this foul place." 
 
 He gazed at her with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " What, desert my cell, ami go 
 into the world again I Is it for that 
 thou hast come to me?" said he, 
 sadly and nproaehfully. 
 
 " Ay, Cicrard. I am come to take 
 thee to thy pretty vicarage ; art viear 
 of (iouda, tlianks to Heaven and thy 
 gooil brother (jiles ; and tnotlier antl 
 I have made it so neat for thee, (Je- 
 rard. 'T is well enow in winter, I 
 promise tliee. Hut bide a bit till the 
 hawthorn bloom, and anon thy walls 
 put on their kirtle of brave n)st« and 
 sweet woodbine. Have we forgotten 
 thee, and the foolish things thou 
 lovest ? And, dear CJerard, thy moth- 
 er is waiting, and 't is late for her to 
 be out of her l)cd ; jirithcc ; prithee ; 
 come ! And the moment we are out 
 of this foul hole I '11 show thee a 
 treasure thou hast gotten, and know- 
 est naught on 't, or sure hadst never 
 fletl from us so. Alas ! what is to do ? 
 What have I ignorantly said, to bo 
 regarded thus ? " 
 
 For he had drawn himself all up 
 into a heap, and was looking at her 
 with a strange gaze of fear and sus- 
 picion blended. 
 
 " Unhappy girl," said he, solemnly,
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEABTH. 
 
 405 
 
 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 thy 
 doing ; the bowelless fiend sends thee, 
 poor simple girl, to me M'ith this bait. 
 But, 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, 
 ivhy am I herel Because I love 
 thee." 
 
 " O no, Gerard, you love me not, 
 or you would not have hidden from 
 mc ; 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 sight of 
 man. I am a priest, a monk; what 
 but folly or sin can come of you and 
 me living neighbors, and feeding a 
 passion innocent once, but now (so 
 Heaven wills it) impious and unholy ? 
 No, though my heart break I must 
 be firm. 'T is 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 a waiting 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 ; 't is best we part ; ay, this 
 moment." 
 
 "Part, Gerard? Never; we have 
 seen what comes of parting. Part 1 
 Why, you have not heard half my 
 story ; no, nor the tithe. 'T is 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 ? 
 Wouldst put me to thine own door, 
 being the stronger 1 " 
 
 " Nay, Margaret, well thou know- 
 est I would sulFer many deaths rather 
 than put force on thee ; thy sweet 
 body is dearer to me than my own ; 
 but a million times dearer to mc are 
 our immortal souls, both thine and 
 mine. I have withstood this direst 
 temptation of all long enow. Now I 
 must fly it ; farewell ! farewell." 
 
 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 her so small a 
 favor. But at this he saw his oppor- 
 tunity and seized it. 
 
 " Fly, Clement, fly ! " he almost 
 shrieked, and, his religious enthusi- 
 asm giving him for a moment his old 
 strength, he burst wildly away from 
 her, and after a few steps bounded 
 over the little stream and ran beside 
 it, but, finding he was not followed, 
 stopped, and looked back.
 
 406 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 She was lying on her face, with 
 her hands spread out. 
 
 Yes, without meaning it, he had 
 thrown her down and liurt her. 
 
 When he saw that, lie groaned and 
 turned back a step ; but, suddenly, by 
 another impulse, tlung himself into 
 the icy water instead. 
 
 " There, kill my body ! " he cried, 
 " but save my soul ! " 
 
 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 face pale and her 
 eyes glistening ; and then in the still 
 night he heard these words : — 
 
 " O God ! thou that knowest all, 
 thou seest how I am used. Forgive 
 me then ! For I will not live anotlicr 
 day." With this she suddenly started 
 to lier feet, and flew like some wild 
 creature, wounded to death, dose by 
 his miserable hiding-place, shrieking : 
 " Cruel ! — cruel ! — cruel ! — cruel ! " 
 
 What manifold anguish may burst 
 ft'om a human heart in a single sylla- 
 ble ! There were wounded love, and 
 wounded pride, and despair, and com- 
 ing 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 
 forever, and in the midst of his dis- 
 mal triumph, the greatest he had won, 
 there came an almost incontrollable 
 impulse to curse the Church, to curse 
 religion itself, for exacting such sav- 
 age 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 ; " she will 
 never come near mc again ; unmanly, 
 ungrateful wretch that I am." And 
 he flung his emaciated, frozen body 
 down on the floor, not without a se- 
 cret 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 cau.sed her he 
 loved, put on the old hermit's cilice 
 of bristles, and over that bis breast- 
 plate. He had never worn either of 
 these before, doubting himself worthy 
 to don the arms of tluit tried soldier. 
 But now he must give himself every 
 aid ; the bristles might distract hi> 
 earthly remorse by bodily pain, and 
 there might Ikj holy virtue in the 
 breastplate. 
 
 Then be kneeled down and prayed 
 God humbly to release him that very 
 night from the burden of the flesh. 
 Then he lighted all his candles, and 
 recited his psalter doggedly ; each 
 word seemed to come like a lump of 
 lead from a leaden heart, and to fall 
 leaden to the ground ; and in this 
 mechanical ollice every ni>\v and then 
 he moaned with all bis 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 s[Miu into silk. 
 
 He wtiK to see what it could l>c ; 
 and hv. had no sooner viewed it closer 
 than he threw up his hands with rap- 
 ture. " It is a seraph," he whisjK'red, 
 "a lovely seraph. Heaven has wit- 
 nessed my bitter trial, and aj)prove3 
 my cruelty ; and this flower of the 
 skies is .sent to cheer me, fainting un- 
 der 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 leavest 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 color of heaven ; and, 
 seeing a strange figure kneeling over 
 him, he cried piteously : " Mum — ma ! 
 Mum — ma ! " And the tears began 
 to run down his little cheeks. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, Clement, who 
 for more than six months had not 
 looked on a human face divine, e«ti-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 407 
 
 mated childisli beauty more justly 
 than wo can ; and in truth, this fair 
 northern child, with it« Iotii; golden 
 hair, was far more an^^clic than any 
 of our imagined angels. But now the 
 spell was broken. 
 
 Yet not unhappily. Clement, it 
 may be remembered, was fond of 
 ciiihlren, and true monastic life fosters 
 this sentiment. The innocent dis- 
 tress on the cherubic face, the tears 
 that ran so smoothly from those 
 transparent violets, his eyes, and his 
 jirctty, dismal cry for his only friend, 
 his mother, went through the her- 
 mit's heart. He employed all his 
 gentleness and all his art to soothe 
 him, and, as the little soul was won- 
 derfully intelligent for his age, pres- 
 ently 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 eyes this strange figure that 
 looked so wild, but spoke so kindly, 
 and wore armor, and did not kill little 
 boys, and coaxed them. Clement 
 was equally perplexed to know how 
 this little human flower came to lie 
 sparkling and blooming in his gloomy 
 cave. But he remembered he had left 
 the door wide open, and he was driv- 
 en to conclude that, owing to this 
 negligence, some unfortunate crea- 
 ture of high or low degree had seized 
 this opportunity to get rid of her child 
 forever.* 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 saw the divine 
 goodness, which had so directed her 
 heartlessness as to comfort his ser- 
 vant's breaking heart. 
 
 " Now bless thee, bless thee, bless 
 thee, sweet innocent; I would not 
 change thee for e'en a cherub in heav- 
 en." 
 
 " At 's pooty," replied the infant, 
 ignoring contemptuously, after the 
 manner of infants, all remarks that 
 did not interest him. 
 
 * More than one hermit had received a 
 present o( this kind. 
 
 ]8 
 
 " What is pretty here, my love, be- 
 sides thee 1 " 
 
 " Ookum-gars," * said the boy, 
 pointing to the hermit's breastplate. 
 
 " Quot liberi, tot sententiunculise ! " 
 Hector's child screamed at his father's 
 glittering casque and nodding crest; 
 and here was a mediajval 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, cry it- 
 tie ? 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 O, so pretty! " 
 
 " Den I ikes 'm," said the child, 
 authoritatively. " I ont my mam- 
 my." 
 
 " 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 conversa- 
 tion from first to last, the relative 
 ages, situations, and all circumstan- 
 ces of the parties considered, as 
 strange a one as ever took place be- 
 tween two mortal creatures, but at 
 or within a second or two of the her- 
 mit's last question, to turn the 
 strange into the marvellous, came an 
 unseen witness, to whom every word 
 that passed carried 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 Ge- 
 rard, was almost mad. She was in 
 that state of mind in which affection- 
 ate mothers have been known to kill 
 their children, sometimes along with 
 themselves, sometimes alone, which 
 * Query ? " looking-glass- ''
 
 408 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 last is certainly maniacal. She ran 
 to Richt Heynes pale and trcmblinf;, 
 and clasped her round the neck. 
 "0 Richt! Richt!" and could 
 say no more. Richt kissed her and 
 began to whimper ; and, would you 
 believe if? the great mastiff uttered 
 one long whine : even his glimmer of 
 sense taught him grief was afloat. 
 
 " O Richt ! " moaned the despised 
 beauty, as soon as she could utter a 
 word for choking, " see liow he has 
 served me"; and she showed her 
 hands that were bleeding with falling 
 on 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 tempi a man 1 you know 
 me, Richt." 
 
 " Nay, in sooth, sweet Mistress 
 Margaret, the last i' the world." 
 
 " And he would not look at my 
 child. I '11 fling myself and him into 
 the Rotter this night." 
 
 " O, fie, fie ! eh, my sweet woman, 
 speak not so. Is any man that 
 breathes worth your child's life ? " 
 
 " My child ! where is he ? Why, 
 Richt, I have left him behind. O, 
 shame ! is it possible I can love him 
 to that degree as to forget my child ? 
 Ah ! I am rightly served for it." 
 
 And she sat down, and faithful 
 Richt beside her, and they sobbed in 
 one another's arms. 
 
 After a while Margaret left off sob- 
 bing and said, doggedly, " Let us go 
 home." 
 
 " Ay, but the bairn ? " 
 
 " O, he is well where he is. My 
 heart is turned against my very child. 
 He cares naught for him ; would n't 
 see him, nor hear speak of him ; 
 and I took him there so proud, 
 and made his hair so nice 1 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 stom- 
 ach," said Richt. 
 
 " Time will show. Come then 
 home." 
 
 They departed, and time did show 
 quicker than he levels abbeys, for at 
 the second step Margaret stojjpcd, 
 and could neither go one way nor the 
 other, but stood stock-still. 
 
 " Richt," said she, pitcously, 
 " what else have I on earth ? I can- 
 not." 
 
 " \Vho ever said you could ? 
 Think you I paid attention ? Words 
 arc woman's t)reath. Come back for 
 him without more ado ; 't is time we 
 were in our beds, much more he." 
 
 Richt led the way, and Margaret 
 followed readily enough in that di- 
 rection ; but as tlicy drew near the 
 cell she stopped again. 
 
 " Richt, go you and ask him will 
 he give me back my boy ; for I could 
 not bear the sight of him." 
 
 " Alas ! mistress, this do seem a 
 sorry ending after all that hath been 
 betwixt you twain. Bethink thee 
 now, doth thine heart whisper no ex- 
 cuse for him i dost verily hate him 
 for whom thou hast waited so long ? 
 
 weary world ! " 
 
 "Hate him, Richt? I would not 
 harm a hair of his head for all that is 
 in nature ; but look on him I cannot ; 
 
 1 have taken a horror of him. O, 
 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 despise ; and now 
 my ovvn is despised. Richt, if the 
 poor lad was here now, he would 
 have a good chance." 
 
 " Well, he is not far off," said 
 Richt Heynes, but somehow she did 
 not say it with alacritv'. 
 
 " Speak not to me of any man," 
 said Margaret, bitterly, " I hate them 
 all." 
 
 " For the sake of one ? " 
 
 " Flout me not, but prithee go for- 
 ward and get me what is my own, 
 my sole joy in the world. Thou
 
 THE cloistp:r and the hearth. 
 
 409 
 
 knowest I am on thorns till I have 
 him to my bosom ajrain." 
 
 Richt went forward ; Marjraret 
 sat by the roadside and covered her 
 face with her apron, and rocked her- 
 self after the manner of her conntry, 
 for her soul was full of bitterness and 
 grief So severe, indeed, was the in- 
 ternal conflict, that she did not hear 
 Richt running back to her, and start- 
 ed violently when the young woman 
 laid a hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Mistress Margaret ! " said Richt, 
 quietly, " take a fool's advice tliat 
 loves ye. Go softly to yon cave wi' 
 all the ears and eyes your mother 
 ever gave you." 
 
 " Why ? — what, — Richt ? " stam- 
 mered Margaret. 
 
 " I thought the cave was afire, 
 't was so light inside ; and tliere 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 keyhole 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 ser- 
 pent, ere I 'd lose one word that 
 passes atwixt those twain." 
 
 " Whisht, Richt ! Bless thee ! 
 Bide thou here. Buss me ! Pray for 
 me!" 
 
