the fiery gates to that
country in which there is no more pain. To be a member of the New
Religion in the Netherlands under the awful rule of Charles the Emperor
and Philip the King was to be one of a vast family. It was not "sir"
or "mistress" or "madame," it was "my father" and "my mother," or "my
sister" and "my brother;" yes, and between people who were of very
different status and almost strangers in the flesh; strangers in the
flesh but brethren in spirit.

It will be understood that in these circumstances Dirk and Brant,
already liking each other, and being already connected by blood, were
not slow in coming to a complete understanding and fellowship.

There they sat in the window-place telling each other of their families,
their hopes and fears, and even of their lady-loves. In this, as in
every other respect, Hendrik Brant's story was one of simple prosperity.
He was betrothed to a lady of The Hague, the only daughter of a wealthy
wine-merchant, who, according to his account, seemed to be as beautiful
as she was good and rich, and they were to be married in the spring. But
when Dirk told him of his affair, he shook his wise young head.

"You say that both she and her aunt are Catholics?" he asked.

"Yes, cousin, this is the trouble. I think that she is fond of me, or,
at any rate, she was until a few days since," he added ruefully, "but
how can I, being a 'heretic,' ask her to plight her troth to me unless
I tell her? And that, you know, is against the rule; indeed, I scarcely
dare to do so."

"Had you not best consult with some godly elder who by prayer and words
may move your lady's heart till the light shines on her?" asked Brant.

"Cousin, it has been done, but always there is the other in the way,
that red-nosed Aunt Clara, who is a mad idolator; also there is
the serving-woman, Greta, whom I take for little better than a spy.
Therefore, between the two of them I see little chance that Lysbeth will
ever hear the truth this side of marriage. And yet how dare I marry her?
Is it right that I should marry her and therefore, perhaps, bring her
too to some dreadful fate such as may wait for you or me? Moreover, now
since this man Montalvo has crossed my path, all things seem to have
gone wrong between me and Lysbeth; indeed but yesterday her door was
shut on me."

"Women have their fancies," answered Brant, slowly; "perhaps he has
taken hers; she would not be the first who walked that plank. Or,
perhaps