re o' money, but his face scarred by foreign glaive,
and not altogether so many arms and legs as a went away wi'. But, dear
heart, nought came on't. Margaret is still wearying for her lad; and
Peter, he lies as quiet as his neighbours; not but what she hath put a
stone slab over him, to keep him where he is: as you shall see."

He put both hands on the edge of the grave, and was about to raise
himself out of it, but the friar laid a trembling hand on his shoulder,
and said in a strange whisper--

"How long since died Peter Brandt?"

"About two months, Why?"

"And his daughter buried him, say you?"

"Nay, I buried him, but she paid the fee and reared the stone."

"Then--but he had just one daughter; Margaret?"

"No more leastways, that he owned to."

"Then you think Margaret is--is alive?"

"Think? Why, I should be dead else. Riddle me that."

"Alas, how can I? You love her!"

"No more than reason, being a married man, and father of four more
sturdy knaves like myself. Nay, the answer is, she saved my life scarce
six weeks agone. Now had she been dead she couldn't ha' kept me alive.
Bless your heart, I couldn't keep a thing on my stomach; nor doctors
couldn't make me. My Joan says, ''Tis time to buy thee a shroud.' 'I dare
say, so 'tis,' says I; but try and borrow one first.' In comes my lady,
this Margaret, which she died three years ago, by your way on't,
opens the windows, makes 'em shift me where I lay, and cures me in the
twinkling of a bedpost; but wi' what? there pinches the shoe; with the
scurviest herb, and out of my own garden, too; with sweet feverfew. A
herb, quotha, 'tis a weed; leastways it was a weed till it cured me,
but now whene'er I pass my hunch I doff bonnet, and says I, 'fly service
t'ye.' Why, how now, father, you look wondrous pale, and now you are
red, and now you are white? Why, what is the matter? What, in Heaven's
name, is the matter?"

"The surprise--the joy--the wonder--the fear," gasped Clement.

"Why, what is it to thee? Art thou of kin to Margaret Brandt?"

"Nay; but I knew one that loved her well, so well her death nigh killed
him, body and soul. And yet thou sayest she lives. And I believe thee."

Jorian stared, and after a considerable silence said very gravely,
"Father, you have asked me many questions, and I have answered them
truly; now for our Lady's sake answer me but two. Did you in very sooth
know one who loved this poor lass? Where?"

Clement was on the point