nd unnatural force ended in prostration.

He staggered, and but for Margaret would have fallen, With her one
disengaged arm she supported him as well as she could and cried for
help.

A couple of servants came running, and carried him away in a state
bordering on syncope, The last Margaret saw of him was his old furrowed
face, white and helpless as his hair that hung down over the servant's
elbow.

"Heaven forgive me," she said. "I doubt I have killed the poor old man."

Then this attempt to penetrate the torturing mystery left it as dark,
or darker than before. For when she came to ponder every word, her
suspicion was confirmed that Ghysbrecht did know something about Gerard.
"And who were the two knaves he thought had done a good deed, and told
me? Oh, my Gerard, my poor deserted babe, you and I are wading in deep
waters."

The visit to Tergou took more money than she could well afford; and a
customer ran away in her debt. She was once more compelled to unfold
Catherine's angel. But strange to say, as she came down stairs with it
in her hand she found some loose silver on the table, with a written
line--

For Gerard his wife.

She fell with a cry of surprise on the writing; and soon it rose into a
cry of joy.

"He is alive. He sends me this by some friendly hand."

She kissed the writing again and again, and put it in her bosom.

Time rolled on, and no news of Gerard.

And about every two months a small sum in silver found its way into the
house. Sometimes it lay on the table. Once it was flung in through the
bedroom window in a purse. Once it was at the bottom of Luke's basket.
He had stopped at the public-house to talk to a friend. The giver or his
agent was never detected. Catherine disowned it. Margaret Van Eyck swore
she had no hand in it. So did Eli. And Margaret, whenever it came, used
to say to little Gerard, "Oh, my poor deserted child, you and I are
wading in deep waters."

She applied at least half this modest, but useful supply, to dressing
the little Gerard beyond his station in life. "If it does come from
Gerard, he shall see his boy neat." All the mothers in the street began
to sneer, especially such as had brats out at elbows.

The months rolled on, and dead sickness of heart succeeded to these
keener torments. She returned to her first thought: "Gerard must be
dead. She should never see her boy's father again, nor her marriage
lines." This last grief, which had been somewhat allayed b