to sail for Amsterdam in
four days.

He took a passage; and paid a small sum to secure it.

"The land is too full of cut-throats for me," said he; "and 'tis lovely
fair weather for the sea. Our Dutch skippers are not shipwrecked like
these bungling Italians."

When he returned home there sat his old landlady with her eyes
sparkling.

"You are in luck, my young master," said she. "All the fish run to your
net this day methinks. See what a lackey hath brought to our house! This
bill and this bag."

Gerard broke the seals, and found it full of silver crowns. The letter
contained a mere slip of paper with this line, cut out of some MS.:--"La
lingua non ha osso, ma fa rompere il dosso."

"Fear me not!" said Gerard aloud. "I'll keep mine between my teeth."

"What is that?"

"Oh, nothing. Am I not happy, dame? I am going back to my sweetheart
with money in one pocket, and land in the other." And he fell to dancing
round her.

"Well," said she, "I trow nothing could make you happier."

"Nothing, except to be there."

"Well, that is a pity, for I thought to make you a little happier with a
letter from Holland."

"A letter? for me? where? how? who brought it?--Oh, dame!"

"A stranger; a painter, with a reddish face and an outlandish name;
Anselmin, I trow."

"Hans Memling! a friend of mine. God bless him!"

"Ay, that is it: Anselmin. He could scarce speak a word, but a had the
wit to name thee; and a puts the letter down, and a nods and smiles, and
I nods and smiles, and gives him a pint o' wine, and it went down him
like a spoonful."

"That is Hans, honest Hans. Oh, dame, I am in luck to-day; but I
deserve it. For, I care not if I tell you, I have just overcome a great
temptation for dear Margaret's sake."

"Who is she?"

"Nay, I'd have my tongue cut out sooner than betray her, but oh, it was
a temptation. Gratitude pushing me wrong, Beauty almost divine pulling
me wrong: curses, reproaches, and hardest of all to resist, gentle tears
from eyes used to command. Sure some saint helped me Anthony belike. But
my reward is come."

"Ay, is it, lad; and no farther off than my pocket. Come out, Gerard's
reward," and she brought a letter out of her capacious pocket.

Gerard threw his arm round her neck and hugged her.

"My best friend," said he, "my second mother, I'll read it to you.

"Ay, do, do."

"Alas! it is not from Margaret. This is not her hand." And he turned it
about.

"Alack; but maybe her bil