ruit of thy curse."

"Mea culpa! mea culpa!"

"He is very penitent; be yourself and forgive him this night."

"I have forgiven him long ago."

"Think you he can believe that from any mouth but yours? Come! he is but
about two butts' length hence."

"So near? Why, where?"

"At Gouda manse. I took him there yestreen. For I know you, the curse
was scarce cold on your lips when you repented it" (Gerard nodded
assent), "and I said to myself, Gerard will thank me for taking Sybrandt
to die under his roof; he will not beat his breast and cry mea culpa,
yet grudge three footsteps to quiet a withered brother on his last bed.
He may have a bee in his bonnet, but he is not a hypocrite, a thing all
pious words and uncharitable deeds."

Gerard literally staggered where he sat at this tremendous thrust.

"Forgive me for nagging," said she. "Thy mother too is waiting for thee.
Is it well done to keep her on thorns so long She will not sleep this
night, Bethink thee, Gerard, she is all to thee that I am to this sweet
child. Ah, I think so much more of mothers since I had my little Gerard.
She suffered for thee, and nursed thee, and tended thee from boy to man.
Priest monk, hermit, call thyself what thou wilt, to her thou art but
one thing; her child."

"Where is she?" murmured Gerard, in a quavering voice.

"At Gouda manse, wearing the night in prayer and care."

Then Margaret saw the time was come for that appeal to his reason she
had purposely reserved till persuasion should have paved the way for
conviction. So the smith first softens the iron by fire, and then brings
down the sledge hammer.

She showed him, but in her own good straightforward Dutch, that his
present life was only a higher kind of selfishness, spiritual egotism;
whereas a priest had no more right to care only for his own soul than
only for his own body. That was not his path to heaven. "But," said she,
"whoever yet lost his soul by saving the souls of others! the Almighty
loves him who thinks of others; and when He shall see thee caring for
the souls of the folk the duke hath put into thine hand, He will care
ten times more for thy soul than He does now."

Gerard was struck by this remark. "Art shrewd in dispute," said he.

"Far from it," was the reply, "only my eyes are not bandaged with
conceit.(1) So long as Satan walks the whole earth, tempting men, and
so long as the sons of Belial do never lock themselves in caves, but run
like ants to and fro