 And, almost ere the agitated words 
 had left her lips, Margaret was fl}*ing 
 towards the hermitage as noiselessly 
 as a lapwing. Arrived near it, she 
 crouched, and there was something 
 truly serpentine in the gliding, flexi- 
 ble, noiseless movements by which she 
 reached the very door, and there she 
 found a chink and listened. And of- 
 ten 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 siie 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 noth- 
 ing ; but, being pressed, he suddenly 
 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 ! the monster ! he must 
 be bom without bowels to desert 
 thee, sweet one. Ah ! he little knows 
 the joy he hath turned his back on. 
 Well, my little dove, I must be fa- 
 ther and mother to thee, since the one 
 runs away, and t'other abandons thee 
 to my care. Now to-morrow I shall 
 ask the good people, that bring me 
 my food, to fetch some nice eggs and 
 milk for thee as 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 can yead, I can yead." 
 " Ay verily, so young ? all the bet- 
 ter ; 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 daj' ? " 
 
 " Ay, along wi' — my — mammy." 
 " What, not without her then ? " 
 " Nay. I ont my mammy. WTiere 
 is my mammy ? " 
 
 (O, what it cost poor Margaret not 
 to burst in and clasp him to her 
 heart ! ) 
 
 " Well, fret not, sweetheart, may- 
 hap 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 name." 
 
 " Baby." And he opened his eyes
 
 410 
 
 Tin; CLOISTKR AND TFIK HF.ARTH. 
 
 with amazement at this ^^roat hulk- 
 ing' creaturf's i;.Mn>raiice. 
 
 '• Hast none otlmr ? " 
 
 " Nav." 
 
 " Wfiiit shall I <lo to pleasure thcc, 
 bahy f Shall I tell thir a .storv ? " 
 
 '* I ikes tories," said the boy, elap- 
 pinc his haiuls. 
 
 " Or sine thee a sonp 1 " 
 
 " I ikc.s tiiDK!*," and he b<xan>c ex- 
 cited. 
 
 " Choose then, a sonp or a sto- 
 ry." 
 
 ' " Tinjj I a tonp. Nay, tell I a 
 torv. Nay, tinp I a ton^. Nay — " 
 Ami thf corners of hi'< little mouth 
 turnrd down and he hud halt' a mind 
 to wrep because he could not have 
 both, and eoidil not tell which to 
 forepo. Sudtlenly his little face 
 cleared : " Tinp 1 a tory," said he. 
 
 " Sini; thee a story, baby 1 Well, 
 after all, why not ! Ami wilt thou 
 sit o' my knei'S and hear it ! " 
 
 " Yea." 
 
 " Then I must e'en doflfthis brea-st- 
 platc. 'T is too hard for thy soft 
 check. So. And now I must dotV 
 this bristly ciliee ; they would prick 
 thy tender skin. jKThaps make it 
 bleed, as t!ny have nu\ I see. So. 
 Ami now I ])Ut on my Ik-si pelisse, in 
 honor of thy worshiptul visit. Sec 
 how soft and warm it is ; bless the 
 pK)d soul that st-nt it ; and now I sit 
 me ilown ; so. And I take thee on my 
 left knee, and put my arm under thv 
 little head ; so. And then the psal- 
 tery, ami jilay a little tunc ; so, not 
 too loud." 
 
 " I ikes that." 
 
 " I am ripht glad on 't. Now list 
 the story." 
 
 He chanted a child's story in a sort 
 of recitative, sinpinp a little moral 
 refrain now and then. The boy 
 listened with rapture. 
 
 " I ikes oo," said he. " Ot is oo ? 
 is oo a man 1 " 
 
 " Ay, little heart, and a great sin- 
 ner to boot." 
 
 " I ikes great tingers. Ting one 
 other tory." 
 
 Story No. 2 was chanted. 
 
 " I ubbs oo," rrie<l the child, Iro- 
 jK-tuously. " Ot caft • is oo ! " 
 
 •' 1 am a hermit, love." 
 
 " I ubbs vcrmins. Ting other 
 one." 
 
 Hut, during this final performance, 
 Nature sudilenly helil out her leaden 
 scrjiire over the youthful eyelids. " I 
 is n«)t i-epy," whinetl he, very faintly, 
 and succumlK-d. 
 
 Clement laid down his psaltery 
 softly and In-gan to rwk his new 
 tri'asure in his anus, and to crone 
 over him a little lullaby well known 
 in Tergou, with which his own moth- 
 er had often set him otT. 
 
 And the child sank into a profound 
 sleep upon his arm. Ami he stopped 
 cnining and gazed on him with in- 
 finite temlerness, yet siulncss ; for at 
 that moment he could not help think- 
 ing what might have Ix-en but for a 
 piece of pajHT with a lie in it. 
 
 He .•^ighed deeply. 
 
 The next moment the moonlight 
 burst into his cell, and with it, and in 
 it, and almost as swift as it, Margaret 
 lirandt wa.s down at bi.s knee with a 
 timorous hand uf)on his shoulder. 
 
 " GkKAKK, rOf I>C) NOT BEJECT 
 us. You CAN.NOT." 
 
 CHAPTER XCV. 
 
 The startled hermit glared from his 
 nursling to Margaret, and from her 
 to him. in amaz-ement, etpialled only 
 bv his ixgitation at her so unexjK-cted 
 return. The child lay asleep on his 
 left arm, and she wixs at his right 
 knee ; no longer the pale, scared, 
 panting girl be had overpowered so 
 easily an hour or two ago, but an im- 
 periiil beauty, with blushing checks 
 and sparkling eyes, and lips sweetly 
 parted in triumph, and ner whole 
 face radiant with a look he could not 
 quite read ; for he had never yet seen 
 it on her ; maternal jiridc. 
 
 He stared and stared from the 
 
 * Craft. Ue meauf trade or profession.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 411 
 
 child to her, in throbbing amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " 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 
 ni)t a father know his own child? 
 and a man of God, too f Fie, Ge- 
 rard, to pretend ! nay, thou art too 
 wise, too good, not to have — why, 
 I watched thee, and e'en now look at 
 you twain ! 'T is thine own flesh 
 and blood thou boldest to thine 
 heart." 
 
 Clement trembled. " What words 
 are these ? " he stammered ; " this an- 
 gel mine 1 " 
 
 " Whose else? since he is mine." 
 
 Clement turned on the sleeping 
 child, with a look beyond the power 
 of the pen to describe, and trembled 
 all over, as his eyes seemed to ab- 
 sorb the little love. 
 
 Margaret's eyes followed his. " He 
 is not a bit like me," said she, proud- 
 ly : " but O at whiles he is thy very 
 image in little ; and see this golden 
 hair. Thine was the very color at 
 his age ; ask mother else. And see 
 this mole on his little finger ; now 
 look at thine own ; there! 'Twas 
 thy mother let me weet thou wast 
 marked so before him ; and, O Ge- 
 rard, 't was 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 ! 
 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 ! ah ! ah i ah ! ah ! " sobbed 
 Clement, choking. 
 
 And lowered by fasts, and unnerved 
 
 by solitude, 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 ! So, so. 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." 
 
 " I ? priest of Gouda ? Never ! " 
 muiTuured 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 ex- 
 claimed against 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 
 recuiTcd to ; and she told him her 
 tale, dwelling above all on the kind- 
 ness 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, sympathizing 
 with her in every vein. 
 
 " O 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 me 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
 
 412 
 
 THE CLOISTF.U AND THi: IIKAkin. 
 
 her whftt lie hnd snffriTil fur her, niul 
 he h«L,'m(| hrr to I'Miiso him, ami shi- 
 coiisiiitfil ; hut hy cnustioiis quit-tly 
 nvoktil her coiis«'iit iiml ehcit»'<l it 
 all : mill iiiiiiiv u si:;li she hfavc«l for 
 hiiii, 1111(1 more thiiii uiuv she hid her 
 r.ifi' ill her huiiils with terror at his 
 penis, ihoiii;h past. 
 
 AiKJ. tu ei)iis>>le him for all he had 
 piiie tlirou^li, she kne«leii down and 
 put her arms uinler the litth- l><>y, 
 uikI lifted him ^,'ently up. " Ki.vs him 
 softly," sho whisiH-n-tl. " A^^uin, 
 ajjiiiii ! ki-HS thy fill if thou ranst ; he 
 is sound. 'T is all I eaii tic to com- 
 fort thtv till thou art out of this foul 
 den anil in thy sweet manse yoii<ler." 
 
 Clement shook his hi-ad. 
 
 "Well," said she, " let that pass. 
 Know that I have Uvn son; oirronted 
 I'or want of my liin-s." 
 
 " Who hath dared nlTnmt thee ' " 
 
 " No matter, tho.so that will do it 
 acr>un if thou hitst lost them, whieh 
 the saints forhid." 
 
 ■' I lose them < nay, theru they lie, 
 close to thy hand." 
 
 " Where, when\ O where ? " 
 
 Clement hun;; his head. " Ix)ok 
 in the Vul;ratc. Heaven forfjivc mc ; 
 I thought thou wert dead, and a .saint 
 ill Heaven " 
 
 She looke<|, and on the hiank leaves 
 of ihe poor soul's V'ulpate she found 
 her Tnarria;:e lines. 
 
 " Thank (JikI ! " sheened,— " thank 
 (lod! <> hless thei^, (icrard, hli-ss 
 thee ! Why. what is here, (Jeranl ? " 
 
 <^n the other leaves were pinnetl 
 every scrap <d' paper she had ever 
 sent him, and tlieir two name.s she 
 h)ul once written toother in sport, 
 and the loik of her hnir she hail 
 jiiven him, and half a silver coin she 
 had broken with him. and n straw 
 she had sucked her souj) with the first 
 day he ever saw her. 
 
 When Mar;;aret saw these proofs 
 of love and sii:ns of a <rentle heart 
 ben-aved, even her exultation at fret- 
 ting; hack her marriajro lines wivs 
 overpowered by j;iishin«; tenderness. 
 She almost sta^xirered. and her hand 
 went to her bosom, and she leaned 
 
 her brow airainst the stone crll and 
 wept so silently that he did not sco 
 she was wee|>iii;; ; indivd she would 
 not let him, for she felt that to be- 
 friend him now she must lie the 
 stronyer ; and emotion weakens. 
 
 " Cierard," said she, " I know you 
 wise and >;tMM|. You must have a 
 reason lor what you are doin;.', let it 
 seem ever so unreit-sonublc. Talk wo 
 like old friends. Why ore you buried 
 alive ' " 
 
 " Maruarvt, to rsra|ie temptation. 
 
 My impious ire ai.'ainst tlios<- two had 
 
 its root in the heart ; that heart then 
 
 I must ileaden, and, Dei (gratia, I 
 
 shall. Shall 1, a servant of Christ 
 
 1 and of the Church, i-ourt tem[>tation ? 
 
 Shall I i>niy daily to Ik- lol out on 't, 
 
 and walk into it with o|>en ey««i ? " 
 
 ] •' That is c«mk1 .H«>nsc any way," 
 
 said Marpin-t, with aconsummat*) af- 
 
 ! feitation of candor. 
 
 " 'T is unanswerable," said Clcra- 
 1 cut, with a si^'h. 
 
 ; '■ We shall sir Tell mc, have you 
 escaped temptation hen* ' Why I 
 a-sk is, when / am alone, my thou^htn 
 are far nion.- wild and fiMilish than 
 in company. Nay, s|ieak s<KJth ; 
 come! " 
 
 " I must neeils own I have been 
 worse tempteil here with evil iroofp- 
 nations than in the world." 
 
 " There now." 
 
 "Ay, hut so were Anthony, and 
 Jerome, Macarius, and Hilarion, Rcn- 
 edict. Hernanl, and all tin* sointa. 
 'T will wear off." 
 
 " How do you know i " 
 
 " 1 feel sure it will." 
 " (»uessin;j ai,'ninst knowled^re. 
 Here 'tis men-folk are sillier than u.s 
 that be but women. Wi.se in their 
 own eonccitd, they will not let them- 
 selves see ; their stom:u-hs arc too 
 hi^h to Ik* taught by their eyes. A 
 woman, if she went into a hole in a 
 bank to escajK> temptation, and there 
 found it. would just lift her farthin- 
 pale and out on 't, and not e'en know 
 how wisi! she was, till she watched a 
 n».in in like plipht." 
 
 " Nay, I ixT&at humility and a
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 413 
 
 teachable spirit are the roads to wis- 
 dom ; but, when all is said, here I 
 wrestle but with imagination. At 
 Gouda she I love as no priest or 
 monk must love any but the angels, 
 she will tempt a weak soul, unwilling 
 yet not loath to be tempted." 
 
 " Ay, that is 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 oth- 
 er Margaret, not Margaret a Peter. 
 W^as 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 ? O, 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 myself without making 
 a coil ; for men, I know, are so, the 
 best of them sometimes. But if you, 
 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 should spit in 
 thy face, Gerard, or, as I am not a 
 downright vulgar woman, I should 
 snatch the first weapon at hand and 
 strike thee dead." 
 
 And Margaret's eyes flashed fire, 
 and her nostrils expanded, that it 
 was glorious to see ; and no one that 
 did see her could doubt her sincerity. 
 
 " I had not the sense to see that," 
 said Gerard, quietly. And he pon- 
 dered. 
 
 Margaret eyed him in silence, and 
 soon recovered her composure. 
 
 " Let not you and 1 dispute," said 
 she, gently ; " speak we of other 
 things. Ask me of thy folk." 
 
 "My f^ither-?" 
 
