d away from the hostel where Smallbones was
entertaining his friend, the Ancient. He had not gone far down the
street when a familiar figure met his eye, no other than that of Lucas
Hansen, his brother's old master, walking along with a pack on his back.
Grown as Stephen was, the old man's recognition was as rapid as his
own, and there was a clasp of the hand, an exchange of greeting, while
Lucas eagerly asked after his dear pupil, Ambrose.

"Come in hither, and we can speak more at ease," said Lucas, leading the
way up the common staircase of a tall house, whose upper stories
overhung the street. Up and up, Lucas led the way to a room in the high
peaked roof, looking out at the back. Here Stephen recognised a press,
but it was not at work, only a young friar was sitting there engaged in
sewing up sheets so as to form a pamphlet. Lucas spoke to him in
Flemish to explain his own return with the English prentice.

"Dost thou dwell here, sir?" asked Stephen. "I thought Rotterdam was
thine home."

"Yea," said Lucas, "so it be, but I am sojourning here to aid in bearing
about the seed of the Gospel, for which I walk through these lands of
ours. But tell me of thy brother, and of the little Moorish maiden?"

Stephen replied with an account of both Ambrose and Aldonza, and
likewise of Tibble Steelman, explaining how ill the last had been in the
winter, and that therefore he could not be with the party.

"I would I had a token to send him," said Lucas; "but I have nought here
that is not either in the Dutch or the French, and neither of those
tongues doth he understand. But thy brother, the good Ambrose, can read
the Dutch. Wilt thou carry him from me this fresh tractate, showing how
many there be that make light of the Apostle Paul's words not to do evil
that good may come?"

Stephen had been hearing rather listlessly, thinking how little the good
man suspected how doubtful it was that he should bear messages to
Ambrose. Now, on that sore spot in his conscience, that sentence darted
like an arrow, the shaft finding "mark the archer little meant," and
with a start, not lost on Lucas, he exclaimed, "Saith the holy Saint
Paul that?"

"Assuredly, my son. Brother Cornelis, who is one whose eyes have been
opened, can show you the very words, if thou hast any Latin."

Perhaps to gain time, Stephen assented, and the young friar, with a
somewhat inquisitive look, presently brought him the sentence, "_Et non
faciamus