Part 83 (2/2)

”She stole our son from us, and now she hates us for not running into her arms. Natheless it is a blessing she is alive and no farther away than Rotterdam.”

The English princess now Countess Charolois, made a stately progress through the northern states of the duchy, accompanied by her step-daughter the young heiress of Burgundy, Marie de Bourgogne. Then the old duke, the most magnificent prince in Europe, put out his splendour. Troops of dazzling knights, and bevies of fair ladies gorgeously attired, attended the two princesses; and minstrels, jongleurs, or storytellers, bards, musicians, actors, tumblers, followed in the train; and there were fencing, dancing, and joy in every town they shone on. Giles, a court favourite, sent a timely message to Tergou, inviting all his people to meet the pageant at Rotterdam.

They agreed to take a holiday for once in a way, and setting their married daughter to keep the shop, came to Rotterdam. But to two of them, not the great folk, but little Giles, was the main attraction.

They had been in Rotterdam some days, when Denys met Catherine accidentally in the street, and after a warm greeting on both sides, bade her rejoice, for he had found the she-comrade, and crowed; but Catherine cooled him by showing him how much earlier he would have found her by staying quietly at Tergou, than by vagabondizing it all over Holland. ”And being found, what the better are we? her heart is set dead against us now.”

”Oh let that flea stick, come you with me to her house.”

No, she would not go where she was sure of an ill welcome. ”Them that come unbidden sit unseated.” No, let Denys be mediator, and bring the parties to a good understanding. He undertook the office at once, and with great pomp and confidence. He trotted off to Margaret and said, ”She-comrade, I met this day a friend of thine.”

”Thou didst look into the Rotter then, and see thyself.”

”Nay, 'twas a female, and one that seeks thy regard; 'twas Catherine, Gerard's mother.”

”Oh, was it?” said Margaret; ”then you may tell her she comes too late.

There was a time I longed and longed for her; but she held aloof in my hour of most need, so now we will be as we ha' been.”

Denys tried to shake this resolution. He coaxed her, but she was bitter and sullen, and not to be coaxed. Then he scolded her well; then, at that she went into hysterics.

He was frightened at this result of his eloquence, and being off his guard allowed himself to be entrapped into a solemn promise never to recur to the subject. He went back to Catherine crestfallen, and told her. She fired up and told the family how his overtures had been received. Then they fired up; it became a feud and burned fiercer every day. Little Kate alone made some excuses for Margaret.

The very next day another visitor came to Margaret, and found the military enslaved and degraded, Martin up to his elbows in soapsuds, and Denys ironing very clumsily, and Margaret plaiting ruffs, but with a mistress's eye on her raw levies. To these there entered an old man, venerable at first sight, but on nearer view keen and wizened.

”Ah,” cried Margaret. Then swiftly turned her back on him and hid her face with invincible repugnance. ”Oh, that man! that man!”

”Nay, fear me not,” said Ghysbrecht; ”I come on a friend's errand. I bring ye a letter from foreign parts.”

”Mock me not, old man,” and she turned slowly round.

”Nay, see,” and he held out an enormous letter. Margaret darted on it, and held it with trembling hands and glistening eyes. It was Gerard's handwriting.

”Oh, thank you, sir, bless you for this. I forgive you all the ill you ever wrought me.” And she pressed the letter to her bosom with one hand, and glided swiftly from the room with it.

As she did not come back, Ghysbrecht went away, but not without a scowl at Martin. Margaret was hours alone with her letter.

CHAPTER LIV

WHEN she came down again she was a changed woman. Her eyes were wet, but calm, and all her bitterness and excitement charmed away.

”Denys,” said she, softly, ”I have got my orders. I am to read my lover's letter to his folk.”

”Ye will never do that?”

”Ay will I.”

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