 " Well, and warms to thee and me. 
 Poor soul, a drew glaive on those 
 twain that day, but Jorian Ketel and 
 
 i I, we mastered him, and he drove them 
 forth his house forever." 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 " Be calm, sweetheart, no harm 
 hath her befallen. O, nay, nay, far 
 fro' that." Then Margaret forced 
 herself to be composed, and in a low, 
 sweet, gentle voice she munnured to 
 him thus : " My poor Gerard, Kate 
 hath left her trouble behind her. For 
 the manner on 't 't was 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 tookwi' a lan- 
 guor and a loss of all her pains." 
 
 " A loss of her pains "? I understand 
 you not." 
 
 " Ay, you are not experienced ; in- 
 deed, e'en thy mother almost blinded 
 herself, and said, ' 'T is maybe a 
 change for the better." But Joan 
 Ketel, which is an understanding 
 woman, she looked at her and whis- 
 pered, ' Down sun, dovni wind ! ' 
 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 an- 
 cient 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 Ge- 
 rard's little boy, and I brought him
 
 414 
 
 THK CLOISTKK ANI> TIIK UKAHTH. 
 
 niul sot him on the IxhI, an<l the littlu 
 tliiiij; U luiMil 111 |«'nri'al'lv n-. hi' <l«.>«'s 
 riuw. liut l>v thit tiiuc .■>))<' wiks (MU>l 
 ii|M)ikin^ : but »Uv |M>iiitcil tu • 
 ilniwiT, and her iiiutht-r kru-w whnt ' 
 toluukfor: it wiui two pild iuil' 
 thuii hndit liivi'u ht-r years h. 
 l'(M)r -xiul ! sUv liati krjit ihtiii im 
 tliiMi ^h<>^lll|^t <i>im- hoini-. Ami "hf 
 iiihIiIoI tDwnnl.H tin- little U>v, un<l 
 l«V)kiHl luixioiit: but wv unUi-nitiMxl 
 hir, nntl i>iit tlic |>ii-<v* in hi< two 
 hnniN, nntl, whin hi* littlo tinyfrt 
 c-|o««'<l on thi'ni, »h«' smil<->l rmiti-nt. 
 Ami M> vli. ' liltlc rurthly 
 
 tna-iin-^ t" ' ■* child. — fi»r 
 
 Mill r/r/r 111 1 ■ fiml hrr im- 
 
 mortal jfwcl to (mmI, nmi i«wM>d ko 
 tiwivtly wi> noni" of u<t kmw justlv 
 when 'shf lift us. Wclloday, wcll- 
 aday ! " 
 
 (ii-rard wrpt. 
 
 " Shi" hath not left her like on 
 earth, " he •lobU'^l. "(), how tlie nf- 
 fcitiont of earth curl softly round my 
 heart! I cannot help it : (iod made 
 them after all. Sj>eak on. swt^-t 
 Mariraret ; at thy vi>i«-e the nast rolls 
 in tiili-s Imek upon me ; the loves and 
 the ho|)es of youth cume fair and elid- 
 ing in my ilark rell, and darker t>o- 
 Rom, on waves of memory' tuid music." 
 
 " Gcranl. 1 am loath to (nice you, 
 but Kate cried a little when she first 
 took ill, at you nut being there to 
 close her eyes." 
 
 (lerard sighed. 
 
 " You Wire within a league, but 
 liiil your face from lur." 
 
 lie tp'oaniil. 
 
 " Then*, forjrivo me for nagpinp ; I 
 am hut a woman : you would not 
 have l>ccn so cruel to your own flesh 
 and hloo<l knowinplv, would vou * " 
 
 •• <) no." 
 
 " Well, then, know that thy brother 
 Sybrandt lies in my cliarp; with a 
 broken back, fruit of thy curse." 
 
 " Mca culpa ! mea culpa ! " 
 
 " lie is very penitent ; be yourself 
 and forgive him this ni;;ht ! " 
 
 " I have forjnven liim lonr; apo." 
 
 "Think you he can believe that 
 
 from any month but your* 1 Cornel 
 he i« but aUiut two butia' len(;tb 
 heiH-e." 
 
 " So near ' Why, where * " 
 
 "At tiomla manse. I took him 
 ■ II. For I know you, thu 
 ine colli on yiiurlips when 
 \ 1.11 r. I" iiii i| It " (tier I- ' • ' ' ! a»- 
 >eiii). "and I snnl to ' .ird 
 
 \mI1 thank me for taku _ It to 
 
 ilie under hu riNif ; he wili not licat 
 his breast and cry mea cul|>a, ^ct 
 icmilpe thnv fo«»tslei>s toi{uieta wjth- 
 en-d bntther on his last b««l. Ho 
 may have u Ut- in his Ixninet, but lie 
 is not a h_\|MH'rue, a tliinp all pioua 
 words and urn harilable deeds." 
 
 (Jerard lileriilly Ktapijenil, where h« 
 sat, at this tremendous thrust. 
 
 " Foru'ive mc for nappinjf," Mud 
 she. " Thv mother tix) i.s waitinf; 
 for ihiT. I* it well done to kct-u l.er 
 on thorns so lonp ' She will not 
 sliscp this nipht. liethink thee, (ic- 
 mnl, sht^' is aJl to thee that I am to 
 this swift child. Ah, I thiiik so 
 much mor»" of mothers nincc I had 
 my little (fcranl. She suffered for 
 tluv, anil nurxil th« e and tendiil the« 
 from lioy to man. I'riest. monk, her- 
 mit, call tlivself what thou wilt, to 
 her thou art but one thing ; her 
 child." 
 
 " Where is she ' " murmurwl Ge- 
 rard, in a quavering voice. 
 
 "At (touda man.se, wearing the 
 night in prayer and care." 
 
 Then Manrarct Raw the time was 
 come for the n|>j>eal to his reason she 
 had nuri>i>Mly reserved till |>ersuasion 
 should nave paved the way for con- 
 viction. So the smith first softens 
 the iron by fire, and then brings 
 down the sliil;.'e-hammer. 
 
 She .showed him, but in her own 
 good straiphtfonvard Dutch, that his 
 present life was only a higher kind 
 of selfishness ; spiritual cjrotism. 
 Whereas a priest had no more riplit 
 to care only for his own soul than 
 only for his own boily. That was 
 not his p:ith to Heaven. '" But," 
 said .•^lie, " wlio ever vet lost his soul
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 415 
 
 by saving the souls of others 1 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 1 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 
 glor}- 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 liis talent in the 
 earth and so offended the giver ? Thy 
 wonderful gift for preaching, is it not 
 a talent, and a gift from thy Crea- 
 tor ? " 
 
 " Certes ; such as it is." 
 
 " And hast thou laid it out ? or 
 buried it ? 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. 'T is 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 oft", you 
 would leave your sweetheart (by her 
 good-will), and run and lift the sheep 
 
 * I think she means prejudice. 
 18* 
 
 for charity? Well then, at Gonda 
 is not one sheep in evil plight, but a 
 whole fiock ; some cast, some strayed, 
 some sick, some tainted, some a be- 
 ing devoured, and all for the want 
 of a shepherd. Where is their shep- 
 herd ? lurking in a den, like a wolf; 
 a den in his own parish, out fie ! out 
 fie! 
 
 " I scented thee out, in part, by thy 
 kindness to the little birds. Take 
 note, you Gerard Eliassoen must love 
 something, 't is in your blood. You 
 were boni to 't. Shunning man, you 
 do but seek earthly aflfection a peg 
 lower than man." 
 
 Gerard interrupted her. " The 
 birds arc God's creatures, his inno- 
 cent creatures, and I do well to .ove 
 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 arc." 
 
 " Then what pretence for shun^ 
 ning 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 can- 
 not fly and find it. But that sweet 
 upon thy knee, he needeth not carnal 
 only, but spiritual food. He is thine 
 as well as 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 true piety and useful 
 love. Is he not of more value than 
 many sparrows ? " 
 
 Gerard started and stammered an 
 aflSrmation. For she waited for his 
 reply. 
 
 " You wonder," continued she, 
 " to hear me quote holy writ so glib. 
 I have pored over it this four years, 
 and why 1 Not because God wrote 
 it, but because I saw it often in thy 
 hands ere thou didst leave me. Heav- 
 en forgive me ; I am but a woman. 
 What thinkest thou of this sentence : 
 ' Let your light so shine before men
 
 41 G 
 
 Tin: CLOISTHH AND THK HKAKTII. 
 
 that they may noo your pHuI works 
 uml t:l(>ri('\ >our Fuihrr Mliirh in in 
 liiiiMii ' ' Wliut iit n Miiiit in n 
 (iiiik iK-tttT tliati ' u li^ht uniitT a 
 l>ui>iul ' t 
 
 " ThcTi-foiT. xincf tho hlwvp corn- 
 luitla-d lu thy rhur;.'«9 hlcut fur tho4- 
 ami «ry, ' U, (h?irrt itt n<> hmpr, hut 
 t'Diiii* to (luuthi iiitiiix' ' : hiiK'i- I, wlio 
 know thi-c ten tinuit lictti-r than ihoii 
 kuDWc^t thvM-lf, do plcti^'c my soul it 
 i.s fur thy huuI'm weal to i;u to (ioucia 
 iiian>r ; iiinci* duly to thy child, t(>t> 
 luni; iihandoncd, callit thei- to (inuda 
 iniiiiv ; !iinc»' thy ■wivi-n-iifn whom 
 liolv writ nunin l<i<li thii- honor 
 Miid-t tluv to Gondii nuinio ; nincc 
 thf r«)|>c, whonj the (hiinh t4Ui'h«>s 
 thfo to rrvfrr, hiith uhMdvrtl tht-c of 
 (li> monkish vowi, tind urdi'n thcc to 
 liomltt niun.Hc — " 
 
 •• Ah ! " 
 
 '• Sinco thv iv^uy hnirtHl mulhrr 
 wiitchft for tiu'e in doK- and cart", 
 and tiinu'th oft tin- hour ^laitA and 
 )>i;;hi'(li Mirv thai thou (-omrst mi itlow 
 to her at (tondn mnnM! ; ninrc thy 
 ImitluT, withiTid hy thy iiirnc, await* 
 tliy for^ivt-nt-Hs and thy iirnycnt for 
 liiri .M)iil, now lin^i-rinu in hi.i UHly, 
 at (ioiitlii nmn.-K', — take thou up in 
 tliinr anus tho swwt hinl wi' rn-st 
 <it ;;old that nestK":* to thy Ui-om, 
 ami j;ivo me thy hand ; thy swcct- 
 hiarl fn<t ami wife, and now thy 
 frii-nd. tho tnicst fritntl to thee this 
 ni^rlit that i\r man had ; and cunie 
 Willi mo to (iouda manso! 
 
 "It is tho voiio of an anjjcl ! " 
 criod I'loment, loudly. 
 
 " Then hearken it, and come forth 
 to (iouda manse ! " 
 
 The battle waa won. 
 
 Marparrt linjn^red lichind, cast her 
 eyes nipidly round the fiiniiturc, 
 and seli-cteil the Vul^'atc and the 
 psaltery. The rest she sighed at, 
 and let it lie. The brea.*tplatc and 
 the eiliee of bristles she took and 
 dashed with feeble ferocity on the 
 flour. Then, seeinj; Cierard watrh 
 her with surprise from the outside, 
 she colored and said : " 1 am bat a 
 
 I woman ; ' little ' will ttill be ' ipitv 
 ful.'" 
 
 " Why encumber thyself with tho«e? 
 
 I They are nafc." 
 
 1 " b, nhe had a reaMjn." 
 
 And with thi.o thoy took the road to 
 (iouda |>arM)nnp\ The mo<jn an<l 
 sttan were sti l)rit;ht, it .secmetl almost 
 at lii;ht an day. 
 
 Suddeiilv (ierard itlop)M'd. " My 
 
 ' jioor little birdii ! " 
 '• What of them ? " 
 " They will mi.Hjt their food. 1 feed 
 
 . them evorv day." 
 
 ' " Tho ciiild Imth a piece of bread in 
 hi.i cowl. 'I'ltki' that and feed tlicm 
 now, ai;ain.«t the morn." 
 
 " 1 will. Nay, I will not. lie is 
 
 ' an inn<M-ent, and nearer to me and to 
 thw." 
 
 j Mnr^'arrt drew a lont; breath. 
 
 j " "r i.H well. Und-t taken it, I miBhl 
 
 ' hiive hatetl the«- ; I am but a woiniiu." 
 
 When they had cone about a iiuar- 
 
 ter of a inih'. (iernrd sii;hcd. " Mar- 
 
 caret," .taid ho, " I must e'en ri'sl ; ho 
 
 , is too heavy ftir me." 
 
 I " Then ^ivr him mc, and take thou 
 thojM". AliLt! aln.t ! I miiul when 
 thou would>t have run with the child 
 on one iilioulder, and the mother on 
 t'other." 
 
 I And Margaret carrie«l the boy. 
 
 1 " I trow," said lierard, lookine 
 
 ' ilown, " overmuch fustiny i.s not pood 
 for n man." 
 
 j " A many die of it each year, win- 
 
 / ter-time," replietl Marirnret. 
 
 lierard |x>ndere«l these simple words, 
 and eyed her askant, carrvin^ tho 
 child with jierfect ea.Hc, When they 
 had jjonf nearly a mile, lie said, with 
 considerable sur])risc : " You thought 
 it wa.s but two butts' lenpth." 
 
 " W''hy, yon sai«l so." 
 
