wife's and daughter's
distress, made him fear some heavy misfortune.

"Richart! Jacob!" he gasped.

"No, no!" said the burgomaster; "it is nearer home, and nobody is dead
or dying, old friend."

"God bless you, burgomaster! Ah! something has gone off my breast that
was like to choke me. Now, what is the matter?"

Ghysbrecht then told him all that he told the women, and showed the
picture in evidence.

"Is that all?" said Eli, profoundly relieved. "What are ye roaring and
bellowing for? It is vexing--it is angering, but it is not like death,
not even sickness. Boys will be boys. He will outgrow that disease: 'tis
but skin-deep."

But when Ghysbrecht told him that Margaret was a girl of good character;
that it was not to be supposed she would be so intimate if marriage had
not been spoken of between them, his brow darkened.

"Marriage! that shall never be," said he sternly. "I'll stay that; ay,
by force, if need be--as I would his hand lifted to cut his throat. I'd
do what old John Koestein did t'other day."

"And what is that, in Heaven's name?" asked the mother, suddenly
removing her apron.

It was the burgomaster who replied:

"He made me shut young Albert Koestein up in the prison of the
Stadthouse till he knocked under. It was not long: forty-eight hours,
all alone, on bread and water, cooled his hot stomach. 'Tell my father I
am his humble servant,' says he, 'and let me into the sun once more--the
sun is worth all the wenches in the world.'"

"Oh, the cruelty of men!" sighed Catherine.

"As to that, the burgomaster has no choice: it is the law. And if a
father says, 'Burgomaster, lock up my son,' he must do it. A fine thing
it would be if a father might not lock up his own son."

"Well, well! it won't come to that with me and my son. He never
disobeyed me in his life: he never shall, Where is he? It is past
supper-time. Where is he, Kate?"

"Alas! I know not, father."

"I know," said Ghysbrecht; "he is at Sevenbergen. My servant met him on
the road."

Supper passed in gloomy silence. Evening descended--no Gerard! Eight
o'clock came--no Gerard! Then the father sent all to bed, except
Catherine.

"You and I will walk abroad, wife, and talk over this new care."

"Abroad, my man, at this time? Whither?"

"Why, on the road to Sevenbergen."

"Oh no; no hasty words, father. Poor Gerard! he never vexed you before."

"Fear me not. But it must end; and I am not one that trusts to-morrow
with to-da