s thee; and I shall love thee all
my days, sweet Luke, as a mother does her son. I am so old by thee:
trouble ages the heart. Thou shalt not go 'tis not fair of me. Love
maketh us to be all self."

"Humph!" said Luke. "And if," resumed he, in the same grave way, "yon
scapegrace shall read thy letter, and hear me tell him how thou pinest
for him, and yet, being a traitor, or a mere idiot, will not turn to
thee what shall become of me then? Must I die a bachelor, and thou fare
lonely to thy grave, neither maid, wife, nor widow?"

Margaret panted with fear and emotion at this terrible piece of good
sense, and the plain question which followed it. But at last she
faltered out, "If, which our Lady be merciful to me, and forbid--Oh!"

"Well, mistress?"

"If he should read my letter, and hear thy words--and, sweet Luke, be
just and tell him what a lovely babe he hath, fatherless, fatherless.
Oh, Luke, can he be so cruel?"

"I trow not but if?"

"Then he will give thee up my marriage lines, and I shall be an honest
woman, and a wretched one, and my boy will not be a bastard; and of
course, then we could both go into any honest man's house that would
be troubled with us; and even for thy goodness this day, I will--I
will--ne'er be so ungrateful as go past thy door to another man's."

"Ay, but will you come in at mine? Answer me that!"

"Oh, ask me not! Some day, perhaps, when my wounds leave bleeding. Alas,
I'll try. If I don't fling myself and my child into the Maas. Do not go,
Luke! do not think of going! 'Tis all madness from first to last."

But Luke was as slow to forego an idea as to form one.

His reply showed how fast love was making a man of him. "Well," said he,
"madness is something, anyway; and I am tired of doing nothing for thee;
and I am no great talker. To-morrow, at peep of day, I start. But hold,
I have no money. My mother, she takes care of all mine; and I ne'er see
it again."

Then Margaret took out Catherine's gold angel, which had escaped so
often, and gave it to Luke; and he set out on his mad errand.

It did not, however, seem so mad to him as to us. It was a superstitious
age; and Luke acted on the dying man's dream, or vision, or illusion, or
whatever it was, much as we should act on respectable information.

But Catherine was downright angry when she heard of it, "To send the
poor lad on such a wild-goose chase! But you are like a many more
girls; and mark my words; by the time you have