of revealing himself, but he remembered
Jerome's letter, and shrank from being called by the name he had borne
in the world.

"I knew him in Italy," said he.

"If you knew him you can tell me his name," said Jorian cautiously.

"His name was Gerard Eliassoen."

"Oh, but this is strange. Stay, what made thee say Margaret Brandt was
dead?"

"I was with Gerard when a letter came from Margaret Van Eyck. The letter
told him she he loved was dead and buried. Let me sit down, for my
strength fails me, Foul play! Foul play!"

"Father," said Jorian, "I thank Heaven for sending thee to me, Ay, sit
ye down; ye do look like a ghost; ye fast overmuch to be strong. My mind
misgives me; methinks I hold the clue to this riddle, and if I do, there
be two knaves in this town whose heads I would fain batter to pieces as
I do this mould;" and he clenched his teeth and raised his long spade
above his head, and brought it furiously down upon the heap several
times. "Foul play? You never said a truer word i' your life; and if you
know where Gerard is now, lose no time, but show him the trap they have
laid for him. Mine is but a dull head, but whiles the slow hound puzzles
out the scent--go to, And I do think you and I ha' got hold of two ends
o' one stick, and a main foul one."

Jorian then, after some of those useless preliminaries men of his class
always deal in, came to the point of the story. He had been employed by
the burgomaster of Tergou to repair the floor of an upper room in his
house, and when it was almost done, Coming suddenly to fetch away his
tools, curiosity had been excited by some loud words below, and he had
lain down on his stomach, and heard the burgomaster talking about a
letter which Cornelis and Sybrandt were minded to convey into the place
of one that a certain Hans Memling was taking to Gerard; "and it seems
their will was good, but their stomach was small; so to give them
courage the old man showed them a drawer full of silver, and if they did
the trick they should each put a hand in, and have all the silver they
could hold in't. Well, father," continued Jorian, "I thought not much
on't at the time, except for the bargain itself, that kept me awake
mostly all night. Think on't! Next morning at peep of day who should I
see but my masters Cornelis and Sybrandt come out of their house each
with a black eye. 'Oho,' says I, 'what yon Hans hath put his mark on ye;
well now I hope that is all you have got for your