 " That is another matter." She 
 then tumiHl on him the face of a Ma- 
 donna. " I lie<l," saifl she, swectlv. 
 " And, to save your soul and liody, I d 
 maylic tell n worse lie than iliaf, at 
 need. I am but a woman. Ah, well, 
 it is but two butt^' length from here 
 at an J rate."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 417 
 
 " Without a lie 1 " 
 
 " Humph ? Three, without a lie." 
 
 And, sure enough, in a few minutes 
 vhey came up to tlie manse. 
 
 A candle was burning in the vicar's 
 parlor. " She is waking still," whis- 
 pered Margaret. 
 
 " Beautiful, beautiful ! " said Clem- 
 ent, and stopped to look at it. 
 
 " What, in heaven's name? " 
 
 " That little candle, seen through 
 the window at night. Look, an it be 
 not like some fair star of size pro- 
 digious ; it delightcth the eyes and 
 warmeth the heart of those outside." 
 
 " Come, and I 'II show thee some- 
 thing 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 't is 
 for a sight of thee she prayeth ; and 
 thou art here. Now, Gerai-d, be pre- 
 pared ; 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 giv- 
 en 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, 
 Margaret, fearing the sudden surprise, 
 gave one sharp tap at the window, and 
 cried, " Mother ! " in a loud, expres- 
 sive voice that Catherine read at once. 
 She clasped her hands together and 
 had half risen from her kneeling pos- 
 ture, when the door burst open and 
 Clement flung himself wildly on his 
 knees at her knees, with his arms out 
 to embrace her. She uttered a cry 
 such as only a mother could. " Ah ! 
 my darling, my darling ! " And 
 clung 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 troub- 
 led ones. And they sat all three to- 
 gether, hand in hand, murmuring 
 sweet and loving converse ; and he who 
 satin 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 XCVr 
 
 Margaret went back to Rotter- 
 dam long ere Gerard awoke, and act- 
 ually left her boy behindher. She sent 
 the faithful, sturdy Richt off to Gou- 
 da directly with a vicar's gray 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, so 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 M'ere these deeds \vithout 
 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 amplius ad- 
 dam." 
 
 She kept away from Gouda parson- 
 age. 
 
 Things that pass little noticed in 
 the heat of argument sometimes ran- 
 kle afterwards ; and, when she came 
 to go over all that had passed, she 
 was offended at Gerard's thinking she 
 could ever forget the priest in the 
 sometime lover. " For what did he 
 take me 1 " said she. And this raised 
 a great shj-ness which really she would 
 not otherwise have felt, being down- 
 right iniiocent. And pride sided with
 
 418 
 
 MIL CLOISTER AND THK HKARTH. 
 
 nitMlivstv, un<l whi.s[)»'n>»l, " Go no more I 
 to (ftimlii |iiipn)nam'. " ' 
 
 Sill- li It littli- (icrnnl thrn- to com- j 
 pl»t<" tlie ioiii|iifr.t l.iT tiiiitcrnul lit-nrt ! 
 iiscrilivd to him, not to Iut own cli>- ' 
 <|iu-nc-e nnil sn^ciuity ; anil to anchor j 
 hJH tuthi-r fon-vtT to huumnity. 
 
 But thi.H piuTous Mlrukf of |»ohrv 
 TO'*! hiT hriirt ilt'ur. Shi- hiui nf>«T 
 vft hwn parliil fmm her boy an 
 iioiir; nnil sUv t'lil ^aiily nlran;:^ a-t 
 well tm (Ji-iiulnic without him. After 
 the lirst (lay it Ufumc intolcrahlt- ; 
 Hint what «lo»>« the iwior "onl dn luit 
 iTii'p lit ilurk ni) to (lon'i i_-c, 
 
 ntnl lurk aUiut thr pr u 
 
 thief till >he huw Uitht li- ■ .,- - ... the 
 kitchen alone. Then she tii|i|K'><| >M»ft- 
 ly at tlie wiiuiow, and itaiil, " Hicht, ; 
 tor |*ity'!« Hake, hrih;; liim out to me 
 unU'known." With .Margaret the 
 {icnton who otvupietl hrr tliuu^hti at 
 the time cniMtl to have a iwuiie, and 
 sank to a pnxioun. 
 
 Uiilit soon foun<l an cxcus<« for 
 takini; tittle (ieranl out, ami lliere 
 W!w a scene of mutual rapture ; fol- 
 lowed hy mutual tears when mother 
 and t)oy parte<l ai;ain. 
 
 And it WAS arranged that Richt 
 should take liim half-way to Hotter- 
 dam evert- day, at a set liour, and 
 Marparet meet them. Anil at the!«e 
 miftinpi*. alter the rttptun.«s, and af- 
 ter mother and child liad i;amlM>|le<l 
 toi;ether tike a yotmi; cat anil her 
 tir><t kitten, the tioy would ."iometimes 
 amuse liim^rlf alone at their feet, and 
 tlie two wotncn penenilly sei/.isl this 
 opportunity to talk verv .seriuu.sty 
 aliont Luiic Peterson, 'fhis began 
 thus : — 
 
 " Hicht," said Marparet, " I as ' 
 poJHl as promised him to murry Luke 
 I'cterson. ' Sav you the word,' 
 (}ui>ih I, 'and I II wed him.'" 
 
 " I'oor Luke ! " 
 
 " rrithcc, why f)oor Luke ? " 
 
 " To l»e bandied about so, atwixt 
 yea ami nay." 
 
 " Why, Richt, you have not over 
 been so simjile ivs to ca.st an eye of af- ' 
 fi-ction on tne boy, that you take his [ 
 part » " ' I 
 
 " Me ' " said Richt, with a to«s 
 of the head. 
 
 " <>, I tt.sk your pardon. Well, 
 then, you ean do me a pmxl turn." 
 
 "Whist! wlii.s}H-r ! ttiat little d*r- 
 tinp is li.stenins tu every word, and 
 e_\e.s like Miuit-m." 
 
 ( >n this Uith their heads would 
 have pone under one cap. 
 
 'I'wu women plottinp apaiiut one 
 lioy • U you ;;rettt cowardly scr- 
 |M.'nt.s ! 
 
 Hut. wlien these stolen meclinf^ 
 bad pone on alxtut live ilays. Mar- 
 pant iH-pan to fe«| the injustice of it, 
 and to l>c irritated as well as unhap- 
 P.v- 
 
 And she was cryinp alwiit it, when 
 a cart came to her d(M>r, and in it, 
 clean as a new ponnv, his lieanl close 
 shaveil, his hanils white as snow, and 
 a little color in his pale face, .sat the 
 vicar of (fouda in the pray fn>ck and 
 larpe felt hat she liad .s<>iit him. 
 
 Slie ran up stairs directly, and 
 washed away all trace of tears, and 
 put on a cat), which, l>einp just taken 
 out of the drawer, was cleaner, theo- 
 retically, than the one she had on ; 
 and came down to hitn. 
 
 He seized lM>th tier hands and 
 kisseil them, and a tear fell u|>on 
 them. Slie turned her head away at 
 that to hiile her own which starti^l. 
 
 " My swi-et Marpan-t," he crieil, 
 " why is this ? Why hold you aloof 
 from your own p<m«1 dec»l ? wc have 
 Urn waitinp and waitinp for you 
 everv day, and no Marparet." 
 
 " Von said thinps." 
 
 " What ! when I was a hermit and 
 a donkey." 
 
 " Ay ! no matter, you saitl thinps. 
 And vou had no reason." 
 
 " l-'orpct all I said there. Who 
 hearkens the ravinps of a maniac 1 
 for I «oe now that in a few months 
 more I should have been a pibl)crinp 
 idiot. Yet no mortal could have per- 
 suaded mc aw.iv but you. O, what 
 an outlay of wit ami pfx-dness was 
 yours. But it is not hen; I can thank 
 and bless you as 1 ought; no, it is in
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 419 
 
 the home vou have given me, among 
 the sheep whose shepherd you have 
 made me ; ah-eady 1 love them dearly, 
 there it is I must thank ' the truest 
 friend ever man had.' So now I say 
 to you 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 f O, 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 
 thy^self again ; wast ever thoughtful 
 of others. I have half a mind to go to 
 Gouda manse, for your saying that." 
 
 " Come then Avith half thy mind, 
 't is 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 crea- 
 tures among them ; simple, and 
 rough, and superstitious, but wonder- 
 fully good." 
 
 " O, leave you alone for seeing a 
 grain of good among a bushel of ill." 
 
 " Whisht ; whisht ! And, Mar- 
 garet, two of them have been ill 
 friends for four years, and came to 
 the manse each to get on my blind 
 side. But, give the glory to God, I 
 got on their bright side, and made 
 them friends and laugh at themselves 
 for their folly." 
 
 "But are you in very deed their 
 vicar ? answer me that." 
 
 " Ccrtes : have I not been to the 
 bishop's and taken the oath, and rung 
 the church bell, and touched the altar, 
 the missal, and the holy cup, before 
 the churchwardens ? And they have 
 handed me the parish seal ; see, here 
 it is. Nay 't is a real vicar, inviting a 
 true friend to Gouda manse." 
 
 " Then my mind is at case. Tell 
 me oceans more." 
 
 " Well, sweet one, nearest to me of 
 all my parish is a poor cripple that 
 my guardian angel and his (her name 
 thou 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 for- 
 gave one another. He is full of thy 
 praises, and wholly in a pious mind ; 
 he says he is happier since his trouble 
 than e'er he was in the days of his 
 strength. O, 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 1 not 
 know thee of old ? " 
 
 " Well, let mc see. At first I was 
 much dazzled by the sunlight, and 
 could not go abroad (owl !) ; but that 
 is past ; and good Kicht Heyncs — 
 humph ! " 
 
 " 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 '11 fit ye with tid- 
 ings ; I spake yesterday with an old 
 man that conceits he is ill-tempered, 
 and sweats to pass for such with oth- 
 ers, but O, so tlireadbare, and the 
 best good heart beneath." 
 
 " Why, 't is a parish of angels," said 
 Margaret, ironically. 
 
 " Then why dost thou keep out 
 on 't ? " retorted Gerard. " Well, he 
 was telling me there was no parish in 
 Holland where the Devil hath such 
 power as at Gouda ; and among his 
 instances, says he, we had a hermit, 
 the holiest in Holland ; but, being 
 Gouda, the Devil came for him this 
 week, and took him, bag and bag- 
 gage ; 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 furbished up." 
 
 Margaret smiled.
 
 420 
 
 THE CLOISTEU AND THK HKAHTH. 
 
 " Av, but," continiK'tl Gcrnrd, " the 
 
 straiip-' thiiij: is, ilu- cave has verily 
 fallen in ; and had 1 liteii so juTversc 
 as ri'sist tlicr, it liail lus.sureilly Imrird 
 ine (It-ad tlurr wIrtl- 1 liad Imried 
 myself alive, 'riicrefore in this I sec 
 the tin;;er of Providence, eondeninin;; 
 niv late, approving; my present way 
 of life. What savest thou ? " 
 
 " Nav, can 1 jnerce the like myste- 
 ries ? 1 atn hut a woman." 
 
 " Somewhat more, mcthinks. This 
 very tale i)roves thee my ^'uardiaii an- 
 f,'eli and all else avouches it ; .so come 
 to Gouda nian.sc." 
 
 " Well, p) you on ; I '11 follow." 
 
 " Nay, in the cart with me." 
 
 " Not so." 
 
 " Why : " 
 
 " Can I tell why and wherefore, bc- 
 iii;j a woman ? All 1 know i.s I seem 
 — to feel — to wish — to come alone." 
 
 " So 1)C it then. I leave thee the 
 cart, l)ein(;, as thou say est, a woman, 
 ami I 'II t,'o afoot iKini; a man a^ain, 
 with the joyful tidings of thy coin- 
 in;;." 
 
 When Marjjaa-t reached the manse, 
 the first thing she saw was the two 
 (Jerards together, the .son jierl'orming 
 his capriccios on the plot, anil the fa- 
 ther .slouching on u chair, in his great 
 hat, with |Hticil and pain-r, trying 
 very patiently to .sketch him. 
 
 After a warm wclcomt-, he showeil 
 her his attempts. •' Hut in vain I 
 strive to fix him," said he " for he is in- 
 carnate ([uicksilvir. Yet do hut note 
 his changes, intinite, but none ungra- 
 cious ; all is su]i|)le an<l ciusv ; and 
 liow he melteth from one posture to 
 another." lie added j)resently : " Woe 
 to illuminators ! looking on thee, sir 
 baby, I sec what awkward, lopsided, 
 ungainly toads I and my fellows 
 painted missals with, and called then 
 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 tire, he bade them observe how- 
 beautiful the brass candlesticks and 
 Other glittering metals were in the 
 
 glow from the hearth. Cutherine'i 
 eyes spurkleii at this observation. 
 ••'Ami (>, tin- shwts I lie in here!" 
 said lif, " oltcn my j-oiiM-ience prick- 
 ith me and saith, ' Who art thou to 
 lie in lint like web of snow t ' 
 Dive.s wa-s ne'er so Haxed as I. And 
 to think that there are folk in tho 
 world that have all the Uautiful 
 things which 1 have here, yet not con- 
 tent. Ixt them pa.ss si.\ months in a 
 hermit's cell, .string no face of man, 
 then will they tind how lovely and 
 pleasant this wicked worltl is ; and 
 eke that men and women are God's 
 fairest creatures. Margaret waa al- 
 ways fair ; but never to my eye -so 
 bright a.s now." Margaret shook her 
 head, incredulously. Gerard contin- 
 ued. ■• .My mother was evtr good 
 and kind, but I noted not her exceed- 
 ing comeline-ss till now." 
 
