Part 132 (1/2)
”As if I didn't know that,” said the old man, pettishly. ”But she doesn't lie here. Bless you, they left this a longful while ago. Gone in a moment, and the house empty. What, is she dead? Margaret a Peter dead? Now only think on't. Like enow; like enow. They great towns do terribly disagree wi' country folk.”
”What great towns, my son?”
”Well 'twas Rotterdam they went to from here, so I heard tell; or was it Amsterdam? Nay, I trow 'twas Rotterdam. And gone there to die!”
Clement sighed.
”'Twas not in her face now, that I saw. And I can mostly tell. Alack, there was a blooming young flower to be cut off so soon, and an old weed like me left standing still. Well, well, she was a May rose yon; dear heart, what a winsome smile she had, and--”
”G.o.d bless thee, my son,” said Clement; ”farewell!” and he hurried away.
He reached the convent at sunset, and watched and prayed in the chapel for Jerome, and Margaret, till it was long past midnight, and his soul had recovered its cold calm.
CHAPTER Lx.x.xVI
The Hearth
THE next day, Sunday, after ma.s.s, was a bustling day at Catherine's house in the Hoog Straet. The shop was now quite ready, and Cornelis and Sybrandt were to open it next day; their names were above the door; also their sign, a white lamb sucking a gilt sheep. Eli had come, and brought them some more goods from 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 business like wax. Their mother's quick and ever watchful ear overheard this resolution through an open window and she told Eli. The family supper was to include Margaret and her 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 unremunerative form,--wild oats. So Margaret had come over to help her mother-in-law, and also to shake off her own deep languor; and both their faces were as red as the fire.
Presently in came Joan with a salad from Jorian's garden.
”He cut it for you, Margaret; you are all his chat; I shall be jealous.
I told him you were to feast to-day. But oh, la.s.s, what a sermon in the new kerk! 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.”
”Why, he preacheth again this afternoon. But mayhap you are wanted here.”
”Not she,” said Catherine. ”Come, away ye go, if y' are minded.”
”Indeed,” said Margaret, ”methinks I should not be such a damper at table if I could come to't warm from a good sermon.”
”Then you must be brisk,” observed Joan. ”See the folk are wending that way, and as I live, there goes the holy friar. Oh bless us and save us, Margaret; the hermit! We forgot.” And this active woman bounded out of the house, and ran across the road, and stopped the friar. She returned as quickly. ”There, I was bent on seeing him nigh hand.”
”What said he to thee?”
”Says he, 'My daughter, I will go to him ere sunset, G.o.d willing.' The sweetest voice. But, oh, my mistresses, what thin cheeks for a young man, and great eyes, not far from your colour, Margaret.”
”I have a great mind to go hear him,” said Margaret. ”But my cap is not very clean, and they will all be there in their snow-white mutches.”
”There, take my handkerchief out of the basket,” said Catherine; ”you cannot have the child, I want him for my poor Kate. It is one of her ill days.”
Margaret replied by taking the boy upstairs. She found Kate in 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.