Part 135 (1/2)
”Girl, as I stand here, he asked me, where-about you were buried in this churchyard.”
”Ah?”
”I told him, nowhere, thank Heaven: you were alive and saving other folk from the churchyard.”
”Well?”
”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 written by? Oh, by the demoiselle Van Eyck. That was _his_ way of it. But I up and told him nay; 'twas neither demoiselle nor dame that penned yon lie, but Ghysbrecht Van Swieten, and those foul knaves, Cornelis and Sybrandt; these changed the true letter for one of their own; I told him as how I saw the whole villainy done, through a c.h.i.n.k; and now, if I have not been and told you!”
”Oh, cruel! cruel! But he lives. The fear of fears is gone. Thank G.o.d!”
”Ay, la.s.s; and as for thine enemies, I have given them a dig. For yon friar is friendly to Gerard, and he is gone to Eli's house, methinks.
For I told him where to find Gerard's enemies and thine, and wow but he will give them their lesson. If ever a man was mad with rage, it's yon.
He turned black 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.”
”Oh, Jorian, what have you done?” cried Margaret. ”Quick! quick! help me thither, for the power is gone all out of my body. You know him not as I do. Oh, if you had seen the blow he gave Ghysbrecht; and heard the frightful cras.h.!.+ Come, save him from worse mischief. The water is deep enow; but not b.l.o.o.d.y 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 hurried along, he asked her what on earth she meant? ”I talk of this friar, and you answer me of Gerard.”
”Man, see you not, _this_ is Gerard!”
”This, Gerard? what mean ye?”
”I mean, yon friar is my boy's father. I have waited for him long, Jorian. Well, he is come to me at last. And thank G.o.d for it. Oh, my poor child! Quicker, Jorian, quicker!”
”Why, thou art mad as he. Stay! By St. Bavon, yon _was_ Gerard's face; 'twas nought like it; yet somehow,--'twas it. Come on! come on! let me see the end of this.”
”The end? How many of us will live to see that?”
They hurried along in breathless silence, till they reached Hoog Straet.
Then Jorian tried to rea.s.sure 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. Oh, cursed, cursed villains!”
”Did you tell him where those villains bide?”
”Ay, that I did.”
”Then quicker, oh Jorian, quicker. I see the house. Thank G.o.d and all the saints, I shall be in time to calm him. I know what I'll say to him; Heaven forgive me! Poor Catherine; 'tis of her I think: she has been a mother to me.”
The shop was a corner house, with two doors: one in the main street, for customers, and a house-door round the corner.