 "Nor 1 neither," said Catherine; 
 " a score years ago I might pass in a 
 crowil, but not now." 
 
 Genird declared to her tliat each 
 age had its k-auty. " See this mild 
 gray eye," said he, " that hath UK>ked 
 motherly love u|M)n so manv of us; 
 all that love hath left its .shadow, and 
 that shadow is a iM'aiity which defieth 
 Time. St-e this delicate lip, these 
 pure white ta-th. See this well- 
 slia|H-d i)row where comeliness just 
 passeth into reverence. Art U-autiful 
 in my eyes, mother dear." 
 
 " And that is enough for me. my 
 darling. 'T is time you were in In-d. 
 child. Vou have to jircaeh tln' mom." 
 
 Anil Uieht Heynes and Catherine 
 intenhanged a look which said, " Wo 
 two have an amiable maniac to super- 
 intend ; calls everything U-autiful." 
 
 The next day was Sunday : and 
 they heard him jireach in liis own 
 church. It was crammed with ])er- 
 son.s, who came curious, but remained 
 devout. Never was his wonderful 
 gift displayed more [M)werfully ; he 
 was himself deeply moved by the first 
 sight of all his peojile, and his bowels 
 yeanied over this tiock he had so long 
 neglected. In a single sermon, w hich 
 lasted two hours and seemed to last
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 421 
 
 but twenty minutes, he declared the 
 whole scripture ; he tcrritied the im- 
 penitent and thoughtless, confirmed 
 the wavering, consoled the bereaved 
 and the afflicted, uplifted the hearts of 
 the poor, and, when he ended, left the 
 multitudes standing, rapt, and unwill- 
 ing 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 ? 
 
 " Where ever gat he it all ? " whis- 
 pered Catherine, with her apron to 
 her eyes. "By our Lady, not from 
 me." 
 
 As soon as they were by them- 
 selves, Margaret threw her arms 
 round Catherine's neck and kissed 
 her. 
 
 " Mother, mother, I am not quite 
 a happy woman, but 0, 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 
 sea-shore after a storm, when the 
 wind happens to have gone down sud- 
 denly ■? 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 in- 
 evitable calm has begun, and is now 
 but rocking them to sleep. So it was 
 with those true and tempest-tossed 
 lovers from that eventful night when 
 they went hand in hand beneath the 
 stars from Gouda hermitage to Gou- 
 da manse. 
 
 At times a loud wave would every 
 now and then come roaring; but it 
 was only memory's echo of the tem- 
 pest that had swept their lives ; the 
 storm itself was over ; and the boil- 
 ing 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 ; sepa- 
 rated by Holy Church, and by their 
 own consciences, which sided unre- 
 servedly with Holy Church ; sepa- 
 rated 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 bar- 
 ren 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 ; 
 ourold friend Denys thus enlisted, and, 
 passing through Rotterdam to the 
 ships, heard on his way that Gerard 
 
 * Let me not be understood to apply this to 
 the bare outline of the relation. Many bish- 
 ops 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 neighborhood, besides that here the 
 man had been led into holy orders by a false 
 statement of the woman's death. On a sum* 
 mary of all the essential features, the situatiou 
 was, to the best of my belief, unique.
 
 422 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND TIIK HEARTH. 
 
 was a priest and Margaret alone. On 
 this he told Mar;:arct tliat marriaj,'C 
 was not a habit of his, but that, as his 
 comrade had put it out of his own 
 power to keep troth, he felt bound to 
 offer to keep it for him ; " for a com- 
 rade's honor is dear to us as our 
 own," said he. 
 
 She stared, then smiled. " I choose 
 rather to be still thy she-comrade," 
 said she; "closer acciuaintcd 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 't is 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 l)eguilc thee with their 
 faces, as well as men to hash thee 
 with their axes." 
 
 He was liurricd on board at La 
 Vere, and never saw Gerard at that 
 time. 
 
 In 147.3, Sybrandt began to fail. 
 His pitiable existence had been sweet- 
 ened by his brother's inventive ten- 
 derness, and his own contented spirit, 
 which, his antecedents considered, 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 iiim, and 
 drawing him about in a soft carri:ige 
 Margaret and he had made between 
 them. "When the poor soul found 
 his end near, he begged Margaret 
 might be sent for ; she came at once, 
 and almost with his last breath he 
 sought once more that forgiveness she 
 had long ago accorded. She remained 
 by him till the last ; and he died bless- 
 ing and blessed, in the arms of the 
 two true lovers he had i)arted for life. 
 Tantum religio scit suadere boni. 
 
 In 1474 there was a wedding in 
 Margaret's house. Luke Teterson 
 and Richt Heynes. 
 
 This may seem less strange if I 
 give the purport of the dialogue in- 
 terrupted some time back. 
 
 Margaret went on to say. 'Then 
 
 in that ca.sc you can easily make hira 
 fancy you, and for my sake you must, 
 for my conscience it pricket li me, and 
 I must needs tit him with a wife, the 
 Ust I know." Margaret then in- 
 structed Kicht to i>e always kind and 
 good-iiumorcd to Luke ; and she 
 would Ik.' a model of jH-evishncss to 
 him. " But bo not thou so siiniile as 
 to run me down," said she. " Leave 
 that to me. Make thou excuses for 
 me ; I will make myself lilack enow." 
 
 Kicht received the.>ie in>tructions 
 like an order to sweeji a room, and 
 obeved them j)unctually. 
 
 \V'hcn they had subjected poor 
 Luke to this double ariillcrv lor a 
 couple of years, he got to look u]>on 
 Margaret as his fog and wind, and 
 IJiilit as his sunshine ; and his art'i-c- 
 tions transferred themselves, and ho 
 scarc'c knew how or when. 
 
 On the wedding day Uicht cm- 
 braced Margaret and thanked her 
 almost with tears. " He was always 
 my fancy," said she, " from the first 
 hour I dapjK'd eyes on him." 
 
 " Heyday, you never told mc that. 
 What, Kicht, are you as sly as the 
 rest ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Kicht, eagerly ; 
 " but I never thought you would real- 
 ly part with him to me. In my 
 country the mistress looks to be scr%ed 
 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 oppt>se the pope. 
 His Holiness, siding with the Gray 
 Friars in their determination to 
 swamp every })alpable distinction be- 
 tween the Virgin Mary and her Son, 
 bribed the Christian world into his 
 crotchet by proffering pardon of all 
 sins to such as would adtl to the Ave 
 Mary this clause, " and bUssed be thy 
 Mother Anna, from whom, without 
 blot of original sin, proceeded thy 
 virgin flesh." 
 
 Gerard, in common with many of 
 the northern clergy, held this sen- 
 tence to be flat heresy ; he not only
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 423 
 
 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 in- 
 vented 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 mortification on 
 him. 
 
 In emergencies he consulted Mar- 
 garet, 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 ge- 
 nius ; but she had manellous 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 lit- 
 tle Gerard, and Catherine was ruin- 
 ing him for life, she would not part 
 with him, but kept him at home, and 
 his abilities uncultivated. And there 
 was a shrewd boy of nine years, in- 
 stead of learning to work and obey, 
 playing about and learning selfishness 
 from their infinite unselfishness, and 
 tyrannizing 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 of idiots. 
 
 Gerard saw this with pain, and in- 
 terfei'ed with mild but firm remon- 
 strance ; and after a considerable 
 struggle prevailed, and got little Ge- 
 rard 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 fi- 
 delity of Riclit He}Ties, now her part- 
 ner in business, enabled her to spend 
 weeks at a time hovering over her boy 
 at Deventer. 
 
 And so the ye.irs glided ; and these 
 two persons, subjected to as strong 
 and constant a temptation as can well 
 be conceived, were each other's guar- 
 
 dian angels ; and not each other's 
 tempters. 
 
 To be sure the well-greased moral- 
 ity of the next century-, which taught 
 that solemn vows to God are sacred 
 in proportion as they are reasonable, 
 had at that time entered no single 
 mind ; and tlie alternative to these 
 two minds was self-denial or sacri- 
 lege. 
 
 It was a strange thing to hear them 
 talk with unrestrained tenderness to 
 one another of their boy ; and an icy 
 barrier between themselves 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 
 was a sweet pensiveness : but some- 
 times she was irritable and a little 
 petulant. She even snapped 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 in- 
 oculated her boy with a contempt for 
 them which lasted him till his dj-ing 
 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 occupied from 
 morn till night in good works, recov- 
 ered the natural cheerfulness of his 
 disposition. 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, fie 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 quai-rellers laugh 
 at the cause of quarrel. So did he 
 undermine the demon of discord. 
 But, independently of that, he really 
 Icved a harmless joke. He was a
 
 424 
 
 THE CLOISTKH AND THK HKAKTH. 
 
 wonderful tamer of animals, S4|uirrels, 
 hares, fawns, &c. So, half in jest, a 
 parishioner who had a mule siip|)Osed 
 to be possessed with a devil jjavc it 
 him, and said, " Tame ihi-< vaj,'alK)ne, 
 parson, if ye can." Well, in ahout 
 six months, Heaven knows how, la- 
 not only tamed Jack, but won his 
 atfections to such a di.;,Tee 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 ])ul)lie-housc, 
 he heard a tojjcr inside, a stranger, 
 boasting he could take more at a 
 draught than any man in (Jouda. 
 lit instantly maiehed in and said : 
 " What, lads, do none of ye take him 
 u]) for the honor of Gouda ? Shall 
 it lie said that there came hither one 
 from anotiier parish a greater .sot than 
 any of us > ^ay, then, I your parson 
 do take him \i]>. Go to ; I '11 find 
 thee a parishioner shall drink more 
 at a draught than thou." 
 
 A bet was made ; (Urard whistled ; 
 in clattered Jack, — fur 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 Ge- 
 rard, " and let us see which of the.se 
 two sons of asses can drink most at a 
 draught." 
 
 On another occasion two farmers 
 had a dispute whose hay was the best. 
 Failing to convince each other, they 
 said, " We '11 ask parson " ; for by 
 this time he was their referee in every 
 mortal thing. 
 
 " How lucky you thought of me," 
 said Gerard. " Why, I have got one 
 staying with me who is the best judge 
 of hay in Holland. Bring me a 
 double handful apiece." 
 
 vSo, when they came, he had them 
 into the jiarlor, and put each bundle 
 on a chair. Then he whistled, and 
 in walked Jack. 
 
 " J^ord a mercy ! " said one of the 
 farmers. 
 
 "Jack," said the parson, in the 
 tone of conversation, "just tell us 
 which is the best hay of these two." 
 
 Jack snitfed them both, and made 
 his choice directly ; proving his sin- 
 cerity by eating every morsel. The 
 farmers sla|)|R'd their thighs, and 
 .scratched tlieir heads. " To think 
 of we not tliinkini.' o' that." And 
 they each sent .lack a truss. 
 
 So Gerard got to lie called the 
 merry parson of Gomta. But Marga- 
 n-t, who, like most loving wumen, had 
 no more sense of humor than a turtle- 
 dove, took this very ill. " What ! " 
 said .>»lie to herself, " is then- nothing 
 .M)re at the iKittom of his heurt that 
 he can go alnxit jilaying the zany?" 
 She could understand pious resigna- 
 tion and content, but not mirth, in 
 true lo\ers parted. Ami whilst her 
 woman's nature was |)erturl>ed by 
 this gust (and women seem more 
 subject to gusts than men), came that 
 terrible animal, a busyl>ody, to work 
 u|)on her. Catherine saw she was 
 not happy, and said to her : " Your 
 l)oy is gone from you. 1 would not 
 live alone all my ilays if I were you." 
 
 " y/' is more alone than I," sighed 
 Margaret. 
 
 " < ), 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 yonr 
 smo<k. Besides, he is a jjricst, and 
 can do no Itetter. But you are not a 
 priest. He ha.s got his jmri.sh, and 
 nis heart is in that. Bethink thee ! 
 Time Hies; overstay not thy market. 
 Wouldst not like to have three or 
 four more little darlings alKjut thy 
 knee now they have robbed thee of 
 poor little (ierard, an<l sent him to 
 yon nasty school '. " And so she 
 worked upon a mind already irritat- 
 ed. 
 
 Margaret had many suitors ready 
 to marry her at a word or even a 
 look, and among them two merchants 
 of the iK'tter class, Yan Schelt and 
 Oostwagen. "Take one of these 
 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 wavl am."
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 425 
 
 "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 say- 
 ing 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 wliich he thought 
 would be the kindest to the little 
 Gerard of those two ; for herself she 
 did not care what became of her. 
 
 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 elfort mastered the 
 man. In a voice scarcely audible he 
 declined this responsibility. " I am 
 not a saint or a prophet," said he ; 
 " I might advise thee ill. I shall 
 read the marriage senice for thee," 
 faltered he ; " it is my right. No 
 other would pray for thee as I should. 
 But thou must choose for thj-^elf; 
 and 0, let me sec 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? AVell, more 
 shame for him, that is all." 
 
 " He forbid me ? 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. O mother, what 
 a heartless creature I was ! " 
 
 " Well, I thought not he had that 
 much sense." 
 
