n me;
and that is not so very much, my lamb; for sure the better part of love
shall ne'er cool here to thee; though it may in thine, and ought, being
a priest, and parson of Gouda."

"I? priest of Gouda? Never!" murmured Clement in a faint voice; "I am
a friar of St. Dominic: yet speak on, sweet music, tell me all that has
happened thee, before we are parted again."

Now some would on this have exclaimed against parting at all, and raised
the true question in dispute. But such women as Margaret do not repeat
their mistakes. It is very hard to defeat them twice, where their hearts
are set on a thing.

She assented, and turned her back on Gouda manse as a thing not to
be recurred to; and she told him her tale, dwelling above all on the
kindness to her of his parents; and while she related her troubles, his
hand stole to hers, and often she felt him wince and tremble with ire,
and often press her hand, sympathizing with her in every vein.

"Oh, piteous tale of a true heart battling alone against such bitter
odds," said he.

"It all seems small, when I see thee here again, and nursing my boy. We
have had a warning, Gerard. True friends like you and me are rare, and
they are mad to part, ere death divideth them."

"And that is true," said Clement, off his guard.

And then she would have him tell her what he had suffered for her, and
he begged her to excuse him, and she consented; but by questions quietly
revoked her consent and elicited it all; and many a sigh she heaved for
him, and more than once she hid her face in her hands with terror at his
perils, though past. And to console him for all he had gone through,
she kneeled down and put her arms under the little boy, and lifted him
gently up. "Kiss him softly," she whispered. "Again, again kiss thy fill
if thou canst; he is sound. 'Tis all I can do to comfort thee till thou
art out of this foul den and in thy sweet manse yonder."

Clement shook his head.

"Well," said she, "let that pass. Know that I have been sore affronted
for want of my lines."

"Who hath dared affront thee?"

"No matter, those that will do it again if thou hast lost them, which
the saints forbid."

"I lose them? nay, there they lie, close to thy hand."

"Where, where, oh, where?"

Clement hung his head. "Look in the Vulgate. Heaven forgive me: I
thought thou wert dead, and a saint in heaven."

She looked, and on the blank leaves of the poor soul's Vulgate she found
her marriage line