THE reader already knows how much these two had to tell one another. It
was a sweet yet bitter day for Margaret, since it brought her a true
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 hectored 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 be angry: so be
civil." Whereupon Denys was upon his good behaviour, 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 favourite she had been, and would
keep her distance; but could not forget her benefactress's past
kindness. She then told her briefly how many ways she had battled for a
living, and, in conclusion, 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 Reicht. The
secret ran through Reicht, as through a cylinder, to Catherine.
"Ay, and is she turned that bitter against us?" said that good woman.
"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.