 " Ah, you go by tlie poor soul's 
 words ; but I rate words as air when 
 the face spcaketh to mine eye. I saw 
 
 the priest and the true lover a fight- 
 ing in his dear face, and his cheek 
 pale with the strife, and 0, his pool 
 lip trembled as he said the stout- 
 hearted words — Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 oh ! 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 you 1 
 neither maid, wife, nor widow." 
 
 " Give it up ? " said Margaret ; 
 " that was done long ago. All I 
 think of now is comforting him ; for 
 now I have been and made him un- 
 happy too, wretch and monster that 
 I am." 
 
 So the next day they both went to 
 Gouda. And Gerard, who had been 
 praying for resignation 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 marry, and she fawned on him 
 like a little dog to be forgiven. And 
 as she was going away she mur- 
 mured : " Forgive ! and forget ! I am 
 but a woman." 
 
 He misunderstood her, and said : 
 " All I bargain for is, let me see thee 
 content ; for pity's sake, let me not see 
 thee unhappy as I have this while." 
 
 " My darling, you never shall 
 again," said Margaret, with stream- 
 ing eyes, and kissed his hand. 
 
 He misunderstood this too at first ; 
 but when month after month passed, 
 and he heard no more of her marriage, 
 and she came to Gouda comparative- 
 ly 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 pad- 
 dock ; and, before I relate what passed 
 between them, I must give its his- 
 tory. 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
 
 426 
 
 THK CLOISTEIi AND TllK IlEAIiTH. 
 
 one of my birds ; another, another ; 
 four, six, nine. A miracle ! mira- 
 cle ! " 
 
 " Why, how can you tell your 
 birds from their fellows ? " said 
 Catherine. 
 
 " I know every feather in their 
 winffs. And see, there is the little 
 darlinLC whose beak I pit, bless it." 
 
 And iirescntly 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 euve. 
 This wonderfully kept alive his 
 friendship for animals ; and he en- 
 closed a paddock, and drove all the 
 sons of C'nin from it with threats of 
 cxcoiuniunicarion. " On this little 
 spot of earth we'll have no murder," 
 said he. lie tamed leverets and 
 partrid^^es, and little birds, and hares, 
 and roe-deer. He found a s(|uirrel 
 with a broken le;; ; he set it with in- 
 finite ditlieulty and patience ; and 
 during the cure showeti it rei)Ositories 
 of acorns, nuts, chestnuts, &c. And 
 this S(]uirrel f;ot well ami went otf, 
 t»ut visited him in hard weather, and 
 broufrht a mate, anil ne.xt year little 
 squirrels were found to have imbibed 
 their parents' sentiments ; and of all 
 these animals each i^eiieration was 
 tamer than the last. This set the 
 pood parson thinking;, and gave him 
 the true clew to the preat successes 
 of mediiBval hcnnits in tiiminy wild 
 animals. 
 
 He kejjt the key of this paddock, 
 and never let any nnui but himself 
 enter it ; nor would he even let little 
 Gerard go there without him or Mar- 
 garet. " Children arc all little Cains," 
 said he. 
 
 In this oasis then he spoke to Mar- 
 garet, aiul 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 Mar- 
 garet, promptly. 
 
 " Uur 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, lovcst me. Vet 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 ;;reat trial and dis- 
 ap|H)intment God givcth me along 
 with so many joys, why, I share it 
 with a multitude. For, ala.s ! I am 
 not the only jiriest by thousands that 
 nmst never hope for entire earthly 
 happiness. Here, then, thy lot is 
 harder than mine." 
 
 " But, Gerard, I have my child to 
 love. Thou canst not till thy heart 
 with him as his mother can. 80 you 
 may set this against yon." 
 
 " Anil I have ta'en him from thee ; 
 it was cruel ; but he would have bro- 
 ken thy heart one day if I hiul not. 
 Well, then, sweet one, I come to 
 where the shoe pincheth, methinks. 
 I have my parish, and it kee])S 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. ( )ften their sorrows make mc 
 weep, sometimes their pener.Nity kin- 
 dles a little wrath, and their absurd- 
 ity makes me laugh, and sometimes 
 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 l)c persuaded to warm 
 thvself at the fire that warmoth me." 
 
 ■" 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 wo- 
 man without their thorn this side the 
 grave. In doors I have a map of 
 Gouda parish. Not to o'erburdcn
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 427 
 
 thee at first, I will put twenty housen 
 under thee with their folk. What 
 saycst 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 wis- 
 dom / have to soften her lot to whom 
 I do owe all 1 " 
 
 Margaret assented warmly ; and a 
 happy thing it was for the little dis- 
 trict 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 sym- 
 pathizing with them. And that heart 
 expanded and waved its drooping 
 wings ; and the gfow 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 naught 
 between them more than meets the 
 eye, why doth she not marry ? " «Si: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 earnest- 
 ly together on the Boulevard. She 
 whipped behind a tree. " Now I '11 
 hear something," said she : and so she 
 did. It was winter ; there had been 
 one of those tremendous floods fol- 
 lowed 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, " 
 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 lis- 
 tened. 
 
 " You must lodge them in the 
 church," said Margaret, quietly. 
 
 " In the church '? Profanation." 
 
 " No : charity prof;ines nothing ; 
 not even a church : soils naught, not 
 even a church. To-day is but Tues- 
 day. Go sa-\c their lives ; for a bitter 
 night is coming. Take thy stove into 
 the church ; and there house them. 
 
 We will dispose 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 '11 come over myself to-mon-ow." 
 
 And on this they parted with mu- 
 tual blessings. 
 
 Joan glided home remorseful. 
 
 And after that she used to check 
 all surmises to their discredit. " Be- 
 ware," she would say, " lest some 
 angel should blister thy tongue. Ge- 
 rard 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 de- 
 termined to provide against similar 
 disasters recurring to his poor. Ac- 
 cordingly he made a great hole in his 
 income, and bled his friends (zealdus 
 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 ! the Dominican 
 monks of Gouda, to whom his parlor 
 and heart had been open for years, 
 came out nobly and put down a hand- 
 some sum to aid the charitable vicar. 
 
 " The dear good souls," said Mar- 
 garet, " 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 I ? What 
 more doth the duke ? " 
 
 Then the ambitious vicar must 
 build almshouses 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 Mar- 
 garet 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.
 
 428 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 And at this work Margaret would 
 sometimes bring him his dinner, and 
 add a good hottle of Kheiiisli. And 
 once, seeing him run up a ]ihink with 
 a wheelhanow full of iirieks, wiiich 
 really most bricklayers would have 
 gone sUiggering 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 question was who they should put 
 into it ; and, being fastidious over it 
 like a new toy, there was much hes- 
 itation. But an old friend arrived in 
 time to settle this (jucstion. 
 
 As (icrard was ])assing a public- 
 house in Rotterdam one day, he heard 
 a well-known voice, lie looked up, 
 and tliere was Denys of Burgundy ; 
 but sadly changed : his beard stained 
 witii gray, and his clothes worn and 
 ratrged ; he had a cuirass still, and 
 gauntlets, but a staff instead of an ar- 
 balest. To the company he apj)eared 
 to be bragging and boasting ; hut in 
 reality lie was giving a true relation 
 of Edward the Fourth's invasion of 
 an armed kingdom with 2000 men, 
 and his march through the country 
 with armies ca])able of swallowing 
 him, looking on, his battles at Tewkes- 
 bury and Barnct, and rcoccupation 
 of his capital and kingdom in three 
 months after landing at the HumWr 
 with a mixed handful of Dutch, Eng- 
 lish, and Burgundians. 
 
 In this, the greatest feat of arms 
 the century had seen, Denys had 
 shone : and whilst sneering 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 him- 
 self. 
 
 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 1 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 Ii't me lie far from 
 him. But he turned jtricst and dc- 
 -serted his sweetheart ; so 't is not 
 likely he would remember hin com- 
 rade. And ten years play sail havoc 
 with our hearts, and limbs, and all." 
 Poor Denys sighed ; 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 f Come honu' 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 1 " 
 
 " Not much to you ; but something 
 to me. I will come." 
 
 •' In one hour," said Gerard, and 
 went in high spirits to Margaret, and 
 told iier the treat in store, and she 
 nuist come and share it. She must 
 drive his mother in his little carriage 
 up to the nuuise with all speed, and 
 make ready an excellent sujipcr. 
 
 Then he himself borrowed a cart, 
 and drove Denys uj) rather slowly, to 
 give the women time. 
 
 On the road Denys found out this 
 priest was a kind soul ; so told him 
 his trouble, and confessed his heart 
 was pretty near broken. " The great 
 u.se our stout hearts, and arms, and 
 lives, till we arc worn out, and then 
 fling us away like broken tools." lie 
 sighed deej)ly, 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 ? Why, Joseph had it ; all the 
 better for us. 
 
 They landed at the little house. 
 It was clean as a penny ; the hearth 
 blazing, and supj)er set. 
 
 Denys brightened up. " Is this 
 your house, reverend sir ? " 
 
 " Well 't is my work, and witli 
 these hands ; but 't is your house." 
 
 " Ah, no such luck," said Denys, 
 with a sigh.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 4'i9 
 
 " But I say ay," shouted Gerard. 
 "And what is more, I — " (gulp) 
 " say — " (gulp) " Courage, cama- 
 rade, le diable est mort ! " 
 
 Denys started and almost stag- 
 gered. " Why, what ? " he stam- 
 mered, 'Sv — wh — who art thou that 
 bringest me back the merry words 
 and merry days of my youth ? " and 
 he was greatly agitated. 
 
 " My poor Uenys, I am one whose 
 face is changed, but naught else : to 
 my heart, dear trusty comrade, to my 
 heart." And he opened his arms, 
 with the tears in his eyes. But 
 Denys came close to him, and peered 
 in his face, and devoured ever}^ fea- 
 ture ; and, when he was sure it was 
 really Gerard, he uttered a cry so ve- 
 hement it brought the women run- 
 ning 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's 
 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 com- 
 rade's wing. 
 
 His natural gaj-ety 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 mat- 
 ter ? Break him of swearing, and you 
 shall have my thanks." 
 
 This year Margaret went to a law- 
 yer 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, ex- 
 pressed a different opinion. 
 
 " This is the babble of churchmen," 
 said he. " Yours is a perfect mar- 
 riage, though an irregular one." 
 
 He then informed her that through- 
 out Europe, excepting only the south- 
 ern part of Britain, there were three 
 irregular marriages, the highest of 
 which was hers, viz. a betrothal be- 
 fore witnesses. 
 
 " This," said he, " if not followed 
 by matrimonial intercourse, is a mar- 
 riage complete in form, but incom- 
 plete in substance. A person so be- 
 trothed can forbid any other banns to 
 all eternity. It has, however, been set 
 aside where a party so betrothed con- 
 trived to get married regularly and 
 children were bom 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 complete 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 
 maiTy, hath fallen into disuse, but 
 was never formally repealed." 
 
 Margaret was quite puzzled. 
 " What are you driving at, sir ? Who 
 am I to go to law with ? " 
 
 " Who is the defendant 1 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 f 
 Constrain a man to be hers by force ? 
 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 shamo 
 and indignation. 
 
 " There is an impracticable fool for 
 you," said the man of art.
 
 430 
 
 THE CLOISTKR AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 Margaret had her will drawn else- 
 where, and made her boy safe from 
 poverty, marriage or no marriage. 
 
 These are the jjrineipal incidents 
 that in ten whole years befell two 
 ])eaccful lives, whieh in a much 
 shorter period had been so thronged 
 with adventures and emotions. 
 
 Their general tenor was now peace, 
 piety, the mild content that last^s, not 
 the fierce bliss ever on tiptoe to de- 
 part, and, above all, Cliristian char- 
 ity. 
 
 On this sacred ground these two 
 true lovers met with a uniformity 
 and a kindness of sentiment which 
 went far to soothe the wound in their 
 own hearts. To pity the same Ix;- 
 reaved ; to hunt in couples all the ills 
 in Gouda, and contrive and scheme 
 together to remedy all that were re- 
 mediable ; to use the rare insight into 
 troubled hearts, which their own 
 troubles had given them, and use it 
 to make others happier than them- 
 selves, — this was their daily j)ractice. 
 And in this blessed cause their pas- 
 sion for one another cooled a little, 
 but their aflFection increased. From 
 the time Margaret entered heart and 
 soul into Gerard's ])ious charities, that 
 afFection purged itself of all mortal 
 dross. And, as it had now long out- 
 lived scandal and misapprehension, 
 one would have thought that so 
 bright an example of pure self-deny- 
 ing afFection was to remain long be- 
 fore the world, to show men how 
 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 or- 
 dered otherwise. 
 
 Little Gerard rejoiced both his par- 
 ents' hearts by the extraordinary prog- 
 ress he made at Alexander Haaghe's 
 fivmous school at Deventer. 
 
 The last time Margaret returned 
 from visiting him she came to Gerard 
 flushed with pride. " Gerard, he 
 will be a great man one day, thanks 
 to th}- wisdom in taking him from us 
 
 silly women. A great scholar, one 
 Zinthius, came to see the school and 
 jiulge the scholars, and did n't our 
 (ierard stand up, and not a line in 
 Horace or Terence could Zinthius cite, 
 but the boy would follow him with 
 the rest ' Why, 't is 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." 
 
