IT was the day after that terrible scene: the little house in the Hoog
Straet was like a grave, and none more listless and dejected than
Catherine, so busy and sprightly by nature. After dinner, her eyes red
with weeping, she went to the convent to try and soften Gerard, and lay
the first stone at least of a reconciliation. It was some time before
she could make the porter understand whom she was seeking. Eventually
she learned he had left late last night and was not expected back. She
went sighing with the news to Margaret. She found her sitting idle, like
one with whom life had lost its savour; she had her boy clasped so tight
in her arms, as if he was all she had left, and she feared some one
would take him too. Catherine begged her to come to the Hoog Straet.
"What for?" sighed Margaret. "You cannot but say to yourselves, 'she is
the cause of all.'"
"Nay, nay," said Catherine, "we are not so ill-hearted, and Eli is so
fond on you; you will, may be, soften him."
"Oh, if you think I can do any good, I'll come," said Margaret, with a
weary sigh.
They found Eli and a carpenter putting up another name in place of
Cornelis's and Sybrandt's and what should that name be but Margaret
Brandt's.
With all her affection for Margaret this went through poor Catherine
like a knife. "The bane of one is another's meat," said she.
"Can he make me spend the money unjustly?" replied Margaret, coldly.
"You are a good soul," said Catherine. "Ay, so best, sith he is the
strongest."
The next day Giles dropped in, and Catherine told the story all in
favour of the black sheep, and invited his pity for them, anathematized
by their brother, and turned on the wide world by their father. But
Giles's prejudices ran the other way; he heard her out, and told her
bluntly the knaves had got off cheap; they deserved to be hanged at
Margaret's door into the bargain, and, dismissing them with contempt,
crowed with delight at the return of his favourite. "I'll show him,"
said he, "what 'tis to have a brother at court with a heart to serve a
friend, and a head to point the way."
"Bless thee, Giles," murmured Margaret, softly.
"Thou wast ever his stanch friend, dear Giles," said little Kate; "but
alack I know not what thou canst do for him now."
Giles had left them, and all was sad and silent again, when a
well-dressed man opened the door softly and asked was Margaret Brandt
here.
"D'ye hear, lass? You are wanted," said Catherine, briskly. In her the
Gossip was indestructible.
"Well, mother," said Margaret, listlessly, "and here I am."
A shuffling of feet was heard at the door, and a colourless, feeble, old
man was assisted into the room. It was Ghysbrecht Van Swieten. At sight
of him Catherine shrieked and threw her apron over her head and Margaret
shuddered violently and turned her head swiftly away not to see him.
A feeble voice issued from the strange visitor's lips, "Good people, a
dying man hath come to ask your forgiveness."
"Come to look on your work, you mean," said Catherine, taking down her
apron and bursting out sobbing. "There, there, she is fainting; look to
her, Eli, quick."
"Nay," said Margaret, in a feeble voice, "the sight of him gave me a
turn, that is all. Prithee let him say his say; and go; for he is the
murtherer of me and mine."
"Alas," said Ghysbrecht, "I am too feeble to say it standing, and no one
biddeth me sit down."
Eli, who had followed him into the house, interfered here, and said half
sullenly, half apologetically, "Well, burgomaster, 'tis not our wont to
leave a visitor standing whiles we sit. But, man, man, you have wrought
us too much ill." And the honest fellow's voice began to shake with
anger he fought hard to contain, because it was his own house.
Then Ghysbrecht found an advocate in one who seldom spoke in vain in
that family.
It was little Kate. "Father, mother," said she, "my duty to you, but
this is not well. Death squares all accounts. And see you not death in
his face? I shall not live long, good friends: and his time is shorter
than mine."
Eli made haste and set a chair for their dying enemy with his own hands.
Ghysbrecht's attendants put him into it. "Go fetch the boxes," said he.
They brought in two boxes, and then retired, leaving their master alone
in the family he had so cruelly injured.
Every eye was now bent on him, except Margaret's. He undid the boxes,
with unsteady fingers, and brought out of one the title-deeds of a
property at Tergou. "This land and these houses belonged to Floris
Brandt, and do belong to thee of right, his granddaughter. These I did
usurp for a debt long since defrayed with interest. These I now restore
their rightful owner with penitent tears. In this other box are three
hundred and forty golden angels, being the rent and fines I have
received from that land more than Floris Brandt's debt to me. I have
kept compt, still meaning to be just one day; but Avarice withheld me.
Pray, good people, against temptation! I was not born dishonest: yet you
see."
"Well, to be sure," cried Catherine. "And you the burgomaster! Hast
whipt good store of thieves in thy day. However," said she, on second
thoughts, "'tis better late than never. What, Margaret? art deaf? The
good man hath brought thee back thine own. Art a rich woman. Alack, what
a mountain o' gold!"
"Bid him keep land and gold, and give me back my Gerard, that he stole
from me with his treason;" said Margaret, with her head still averted.
"Alas!" said Ghysbrecht; "would I could. What I can I have done. Is it
nought? It cost me a sore struggle; and I rose from my last bed to do it
myself, lest some mischance should come between her and her rights."
"Old man," said Margaret, "since thou, whose idol is pelf, hast done
this, God and his saints will, as I hope, forgive thee. As for me, I am
neither saint nor angel, but only a poor woman, whose heart thou hast
broken. Speak to him, Kate; for I am like the dead."
Kate meditated a little while; and then her soft silvery voice fell like
a soothing melody upon the air. "My poor sister hath a sorrow that
riches cannot heal. Give her time, Ghysbrecht; 'tis not in nature she
should forgive thee all. Her boy is fatherless; and she is neither maid,
wife, nor widow; and the blow fell but two days syne, that laid her
heart a bleeding."
A single heavy sob from Margaret was the comment to these words.
"Therefore, give her time! And, ere thou diest, she will forgive thee
all, ay, even to pleasure me, that haply shall not be long behind thee,
Ghysbrecht. Meantime, we, whose wounds be sore, but not so deep as
hers, do pardon thee, a penitent and a dying man; and I, for one, will
pray for thee from this hour; go in peace!"
Their little oracle had spoken; it was enough. Eli even invited him to
break a manchet and drink a stoup of wine to give him heart for his
journey.
But Ghysbrecht declined, and said what he had done was a cordial to him.
"Man seeth but a little way before him, neighbour. This land I clung so
to it was a bed of nettles to me all the time. 'Tis gone; and I feel
happier and livelier like for the loss on't."
He called his men and they lifted him into the litter.
When he was gone Catherine gloated over the money. She had never seen so
much together, and was almost angry with Margaret, for "sitting out
there like an image." And she dilated on the advantages of money.
And she teased Margaret till at last she prevailed on her to come and
look at it.
"Better let her be, mother," said Kate. "How can she relish gold, with a
heart in her bosom liker lead?" But Catherine persisted.
The result was, Margaret looked down at all her wealth, with wondering
eyes. Then suddenly wrung her hands and cried with piercing anguish,
"TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"
And shook off her leaden despondency, only to go into strong hysterics
over the wealth that came too late to be shared with him she loved.
A little of this gold, a portion of this land, a year or two ago, when
it was as much her own as now; and Gerard would have never left her side
for Italy or any other place.
Too late! Too late!