lifted him into the litter.

When he was gone Catherine gloated over the money. She had never seen
so much together, and was almost angry with Margaret, for "sitting out
there like an image." And she dilated on the advantages of money.

And she teased Margaret till at last she prevailed on her to come and
look at it.

"Better let her be, mother," said Kate, "How can she relish gold, with a
heart in her bosom liker lead?" But Catherine persisted.

The result was, Margaret looked down at all her wealth with wondering
eyes. Then suddenly wrung her hands and cried with piercing anguish,
"TOO LATE! TOO LATE!" And shook off her leaden despondency, only to go
into strong hysterics over the wealth that came too late to be shared
with him she loved.

A little of this gold, a portion of this land, a year or two ago, when
it was as much her own as now; and Gerard would have never left her side
for Italy or any other place.

"Too late! Too late!"

CHAPTER XCI

Not many days after this came the news that Margaret Van Eyck was dead
and buried. By a will she had made a year before, she left all her
property, after her funeral expenses and certain presents to Reicht
Heynes, to her dear daughter Margaret Brandt, requesting her to keep
Reicht as long as unmarried.

By this will Margaret inherited a furnished house, and pictures and
sketches that in the present day would be a fortune: among the pictures
was one she valued more than a gallery of others.

It represented "A Betrothal." The solemnity of the ceremony was marked
in the grave face of the man, and the demure complacency of the woman.
She was painted almost entirely by Margaret Van Eyck, but the rest
of the picture by Jan. The accessories were exquisitely finished, and
remain a marvel of skill to this day. Margaret Brandt sent word to
Reicht to stay in the house till such time as she could find the heart
to put foot in it, and miss the face and voice that used to meet her
there; and to take special care of the picture "in the little cubboord:"
meaning the diptych.

The next thing was, Luke Peterson came home, and heard that Gerard was a
monk.

He was like to go mad with joy. He came to Margaret, and said--"heed,
mistress. If he cannot marry you I can."

"You?" said Margaret. "Why, I have seen him."

"But he is a friar."

"He was my husband, and my boy's father long ere he was a friar. And I
have seen him, I've seen him."

Luke was thoroughly puzzled. "I'