 " ' Holland will hear of thee one 
 day: and not Holland only, but all 
 the world.' Why, what a sad 
 brow ! " 
 
 " Sweet one, I am as glad as thou ; 
 yet am I uneasy to hear the child is 
 wise before his time. 1 love him dear : 
 but he is thine idol ; and Heaven dotU 
 often break our idols." 
 
 " Make thy mind easy," said Mar- 
 garet. " Heaven will never rob mo 
 of my child. What I was to suffer in 
 this world I have sufTered. 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 
 Margaret's words were vet ringing in 
 his ears, when, going his daily round 
 of visits to his poor, he was told quite 
 incidentally, and as mere gossip, that 
 the plague wa-s at Deventer, carried 
 thither by two sailors from Ham- 
 burg. 
 
 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 mes- 
 senger to Margaret, telling her that 
 he was 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 the afternoon. He went 
 at once to the school. The boy had 
 been taken away.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 431 
 
 As he left the school he caught 
 sight of Margaret's face at the window 
 of a neighboring house she always 
 lodged at when she cauia to Dcven- 
 ter. 
 
 He ran hastily in to scold her and 
 pack botli 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, in- 
 dignantly. " Art not ashamed to say 
 so i Why, I saw her but now at the 
 window." 
 
 " O, 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, cold- 
 ly. " Wliat make you here 1 Know 
 you not the plague is in the town 1 " 
 
 " Ay, dear Margaret: and came 
 straightway to take our boy away." 
 
 " What, had he no mother ? " 
 
 " How you s]X'ak to mc ! I hoped 
 30U knew not." 
 
 " Wliat, think you I leave my boy 
 unwatclied ? I jiay a trusty woman 
 that notes every change in his cheek 
 when I am not here, and lets mc know. 
 I am his mother." 
 
 " Where is he ^ " 
 
 " In Rotterdam, I hojx", ere this." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! And why are 
 }'ou not there f " 
 
 " I am not fit for the journey: 
 never heed mc ; go you home on the 
 instant : I '11 follow. For shame of 
 you to come here risking your pre- 
 cious life." 
 
 " It is not so precious as thine," 
 said Gerard. " But let that pass ; wc 
 will go home together, and on the in- 
 stant." 
 
 " 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 1 To whom speak you, 
 dear Margaret ? " 
 
 19 
 
 " Nay, then, we shall quarrel, Ge- 
 rard." 
 
 " Methinks I sec Margaret and Ge- 
 rard quarrelling ! Why, it takes two to 
 quarrel, and we arc but one." 
 
 With this Gerard smiled on her 
 sweetly. But there was no kind re- 
 sponsive 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 tlie 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 
 pala fnce. His own was scarce less 
 pale ; for in a basin he had seen water 
 stained with l)lood : it alarmed him, 
 he knew not why. She was a long 
 time ere she revived, and when she did 
 she found Gerard holding her hand, 
 and bending over her witli a look of in- 
 finite concern and tenderness. She 
 seemed at fix'st 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, Ge- 
 rard ? " said she, faintly. " Alas ! wliy 
 do I ask ? Would I leave thee if thou 
 wert — At least touch me not, and 
 then I will let thee bide, and sec the 
 last of poor Margaret. She ne'er 
 spoke harsh to thee before, sweet- 
 heart, and she never will again." 
 
 "Alas! what mean these dark words, 
 these wild and troubled looks ? " said 
 Gerard, clasping 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 thee 
 weej)." She burst into tears. " Ah 
 me ! " she cried, weeping, " that I can-
 
 432 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 not keep ^icf from thee : there is a 
 great sorrow before my darling, and 
 this time I shall not be able to come 
 and dry his eyes." 
 
 " Let it come, Marfrarct, so it tonch 
 not thee," said Gerard, tremblinj^. 
 
 " Dearest," said Mar}.'arct, solemn- 
 ly, "call now relij^ion to thine ai<l and 
 mine. I must have died before thee 
 one day, or else outlived thee, and so 
 died of f,aief." 
 
 " Died ? thon die ? I will never 
 let thee die. Where is thy pain ! 
 AVhat is thy trouble 7" 
 
 " The plaf^ie," said she, calmly. 
 
 Gerard uttenxl a cry of horror, and 
 started to his feet : she read his 
 thought. " Useless," said she, quietly. 
 " My nose luith 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 ; 1 love not 
 to be stared at ; let none see mo die 
 but thee." 
 
 And even with this a convulsion 
 seized her, and she remained sensible 
 but speechless a long time. 
 
 And now, for the lirst time, Gerard 
 began to realize 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 (juiet him. 
 
 She told him she had known the 
 torture of hojx;s 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 ; through which door 
 when this subtle venom enters it 
 makes short work. I shall not be 
 sj)otted or loathsome, my poor dar- 
 ling; 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 ! 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 i)rayed for help 
 from Heaven to do his duty. 
 
 When he rose from his kncrs his 
 face was pale and old, lint ileiully cah« 
 and patient. He went stiftly and 
 brought her Ud into the room, and 
 laid her gently do\\^l and suj)portetl 
 her head with pillows. Then he jtrayed 
 by her side the prayers for the thing, 
 and she said Amen to each prayer. 
 Then for some hours she wandered, 
 but, when the fell disease had (piitc 
 made sure of its ])rey, her mind 
 cleared ; and she iK'gged Gerard to 
 shrive her ; " For oh, my conscicnco 
 it is laden," said she, sadly. 
 
 " Confess thy sins to me, my di\ugh- 
 ter; let there be no resenc." 
 
 " My father," said she, sadly, " I 
 have one great sin on my breast this 
 many years. E'en now that death is 
 at my heart, I can scane own it. But 
 the Lord is delx)nair : 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 intemipted her speech. 
 
 "Courage, my daughter, courage," 
 said Gerard, kindly, overpowering the 
 lover in the priest. 
 
 She hid her face in Iicr hands, and 
 with many sighs told him it was she 
 who liail broken down the hermit's 
 cave with the help of Jorian Ketcl. " I, 
 shallow, did it but to hinder thy 
 return hither ; but, when thon sawest 
 therein the finger of Gwl, I played the 
 traitress and said, ' While he thinks 
 so he will ne'er leave Gouda manse ' ; 
 and I held my tongue. O false 
 heart." 
 
 " Courage, my daughter ; thou dost 
 exaggerate a trivial fault." 
 
 " Ah, but 't is not all. The birds." 
 
 " Well 1 " 
 
 " They followed thee not to Gouda 
 by miracle, but by my treason. I said, 
 he will ne'er be quite Jiappy without 
 his l)irds that visited him in his cell ; 
 and I was jealous of them, and cried, 
 and said, these foul little things, they 
 arc my child's rivals. And 1 iRiught
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 4^3 
 
 loaves of bread, and Jorian and me 
 
 we put crumbs at the cave door, and 
 thence went spriiikliug them all the 
 way to the maijse, and there a heap. 
 And my wiles succeeded, and they 
 came, and thou wast glad, and I was 
 pleased to see thee glad ; and when 
 tliou sawest in my guile the finger of 
 Heaven, wicked, deceitful, I did hold 
 my tongue. But die deceiving thee ? 
 all, no, i could not. Forgive me if 
 thou canst ; I was but a woman ; I 
 knew no better at the time. 'T was 
 writ in my bosom with a very sun- 
 beam, ' 'T is good ibr him to bide at 
 Gouda manse.' " 
 
 "Forgive thee, sweet innocent!" 
 sobbed Gerard, "what have / to Ibr- 
 give ? 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 con- 
 fess and repent it ; and even on thy 
 confession and penitence the Church 
 through me absolves thee. Pass to 
 thy graver faults. 
 
 " My graver foults ? Alas ! 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 't is 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 
 realize any sin but her having de- 
 ceived him, gave her full absolution. 
 Then he put the crucifix in her hand, 
 and, while he consecrated the oil, baile 
 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 
 consecrated oil, and prayed aloud be- 
 side 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 let' 
 ter. 
 
 " 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 arc tainted, and 
 shall to earth with me. I am a physi- 
 cian's daughter : and ill becomes mc 
 kill folk, being dead, which did so lit- 
 tle good to men in the days of health ; 
 wherefore lap me in lead, the way I 
 am ; and bury me deep ! 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 kirk- 
 yard 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 
 t)f thy curse and mine. Then, when 
 the angel comes forme at the hvst day, 
 he shall say, this is an honest woman, 
 she hatli her marriage lines (for yon 
 know I am }()ur lawful wife, though 
 holy Church hath come between us),
 
 434 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 and he will set nic where the honest 
 women l)e. I will not sit anion;; ill 
 wonu'ii, no, not in heaven ; for their 
 mind is not my mind, nor their soul 
 my soul. I have stood unheknown at 
 my window, and heard their talk." 
 
 For some time she was umihle to 
 say any more, hut made signs to him 
 that she had not done. 
 
 At last she recnvered her hreatli, 
 and hade him look at the jdetiirv. 
 
 It was the ])ortrait he had made of 
 her when they were young together, 
 and little thought to part so soon, 
 lie held it in his hands and looked at 
 it, !>ut eould searec see it. lie hail 
 left it in fragments, hut now it was 
 whole. 
 
 " They eut it to j)ieees, (Jeranl. 
 But sec, Love moeked at tlieir knives. 
 
 " I implore thee with my dying 
 hrcath, let this pieture hang ever in 
 thine eye. 
 
 " I have heaiil that sueh as die of 
 the ])lague, unspotted, yet after death 
 s|)ots have Ikvu known to eome out ; 
 and oh, I cotdd not hear thy last mem- 
 ory of mc to Ik' so. Therefore, as s<Mtn 
 as the hreatli is out of my lx)dy, rover 
 my faee with this handki-rehief, and 
 look at me no more till we meet 
 again, 't will not he so very long. O 
 promise." 
 
 " 1 promise," said Gerard, sobbing. 
 
 " Rut look on this pieture instead. 
 Forgive me ; I am hut a woman. I 
 could not hear 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 ; hut he just ! did I not 
 still tell thee I was no angel, hut only 
 a poor simple woman, that whiles saw 
 clearer than thou heeausc she looked 
 but a little way, and that loves thee 
 dearly, and never loved hut thee, and 
 now with her dying breath prays thcc 
 indulge her in this, thou that art a 
 man." 
 
 " I will. I will. Each word, each 
 ■wish is sacred." 
 
 " Bless thee ! Bless thee ! So then 
 the eyes that now can sean-e see thee 
 they are so troubled by the pest, and 
 
 the lips that shall not touch thee to 
 taint thee, will still l>e before thcc as 
 they were when we were young and 
 thou didst love me." 
 
 " When I did love thee, Margaret ! 
 O, never loveil I thee as now." 
 
 " Hast not told nu; so of late." 
 
 "Alas! hath love no voice but words? 
 I was a priest ; I had charge of thy 
 soul ; the sweet ofTices of a jiure love 
 were lawful ; words of love imprudent 
 at the least. Hut now the good fight 
 is won, ah me ! O my love, if thou 
 hast lived doubting ot thy Gerard's 
 heart, die not so : for never was wunuin 
 loved so tenderly as ihou this ten years 
 past." 
 
 " Calm thyself, dear one," said the 
 dying wouuin, with a heavenly smile. 
 " I know it, only, being but a woman, 
 I could not die hapj>y till I had 
 la'ard thee say so. Ah, I have pined 
 ten years for those sweet words. 
 Hast said them; and this is the 
 happiest hour of my life. I hail to 
 die to get them; well, I grudge not the 
 price. " 
 
 From this moment a gentle com- 
 placency rested on her fading features. 
 Hut she did not s|icak. 
 
 Then (Jerard, who had loved hci 
 soul so many years, feared lest she 
 should ex])ire with a mind too fixed 
 on earthly aflection. " O my daugh- 
 ter," he cried, "my dear daughter, 
 if indeed thou lovest mc as I love 
 thee, give me not the pain of .seeing 
 thee die with thy pious soul fi.xcd 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. () let thy 
 last look be heaveuAvards, thy last 
 word a word of i)rayer." 
 
 She turned a look of gratitude and 
 obedience on him. " What saint ? " 
 she murmured : meaning, doubtless, 
 what saint she should invoke as an 
 intercessor. 
 
 " He to whom the saints themselves 
 do pray." 
 
 She turned on him one more sweet 
 look of love and submission, and put
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 435 
 
 her pretty hands together in prayer 
 like a child. 
 " Jesu ! " 
 
 This blessed word was her last. 
 She lay with her eyes heavenwards, 
 and her hands put together. 
 
 Grerard prayed fervently for her 
 passing spirit- And wiien lie had 
 prayed a long time with his head 
 averted, not to see her last breatli, all 
 seemed unnaturally still. He turned 
 his head fearfully. It was so. 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 Nothing left him now but the earth- 
 ly shell of as constant, pure, and lov- 
 ing a spirit as ever adorned the earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XCVII. 
 
 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 
 
 f)arishioner. He did this mechanical- 
 y, then sat down stupefied by the sud- 
 den and tremendous blow ; and not yet 
 realizing the pangs of bereavement. 
 Then in a transport of religious enthu- 
 siasm he kneeled and thanked Heav- 
 en 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 rest- 
 ing on it. 
 
