■:'''0-'r/rK-- %■■■ m ^a _ V /¥^ At last they worked through the coppice. — See page 69. u no U 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. THS END. 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