Part 14 (1/2)

Peter had sat silent all this time, but pondering, and yet contrary to custom, keenly attentive to what was going on around him.

”Put 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 stronger than wit, and she is against us.

Think of the height! No ladder in Holland might reach him.”

”I need no ladder; what I need is a gold crown.”

”Nay. I have money for that matter. I have nine angels. Gerard gave them me to keep; but what do they avail? The burgomaster will not be bribed to let Gerard free.”

”What do they avail? Give me but one crown, and the young man shall sup with us this night.”

Peter spoke so eagerly and confidently, that for a moment Margaret felt hopeful; but she caught Martin's eye dwelling upon him with an expression of benevolent contempt.

”It pa.s.ses the powers of man's invention,” said she, with a deep sigh.

”Invention?” cried the old man. ”A fig for invention. What need we invention at this time of day? Everything has been said that is to be said and done that ever will be done. I shall tell you how a Florentine knight was shut up in a tower higher than Gerard's: yet did his faithful squire stand at the tower foot and get him out, with no other engine than that in your hand, Martin, and certain kickshaws I shall buy for a crown.”

Martin looked at his bow, and turned it round in his hand; and seemed to interrogate it. But the examination left him as incredulous as before.

Then Peter told them his story, how the faithful squire got the knight out of a high tower at Brescia. The manuvre, like most things that are really scientific, was so simple, that now their wonder was they had taken for impossible what was not even difficult.

The letter never went to Rotterdam. They trusted to Peter's learning and their own dexterity.

It was nine o'clock on a clear moonlight night; Gerard, senior, was still away; the rest of his little family had been sometime abed.

A figure stood by the dwarf's bed. It was white, and the moonlight shone on it.

With an unearthly noise, between a yell and a snarl, the gymnast rolled off his bed and under it by a single unbroken movement. A soft voice followed him in his retreat.

”Why, Giles, are you afeard of me?”

At this, Giles's head peeped cautiously up, and he saw it was only his sister Kate.

She put her finger to her lips. ”Hus.h.!.+ lest the wicked Cornelis or the wicked Sybrandt hear us.” Giles's claws seized the side of the bed, and he returned to his place by one undivided gymnastic.

Kate then revealed to Giles that she had heard Cornelis and Sybrandt mention Gerard's name; and being herself in great anxiety at his not coming home all day, had listened at their door, and had made a fearful discovery. Gerard was in prison, in the haunted tower of the Stadthouse.

He was there it seemed by their father's authority. But here must be some treachery; for how could their father have ordered this cruel act?

he was at Rotterdam. She ended by entreating Giles to bear her company to the foot of the haunted tower, to say a word of comfort to poor Gerard, and let him know their father was absent, and would be sure to release him on his return.

”Dear Giles, I would go alone, but I am afeard of the spirits that men say do haunt the tower: but with you I shall not be afeard.”