 The mourner's short-lived energy 
 had exhausted 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 
 liired walked bj^ the hoi'se's head, and 
 did not speak to him, and when he 
 baited the horse spoke but in a whis- 
 per, respecting that mute agony. But, 
 when he stopped for the night, he and 
 the landlord made a well-meaning at- 
 tempt to get the mourner away to 
 
 take some rest and food. But Gerard 
 repulsed them, and, when they persist- 
 ed, 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 an- 
 other. They had missed the parson 
 already. And when they saw what 
 it was, and saw their healer so strick- 
 en down, they raised a loud wail of 
 grief, and it roused him from his leth- 
 argy of woe, and he saw where lie 
 was and their faces, and tried to speak 
 to them. " O my children ! my chil- 
 dren ! " he cried ; but, choked with 
 anguish, could say no more. 
 
 Yet the next day, spite of all re- 
 monstrances, 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 stand- 
 ing 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 with- 
 out giving him due warning. 
 
 But, 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 
 him, and called for help. 
 
 Joriaii Ketel, who lingered near, 
 mourning his benefactress, ran into 
 the churchyard, and the two support- 
 ed Gerard into the manse. 
 
 " Ah Jorian ! good Jorian ! " snid 
 he, " something snapped within me ; 
 I felt it, and I heard it : here, Jorian, 
 here " : and he put his hand to his 
 breast. 
 
 CHAPTER XCVni. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT after this a pale, 
 bowed figure entered the Dominican
 
 436 
 
 TRK CLOISTKR AND THK HEARTH. 
 
 convent in the suburbs of Gouda, and 
 sought speech with brother Ambrose, 
 who governed the convent as deputy, 
 the prior liaving lately died, and his 
 successor, though appointed, not hav- 
 ing arrived. 
 
 The sick man was Gerard, come to 
 end life as he begun 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 liad 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 sorrow, wa.s not without a kindly 
 h<)j>e of curing him, and restoring him 
 to bis parish. With this view he jiut 
 him in a comfortable cell over the 
 gateway, and forbade him to fast or 
 practise any austerities. 
 
 IJut in a few days the new prior ar- 
 ri\ed, and proved a very Tartar. 
 
 At first he was absorbed in curing 
 abuses, and tightening the general 
 discipline ; but one day, hearing the 
 vicar of Gouda had entered the con- 
 vent as a novice, he said : " 'T is well ; 
 let him first give uj) his vicarage then, 
 or go ; I '11 no fat parsons in my 
 house." 'J'he ])ri(ir then sent for Ge- 
 rard, and he went to him ; and the 
 moment they saw one another they 
 both started. 
 
 " Clement ! " 
 
 "Jerome ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XCIX. 
 
 Jerome was as morose as ever in 
 his general character; but he had 
 somewhat softened towards 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 infer- 
 nal heresy of the immaculate concep- 
 tion," as be 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 : 
 he visited Clement twice a day in his 
 cell, and tried all his old influence and 
 eloquence to induce him to shake off 
 this unspiritual despondency, an<l not 
 rob the Church of his ])icty and his 
 eloquence at so critical a period. 
 
 Gerard heard him, ajijirovcd his 
 reasoning, admired his strength, con- 
 fessed his own weakness, and contin- 
 ual visibly to wear away to tlie land 
 of the leal. One day Jerome told 
 him he had heard his story, and heard 
 it with ])ridc. "But now,"saiil he, 
 "you spoil it all, Clement : for this is 
 the triumjih of earthly ])assion. Bet- 
 ter have yielded to it, and repented, 
 than resist it while she lived, and suc- 
 cumb under it now body and .'^oul." 
 
 " IJear 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 1 .-hall not blush for it in 
 Heaven. Bethink thee, Jerome; the 
 poor dog that dies in grief on his mas- 
 ter's grave, is he guilty of passion 1 
 Neither am I. Passion had saved my 
 life, and lost my soul. She was my 
 good angel : she sustained me in 
 my duty and charity ; her face en- 
 couraged me in the ])ul])it : 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 ui)on her poor cofhn some- 
 thing snapjied within my bosom here 
 that mended may not be. I heard it 
 and I felt it. And from that time, Je- 
 rome, no food that I put in my mouth 
 had any savor. With my eyes ban-
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 437 
 
 daged now I could not tell thee which 
 was bread, and which wjis flesh, by 
 eating of it." 
 
 " Holy saints ! " 
 
 " And again from that same hour 
 my deep dejection left me, and I 
 smiled again. I often smile — why ? 
 I read it thus : He in whose hands 
 are the issues of life and death gave 
 me that minute the great summons ; 
 'twas some cord of life snapped in 
 rae. He 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 sor- 
 rows touch thine end ; come thou to 
 thy rest! ' I come, Lord, I come." 
 
 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 so holy and happy, that more 
 than one aged saint was there to 
 gamer his dying words. In the even- 
 ing he had seen Giles, and begged him 
 not to let poor Jack starve ; and to see 
 that little Gerald's trustees did their 
 duty, and to kiss his parents for him, 
 and to send Den3'S to his friends in 
 Burgundy : " Poor thing, he will feel 
 so strange here without his comrade." 
 And after that he had an interview 
 with Jerome alone. What passed be- 
 tween them was never distinctly 
 known ; but it must have been some- 
 thing 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 Avith 
 him till matins related that all through 
 the night he broke out from time to 
 time in pious exclamations, and 
 praises and thanksgivings : only once 
 they said he wandered, and thought he 
 saw her walking in green meadows 
 with other spirits clad in white and 
 beckoning him ; and tliey all smiled 
 and l.jckoned hiin. And Ijoth the.se 
 
 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 
 sujjported 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 iiappy holds not 
 these new-fangldl doctrines of man's 
 merit. O what a miserable hour 
 were this to me an if I did ! Nay, but 
 I hold with tlie Apostles, and their 
 pupils in the Church, the ancient fa- 
 thers, 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 signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " Please you sweep the floor," said 
 the dying Christian, inavoice to which 
 all its clearness and force seemed su- 
 pernaturally restored. 
 
 They instantly obeyed, not without 
 a sentiment of awe and curiosity. 
 
 " Make me a great cross with wood 
 ashes." 
 
 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. 
 
 "Shall we spread out thine arms, 
 dear brother 1 " 
 
 * He was citing from Clement of Rome, — 
 
 Ov Sc eavTuif SiKaiovtxe6a ovSe Sia 7^79 
 
 li/terepat tro^ia?, )j eutre^eia;, r] epyov Civ 
 
 KareipyaaaiiiOa €v octiott/ti «ap5ia5, aAAa 6ta 
 
 Tijt TTiarewi. — Ejiist. ad Corintli., i. 32.
 
 438 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 " Now God forbid ! 
 
 of that 1 " 
 
 Am I worthy 
 
 lie lay silent, but with his eyes 
 raised in ecstasy. 
 
 Presently he spoke half to them, 
 half to himself. " O," he said, with a 
 Hubdned but concentrated ra[iture, "I 
 feel it buoyant. It lifts me tloatin;; in 
 the sky whence my merits had sunk 
 mc like lead." 
 
 Day broke ; an<l disj)Iayed his face 
 cost upward in silent rapture, and his 
 hands toj;ether ; like Marj^aret's. 
 
 And just about the hour she died he 
 si)oke his last word in this world. 
 
 " Jesu !" 
 
 And even with that word — he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 They laid him out for his last rest- 
 ing-]) I ace. 
 
 Under his linen they found a horse- 
 hair shirt. 
 
 "Ah!" cried the young monks, 
 "behold a saint ! " 
 
 Under the kair-cloth they found a 
 long thick tress of auburn liair. 
 
 They started, and were horrified ; 
 and a babel of voices arose, some con- 
 demning, some excusing. 
 
 In the miilst of which Jerome came 
 in, and, hcai-ing the dispute, turned to 
 an ardent young monk called Basil, 
 who was crying .>;candal the loudest. 
 " Basil," said lie, " is she alive or dead 
 that owned this hair ? " 
 
 " How nniy I know, father? " 
 
 " Then for aught you know it may 
 be the relic of a saint i " 
 
 " Certes it may be," said Basil, scep- 
 tically. 
 
 "\ou have then broken our rule, 
 which saith, ' I'ut ill construction on 
 no act done by a brother which can be 
 construed innocently.' Who arc you 
 to jndgc such a man as this Avas 1 go 
 to your cell, and stir not out for a 
 week by way of penance." 
 
 He then carried otf the lock of 
 hair. 
 
 And, when the coffin was to be 
 closed, he cleared the cell ; and put 
 the trcds upon the dead man's bosom. 
 
 " There, Clement, " said he to the 
 dead face. And set himself a jKiiancc 
 for doing it; and nailed the coflin up 
 himself 
 
 The next day Gerard was buried 
 in (iinida churchyard. The monk:* 
 followed him in procession from the 
 convent. .Jerome, who was evident- 
 ly carrying out the wishes of the de- 
 cea.sed, read the service. The grave 
 was a deep one, and at the bottom ol 
 it was a lead coffin. I'oor (Jerard'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 ])arishioner!» 
 that had cunie to take the last look at 
 their best friend. When he spoke o( 
 the virtues of the departed, loud wail- 
 ing and weeping burst forth, and tcan 
 fell upon the coffin like rain. 
 
 The monks went home. Jeromo 
 collected them in the nUciory and 
 si)oke to them thuu: "We linve tliis 
 day laid a saint in the earth. '1 lio 
 convent will keep his trcntals, but 
 will feast, not fast; for our good 
 brother is fieed from the burden of 
 the (lesh ; his lalxjrs are over, and he 
 has entered into his joyful rest. I 
 alone shall fast, and do fKinitencc ; 
 for to my shame, I say it, I was un- 
 just to him, and knew not his worth, 
 till it was too late. And yon, young 
 monks, be not curious to incjuire 
 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 con- 
 versation ; and follow them an ye 
 may : for he was a holy man." 
 
 Thus after life's fitful fever these 
 two lovers were at peace. The grave, 
 kinder to them than the Church, unit- 
 ed them forever ; and now a man of 
 another age and nation, touched with 
 their fate, has labored to build their 
 tombstone, and rescue them from long 
 and unmerited oblivion. 
 
 lie asks for them your 8>-mpathy, 
 but not your pity.
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 439 
 
 "No, put thi8 story to a -wholesome 
 
 nse. 
 
 Fiction must often give false views 
 of life and death. Here as it happens, 
 curbed hy history, she jjives you true 
 ones. Let the barrier that kept these 
 true lovers apart prepare you for this, 
 that here on earth there will always 
 be some obstacle or other to your per- 
 fect 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 Hy 
 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 transplanted to heaven, 
 young, earth's sweetest Howers. 
 
 I ask your sympathy then ; for 
 their rare constancy, and pure affec- 
 tion, and their cruel separation by a 
 vile heresy * in the bosom of the 
 Church ; but not your pity for their 
 early, but liappy end. 
 
 Beati sunt qui in Domino raoriun- 
 tur. 
 
 CHAPTER C. 
 
 In compliance with a custom I de- 
 spise, but have not the spirit to resist, 
 I linger on the stage to pick up the 
 smaller fragments of 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 memo- 
 ries. Giles also was longevous ; he 
 went to the court of Bavaria, and was 
 
 * Celibacy of the Clergy, an iaventlon truly 
 fieiuliili. 
 
 alive there at ninety, but had somehow 
 turned into bones and leather, trum- 
 pet-toned. 
 
 Cornelis, free from all rivals, and 
 forgiven long ago by his mother, who 
 clung to him more and more now 
 all her brood was scattered, waited, 
 and waited, and waited, for his par- 
 ents' decease. But Catherine's shrewd 
 word came true : ere she and her mate 
 wore out, this worthy rusted away. 
 
 At sixty-tive he lay dying of old age 
 in his mother's arms, a hale woman 
 of eighty-six. He had lain uncon- 
 scious awhile ; but came to himself 
 ill 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 tlie poor old woman, soothingly ; 
 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 com- 
 rade's death, was glad to return to 
 Burgundy, and there a small pension 
 the court allowed him kept him until 
 unexpectedly he inherited a consider- 
 able 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, retired 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 
 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 
 sened 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.
 
 440 
 
 THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH. 
 
 The ycllow-haircd laddie, Gerard 
 Gerardson, belongs not to Fiction, l)Ut 
 to History. JShe has recorded his birth 
 in other terms tlian mine. Over the 
 tailor's house in the IJrede Kirk Straet 
 she has inscribed : — 
 
 II(rr est jxirca doinus nattis qua mag- 
 nus Erasmus ; 
 
 and she has written half a dozen lives 
 of him. But there is soniethinjx more 
 left for her yet to do. She ha.s no 
 more comprehended maf^nuni Eras- 
 Hium, than any other pygmy conipre- 
 bonds a giant, or ))artisan a judge. 
 
 First scholar and divine of his 
 
 epoch, he was also the heaven-bom 
 dramatist of his century. Some of 
 the best scenes in this new book are 
 from his mediiKval jK-n, and illumine 
 the pages where they come ; for the 
 words of a genius so high as his arc 
 not born to die ; their immediate 
 work upon mankind fultilled, they 
 may seem to lie tor])id ; but, at eacli 
 fresh shower of intelligence Time 
 jKuirs upon their students, they ])rovc 
 their immortal race : they revive, 
 they spring from the dust of great li- 
 braries ; they bud, they flower, they 
 fruit, tiicy seed, from generation to 
 generation, and from aye to age. 
 
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